Murder Bites

by Lyra Barnett

  “Marsh, you have to go and search Joan Sithers’ house right now. She’s been lying to us from the start.”

  He looked in panic from me to the round gentlemen and back again.

  “Er, Miss Twyst, this is Superintendent Smith.”

  “Hello.” I nodded towards Smith before turning back to Marsh. “We have to go now! It might already be too late, she might have got rid of it by now.”

  “Excuse me sir,” Marsh said as he took my arm and guided me away. I couldn’t help but notice that the look he had given his boss; it was one involving rolling eyes and suggested I was an annoyance he’d have to get rid of.

  “For god’s sake, what are you going on about?!” he said when we had reached the car park outside.

  “I’m trying to tell you who killed Mrs Tranter so you let my friend go!” I shouted back, my ears burning with anger at the look I’d seen him give.

  He sighed and sat on the small wall which ran along the disabled ramp into the station.

  “Ok, tell me.”

  “The morning of the murder, I heard a clang, like something made from metal had been dropped.”

  “Ok…”

  “And then I spoke to the Boon twins and they said that Tranter used to have a hip flask.”

  “A hip flask? Mr Tranter said she never drank!”

  I frowned.

  “Well apparently she did it every morning. Anyway, you have to ask, why didn’t you find the hip flask when you went over the café that day?”

  “You’re saying someone removed it?”

  “I’m saying Joan Sithers took it. After Mrs Tranter died she screamed like she was shocked, but it was all an act. Next minute, she was bent down by the body. Now why would she do that other than to take the hip flask?”

  He stood up and put his hand on my shoulder, and I was surprised to feel a rush of excitement. I hoped my cheeks weren’t turning red like my ears.

  “Thank you Felicity, I’ll look into it straight away.”

  He moved away, leaving me still feeling self-conscious from his touch, before he turned back to me as he reached the station door.

  “You should stay out of it now though. It could be dangerous. I’ll get to the bottom of it all.”

  He turned and went back in through the door, leaving me angry again, all thoughts of his touch, gone.

  I ARRIVED BACK on the dual high streets of Stumpwell and made my way over to the Whole Latte Love Café in a thoughtful mood. I was sure that Joan Sithers had poisoned her boss, and some of the things that had bothered me about the death had started to make sense. For instance, why had the killer decided to poison Mrs Tranter in public? If Joan Sithers was the murderer, she would have had any manner of opportunity to poison her boss every day in the office. Then though, she would have had to move the body or there would have been a suspect pool of one. Much better to kill in public and frame Betty.

  Putting the threatening letters in Betty’s car was a nice touch. She must have noticed the stuck window and thought of the letters her employee had received. Joan would have almost certainly seen them, maybe even opened them as Mrs Tranter’s personal assistant. It would have been easy for her to copy how they looked before slotting them through the gap in Betty’s window. That seemed like a happy opportunity rather than something planned though. Joan Sithers must have known she would be a prime suspect if she was going to be sat at the same table when it happened.

  I opened the door to the café and found it pretty much as quiet as when I’d left it.

  “Sorry for running out on you,” I said to Sandra who was behind the counter spooning her famous muffin mix into moulds. She never did any of the mixing out the front, it was all strictly behind the double doors into the kitchen where no prying eyes could see the ingredients.

  “Oh that’s alright. I’m not paying you mind.”

  I smiled.

  “That’s ok. Look, as it’s still quiet, can I skip the rest of today?”

  She stopped what she was doing and looked up at me, resting her hands on the counter in front of her.

  “Is this about Betty? What happened this morning?”

  I trusted Sandra completely, but I wasn’t ready to start giving her my theories on the murder, especially when I was now wondering if I was even right.

  “I think I can help get her out of trouble and find out who really killed Mrs Tranter, I just need time.”

  She frowned before leaning across the counter and squeezing my hand.

  “You know I thought this thing with Betty was all a silly misunderstanding, the police being too eager, but now… I’m worried about her.”

