by Carrie Marsh
When he had gone, Laura leaned back, contemplating the ceiling. She could not help but be a little amused. She was busy following leads, and he was looking for cigarette ends.
“It might work,” she conceded. Now she had yet another piece of evidence, collected without even having to think much about it.
“We know whoever was there before his death is a smoker.”
She noted it down in her notebook thoughtfully. The murderer was someone who smoked, who had probably had a drink with Mr. Duvall, and who might be taking barbiturates.
“Well,” Laura sighed, “you'd think a character like that would stand out, wouldn't you?”
There weren't too many drinking, smoking, possibly barbiturate-abusing people in a small village, were there?
Laura grinned to herself, realizing how quickly she had adopted the village mentality. The fact that everyone knew everyone had become, well, a fact.
“This village is growing on me,” Laura sighed. She was, whether she liked it or not, being drawn in to the life of the village.
“Laura?”
“Mm?” Laura looked up as Janet appeared at her desk, bearing something on a saucer.
“Sample,” Janet said succinctly. “Of the danish for the baking contest.”
“Oh!” Laura was surprised and pleased. “Thank you, Jay.”
“Not at all,” Janet demurred. “I want a return sample of your quiches, mind,” she added, laughing. “I still haven't forgotten how nice they were.”
“Thank you,” Laura said again, and Janet waved at her over her shoulder as she walked through to reception.
As Laura bit into the warm, slightly sticky confection, she realized that yes, she was actually starting to like being drawn into village life.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
ON TRACK
Laura drove home late that evening, the sky velvety black and studded with stars, the road mercifully dry and empty of traffic.
The cottage was warm, especially compared to outside, and Laura collapsed into her chair. She was surprised at how contented she actually felt. She was working hard, and investigating a murder at the same time, and yet she felt a sense of deep happiness she had never felt before.
She sipped her tea and blew on it to cool it, grinning across at Monty, who was curled up on the sofa.
As she reached for the daily paper and its crossword puzzles, she heard her mobile.
“Oh, bother,” she said, blinking mildly at the disruption. She fished the phone out of her handbag, smiling as she read the identity of the call.
“Hello,” she said archly to Howard.
“Hi, Laura,” he said. He sounded tired. “I just got back from work. Can I come round?” Through the tiredness, she could hear an urgency and excitement in his voice. Clearly he had something important to report.
“Of course!” she agreed. “I have some homemade cookies, if you like.”
“That sounds good,” he said, and she could hear him smile. It was a sound that made her heart race. “I'll be there in ten minutes.”
“Great,” Laura agreed, and hung up.
Ten minutes later, he was taking his coat off in the hall. He looked weary and Laura went through to the kitchen to make a stiff cup of tea.
“I had a long day today,” he explained, running a hand across his forehead. “These are nice,” he added, pointing to the tray on which Laura had arranged some of her latest baking.
“Thank you,” Laura smiled. “They are.”
She bit into one, crunching on the crumbly oatmeal as she listened to his tales from work.
“...and,” he added, “I did actually have the opportunity to talk to Price. About our...discovery about the blood barbiturate levels.”
Laura was pleased to hear that it was a co-discovery, and dimpled prettily.
“He told you something interesting?”
Howard's face was stiff. “Mr. Duvall didn't use barbiturates. Not at all. He had never had them prescribed, ever.”
“Oh,” Laura said. She thought that looked sinister. If he hadn't been prescribed them, who had been? Also, who had given them to him?
“Quite,” Howard agreed, finishing a second biscuit.
“You think maybe...”
“I can't say yet,” Howard demurred. “It does look, though, like someone might have gotten them into him to make him drowsy.”
“Could they have dosed him without his knowing?” Laura asked.
“I don't know,” Howard admitted. “It seems unlikely. I mean, those things have a pretty horrid taste, so dissolving them in his coffee probably wouldn't go undetected,” he gave a hollow laugh.
“Oh,” Laura said, looking down at her hands, thinking.
“I don't know if there would be a way to conceal them in something he ate,” Howard mused. “I mean, if you slid the tablets into something nutty, probably someone would crunch through a few before they noticed...” he sighed, letting his voice trail off. “I'm just guessing,” he added wearily.
“You mean, a baker might know how to hide them undetected and dose someone that way?” Laura persisted.
“I suppose,” said Howard slowly. “You mean...”
“I mean,” Laura said, “that it still points right back to where everything else is pointing. This had to have been done by someone in the same trade. And it does make sense: Who else has a reason to kill him?”
Howard sat still for a while, and then nodded slowly. “I agree,” he said. “I don't know if I'm just tired, or if this all makes terrible sense, but I have to agree with you. That's how it seems.”
Laura sighed, and drained her tea.
Because now it seemed their list of suspects had only three names on it.
Albion Priestly, Mark Halston and Rod Rawlinson.
Laura just had to find out which.
“Howard,” she asked slowly.
Howard lifted his head from where he had been lying and looked at her drowsily. “Yes?”
“Could we find out who takes barbiturates around here?”
