A Valentine's Kill

by Mona Marple

  Cass shrugged. “I’m not going to start online dating or anything like Coral, but yeah, if the right man appears, I’d like it. I’d like the company. I mean, it’s coming to something when my 15-year-old sister’s got a better love life than me. Derrick bought her flowers the other night!”

  “Hold on, Coral told you she’s online dating?” Sandy asked. Bernice had made her aware but she was disappointed that her sister would tell Cass but not her.

  Cass snorted a laugh. “I caught her. Needed to use her phone when she came in for her last appointment, mine hadn’t got signal, so she handed it to me and the page opens on to a dating app. She was mortified so don’t tell her you know.”

  “I guess we’re all a bit more lonely than we’ve been admitting,” Sandy said.

  “Not lonely, Sand. I’m not lonely. Truth is, with this place and Olivia and seeing my friends, I don’t know how I’d fit a man in. I guess you just make space, though, don’t you.”

  “I’m sure you wouldn’t have thought you’d got the room in your life for a teenage sister a while ago,” Sandy said. “I keep thinking how amazing you’re doing with Olivia, and I’ve never told you. I should tell you more. You’re doing a good job.”

  Cass grinned. “Aww, thanks. She’s a good kid. Can’t imagine life without her now.”

  Sandy cried again. “That’s how I feel about Tom. Isn’t that pathetic?”

  “It is a little bit, yeah,” Cass said, and her bluntness made them both laugh. It was one thing Sandy loved most about her best friend, that she was always honest with her, even if a white lie might be more sensitive and less painful. She always knew she was getting the truth from Cass, and isn’t that what a best friend is for?

  She scooped Cass up in a hug, feeling the familiar shape of her bones and curves.

  “I love you.” She whispered.

  9

  The alarm woke Sandy from a deep sleep and a dream that her hair had turned grey overnight. In the dream, she had been plucking every grey strand of hair out of her head with tweezers, until she was bald.

  Sandy jumped from the bed and raced into the small bathroom, where she gazed at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was still dark brown, but there were two new grey hairs sitting on the top of her scalp. She had plucked three out before bed the night before, no doubt where the dream had come from, but realised that if she continued plucking, she would slowly grow bald.

  With a sigh, she padded downstairs and got her diary out of her handbag, then wrote herself a note to make a hair appointment. She felt too young to need to dye her hair, and the realisation that she was going grey was poorly timed with the certainty she now felt that she had scared Tom Nelson off by not realising he was only interested in friendship.

  She showered, dressed in deep blue jeans and her favourite ‘I Love Waterfell Tweed’ t-shirt and left the cottage. As soon as she was in her driveway, she could hear the commotion from next door, and tried to pretend she couldn’t.

  “Dorie, please, just leave it for me to sort,” Elaine called from inside the cottage, where the front door was wide open.

  “We can’t live like this Elaine. Did your mother not teach you how to keep a home?” Dorie responded from outside.

  “I was going to take it to the bin on my way out with Scamp!” Elaine called as she appeared on the front doorstep.

  “For Heaven’s sake, Elaine, rubbish can’t stay outside the door for the entire world to see. Imagine what the neighbours will say.”

  “I was fetching the lead!”

  Sandy smiled to herself, shook her head and got in her car. Elaine was a brave woman agreeing to allow Dorie to move in with her and Jim. She turned on the ignition, which made both Elaine and Dorie turn their attention to her. Sandy kept her gaze away from them, not wanting them to realise she had heard them, and drove away.

  The short drive to Books and Bakes gave her time to calm her mind from the crazy dream and consider her next actions. Sandy still had potential witnesses to speak to, and she needed to put aside her feelings and consider whether Tom could be involved in the murder. She felt out of her depth and overwhelmed and decided she needed to make progress, and fast.

  After she parked her car, Sandy poked her head in the door at Books and Bakes. It wasn’t opening time yet, and she could smell the day’s baking and see Coral wiping down tables.

