A Tale of Two Bodies

by Mona Marple

  “Nice phone,” Sandy said, attempting to change conversation as she made a drinks order.

  “Jim and E-… Jim bought it for me.” Dorie said with pride. She didn’t want to think of her son being fond of a woman other than herself. Sandy smiled to herself.

  “How do you know?” Poppy Sanders asked as she tucked into a sandwich on her lunch break from school, where she was a primary teacher.

  “It says here. Man questioned in relation to the death of an unnamed homeless man. Ignatius Aurelius Potter, aged 57, blah blah blah… that’ll be him, won’t it?”

  “I don’t think there’s another Ignatius Aurelius Potter in the village. Is he really only 57?” Coral deadpanned as she carried a single dirty plate into the kitchen.

  “No, me either. Well, that’s him then.” Dorie said, unaware of Coral’s sarcasm. “Case closed.”

  “An interview isn’t case closed,” Sandy said, thinking back to her own interview in relation to Reginald Halfman’s murder. “And the man had a name, he needs to be named.”

  “Maybe he was in witness protection,” Dorie said.

  “What?” Coral asked, returning from the kitchen.

  “That would explain why they won’t name him. And, it would mean he’d have enemies wanting him dead.”

  “I don’t think witness protection means you become homeless,” Sandy said.

  “Guys, they have the right person in an interview already. Ignatius Potter was right there, he thought getting help would make him look innocent. Or maybe he regretted it and did want to help the poor man.” Coral said, placing a fresh mug of tea in front of Dorie.

  “He’s always been a strange one.”

  “Very strange.”

  “I’ve always liked him,” Poppy said as she wiped her mouth with a napkin. “He’s a little odd, but he makes a point of waving to the children when he walks by at playtime.”

  “That’s weird,” Coral said.

  “No, it isn’t Coral. The children love to wave to anyone passing - it’s the people who refuse to wave back to them who are weird, in my book.” Poppy said as she stood up and put her winter clothes back on. “Thanks for a lovely lunch, Sandy.”

  “Thanks, Poppy. See you soon.” Sandy said.

  “What’s got into her?” Coral asked after Poppy had left and the door had closed behind her.

  “She’s too soft, that one,” Dorie said. “Won’t see the bad in anyone. Even that drunk of a husband.”

  Sandy sighed and walked through the cafe and up the stairs. The upper floor, where most of the books were, was always quieter than the cafe, and it had become something of a sanctuary for Sandy. She would never want to wish custom away, as she much preferred the shop being busy and the takings being high enough to pay the bills with ease, but she was an introvert at heart and sometimes she had to break away and find a quiet space.

  “Ah, good afternoon Sandy.” A rich voice greeted her as she poked her head around one of the aisles of bookcases.

  “Good afternoon, Rob,” Sandy said, pleased to see the vicar. Father Fields was a man who exuded peace and tranquility. His presence was enough to make Sandy consider finding God.

  “Am I in your way?” He asked, gesturing to the bookcase in front of him. To Sandy’s surprise, he was standing by the painting section.

  “Not at all, please carry on. I didn’t realise you were an artist?”

  Rob let out a quiet laugh and blushed. “I’d hardly say that. I’m dabbling with watercolours and I need guidance!”

  “I bet you’re doing brilliantly,” Sandy said, and she meant it. Father Fields was such an understated man, she expected that he could be shortlisted for a fine art award and would downplay his skill as beginner’s luck.

  “And how are you doing?” Rob asked. It was a casual question but his tone and profession gave it a deeper, more concerned air.

  Sandy took a deep breath and paused for a moment, deciding to answer the vicar honestly instead of giving the usual pleasantry she would to anyone else who asked how she was. “I’m feeling guilty, actually.”

  “Ah, guilt. The most troubling emotion. Do you want to share?” He offered.

  “The man who was killed last night, he asked me for a job recently and I said no.”

  “And you wish you had said yes?”

  “Well, I, I guess so.”