“Yes,” Howard agreed slowly. “At least, it is possible. The surgery has all the medical records of everyone in the village...” He stopped, seeing her eyes light up.
“Can we..?”
Howard frowned. “I suppose we could, but...”
“Please?” Laura said, “We have to! This is an important clue.”
“Okay,” Howard agreed wearily. “But can we just check the people you think are suspects? I mean, if we have to check everyone in the village, it would take weeks! We need to go digital with those records sometime soon...” he mused.
“Oh, thank you!” Laura said enthusiastically, realizing that he was, by trusting her to choose suspects, paying her a vast compliment.
“Don't mention it,” Howard said tiredly. “We can go tomorrow evening, if you like.”
“Thank you,” Laura said again.
He laughed. “It's selfish of me, really,” he said slowly. “I just do these things as an excuse to see you.”
Laura felt her breath catch in her throat.
“Howard,” she said slowly, “that is the sweetest thing anyone could say to anyone.”
Howard blushed and coughed. He looked down at his hands.
“Thank you, Laura,” he said, his voice raw with emotion.
“Don't mention it.”
She reached across the table and took his hand, and they sat like that, content in each others' company, until his phone rang.
“I should go,” Howard said after hanging up. “That was my secretary, to tell me I'm off to an early start tomorrow morning – she had to squeeze in an emergency appointment in the eight o' clock slot.”
“Oh, dear,” Laura said, mouth turned down. “That's horrid.”
He chuckled. “It's not too bad – at least I don't have to try and face it now.”
They both laughed.
“See you tomorrow evening, then?”
“Certainly!” Laura agreed, enthused.
Laura blushed. “I have the list in my head,” she asserted.
“Good,” Howard smiled.
Laura sat on the couch long after he had left, dazed and smiling.
“You know,” she said aloud to herself, “I don't think I have ever felt like this before.”
If Monty heard her from the bedroom, he chose not to reply.
Laura sighed and checked the time. It was eleven thirty.
“I suppose I should go to bed sometime soon,” she sighed. “Busy day tomorrow.”
She had a case to investigate.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
UNDERCOVER INVESTIGATION
“Howard?”
“Shhh!”
Laura and Howard crept quietly up the corridor to where the records were kept in his surgery. It was the first time Laura had been here, and she looked around, interested. Howard's urgent whisper brought her to the present moment.
“What?” she whispered back.
“Nothing,” he admitted. “I just don't want Mrs. Ryan, my secretary, to hear me. She thinks I've gone home. And explaining my presence would be too much work.” He sighed.
“Okay,” Laura whispered back.
Together they crept up the corridor and into the filing room.
Laura looked around her, awed at how many files were in there. There were hundreds of them. They must have recorded the medical information of villagers for the last three generations at least, maybe more.
“This is amazing,” she whispered, sounding awed. Howard breathed out an irritated laugh.
“Glad you think so.”
“I do,” Laura insisted. “But, where are we going to start?”
The task seemed daunting.
“That's not so bad,” Howard said helpfully. “All we need is three files: the one for Priestly, Halston – if we have any record of him, which isn't likely, since he isn't from these parts – and Rawlinson. At least if none of them use barbiturates, we'll have narrowed the search.”
“Okay,” Laura agreed, seeing the sense of that. “Let's start.”
Finding the files was a little harder than expected – the alphabetical order was not strict, it seemed, and files older than the last ten years could be hidden in some obscure places.
Eventually, they tracked down a file for Albion Priestly.
Howard looked through it and grunted. “Nothing in here – Priestly never used barbiturates, either. He has a heart condition, and hypertension, and his doctor was worried about his eyesight, but nothing else.” He blew the dust off the file, and then put it back on the shelf.
Laura felt strangely disappointed, but decided it did not rule him off the list of suspects. Could he have taken them from someone else?
“What about Mrs. Priestly?” she asked.
“Not sure if there is one,” Howard said. He looked on the shelf, and fished out a folder. “There certainly was one, at any rate,” he said, looking through the file. “And, strangely enough, she did suffer from migraines. The doctor prescribed Fioricet tablets.”
“Mm?”
“They are barbiturates,” Howard explained. “Not as strong as some of the older ones, but they could certainly make a person sleepy, even if they only had one of them.”
“Oh,” Laura said in a small voice.
“That was several years ago, though,” Howard added, “And I don't know if she even still lives with him. If he had had any pills from...five years ago...” he checked the date on the folder, and turned back to Laura, “they probably would still have had an effect, though. So let's not rule him out just yet.”
Laura nodded, feeling strangely relieved. She still suspected Priestly ahead of everyone else, and she would be confused if he was taken completely from her list.
“Anything else?” Laura asked.
“Not really,” Howard concurred. “How are you doing?”
“I was looking for Halston's file,” she explained, “but I can't find anything where it should be.”
“Well,” Howard said, raising a brow, “that doesn't mean it isn't in here, but I think we can probably assume it isn't, after some more searching, since as far as I know he has never lived here.”
