by Carrie Marsh
I hope Howard can supply some information soon. It would be good to know, for certain, if the man had been killed. Until then, the sense of uncertainty and threat would not lift from the village, or from Laura's heart. The elderly couple was looking about, and she went off to take the order, hoping her sense of unrest would lift.
When lunch service ended, she helped Bethany, the young waitress, clean up and prepare the tables for their next use at dinner-service.
“Isn't it terrible, Ms. Howcroft?” Bethany asked, dark eyes round.
“It is. Very,” Laura agreed grimly, not even having to ask what “it” was. No-one was talking about anything else besides the murder.
“I didn't know the man, but it's still shocking,” Bethany agreed, “though my da' said the man probably had it coming. He were a miserable sod. Mr. Hugh, that is, not me da',” she added.
“I seem to get the idea he wasn't liked,” Laura agreed mildly as she lifted a plate and put it on her tray.
“You're right there,” the younger woman replied. “Though it is a shame: No-one deserves to drop dead in the bank,” she added, shivering.
Laura agreed and carried the dirty dishes through to the kitchen. I wish everyone would stop talking about the death. Laura hated thinking about it – a positive, cheerful person by nature, she avoided thinking about topics like death at all costs. She had never written a will, and hadn't contemplated life-insurance or funeral policies. The only time she thought about death was when it confronted her directly. And that had happened too much just lately. She shuddered, relieved to retreat to the bustling space of the kitchen.
The usually-bustling room was also strangely quiet, the elderly Mrs. Poole who acted as chief cook more subdued than usual as she oversaw her two helpers.
“Afternoon, Laura,” she said, not looking up from the vat of soup she was emptying. “You heard the news?”
“Yes, Mrs. Poole,” Laura agreed, heart sinking. Even here there was no escaping it. “It was quite a shock.”
“It was,” Mrs Poole agreed, reaching for a grater and a pile of carrots, “though I can't say he'll be missed. Sorry to say it, but I speak plainly.” She scrubbed the carrots vigorously over the grater as she spoke, as if expunging the man from her thoughts.
Everyone seems to have really disliked him. Laura felt the need to inquire further.
“I have heard bad things about him from a lot of people,” she said carefully, “but do you think someone might have hated him enough to murder him?” If anyone would know it would be Mrs. Poole – she had lived in Millerfield longer than anyone else Laura knew.
“Murder?” the old woman looked up, tucking a wisp of hair under her chef's hat. She looked entirely unworried by the prospect, pale eyes tranquil. “I don't know if I can say anything about that, but I know plenty of people who hated the man. Lots of people thought he was unfair, or accused him of being crooked: probably rightly, too. But I can't imagine anyone hating him enough for that,” she said, lifting another carrot and scrubbing it viciously across the teeth of the grater. “Though you never know,” she added quietly.
“No,” Laura agreed quietly. “You never do.”
Left with no real answer, Laura wandered out of the kitchen and went back upstairs. So far, all she knew was that everyone was equally confused, and that the man Albert Hugh was clearly universally disliked. But was it murder?
All she, and everyone else could do, was to wait and find out.
And, Laura thought, as she filed the receipts from lunch away carefully, she had something else to look forward to that evening. A visit from Howard. And a chance to get to know him much better. Her body tingling with delicious anticipation, she leaned back and closed her eyes a moment, lost in thought. It was turning into a rather good day, after all.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE PLOT THICKENS
THE PLOT THICKENS
That evening Laura returned from work a little earlier. She made cake, as Janet had suggested, to take to the bazaar with her the next day. Monty, riding shotgun, was offering his helpful advice.
You should put cream in, he suggested, sitting on the floor at her feet.
“Only so I can give you the leftovers,” Laura grinned archly. “I know your sly motives.”
Yes.
She chuckled. She finished the cakes and went through to the sitting-room, feeling more relaxed than she had since Howard had first shared the news. As she settled down with her tea and the paper the telephone rang.
“Laura?”
“Yes?” It was Howard, and he sounded wide awake.
