by Carrie Marsh
“I don't know what to do,” Laura said in a whisper. She felt cold all over.
As she sat with the cats on her knee, breathing deeply, she felt the fear replaced with resolve. She decided to do the only thing she could do. Call someone.
Reaching for her phone, she called Howard.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
MISSING PIECE
The window was closed, and the wind sighed around the house, the light on and the sitting room bright and warm.
“So, you think he must have come in sometime this afternoon?”
“Yes,” Laura nodded.
She and Howard were sitting in the sitting room, cups of hot coffee steaming on the central table. The two cats had followed them in, and slept quietly on the chair in front of the radiator. Laura felt her heart-rate slowing, peace and calm descending on her.
“Because the footprints were still fresh?” Howard asked, wondering how she knew the intruder had been there later.
“Mm,” Laura added, sipping the scalding coffee. “And the wind couldn't have been blowing too strongly, for too long, or more things would have been displaced.”
“True,” Howard said, lifting his glass to her appreciatively.
Laura blushed, feeling better.
“So, all we need to know,” Laura added, “is who was out here at about three o' clock this afternoon.”
“Yesterday afternoon,” Howard remarked, inclining his head. The clock showed one a.m.
“True,” Laura said soberly.
They sat in silence for a while. The only sound was the faint breeze, blowing against the door.
“So nothing is missing?” Howard asked.
“No,” Laura said, shaking her head. She had checked in her bedroom where she kept her jewelry, and her laptop had been with her at work. She had nothing else of value, and none of it was missing.
“What on earth could he have wanted, then?” Howard said, brow creased with worry.
“Maybe just to scare me?” Laura guessed. She could think of no other reason to enter her home without stealing anything. She was fairly sure, though, that it was not Mr. Priestly, since the description did not fit who Melissa had seen. She couldn't tell Howard how she knew, but she did. It was not Mr. Priestly then, but perhaps it was someone else? Mr. Rawlinson, Mr. Halston? Even Captain Browne? The last seemed unlikely, but she was ruling no one out. She had upset a lot of people with her investigation. Any one of them might have wanted to scare her.
“Well,” Howard said, blowing steam off his coffee, “it could be just to scare you. But it wasn't really scary, was it? I mean, all they did was stand on your carpet.”
Laura giggled. “True.” She paused. “It's scary enough, though – to think they can get in here.”
“True,” Howard agreed soberly, draining his coffee. “Should I stay here, Laura?” he asked gently.
Her eyes met his. The warm depths drew her in, drowning her senses in their enveloping care.
She was so tempted. Even if he just slept on the couch, it would be a pleasure to have him here, in the next room – close.
“Howard,” she sighed. “You know I shouldn't agree to that.”
“No,” Howard smiled. “I don't.”
“It's...complicated,” Laura sighed. She didn't know how to tell him, because she barely understood it herself. She only knew she had no desire for a long-term relationship – she had enough of those with Ron in Cambridge. She did not want to commit to anything just yet.
“I understand,” Howard said gently. “I know you don't want to talk about it, whatever it is. And that's just fine.”
He put the cup down and took her hands. Laura swallowed hard as his brown eyes met hers.
“I am a friend, Laura. I am content to be so, if that is what you want.”
Laura looked down. With him in close proximity, with the warmth and the scent of coffee, mixed with the spice and muskiness of his presence, she was fairly sure she wanted everything else as well. However, she knew that if she committed to something – and having him in her house was commitment enough in a small village – she would feel unready for it.
“It is what I want,” she said, swallowing, “for now.”
Howard leaned back, smiling a wry grin. “I like the way that sounds. I have patience. I can wait for a time that you might want something different...”
They sat together, enjoying the warmth and their mutual closeness for a while.
“You have to work tomorrow?” Laura asked slowly, stretching. She was suddenly very sleepy. She needed to go to bed, and soon.
“Yes,” Howard yawned. “I suppose I do. I need to look after our patient,” he added, inclining his head. “She will be going home tomorrow.”
“Oh?” Laura asked.
“Yes,” Howard smiled. “Our lady friend and owner of that small striped cat.” He nodded his head at Melissa, who lay curled up in a tight coil. “Her house is ready. She seems to be very glad,” he added, “and she likes you.”
“I think so,” Laura said, feeling touched. “Did I tell you she gave me a present?”
“No?” Howard asked, sitting forward in his chair. “What sort of present?”
“A trophy,” Laura smiled. “I don't know what it was, but when I fetched the things from her house, she said I could keep it. I have it here somewhere.”
“Can I see?” Howard asked, eyes bright with interest. “It might help us to identify her. If it has her surname on it, maybe?”
“True!” Laura said, surprised she had not thought of that. “I'll go and get it.”
She walked to the study, and reached up to where she had left the trophy, on the shelf above her desk. Her hand closed on nothing.
She fetched a stool and stood on it, making sure it had not fallen over. It was not there.
Worried, she searched on her desk, in the drawers, on the floor. Nothing.
The trophy had gone.
“Howard,” she called from the doorway, feeling coldness run down her back.
