Cooking With The Dead (A Millerfield Village Cozy Murder Mysteries Series 2)

by Carrie Marsh

  Lunch break rolled around eventually, and Laura hopped into the ageing Renault and made her way into the center of the small village.

  The countryside slid past her window as she drove through the fields and past the thatched cottages. The drive was short, and soon she was pulling up at her destination.

  The sun was shining on the wet surface of the pavement, reflecting off the puddles and turning them golden. Laura breathed in deeply, trying to calm her nerves with the sweet scent of the rain on the wet road.

  She glanced across at the cottage. It was exactly as it had been two days ago – the door was open, and policemen were coming in and out. As she watched, an officer came out with a radio, said something urgent into it and went back inside the building. The garden was cordoned off, and there were two police cars in the street.

  Laura swallowed hard. She felt small, and a little silly, walking up to all this intense activity. She had no real reason for investigating this murder except for her own sense of obligation. Why would they listen to her?

  “You have as much right to be here as anybody else, Laura Howcroft,” she told herself unsteadily. “They have probably been talking to everyone in the village about this, so why not you?”

  Feeling slightly reassured, Laura walked up the steps.

  “Sorry, Miss, you can't come in here,” an officer explained as she neared the door. “Restricted access. Police personnel only.”

  Laura swallowed. “I didn't want to go in,” she explained quietly, “I only wanted to find a police officer. I think I might have information to share in connection with this case.”

  “What's that, Nige?” a tall man with brown hair called on his way past into the house.

  “This lady here says she has some information regarding the case,” the officer explained. His manner towards the man was deferential, and Laura wondered who he was. Looking closely at him, she recognized him as the police chief from the day before – the one who had discussed the case with her. She felt a slight twinge of misgiving – she had not liked him, though she could not have put a finger on why. He seemed callous, and she was not sure she wanted to talk to him.

  “Well,” he said, looking down at Laura from his greater height, “let's have it, then.”

  Laura blinked. This was not how she had imagined producing her ideas – the cold, commanding way he asked her to spit out her information here on the front steps of the building was offensive and intimidating.

  “I had wanted to...” she trailed off hesitantly, “...talk more privately?”

  “No reason Nige can't hear it,” the man shrugged. “But clear off, Nige, if you have to?”

  “Yes, sir,” the man said, and saluted and walked briskly off across the lawn.

  “Okay,” the man said, turning to Laura. “Let's hear it, then.”

  “I was in Beaverton's café, yesterday,” Laura began, looking down at her hands, “and I heard from the waitress that Mr. Priestly, the owner, was in Canterbury at the time of the murder. Since he seems a likely suspect, I think perhaps you should investigate his claims...”

  “What?” the man interrupted, and looked at Laura as if she had sprouted an extra head. “Why do you think he is a “likely suspect”? The man lives miles away!”

  Laura stared at him. She felt as if she had been slapped.

  “I think he's a likely suspect because...” she trailed off, her brain too in shock to think straight. “He's the only baker within a five mile radius, and...”

  “A baker!” The man said loudly, and chuckled. “And why are we suspecting the bakers in a five-mile radius, pray tell?”

  He was mocking her, and Laura felt her skin crawl, anger and humiliation warring inside her.

  “I think because why else would they have chosen to strangle him with a pastry cloth? It seems significant, is all,” Laura said firmly.

  The man paused a moment, seeming to consider the idea, then shook his head. “I don’t know,” he sighed. “I mean, have you considered his family members, friends, relatives? What would be the motive for this unknown baker to suddenly kill him? It makes no sense.” He chuckled. “It's a pretty theory, but I'm too busy to spend time on this. Tell Nigel Verne to show you off site, and mind you don't tread on any important evidence.”

  Laura swallowed, feeling a lump well up in her throat. It was not sadness, but humiliation and anger. She felt so stupid, so dismissed. She had not felt like this since she was five years old and couldn't tie her shoelace. Yet, she was sure she was not stupid and illogical like he suggested.

