by Mona Marple
“And you think they’re going to pounce on me as their prime suspect?” Isabelle asked.
“Yes, I do.” Sandy said, quietly, as if she was breaking bad news.
Then, to her surprise, Isabelle laughed. “I’m ready for their visit, dear. And trust me, there’s an awful long line of people with a grudge against that man. Bigger grudges than I could have had... I could tell you three people right now who would have more of a reason to end his days than I did.”
“But, he… he just closed your business that day.” Sandy said.
“One of my businesses. And not a profitable one. To be honest, I’d be happy to see the back of the place - there’s no money in fish and chips.”
“Isabelle, you don’t have to be brave with me, I heard you with Dick Jacobs. I heard how devastated you were.”
Isabelle shrugged. “Look, I want to be in control of my life, and if I decide there’s no money in fish and chips, I want to shut the place on my own terms. I was angry - furious - with that pathetic little twerp, because how dare he! You heard anger, nothing else.”
Sandy sighed and took a seat on one of the floral patterned settees, without being invited to. “You’re still the most obvious suspect.”
“Don’t you want to know, then?” Isabelle asked, gazing straight at her.
“Want to know what?”
“Whether I did it, of course!”
4
After the disaster that had been her first active interview in her unofficial investigation, Sandy woke on Wednesday morning with the echo of a headache still throbbing through her temples. Her alarm seemed to screech at her without mercy, every shrill tone sounding out with glee. In defeat, she reached an arm out from the cosy bed covers and slammed the top of the alarm, hearing part of the intricate mechanics twang ominously.
“Urgh.” She groaned as she pulled herself to a sitting position and forced her eyes to open. She always slept with the curtains open, but there was no light to pour in at such an early time on an early February morning. She picked up her phone which was charging at the side of the bed, saw she had received no messages, and felt her stomach churn again. If she didn’t own Books and Bakes, she might have considered ringing in sick. Taking what she had heard the Americans called ‘a mental health day’.
It felt very much that in recent months, Sandy’s life had strayed from the comfort of baking and selling books into a much more risky territory.
She dragged her tired body into the bathroom and took a long, hot bath, keeping her hair out of the water so she wouldn’t have to fuss with washing and drying it. After washing her body, she picked up the mystery book she had started a few days before and allowed herself to replace her own worries with those in the story. Reading always soothed her. It had done when her mother had died years before, and during every crisis since.
**
“What time do you call this?” Coral called as Sandy walked into the cafe kitchen, where Bernice was taking a selection of freshly baked cakes from the oven. Sandy raised an eyebrow at her sister but said nothing.
“Smells good.” She said instead, directing the comment to Bernice.
“Rocky road,” Bernice said and pulled a face towards the chocolate and marshmallow creations. “Too sweet for me.”
“A baker who doesn’t like sweet things, how novel,” Coral said. She was in a mood.
“What’s got into you?” Sandy asked.
“She’s sulking because her Mr. Right turned out to already have a Mrs. Right.” Bernice said in her matter of fact way.
“Who’s Mr. Right?” Sandy asked, but Coral shook her head and moved towards the doorway that separated the kitchen from the shop.
“Nobody.” She muttered as she left.
Sandy glanced at Bernice, who rarely got involved in anybody’s personal drama.
“She’s internet dating again,” Bernice said, her lips pursed. “I’ve warned her, but you know what she’s like.”
“Oh no,” Sandy said under her breath. “Not again. I thought she’d learned after the last guy.”
“In her defence, she knows there aren’t that many eligible bachelors in Waterfell Tweed… especially since you’ve got your claws into the most eligible one of all.”
The idea of Sandy having claws in any man would have made her smile at any other time, but instead, her cheeks flushed and her eyes watered.
“Oh no, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. This is why I stay out of things - normally - but I just couldn’t stand by and see Coral get hurt again. It’s not my business, Sandy, I’m sorry I made light of it.” Bernice said, gabbling away in a frantic attempt to undo whatever wrong she had done.
