Murder Bites

by Lyra Barnett

  “Felicity Twyst, nice to meet you.”

  I held a hand out for him to shake, but he grunted and turned away from me.

  “Into antiques are you?” I asked jogging up next to him.

  “What? Oh, just selling some of my granddad’s old stuff.”

  “Oh, must have been some good stuff,” I said nodding towards his pocket.

  “Yeah, he was in the Special Forces in World War Two and I found a load of his medals and stuff, I…”

  Something seemed to stop him in his tracks. He turned quickly to his left and into a door to the side of the butchers which led to the bookmakers above without saying goodbye. It seemed pretty clear where the money from his grandfather’s old medals was going.

  I turned back onto the road and almost bumped into two men who strode down the pavement as though they owned it.

  “Don’t mind me will you?!” I shouted as I stepped aside to avoid hitting them.

  “We won’t love,” the skinny one called over his shoulder making the huge man next to him chuckle with a deep laugh. I swore under my breath and carried on to the Latte.

  I entered to find it heaving with small, chattering grey haired people. I dodged past two walking frames and an electric wheelchair before having to back up again to let through a group of four old men, in full suit and ties, who were shuffling along in a line holding drinks in hands so wobbly, scalding seemed like a given. I negotiated them and managed to wave down Betty at the counter as she lifted up the end to let her out into the throng.

  “What on earth’s going on?!”

  “Lawn bowls group, their coach broke down a mile or so away so they’ve all popped in while the recovery guy tries to fix it,” she said, wiping the back of her hand across her forehead which had a sheen of sweat.

  “I think I’ll come back later,” I said turning towards the door.

  “Wait a minute Flick!” Betty said, grabbing my shoulder and pulling me closer. She bent down and whispered in my ear conspiratorially.

  “James called me. He said I’m going to have to go into the station again as they’ve discovered new evidence. What do you think it means?!” She gave me a worried look, her olive skin knotted above her brow.

  “How can they have new evidence? They went over this place yesterday.”

  “He said they found something in my car.”

  “What?! When did they look in your car?!”

  “This morning, first thing! And my mum called and said they’ve been round the house too!”

  This was not good. I tried not to let my face show it, but I was worried.

  “Ok, try not to worry. When does he want you to go in?”

  “He’s coming now, I’m just trying to help Sandra out here until Tracy arrives.”

  Tracy was the only other waitress who worked at the Whole Latte Love, and was about as reliable as the English weather.

  “And if she doesn’t turn up?” I said, looking around at the sea of grey hair.

  “Well…”

  I turned back to see Betty giving me a sheepish smile as she hurried past with a tray full of tea and cakes. I sighed and grabbed an apron from the side of the counter when the tinkling of the door opening made me look to see Tracy walk in. Saved by the bell.

  Following her closely into the packed café was Chief Inspector Marsh, accompanied by Constable Pearson.

  They headed towards Betty and began talking to her in hushed tones. I moved to intercept as Constable Pearson began to lead her towards the door.

  “Can I ask why you need to talk to her again?” I said making Marsh turn to look at me. He looked over his shoulder, waiting until Constable Pearson and Betty had vanished through the door before he looked back at me, his expression changed. Instead of the serious, professional expression he had worn when talking to Betty, now though, there was an air of panic about him.

  “Felicity, I hope you don’t mind me calling you Felicity?” Even this seemed to worry him. He was an altogether different character to the one who had taken my statement just yesterday. “I didn’t have any choice to bring Betty in again, I mean after we found…” He looked around nervously.

  “What did you find?!”

  “I can’t tell you, but Betty is in trouble. I’ve got pressure from the top brass in Cowton to start making progress on the case and, well I’ve got to follow the evidence,” he said helplessly, his shoulders sagging.

  “If you can’t tell me what you found in her car, at least tell me why you thought it was murder in the first place.”

  He stared at me for a moment, obviously deciding whether he could share this information with me or not. His blue eyes were piercing, it felt like he was staring into the back of my head.

  “Mrs Tranter had received death threats. Came to us with them just a few weeks ago. No leads, all cut from newspapers and posted by hand.”

  “What did the letters say?”

  “A load of stuff about how she should treat people better or she’d pay for it. Look, I’ve got to go. I just wanted you to know that I don’t have any choice.” He looked down at the pen he was turning in his hand. “I know you and her are close, and I didn’t want you thinking I was… well I don’t know, just throwing my weight around.”

  I actually felt a little sorry for him. He clearly didn’t think Betty had done it, but whatever he had found had backed him into a corner.

  “If you told me what you’d found I might be able to help, to explain it,” I said.

  “I’m sorry Felicity, I can’t.” He gave me a weak smile and darted out of the door.

  I followed him out into the grey light to see Betty’s face in the window of the police car as it pulled away. I gave her a thumbs up which was returned with a worried grin.

  I looked at my watch and realised it was now twenty to one. I’d have lunch, make my bank appointment, and then go and see Betty at the police station once she knew what all of this was about.

  I headed down West Street towards the Stump and Well to meet Damien Pound.