  “Hey.” She called. Coral turned to look at her and gave her a smile. When had her sister began online dating in secret, Sandy wondered, but put the thought out of her mind. “I’m going to carry on speaking to people, I’ll be in before the lunch rush.”

  “Ok Detective,” Coral said with a smile. “Stay safe.”

  Sandy rolled her eyes but flashed her sister a grin. It was nice to be cared about.

  She turned left out of the shop, past the disused Community Centre next door and the off-license next to that. The off-license opened in the afternoon, she would have to go in there another time. The Village Fryer had been closed on the night of Dick Jacobs’ murder, so she had crossed the building off her list.

  She crossed the road and forced herself to walk up to the spot where she had found the man’s body. When she had reached what she thought was the exact spot, she forced herself to slowly turn 360 degrees. Whoever had killed him must have seen him standing or walking there and seen their opportunity, then crept up and struck him to the head.

  What had been the murder weapon, Sandy asked herself, but she had no idea where to start with ideas. Surely, anything hard could knock an unsuspecting man to the ground if enough force was used. The blow didn’t even have to kill him, the fall to the floor could have done that. She wished that DC Sullivan was more open to discussing the case with her, but she knew he wouldn’t reveal a single thing to her, and she didn’t think it would be fair to ask Jim Slaughter to tell her anything. She also suspected he knew little about the case.

  Taking a deep breath, she continued walking and pushed open the door to the doctor’s surgery. The receptionist was a bulldog of a woman named Gertrude Taylor. She saw it as her one and only job to protect the doctor from as many people as possible, protecting her time as if treating ill people was a huge time-drain for the GP and not her profession.

  She ruled the surgery alone, boasting about her refusal to allow another receptionist to assist with the workload and going years without a holiday. Her strategy, as disliked as it was by the ill people who needed to see Dr. Lydia Emmanuel, appeared to be successful as the surgery had expanded over the years, introducing various locum doctors and other medics to the practice and offering a wide range of minor surgeries and physical therapies on site. It had grown into a far better doctor’s surgery than a village the size of Waterfell Tweed could expect, and Gertrude Taylor was not scared of telling people how instrumental her role had been in creating it.

  “Morning, Gertrude,” Sandy said, feeling the chill inside the room. The walls were covered with noticeboards with Gertrude used to passive-aggressively communicate various messages. “NO, WE WON’T TURN THE HEAT UP: HEAT SPREADS GERMS” one sign declared.

  “You don’t have an appointment,” Gertrude said, without the need to check the appointment lists.

  “No, I don’t, I just wanted to remind myself what time you’re open until on Mondays?” Sandy asked.

  “Opening times are on the board,” Gertrude said, gesturing across to the third noticeboard in a row of at least seven.

  Sandy read that they closed at 5 pm on Mondays, as she had expected. “A place this modern must have CCTV, am I right?”

  “Of course. And we do prosecute if anyone’s abusive.” Gertrude said. That was true, Sandy knew. Dorie Slaughter had been interviewed by her own son a few years ago after storming out of the surgery in a rage when her prescription wasn’t ready at the normal time. It had gone no further than a police interview, but Dorie had never forgiven Gertrude.

  “How about the outside? CCTV out there too?”

  The question stopped Gertrude i
n her tracks. She usually had an answer for everything. “Why do you ask?”

  “I was just passing and thinking about all that graffiti that happened to the butcher’s.” Sandy lied. “And I thought this is such a nice building, I bet it could be a target. But I know you’ve got everything covered, Gertrude. I needn’t have worried.”

  “Actually,” Gertrude said, casting a glance behind her to check they weren’t being overheard. “You’re right, it’s in hand. I think they’re coming next week to install it.”

  “Oh, excellent. See, I knew you’d have it sorted. I’ll leave you to it.” Sandy said. She left the building and took out her notebook, turning to the page where she had written a list of every building she wanted to visit. She crossed the surgery off the list. Gertrude’s hesitation about the date of the installation told Sandy there was no outside CCTV and no plan to install any, although she suspected Gertrude would change that now she had the idea in her mind.

