by Poppy Blake
‘Matt, Brad and I didn’t get chance to tell you how much we enjoyed the wild camping expedition. It was worth the sacrifice of spending a couple of hours mooning over a bunch of boring old stones just to be able to camp out in the open, staring up at the stars. It’s awful what happened to Rick, especially after he subsidized the trip, but I hope it doesn’t stop him from organizing other expeditions. Brad and I could never afford to stay anywhere as luxurious as this on our wages.’
‘So is that the only reason you tagged along?’ asked Matt.
‘Well, do I look like the sort of person who enjoys searching for non-existent vibrations radiating from a bunch of rocks? Brad loves that side of things, but not me. I admit that I’m in it for the subsidized jaunts. This year alone we’ve been to the Isle of Man and Scotland, even to Athens and Marrakesh!’
‘How long have you guys been together, then?’ asked Rosie, anxious to perform the role of cross-examiner that Matt had assigned her despite the fear burgeoning in her abdomen.
‘We’ve only been dating for about seven months so we’re not living together yet. I share a flat with two friends in Manchester. Both guys – for some reason I seem to have more of a connection with men than I do with girls.’ Emma smiled at Matt from beneath her eyelashes and Rosie couldn’t stop herself from rolling her eyes. ‘Brad still lives at home with his parents, would you believe?’
‘Where do your parents live, Emma?’
‘I never knew my father. He left Mum when I was a baby and she brought me up until she died when I was ten, and then I went to live with my aunt and cousins. Three boys. That’s where I get my love of sports from; the more extreme the better! My cousins used to take me camping and climbing in Snowdonia. We spent weekends abseiling and free-climbing, and I’ve even flown down the longest zip wire ride in Europe. It’d be a dream come true to work for an outward-bound company.’
‘Where do you work at the moment? Even subsidized trips abroad don’t come cheap.’
‘I work as a gym instructor. Pay’s okay. Brad helps me out a bit sometimes.’
‘Mia and I were just talking about Sunday night and whether we might have seen anything unusual. Did you or Brad notice anything untoward when you went to collect the water from the stream?’
‘Well, I wasn’t really taking much notice to be honest, but if there had been something, I think I would have pointed it out to Brad, so no, I didn’t.’
‘And what about the last time you saw Rick before we found him in the cloister?’
Emma flashed a look at Rosie. ‘Same as everyone else, I guess. I remember you and Mia crawling into your tent…’ Rosie saw the glint in Emma’s eyes that said ‘wimps’, ‘…and the rest of us huddled down for a night under the stars in our sleeping bags – including Rick. The next time I saw him he was lying in agony in the middle of those ugly stones with an arrow poking through his foot. It could have been anyone of us, and when I think about it, I absolutely freak out. It’s just too awful!’
‘So you weren’t disturbed at all during the night?’
‘No.’
‘And how did you feel when you woke up?’
‘Yes, that was strange, all of us missing our alarm call. Brad was livid with Rick. It’s such a sneaky thing to do, but that was just the kind of guy he was. Brad reckons Rick put something in our coffee so we’d sleep in and miss the sunrise. I wasn’t fussed – seen one sunrise seen them all – but, yeah, Brad was furious.’
‘Furious enough to hurt him?’
‘Well, no, of course not. I didn’t mean…’
Rosie saw the colour rush to Emma’s cheeks so she hurried on before Emma had a change of heart about being so chatty.
‘How long have you known Rick?’
‘Let me think. I joined the Myth Seekers Society at the beginning of the year. I met Rick there, and Brad, Phil and few of the others. Boy, some of those guys were dull – a bit odd even – and all of them were completely focused on their obsession with chasing myths and legends. Someone had to drop out of the trip to Marrakesh at the last minute so I was offered their place. It was a free holiday. I wasn’t going to say no, was I?’
‘So you got to know Rick better when you took trips abroad together? What about his wife, Helen?’
‘I didn’t get to know him well. I was the only girl in the group on the Morocco trip, and on the trip to Athens. I met Helen and Steph for the first time this weekend.’
‘How did Rick treat you as a newbie and the only woman?’
