by Poppy Blake
‘I’m ashamed to say I didn’t cope very well with his death. I should have been there for my parents who were devastated beyond anything I’ve ever known, but instead I went off the rails. Oh, I didn’t do anything illegal, not really. I thought that if I used up every ounce of energy, physically exhausting myself, my brain would be wiped clear of the never-ending trauma I couldn’t get rid of any other way. So, I trained, and trained, and trained some more. It did help. I found that working out was a distraction from the constant agony of guilt; from the constant loop of questions that circled around my brain. Why had Karl died? How come I got to survive and not my brother? He was younger than me, only fifteen years old, for God’s sake!’
Rosie reached across the table and squeezed Brad’s hand, her own emotions churning as she fought to supress her memories of the same feelings of loss, bereavement, guilt.
‘I became an adrenalin junkie, an extreme risk-taker. It was as though I was goading some invisible force to come and take me too. After a couple of years, it became an obsession. I had to run in every marathon going, had to join as many Three Peaks challenges as I could, had to cycle the Pennine Way, had to jump out of a plane. I’d have taken up sky-diving as a hobby if I could have afforded it. Yet here I am, still fit and healthy. Not even a sprained ankle. I’m ashamed to say that I even wished it had been me who got that arrow in my foot!’
Brad let out a sigh of disgust at his good fortune – as if he didn’t deserve it.
‘All these activities and expeditions were expensive. Much more than I could fund out of my salary. I couldn’t go to Mum and Dad to ask for money. I didn’t want them to know about what I’d become or the reasons behind it.’
Brad paused to blow his nose and to steady his voice. His demeanour had calmed but the haunted expression deep within his eyes was clearly evident. Rosie wondered why she hadn’t noticed it before, but perhaps she had and hadn’t wanted to dissect what it meant for fear of giving a platform to her own demons. Her heart ached for what Brad and his family had been through, were still going through probably, just like she and her family were.
‘And the Myth Seekers Society?’ Matt urged him gently.
‘I had joined a couple of months before Karl passed away. The guys were so supportive when it happened. If it hadn’t been for them … well … Anyway, when Rick joined and started to flash the cash I saw a way of satisfying my craving for more extreme challenges in more exotic places. Then I met Emma. She showed up one night outside the club. I couldn’t believe a girl like her was into myths and legends, much less wanted to attend a club dedicated to them. I mean, what girl does? I thought she’d made a mistake and had intended to come to the Wednesday night yoga club, that she’d stay for one session and we’d never see her again. But she stuck around. She even seemed to relish the most obscure theories of folklore Phil and Rick and some of the others had researched. It was amazing. And when she agreed to go on a date with me, well, I couldn’t believe my luck. I thought that at last something good had come into my life.’
‘And she went on one of the trips organized by the club?’
‘Yes, someone had to drop out of the trip to Morocco and she leapt at the chance to take their place. We really got the chance to connect, and it turned out she was even fitter than me. Of course, she works in a gym so that’s no surprise, but she’s done the Three Peaks challenge loads of times and the London and Edinburgh marathons. We did a couple of charity half marathons together in support of Cancer Research UK before we went to Marrakesh.’
‘What I don’t understand is what you were doing with a chisel for the trek to the priory?’
Colour flooded Brad’s cheeks and he averted his eyes. ‘The trips, the marathons, the sky-diving, it was all becoming expensive – especially with Emma on board. Rick did subsidize our trips but there were still personal expenses to pay for, so I tried to help her out as much as I could and I had to get the cash from somewhere.’
‘And…’ urged Matt, earning himself an eye roll from Rosie. She thought it was best to let Brad tell his story at his own pace, not to rush him to the conclusion which risked him missing something out that could be enlightening.
‘Well, I’m not proud of what I did.’
‘What did you do?’
‘It started as a sort of dare at first, really. Last March, the Myth Seekers went up to Holy Island off the Northumberland coast. I wanted a souvenir of my trip so I helped myself to a chunk of the Lindisfarne Castle. I didn’t think too much of it at the time but when I got back I was in one of the internet chat rooms us myth seekers frequent and I showed a photo of it to one of the guys from the US. He offered me a hundred quid for it. I was astounded and snatched his hand off. I mean, a hundred quid?’
