by Carrie Marsh
“Breakfast?” she said.
Two cats stared at her.
“Good idea,” she nodded, and shrugged on her nightgown, heading for the kitchen.
Howard's kitchen was a delight – white and spotless, with a simple kettle, toaster and hotplate, and a refrigerator stocked with eggs, salad and tuna.
She filled the cat's bowls with the tin of tuna and the sound of contented eating filled the small, neat space. Laura brewed herself some coffee and searched vainly for a frying pan.
As she finished breakfast, the phone rang.
“Howard?” Her spirits lifted when she heard his voice on the other side of the phone.
“Laura! How are you?”
“Happy,” Laura said, smiling. “Strangely, considering things. But I am happy. How are you?”
“Trying to work out how the kettle works, but otherwise fine,” he said, and Laura could hear the depreciating grin. She smiled.
“Plans for today?” Laura asked.
“I should go to the clinic. Our friend is being moved back to her home today, and I need to go with her, to make sure she is okay. And I have rounds to do after that as well.”
“Good,” Laura said affirmatively. “I'm glad she's going home safely.” Then she had an idea. “Would it be okay if I come too? There's something I want to ask her. Besides, I need to return her cat.”
Two faces looked up at her, affronted.
“Good idea,” Howard said peaceably. “I would like to see you.”
“Thank you,” Laura said primly, glowing inside.
They laughed and said a momentary goodbye.
Laura washed the dishes and got ready to go out.
Shouldn't Melissa stay? Monty asked, concerned, as she got ready to leave. Will she be safe? I mean, that man might come back, and...
“He won't bother her again,” Laura said grimly.
Promise?
“I do,” Laura said, determinedly.
Good.
Monty and Melissa talked to each other while Laura packed her things, and then she carried Melissa to the car and drove across the village.
At the clinic, Howard helped Natasha into the car while Laura sat in the back, talking to the cat gently.
“Hello,” the old lady said, smiling at Laura and the cat both. She stroked Melissa's head, who closed her eyes, purring appreciatively.
They drove back home.
“Oh,” the old lady said when she stood in her new home. She said nothing else, only looked about her in silence for a while, taking in the alterations that had been done.
The ceiling had been repaired, the stairs taken down. The back window had been replaced and the walls repainted.
“Oh,” she said again, and her eyes were wet with tears. She was overcome, it seemed, and Laura swallowed hard, feeling emotional.
“Come and see the kitchen,” Howard said gently, and his face was also wet with tears. He and Laura helped her together, and they walked through to the kitchen.
Everything was new – the sink, the stove, the draining board. The cupboards had been sanded and replaced, the floor cleaned and the linoleum stuck back down. The window had been repaired and cleaned, and the light shone in.
Laura and Howard looked around delighted and Mrs. Merrick stood in the center of the kitchen, speechless.
“Oh,” she said again, and held onto Laura's hand, tears running down her face. Laura put her arms around her and held her steady for a moment.
Melissa walked in and sat on the floor in front of her mother. She opened her mouth and mewed.
“Hello,” Mrs. Merrick said, face transformed with delight, and bent down to stroke her head. She purred. “She's hungry,” Mrs. Merrick said fondly.
“Well,” Howard smiled, “we won't mind if you feed her.”
They all laughed.
Later, sitting in the sitting-room with tea and biscuits, Laura and Howard talked to Mrs. Merrick. She was completely transformed and, as Laura had thought, closer to sixty than the eighty she had looked earlier.
In time, the conversation worked round to the topic about which Laura had wanted to ask.
“The trophy?” she asked, “I wanted to ask what it was from? Whose was it?”
“Oh,” Mrs. Merrick said, and her face fell. “It was my husband's.”
“It was?” Laura asked, aware that they might be walking on delicate grounds, Mrs. Merrick's husband might have passed on recently. She did not want to hurt her by raising the topic.
“Yes,” Mrs. Merrick said, smiling as she recalled the events.
“What was it for?” Laura asked.
“Oh, a baking contest,” the woman said, smiling. “He was ever so good at baking. It was his life. He was a baker, you know. Made the finest pastry.”
Laura stared at her. She felt cold all over, as if a wind had whistled through the house.
Why, she thought to herself, does everything keep coming up connected?
She looked at Howard meaningfully, and he understood she had something to say in secret.
They finished tea and left, turning aside her protestations that she should pay them back, and accepting an offer of tea the following week.
In the car, Laura turned to Howard. “We need to think about this. Is it just a coincidence that Nigel Merrick's father was a baker?”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAT WITH A LAWYER
On Sunday, Laura and Howard went to the hills for a long walk. They talked about everything they knew, and came to some conclusions. There were only two possibilities left. They just had to eliminate one.
On Monday, Laura took the afternoon off. She and Howard met, and together they drove to the next village, where the only lawyer in the area lived and worked.
“Mr. Huston?” Howard asked, knocking at a glass door with “Alfred Huston” printed on it in block letters.
