by Sam Short
Barney's eyes widened, and I glanced at Willow and Susie. They'd turned white.
"Do we have an ID?" said Barney, his voice cracking.
"It's Sam Hedgewick. He's been hit on the head. Get there immediately. Sergeant Cooper is waiting for you."
Barney looked at us as he put his stab jacket and tie on and clipped his radio to his belt. "Oh God," he said. "Now I'm for it. Poor Sam. I was supposed to be looking after him." His panicked face whitened and he gazed at the floor.
"Calm down," I said. "You weren't due to interview anyone until tomorrow, there's nothing you could have done tonight. You weren't his bodyguard."
"Granny said you stopped him arguing with a rough looking guy today. She actually called him a badboy," said Willow. "Maybe he's got something to do with it?"
"I didn't take much notice," said Barney, adjusting his stab jacket. "That was before I knew Sam was getting threats, and I was preoccupied with making sure those old cars didn't block up the roads. I can't even remember what colour hair he had!"
"Barney," I soothed. "You go now. I'll speak to Granny first thing in the morning while the memory is still fresh in her head. Go and collect evidence or whatever it is you need to do."
"I've never dealt with a murder before," said Barney. "This is new to me, and there's so many people who were angry with him."
"Go," I said. "You'll be fine."
Barney looked at us one last time, turned on the spot, and sprinted towards the footpath with Mabel hot on his heels.
"Good luck!" Susie shouted.
"Poor Barney," said Willow, as Barney vanished into the darkness and Mabel came sauntering back to us.
"Poor Sam," I said. "Barney will be fine. Sam's dead."
"Come on," said Susie. "Let's get inside the boat. I don't feel like anymore wine. We'll clear the mess up in the morning."
We trudged into the boat and made some tea, sitting at the L-shaped dinette area to drink it as we came up with theories about who could have killed Sam Hedgewick.
"Emily the florist?" said Susie. "The note in the window seemed pretty nasty."
She passed her phone to Willow so she could have a look at the photo of the note.
"Not Emily," said my sister when she'd read it. "She's too timid. And too lovely. She was just lashing out."
I brought my sister up to speed with what had happened in the allotments, and came up with my own appraisal of the situation. "Hilda Cox," I said, "most of the other allotment owners too, the badboy, and anyone else who rents a property Sam's selling. Veronica told me that Sam was a gambling man too — maybe the badboy is someone he owes money to? The police are going to have to work hard. There's so many suspects."
Susie yawned and stretched her arms above her head. "I agree," she said, "but I'm too tired to think about it now. I should be at the murder scene but I've had too much wine to drive. I'll get up early in the morning and get down there. The car show will have to wait, this is far more important. We haven't had a murder in Wickford for a long time. This is a real story."
Willow stood up. "I'm tired too. Help me make this bed, and we'll get some sleep. Susie can share your bed with you. I'd be embarrassed if my baby feet dug into you during the night."
We laughed as we collapsed the dinette table and placed the cushions on top of it to form a perfectly good double bed. "There's bedding in the storage underneath it," I said, hugging my sister. "Sleep tight."
Susie and I top and tailed in my bed, with Rosie snuggled up in the small gap between us. I'd opened the stern doors, and a warm breeze blew over us. We lay in silence listening to the night sounds until Susie tapped me on my leg. "Tell me the story of how the haven was made," she said.
"Again? Do you never get bored of the same story?"
"I like it, and anyway, you get to go there someday, I only get to hear about it. Tell it the way your mum used to tell us when we were little."
I closed my eyes. "Okay," I said. "Once upon a time, a long time ago, when people were afraid of witches, there was a very powerful witch called Maeve. She was a good witch, but one day she caught a man trying to steal the eggs from her chickens, and turned him into a toad for a day."
"Remember the face your mum used to make when she pretended to turn us into toads?" Susie said from the darkness. "It terrified us."
"Not as much as it scared Willow," I giggled. "She was only six when we were eleven."
"Go on," said Susie. "I won't interrupt again."