Brad ran his fingertips through his cropped hair, his eyes flicking between Rosie and Matt, his expression filled with shame, yet pleading for understanding at the same time. Whilst Matt’s face remained stern, Rosie gave a slight nod of acknowledgment so that Brad would continue with his confession.
‘That started me thinking. If I could collect a little piece of history from all our trips, home and abroad, maybe I could make a bit of extra money for me and Emma. Easy. I didn’t think of the legalities. I mean, Marrakesh is littered with discarded artefacts. Who would mind? So I brought back a small piece of mosaic and flogged it on the internet; made some cash again.’
‘Did Emma know what you were doing?’
‘Yes, I’m not good at keeping secrets. She thought it was a great way to supplement our funds. But when she suggested we did that statue in the museum in Athens, well, that got me wondering if we might have gone just a bit too far. So I decided I’d lay off for a while, but when we got back to the hotel, Rick was waiting for us. He ordered us to turn out our bags and our pockets, and when we did he went mental.
‘I thought he was going to have a coronary right there in front of us. He went on and on about priceless relics, irreplaceable artwork, stuff like that. At the next Myth Seekers meeting after we returned home he pulled me to one side and told me that if he saw anything else posted on the internet for sale he would involve the police. I didn’t want to sell the stuff after that, but, well, Emma said we already had it and we should just get rid of it, and then call it a day. So I did and Rick found out. He was even angrier this time. I don’t blame him. I shouldn’t have listened to Emma. I knew it was wrong.’
‘So Rick was going to report you to the police?’
‘Yes. I apologized. I confided in him about my addiction to adrenalin surges and other extreme risk-taking behaviour since the death of my brother. I promised to get some counselling and in return he said he’d think about whether to report me over the course of this week. He seemed sympathetic. I hoped … well…’
‘And yet you had a chisel with you when you went up to the priory? Did you intend to chisel off a souvenir of your visit there too?’ Matt asked, his jaw working hard at remaining still.
Brad swallowed down hard again and tears gathered along his lower lashes whilst he scrutinized his fingernails. Rosie held her breath, praying he was about to deny any more involvement.
‘Yes. I’m ashamed to say that’s exactly what I intended to do. But when I saw Rick lying there with an arrow sticking out of his ankle I panicked. I wanted to get rid of the chisel before anyone could search me. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done any of it. I just needed the money. It’s no excuse for what I’ve done, but it’s the truth. I’m terrified Rick’s going to inform the other members and they expel me from the group. But whatever happens to me, you have to believe me, I did not shoot him with that arrow.’
As Brad crumbled for a second time, Rosie felt a surge of sympathy. Sitting there at the table, wiping his cheeks on his sleeve, he looked like a desolate puppy threatened with being left out in the rain after a misdemeanour. Her instinct told her he wasn’t the culprit, but she had to reach her conclusions using logic, not instinct, and it did look like all the evidence pointed to the und
eniable fact that Brad had a strong motive for wanting Rick out of the way. Quite apart from Rick’s threat to go to the police, the Myth Seekers had become a surrogate family to Brad and the risk of being excluded from their meetings would have had a devastating impact on his life, especially if Emma continued to attend without him.
Rosie poured Brad another cup of tea, added a heaped teaspoon of sugar, and he sipped it gratefully. ‘Brad, the night of the wild camping, did you notice anything unusual? Anything at all?’
‘No, I don’t think so. Emma and I went with Rick to collect water from the stream for our evening brew, then we huddled together in our sleeping bags. We knew we had to be up early for the trek over to the priory before sunrise. I slept surprisingly well, but Phil’s already told me that was because Rick had put something in our coffee so we’d all miss the show. Rick was no angel either, Rosie.’
‘So we are finding out.’
‘I think I should be getting back to the lodge before Emma freaks out and thinks I’ve been shot by a random archer, too. Thanks for the breakfast, Rosie, and I’m sorry about … well, about the, you know, the crying.’