  I couldn’t imagine what on earth they would have found in Betty’s car? I couldn’t believe there was anything incriminating in there. The threatening letters were interesting though. Had the writer of them finally had enough when Mrs Tranter hadn’t changed her ways as they’d insisted?

  Still, the only three people who could have possibly added something to her drink in the café, were Betty, Joan Sithers and Damien Pound. I made a mental note to try and remember that Damien was a murder suspect when I was looking into those large brown eyes, and tried to put the whole murder out of my mind and enjoy the short walk through the town. The clouds were even breaking above my head, letting small shafts of golden sunlight hit the street and the green to my right.

  The distinct lack of imagination in the naming of Stumpwell had always amused me. Halfway down the long green which ran between the dual high streets sat a small, crumbling well. A few feet form it was a gnarled old tree stump. This was apparently the inspiration for the town’s name. As I passed the objects on my way to the pub which also took its name from them, I wondered what the place had been called before the well had been built. Just ‘Stump’ presumably. I reached the doorway of the inn and entered, thinking that at least the forefathers of the town had had the good sense not to call it ‘Wellstump’.

  9

  LUNCHTIME WINE

  Damien was already there when I arrived. He stood at the far end of the curved bar, ordering drinks. He turned to me and smiled, and I wondered if his vampness had told him I had entered.

  “I hope you don’t mind, I ordered for you. A large Sauvignon Blanc.”

  Yes I did bloody mind! Unfortunately, he’d got my drink order right, so it seemed petulant to say so.

  “Thanks.”

  “Shall we?”

  He gestured towards a table for two in the corner and headed towards it.

  The Stump and Well was an old pub with a cottage feel to it. Damien had to stoop to avoid the beams that weaved their w
ay across the low ceilings which were stained yellow from the days when smoking inside was still allowed.

  He sat and smiled at me. He was softly spoken and he had kind eyes. Despite being forward enough to ask me to dinner and order my drink for me, I got the impression he was fighting an innate shyness.

  “So, can we get this murder business out of the way? I didn’t do it you know.”

  I stared at him for a moment. He was handsome, but in a soft, wet kind of way.

  “What were you doing in the Whole Latte Love yesterday morning?”

  “Drinking a coffee and having one of the amazing muffins, isn’t that what you’re supposed to do there?”

  He took a sip of his ale, a nervous smile still playing on his lips. Could this man really be a killer?

  “And you didn’t know Mrs Tranter?”

  His smile flickered slightly.

  “No, I didn’t know, Mrs Tranter, was it?”

  I paused, but continued to stare at him as I sipped at my wine. Suddenly I didn’t believe his answer. I was suspicious again.

  “What do you do for a living?”

  He seemed to relax slightly. Shifting backwards in his chair as he spoke.

  “I run a company that specialises in shooting holidays just outside Cowton. We get all the yuppies from London out who think it will be fun to go and shoot some clays in the countryside. Then they fire a twelve-bore and crap themselves.”

  Despite myself I laughed. The thought of slick, arrogant bankers getting scared appealed to me.

  “Business good, is it?”

  Again, the slight flicker of the nervous smile, as the power to it had been cut for a moment.

  “Everyone seems to be struggling these days, but we do ok. Enough about me, tell me about your life. What do you do?”

  I felt a rush of worry over my appointment at the bank and grabbed my wine, taking a large gulp.

  “I’m in the process of taking over a business actually,” I lied. ‘In fact, that’s why I was in the bank today.”

  I realised I was more nervous about it than I thought.

  “Oh, well that’s great. What’s the business?”

  My embarrassment turned to annoyance. Who was he to demand any answers from me. After all, he was still one of the two main murder suspects in my mind, I was supposed to be questioning him. I finished my wine and put the glass down on the table quite hard.

  “I know that Mrs Tranter was looking at the accounts of your business.”

  I looked him straight in the eye as the smile fell from his face. He lifted his pint glass and took three large gulps before putting it down and leaning forward across the table.

  “You’re very clever Felicity.”

  His tone had the air of defeat, but still with a smile. He sighed and leaned back in his chair.

  “Yes, she did our accounts.”

  “Why did you lie when you said you didn’t know her at my house?”

  “Your mum and dad had just agreed to me staying there! I was hardly going to then tell them I was involved in some local murder the day I turn up!”

  “Involved?”

  He shook his head.

  “Are you always so insistent that people you meet are murderers?”

  I laughed again without wanting to. Now that I was in his company, I really couldn’t see him as a killer.

  “Only handsome strangers who move into my house.”

  Oh god. Did I really just say that? Lunchtime wine had clearly gone to my head already. I grabbed a menu from the condiment rack next to me and buried my head in it. I didn’t look up, but I could feel his grin burning into me.

  “Well I know what I’m having for lunch,” He passed me the menu. “I’ll grab us some more drinks while you decide,” he said, getting up and heading to the bar.

  I decided on the lasagne, but was mostly eyeing up the sticky toffee pudding desert when he returned with the same again.

  “So, back to me being handsome?” he said, laughing.

  “Wine at lunchtime will make you say ridiculous things,” I said in a voice that I hoped was as dismissive as possible. “So your business is in trouble?”

