Paying Back The Dead (A Millerfield Village Cozy Murder Mysteries Series 3)

by Carrie Marsh

  “But it is definitely the weapon?” Laura asked.

  “There was blood on it,” Howard confirmed. “Not just the officer's, either. Hugh's.”

  “Oh,” Laura said, feeling suddenly sick. “That poor man! What a horrible way to die...” she ran a hand across her face and felt her legs wobble under her. She sat down heavily at the kitchen table. Howard came to join her. He was pale.

  “One thing that is good, though,” Howard said, as he sat with her hand in his, “is that we can be sure Judy didn't do it.”

  “Oh?” Laura asked, scraping a strand of hair out of her eyes. “Why can we be sure?”

  “Well,” Howard sighed, “the thing is fairly short and a little blunt. We can estimate the amount of force needed to push it as far into Mr. Hugh as we know it went – about five inches in – yes, I know, it's horrible, but still,” he said, kissing her hair, “it does show that Judy couldn't possibly have pushed it in. A reasonably-frail woman in her mid-sixties? I'd be quite surprised. Not that she couldn't have, mind...but it wouldn't have been easy. And I'd be surprised if she had thought of it, too,” he added. “Though the way it was disposed of was quite brilliant, and I can actually imagine her thinking of something like it.” He laughed.

  Laura leaned back in the chair, eyes closed. She had not realised just how much she had been worried. The thought of Judy being a murderer had clearly frightened her, because, now that the woman was cleared of all suspicion, she felt suddenly limp, as if her batteries had run down. She collapsed, her head resting on her cupped hands.

  “I am so relieved,” she sobbed.

  “I can imagine,” Howard said gently. “I am, too,” he added. “I liked Judy.”

  “Good,” Laura said, taking his hand. She was surprised that his approval meant something to her, but it did. He was her favorite person, and the acceptance of him by Monty, coupled with his liking of her only local family made her feel good indeed.

  “Now,” Howard sighed, “we have two problems.”

  “How so?” Laura asked, wrinkling her brow. “The first one must be finding the real culprit,” she added logically.

  “And the second one is: who ransacked your study?”

  Laura swallowed. “True.”

  “I can only hope,” Howard said grimly, “that the questions have two different answers.”

  Laura bit her lip. “I agree,” she said, shakily. “But I don't think they do, really?”

  “Nor do I.”

  They sat quietly for a while, both contemplating the very real likelihood that the murderer was Mr. Brandon Hugh, and that he knew where Laura lived and that she lived alone. He must also know, if he had stolen the note, that she suspected him. It was a frightening thought.

  “I think I would like to stay here tonight,” Howard said carefully. “If that would be acceptable?”

  Laura laughed. She kissed his shoulder where it rested at her chin. “I think, Howard Lucas, that that is a most excellent suggestion. In fact,” she added, turning to kiss him on the mouth, “I don't think I'll let go of you at all.”

  Howard laughed, taking her in his arms. “I think I like the sound of that.”

  Still arm in arm, they walked together to the bedroom. If there was anyone in the garden, watching the house, they did not try to enter. The night was peaceful and amazing and the only intruder, if he could be so named, was Monty.

  Laura, asleep between the two beings she loved most, with the knowledge that her only local family-member was probably innocent of murder, could not have been more content.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  UNPLEASANT ENCOUNTERS

  UNPLEASANT ENCOUNTERS

  The small police station looked cleaner after the rains, but Laura still felt uncomfortable as she walked up the steps. The chances of bumping into Inspector Browne were high and the experience would almost-definitely be unpleasant. Following his run-in with her at Judy's, Laura hoped she would never see the man again. She turned to Howard, who was walking behind her.

  “Ready to go?” Howard asked, squeezing her hand gently.

  “Ready.”

  Together they walked in. They had planned to meet with Private Stanton, to give a statement about the break-in and to try and convince him to search Hugh Place, the farm of Brandon Hugh. As he had arranged earlier, he was waiting for them outside a small office.

  “Ms. Howcroft, Dr. Lucas,” he greeted them. Laura noticed how deferential he was with Howard and made a private decision to ask him about that afterwards. She knew he was a doctor and usually received respect from the villagers, but there must be another story there.

  “Thank you for saying you'd see us like this,” Laura said kindly as he ushered them in and shut the door.