‘You’re welcome, and don’t worry about it, Brad. I’ve lost someone close to me too and I understand how emotions can just ambush you at the most inopportune of times.’
Rosie watched Brad walk back to his lodge, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, elbows flapping, head bowed, and her heart softened further. The sudden death of a loved one changed a person for ever, sometime for the better, sometimes not, but nevertheless, you were never the same person you were before. You struggled to make sense of your new world with a huge void at its centre.
‘You know, I thought we were getting better at this mystery-solving stuff,’ groaned Matt. ‘But I feel like we’re going around in circles. I need to get out of here. Fancy a walk over to Willerby? I could do with the exercise. We can call in at Adriano’s Deli for an espresso and a couple of their delicious cannoli to sustain us on the walk back?’
Rosie hesitated. She should really stay at the Windmill Café and wait for Mia to arrive for another morning of Hallowe’en-inspired baking. They still had the pistachio macaron frogs and the cheese straw twisted fingers to triple-test before the party on Friday, as well as a run through with the spicy pumpkin punch and the chocolate Matchmaker spiders Mia had been working on. On the other hand, she wanted to help Matt comb through all the information they had gathered over the last two days.
Matt was right, every single one of the five suspects staying at the Windmill holiday site had a motive, as well as the opportunity to shoot Rick whilst he relaxed in the cloister of Garside Priory enjoying the solitary pleasure of watching the sun rise through the archway. However, within moments, the pendulum of doubt swung back the other way and she was forced to conclude that, in her opinion, none of them were really capable of perpetrating such a vicious deed, even to someone as unpopular as Rick.
‘Count me in. I’ll just leave some instructions for Mia.’
Chapter 18
Rosie dashed across the terrace outside the Windmill Café and made her way to the car park where Matt was waiting for her for their one-mile walk to Willerby. She was greeted by an insistent breeze, edged with a suspicion of ice that nipped her extremities and made her wish she’d grabbed her gloves. She needn’t have worried because Matt slotted his warm palm into hers and gave it a squeeze, sending sparks of heat through her veins and a curl of pleasure to her lips.
As the carpet of russet and orange leaves attested, winter was definitely on its way, but it hadn’t quite reached its destination and the air smelled of damp soil and wood smoke from the fires and log burners in the village. It didn’t take long for the brisk exercise to work its magic and clear Rosie’s muddled thoughts. In other circumstances, she would have thoroughly enjoyed the romantic walk through the countryside, hand-in-hand with Matt Wilson, the most gorgeous guy in Willerby!
That morning the village was wearing its best outfit; each tree, hedgerow, bush and lawn draped with shafts of sunshine which gave the whole scene a sepia-tinted hue. The main street, which wound leisurely towards the church at the far end, was as bright and cheerful as its reputation.
Adriano’s crouched at the opposite end of the road to the Drunken Duck and since the deli’s arrival two years ago, it had become an institution in the village. It was the sort of place that brought a smile to your face simply by looking at its welcoming exterior; a bow-fronted window stretched across the whole façade like a wide grin, a front door painted in a cheery scarlet and a necklace of bunting in the colours of the Italian flag.
Matt pushed open the door and the tinkle of a brass bell overhead announced their arrival. Rosie paused on the threshold for a second, bracing herself for the visual onslaught of all things Italian, from dangling salamis and round fat mozzarella cheeses to freshly baked crostata di frutta filled with apricots, cherries, peaches and nectarines, and cream-filled cannoli. Rosie could already feel her taste buds zinging in anticipation. Everything in the deli spoke of the warmth and friendship of a treasured Italian friend who, no matter how long it had been between visits, it still felt like you had last seen them the day before.
Matt ordered a double espresso and grabbed a seat at the table next to the window. Rosie loitered at the glass display cabinet, unable to choose between a slice of tiramisu layer cake or ricotta and crushed pistachio pie until she heard Matt’s phone buzzing and made a snap decision to try one of the cannoli.
‘Hi, Freddie.’
Matt’s eyes rested on hers whilst he listened intently to what his friend and colleague had to say, which culminated in a broad grin.