  Blinded with angry tears, she walked down the steps, nodding briskly to the officer who had met her on the way in. She thought she heard someone chuckle from the veranda, but she did not turn.

  She climbed into her car and, only as she drove back to the hotel, did she remember what Howard had said. She knew far more about the local population and the village dynamic than Captain Browne from Broadstairs.

  She felt the tears flow, then – crying because she had allowed herself to be so belittled.

  “I'm not stupid,” she told her reflection in the rear view mirror as she drove into the hotel parking lot. “I'm not wrong. And I will continue to investigate this case.”

  Braced against her stiff resolve, she climbed out of the car and walked briskly into the hotel.

  She had a job to do and a case to investigate. However, she would do it alone.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  COOKING CONTEST

  Back at the hotel, Laura found herself moving in top gear with her investigations. The hotel was fairly quiet, and she had time to devote to her investigations.

  “Albion Priestly, owner of Beaverton's...”

  Laura frowned at the screen, talking out loud as she typed. She was online at work, trying to find out more about her chief suspect during a moment's lull. She was sure she would be able to find out fairly easily if the aunt in Canterbury actually existed. Because if he was lying...

  “Laura!”

  Laura shut her eyes. “Yes, Janet?”

  “I'm so excited! I have some good news...”

  Laura resignedly minimized the window on her screen and looked up at Janet's eager smile. It was not, she reflected, that she did not like Janet – far from it – but she was right in the middle of something really important and she didn't really want to be interrupted.

  “What's the news?” Laura asked brightly.

  “It's a competition!” Janet announced eagerly. “Here, at the hotel!”

  “Mm? That sounds interesting...” Laura asked, writing down the details of a restaurant booking as she listened. “Can we enter? What do we do?”

  “It's a baking competition!” Janet said brightly. “We'd have to make pastries or something to enter...can you do the baking?”

  Laura stared at her. “A pastry baking contest?”

  “Yes!” Janet replied. “Why?”

  “Well...” Laura cleared her throat. Well, just before a competition, the best pastry chef in the village is killed? Isn't that weird? She felt a shiver down her spine, but kept her face neutral.

  “I think there's an amateur section...we could enter!” Janet said happily. “We could always ask Nigel...” she put her head on one side coyly.

  “Nigel?” Laura asked, interested. Janet's love interests were always intriguing.

  “Oh, you haven't seen him?” Janet asked, “Nigel Merrick, of course! The tall, good-looking...” she trailed off. “Oh, hello!”

  “Good morning,” Mr. Merrick said, appearing in the dining room just behind them. “Is the place open for coffee still?”

  “Coffee's from breakfast time 'till ten, Mr. Merrick,” Laura explained. “But there's a machine in the hallway if you want some.”

  “Oh. Thanks,” he said, smiling, and wandered out.

  “Oh, come on, Laura! Isn't he hot?” Janet asked, in a loud whisper, wide-eyed.

  Laura nodded. “Maybe,” she conceded, “if you're into tall, dark-haired men...”


  Janet laughed. “How can you not be? And I think he's rich, too...”

  “Jolly good,” Laura .

  They both laughed.

  “So, Laura,” Janet asked, “are you going to enter? I'd love for us to make a team...”

  “I'll have to think about it,” Laura cautioned, “but I don't see why not,” she added, as Janet looked at her in disappointment.

  “Hurrah!” Janet grinned. “See you after work at the Saddler's for a drink?”

  “Okay,” Laura agreed, smiling, “that sounds nice.” She was not averse to the odd pint of ale, and the village pub was cozy and pleasant. Besides, Janet's company was always pleasant

  “It does!” Janet agreed briskly, and, waving airily, went through to the reception office.

  When she had gone, Laura sat quietly for a while.

  There's a competition in this village. For making pastry. And our chief pastry chef is killed? That is odd. That can't be a coincidence.

