Prelude to Poison

by Morgan W. Silver

  “I will be faster on my own. Besides, I don’t have anyone.”

  He leaned forward to look me in the eyes. “That’s not true at all. You have me.”

  That would have made me feel better if it weren’t for the fact that he was a figment of my imagination.

  “How dare you?” he said while I got up to take a shower.

  I changed into a dark outfit and went downstairs to check on Eddie. The shop was closing soon, and I hadn’t seen that much of him today. He had to be worried about me.

  It was weird to think that Nancy’s shop was closed on a Monday. She had always worked six days a week without fail. I felt teary-eyed just thinking about her in a cell, but I knew she wouldn’t be too upset. She was a tough woman, and all a night in jail would do to her was make her cranky. Okay, crankier.

  When I entered the store through the back door, Eddie was chatting with Nick by the counter. Brian was there as well. Nick was talking about something, and both men were hanging on his lips.

  They turned to look at me as I approached them. “Hello,” Nick said. “How are you doing?” He held up a flash drive. “I figured I’d come and play the recording of the ghost for you. Eddie rang me.” He jerked his head towards Eddie, who smiled sheepishly.

  “I figured it’s about time you crack this case, Nancy Drew,” Eddie said.

  I smiled. “And you figured a so-called ghost recording could do that?”

  “Aren’t you curious?”

  “Hey, just because a toothpick is enough to make you curious, doesn’t mean it’s the same for me.”

  Nick laughed. “Wow, just hearing this has made my trip to your bookshop worth it.”

  I tried to glare. “Anyway, I’ll go get my laptop.”

  “You’re not going to invite me upstairs?” Nick asked. The dimples in his cheek showed.

  “O-okay,” I said. “Follow me.” When I glanced at Eddie, he held up a thumb. He probably hoped that Nick could make me forget about Alistair.

  We went up the stairs to my flat in silence as I contemplated what to say to Nick, but somehow I had no inspiration at all. A writer who was at a loss for words. How blasphemous.

  “Why don’t you sit down,” I said to him and gestured towards the sofa on which I had vegetated for most of the afternoon.

  “You have a cute flat.” He sat down as I rushed into my office and got my laptop. I also made sure I didn’t have my browsers open on weird websites about poison and murder. Research as a mystery writer was quite dark and disturbing.

  When I returned, I couldn’t help but admire how natural Nick looked in my flat. He had his arm draped over the back of the sofa and appeared as if he always sat that way, waiting for me to come home. Man, I really had to start dating.

  “So,” he started tentatively, “you’ve been on the lips of a lot of people today. Should I be jealous?” One corner of his lips turned upwards, but his eyes remained serious.

  “Ah, yes. I imagine you’ve heard lots of troublesome things about me by now.”

  “Nothing that has scared me off. In fact, I think we should have dinner together after this. But not in this village.”

  I chuckled. “Yeah, that will set even more tongues wagging.”

  “I don’t care about that. I just don’t want you to be mistreated or anything.”

  I raised my eyebrows. Did he really care about me that much? Nothing about his demeanor told me he was lying, but then again, I didn’t trust my judgment after Alistair. “I have a cool group of women who support me, so don’t worry. Sure, there will always be judgmental people, but that’s their jam, not mine.”

  “Sometimes it’s not that easy, but I admire your attitude.” He smiled. “So, you didn’t say no to dinner. Will you let me treat you?”

  “I suppose so, but you should know I’m a hot mess right now.”

  Nick chuckled. “You look pretty good for a hot mess.”

  I felt my cheeks get warm. He sure was good at saying the right things, but I had fallen for that before. Still, he’d be a nice distraction from Alistair and Christina. “Okay, let’s see what we have.” I hit play on the recording.

  After a few questions from Nick in a clear voice, there was some static and then a woman’s voice. If I strained hard enough I could indeed make out the word ‘justice,’ but it sounded unusual. Was hollow the right word? When I had heard it in the hotel, it seemed to be more like a harsh gush of the wind. Still, something was familiar about it. Not because I had heard it at the hotel, but something else.

