by Carrie Marsh
“Monty!” Laura grinned at the house's occupant as she crossed the threshold, letting in a cloud of mist behind her.
Hello, Monty said gruffly. He looked up at her from his place on the mat. You took your time.
“Oh, Monty,” Laura said affectionately, “It's not late – only quarter to ten!”
I'm hungry, Monty said grumpily. I had a long day in the fields.
“You did?” Laura asked, as she went through to the kitchen, scooping food into his dish.
Yes. I would tell you, he began, but I think there is someone waiting for you outside.
“How do you..?” Laura said, just as she heard a knock at the door.
I heard his car door in the street, and his footsteps on the path. Not that hard, Monty said smugly, and took himself off to her bedroom.
Laura ran to the front door and opened it, feeling her heart beating faster.
“Howard!”
“Laura,” he greeted her, and put a hand on her shoulder. His other hand held a package, with which he gestured, smiling.
Laura lifted a brow.
“Is that what I think it is?”
“Battered fish. And chips. Picked them up in Branley on the way back from the lab,” he explained succinctly.
Laura smiled. “Just what I wanted.”
“Really?” Howard remarked, and Laura felt her heart clench. He had such a boyish grin – it took years off his lean, serious face and made him seem a child, confiding secrets. “I'm glad.” He ran a hand through his dark hair distractedly, a gesture that suited his easy strength.
“Yes,” Laura affirmed. “Now, do come in before you freeze out there! I've got some wine to share.”
“Oh, good!” Howard said, warmly. He followed her indoors, closing the door behind them. He followed her to the kitchen, to which she bustled, ready to fetch the plates and glasses.
“And it's even white wine...” Laura said from the depths of the refrigerator, “So it will match with supper....”
Howard laughed and set the packages down by the stove. He took the glass of wine from her, smiling. Laura turned to face him, thinking as she did so what a strong, comforting presence he was. Nothing like Ron, she thought, reassured. Her experience with him had left her badly shaken and mistrustful, and all signs that Howard would never turn into such a person were encouraging.
“A toast?” Laura queried, seeing him lift the glass experimentally.
“To rest and relaxation,” he sighed, sounding exhausted.
“Cheers to that!” Laura agreed, raising hers in a toast as they drank. The wine was good – cool and sweet, with a lingering aftertaste. “Had a long day?” Laura asked, turning to the fish, which she popped on the stove to heat.
“You could say so,” Howard agreed. He leaned back on the counter, stretching his long legs. “Lots of 'flu going round.” He took a sip of wine and licked his lips, making Laura shiver.
“Really?” she asked, trying to concentrate on his words, not on his presence.
“Mm,” he nodded, “it's mainly the usual influenza, but it's having a bad effect on people. I am worried about some of my older patients,” he added, frowning.
“It's a bad 'flu?” Laura asked.
“It seems to be. I had to take Captain Radlet to the hospital,” Howard sighed.
“He will make it?”
“Mm,” Howard agreed, finishing his glass of wine. “Got him there in time, thank Heavens.”
“Indeed,” Laura agreed fervently. “I couldn't agree more. He's a nice man.”
They stood in silence for a moment while the chips heated in the microwave.
“How was your day?” Howard asked gently.
“Oh,” Laura shrugged, giving him an unfeeling smile. “Nothing like yours. I didn't save any lives, or anything...”
“That's not the point,” Howard said, bending over her. “Why would people want to be alive, if no one cared about things like nice restaurants or making sure people got the seats they book?”
He was very close. His eyes were very dark – almost black – and Laura breathed in sharply, taking in the scent of musk and spice that characterized him. She could not stop herself leaning forward. Howard leaned forward to meet her.
They kissed.
Laura closed her eyes, lost in the feeling of his warm, hard lips against hers. She gasped, slightly, and he leaned in closer, deepening the contact.
“Oh...” Laura sighed, as they ended the kiss. She felt dazed.