“It’s fine, Bernice, it’s not you,” Sandy said, gulping back the tears that threatened to escape. “The truth is, I haven’t heard from Tom Nelson in a while. We were never officially anything more than friends, and I feel like a fool to have misjudged it so badly.”
Bernice gave her a sad smile. “You should pop over to The Tweed and ask him what’s what.”
Sandy snorted a laugh through her nose. “I don’t think I’ll ever show my face in there again.”
“Oh, Sand.” Bernice said, giving her arm a supportive rub. “It’ll be ok, whatever happens.”
Sandy wanted to say she knew that, that she just felt silly for embarrassing herself, that she didn’t even know Tom Nelson enough to have any feelings other than embarrassment at a misunderstanding, but she said none of that. She just smiled at Bernice, nodded, and joined Coral in the shop.
The cafe was completely empty. Derrick was upstairs manning the bookshop till and Coral was managing to look busy despite having nothing at all to do until a customer arrived.
“What time is it?” Sandy asked.
Coral glanced at her phone, sat on the counter beside the till. “Ten to nine.”
“Has nobody been in yet?” Sandy asked. The cafe had been open twenty minutes.
Coral shook her head.
“Strange.”
“How did it go with Isabelle?” Coral asked, the quietness giving an excuse for them to chat more than they ever usually did at work.
“Not well,” Sandy said, folding her arms across her chest. “Isabelle Irons is a strange woman. I went across there convinced she was innocent, and by the time I left she’d made me suspect her!”
Coral frowned. “Really? How did she manage that?”
“Well, she almost dared me to ask her outright if she’d done it, and when I did, she didn’t deny it.”
“That’s really weird. Why would you want to be encouraging people to think you’ve killed someone? Whether you have or not? Is she right in the head?”
“Coral!” Sandy scolded, although similar thoughts had run through her own mind, just more politely phrased. The conversation was halted then as the cafe door opened and the day’s first customer walked in.
“Morning, Sebastian.” Sandy called. Sebastian Harlow had recently returned to Waterfell Tweed after travelling the world. His parents, Penelope and Benedict, were still keeping a low profile, but Sebastian popped in the cafe most days, usually to grab a strong black coffee to go.
“Good morning! How are my favourite ladies?” He crooned, striding across to a table with the air of a person who felt entirely comfortable in their own skin. Sebastian was young, early 20s, and handsome in a way that was mainly related to the perfect bone structure his face enjoyed. He was immensely good fun and Sandy liked him a lot.
“Better now you’re here, Romeo. What do you fancy?” Coral asked, calling across to take his order from the counter.
“Ah, stay back, play it cool… I like your style.” Sebastian teased, then glanced at Sandy. “She’s more feisty than you, this one.”
“She’s more feisty than most.” Sandy said, winking at her sister.
“I’ll have whatever you think I’d like most, and when I say that, I mean the full English of course.” Sebastian said. “You should know how I take my coffee since we’re pra
ctically married.”
“When we marry I’ll be enjoying the good life. My coffee making days will be over.” Coral said with a laugh. Sebastian was due to inherit Waterfell Manor, the grand stately home that had been in the Harlow family for generations. His future wife would indeed enjoy the good life, but that wife wouldn’t be Coral.
“I’ll massage your feet while the staff make coffee.” Sebastian said, then erupted into a raucous laugh. “Geeze, my chat up lines are awful. No wonder I’ve been single for weeks.”
“Weeks?!” Coral and Sandy both repeated in unison.
Sebastian shrugged. “Months, maybe. But that’s between us, I have a reputation to maintain.”
Sandy rolled her eyes and took the food order back through to the kitchen for Bernice to prepare.
“You ok?” Bernice asked, looking up from the fridge, where she was checking stock levels.
“Yeah, I’m good, honestly. And we’ve got the village joker in, that’s always a laugh.” Sandy said. She flashed Bernice a winning smile and pinned the order to the front of the empty queue, then returned to the shop. Coral’s face was pale and even Sebastian had stopped talking.