  “I know, me too.” I squeezed her hand back and smiled. “You know me though, I don’t give up easily. I’ll let you know what’s happening later.”

  “Be careful!” she called after me as I left, passing through the door onto the street.

  I didn’t even know where I was going. I needed to clear my head, try and think about things differently. I strolled onto the green and began to walk down the narrow winding path which ran from end to end through its centre.

  Halfway down there was a small copse of trees known as the fumble, it was a well-known spot for couples to go, so the name may have had some meaning attached.

  I stopped at the old bench which sat at its centre and decided to run through the things I knew. The trees acted as a barrier, making the sounds of the town muffled and soothing. A good place to think.

  Mrs Tranter was poisoned with cyanide. Joan Sithers had then removed the hip flask that Tranter had used to add whiskey to her morning coffee. Someone had then tried to frame Betty by putting threatening letters through Betty’s car window.

  What conclusions could I make from these scant facts? Well, Joan Sithers wouldn’t have removed the hip flask unless she had put the poison into it, surely? And she would have almost certainly known what the threatening letters looked like and so she could have reproduced them. In fact, she may have been the one sending them before. Let’s face it, working for Tranter must have been a nightmare. Imagine living with her?!

  My thoughts turned to the worried little bald man who had been her husband. He had seemed so concerned for Joan, he must have feelings for her. What if they were reciprocated and they were having an affair? Wait, what if Joan had picked up the hip flask to protect her lover? Maybe she was in on it and her part of the plan was to get rid of the evidence? The husband could have easily slipped the poison into his wife’s hip flask at their home.

  I felt a tingle run down the back of my neck, a sure sign my vampness was kicking in. I didn’t move, but closed my eyes and concentrated on my surroundings. Vampires didn’t need their eyes when they were in danger, and that’s what this was. Danger. That and anger were the only things that would make my vampness kick in, well possibly the sight of blood.

  I felt a presence behind me, moving slowly closer to my bench. I waited until the shape was just a few feet away before I jumped up, spinning at the same time to land with my feet on the bench and my right fist already swinging. It swung without hitting anything, setting me off balance and tilting me forward. With my vampness fully enabled, I adjusted quickly, setting my right foot on top of the bench and leaping off to the right of the small balded figure in front of me.

  “You tried to hit me!” Mr Tranter spluttered in shock.

  “Well you shouldn’t go sneaking up on young women in the woods. Lucky you’re short,” I snapped, trying to keep my fangs hidden behind my lips.

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” He looked at me blinking. “I just saw you come in here from the street and thought I’d just ask you if you’d seen Joan at all?”

  I remembered my role as Joan Sithers’ friend that I’d played at his house.

  “Oh, no actually, I haven’t. Why? Haven’t you?”

  He looked at me confused.

  “Of course not! Remember? She said we shouldn’t see each other for a while after…”

  A while after the murder?! So they wer
e in on it! Although, why would he be telling some friend of Joan’s he’d never met before. He continued before I could answer.

  “I mean at first I was worried, but when I thought about it, I knew she was right. I mean, we didn’t want the police to think we had anything to do with it just because of our… relationship. Now though, I mean they have who did it in custody don’t they? Some waitress or something?”

  I flinched at this slightly, but didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to interrupt his flow.

  “I don’t see why we can’t talk now. But she won’t answer my calls! So I went round to her house, but she’s not there either.”

  He looked at me through his thick spectacles mournfully. Before I could think up an appropriate response, my phone buzzed in my pocket and I pulled it out, glancing at a number I didn’t recognise on the screen before answering.

  “Hello?”

  “Felicity, it’s Marsh. We’ve just got to Joan Sithers house and she definitely killed Tranter.”

  I looked up at Mr Tranter who was looking up at the trees with glazed eyes.

  “How do you know?”

  “We’ve found cyanide at her house, and more of the threatening letters.”