"Unluckily for Maeve," I continued, "somebody saw her cast the spell and reported her to the village elders. A week later the Witchfinder General arrived with his soldiers and set about building a bonfire to burn Maeve to death on. Maeve was a brave witch, and refused to use magic to stop the soldiers from burning her. She didn't want to hurt anyone, and she knew that if she did, things would become far worse for other witches, so she accepted her fate."
I laid my hand on Rosie to settle her as an owl hooted outside. "As the flames licked at the base of her robes and burned her legs, Maeve closed her eyes tight and imagined being somewhere nicer, somewhere more peaceful, a place where she wasn't in pain. Witnesses who were watching the burning said the clouds opened and a flash of lightning burst from the sky, turning Maeve into dust. They believed it was God's doing, and it gave them the encouragement they needed to carry on burning witches... except they never found another witch. Not a real one anyway."
"Because of the haven," whispered Susie.
"Yes. Maeve had accidentally managed to cast a spell so powerful it sucked most of the magic from the world and conjured up a magical dimension, a place where witches could be free from persecution. A safe haven. Back then of course, a witch could enter at any time, but when witches stopped being hunted and killed, Maeve changed the rules of entry so witches would enjoy this world before going to the haven. Now we need to prove ourselves before Maeve grants us our entry spell."
"You'll meet Maeve one day, Penny," slurred Susie as she drifted off to sleep. "How amazing is that?"
"Very," I said, and joined my friend in sleep as I listened to the water gently lapping against the hull.
Chapter Six
Susie shook me awake. "It's seven o'clock," she said. "I'm going to the murder scene. I want to be the first journalist there. I doubt any reporters got there last night." She applied a little lipstick and put the tube in her bag. "I've fed Rosie, cleaned up the mess outside, and Willow is going to walk me up the hill to my car. Her feet have grown back and she wants to use them. She says you don't know what you've lost till they're gone."
I rubbed my eyes and yawned. "Do you want breakfast first? I bought bacon and eggs."
"No thanks. I'm kicking myself because I drank too much last night to drive. I need to go."
"Drive safe," I said, as Willow climbed the steps from the bedroom onto the stern decking.
"I will, and remember to ask Granny about that badboy. I have a feeling Barney will need some help."
I swung my feet out of bed and rubbed more sleep from my eyes. "Me and Willow will go straight to her house when we've had breakfast. I'll let you know what we find out."
I watched Willow and Susie through the window as they disappeared up the path with Mabel running ahead, scaring birds from the undergrowth.
As I waited for Willow to return, I cooked bacon and eggs, and poured us both a coffee when I heard her footsteps echoing through the boat. We ate our breakfast quickly, admired Willow's feet, and both took a shower, with Willow going first as it would take her far longer to fix her hair afterwards than it would me.
"Mum just phoned," said Willow, when I stepped out of the bathroom. "She's worried about Granny. She's not answering her phone, and she can't see her through the telescope."
Hazelwood cottage was on the top of a hill to the east of Wickford, and Granny's home, Ashwood Cottage, was on a hill to the west. With a perfect line of sight between the two highest points in the town, Mum had a telescope in her bedroom through which she spied on G
ranny, and Granny had a set of binoculars through which she returned the favour. Many a lie had been exposed in the past, and many an argument caused, thanks to the high-powered lenses.
"Granny will be fine," I said. "She's probably recovering from whatever that gentleman caller did to her with his needles. We'll go and see her as soon as I've got dressed, and find out about this badboy for Barney."
Wickford was busier than normal, and policemen and women were knocking on the doors of houses in the town centre. The Lock and Key pub, which sat on top of a small cliff directly over the canal and towpath, was cordoned off with tape, and Barney was standing next to the makeshift barrier, keeping people away. He looked tired, and gave me a small smile as I stopped the car alongside him.
"Where's Susie?" I said. As I lowered the window, her car was parked less than fifty metres away, but she was nowhere to be seen.
"They've let her down there with the other reporters," Barney said glumly, pointing at the narrow set of stone steps next to the pub which ran down to the canal. "She's at the murder scene, while I'm up here stopping nosy people from getting too close. It's not my fault Sam got murdered. I should be down there with them."