‘He was always okay with me. I tried not to spend a lot of time with him, or with Phil and his mates, for that matter. They’re all old enough to be my father. Why Brad keeps going to the meetings is beyond me. When we were in Morocco we’d have breakfast together as a group, then when they set off on their scheduled activities, me and Brad would sneak off and go camel racing, dune surfing or take a jeep safari into the Sahara Desert – African extreme sports are an awesome buzz!’
‘And it must have been amazing to visit Athens? Did you do any sightseeing there?’
‘Yes, we did a bit of trailing around the ancient monuments. Brad insisted, actually. He said we couldn’t come to the seat of modern democracy without spending some time soaking up the vibes of those who’d trodden the ground before us, or some such garbage.’
Rosie noticed Emma couldn’t meet her eyes and she made a note to mention it to Matt later. Was she embarrassed because her boyfriend was interested in early Greek civilization or was it something else?
Emma laughed. ‘I know, I know, I’m sorry. My boyfriend is a nerd. All this myth stuff – treasure hunting, following ancient maps and setting out on quests – it’s just, well, it’s just so pointless. Why waste your time doing all that when you could be water-skiing on the Aegean Sea or abseiling down the rock face of the Corinth Canal?’
‘So you don’t have any idea why anyone would want to shoot Rick?’
‘Well, you and Mia were there, you saw how he went on. Rick’s always been a bit, well, a bit disrespectful to Phil and a few of the other long-standing members who were fixtures at the club before he arrived. It was like he wanted them to leave so he could take over and start afresh. He was an obnoxious moron to everyone at one time or another, even Brad. For instance, Phil’s writing this book on the myths of Europe or something, right? Well, Rick was always taking the p… Well, ridiculing him at every opportunity. Phil self-published his last book because he couldn’t get a publisher interested. After Rick mentioned it, I thought I’d look the book up on Amazon. It’s got a few reviews – probably from his anoraky friends – but there’s one review that is blisteringly awful and guess who wrote it? Rick! Now, if I was so obsessed with a subject that I’d spent years and years writing a book about it, I certainly wouldn’t have been happy if I got a one star review from the chairman of my local club. If you ask me, I reckon it was Phil who shot Rick.’
‘For writing a bad review?’ scoffed Rosie.
‘People have been murdered for less! Right, I think I’ll persuade Brad to go for a drink at the Drunken Duck. Hey, Matt, if it’s okay with you, once this is all sorted, I’d love to do the assault course at Ultimate Adventures, that way this whole week in the wilds of Willerby wouldn’t have been a total waste of time.’
‘No problem.’
Emma stood up, maintaining eye contact with Matt, a slight smile parting her lips. She straightened her spine and elongated her slender arms above her head in a felinesque stretch causing the shape of her pert breasts to protrude from her skin-tight gym top. Rosie took in her pixie-like features; the upturned nose, her neat mouth devoid of enhancement as she had no need for cosmetics to augment her natural attractiveness. She did wonder why Emma had chosen to dye her hair a non-descript auburn colour when her eyebrows and lashes indicated her natural colouring was a vibrant copper which would have complimented her colouring so much better. Clearly she did still harbour a little vanity despite constantly professing to be a tomboy.
‘Bye everyone!’
Chapter 15
‘Well?’ asked Matt when Emma had driven off in Brad’s car that was more rust than bucket.
‘Well, what?’
‘This is usually the point at which you say “it’s Emma” or “it’s Brad”.’
‘No I don’t!’
‘Yes you do. You always think it’s the person we’ve just talked to. And I definitely thought you would try to squeeze what Emma has just told us into one of your outlandish theories as to why she could be the only person responsible.’
‘Well, I…’
Matt laughed and her cheeks coloured because that was exactly what she had been about to say, but having had a few minutes to think about it, she just couldn’t see Emma, or Brad for that matter, wanting to shoot Rick, mainly because they both knew they were onto a good thing having Rick finance their trips abroad. Why would they want to put a stop to that? Rick had plenty of money; if he was willing to spend some of it on the club members so they could undertake foreign excursions together as a group then that was his prerogative. She couldn’t blame Emma, or Brad – who probably didn’t earn a huge salary either – for taking him up on his offer.