“What’s wrong?”
“There’s someone here to see you, in private. He’s upstairs.” Coral whispered.
Sandy let out a sigh and trudged through the cafe, climbing the staircase at the back of the shop as slow as she could. She had no idea what Tom Nelson might want to say to her in private. Perhaps he’d want to apologise for the sudden change, how he transformed so quickly from inviting her on apparent romantic days out to not even sending as much as a text message for almost a week. Maybe he’d be angry, because as much as he had gone quiet, her pride hadn’t allowed her to chase him for contact. Or maybe he was in her beloved bookshop upstairs to tell her she had only ever been a friend, that he had backed off because she had grown too attached to him, or even that he had begun a relationship with someone else.
Her stomach flipped with nerves as she made the slow climb upstairs.
So set was she on seeing Tom Nelson, that her eyes failed to recognise anyone else upstairs. She walked the length of the store, peering down every row of bookcases, until a voice called her name from behind.
She turned, and standing before her was her visitor.
“DC Sullivan?” She asked, the dread in her stomach rushing out of her body and then immediately returning. The city police officer stood around 20 feet away from her, in his regular clothes. Dark jeans, a black polo shirt, running shoes.
“We meet again.” He said, with a smile that was not unpleasant. “Can we talk?”
“Of course,” Sandy said, glancing behind her towards the till, where Derrick sat reading a book. His mobility was so limited still, there was little he could do other than sit and serve, so Sandy had told him to bring a book with him and read when there were no customers. “There’s an office up here, follow me.”
She lead DC Sullivan to the small office where she had reviewed all of the cafe’s records just two days ago, before she had found Dick Jacobs’ body. She gestured for him to take one of the two seats and closed the door behind them.
“I guess this is about…”
“Sandy, this isn’t an easy visit for me to make.” He said, speaking over her. “I’ve had a complaint about you.”
“What? You’re kidding?” She said, feeling the colour drain from her face.
“No. No, I’m not. I’m hoping an informal warning will be enough to deal with this, because if it isn’t, I come back in my uniform and take you to the station in a patrol car.”
“I know the procedure.” Sandy said, her voice so quiet she wasn’t sure if she had actually spoken.
“Isabelle Irons has reported that you visited her yesterday and accused her of killing Dick Jacobs.”
“Well, I - I - I…”
“I know you have this weird interest in the cases happening here, and I’ve tried to tell you before to back off, but you can’t go around accusing people of murder.” DC Sullivan said. He closed his eyes and rubbed his temple. “If she isn’t the murderer, then you’ve offended her, and if she is the murderer, you’ve put yourself in danger.”
Sandy gulped. She had been so sure of Isabelle’s innocence before her visit that she had been sure the visit would have been about gathering evidence to help clear her name. She had expected Isabelle’s gratitude. But calling the police, putting the thought in their mind that she was being considered a murder suspect… Sandy couldn’t decide if that idea was stupid or genius.
“I need you to leave this well alone.” DC Sullivan said, his voice firm but dog-tired. “Can you promise me that?”
Sandy took a deep breath and crossed her fingers beneath the table, then met the officer’s gaze, and nodded.
5
Dorie waltzed into Books and Bakes at 1.15pm, her beaming smile begging anyone to ask her where she had been all morning. The last time she had been absent from the cafe for a whole morning, it was because she was in hospital with pneumonia.
Sandy watched her, while fighting between pretending to not have noticed she had walked in and guilt she hadn’t checked up on her earlier to see if she was okay.
Bernice raised a perfectly arched eyebrow at Sandy on her way back into the kitchen, but said nothing.
It was Coral who gave in. Coral who still had the nose for a story.
“What’s got into you today, Mrs. Slaughter?” Coral called across the cafe as Dorie took a seat at an empty table. The cafe was in the middle of the lunch rush, and several people looked up from their own business to see why Coral was calling across the room. She was so used to working in an open plan office, where privacy had no value. Sandy had been meaning to talk to her about it.