  She leaned back, thinking.

  Who would benefit the most from this death? I need to find out from Mr. Merrick who has entered. One of the entrants must be our culprit, surely? As she thought about it, she remembered who she had seen recently, talking to Nigel Merrick.

  The owner of Beaverton's.

  “Everything keeps pointing to the possibility that it's him,” Laura mused. Who else had a motive? Who else would know Mr. Duvall that well? Moreover, who else would even know what a pastry cloth was? She felt reassured. She was, it seemed, not illogical after all. She turned back to her work, revitalized, and called up her previous search, trying to find out as much as she could about Albion Priestly. Suspect number one.

  She looked, in vain, for information but, besides a website for the bakery, there was no information regarding Albion Priestly whatsoever, no Facebook account, no social media anything – not even a Google Plus account.

  “Ack,” Laura said after an hour of searching, running a tired hand across her forehead. It was dark outside, and supper service was about to start. She was exhausted and looking forward to returning home. She had done a lot of investigation in one day. It seemed that, besides a footnote on his website mentioning his name, Albion Priestly simply did not exist.

  CHAPTER NINE

  DISCOVERIES OF ANOTHER KIND

  “Monty!”

  Laura called to Monty as she walked in to her house at ten o' clock that evening. She had had a drink with Janet, but decided to leave early. She was tired after the long day.

  There you are! Monty thought to her, rather urgently. I was worried. And there was someone looking for you, earlier.

  “There was?” Laura asked, walking briskly through to the kitchen to put Monty's supper in his bowl. “I'm sorry I'm late,” she added, ruffling the fur around his neck as she bent to put the bowl in its usual place.

  I had the biscuits you left out earlier, Monty replied, though Laura noticed he ate the meat in his bowl with unusual relish. So I didn't exactly starve.

  “Good,” Laura agreed, and reached for a pot to start preparing her supper. “And you said there was someone looking for me?”

  Yes, Monty agreed, finishing his supper, he was here an hour ago and left, but I think he's back, now.

  Laura turned just as someone knocked at the door.

  “How did you..?”

  Car door, footsteps, breath...same as last time, Monty said happily, and went off to the bedroom.

  Laura went to the door and looked out through the narrow window beside it, just to check. The view showed her a tall man, with dark hair. It was too dark to see anything else, but she was fairly sure she recognized him.

  “Howard?”

  “Laura,” he agreed, and she opened the door quickly.

  “Hello, Howard,” Laura smiled, suddenly energized. “This is a surprise!”

  “Hi,” he agreed, smiling tiredly. He hung up his coat and sat down on the couch. He looked exhausted.

  “Hard day?”

  “Yes,” Howard agreed. “Sorry to disturb you this late, but I thought you might want to hear the news.”

  “Yes,” Laura agreed, and took the chair opposite him. “I'm sure I will. Is it...”

  “It's about the chef, yes,” Howard agreed. “I went to the police, to find out about the blood tests – said that since he was my patient, I'd like to have a look. They showed me the results.”

  “And?”

  “Nothing much to see, actually. It's clear he died of strangulation – blood CO2 at the time of his death was quite high. Poor man,” he added, shaking his head. “Horrible way to go.”

  “Yes,” Laura agreed softly.

  “Well,” Howard sighed. “Nothing else stood out. He seems to have been healthy, anyhow. There was nothing strange to see in his blood at all. He'd had a glass of wine, perhaps. Nothing odd there. It might have made him a little less inclined to fight, but wouldn't have incapacitated him. Only odd chemical in the bloods were antidepressants. Seems he was taking strong ones, regularly. I didn't prescribe them, but then again, I only started here five years ago.”

  “So he was on these antidepressants for a long time?”

  “Seems to have been,” Howard conceded. “That's not too odd, though. Lots of people take them for that long.”

  “You're right,” Laura agreed. “He was depressed, that is all we can conclude from that.”

