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

by Carrie Marsh

  “Friday,” she promised Janet. “We can meet on Friday afternoon after work to finalize our recipe.”

  “But Laura,” Janet began protesting, “That's the day before! We'll never have time...”

  “Okay,” Laura sighed. “Make your recipe tonight and I'll make mine, and we'll taste the work and discuss it tomorrow morning. Then we can meet tomorrow afternoon to finalize things. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Janet agreed, though she still didn't look happy.

  “We'll make tomorrow afternoon a tasting party,” Laura promised. “I'll make a starter, and you can bring the wine.”

  “Yes!” Janet enthused. “And I might as well ask you what I should wear on Saturday, too, while we're at it. I have some ideas I'd like to get an opinion about...”

  Laura smiled. “Great!”

  They talked a while and, when they were done, Laura felt much better. At least she was not neglecting her friendships too much. Moreover, she was seeing Howard that evening.

  “Oh, no,” Laura sighed. How she was going to practice a batch of quiches when Howard was there, she was not quite sure. She'd have to combine both things. That would be no bother – she could make quiche for their dinner too.

  She had just finished texting that to Howard, when the lunch guests started to arrive. At the head of them was Mr. Merrick, wearing a dark suit and looking quite posh. Laura nodded, seeing what Janet meant. He was good-looking, in a suave and slightly insincere way.

  I have some questions to ask him, Laura thought, swallowing.

  “Mr. Merrick!”

  “Mm?” he asked, inclining his head graciously.

  “The pastry competition is being organized properly?” she asked, fetching his menu as a pretext to talk to him.

  “Yes, thank you...Laura?”

  “Yes.” Laura confirmed her name, and then continued, “The winner will get quite a lucky break, I think.”

  “Thank you,” Mr. Merrick said. “I am glad to hear you consider my humble hotel a good career move.”

  Laura grinned. “Humble?”

  “Oh, the Hereford on the Rocks is no fancy place, is it?”

  Laura swallowed hard. It was fancy. She had driven past it once, in Cliftonville. A multistory building from the early twentieth century, commanding a beautiful coastal view, with a wide terrace and marble entrance hall, it was very fancy indeed.

  “Maybe,” she said weakly.

  He laughed. “I'll have the herring for main, and the mushroom soup as a starter. Thanks.”

  Laura wrote down the order, and handed it through to the kitchen. Then she went back to her desk, feeling bemused.

  Now I know why Mr. Priestly is so hostile about all this, she thought. The prize for this competition is huge. I can imagine a village bakery owner killing for that.

  She sat down with her notebook, keeping an eye on the dining room, while trying to think about the case.

  Every new piece of information made things more confusing. Fighting for calm, Laura reached for her pencil and notebook and wrote some lines.

  Motives:

  1)The competition has a hefty prize. Would someone kill for it?

  2)Mr. Priestly and Mr. Duvall may have been rivals. Was it bad enough to kill for?

  3)What about the franchiser? Would Mr. Rawlinson have killed to be chosen for the Halston Bakery franchise?

  She leaned back and sighed. This was all so confusing! Why was the whole village going wild about pastry? Where would all these clues end?

  “I need a strategy,” she decided.

  A customer arrived, asking where his table was. She showed him to it, and returned to her desk.

  The interruption had cleared her thoughts. On the sheet next to the list of motives, she made a new list.

  Strategy:

  1)Find out about the Hereford on the Rocks. Would someone kill for that prize?

  2)Find out about the relationship between Mr. Duvall and Mr. Priestly.

  3)Find out more about the franchise, and Mr. Rawlinson.

  As she wrote down the strategy, she discovered a plan of how to do it. She didn't have to investigate each possibility by herself. Janet can find out about the hotel from Mr. Merrick, she thought, grinning. Mrs. Robbins, the neighbor, would probably know all about Mr. Rawlinson and Mr. Duvall. That leaves me to find out about Mr. Priestly.