“I didn’t realise I had to tell you my whereabouts,” Dorie said, with a theatric grin on her face.
“Shh!” Cherry Gentry said, raising her face from another mystery novel she had been devouring on her lunch break from the church. For such an avid reader, she’d never bought a book from Books and Bakes.
“Oh shush yourself,” Dorie replied, waving her hand in Cherry’s direction.
“Tell me to shush myself, they will,” Cherry mumbled to herself.
“Come on then, Dorie, where have you been? We all know you’re dying to tell us.” Gus Sanders shouted from his own table, where he was enjoying a bacon sandwich smothered in red sauce.
“Got a gentleman friend,” Cherry said, not taking her eyes off her book. It was impossible to say whether she was talking to anyone but herself or about anyone but herself, but Dorie’s cheeks flushed all the same.
“Ridiculous!” She said, with an awkward laugh. “I allowed the gentleman to share my table. A good deed - Sandy, you insisted on it.”
Sandy nodded. “That’s right, I did. Felix was a bit of an old fox, wasn’t he, actually?”
“He was a very pleasant man, but my tardiness today certainly isn’t because of having my head turned by an octogenarian,” Dorie said. “Get me a pot of tea, Sandy, and a sausage roll.”
“Coming right up,” Sandy said, pleased for an excuse to turn her back on the inane conversation. The villagers were like rabid animals sometimes, desperate for their next slice of gossip or joint of news.
“Come on then, Dorie…” Coral pushed, oblivious to Sandy’s frustrations.
“Fine, if you must know, I was moving house,” Dorie admitted.
Sandy turned on her heels. She had hoped that her suspicions that Dorie wanted to leave the village and move to an assisted living residence were wrong. Her stomach sank at the news. Dorie wasn’t only the cafe’s most loyal customer, she was a comforting face to have around so much.
“You’re moving?” Sandy croaked, the upset visible in her voice.
“Well, she won’t give her cottage up, so if Mohammed won’t come to the mountain, the mountain’ll have to go to Mohammed… that’s what they say, isn’t it?”
“Mohammed? What are you talking abo
ut?” Gus asked, less patient than some of the villagers, and since his wife had insisted he cut down his drinking, he’d been ready to snap at most people with little provocation needed.
“Me and Jim are moving in with Elaine.” Dorie said as she rolled her eyes towards Gus.
Coral stifled a gasp and Sandy poked her in the ribs.
“All three of you in Elaine’s little cottage?” Coral said as she composed herself. “How…”
“How lovely,” Sandy said, realising that the news meant that Dorie was her new next door neighbour. “What an exciting change.”
“Well, my Jim couldn’t leave either of us alone at night with all these murders happening,” Dorie said, her tone serious suddenly. “I used to think Waterfell Tweed was the safest place on Earth.”
“What are you going to do with your house?” Cherry asked, saving her page with her finger while she looked up. She didn’t look at Dorie but gazed into the distance somewhere near her.
“Don’t you get any ideas, I wouldn’t let you and your cats over the front doorstep,” Dorie said.
Cherry stood up, pushing her chair backward with such force it screeched its way across the floor, making an awful noise. She folded the corner of the page she was reading and placed the book in her handbag, then returned her gaze towards but not on Dorie, shook her head, and stormed across the cafe.
“Not the cats she should worry about,” Cherry muttered under her breath as she left.
Sandy sighed and walked into the kitchen. Bernice gazed up at her from the sink, where she was attempting to keep on top of the growing pile of dirty dishes. “What’s up?”
“Do you think people get nasty towards each other when there’s a murder?” Sandy asked.
Bernice let out a small laugh. “Absolutely. It’s why I stay in here. People either want to gossip about things they don’t know or fight with people they don’t like. It’s as if all the tolerance they have goes out the window.”
“I guess it’s that feeling of knowing someone amongst us has done something awful,” Sandy said. “Nobody knows who to trust.”
