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

by Carrie Marsh

  “...so if there is anything valuable you'd like me to fetch out of there for you, please let me know, and I'll bring it here for you.”

  “Oh,” the woman said carefully. “Well, I would like you to fetch the box of silverware. And the pewter vase I have from my grandmother. It's on the shelf in the kitchen. Next to it is a small trophy. Could you bring those here?”

  “Of course,” Laura promised.

  She said her farewells and looked at her watch. It was four-thirty, which left her with enough time to go to the cottage and fetch the things before supper time.

  She found them and took them to the clinic, where they were received gratefully.

  Laura passed over the silverware and the vase, and then the trophy. It was a small, squat trophy cup, slightly tarnished, and it made Laura curious. What had it been awarded for?

  “You keep that, dear,” the old lady said as Laura handed it to her.

  “Me?” Laura was touched. “You can't give that to me...”

  “Oh yes I can,” she said stiffly. “I want you to have something. Just a token, to say thank you for your assistance.”

  Laura felt like crying. Tears ran down her cheeks unbidden. “Thank you,” she said tightly.

  “Not at all,” the old lady said, sitting up regally. “After all, you are even looking after my cat. How can I not show my thanks?”

  She was smiling and Laura laughed with her. She had such a gentle dignity that Laura could not help admire and like her.

  She drove back to the hotel, feeling happy.

  “Look, Jay,” she said to Janet, as she went behind the counter in the reception area, to put her trophy in the strong box until she could take it home.

  “What is it?” Janet asked, interested.

  “It's some kind of trophy,” Laura explained. “I was given it by an old friend.”

  “Oh,” Janet said, and reached for it. Laura felt hesitant to let anyone else touch it, though she could not have said why. It just seemed special.

  “It looks like a normal village trophy cup to me,” Janet added, squinting. “You know, the sort they give to the champion cricketer in the local team, or something? Let's see what it says,” Janet added, holding it up to the light.

  Laura looked up at the inscription with her, both of them squinting to read the lettering through the thick black tarnish. It was almost impossible, and Laura scrutinized it, trying to make out the numbers of the date, the only part of the inscription she could read.

  “What's that?”

  Both women turned round, to see Mr. Merrick standing at the counter.

  “It's a trophy,” Laura explained, “given it by an old lady I met at the end of the village. See?” Laura passed it to the man, who took it and read the inscription. He passed it back wordlessly.

  “Very nice,” he said.

  “Did you have anything you wanted to ask, Mr. Merrick?” Janet asked coolly.

  “Not really,” Mr. Merrick conceded. “I just wanted to ask if I can have breakfast earlier on Friday?”

  “Of course, Mr. Merrick. I'll make a note of that,” Janet agreed, noting it down in her diary.

  Laura put the trophy back in the strong-box and went down to the dining room in time for the supper service to start. The day was not busy, and Laura drove home, questions chasing each other in her mind.

  Who was the old lady? Could they find her relatives?

  Why was Captain Browne so hostile?

  What would Mr. Priestly do?

  And the ever-elusive question: Who was the murderer?

  “I just don't know anymore,” Laura said to herself. “I just don't know.”

  The more she tried to investigate, the murkier the whole village itself seemed to become. She had set out to solve a murder, and found herself negotiating a quagmire of rivalries, business ventures, medical issues, and now, an abandoned lady in a cottage.

  “Whoever thought village life was simple?” Laura said to herself, shaking her head.

  At home, she was greeted by Monty, who walked carefully out of the bedroom.

  Melissa's sleeping, he informed Laura. Keep your voice down.

  Laura walked through to her bedroom, where the petite tabby cat was curled up on her pillow, in the place where Monty usually slept.

  At least, she thought, smiling to herself, something was right in the world.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  AN INCURSION

  After work the next day, Laura drove over to Janet's apartment. It was a set of rooms on the third floor of the only apartment block in the village, an elegant affair with black granite in the entrance and a neat topiary garden outside the front door. It seemed typical of Janet.

  Laura was met by Janet at the door, who invited her up breathlessly, and soon they were in Janet's stylish bedroom, while Janet tried on her new outfits.

  “And what do you think of the pink?”

  Janet, draped in an electric pink blouse over black slacks, pouted at Laura like a runway model.

  Laura, sitting on Janet's vast white-covered bed, narrowed her eyes critically.

  “I like it,” she agreed. “It's quite fancy, but it's really classic. Good stuff.”

  “Thanks, Laura,” Janet blushed. “And just one more...the green.”

  She reached into her cupboard and pulled out a long green tunic, cinched at the waist. She shrugged off the shirt, standing before the mirror in a white lace brassiere.

  “I suppose I am being premature,” she said brightly to Laura. “I mean, I'm only seeing him next week.”

  “Not at all,” Laura demurred. “You need to know if you have to buy something else.”

  “Oh, Laura,” Janet smiled, “you always make me feel better.” She dropped the green tunic over her head and stood back, letting Laura survey the outfit. It hung on her tall, angular body, looking more sack-like than classy. The first outfit had been stunning.

  “It's nice,” Laura said slowly, “but I think I prefer the pink.”