“Yes?”
“I think we might need to tell someone about this after all. They stole something.”
As she thought about it, it occurred to her that this was not the only thing the old lady had given her that had gone missing. Someone had taken the letter as well. And whoever had taken the letter had been able to get into the hotel.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
A MEASURE OF SAFETY
The sitting room was warm, and the wind had abated, leaving it in almost total silence. Laura was sitting on the sofa, feeling a strange coldness creep through her. I must be tired, she thought wearily.
They had called the police, explaining that they would meet with them in the morning to file a complaint. Laura felt, and Howard agreed, that neither of them could face visiting the police themselves right then.
“Okay,” Howard said, summing up the conversation they had had for the last hour. “What have we learned?”
It was late – almost five in the morning – and Howard was sitting on the floor by the couch, leaning back and contemplating the ceiling. Laura was almost asleep herself. She felt tired and strangely light-headed, as if her mind had gained some added sharpness with her wakefulness.
“We have learned that we have some kind of connection between the murder and the old lady,” Laura said, yawning. She was beyond fear now, in a place of drifting numbness where nothing really mattered to her anymore. “Why else would someone want me not to have something of hers?” It seemed far-fetched, but it was the only thing that made sense.
“You're sure it wasn't valuable?” Howard asked.
“I am fairly sure,” Laura agreed. “Janet said it was a typical village trophy. That doesn't sound too special, does it?”
“Yes,” Howard agreed, sighing as he tried to sit up. “And I agree about the connection. It seems likely.”
“What can we do?” Laura asked. “I don't feel safe. What if the person comes back? What if it is the murderer? He strangled some
one, Howard.” Laura felt the panic return, cutting through the exhaustion.
“I know,” Howard said. “But if we want to catch whoever it is, we cannot involve the police too deeply. The last thing we need is that Browne running all over the place waving warrants about. It would scare our murderer right away before we have a chance to catch him.” He chuckled dryly. “From what I've heard from you, and from the pathologist, I'll also mention, he is so great at discretion.”
“True,” Laura said, though she was still skeptical. The thought of whoever had killed Duvall coming back was too much to contemplate.
“I think,” Howard said, turning to face her, his eyes earnest, “that you should move out for a few days. Go and stay with someone. I could stay here, to look after the house, and see who tries to come back.”
Laura nodded shakily. “I don't know if I can let you face that alone,” she said slowly. “But I would like to move out for a while, yes.”
“Okay,” Howard said gently. “So we are agreed. You and I could swap houses for a while, maybe. We'll have a think from there about how to catch this person.”
“Yes,” Laura agreed. “We need to find a way to catch this intruder – always assuming they come back. And we need to find out who our friend in the cottage is. She is a link.”
Laura paused. She wanted to tell him that whoever had been in her house had visited their elderly companion. How would she explain that she knew without mentioning Jessie? The missing trophy gave them enough of a link to go on.
“Yes,” Howard said with feeling. “I think we can agree on that.”
“Okay,” Laura said, fighting to remain awake. “We have a plan of action. We'll swap houses, talk to our old friend. And try and trick this man into revealing himself.”
“Yes.” Howard agreed strongly. “That will work.”
They sat quietly for a while, and then Howard stretched, sighing. “I think we should go to bed. Or have breakfast,” he added, looking at the time. “I don't know which makes more sense.”
“Breakfast?” Laura offered brightly. “I can make good eggs and bacon.”
“That,” Howard said, smiling angelically, “sounds beautiful.”
Laura felt her whole body blush, warmed under that gaze.
“I think I can manage that,” she said, grinning warmly.
“Good,” Howard agreed.
Together they stood and walked through to the kitchen. The cats woke and followed them, and together they made breakfast and sat down to enjoy it with tea and toast.
They had eggs and bacon. They had a plan. Things were going right with their world.
Laura felt tense, her energy coiled inside her. She was ready to put their plan into action.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
IDENTITY
“Laura!”
Laura stretched and yawned, almost falling asleep at her desk. It was time for lunch service, and she had almost fallen asleep twice, and actually fallen asleep once. Bethany, the waitress, had woken her on her way past, saving her the disgrace of being discovered asleep.
“I have a problem.” Janet said, leaning over her desk.
“What?” Laura asked, dazed. “Can I help?” She couldn't think straight, and could barely open her eyes. All she was waiting for was one phone call from Howard, telling her they were ready with the next part of their plan.
“We've run out of towels,” Janet said, desperately, “and I think we might have overbooked. Help me?”
“Okay,” Laura said and stretched. She felt like she was floating, and nothing seemed too difficult for her, which was a good feeling. Murderers, threats, and missing towels all came at her through a fog of exhaustion, rendering each equally manageable. “I'll see what can be done.”
“Thank you!” Janet said, and wiped a hand across her brow. “You are a life-saver.”
“Thanks,” Laura said sleepily.
She checked the register, discovering they had overbooked, but that someone had canceled, leaving them with room to spare. She ordered in towels from the laundromat. Then she went back to her desk to oversee lunch.