And could Emma really be responsible for stabbing her faithful bear Mitzy with an arrow? It didn’t seem likely, but then who went around doing that sort of thing anyway? Ergh. Rosie’s head felt like a marshmallow army had invaded and were partaking in a foam party, but there was no time to linger on her misfortune because a police car was winding its way down the drive towards the Windmill Café.
After spending the best part of an hour giving a statement to a police constable who took the ancient art of pedantry to a whole new level, Rosie watched him place poor Mitzy in a plastic evidence bag. Feeling like a toddler whose favourite toy had been confiscated for a misdemeanour she hadn’t committed, she made the hooded-eyed officer promise to keep her informed of when she could have him back. She saw the look of disbelief on the man’s face, but he wasn’t the sort of person who would understand that the bear was the only item she possessed that had belonged to her father and precious memories were tied up in his threadbare fur.
She showed him out through the French doors and they both paused on the terrace whilst they waited for Matt to finish scrolling through his mobile phone before shaking the officer’s hand.
‘What are you looking at?’ asked Rosie.
Instead of answering her question, Matt turned to the policeman. ‘I’ve just read on the Willerby Gazette’s website that the police have concluded their search of the area surrounding Garside Priory and they found a chisel hidden under a rock close to where we camped for the night. Why didn’t you mention it?’
‘I wasn’t sure whether that information was going to be released,’ sniffed the man, rolling his eyes at Matt’s impertinence for questioning the police’s procedures and their unwillingness to share their discoveries with the public.
Rosie leaned over Matt’s shoulder to take a closer look at the write-up by intrepid journalist, Dan Forrester. A swirl of citrusy cologne sent a frisson of desire snaking around her abdomen and it took her a few seconds to drag her thoughts back to the subject at hand.
‘A chisel, though? Not a quiver filled with poisoned arrows, or a long bow, or a recurve bow or … what’s the other type of bow called?’
‘Composite. So, do the police think the chisel is connected to what happened to Rick Forster?’ pressed Matt.
‘I’m not at liberty to say.’
‘But Rick wasn’t attacked with a chisel,’ said Rosie, wrinkling her nose in confusion.
‘True. Have the police made any further progress on locating the bow?’
‘Perhaps you should direct your questions to Mr Forrester. Good evening, Miss Barnes, Mr Wilson. If either of you think of anything else that might assist with our enquiries, then please do contact us. Otherwise, try not to worry, we have everything under control.’
‘Unlikely,’ muttered Matt as they watched the most unfriendly police officer in Norfolk amble back to his car and sling Mitzy unceremoniously in the boot.
‘I’ve had an idea,’ said Rosie, her eyes still following the red taillights of the police vehicle wind through the country lanes. ‘Why don’t you give your farmer friend a call and see if he knows anything about the chisel?’
‘Why?’
‘Because if it was there before Sunday night, don’t you think one of his dogs would have sniffed it out?’
‘Maybe…’
‘And the fact they didn’t could mean someone brought it with them on our camping trip and maybe it’s connected in some way to Rick’s shooting.’
‘I’m not sure about that, but I don’t mind giving Giles a call.’
‘Thanks, Matt.’
Matt meandered out to the terrace to make his call and Rosie returned to her kitchen to set the kettle to boil. A wave of sheer exhaustion gripped her bones and squeezed out whatever ounce of energy remained. Her brain tumbled with a kaleidoscope of ideas and counter-ideas, all searching for a ledge upon which to park their theories. Maybe she should have gone with Emma and Brad to drown her anxieties with a couple of the Drunken Duck’s finest beverages.
‘So, what did he say?’
‘Giles has seen the Gazette piece, too, and he came to exactly the same conclusion as you. Well done, Sherlock.’
Rosie beamed and Matt rolled his eyes at her, but smiled as well.
‘He said that he walks his dogs past the spot where the chisel was found every morning and every evening. He agrees with you – one of them would definitely have sniffed it out straight away but he’s been avoiding the area where we camped since Rick was attacked for obvious reasons. So the chisel has to have been hidden by someone on Sunday night or Monday morning.’