  “Really?” Janet asked enthusiastically. “So do I! It's my favorite. Glad it has your stamp of approval.”

  “It does,” Laura agreed.

  “Come on,” Janet smiled. “I've brought in some bottles of wine, and I made my famous roast pumpkin and potatoes.”

  “Yay!” Laura said enthusiastically. They went through to the kitchen.

  “You've looked stressed recently,” Janet observed, as they sat opposite one another at her table. “What's up?”

  “Nothing,” Laura said, looking at her hands on the wine-glass. “It's just this murder thing. I asked some questions, and people have been so weird about it.”

  “What people?” Janet asked, instantly defensive.

  “Oh, people,” Laura sighed. “Mr. Priestly was the worst, though.”

  “Albion Priestly?” Janet snorted. “That weird guy?”

  “Weird?”

  “Very weird,” Janet confirmed. “No one likes him, really. He does well, at his business, but he's a strange character. I don't know anyone in the village who says a good thing about him.”

  “Really? I can believe that,” Laura said, interested. She swirled the wine in her glass, thinking. “Do you know anything about him?”

  “No,” Janet said, but she looked thoughtful. “I have heard that he used to live in the village, and then moved out to Drayton about four years ago.”

  “Oh?” Laura raised a brow. She hadn't known he had ever lived there. “You have any idea why?”

  “Competition?” Janet shrugged and leaned back in her seat, wine glass poised on her fingertips.

  Laura nearly choked on her wine. “You mean, between him and Duvall?”

  “Slow down, Laura,” Janet said, giggling. “You don't want to choke.”

  She passed Laura a napkin and Laura wiped her mouth, breath heaving.

  “Janet,” she said, “don't you see? He could be the murderer! Why didn't you tell me their competing was well known?”

  “No reason,” Janet
said airily, “I mean, it just didn't seem so important. Priestly has fights with everyone. He's not a nice character. He could as well have been in competition with the Rawlinson's, or us at the hotel, even.”

  “You think so?”

  “Well, yes,” Janet said, filling their glasses from the narrow bottle. “I mean, there are only about four hundred people in the village, if that. We don't have room for more than one baker, actually, so each of them has to try to be the best. And they don't like each other.”

  “Really?” Laura's head was reeling, a condition that had little relation to the wine and more to do with the fact that the whole landscape around the murder was changing for her. It seemed so clear, now. The baking world in Millerfield was a place of fierce rivalry – too few customers and too many bakers, probably – and it seemed as if anyone might have murdered Mr. Duvall. Perhaps all of them.

  She had crossed Mr. Rawlinson off her list, but, the more Janet said, the more she had a feeling that she could not cross off any villagers with bakeries.

  “I need to talk to Mrs. Robbins,” Laura said out loud.

  “Sorry, Laura?”

  “Mrs. Robbins. Mr. Duvall’s neighbor. I should ask her if she remembers any scenes between him and the local bakers.”

  Janet sighed, and Laura looked up to meet her concerned gaze.

  “Oh, Laura,” she said gently, “give yourself a break, please? You don't owe the man to find his murderer. It wasn't your fault he died.” She reached across the table and put her hand over Laura's protectively.

  “I know,” Laura said somberly, “but I'm involved now, and I can't step out of it.”

  “You can,” Janet urged. “You really should.”

  “I'm scared, Jay.” Laura covered her face with her hand. She was, now that she thought about it, really frightened. “Too many people have made threats now, and I don't know what's going on.”

  “Come and stay with me,” Janet offered. “I'm much more central than you are, and if there are two of us, then we are much safer than just one of us.”

  Laura sniffed. “Thank you, Jay,” she said, reaching across to grasp her friend's hand. “I really appreciate it. But I'll be okay. And I can't move Monty and Jessie both.”

  “Jessie?”

  “The old lady's cat. Remember, the one I told you about? Her cat is staying with me while Howard oversees repairs at her house.”

  “Laura,” Janet smiled, “I sometimes don't know how we got on in Millerfield before you got here.”

  Laura chuckled weakly. “I'm sure you managed just fine.”

  “We did,” Janet agreed, “but it's nicer to have you here.”

  “Thanks, Jay,” Laura said, wiping away a tear. “I really appreciate that.”

  They sat in silence for a while.

  “Oh, no!” Janet said suddenly, springing up. “The roast pumpkin is still in the oven...”

  The smell of burning reached them, and Laura chuckled.

  “I'm sure it will be just as nice like that,” she said.

  “I hope so,” Janet said ruefully, as she opened the door and the scent of carbon, burning, wafted out into the sitting room next door, “since we're about to find out.”

  Laura came to help, and together they dished out the roast, chuckling at the burned sections, and exclaiming over the bits that were edible.

  It turned out rather well, and the wine and ice cream after the meal washed it all down nicely.

  Dinner was relaxing and pleasant, and Laura left feeling mellow.

  “See you, Laura!”

  “Bye!”

  Laura called out of her window to Janet, who stood on her front step, waving madly at Laura's retreating car.

  Laura hummed to herself on the way back, and drew into the path outside her house.

  She got out of the car, walking to the gate on autopilot. She stopped.

  The gate was open. So was the front window.