  I closed my laptop and returned the flash drive, then tapped my fingers against my lips.

  “What are you thinking?” Nick leaned closer.

  “It sounds familiar.”

  “It does?”

  I snapped my fingers. “I’ve got it.” I went over to the TV cabinet and pulled open the drawer with DVDs. After a few moments, I found what I was looking for. I put the DVD in the DVD player and turned it on.

  “What are you doing?” Nick asked.

  “You’ll see.” I found the right scene and played the film. It was an old horror film called Screams in the Night that I’d once bought on a whim. It was actually a nice black-and-white film, not too spooky. But it also had a scene in it where a ghostly woman screams the word ‘justice.’ That moment was coming up. I glanced at Nick.

  The apparition appeared in the corridors of a deserted manor. The main actor fell down the stairs, being shoved by the woman in white. She screamed the word, drawing it out.

  “Wow,” Nick said. He grabbed my laptop and played the recording again. It sounded the same, though less clear than the DVD, which made sense since whoever did this must have used a device not too close to us, nor too far away.

  “Who would do this?” I said. “The killer obviously had a good reason for making everyone believe that ghosts were involved.”

  “At least we know for sure it wasn’t a ghost. There’s not much else to do. But if you’re going to be thinking about this, perhaps a full stomach will help.” Nick grinned.

  “Sure. Let’s go.” I felt mild panic and excitement at the prospect of having dinner with Nick. He didn’t seem like someone who played games, which I liked, but he was also from Wales and probably going home soon. What really was the point of this?

  “To have fun,” Detective Black said.

  WE WENT TO A CUTE PUB down the road to Lowfield, which was about a twenty-minute drive away. The village was even smaller than ours, and there were a lot of farms. On the side of the road, surrounded by fields of grazing sheep, was The Herder, which served food until 9.30, as it said on their blackboard outside. I had never been there before, but I liked the atmosphere. It reminded me of The Rose, and I expected Callum to pop up any moment to take our order. Instead it was a large woman with dark makeup.

  We both ordered the fish and chips, and I had some rum and coke to go with it. I usually only drank alcohol on special occasions, but felt the need for some booze.

  “So, tell me your life story.” Nick leaned forward.

  “My life story? No, mine isn’t interesting. I’d much rather hear yours.”

  “Come on, please tell me something about yourself. Anything. Tell me about what you write.”

  “I write mysteries about a detective who lives in this day and age, but is quite old-fashioned.” I shrugged. “That’s all.”

  “Enough to make a living?”

  “Yes.” I took a sip from my drink.

  “But you still work at your bookshop?”

  “Not always. I have two employees, Eddie and Susan.”

  “Right, Eddie. He’s also your best friend, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, he’s my little ghost-obsessed best friend.”

  “How long have you been friends?”

  “Since secondary school. We met when we had to do our first project for school. We had such a blast, we never stopped hanging out. When my books started picking up and I had to go to London a lot, sometimes I took him with me. And otherwis
e we still texted and called like every hour.”

  “So you’re close then?”

  I nodded. “As close as butter on bread.”

  Nick smiled and played with a coaster. “But you never dated Eddie?”

  “What? No. We’re best friends. Men and women can be friends just fine, I hate that people don’t seem to grasp that. Just because a woman likes men doesn’t mean she likes every man and vice versa. Hence, they can be friends as long as they just happen to not be attracted to each other.”

  “But what if that attraction grows?”

  “I’m sure that can happen, just like how you can stop liking someone.”

  He leaned back in his seat. “Has that happened before?”

  “What? That a friend starts liking me or that I stop liking someone I once was attracted to?”

  “Or that someone has stopped liking you. I find it hard to imagine, but I guess I’m asking if someone ever broke your heart.”

  I scratched my arms. “That’s personal.”