“Yes?” A short man with a bald head and a kind, open face looked up at Laura and Howard.
“We had an appointment.”
“Yes,” the man nodded, scanning his list. “You're Doctor Lucas?”
“Yes,” Howard nodded, not explaining who Laura was. If the man assumed she was his wife, it would mean he was more likely to let her stay.
He waved them both to seats, clearly taking that as the obvious explanation.
“You asked about the will of Mr. Duvall,” he began, clearing his throat. “Now, I know under normal circumstances I would not divulge such things – however, you are his doctor, and so I will take the risk!” He smiled at both of them.
“You can tell us the beneficiaries?” Howard asked quietly.
“Yes,” the man said, and took out the will, frowning at it. “As I remember, it is beneficiary, singular. This brings me to a problem, and to why I’m pleased you’re here.”
“Yes?” Laura asked, feeling her throat tighten.
“The single beneficiary is missing. The name is Mrs. Natasha Merrick, and she is listed in another document as his divorced wife. Now,” he continued his explanation, “they moved to these parts only five years ago, and Mr. Duvall was divorced then, when he made this will, so I have never even met Mrs. Merrick, his wife. I have no idea where she is. What?” he asked, looking at the two clients, who were both staring at him, wide eyed.
“We can help you,” Howard said slowly. “We know Mrs. Merrick quite well.”
“You do?” He beamed. “Excellent!”
“Yes,” Laura said, feeling as if she had just been hit with a thousand volts of electricity. “We do.”
Because they had just found the final piece in the puzzle. It all made a terrible, infinitely reasonable sense.
Now all they had to do was decide what to do next. To catch the murderer.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
SUBTERFUGE
“Janet!” Laura said loudly at the front desk.
“Yes?” Janet asked, smiling.
“I think I know who the murderer is!” she said, her voice carrying to the dining room
next door.
“You do?” Janet asked, clasping a hand over her mouth with shock. “Laura! Don't tell me – you should go to the police! At once!”
“I will,” Laura said, pleased. “I have written it all down in my notebook at home to show them,” she enunciated loudly.
Janet looked strangely at her. “Why are you talking so loudly, Laura?” she asked, confused. “I can hear perfectly well, you know.”
“I know,” Laura said, equally loudly. “See you later for drinks?”
“Okay...” Janet said dubiously. She looked at Laura askance, and Laura walked away, smiling tightly.
Work went quickly after lunch, and by nightfall Laura was ready to go home.
She carefully left out early – at seven o' clock – and drove to Howard's home.
“Ready?” she asked.
“Ready,” he agreed.
“You went past my house?”
“Yes,” he agreed. “All as it was this morning.”
“Okay,” Laura said. Every nerve in her body was fizzling with tension. They were about to try and catch a murderer.
They drove towards her house, and parked in the lane around the corner. Howard unlocked the door and looked back at her. She looked back at him. There was so much to read in that gaze, if she chose to. She swallowed hard and nodded.
“Ready?”
“Ready.”
They alighted from the car and walked across the dew-soaked lawn. Every bush rustled and the trees sighed in the stiff evening breeze. Laura had never felt so alive. It was, she thought, something to do with being so close to danger.
She and Howard walked quietly up the lane, keeping to the shadows. When they reached Laura's house, they crossed the street, keeping to the shadows by the hedge across the road.
They were almost opposite the front of her home.
Howard indicated for Laura to move back, and she did so, leaning against the hedge. There was no sound, except the sighing of the trees.
They inched forward and reached her house. They stared across the street.
The front window was open.
Laura felt heat all over her body, a frisson of terror mixed with wonder. They had done it!
Howard looked at her, eyebrows raised, finger to his lips.
Laura nodded. He made a signal with his hand, indicating circling round the house to the back door. Laura nodded.
They had discussed this countless times, the night before. He would enter through the front door, she through the back. That way they would have the intruder trapped.
Laura moved forward, and Howard caught her wrist.
He kissed her, drawing her to him, his lips on hers hard and passionate.
Laura's whole body was throbbing with heat and desire when he finally released her.
“Go safely?”
“Yes,” Laura sighed, and nodded. She clasped his wrist and then left, darting through the shadows to the back door.
She slid into position, hand on the knob. She waited.
A low sound like an owl calling echoed through the night, three times.
Laura took that as a signal that Howard was in place. She opened the door.
At the same time that she burst into the kitchen, she heard the front door slam back, and Howard's voice.
“Alright, the game's up. Come out!”
Nothing.
There was no sound in the house. Not a footfall, not a drift of paper from her desk.
Laura held her breath.
The whole house seemed to wait.
Then she heard it.
An eruption from the study. Someone running for the window.
She heard feet, racing from the front door.
Flesh connected on flesh. Someone grunted. A cry of pain rang through the house – a sound laced with terror.
“Howard!”
Laura ran forward, blindly, darting into the hallway. She turned on the light.
Howard was standing over a fallen body, his foot on its back.
“Got you,” he snarled.