“I'm not going to make it this evening – the pathology lab kept me busy this afternoon, and I have a backlog of things to catch up on. I'm sorry. I would have loved to be there.” He sounded deeply disappointed, and Laura's heart ached, even as she felt elated by the fact that he had wanted to visit so badly.
“I understand,” Laura said in a small voice.
“See you tomorrow, huh?” He sounded hopeful, and Laura bit her lip.
“I'm going to be at the church fete on Saturday morning,” she said hesitantly.
“Oh?” Howard sounded surprised. Laura had never shown much interest in that aspect of village life.
“I want to go with Janet to meet my cousin. Judy. The wife of the deceased,” she explained.
“Oh,” Howard sounded fairly disappointed, which was not wholly a bad thing, though Laura did feel guilty when he added, “it would have been nice to have lunch. Maybe Sunday afternoon?”
“Yes.” She said it firmly. “Sunday.”
When he hung up, Laura could not help smiling. Monty looked up at her from the floor, and she could almost see him raise an eyebrow at her. She was disappointed, yes, but the fact that he was, too, was a strangely comforting thing. A tiny part of her had not expected him to be as excited as she was, and it was pleasant to discover that he was. More than pleasant.
Monty continued looking quizzical.
“Come on, Monty!” she said a little sadly. “You could be happy about me being happy.”
I am, he said carefully. I just feel put out. His back was solid and he was a picture of miserable indignation.
“Oh, Monty!” Laura bent down and kissed him on the head. “I love you, too. Really I do.”
Monty purred. Good.
Laura set him on her knee and he curled up as she stroked him, falling asleep almost at once.
The next morning dawned sunny and warm. She woke and drove to the church, cakes balanced precariously on the seat beside her.
“I wonder if I'll recognize Judy?” she asked herself, glancing in the rear-view mirror as she overtook Mr. Pryme riding his tractor up the main street. She coughed at the exhaust fumes and sighed. It had been so many years since she had seen Judy, and everything about her life, and Judy's too, had changed. They had ended up in the same tiny rural village, which was strange enough.
“Come on...” she sighed under her breath, putting her foot on the brake as the tractor roared and rolled back, preparing to start on the small hill. Laura backed up speedily and giggled as she did so. Driving in this place is scarier than any big city! Laura enjoyed driving, but only on the long country roads where seeing another car was something of a surprise.
She drove on ahead towards the church, thinking about Judy. Did she have children? She didn't even know. She hoped she was well-provided for. Especially if it was murder. If it was murder, who would have done it?
Laura frowned, thinking about the question as she pulled into the road outside the church. The village seemed full of people who disliked the man. But, as Mrs. Poole had said, dislike was not a reason to kill people. Was it?
Laura shook her head at herself. I don't want to get involved in this case. That's not why I'm doing this. I just want to meet my cousin again. She had had enough of murder and death. She refused to get involved in it again.
Keeping an eye on the tractor behind her, Laura slowed and turned in towards the village church. The s
mall car-park housed five or six cars, and the arched door of the modest hall was open, revealing some sort of earnest activity inside. Breathing in the fresh morning air, Laura alighted and prepared to go in.
“Laura! You made it!”
Laura turned at the sound of high-heels, clicking earnestly on tarmac. She was pleased to see that Janet was heading across the car-park toward her, and enthusiastically reaching out to carry in the cake, exclaiming at how good it was.
“See, I told you it was amazing!” She beamed. “Come on, Laura!” she added happily, ushering her in ahead through the arched doorway, talking as they went, “now that you're here, you have to meet everyone!”
Inside, she waved a hand round the wide, echoing church hall. “That's Margie, and Pam, and Sheryl, and...” she carried on naming people, and Laura knew she would forget the names instantly after hearing them. The women were of varying ages – some her and Janet's age, most of them older – an array of people from all walks of life. Laura let Janet lead her over to where a trestle table was set up for her at the edge of the hall. “Here!” Janet said contentedly, setting down the cakes.