‘Why not just dropped accidentally?’
‘Because it was found underneath a rock.’
‘But hidden by whom?’
‘Well, it can only be one of three people, can’t it? Freddie and I don’t carry that sort of equipment on wild camping trips, and I’m sure you’re going to tell me that you and Mia don’t own anything like a tatty old joiner’s chisel.’
‘No – whisks, spatulas and wooden spoons are the tools of our trade.’
Matt laughed. ‘I’m surrounded by a bunch of complete obsessives – myth seekers, legend lovers, baking boffs, adrenalin junkies!’
‘Oh, that’s the pot calling the kettle! Talking of pots, I’m starving. Shall I cook something?’
‘Unless you fancy indulging in some pub grub?’
Suddenly all Rosie wanted to do was escape the Windmill Café, to put the distressing incident out of her mind for a few hours and submerge herself in the rumble of conversation, the crackle of a log fire and a plate of Archie’s hearty fayre.
‘Thanks, Matt, I’d love that.’
She grabbed her pristine wax jacket and one of Georgina’s hand-knitted scarves and followed Matt out to the car park. She struggled to put words to the emotions swirling around her body as they made their way to the Drunken Duck where she suspected every one of the guests from the lodges would be eating that night. Perhaps a night with Matt and a takeaway in a wooden cabin huddled beneath the arboreal canopy would be a much more inviting prospect than having dinner with a group of people that possibly included a proficient marksman amongst its ranks – irrespective of the delicious food on offer.
Rosie’s suspicions proved to be only partially correct. Phil, Steph and Helen were indeed at the pub but there was no sign of Emma and Brad. She assumed they had changed their mind and gone to the upmarket bistro in the next village so they could enjoy a more intimate dining experience.
For a few uncomfortable moments, the spectre of Rick’s assailant lurked large in their company, but then everyone made a valiant effort to pretend nothing had happened. Phil regaled everyone with a detailed story about the group’s trip to the Isle of Man and his continuing research for his next book. Apparently, he had hoped to have another chapter finished by the end of
their week in Norfolk but, unsurprisingly, the literary muse had deserted him. Rosie chatted about her love of baking as they all savoured the flavours and textures of the food on offer at the Drunken Duck, which as she had predicted was delicious – she even devoured a generous wedge of chocolate fudge cake.
With everyone’s stomachs replete, the prickly atmosphere of earlier morphed into mellowness and the conversation became less stilted, more jovial. For a couple of hours, Rosie managed to fool herself that things at the Windmill Café were normal; but the insidious coil of questions still needing answers eventually crept back in and she couldn’t forget that once again she had involuntarily become embroiled in something disturbing. What with the poisoning in August and now this, she wondered if she should consider handing in her notice and moving on – even though neither incident had been her fault.
The very thought of leaving Willerby caused her stomach to flip-flop with distress. She loved everything about the village and the little Windmill Café which had woven its magic into her heart and she desperately wanted to stay. She thought of her approaching ‘date’ with Matt for Grace and Josh’s Christmas wedding and enjoyed the sparkle of anticipation it caused in her chest. Seeing the couple together, happy, excited about starting their life together in the village they had grown up in, surrounded by friends and family – well, it made her think there might be an outside possibility she could find that too if she could only muster the courage to take a leap of faith into the dating game.
One thing she knew for sure was that she didn’t want to be alone for ever. Before her father had passed away, her parents had enjoyed a strong, loving marriage filled with plenty of laughter, togetherness and mutual respect. Georgina might complain about Jack’s obsession with music but Rosie knew she loved him fiercely. She wanted the same kind of relationship for herself. Just because she had made one disastrous choice with Harry didn’t necessarily mean her next one would be.
Could she see herself dating Matt? Who was she kidding? Yes! He was extremely attractive with a surfer-dude thing going on, and, if the sparkle of desire she felt when he kissed her was anything to go by, she was certainly attracted to him. On top of that, he was intelligent, supportive and generous with his time, not to mention their shared love of puzzle solving.