  She continued walking and opened the rickety gate that led down the path to Rob Fields’ cottage, where she gave two soft knocks on the door. She had never visited the vicar at his home before and had no idea about his comings and goings. After a few moments, she heard movement inside and smiled as he opened the door.

  It was strange to see him without his dog collar on, and even more strange to see him wrapped in a fleeced blue dressing gown and slippers. It was still before 9 am, and Sandy felt guilty for disturbing him so early in the day.

  “Sandy, what a surprise,” Rob said, gesturing to his clothes with a shrug and a wide smile. “Come on in.”

  He lead her through to the sitting room, the very room which Sandy had expected to overlook the pavement outside the surgery. As she walked in, she realised that the view from the window was of the side of the doctor’s surgery, and some of the village green. The pavement along the other side of the surgery wasn’t visible at all.

  “I hate to say this, Rob, but I think I’ve wasted your time,” Sandy said, turning to him with an apologetic smile.

  “Well, perhaps not your place to say. I believe there’s always a greater plan. Why don’t you tell me what you were here for and we’ll see together if it’s been a waste or not?”

  Sandy nodded and took a seat. To her surprise, Rob’s cottage was modern and as a bachelor pad should be. Leather reclining chairs in a faded mahogany shade were spread around a coffee table covered in papers, a bowl of half-eaten cereal and spare change, and faced towards a small TV.

  “I’m investigating Dick Jacobs’ murder,” Sandy said. She paused to allow the vicar to protest and tell her to leave it to the police, but he didn’t. “I thought your cottage would have a view of the pavement outside the doctor’s but it hasn’t.”

  “You wondered if I’d seen anything?” Rob asked.

  “Exactly.”

  “Well, as you say, my view’s obscured well by the monstrosity of the surgery itself,” Rob said with a smile. “And on Monday evening, I was in the chapel not at home. I’d been, let’s say, distracted from my work in the day and needed to get caught up.”

  Sandy nodded. “Did you know him at all?”

  “Never spoke to him,” Rob said. “I heard plenty about him, Cherry had some run-ins with him, and I know Gus did too.”

  “He wanted to close the butcher’s,” Sandy said. “I didn’t know he had an issue with Cherry? Was he suggesting there was a problem with the church?”

  “Oh no!” Rob exclaimed. “Maybe he was a God-fearing man, the church was never on his radar. He objected to Cherry’s cats.”

  “Cats?” Sandy asked. “Was he a dog person?”

  “He apparently had received complaints about the noise and the mess caused by Cherry’s cats, which was a little hard to believe as they’re indoor animals and really very clean. Then it escalated into him having complaints about the welfare of the animals. He said he couldn’t really deal with that, it was more of an RSPCA matter.”

  “He wanted to upset as many people as possible, it seems,” Sandy said.

  “I can’t agree with you there, Sandy. He was doing his best, just like all of us are. I heard rumours that his job had been so target driven that he had to close down more and more businesses year on year or he’d lose his job. I believe that’s why he was off ill for so long.”

  “I thought he had a secondment to another department?” Sandy asked.

  Rob shrugged. “We’ve heard different things, then, and who knows the truth.”

  “Well, I should let you get back to your breakfast,” Sandy said, gesturing to the cereal bowl on the table.

  Rob let out an awkward laugh. “That was last night’s supper actually!”

  10

  Sandy left the vicar’s house and walked into a torrent of unpredicted rain. Grateful for her trusty yellow mac, she pulled the hood up and ran into the butcher’s next door.

  Gus looked up at her from his work slicing a huge joint of meat and burst into a laugh. “Nice weather for it! You look like a jolly fisherman bursting in here like that. What’s up, missed your ship?”

  Sandy was used to the fisherman comments aimed at her coat. She didn’t care about them at all, she was proud of her bright jacket that very often gave the only splash of colour to her black outfits.

  “Haha, everyone’s a comedian aren’t they.” She said with a good-natured smile. Gus had had his personal demons to fight, seeing him so happy was a nice change. “I wondered if I could have a chat, about Dick Jacobs?”