Laura took her place behind the trestle, listening to Janet's excited banter from the stall next door and waiting for the fête to start.
“Where is Judy?” she asked when Janet paused in her descriptions of how the hall had burned down five years previous to this.
“Oh! Judy. I forgot,” Janet said, interrupting herself mid-sentence. “You wanted to meet her. There she is, over there in the corner. Selling pot-plants.”
Her finger indicated a single stall in the corner, bedecked with greenery. Laura followed her gaze and saw a tall woman with red hair sitting behind the trestle-table half-obscured by foliage.
She felt her heart tighten sympathetically. Even from here she could see the sadness in the woman. Her back bent, her shoulders sloped. She was a picture of misery and Laura's heart ached for her. This was her cousin Judy – the firm jaw, robust frame and flame-red hair were clear even from this distance across the big hall – but she had never seen her so dejected.
She wanted to meet her, but was reluctant to break in on her silence. She seemed to want to keep herself to herself. And besides, the fête was about to begin.
“Is she alone?” Laura asked. “I mean – does she have family? Kids? Who is staying with her?”
“She has two children,” Janet filled her in. “A son, Andrew, and a daughter, Kim. Her son's still studying, but I can't remember where. I think Kim is here for the funeral. Andrew will arrive tomorrow. Or so Margie said, and she talked to her yesterday.”
Laura sighed. “Poor woman,” she said, referring to Judy.
“Yes,” Janet said feelingly. “As if they hadn't been having enough trouble beforehand as it is...” her voice trailed off as she concentrated on her cooking instead.
“Trouble?” Laura cocked a brow. She could not help being interested. Despite her promise to herself to avoid it, she felt herself being drawn into the case. And it is my mother's cousin, after all. A natural investigator, she could not help asking questions.
“Yes!” Janet elaborated. She had started getting ready for the fête, stirring batter for her pancakes as they talked. A bit of it splashed out onto her wrist and she licked it away before continuing. “She was struggling a while back. Her kids' college bills were costing them a fortune – a fortune she doesn't have. Old Albert was rich, but a miserly sod. Excuse me,” she said, biting her lip as she spoke ill of the dead, “but he was. Being dead never made anyone any better.”
Laura nodded. “I agree. But he was their father,” she said reasonably, “surely he would have paid for their college fees? When he could clearly afford it, like you say he could?”
“He was a hard man. Difficult character,” Janet explained, vigorously stirring batter. “He didn't approve of what Andrew wanted to study, and so he simply refused to pay. Not too many people'll miss Albert now, pardon my saying it. But it's true,” she added defensively. “He was always making enemies. Not too many people like taxmen as it is, you understand – and he was a mean sod.”
“What happened about his son?” Laura asked, instantly sympathetic.
“Not much to tell,” Janet explained, lifting her spoon to check the mix. “Boy wanted to do architecture, and his father said no. Had a huge row. His mum agreed to it, providing he could pay his own way. But things weren't working out. One thing you can say for Judy is, she loves her kids. Loyal as anything,” Janet said admiringly. “She was doing her best to make ends meet.”
“I see,” Laura said, but didn't. Not really. Albert Hugh had refused to pay for his own son to study? Even though he was rich? It seemed awful, but, thinking about how Janet described the man, she could almost believe it. She painted a mental picture of him as authoritarian and unyielding. Poor Judy, she thought feelingly. She resolved at once to get to know her cousin more. “And Kim?” she asked, referring to the daughter of the deceased man.
“She's okay,” Janet explained. “Finished college earlier this year, and settled down in London. She should be here for the memorial soon, if you want to meet her.”
Laura nodded. The girl was a sort of cousin, and she would like to meet her. “She's doing alright? Monetarily, I mean?” she asked.
“I think she is,” Janet said, uncertainly. “Though I guess she'll surely be okay now,” she added, giving her batter a sideways glance and pouring it into the pan. “I'm glad, too,” she said feelingly, stabbing at the mix in her frying-pan with a spatula.