  “I’m only asking because it would explain why you looked a little bit terrified when I asked you out,” he said and leaned forward. He grabbed my hand and squeezed it.

  “I did not look terrified.” His hand felt warm and comfortable. I liked the intimacy of it.

  He smiled. “That’s okay. We’ve all been hurt before. I’m pretty sure it’s a rite of passage.”

  “Doesn’t make it more fun.”

  “No, it does not. But think about it as the process of weeding out the bad ones so that you’re left with the good ones. At some point you’ll end up with the person you’re supposed to be with, and it will all be worth it.”

  I hope so.

  Our food came, and we ate while Nick told me how he grew up in Wales with his five siblings and a sheepdog named Muffleton. He had always been interested in the paranormal, but his interest truly sparked after he believed to have seen the spirit of his deceased grandmother, with whom he had a special connection. He started out ghost hunting as a hobby, but eventually made a name for himself and started making some serious money.

  “Actually, I have something I need to tell you about that.” He dabbed his lips with his napkin.

  “What?” I was too intent on my food to realise that he was nervous.

  “Someone paid us to come to the Pembroke and do our recordings.”

  I looked up, mayonnaise on my chin.

  He used his napkin to get rid of it for me. “That’s not how it usually goes. We are hired to look into it, but never paid up front. There was something urgent about this message, and we decided to go and check it out anyway.”

  “And the only request was that you show up and do the recordings?”

  “No. We also had to say it was haunted.” He held up his hand. “We didn’t touch that money, but it did pique our interest. That’s all. With everything going on, I figured I should tell you. I didn’t really know who else to tell, or what the point was. We never would have told anyone it was haunted if we didn’t believe it. The recording is all we’ve got, so we told Mr Field that we needed to look into it further. I’ve done some readings with Eddie and Brian, actually, as the rest of my crew has already left. We didn’t find anything, so I believe you’re right, that there are no ghosts there.”

  “How did you get the request?” I asked.

  “Email via our website.”

  “You should tell Alistair, he might be able to track an IP address.”

  “Consider it done. But, aren’t you upset?”

  “You didn’t mean any harm. If I were you, I’d have been curious as well. Still, it would have been handier if I’d known earlier. It’s likely it was the killer who hired you, to make it seem that the curse killed Victor. It might have been Patricia.”

  “Who? The wife?”

  “Yes, Patricia Woodsbury. She’s—well, I think she might have something to do with it.”

  “Then we should do something.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “Everybody in the village is talking about how you’ll solve this, but so far you’ve only gotten in trouble for discovering the body. Why don’t you let me help you?”

  “Well, I did actually have a plan that I was going to execute tonight.”

  He leaned forward with a glint in his eyes. “Tell me.”

  Chapter 16

  We waited outside of Patricia’s home until she left with one of her friends to go to the church where they held their meeting. It had a community garden where they would grow plants and flowers. I couldn’t imagine what was fun about meetings like that, but Castlefield was big on clubs. There were obviously a book club and garden club, but also a knitting club, a model trains club, a stone skipping club, and even a tree shaping club. The last one was actually quite cool and consisted of training living trees and plants to grow into certain shapes. It could be used to create art or furniture. That club had four members, and they’d formed—get it?—the club a year ago and still had very little to show for it, but this was a time-consuming hobby.

  “My heart is racing,” Nick said. “Are we really doing this?”

  “Yes. It’s time we get some answers instead of more questions.” I waited until Patricia and her friend were out of sight and then darted across the street, straight to the side of the house where there was a tall wooden gate that led to the garden.

  “Okay, ready? No turning back now,” I said to Nick who had followed on my heels and was grinning like the Cheshire cat.

  “I’m ready.” He bent forward.

  “What are you doing?”

  “You need to get over. Go ahead.”

  I glanced at the gate and pushed it open.

  Nick looked at it, then back at me. “I was testing you.” He slowly got back up. “You passed.”