Laura nodded. Any information about him, she would have to try and find out some other way. There must be a way to find out – she would just have to think of it.
“We just have to find Rawlinson now,” Howard said, reaching to replace the Priestly files on the shelf behind Laura.
“Got it,” Laura said promptly.
She passed the folder to Howard, who opened it and scanned down the page. She stood beside him and read with him.
“That's new,” she commented, pointing to an entry from two weeks before.
“It's my handwriting,” Howard noted, running his finger down across the entry as he read it.
“Is it?” Laura smiled. “You have nice handwriting. Very neat and squarish.”
“Thank you,” Howard said. “I am pleased to hear this vote of confidence.”
Laura grinned back. “What does it say?” she asked.
“Not so neat, then,” Howard said, and they laughed.
He read through the notes he had made, and then through the older ones from Dr. Price. He frowned.
“You're not going to believe this, Laura,” he said, sighing.
“What?” Laura felt a shiver down her spine.
“He was using Fioricet too,” he said.
“Oh,” Laura said in a very quiet voice. Now they had two potential suspects, and no real way of telling who was more likely.
“Quite,” Howard said.
They replaced the files very carefully, trying not to make a noise. Then they tiptoed out of the building, using the corridor behind the secretary's office. She did not seem to notice them, and they breathed out, relieved, as they crossed the lawn to where Howard's car was parked under a tree.
“Supper?” Howard asked, as they drove off.
“That, Howard, is a wonderful idea,” Laura smiled.
The evening went by in a pleasant haze, and Laura almost forgot, at least for a few hours, about medicines, mystery and murder.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
COFFEE AND INFORMATION
Laura took a seat at the Rawlinson cafe, trying to look inconspicuous. It was a sunny day, thankfully, so she had an excuse to wear sunglasses. She stopped short of wearing a hat inside, though she had considered it.
She looked around the cafe as she waited to be served. It was a small place, alive with villagers coming to chat and socialize. The tables were wrought-iron, painted white, the chairs likewise, covered with cushions made from red gingham. The wide front window let in a flood of warm sunlight, and proclaimed: “Rawlinson's: Newspapers and coffee.”
Laura leaned back in her seat, enjoying the bustle and coziness of the cafe, even as she felt a residual sense of tension. She was here as a sleuth, not as a customer, and the man she was hunting could very well be someone who strangled another man after drugging him.
“Would you like to place an order?”
Laura sat up quickly, startled. “Oh,” she stammered. “Yes, please.”
Her heart was racing, and she mentally shook her head at herself. She was at a cafe, not on trial. The woman was simply asking if she wanted coffee.
“We have a special on soup of the day,” the woman offered.
“That sounds lovely,” said Laura, realizing she was hungry. “I'd like a soup, please, and a black coffee.”
“Of course.”
Laura leaned back and basked in the sunshine. Her order arrived promptly, and she enjoyed the delicious creamy soup with crusty farm loaf.
As she ate, she listened to the conversations around her. It was not long before she heard the voice she recognized.
“Good to see you here, Brad.”
“Oh, thanks Rodney.” the farmer replied.
“We couldn't keep away – Rawlinson's cafe does quite an impressive soup.”
Rod Rawlinson nodded. “Thanks for that. I always appreciate compliments – almost as much as I appreciate regular customers,” he added.
“Thank you,” the farmer replied. His wife nodded in reply.
As Mr. Rawlinson passed her table, Laura sat up and took off her sunglasses. She took a deep breath and began.
“Mr. Rawlinson,” she said hesitantly. “I'm Laura, from the hotel,” she dried up. Starting a conversation that was an interrogation was not easy.
“Oh, yes,” the man said, smiling. “I remember you. You manage the dining room and kitchens. Good job you're doing.”
“Thanks,” Laura said, feeling pleased despite her nerves. “You have an excellent cafe here, I must say. This soup is amazing!”
“Thank you,” he said, and turned to get back to the kitchen.
“I'll bet it's difficult to keep such a high standard,” Laura continued, trying to keep him talking.
“That's quite true,” he nodded gravely. “You know all about that too, I expect.”
“I do,” Laura nodded fervently. “And customers can be so fussy, sometimes...”
“Yes,” he added, chuckling. “It's good to talk to someone in the same trade, so to speak.”
His gaze had softened, and Laura sensed he wanted to keep talking.
“We had a few problems at the hotel,” Laura admitted, “trying to update the menu. You have a really modern selection here, I must say.”
“Oh, it's not too fancy,” he shrugged, blushing. “Just some inventions, mixed in with my regular dishes, like this soup,” he added, indicating Laura's half-empty dish.
“I'm interested in some of your inventions,” Laura said, “like this cheese-wrapped herring, for example. That sounds quite different.”
“It's a Swiss thing I reinvented using local cheese,” he explained, drawing out the seat opposite Laura and sitting down. Laura felt a small tingle of pleasure run down her spine. It was working!
“The local produce is excellent,” Laura agreed. “But difficult to source sometimes.”