"Who says it's your fault?" said Willow, leaning over my lap to speak through the window.
"Sergeant Cooper," said Barney. "Well, he didn't actually say it was my fault, but considering I was given the job of investigating the threats to Sam, you'd think I'd be down there with the rest of them."
"He'll come around," I said, "anyway, we're on our way to Granny's. Maybe what she tells us about the man she saw arguing with Sam will help you. She's got a vicious eye for details."
"I remember he had tattoos," said Barney, leaning closer to the window, and lowering his voice as the onlookers watched him. "But I can't remember what they were. I can't remember how tall he was either — everyone looks short next to me. The sergeant hasn't even asked me if I know anything yet, he's too busy trying to impress the detectives from the CID."
"Don't worry," I said. "As soon as we've spoken to Granny I'll let you know what she said. I'll text you."
"Thank you," said Barney. "Hopefully the Sergeant won't ask me any questions before then. Don't go telling your Granny that I can't remember, though. If she does need to be interviewed as a witness, it will make me look silly if people find out that I couldn't even remember what a potential suspect looks like."
"Don't worry," said Willow. "We want to help you."
"Thank you," said Barney. "Both of you. I don't want to lose my job over this. I like being a policeman. I know I'm not Sherlock Holmes, but I like trying to help people."
Poor Barney. I put the car in gear and began edging away from the pavement. "I'll text you as soon as I know anything."
Barney put a hand up and waved as I watched him in the rear-view mirror.
"So, we're helping to solve a murder," said Willow, rubbing her hands together. "How exciting!"
I took the left turn that led us to the hill which Granny lived on. "I wouldn't go that far," I said. "We're just helping a friend keep his job. Anyway, the man Granny saw isn't the only suspect."
"The game is afoot!"
"The what is a what?"
"Don't you watch Sherlock?" said Willow. "Oh, of course you don't. You don't even own a television."
The narrow lane flattened out as we reached the top of the hill, and I turned right through the open wooden gates of Granny's property. The little cottage was as colourful as my mother's, with flowers blooming in the garden and a fresh coat of yellow paint on the old walls. A tall stack of fresh firewood filled the lean-to shed which was attached to one wall, and I parked the car next to it, happy that Granny was still fit enough to chop her own wood.
Granny appeared at the kitchen window, and I waved and smiled at her. She ducked quickly out of sight, her face looking panicked. Willow frowned. "What's her problem?" she said.
I opened the car door and stepped out. "I hope she hasn't had another dementia accident. That's probably why she's not answering the phone to Mum. Come on, let's see if she's okay."
The thick wooden front door was locked, which was unusual. Granny feared few things, and burglars were at the bottom of that very short list. Willow swung the heavy brass knocker into the metal mounting plate, the sound echoing over the hilltop and into the woods. "Granny," she shouted. "It's Willow and Penny! We know you're in, we saw you at the window!"
"Granny!" I echoed. "Mum's worried about you, and we've got some gossip! There's been a murder!"
"My feet are better too!" added Willow.
The window above us creaked open, and we stepped back to look up. Granny poked her head out and gazed down at us with narrowed eyes. "Good news on the feet, Willow, but a murder? Are you making that up just to get into my home? I'm trying to have a restful day. I don't need intrusions."
"No, honestly," I said. "Sam Hedgewick was murdered last night! Let us in and we'll tell you about it. You might be able to help, too. The man you saw arguing with Sam might be a suspect, maybe you can tell us something about him that will help solve the crime."
"Me, solve a crime? Like Mrs Doubtfire? Wait there, I'll let you in, but you're not to go in the kitchen. I'm... erm, baking a cake... using a... secret recipe. You can't go in there."
"She means Miss Marple," said Willow, as Granny slammed the window. "And I can't smell any baking."
The door creaked open an inch, and granny peered through the small gap. "It's just the two of you?" she said.
"Yes, just me and Willow," I promised. "What's wrong, Granny? You seem nervous."
"Nothing happened last night!" said Granny. "I mean, nothing's wrong, dear. Everything's just fine, and I'd stand up in a court of law and say exactly that if I was made to."