“The chips are overheating,” Howard mentioned lightly, inclining his head.
Laura blinked at him. Trust him to mention something so infinitely down-to-earth at a moment like this...
She turned to the microwave and then, gasping, opened it, revealing some dark brown chips, escaping from the newspaper covering.
They both laughed.
Dinner passed by in a blur of laughter and keen conversation, and Laura found herself surprised when it was past midnight.
“I should go,” Howard said gravely. “Early start tomorrow, and all that.”
“I suppose,” Laura agreed, surprised by how miserable the thought made her.
“See you tomorrow?” Howard asked earnestly.
“See you tomorrow,” Laura agreed.
She saw him off at the door and they kissed again. When he had left, she collapsed onto the couch, smiling.
It was at that moment that the telephone rang.
“Hello?” Laura asked, mind still foggy with the wine and the late hour.
“Ms. Howcroft?” The voice on the other side was crisp and alert.
“Yes. What is it?” Laura glanced at the clock. It was one o'clock a.m. She wasn't expected at work before eight o' clock. It couldn't be someone from there.
“I'm Browne, from the police force. We have some serious news about your new employee,” the voice explained.
“Employee?” Laura blinked. “Oh! Mr. Duvall?”
“Yes. If you could come to Bradley Cottage, where he lives, on Drake Street? We have some questions to ask you.”
“What? Why?”
“He's dead.”
CHAPTER THREE
SHOCK
“What?” Laura could not quite believe what she had heard. She was sitting on her sofa in the middle of her cozy cottage, being told the man she spoke to just that morning was dead? It made no sense. “But...how? Why?”
“We cannot answer that at present. And we have some questions to ask you. If you could come as soon as possible?”
“Yes.”
Laura dropped the phone into its cradle, and then ran through to the bathroom. She felt as if she might be sick, but fortunately nothing came up. She walked quickly and mechanically to the front door, still frozen with shock.
At the cottage, Laura's eyes widened at the scene. The front door was open, the garden filled with police. More police were coming out of the house, and there was a police car parked in the lane around the side of the cottage, spilling lazy blue light over the scene. It must be true, she thought. He really is dead. She had almost hoped it was some elaborate prank.
Laura swallowed hard and walked up to the officer with the greatest number of badges – assuming he must be the man who called her.
“Mr. Browne?”
“Yes?” A tall, solidly built man with dark brown hair turned slowly to face her. Laura swallowed. “I'm Police Captain Browne. Can I help you?”
“Laura Howcroft,” she began uncertainly. “You called me earlier?”
“Yes,” the man said. “We need to ask you some questions.”
“What is going on?” Laura asked, feeling frightened.
“Mr. Duvall is dead.”
“Mr. Duvall is...” Laura repeated. She had just heard it, but she had been doing her best to deny it. However, with the officer in front of her, she had to accept that it was true. Nevertheless, her mind simply did not want to do that.
“He died last night. Under suspicious circumstances,” the man explained
gravely.
“He can't be. I saw him this morning!” Her mind was having trouble making sense of it.
“I'm sorry, Ms. Howcroft, but it is true,” the officer said quietly. “And his death was...not an accident.”
“What?” Laura wanted to cry, to sit down...wanted everything except to be here, now, hearing this.
“He was strangled. That much is clear. The...manner of his death...leads us to believe it was connected with his employment. Which was why we telephoned you.”
“I'm sorry? Connected how?” Laura stared at him.
“He was strangled with a pastry cloth.”
“What?”
“Quite,” the officer nodded. “A pastry cloth – the cloth bakers use for rolling dough or pastry. We were as shocked as you were. Now, since you were seen recently with the deceased, we have to ask you several questions. If you don't object?”
“I...” Laura stammered. “Can I sit down? I feel faint...” she reached out for the small wall around the veranda, holding herself steady. She had never fainted, always teasing her grandma for her tendency to black out. Suddenly knew what it felt like.