  “So you’re taking her in?”

  “No. She’s dead Felicity. She took cyanide herself.”

  14

  DOUBTS

  I put the phone back in my pocket and looked at Mr Tranter in front of me. No matter what he thought of his wife, she had died only a few days ago. Now, so had the woman he was clearly in love with.

  “I’m sorry Mr Tranter, but Joan is dead.”

  “Wh…wh…what? She can’t be.” He stood blinking at me.

  “I’m afraid she poisoned herself using the same thing she used on your wife.”

  I hadn’t meant to say it as bluntly as that, but I was still unsure of his involvement in all of this, and wanted answers.

  “So, so, she did kill Edith.”

  It wasn’t a question, just a flat, sad statement. He slumped onto the bench and I sat next to him.

  “You weren’t sure?” I was conscious I was still playing the role of Joan’s friend, and wasn’t ready to let him know what I did or didn’t know.

  “She called me straight after… well you know, and said that we needed to not see each other for a while until things had died down. She was strange on the phone and I could tell she was upset. She kept telling me not to worry and that she’d be there for me. Typical Joan, always thinking of others.”

  “So you didn’t hear from her again after that?”

  “No, well, only when you came to the house.”

  I felt a pang of guilt at conveying a message I had never been given.

  “I just don’t understand why she would have done this?” He looked down as he scuffed at the ground, his short legs barely reaching it as it sloped away from the bench.

  I had to admit. He had a point. Why had Joan Sithers killed herself? Guilt at what she had done? That didn’t seem likely. She certainly hadn’t seemed very remorseful of anything when I had talked to her at her office. In fact, she had been preparing the whole thing to be folded and the clients passed on. It reminded me of something.

  “Mr Tranter, what’s happened with your wife’s Company? Did you not want to keep it running?”

  “Me? Oh no. That was all Edith’s field. I’m afraid I know nothing about it. I instructed the lawyers to sort it all out for me.”

  I nodded, that explained it. He was just passing it on and didn’t really know anything about the business, but still, he had moved very quickly.

  “All pretty quick then?” I asked as innocently as I could muster. He scuffed the ground again and sighed.

  “Edith left some urgent repair bills and with my back I can’t work, so…”

  “Oh I see, I’m sorry to hear that.”

  We sat in silence for a minute or two and although unspoken, it felt like we were both thinking of Joan Sithers. I just couldn’t buy that she had killed herself. When I had seen her in her office, she was either not feeling guilty because she hadn’t murdered her boss, or she was she just such a stone cold killer that it hadn’t affected her? I really couldn’t see it.

  I said my goodbyes and left the small man still swinging his legs on the bench as I emerged from the small copse of trees onto the green the way I had come. To my right a car on East Street was sat with its engine running as a car from the other direction pulled up alongside it. I bent down slightly to see through the windowed glass of the nearest car and saw a fat brown envelope being passed from the car that had pulled over to the one parked.

  Two men sat in the parked car, and almost filled it with their bulk. I felt like I had seen them somewhere before but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I slowed my pace to look at the other car, but as soon as the exchange was made it sped away without me getting a look at the owner.

  What was wrong with me?! One little part time murder investigation which I didn’t even really help solve and suddenly I’m seeing shady goings on all over the place! I shook my head and looked up to see Betty stepping out of a taxi in front of the Whole Latte Love. I jogged ahead, calling to her just before she reached the door. She said nothing, but turned and hugged me as though she hadn’t seen me for years.

  “Come on, let’s get inside,” I said, guiding her towards the door.

  As soon as we’d stepped in, Sandra had come bouncing over to land a huge hug on Betty and seat us both at a table before vanishing with promises of muffins and port.

  “Are you ok?” I asked the inevitable stupid question once we were alone.

  “Yeah, god, I thought I’d never see you again!”

  I smiled, Betty always had a tendency towards the dramatic.