  They sat silently for a while, each lost in thought.

  “Oh, no,” Laura said, jumping up. “Pasta...”

  They ran to the kitchen to rescue the supper, which was boiling over in the pan. Laughing, they drained it and exclaimed over the ruined pasta shells.

  “Would you like to stay for dinner?” Laura asked, eyebrow raised. “I mean, there's enough...” she looked down at the colander and her voice wavered away. She didn't want to start anything serious with him, but she loved his company, and an invitation to supper was innocent enough, surely?

  “It looks good,” Howard said mildly. “I'm in.”

  Laura smiled. “Good,” she said, surprised. “And we can make a good sauce for that. I have tomatoes, and basil, and peppers and...”

  Together, they redeemed the pasta and settled down to eat.

  “Laura,” Howard said slowly, when they had finished the meal, “I wanted to ask you...”

  “Yes?”

  “I think it would be good if you...got away for a while.” He cleared his throat. “I'm going to Canterbury this weekend, and I wanted to ask...If you would like to come with me.”

  Laura stared. They had never discussed a trip together before. Had never done more than eat supper together. What he was saying now was moving their relationship to another place, and he knew it. He had been so hesitant to ask her...she sighed, touched by how he respected her need for time. She did need time. She was still recovering from a difficult relationship, and did not want to commit to anything just then.

  “Oh, Howard...” she said quietly.

  “Is that a yes?” he asked hopefully. “I mean, I won't impose on you. We can travel separately, if you wanted...I just want to see you. And I think we should get away for a while. Both of us.” His eyes were kindled with hope and care, and Laura swallowed hard.

  “Howard,” she said again, gently, and took his hands in hers. His hand was warm, and she stroked the strong fingers, loving the warmth and sureness of them. “I would love to come with you...”

  “But?”

  “But I can't,” Laura said wretchedly. “I have to work this weekend, and Janet needs my help with the dining room renovations, and...I don't want to leave town until I have made some progress with solving this murder!” It was not just the work, she thought privately, but that was the main issue.

  Howard took her hands in his. They were, indeed, warm and strong, and Laura closed her eyes, letting her thumbs rub the calloused palms.

  “That's good,” Howard said gently. “I mean, it's good that you take your commitments seriously. Laura, I respect you for it. If you weren't p
rioritizing this, you wouldn't be Laura. And then you wouldn't be my friend.”

  Laura held his hands and felt very strongly that her heart might break.

  “Howard,” she said gently. “Oh, Howard.” Her eyes were damp with tears.

  They kissed.

  When he had gone, Laura was not sure if she wanted to laugh or cry.

  “I do think, Howard Lucas,” she said aloud, and to herself, “that I am in love with you.”

  It was so difficult. She had already decided that she needed a long break after Ron and all the devastation he had wreaked in her life, but she had never, ever felt this way about Ron, or anyone else for that matter. She just loved talking to Howard, being near him, chatting, sharing ideas and space, and generally just being around him.

  “This is love, isn't it?” she said to herself, and answered her own question. “I think it is.”

  Only Monty heard her, if he was awake – but it was good to say it, all the same.

  CHAPTER TEN

  IMPORTANT INFORMATION

  The next morning Laura woke to a warm bed and Monty, sleeping on her pillow. The sun was just rising, shining golden over the hills that she could see beyond her window.

  She went into the kitchen to make breakfast, still lost in a dreamy haze after the night before. Fragments of conversation played around her head and she recalled them all, enjoying the memories.

  She made tea and a plate of scrambled eggs and, as she ate, she thought through her plans for the day. Finding out more about Mr. Priestly, her chief suspect, was at the top of the list.

  “It is strange that there was virtually no trace of him online,” she said aloud, reaching for her cup of tea. Or was it? He had no children or younger family members that anyone knew about, which was one of the main reasons the villagers tended to go digital – to keep in touch with their internet-using loved ones.