  Laura swallowed hard. Mr. Priestly terrified her. The way he had talked to her last time she saw him had intimidated her so much, she could barely bear the thought of going near him again.

  Perhaps I don't need to go alone, she decided. Perhaps I could ask Howard.

  She smiled. Howard would help. Then she remembered she already needed to ask Howard for his help with another, unrelated problem. The woman in the neglected cottage. That was more important.

  “Mr. Duvall can't get any more dead,” Laura said under her breath. It was true. It was time to focus on the living. The lady in the cottage was ill. It was more important to save a life than to avenge a death.

  “And,” Laura sighed, “If it's all about pastry, it seems unlikely that we have a serial killer in our midst.”

  It was settled. Janet would take care of Mr. Merrick and his involvement. Mrs. Robbins could cover the franchising. Laura herself would tackle Mr. Priestly. She needed Howard to help with something else.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  DINNER DATE

  Laura was driving back from the hotel in the sleety rain when the phone rang. She pulled off the dark and slippery road and onto a small patch of grass. The frustration of having to pull over, combined with the exhaustion of the day, was just too much and it upset her.

  “Hello?” she said abruptly, feeling stressed.

  “Laura?” A friendly voice, warm and slightly confused, answered her reply.

  “Oh! Howard!” Laura replied shyly. “Sorry. I was in traffic. What's happening?”

  “I just got a substantial payment from a private patient,” Howard smiled, “and I wanted to ask if you would go to dinner with me?”

  “Oh!” Laura swallowed, surprised and delighted. “I'd love that, Howard. What time would you want to leave?” she added, looking out at the rain and the route home, lost in fog.

  “At about nine?” Howard asked.

  Laura glanced at the clock. It was eight-thirty.

  “Oh!” she said. “That is...possible.”

  “Great!” Howard enthused. “I'll come by and pick you up.”

  “Great,” Laura agreed. “See you soon.”

  “Bye.”

  Laura hung up, feeling dazed, and then pressed her foot on the pedal. I have half an hour to find my way home, shower, dress, do my hair, my makeup...oh, bother!

  She tried to find something negative about this unexpected surprise, but could not wipe the grin off her face.

  She remembered she was supposed to meet with Janet and pulled over abruptly, skidding slightly on the wet road.

  She called Janet, who accepted her apologies on the strict requirement that Laura finish their trial run of baked goods the next morning. Laura agreed, feeling lighthearted.

  She reached her home in six minutes, the major advantage of living in a small village, and ran in over the threshold.

  “Hello!”

  Hello, Monty said. You sound happy.

  “I am,” Laura sang out, running to the bedroom to put down her handbag and take off her rain dampened work clothes. “I'm going out...”

  That's nice, Monty said smugly. I can invite Keillor over, and we can finish all the biscuits.

  Laura shook her head at him bemusedly and ran to the shower.

  Twenty minutes later, she was standing in front of her bedroom mirror, assessing the green dress she wore.

  “Is it right?” she asked herself critically.

  The mirror showed her a woman of middle height, with bright blonde hair arranged in a loose up do, and wide blue eyes, outlined with mascara. She looked, she thought, rather pretty. The loose forest green jersey fa
bric draped her petite body, and gave her a look that was alluring and demure at once. Paired with dark brown heels, the outfit was sophisticated without being dressy.

  “Not too bad.”

  The doorbell rang.

  “Oh, goodness! That's him...”

  Laura sprayed her perfume on herself and ran to open the door.

  “Hello..?”

  “Laura!”

  Howard sounded amazed. He stood back, looking at her. Laura felt her cheeks blush red.

  “Yes?” she asked demurely.

  “You look...amazing!”

  Laura swallowed, feeling her whole body catch fire at his compliment. She looked at his smiling, handsome face and blushed.

  “Thank you,” she said primly. “You are looking rather nice yourself, actually.”

  He was. Dressed in a dark suit, with his brown hair combed and freshly showered, his shirt collar stiff and his cuffs crisp, he looked elegant in a way she had not seen before.