“Of course,” the man said briskly, and led her to the lane, where there was a small bench. Laura collapsed into it, grateful to be off her feet. The world reeled in front of her.
“I cannot believe this,” she said quietly. “I just employed him yesterday.”
She had not liked the man, far from it. She suspected none of the villagers had either. However, to have someone you have only just met murdered, a few hours later? It was a huge shock.
“Yes,” the police chief said, “we know, his neighbor informed us. Which is why we want to ask you questions. We think his death must have been linked to his job – why else would someone use a pastry cloth? – and in light of that, his employer is the natural place to start.”
“I...” Laura choked. “You mean, you think he was killed because I hired him?” her voice was shrill.
“We cannot say, Ms. Howcroft. Now, if you could kindly tell us, what was the nature of his employment? When was it due to start? To end?”
Laura swallowed hard and did the best she could with the questions, but when he was finished, she felt drained. She could barely stand to leave. She could not stop one thought going round and round her head. Mr. Duvall was dead, and it could be her fault. The police captain had just said so.
A kind police officer helped Laura to her feet, but her legs could not carry her. Two of his fellows walked her to her car, and Laura drove, vision blurred, back home again.
At the door to the cottage, she glanced at her watch. It said seven thirty.
Laura sighed. Her work started at eight. She could not face it – not after a few hours' sleep and a murder accusation. She could not face anything. The only person she wanted to see was Howard. Perhaps Monty as well.
Inside, she sat on the sofa and called Howard. He didn't reply, and she left a message on his voice mail. Then she picked Monty up and sat on the sofa, holding him on her lap, and cried.
“What am I going to do, Monty?” she asked, rocking back and forth.
As she sat there, the warmth of Monty on her knee, she decided something. She had to try and find out what had happened.
Only then will I know if I am really to blame.
She blew her nose resolutely and stood, walking unsteadily through to the bedroom to get a notebook. Finding the real murderer would exonerate her own sense of guilt. Howard could help her, like he had the last time they had to solve a murder. It is strange, but this seems to be becoming a habit.
CHAPTER FOUR
TALKING THROUGH
Howard arrived an hour later. Laura, still on the sofa, heard his voice call worriedly through the thin wood of the door.
“Laura..?”
Laura was trying to recall anything and everything she knew about Mr. Duvall. She slid wearily off the chair and went to the door.
“Laura? I heard your message. What's wrong?” His brown eyes were full of concern. He was wearing his suit from the previous night, his hair tousled with sleep, as if, in his haste he had forgotten to brush it.
Laura, looking into his concerned face, burst into tears.
“Laura! What is it?” he reached out for her, draping an arm around her shoulder and leading her inside.
“Nothing...” she said, hiccuping.
Howard led her to the sofa, and sat with her, holding her hand until the tears stopped.
Laura told him the whole story.
“...And Howard...I think it's my fault!” she finished brokenly. “I hired him...if I hadn't maybe he would still be alive.”
“Laura, no!” Howard said it gently, as he reached out to Laura. He shook his head. “That's ridiculous. You must see how ridiculous it is?” His dark eyes looked into hers, concerned.
“Howard...I could be,” Laura sniffed. “I mean...it might be true he was killed because of the job I offered him...” she trailed off and blew her nose, noisily, on the handkerchief he passed her.
Howard was holding her, rocking her in his arms.
“No, Laura. It wasn't your fault. Whoever killed him, it's their fault. No one else. You didn't tell them to do it, did you? Did you?” He shook her gently, making her look up.
“No...” Laura said shakily.
“Exactly,” he agreed briskly. “So you are to stop blaming yourself.”Laura looked into his eyes – this close, they had gray rings around the irises and the brown in their depths was warm like coffee, fringed with heavy lashes. She felt her soul drowning in them, and looked away quickly. It came to her attention that she was in his arms, and she stiffened. If I hold him, I'll kiss him. If I kiss him, I'll go further. And I still really don't want to complicate my life like that. Not yet.