  “Well it’s all sorted now,” I said squeezing her hand, although something nagged at the back of mind as I said it. “Did they tell you about Joan Sithers?”

  Betty’s eyes turned into saucers.

  “I know! Can you believe it! I never thought she would have had it in her! It’s funny as well really…”

  I waited for her to go on and realised I was holding my breath.

  “What is?” I said quickly, getting impatient.

  “Oh it’s nothing, I just remembered how upset she was at those letters that Mrs Tranter was getting, seems strange now if she was the one sending them.”

  “She was upset about them?! When was this?!”

  Oh a few weeks ago, Mrs Tranter was even worse than normal and she had given me a right earful. Joan Sithers went to the loo and as she passed me she said sorry for her friend’s behaviour, but she’d had some nasty hate mail and it had upset her. I said that was terrible, because even though it was Mrs Tranter, you know.”

  I nodded, willing her to keep going.

  “Well then she said it was a cowardly thing to do and they should be ashamed of themselves.”

  “That is odd.” I slumped back in my chair as Sandra arrived back and Betty began filling her in on the horrors of the Stumpwell holding cells.

  So it didn’t seem likely that Joan Sithers was the author of the nasty letters her boss had been receiving. Unless that was a clever double bluff to put people off the scent, but she was hardly likely to try and persuade a waitress she didn’t even know of her innocence. No, it was more likely she hadn’t written them, which meant someone else had. And if someone else had written them, why did Marsh find a load of them at Joan Sithers’ house? Had she taken them home from the office? If so, why?

  I zoned back in to the conversation and realised they were both looking at me.

  “Is that ok?” Betty said

  “Sorry I drifted off, is what ok?”

  “If I stay at yours tonight? I can’t face going home on my own.”

  “Oh, course, but don’t forget we’ve got our lodgers now.”

  “Oh. Oh!” Betty’s face broke into a grin and she jumped up from the table. “Come on then, we don’t want to be late for dinner!”

 
She said a hurried goodbye to Sandra and dashed out of the door, dragging me with her.

  15

  REALITY BITES

  “Betty dear! How nice to see you. All that trouble at the police station sorted now?”

  Only my mum could make being arrested for murder sound like a playground spat.

  “Yes thanks Marjory. Felicity said it would be ok if I stayed tonight, I hope that’s alright, I know you have guests now.”

  “Oh, of course dear! You can have your usual room, we didn’t give that one up to anybody else.”

  Betty smiled. Betty had never known her dad, and her mum had died from cancer a few years ago. Mum had been hinting that she should move in with us ever since. I had tried to explain that she already had one daughter who should have moved out by now, she didn’t need to add another.

  “Everyone’s out on the terrace having cocktails, I’d guess you’re in need of a drink.”

  “Definitely,” I answered, and grabbing a small chunk of the cheese my mum was slicing, we headed off towards the terrace which ran along the back of the house overlooking the lawns. We left the house through the drawing room doors and stepped out onto the worn and mossy terrace with its slightly crumbling wall of fluted stone. My dad, Damien Pound and Mrs Bard were gathered at one end in a circle around Mr Shaw who seemed to be holding something.

  “Well it’s marvellous Reg!” I heard my dad’s voice ring out. Reg? He’d obviously moved to first name terms with Mr Shaw. “So much detail, it really is very impressive.”

  Damien looked up from the group as we moved towards them, his head at first glancing up, then doing a double take at Betty he suddenly stood up very straight. My dad noticed and turned around.

  “Betty my dear! Good to see you!” He kissed her lightly on the cheek before moving to me and doing the same. “Betty here, is Felicity’s oldest friend, and don’t worry, she knows all about our little peculiarities!” The group visibly relaxed. “This is Mrs Bard. Mrs Bard, this is Betty.”

  The thin woman looked her up and down and gave a wheezy cackle.

  “You go in and out in all the right places my girl! You’ll give Reg here another heart attack!” She cackled again and my dad quickly moved her gaze onto Mr Shaw.