  “Sandy, we cannot save everyone,” Rob said, still looking at the books rather than her. His lack of eye contact made her feel as if she was in confession, something she had never done.

  “I could have done more,” Sandy whispered. “That’s where the guilt comes from. I could have done more.”

  “Then do more,” Rob said, finally glancing at her.

  “What? He’s dead now?”

  “There are plenty more in his situation. If you wish you had done more then, do more now.” Rob said as he selected three books from the shelf. He gave Sandy a smile, squeezed her arm, and then walked away.

  Sandy stood in the same spot for some time, lost in her thoughts. The vicar was right. There were plenty of other people in need, and she could help some of them even if she hadn’t helped Anton.

  She returned downstairs to the bustling cafe, which had grown even busier while she had been upstairs. A quick glance out of the window confirmed the reason - heavy rain was falling outside. Everyone was darting inside for shelter. The scene made Sandy contemplate the reality of being homeless, of seeking shelter wherever possible in a world that rarely wanted to help.

  “I’m going to head out for a bit.” She called to Bernice and Coral as she grabbed her bright yellow mac.

  “In this weather? Is everything ok?” Coral asked.

  “I’m fine,” Sandy said. “Can you wrap me up some loaves of bread and that joint of beef we haven’t sliced yet?”

  Coral eyed her sister but asked no more questions, disappearing into the kitchen.

  Bernice appeared a few moments later, carrying a tray filled to the brim with bread and beef. Sandy spotted a cake box in there. “Here you go, it’d have taken Coral all day bringing this load out one slice of bread at a time.”

  Sandy laughed at the joke. Her sister was great with customers but useless with the more hands-on elements of working in a cafe. Luckily, Bernice was happy to remain behind the scenes doing all of that side of the job.

  She loaded the tray into the boot of her old Land Rover and then got in the driver’s seat, already soaked through from the brief time in the rain. She had been tempted to delay this errand when she saw the rain falling, but she realised quickly that she was lucky to have a choice and a warm building to stay in. Not everyone was that lucky.

  Turning up the temperamental heating in her old car she began the short drive across the village square and past the church to the grand entrance for Waterfell Manor. The Manor house had been home to the aristocratic Harlow family for centuries, and most of the homes in the village had been built for servants of the Manor and their families. She drove up the winding path, her windscreen wipers flicking from side to side as quickly as they could to remove the rain. Finally, she reached the gravel drive of the Manor and parked in front of the building.

  She didn’t know what she had been expecting but it hadn’t been what she saw. The Manor looked as it always had. The way people had spoken about the squatters in the Manor house, she had expected to see the building crumbling or burnt to the ground.

  She sat in the car for a few minutes with the engine off, just watching. There was nobody around at all. All of the curtains were closed and Sandy guessed that would be to warm the cavernous building, as the heating would have been switched off before the Harlows left weeks earlier.

  She was about to summon the courage to step out of the car when a tap came to the passenger window.

  Sandy jumped and reached for the knob to lock the door, then saw the young man standing by her door. He looked around 16 years old and was dressed in jeans and a hoodie.

  “Are you ok?” He called thr
ough the glass. “Are you lost?”

  Sandy wound the window down and the rain poured in, reaching across to her side of the car and hitting her face and chest. “I’m from the village, I heard that people were living in here.”

  “What’s it to you, lady?” The boy asked. “Are you police?”

  “No!” Sandy cried. She had expected a warm welcome, but she saw now how suspicious it must appear for her to have arrived the day after one of their own was killed. “I want to help.”

  “Help how?”

  “I run the cafe in the village, I’ve brought food.”

  “Yeah?” The boy asked, attempting to play it cool. His face betrayed him and a small smile escaped from his serious expression.

  “There’s not lots, it was a spur of the moment idea, but I can bring more.”

  “Let’s see then.” The boy asked as he moved to the back of the vehicle. He peered through the boot window at the tray of food and grinned.

  Sandy wound the window back up and jumped out of the car, putting her hood up before she even climbed out. “It’s bread and beef, and I think there’s a cake too.”