‘Freddie, you’re an absolute genius. Why didn’t I think of that? Are you going over there now? Okay, let me know if you find anything?’
‘What was all that about?’ asked Rosie, depositing three dessert plates on the table and taking a seat opposite him.
‘Freddie has a couple of friends who are keen detectorists. They’re on their way over to the woodland where we camped out on Sunday night and they’re going to follow the path we took to the Priory to see if they can uncover anything. You never know, maybe they’ll get lucky and find a discarded bow and quiver full of arrows. I know it’s a long shot, but it’s worth a try, don’t you think?’
‘Inspired!’ laughed Rosie, nibbling at her cannoli and holding her hand under her chin to catch any flaky pastry crumbs, picking them up with the tip of her tongue. ‘So, what do you…’
‘Hi! You must be Rosie Barnes from the Windmill Café. Adriano waxes lyrical about your strawberry and kiwi tartlets, not to mention your fig and walnut scones and pineapple and coconut cookies. I told him that he should really be talking up our Tuscan delicacies, but he insists that “this town is big enough for the both of us”,’ giggled the young waitress, as she performed a passable imitation of her esteemed boss Adriano Danapo in the guise of a Mafia Godfather. ‘Oh, I’m Corrine, by the way.’
‘Hi Corrine, great to meet you. Have you just started working at Adriano’s?’ asked Rosie, taking in Corinne’s graduated bob, the colour of liquid coal, and bright scarlet lipstick that matched her nose stud that twinkled in the deli’s overhead lights.
‘Yes, I’ve been here six weeks and it’s absolutely the best job in the world!’
‘I have to agree with you. Who wouldn’t want to spend their working day in here surrounded by Crema Fritta, Cartellate, Zeppole and Cassatedde? Delicious!’
‘Well, I’m sure they are, but sadly I can’t eat any of them.’
‘Why not?
‘I’m gluten-intolerant.’
‘Really? What a shame,’ said Matt, raising his eyebrows at Rosie when Corinne wasn’t looking. ‘So, do you just stick to the zabaglione and chocolate panne cotta then?’
‘I wish. I’m actually allergic to chocolate.’
‘Really? That must cancel out pretty much every dessert in the place. I suppose you can always indulge in the wonderful antipasti.�
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‘Not all of it.’
Rosie knew she shouldn’t really ask her next question, but she did anyway. ‘Why not?’
‘I’m vegetarian.’
She heard Matt try to make a snigger sound like a cough and she didn’t dare catch his eye for fear she would crumple into laughter and offend their new friend with the sing-song Welsh accent who had chosen to work in a café where she couldn’t eat any of the food.
‘Well, welcome to Willerby, Corinne. I hope you’ll be as happy here as I am.’
‘I absolutely know I will. The best thing about it is being so close to the sea. I adore every water sport going and yesterday I met a guy called Freddie who offered to take me windsurfing! He even said he would show me a place where you can go wild swimming! Awesome!’
A shiver shot down Rosie’s spine. There was nothing she would like less than spending an afternoon swimming in one of the rivers or canals scattered around the Norfolk countryside for fun, even in Freddie’s exuberant company.
‘Perhaps you could invite Rosie along?’ suggested Matt, a smirk playing around the corners of his mouth causing tiny matching dimples to appear and Rosie’s stomach gave a pleasurable lurch. She rolled her eyes at him and decided not to grace his comment with a reply.
‘I’d love you to join us, Rosie. I’ll give you a call. Anyway, enough of my chatter, I’ll let you two have some privacy,’ grinned Corinne, clearly jumping to the wrong conclusion.
‘Oh, no, we’re not…’ began Rosie, but Corinne had floated off to bombard other customers with a list of her allergies and her views on water sports, leaving behind a trail of jasmine perfume. Rosie crammed the last of her apple and caramel cannoli into her mouth, giving Matt a comedic look as her cheeks bulged like a food-hoarding hamster, before saying, ‘Okay, let’s talk through what we know about Rick’s shooting.’
Matt’s mood changed. He scratched at the smattering of blond stubble on his jaw before leaning back in his chair, crossing his boot over his thigh and expelling a long sigh of frustration.