Then he turned to Laura, eyes wide, forehead damp. “Got him,” he said.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CONCLUSIONS MADE
Laura and Howard sat in her kitchen together. It was late. They had been to the police and then returned here.
They were exhausted.
“Do you want more tea?” Laura asked gently.
“No,” Howard said softly. “Thank you.”
They sat silently for a while, both too tired to do anything else.
“I can't believe it,” Laura said after a while.
“It makes sense, though,” Howard said, leaning his head on his arms.
“Mr. Merrick!” Laura said, and reached for her tea, drinking it down. “He was so...not like a murderer.”
“What is 'like a murderer'?” Howard asked, and chuckled mirthlessly.
“You're right,” Laura said quietly. “I don't know. But why?”
“He wanted to inherit,” Howard said, shrugging. “He had heard his father was going to change the will, and he desperately didn't want that.”
“True,” Laura said. “He had, though. He was too late to stop him.”
“Yes,” Howard smiled. “And I look forward to telling someone that.”
Laura smiled. “Yes.” She imagined Mrs. Merrick, finally inheriting what was rightfully hers, and felt glad for her.
“But to kill his own father! In such a horrible way,” Laura shuddered. “And he has plenty of money!”
“He doesn't,” Howard said softly. “The hotel he owns is bankrupt.”
“It is?” Laura nearly spilled the teapot on herself. “How do you know?”
“A friend of mine – Doctor White – he went there every year for a week in summer. He heard it from the manager, last year.”
“But...why didn't you tell me?” Laura said, incredulous.
“You didn't ask.”
“True,” Laura sighed. She would not have known to ask. Of all the people she had suspected, Mr. Merrick was the very last one.
“So,” Laura sighed. “We know what the motive was. At last. But why was he here? He chose to come here, and put himself right in the public eye, the day after killing his father!”
“Best way to hide,” Howard commented. “And all the controversy about the competition – it made us think it was another baker who killed him, for the rivalry.”
“True,” Laura agreed. “It worked perfectly, too.”
“It did,” Howard agreed. “Not just for you, for everyone. I also thought it was Mr. Priestly. So did most people, I suspect.”
“He's not a nice person,” Laura said, and shuddered. “Did I tell you he'd threatened me?”
“No!” Howard's voice went low with anger. “You didn't! He did?”
“Yes,” Laura said, looking down. She told him the story, and, when she had finished, Howard chuckled.
“What?” Laura felt hurt. She had just told him that a man threatened her with dire consequences, and he laughed at her?
“I am horrified that he threatened you, of course I am,” Howard said. “It's not that. It's that he told everyone he was in Canterbury that weekend.”
“Why?” Laura asked, interested despite being offended by his unexpected response.
“He was here, having surgery for his enlarged prostate.”
“What?” Laura put a hand over her mouth, surprised.
“He was,” Howard smiled. “I know because Dr. Price asked me to fill in.”
“No!” Laura said. “Why did he lie?”
“He was embarrassed,” Howard said, “clearly.”
Laura gave a surprised giggle, amazed that anyone could be embarrassed by something so comparatively tame.
Howard chuckled.
“So he threatened me with some horrible fate because he was embarrassed?”
“It seems that way,” Howard agreed. “I can ask Dr. Price to confirm it if you like, but he really was here in the surgery.�
�
“I believe you,” said Laura, shaking her head. It was a relief to have that mystery solved, in any case. She actually felt guilty, too. There she was, pinning murder on the man, and he felt quite unable to defend himself with a legitimate alibi, simply because he was embarrassed.
She laughed, and stood to make tea, and Howard laughed with her.
They drank more tea in silence, sharing the sense of peace and relief.
“Will you stay here tonight?” Howard asked, concerned.
“I don't know,” Laura said slowly. They had just caught a murderer in her study, and she was not at all sure she was comfortable with that.
“You can come to my place,” Howard said gently. “I can stay here, clean up a bit. You know?”
Laura was tempted. She breathed out a sigh of relief.
Then a thought crossed her mind.
“Monty!”
“He's still at my house,” Howard confirmed. “Looking very smug, with an empty tin of tuna and an enormous dish of food.”
Laura chuckled helplessly, and Howard joined in with her.
“Monty!” she said aloud. “Trust him! What would I do without him?”
Still laughing, Laura and Howard stood and, very gently, he helped her to the door. Her car was still in the drive and he walked her outside. At the car, he kissed her, tenderly.
“Take care,” he said, and she nodded, mutely.
She slid into the driver's seat and drove across the village to his house.
She collapsed in through the front door, checked Monty had food in his dish and, with all the lights on, went straight to bed and slept more deeply than ever before.
EPILOGUE
The noises of the evening faded as Laura and Howard went inside from the terrace, where they had been enjoying a glass of wine.
“So,” Laura said, stretching as she took a seat on the sofa in the sunshine. “It's been quite a heavy few weeks.”
“It has,” Howard agreed.
Monty, sitting beside Laura, stretched and walked sleepily over to say hello. She ruffled his fur.