  “Beef?” The boy asked, and Sandy pointed to the slab of meat in its clear packing. “A bloody joint? Fair play!”

  “Can you carry it in?” Sandy asked, not keen to enter the Manor herself unaccompanied.

  “Yeah, lady, leave it to me.” The boy said. Sandy wondered if he would share it or keep it for himself. She had no idea if squatters had a code of conduct or if it was each person for themselves.

  “Before I go…” Sandy said as the boy walked away with the tray of food. “Would it help if I brought more?”

  “It’d be more of a help than anyone else is giving.” The boy called, then continued walking. Sandy opened her front door and watched him approach the side of the Manor.

  “Hey!” He called when he was virtually out of sight. “Thanks, lady. Thanks a lot.”

  Sandy grinned and climbed back into her car, hoping the boy and whoever else he was with had access to part of the Manor that would keep them warm and dry. She couldn’t help thinking that if the Harlow family knew they were in there, they would want them to be looked after.

  “Well, well, well.” A voice came from behind Sandy as she was about to close her front door. She turned to see a familiar face climbing out of his own car. “Fancy seeing you here.”

  Sandy took a gulp then gave her best smile. “DC Sullivan, what a small world.”

  5

  The pain was immense.

  Definitely worse than the time before.

  “You’re making such a fuss, honestly I’ve never heard anything like it.” Cass scolded as she tore the waxing strip from Sandy’s eyebrow.

  “It hurts, Cass! I don’t know why I came back again.” Sandy whimpered.

  “Because you didn’t want to look like a Yeti, that’s why!” Cass teased. “I’ve seen gorillas less hairy.”

  “Hey!” Sandy exclaimed as Cass applied a layer of hot wax to the skin underneath her nose. “Careful with that stuff!”

  “I didn’t spill it, hold still.”

  “What are you doing now?”

  “Getting rid of this moustache.” Cass said, tearing the wax from above Sandy’s upper lip.

  “Argh!” Sandy screamed, jumping up from the treatment bed. “Enough!”

  “Ok, ok, I’ve done anyway. We’ll do your legs next time.” Cass said as she washed her hands. “That’ll be £8 please.”

  “I can’t believe you’re allowed to charge to torture people,” Sandy said, holding out a crisp £10 note. “Keep the change in exchange for never seeing me in here again.”

  “Don’t be daft,” Cass said, forcing a £2 coin in her hand. “You’ll be back.”

  “You’re like a James Bond villain Cass, honestly.” Sandy said, moving across to the waiting area and plopping herself down on a chair. “Got time for a coffee?”

  Cass looked at the clock on the wall. “Go on then, I’ve got twenty minutes.”

  “How’s Olivia doing?” Sandy asked. Olivia was Cass’ 15-year-old step-sister who had recently moved in with Cass after running away from her foster carers.

  Cass rolled her eyes. “I thought I was still young before Olivia was here. Now I feel ancient. There’s a new teenage drama every week. You’d imagine that Olivia wouldn’t have time for things like that after everything she’s been through.”

  “Maybe she’s enjoying the chance to be a regular kid?” Sandy suggested.

  “Yeah... She’s got a boyfriend now, that’s the latest.”

  “A boyfriend?” Sandy asked as Cass placed a cup of weak kettle coffee in front of them both.

  “I haven’t met him, know nothing about him, and she thinks I’m unreasonable to want to know about him. Fifteen seems so young to have a boyfriend.”

  “Excuse me?” Sandy said, almost spitting her coffee out. “I remember you and Tommy Fisher being serious when you were fifteen.”

  “Tommy Fisher!” Cass exclaimed. “There’s a blast from the past. He broke my heart on my 16th birthday.”

  “That’s how I know you were all loved up when you were Olivia’s age. I remember drying your tears.”

  “He was so lovely when he wasn’t being a moron.” Cass said,. “I wonder what happened to him.”

  “His family left the village, didn’t they?”

  “I think so. I might ask my mum, bet she’ll remember. You’re right though, I look at Olivia now and think she’s a child but when I was her age I knew I was a grown up. Geeze, do you remember the things we wore then?”