“When is Howard going to call?” Laura felt restless, despite the fact that she could barely sit up. She went to the kitchen and asked Mrs. Poole for some coffee.
She drank it standing up.
“Are you well?” Mrs. Poole asked, narrowing her eyes at her.
“I'm okay,” Laura said. She walked carefully up the stairs and went to her desk, feeling more restless. Hours later, her phone rang.
“Laura?”
“Yes?” She asked crisply.
There was an undercurrent running through Howard's voice that dispelled her tiredness.
“I need to see you. I think I've found something out. Something important.”
“Oh.” Laura blinked. She felt her heart thudding in her chest and put her hand there, feeling a pain shoot through her. “We need to talk. Will you go round to my place? I'll try and get there by eight.”
“Okay,” Howard said, tensely.
“Bye,” Laura said quickly, slamming the phone down just as the manager came past.
“Evening, Mr. Preston,” she said, smiling nervously.
“Hello, Laura,” he said levelly. “How's the job?”
“Great!” Laura enthused. “Lots of customers...and the menu Mrs. Poole worked out is bringing in even more.”
“We are doing well,” Mr. Preston allowed. “But we need to maintain standards. You look tired,” he added, blinking.
“Thanks,” Laura said, distractedly, without really thinking about what she said.
Mr. Preston gave her a strange look, but could find nothing untoward in her work. He left.
“Whew,” Laura said under her breath.
Supper was less busy than usual, and Laura sat like a coiled spring, waiting for it to end. She had to get back home to hear what Howard had found out. She drove off at eight o' clock, feeling excited and tense.
“Hi!” she said, springing out of her car. Howard was there, parked alongside the hedge, and climbed out of the BMW as she ran up the path.
“Hi,” he said warmly.
His face was friendly, but when Laura got closer she noticed the tension around his eyes.
“What's the matter?”
“I don't know,” Howard said honestly. “I found something out, but I don't know what it means. I wanted to ask you, in case it means something to this case.”
“Okay,” Laura said hesitantly. She opened the door and went inside. She was met by Monty and Melissa, sitting on the mat, expectant and wide-eyed.
“Hello you two!” Laura said, and gave Howard a distracted smile. “I have a job,” she said, apologetic, to Howard. “We have to give them supper.”
“I'll help,” Howard offered, and together they fed the cats.
Laura fetched some drinks and they sat at the table, silence helping them both to regain their sense of calm.
“I went to visit our patient at the clinic today,” Howard explained when he had relaxed a moment. “She is much better. I don't think that she was losing her memory as much as simply starving. Now that she's had rest and good nutrition for a few days, she was really lucid.”
“She remembers something about her life before the cottage?” Laura asked excitedly, “Something linked to who she is?”
“Yes,” Howard said. He looked exhausted. “She told me her name.”
“Yes?” Laura swallowed hard.
“Her name is Natasha Merrick.”
Laura closed her eyes, feeling suddenly sick. Because too much of that made too much sense.
“What?” Howard asked, concerned.
“I know a relative of hers,” Laura said tightly. “Possibly her son?”
“You do?”
“He's here, in the hotel.” Laura said.
She suddenly remembered the letter. The one the old lady had left. N.M. Natasha Merrick.
And it had gone missing. Taken by someone in the hotel. Someone who did not
want anyone to know it existed. An ugly thought occurred to her. “Would he have visited her, do you think? Her relative, I mean?”
“Not often, apparently,” Howard said. “She said she hasn't seen her family for years.”
“Maybe two or three times in the last three years?”
Melissa always hid there in her old house, she said, when this man visited.
“Probably,” Howard shrugged. “Why?”
“Nothing,” Laura said, wanting to faint.
He is the man who was here, in my house. He must be. The one Melissa saw at her mother's house. In which case, he took the letter. He took the trophy. He must be trying to hide something. He knows where I live.
“Howard?”
“Yes?”
“Can I stay in your house? With the cats?”
“Of course, Laura,” Howard said gently. “We already decided that. I brought my case. I'll stay here this week, and you'll be there. You'll be safe, Laura, I promise,” he said softly. “You mean too much to me to risk you.”
Laura swallowed hard. “Thank you, Howard,” she said gently. They kissed.
She collected the cats and, shaking, drove to Howard's cottage on the other side of town.
CHAPTER FORTY
FULL PICTURE
The next day was a Saturday and Laura rolled over, looking up at a white-painted ceiling, wondering why no alarm had woken her. She stirred, wondering where she was. She was under cotton sheets, with a soft fleece blanket over the top of a crisp cover. It was warm.
She burrowed under the blankets, breathing in the scent of herbs. Her foot hit something solid.
Ouch.
“Sorry, Monty.” Laura giggled, despite the gravity of the previous evening.
I should think so.
She rolled onto her side, memory returning, and wished she could stay where she was on the comfy down pillow, under the soft sheets where long-lost mothers and sons who broke into houses did not exist.
She lay there for another ten minutes, and then slid out, awoken by the sound of a cat padding up and down the bed, stretching himself ostentatiously as if trying to wake her.