  “Urgh.” Gus groaned, his good mood seeming to disappear in an instant. “I thought I’d heard the last of that name. You investigating?”

  “I’m trying to speak to everyone who might have seen something that night.”

  “Can’t help ya,” Gus said, as his attention returned to slicing meat. “I was still here but I was in the back cleaning everything up.”

  “You were here? I thought you’d have been closed by that time.” Sandy said. She didn’t use the butcher’s much. The regular meat order she had was delivered to the shop each week before it opened, and she rarely went to the trouble of cooking meat just for herself at home.

  “You know what it’s like, Sand. If a customer comes in, you don’t turn them away. I think I left here at seven, saw the police tape and stuff but thought it wasn’t my business. I never thought it was another bloomin’ murder.” Gus explained. He shook his head as he spoke and gazed out of the window towards the spot outside the surgery where Dick Jacobs had been killed. His shop window offered a direct, unobstructed view of the scene. He was the person most able to have witnessed something and had seen nothing.

  “Did you not see anything at all that was unusual, Gus? Anything?”

  The man shrugged. “It was a normal Monday, rushed off my feet all day. I didn’t have time to notice if anything was unusual, to be honest.”

  “Okay. Well, if you think of anything, let me know.”

  “They’ve already been and done this, ya know? The police.” Gus said as Sandy turned to walk away.

  “What did you tell them?” She asked.

  “Same as I’ve told you.” He said, giving her one last shrug as she walked out of the shop.

  Prepared for the rain this time, she pulled up her hood before opening the door, and sprinted across to the cottage next door, where Cherry Gentry lived. She banged on the door a lot harder than she had on Rob Fields’ when it was dry, and Cherry raced to the door, perhaps expecting some kind of religious emergency.

  “What?” She asked as she opened the door and saw Sandy, like a bedraggled fisherman, on her doorstep.

  “Can I come in?” Sandy asked. She tried to sound pleasant but the rain was hammering on her coat with such fury she wondered if it would continue to keep her dry.

  Cherry held the door open and Sandy stepped into the stifling warmth of the cottage. Three cats sat on the staircase watching her. The black one yawned at her and the other two, both tabbies, dismissed her and pawed down the cottage into the back room.
>
  “Well, follow them then,” Cherry commanded. Sandy did as she was told. She had never been in Cherry’s house before and tried to take in the decor. It was old-fashioned, floral wallpaper and high-back chairs, net curtains up at the windows and a chest freezer stood in the corner of the back room, next to a dining table with two chairs. “If you’re here to talk about how Dorie spoke to me, it’s really not your place. She can apologise herself.”

  “Oh,” Sandy said, as she realised that Cherry was talking about the incident that had occurred earlier in the week in Books and Bakes. Sandy had forgotten all about it. “No, no, I won’t get involved in that. This is a lovely room, Cherry. Do you spend much time in here?”

  Cherry appeared puzzled by the question. “Well, I live here.”

  “Good point! I just meant, lots of people use their front living rooms, but this is such a lovely space, very homely.” Sandy said, flailing for the right words. She would have to be less direct in her approach to Cherry, who she didn’t know well.

  “Never go in the front. I grew up with front room being for best, and I have little use for best.” Cherry explained. Sandy’s heart sank. Another person with a good view of the murder, who had spent the whole night sitting in the wrong room of the house to see anything other than an inch of the small garden below the net curtain hanging in the back room window.

  “Well, this is really nice. I was just speaking to Rob and he mentioned you’d had some problems with Dick Jacobs.”

  “Not true,” Cherry said. She neither sat down nor invited Sandy to, so they both remained standing in the small room. Sandy noticed that the chairs in the room were taken up by cats of all colours and breeds. A regal-looking Siamese sat up and watched her from the dining table. Sandy had to agree with Rob, they all looked very clean and well-groomed.

  “Oh?”

  “I had no problem with him. He had a problem with my babies.” Cherry said. She bent and scooped up a grey cat with one eye. “Silly man, hey Sugar, not liking the babies.”