  Sandy laughed. “I remember the things you made me wear!”

  “There was that day that we went out in jeans, do you remember, and we snuck into the shed on my garden and changed into the tiniest little skirts.”

  “Matching skirts - yours was white and mine was a red wine colour.”

  “That’s it! We walked around thinking we looked amazing.”

  “And then we saw those college boys from out of town and you said they would whistle at us and they…”

  “...threw blackberries at us instead! Our skirts were ruined!” They both finished the story in unison before descending into laughter. The memory was so fresh in Sandy’s mind. She’d never worn a skirt that short again in her life.

  “The things we did.” Cass said, smiling at the memory.

  “We’ve been through a lot, hey.” Sandy agreed.

  Cass shook her head. “It probably won’t hurt if I remember some of these things when I talk to Olivia. She seems smitten with this boy.”

  “She’ll get that from you, falling in love hard.” Sandy teased.

  “That’s true. And she might grow up like us and be stuck single so she should enjoy it while she can.” Cass joked.

  “Right, I’m off. Thanks for the drink. Not thanks for the pain.” Sandy said as she stood up. She reached over and gave Cass a kiss on the side of her cheek, already knowing she would be back four weeks later for another eyebrow wax. She dreaded to think what else Cass might try to pour hot wax on that time.

  **

  The cafe was busy again when Sandy returned.

  Coral was working on the till, flashing her winning smile at Jim Slaughter, who was placing an order at the counter.

  “Oh, Jim, hello,” Sandy said. “I ran into our friend DC Sullivan yesterday.”

  Jim turned to her and his expression revealed that the Detective Constable’s return from the city was news to him. “He’s back?”

  “Sorry, I thought you’d have known.”

  “I can’t believe they’ve done this again. I interviewed Mr. Potter, I thought I’d be working the case this time.”

  “Sorry, Jim,” Sandy said. “Hopefully DC Sullivan will take your ideas on board more this time.”

  “There’s no need for ideas and no need for city police,” Jim whined. He sounded like a sulking toddler.

  Sandy looked at Coral.

  “Well sit down Jim, it s
ounds like you need some cake to go with that cappuccino. Shall we say lemon drizzle or chocolate fudge?”

  Jim gave a cheeky smile. “Let’s say a slice of each.”

  “I like your style. I’ll bring it right over.” Coral said as Jim turned to look for an empty table. He walked away and Coral eyed her sister. “DC Sullivan back in town? That has to mean the case isn’t as open and shut as we thought.”

  “To be honest, I think city have heard the word murder and stuck their nose in. And I don’t want to know anything else. I’m not being dragged into it this time.”

  “Ok!” Coral said, holding her hands up in defence.

  “Morning, Auntie Sandy.” A voice came from the counter. There was only one person who called her that, and it was such a new name it made her jump each time.

  She turned to see Olivia, still in her school uniform, and holding hands with the boy who Sandy had seen at the Manor the day before.

  “Olivia, what are you doing here? And hello again to your… friend.” Sandy said.

  “This is Derrick, he’s my boyfriend,” Olivia said with pride. Sandy’s heart raced at the obvious display of first love.

  “Hello, Derrick,” Sandy said, giving the boy a smile.

  “Hello again, lady.”

  “You two know each other?” Olivia asked, in the jealous way that teenage girls reserved for any aspect of their crush’s life that they weren’t aware of.

  “We met yesterday. Is it your lunch break?” Sandy asked.

  “Free period. Derrick came and met me for a walk.”

  “She was talking about her big sister and auntie a lot so I suggested I meet them,” Derrick said, his cheeks flushing as he spoke. “Cassie is a bit mad, isn’t she?”

  “She sure is.” Sandy agreed, noting how he used Olivia’s nickname for her big sister. “She’s wonderful, though. Do you want some food?”

  “We don’t have much time.” Derrick blurted. “I don’t want you back late for school.”

  “Sit yourselves down and I’ll make something on the house, then I can drive you back.”