  His face clouded over again for a moment as he took another deep drink of beer.

  “My mum and dad have run the place for years. I’ve been general manager for a few years now, but that’s the day to day stuff, they handled all of the finances, etc. Recently it’s all been a bit much for them so I decided to take on more control. That’s when I hired Mrs Tranter and realised the full extent of the problems.” He sighed again, and picked at a beermat on the table. “I don’t think they knew they were doing it, but they’ve got us into a bit of a hole. We’ve had to sell the house to cover the tax bill. Mum and dad have gone to live with our cousins in Scotland, I’ve taken a room at your house. I should be able to keep the company going, but it will be tight.”

  There was a moment of silence where I was sure he was dwelling on the things that had gone wrong for his family, and I sat feeling terrible about prying.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No matter, I’m sure things will improve. After all, I’ve just moved in with a woman who thinks I’m a handsome murderer!”

  We both laughed and it felt like some of the tension had vanished between us.

  10

  THE WIDOW

  The rest of the lunch had passed pleasantly. We’d talked about our families (both seemingly a mad as each other’s, it must be a vampire thing) and Stumpwell. I had surprised myself by being full of praise for the place, when I often joked about how I thought it was stuck in a time warp with Betty. The truth was, it was my home, and it didn’t matter how twee or claustrophobic I found it at times, it was mine.

  We’d parted ways when I had suddenly realised that my appointment at the bank had been drawing near, I had said my thanks to him for picking up the bill, before dashing out onto the street. As the fresh air hit me and I began a fast walk towards the bank, I cursed myself for having the second glass of wine.

  There were two ways that alcohol affected a vampire. The first was if the vamp in question had been neglecting their blood lust recently, as I had, then it tended to hit you harder than you had anticipated, something about your own blood thinning without drinking something else’s. The second applied if you were a good vamp and drinking enough of the dark red stuff your kind required, then, you could drink pretty much anyone under the table.

  I reached the bank and was greeted by the same bouncing blonde that I had seen before. A cartoon bunny, I decided. That’s what she reminded me of.

  “Hello again.” She beamed at me. “You’re here for your appointment with Mr Barnes at two thirty?”

  No, I thought I’d give that a miss and just rob the place you bottle haired moron.

  “Yes.”

  “Then step right this way.”

  She turned and trotted across the bank floor to a cubicle which ran floor to ceiling in frosted glass. She opened the door which was set into the outer wall and gestured for me to go inside.

  “Mr Barnes will be with you in just a second, can I get you anything while you wait? Tea, coffee?”

  “A coffee would be great,” I said, warming to enthusobunny. She nodded and bounced off, leaving me in the curious glass box. A few moments later, she returned and placed something brown and warm in front of me. It didn’t smell like I knew coffee to smell, but I thought I’d reserve judgement until it had cooled down and I’d tasted it.

  The door opened and a boy walked in who looked like he was trying on his dad’s suit. It seemed so big for him, I got the impression he had fallen from somewhere and simply landed in it.

  “Hello Miss Twyst, I’m Mr Barnes.”

  Bloody hell.

  “I hear you’re looking to take out a business loan?”

  “Yes.”

  “Excellent, well let’s have a look then shall we?”

  He ran through some basic personal details before asking a series of questions, each one
making my heart sink lower as I realised this was a waste of time.

  Do you have any savings?

  Do you own your own home?

  Do you have any relevant experience of running a business?

  All a big fat ‘no’ from me. I slurped at the brown sludge in the cup before me, the taste of which confirmed that the world was indeed against me.

  When the child before me, the Adam’s apple in his pencil thin neck bobbing up and down like a yo-yo, gave me the inevitable bad news, I had known it was coming.

  “I’m sorry Miss Twyst, but you can’t expect us to just trust that you’ll be able to run a sweet shop successfully.”

  I contemplated leaping across the desk and giving him the full range of my more primal vampire urges, but instead, stood up and walked out.

  I ARRIVED at the police station in time to find DCI Shaw emerging from the front door, looking even more worried than he had done back at the café. His blonde head angled downward with deep frown lines etched across his forehead, he would have walked into me if it hadn’t been for my neat side-step. One advantage of the vampness is that I am the exact opposite of Betty in the agility line of things.

  “Oh, I’m sorry I… Felicity.”

  He stood staring at me, his mouth opening and closing a couple of times before taking my arm and leading me to the side of the small car park behind one of the larger sycamore trees.

  “Betty’s in real trouble. We found threatening letters in her car to Mrs Tranter.”

  “In her car?” I thought for a moment, there was no way that they were Betty’s, so… “Is her window still jammed open a crack on the passenger side?”

  I had been the offending passenger who had managed to jam the thing last week.

  “Yes, and I know that seems like the obvious explanation, but my bosses at Cowton say that she was the only one with the means and motive, and now there’s evidence against her. I mean, the letters look exactly like the ones Mrs Tranter had been receiving before.”

  “What about Joan Sithers?” I asked, deciding to leave Mr Pound out of it for now. I told myself that this was because I didn’t really consider him a true suspect, and not because I’d just had a nice lunch with him.