  “Thank you,” he said shyly.

  He stepped aside and she walked down the step, trying not to slip on the rain wet ground. Howard reached for his umbrella, annoyed when he discovered the wind had turned it inside out.

  “We'll have to run for it,” he said, rueful. “Ready..?”

  “Whee!”

  They ran headlong through the rain, and Howard opened her door and then collapsed in beside her. They were giggling breathlessly, already having fun.

  Howard drove them out of town to the hotel he had booked.

  “Oh, my...” Laura felt quite intimidated by the posh building.

  “It's nothing special,” Howard demurred. “Just the least I could find to be worthy of you.”

  Laura swallowed hard. “Howard...”

  “What?”

  “You're too sweet to me,” she whispered, as he walked with her up the steps.

  “Nonsense,” he said lightly, and they both laughed.

  Dinner was as excellent as the outside of the hotel made it seem, and the wine was excellent as well.

  Leaning back in her chair after dessert, Laura looked up at the ceiling and sighed.

  “So,” she asked, “any new and interesting cases?”

  “No,” Howard smiled. “Nothing too exciting on my week's planner. Though,” he said thoughtfully, “I have just had another interesting contact with the police.”

  “Oh?” Laura asked, tipping her chair forward again, instantly alert.

  “I heard from Captain Browne today,” he began, and chuckled dryly at Laura's eye-rolling response. “He's not too bad,” he demurred.

  “That remains to be judged,” Laura said archly. “Well?”

  “He said he had received some further tests on the blood samples. Apparently, they show that antidepressants weren't the only thing in his blood. He had quite a high level of barbiturates as well. They would have made him pretty sleepy and disorientated at the time of his death.”

  “Oh,” Laura said in a small voice. “Do you think someone gave them to him deliberately?”

  “I don't know,” Howard said. “He could have been taking them as medicine – though they aren't in much use these days, some medicines for migraines or cluster headaches still contain barbiturates.”

  “Did Mr. Duvall get migraines?”

  “I don't know,” Howard admitted. “I wasn't his doctor. He used to go to Price when he needed anything, which wasn't often.” Dr. Price was the only other doctor in the village, and was semi-retired. Some of the long-standing village residents still preferred to visit him, though it was a surprise to learn that Mr. Duvall did – he had only been living there for five years.

  “Oh,” Laura said. “We'd better ask him, then.”

  “I'll do that,” Howard promised. “Now, Miss Howcroft,” he said teasingly, “you are to relax and enjoy the view of the night sky. No more work for today. I am prescribing rest.”

  Laura giggled, and reached across the table unconsciously, taking his hand.

  “Yes, Dr. Lucas.”

  He looked across the table at her, and his hand moved in hers. Very gently, he clasped her hand, stroking the fingers with his own. His gaze was wide and tender, as if he had never seen anyone as beautiful as her.

  Laura swallowed hard, trying to slow the fires that raced through her at his gaze and touch on her body.

  “Howard,” she said in a small voice. Her fingers clasped his, and then let go.

  “What?”

  He was smiling at her, gently. His dark eyes were serious.

  “I...” Laura paused, running out of words. She wanted to say so many things: I am not ready for this, I don't know how I feel about you, I am still recovering from my past relationships...None of it passed her lips. “I love our chats,” she said instead, and blinked, as if her lips were traitors to her mind, revealing her secrets unbidden.

  Howard looked down and cleared his throat. “I love them too,” he said in a voice thick with feeling.

  Laura felt rooted to the spot. It was a momentous connection and she did not want to move, or blink, or do anything that would break it.

  “We should go,” Howard said gently.

  “Yes,” Laura agreed, her voice quiet. “I suppose we should.”

  “It's late,” Howard sighed. “And I have work tomorrow. You too.”

  “Yes.” Neither of them wanted to end the evening.

  They called the waiter over, and Howard paid, gallantly shielding the bill from Laura's eyes, a pantomime which made her laugh.