  “Right.” I walked ahead of him, smiling. I had to admit I was having more fun than I would have thought.

  “Just remember to focus on the task,” Detective Black said, walking next to me. “Don’t let him distract you and don’t lower your guard completely. You never know.”

  I had a small torch in my bag and got it out. Yellow roses were placed along the side of the house. It smelt sweet, much like Patricia’s perfume usually did. The few times that I had encountered her, I could smell her ten minutes before she arrived.

  The gate closed with a bang, and I whirled around, my heart in my throat.

  Nick cringed. “Sorry.”

  “Let’s go,” I whispered. We made our way to the back of the house. There was a small patio with an iron table and four chairs. A plant with budding flowers was placed on the table. I shone the light in the window that looked out over the garden. It was the kitchen. The window itself was ajar.

  “I’ll try the back door,” Nick whispered as he passed me. He walked soundlessly towards the door and tried it. “It’s locked.” Even partially hidden by darkness he looked handsome.

  “Do you see a security system or cameras?” I asked as I pulled on the kitchen window. It was big enough for me to get through, but I’d end up on the counter tops. It wouldn’t be a graceful endeavour.

  “No, I don’t see anything. Better try that window.” He stood next to me, his hands in his pockets.

  “Why do I have to do it?” I asked.

  “I doubt I’ll fit through there. Besides, this way I can keep watch for you.”

  “I know that, but it would have been chivalrous to at least pretend you were coming with me.”

  He smiled and stepped closer. “For good luck,” he said and kissed me ever so briefly on the lips.

  My cheeks got warm, and I handed him my torch. “Hold this, I’m going in.” Before shyness made my whole body blush.

  He pulled up one of the chairs and then held open the window as I got on the chair and leaned forward. I placed my hands on the clean counter and was relieved it wasn’t cluttered with dirty dishes. Broken plates were as much a sign of a break-in as getting caught.

  I placed one knee on the windows
ill, which hurt, and then pulled up my other leg. One foot was on the shiny counter that smelt like lemons while I swung my other foot over a kitchen roll and next to my other foot. I was now crouched on Patricia Woodsbury’s kitchen counter tops and kind of felt like a badass.

  I jumped off and landed on the tiled floor with a thud. In one swift motion I stood up straight and looked at Nick.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  I held up my thumb. “Torch,” I said.

  He threw it at me, and I caught it.

  “Be careful.”

  “Don’t worry.” The words managed to leave my throat calmly, despite my rapid heartbeat and the tingling sensation that came with intruding someone else’s personal space. I swallowed my fear and turned on the torch. The kitchen was tidy, almost sterile. She probably had a maid. I wiped the counter and checked all of the cupboards, making sure there were no murderous mushrooms. When I found nothing, I moved on to the corridor. The light was on, so I turned off my torch. Since I was most curious about their bedroom and bathroom, I headed straight upstairs where Detective Black was leaning against the wall. He nodded at me when I reached the landing.

  I turned on my torch and went into the first room. It was an empty guest room. The second room was the bathroom. I opened the cupboards under the sink and put the small torch between my teeth as I opened my shoulder bag. From there I took the CSI gloves I had taken from my kitchen. They were actually just latex cleaning gloves.

  “Bathrooms are always interesting rooms to check,” Detective Black said as he was crouched beside me.

  “Except that Eleanor already checked.” And I indeed confirmed the pills for depression and the hemorrhoid cream. The sound of my footsteps was absorbed by the light yellow carpet. With hurried steps I reached the bedroom and closed the door behind me. The curtains were closed even though it was still light out. By the time Patricia would come back, it would be dark. My light scanned the big oak wardrobe and a black dress with a matching hat hung on the opened door. The tag was still on the dress. It was a funeral dress.

  I wondered if she truly felt bad about Victor dying. She didn’t seem remorseful, but she was good at hiding her feelings. If she had poisoned him, would she have done it in this house? In their home?