  Someone had been into her house.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  A BIG REVEAL

  Laura stood on her front step, knees rigid with fear.

  In front of her, the curtains whispered in the wind, drawn through the open window by the stiff breeze.

  “Who's there?” she called out. Her voice wavered into the silence and died. All that answered her was the eerie whispering of the wind.

  “I really shouldn't go in there,” Laura said to herself in a small voice. “What if the intruder is still there?”

  What if he is? Another thought came instantly. Monty.

  Images flooded her mind – of Monty hurt, Monty locked in somewhere. Monty lost or stolen. If someone wanted to hurt her, what would stop them from hurting her cat?

  “Monty!”

  Laura summoned all her courage and ran to the front door. She turned the key and threw it open, feeling anger thrill through her like a tide. How dare anyone intrude into her home, threaten her friend?

  “Monty?”

  Nothing. No answer. Laura felt her anger turn to fear.

  The wind was whispering through the house, hissing in the curtains, making the doors creak. The whole place took on an air of menace.

  “Monty!”

  Laura called out to him, and reached out with her mind. Nothing.

  She was really frightened – not for herself any longer, but for him. Also for Melissa, the cat who stayed with her.

  Lifting a sturdy poker from before the fireplace, Laura walked up the corridor to her bedroom.

  She paused at the door to the study, where the curtains whispered in the wind. She hid beside the door and turned on the light.

  “Come out, whoever you are!” she shouted. Her voice wavered and died. She looked into the study, and noticed a booted footprint on the cream carpet on the floor. Two or three. They walked over to the desk and then away again. It was the only room with carpeting, and so only here did the steps show. Someone had, very clearly, been in the house.

  “Come out!” Laura shouted again.

  No one came out.

  Shaking with anger and fear, Laura walked across to her bedroom.

  “Monty!”

  Here...A faint whisper reached her at the edges of her mind, as if whoever spoke it was almost out of strength.

  “Where?”

  She held her breath and heard a scrabbling and scratching. Slowly Monty appeared, dragging himself out from under the bed.

  What took you so long? He asked, clearly shaken. Someone was here. I did call, but I couldn't find you.

  Laura felt the tears streaking her face. She bent down and held Monty to her, weeping into his fur.

  “Monty! Oh, thank Heavens! I am so, so sorry...”

  Okay, don't hold too tight...you're squashing me, Monty grumbled.

  Laura laughed, deliriously, relief flooding through her. She kissed his solid head, feeling the velvety fur under her lips.

  “I have never been so pleased to see anyone,” she declared. Monty purred and kneaded her knees.

  They sat together, locked in mutual love and relief for a minute.

  Then Laura remembered something.

  “Where's Melissa?”

  She's outside, Monty said softly. She said she always bolts when she's frightened. She' hiding behind the wood stack. She always hid there in her old house, she said, when this man visited.

  “What?” Laura's jaw fell. “This man?”

  The man who was here. She recognized his scent, Monty explained. You're squashing me, he added, wriggling in her arms.

  “Oh, sorry,” Laura said gently, releasing him from the tight grip. She had not even noticed. She was reeling from the shock.

  “Melissa knows this man?” Laura asked again. How could she know Mr. Priestly? Laura was certain he was the intruder.

  She said so. Maybe you can ask her?

  “Good idea!” Laura exclaimed, and stood to go into the garden.

  After a few minutes of calling, the small tabby cat appeared from around the corner of the woodpile.<
br />
  “Melissa! There you are!” Laura smiled.

  He's gone, hasn't he? Melissa's mind-voice asked. She was clearly frightened.

  “Yes,” Laura assured her. “He has.”

  Good, the small cat said. I don't like him at all. He scares me.

  The strength of her mind-voice made it clear that she had a very strong opinion about this man, formed, Laura suspected, over many years.

  “This man,” Laura said cautiously, as Melissa crossed the threshold of the kitchen and went to her food-dish hungrily, “you know him?”

  Yes. I hate him. He's horrible to Mother. Mother was what she called her owner, the old lady, Laura knew.

  “He is? Your mother knows him?”

  Yes.

  “He visits often?”

  No. Almost never. Maybe three times in all the years I have lived with her.

  Laura took a deep breath, deciding to try something risky.

  “Is it this man?” she asked, using all her willpower to send an image of Mr. Priestly, the man she was sure had been in her house.

  No.

  “Are you sure?” Laura asked cautiously, wondering if she was getting it wrong. “What does the man I showed you look like?”

  A tallish man, thickset, with blue eyes and a balding head.

  “Yes.” That was a fair description of Mr. Priestly, so she knew her image was correct.

  I've never seen him before in my life.

  Laura felt her legs go weak. She slid down the cupboard and sat on the floor, feeling all the energy drain out of her.

  If it isn't Mr. Priestly, she thought, then who is it? Who else has been in my house? And why?

  Curled up on her kitchen floor with the two cats, terror raced through her veins. Her world had just moved from confusing to downright terrifying. As if a threat from a would-be murderer were not bad enough, she suddenly had a mysterious intruder who had, it seemed, nothing to do with Mr. Priestly.

  Who else would want to hurt her? Moreover, why would they?