  “I know my meal cost twenty pounds,” she teased him. “I saw it on the menu.”

  “I am betrayed,” Howard said, dramatically. “All my subterfuge is brought to nothing!”

  Laura giggled, and together they left the restaurant.

  Out in the parking lot, the rain sparkling like a thousand diamonds on every surface, the wind whispering over the cold ground, they kissed.

  Laura felt her heart soar, taking flight under his touch, his closeness, his lips warm on hers.

  They drove back to her house in silence, and she slid out of the seat, feeling almost awed. It had been a magical evening.

  “Goodbye!” She waved to him from the step.

  “Goodbye.”

  Laura walked in over the threshold of the cottage, humming the waltz that had been playing at the restaurant.

  Hello.

  “Hello!” Laura greeted Monty, delightedly. “It was an amazing evening...”

  Good, Monty said, and padded off to her bedroom.

  Laura stayed where she was, sitting on the rug in the sitting room, looking up at the ceiling as she recalled the evening, word for word.

  She had experienced more love and fun than she had in years. She also had a new clue.

  Barbiturates.

  Laura chuckled at herself, and walked off to the bathroom. “I have been prescribed a course of rest,” she remembered, smiling warmly. “I should take it seriously, just this once.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  ELUSIVE CLUES

  “Barbiturates,” Laura said to herself as she typed.

  “Sorry?” An old man peered down at her from over the counter, looking concerned.

  “Oh, sorry, Captain Radlet. Nothing serious.”

  “Right-o, lass,” the old man nodded, and walked through to the dining room.

  Laura sighed and stretched her aching back. She had not realized how late it was. It was already lunchtime.

  She looked at the notes she had made. She had not found out much more than Howard had told her already. Barbiturates were sedative and analgesic, and were rarely used nowadays, except in tablets for migraines.

  “So,” Laura said, standing to take a menu to the newly arrived customers at table twelve, “either Mr. Duvall used to get migraines, or whoever gave them to him did.”

  Howard would doubtless remember to ask his colleague about Mr. Duvall’s health. As soon as he got back to her about it, Laura would start investigating. The barbiturates could be an
important clue, especially if Mr. Duvall was not known to take them.

  “Miss?”

  “Yes?” Laura blinked and looked up at the young police officer standing at her desk.

  “You wouldn't know if Mr. Merrick is here, would you?”

  “I expect he's coming down for lunch any minute,” Laura confirmed. Why would the police want to speak with him?

  “Oh,” the man looked relieved. “I was supposed to meet with him – about the security for the competition.”

  “Oh,” Laura felt relieved. At least the hotel wasn't full of suspects as well as the village! She wasn't sure she could take that. “That sounds like it should be relaxing,” she said conversationally.

  “That's true,” he said, smiling. “Especially when you compare it to all this murder business. Captain Browne from Broadstairs, he's not leaving one stone unturned...”

  “Oh?” Laura was interested. “He's been keeping everyone busy, then?”

  “Aye!” the man said, sounding upset. “He had Bert and me combing the street outside for cigarette ends, would you believe it!”

  “Cigarette ends?” Laura was mystified.

  “Aye. Apparently there was cigarette smoke in the hair of the victim, so our Browne decided whoever had been there before his death was a smoker. No nicotine in the blood, see?” he explained. “So we're searching for cigarette ends...he says he can take DNA samples from them. Sounds just like something in CSI Miami,” he said laconically.

  Laura laughed.

  “Indeed! So I hope you enjoy a break and a nice lunch,” she added, noticing Mr. Merrick's broad-shouldered outline walking briskly across the hallway to the door.

  “Thanks, Miss. You too,” the policeman offered, and turned to face the newcomer. “Mr. Merrick?”

  “Nigel,” Mr. Merrick demurred. “Good to meet you.”

  “Officer Pricewell,” the man introduced himself. He winked at Laura as the two men walked to their reserved table. She smiled back.