“Oh?” Laura asked, curious. “Why do you say that?”
“Well, she and her mum – and Andrew too, I guess – have just got hold of old Albert's horde.”
“His horde?” Laura said, surprised.
“Like I said,” Janet continued, determinedly flipping the skillet, “He was a miser. Saved his cash but didn't spend it on the family. Now they'll finally see some of the things they should have had for years. Lucky them,” she added lightly as the pancake finally flipped. It was burned on the one side, Laura noted ruefully, and Janet chuckled. “Bloody pan!”
Laura laughed along with her as she lifted the ruined pancake from the vessel, but she was distracted. Judy and the children stood to gain by his death? I wonder if she..? She refused to let herself complete that thought. Yes, the woman stood to gain from her husband's passing. But she would not accuse Judy of her husband's death, even just privately to herself. She clearly loved her son, and paying for his studies might even be a motive, but Laura refused to even contemplate the idea.
The crackling of a microphone interrupted her thoughts. The vicar had appeared in the hall and was saying a few words to declare their small fete open. He ushered in the villagers, and the vendors started getting involved in business. The noise in the hallway escalated – people talking, laughing, catching up on news.
Laura sighed as two old ladies came up, wanting to buy some cake. She cut the slices and accepted the change they handed to her, all the while watching the table across the hallway, where Judy Hugh, her mother's cousin, sold her pot-plants. A few people paused to speak to her, but few stayed long.
I need to speak to her.
The woman looked so sad – so diminished, when Laura compared her to the jolly, fog-horn-voiced Cousin Judy of her childhood memory. This woman was stiff and silent, her whole body speaking of her sadness. Poor Judy. She was nothing like the loud, bouncy, fun-loving woman Laura had recalled.
As if she heard her thoughts, the woman turned to face her. She mopped a piece of grey, red-dyed hair out of her vision and met Laura's eye. Even across the hall, her own eyes were like pits of emptiness, their dark depths blank and miserable, all joy drained. Laura felt her heart contract.
I can't believe she did it. She looks so sad. I want to help her.
Against her firm resolve, Laura felt herself being pulled into the mystery. She had not wanted to, but it seemed like she was involved now, whether she wanted it or not. She had to fi
nd out more.
The fete continued for a few hours, but Laura did not have an opportunity to cross the hall to talk to her cousin. Her cake was surprisingly popular, and she spent most of the time between her stall and Janet's, helping manage Janet's minor crises of burned produce and a sudden shortage of spices. It was only as they packed up, sometime after midday, that Laura had a chance to find Judy. She was on her way out. Laura had no time to speak to her, but she laid a hand on her arm and looked into her eyes.
“I am so sorry,” she said gently.
Judy looked back and gently squeezed her hand. “I'm sorry too,” she said quietly. “And thank you.”
“Don't mention it,” Laura said solidly. Her head whipped round as someone called her name.
“Laura! Can you help me with the plug? It seems to have stuck and I can't get it out...” Janet was on her knees around the side of the stall, calling for help.
Laura glanced back at Judy, wishing she could think of something to say. “I have to go,” she said, feeling lame.
“Me too,” Judy added gently. Her voice had lost a bit of its booming quality, but it was still recognizably hers – warm and full and with the embers of the liveliness Laura remembered still in it.
“See you around,” Laura said, and walked briskly back to Janet, who was still behind the stall, teeth biting her lip as she pulled on the offending plug.
“So?” Janet asked, as the plug shot out and she was thrown back against the table leg, “did you introduce yourself? She'll be so surprised!”
“I didn't get the chance,” Laura said wistfully, as she watched Judy walk out to the car-park, a box of potted plants in her arms.
“Never mind,” Janet said consolingly. “You can meet her again with the ladies...we meet up for tea once a week at someone's house. You can come with me then. I think we'll be at Margie's. Which is good,” she added, dusting her hands on her black trousers and then wincing at the marks left there, “as Margie makes the best cake in town. Besides you, of course,” she grinned brightly.