"Okay, that all sounds normal... are you going to let us in?" said Willow, glancing sideways at me.
Granny opened the door wide and stood aside to let us pass her.
"I can't smell a cake baking," I said.
"It's a secret recipe," said Granny. "If you could smell the ingredients, it wouldn't be a secret for long, would it? Now, go straight through to the lounge and tell me all about this murder."
With her back to the closed kitchen door, Granny stood and watched as we traipsed through the cottage and into the lounge. A familiar shudder ran through me as I looked at the spooky old oil paintings of our family's ancestors. They covered two walls, and the other walls were dotted with colourful modern canvases, giving the lounge the appearance of a room straggled across more than one time period.
Granny followed us in and sat in her comfy chair in front of the unlit fire, while Willow and I perched on the old sofa. "So," she said, staring at us over the rims of her glasses. "What's the gossip?"
We told her what we knew about the death of Sam Hedgewick, leaving out any mention of Barney's concerns. Granny ummed and aahed as the story unfolded, and her face lit up when we asked her to describe the so called badboy she'd seen.
"I knew my memory would come in handy one day," she said, settling further into her seat. "Now, let me think."
She closed her eyes and scrunched up her face, deep in thought. After what seemed like an eternity she snapped her eyes open. "Do you need to write it down?" she asked.
"No, we'll remember," I said.
"Okay. Six foot tall. Close cropped sand coloured hair. Wet sand mind, not dry sand. White t-shirt with a small black logo on the left side of the chest. White trainers with three red stripes, slightly dirty but certainly not old — this cat cared about how he looked — he wouldn't be seen dead in old shoes."
I bit my lip, and Willow shook against my thigh as she tried not to laugh. "Cat?" I said.
"You're too young to appreciate a cat," said Granny. "Your grandad was one though — he was the coolest cat in Wickford. Anyway, I digress. Faded denim jeans — blue. Tattoos on both arms. A dragon on the left forearm and a phoenix on the right. Both in black ink and leading beneath his t-shirt sleeves. Come to bed blue
eyes, and muscles like a US Navy Seal."
"Navy Seal?" said Willow.
"American special forces, dear. Very well built gentlemen. No wedding ring — I noticed that first. In fact, no jewellery whatsoever, he's not the type to adorn himself with bling." She closed her eyes again for a second or two. "That's all I can tell you. I'm sorry I can't remember more."
Willow gulped. "That should be enough to go on," she said.
"Anyway, why do you girls want to know about him? Don't you go trying to capture him, like I said yesterday, he's a badboy."
"It's just in case we see him around," I said. "We could tell the police."
"You can tell the police that Sam was coming out of the lawyer's office too. That's suspicious. A man visits a lawyer in the day, and he's dead that very night."
"A lawyer's office?" said Willow.
Granny sighed. "You girls need to clean your ears out. I told you yesterday, Sam was coming out of the lawyer's office when he was accosted, then that police friend of yours came along, Penelope. I don't know why you're asking me for a description anyway. Ask Barney, with his keen police mind he'll have noticed plenty of things I missed."
"Yes," I said, ignoring Willow's chuckles. "I'm sure he's already hunting him down. There's nothing suspicious about Sam going to a lawyer though. He was selling all his properties. That's the sort of thing lawyers help people with."
"Just something to bear in mind," said Granny. "Leave no stone unturned."
"I'll mention it to Barney," I said. "Anyway, Granny, how did your acupuncture go last night? Do you feel any better?"
Granny's face whitened. "It was a load of rubbish," she said. "Not worth the money I paid for it. Nothing happened here last night though! I can assure you both of that!"
"Granny," I said. "What happened here last night?"
"As I've made abundantly clear — nothing happened here last night!"
"Granny, are you crying?" said Willow.
"Curse the thought!" spat Granny, wiping her eyes with the hem of her apron. "I haven't cried since Norman died. Rest his soul. And I only cried then because your mother did the catering for the wake. I don't know what she was thinking, but everyone knows you don't trick a vegetarian into eating a ham sandwich. Those people are vicious if they find out they've ingested meat. The vicar is adamant he won't let our family ever use the hall again."