She gently drew back from him, trying to extricate herself from his hug. He softened his grip on her, though his arm stayed around her shoulders.
“I know I should stop the self-blame,” Laura agreed sadly, “but I can't help it. Someone wanted the job he got, and so they killed him. It seems so clear to me.”
Howard snorted. “If someone was insanely jealous enough of him to begrudge him a small job at the hotel, then they have a problem. Not you.”
Laura sniffed and nodded. It made sense. She was being silly.
He stroked her hair. She felt her whole body tingle through the contact. This close, she could smell the aftershave he used – Brut, she thought – and the musk of his body. Something about it set her heart racing. She forced herself to stiffen up and moved slowly away. The last thing I want, she thought to herself firmly, is to get too involved. After Ron and all the chaos he caused in my life, I just want to be alone again.
Howard felt her move and cleared his throat, letting his arms drop suddenly.
“I'm sorry,” he said quietly. “I was just worried...” his voice trailed off.
“Thank you, Howard. But I'm fine,” Laura said in a small voice, trying to smile. She stood and walked to the kitchen to splash her face. She drank some water, gulping it down and enjoying the chill freshness of it. It settled her nerves somewhat.
“You're not. You're in shock,” Howard said softly, following her in. “And I'm not surprised. So would I be. Being woken at seven a.m. with news about a murder would shock anyone.”
“I'll manage,” Laura said determinedly, and felt her legs wobble under her. “Why am I so tired all of a sudden?”
“Symptom of shock,” he said succinctly. “I hope you're taking the day off work?”
“Mm,” Laura nodded, and finished the glass of water. “I need to decide what to do.”
“Do?”
“Howard, a man I hired is dead!” her nerves frayed as she tried to explain her terror. “You don't really think I'm going to sit back and ignore it? I need to find out more! I need to know who did it. Or how can I stop blaming myself?”
Laura ran out of words, exhausted.
“Laura...” Howard sighed. “The police are hand
ling it. You don't have any responsibility to do this!”
He sounded desperate, and Laura wept for him, all the while knowing she could not change her mind.
“I can't walk away from this,” Laura said gently. “I have to find out who did it. And I can. You know I can. We did so well with that murder at the hotel those months ago!”
“I know,” Howard sighed, running a hand through his hair. “And I will help you, whatever you need to do. But I do feel you're being unfair to yourself, expecting yourself to do this.”
Laura looked at him tiredly.
“I will be fine, Howard,” she said gently. She hardly ever used his name, and he blinked at her, surprised.
“I know, Laura,” he said softly. “I know you'll be fine.”
He leaned forward and she leaned forward. Their lips met, and the hardness and warmth of his mouth on hers had an urgency it did not usually have. His lips were damp and tasted of toothpaste and they caressed hers, making her body vibrate. I don't want this, Laura thought hazily through the fireworks display in her head. But I do.
Just as she was about to surrender, he sat back, panting. It was clear on his face that he made as much effort as she did to avoid taking this any further. She was touched that he did so, though a small part of her wished he had not.
“Play safe, huh?” he said gently. He stroked her cheek with a tenderness that made her heart ache.
“You know me,” Laura grinned weakly.
Howard made his best shock-and-horror face, and Laura giggled. “I do,” he said. “Which is what bothers me.”
“Oh, you!” Laura teased, pulling a face at him. “Now,” she added briskly. “I know you have to go to work, but I need to ask you what you know about the case.”
“Fine,” Howard agreed, and reached to pour a coffee. “I can promise that.”
As he sat down, his mobile rang.
“Yes...yes. I will. Yes, right away.”
He hung up and then frowned at Laura.
“Who..?”
“Doctor Price. He's at the site now. He asked me to go down there to help.” Doctor Price was the village doctor, now semi-retired and sharing the practice which Howard had taken over last year.