  “I can't stay long,” Private Stanton demurred, “it isn't strictly in the rules, you know.”

  “I think it's okay for us to give a statement about the break in?” Howard said gently. The younger man swallowed and nodded.

  “Okay,” Laura said hesitantly, and began an account of what had happened a week ago.

  “And so nothing was stolen?” the young man asked when she had concluded her account.

  “No,” Laura admitted. “Nothing else, just the note. The one you gave me.”

  The young man closed his eyes. “I am so, so sorry, Ms. Howcroft. I might have put you in danger.” He looked as if he were about to cry, and Howard patted his shoulder reassuringly.

  “Henry, it's okay. You didn't mean to do that. I can't imagine who could have known you had, either,” he said slowly.

  Laura looked into his eyes and nodded. He was right. How could anyone have known young Private Stanton had given her information. The only way they would know is if they saw him, she thought. She swallowed.

  Someone was watching us.

  She recalled, then, that prickling-on-the-back-of-the-head feeling that she had, when Private Stanton had passed her the note. Someone had seen them.

  Someone in the station.

  “Howard?” Laura said, feeling sick.

  “What is it?” he asked, instinctively touching her shoulder. If Henry the police officer saw it, he didn't seem surprised.

  “I don't know,” Laura said in a small voice. “I just feel funny. Could we leave?”

  “Okay,” Howard agreed, seeming to guess she had something she wanted to tell him. “Thanks, Henry,” he added. “It was good of you.”

  “Don't mention it, doctor.” the young man agreed. Laura waved to him and together they walked out into the sunshine.

  As they crossed the threshold, they walked into another officer, coming the other way.

  “Ouch!” Laura said crossly, bumping into him. He was a tall man, and he stared down at her. He did not apologise. Laura bridled, and Howard paused.

  “Apologise,” he said shortly. Laura tensed at the authority in his tone. The man stared at him loftily.

  “Beg pardon?”

  “Apologise to the lady,” Howard said thinly. “You heard.”

  The officer blinked as if he had never heard anyone use that tone of voice before – at least not anyone not wearing a police-uniform.

  “Sorry,” he said ungraciously. “I didn't see you there.” He turned to Howard, who nodded.

  “Apology accepted?” Howard asked Laura.

  Laura didn't answer. The man was staring at her, and Laura suddenly knew where she had seen him. He had been at cousin Judy's, and she had felt the same prickling sensation on her skin then. She remembered when she had last felt it. It had been him watching her! She was sure of it.

  “Laura?” Howard asked gently. “Are you okay?” He was giving the man a look of such venom that Laura was afraid he might attack him. Of all the things they needed least, being charged with assault of a police-officer was the most of them. Especially this one.

  “I'm okay,” she said. Her voice was a breath of sound. “Apology accepted,” she whispered.

  “Okay,” Howard said and took her hand. She drifted down the
steps numbly. At the bottom she allowed Howard to lead her to the car and then she sank into the chair, white faced. Her face was damp with tears though she did not cry – the shock was too much for it.

  “Laura?” Howard asked, alarmed. “Whatever is the matter? Are you okay? You look terrible...” he was already kissing her forehead, feeling discreetly at her wrist for her pulse.

  “It was him,” Laura whispered, her voice a thread of sound.

  “What? Who, Laura? Who was he?” Howard said, sounding shaken. “What has he done to you?”

  “It was him who saw Henry pass me the note. He was at Judy's. He looked at me like he did now. It was him. He broke into my house.”

  Howard stared at her. “You're sure of that?”

  “Who else could it be?” Laura asked reasonably. “Like you said, no-one else could possibly have known I had it. And whoever broke into my house, they wanted that. That's the only thing they took.”

  Howard nodded. Laura leaned against the seat. She was shaking. She felt cold. She wanted to sleep. She was too scared to really even feel it. That man hated her for some reason. And he knew where she lived. She reached blindly for Howard.

  “It'll be okay,” he said gently. “Now we know who it was, we can do something about it. It's okay.”

  Laura nodded. He was right. Beforehand they had been working in the dark. Now, they knew who had broken into her house. Why he had done so, or why he had wanted to steal the note, was still a mystery. But at least the “who” part was solved.

  Leaning back in her seat, Laura felt her heart slowly beat more regularly.

  “Would you like to stay for supper?” she asked Howard shakily. “We can try and figure out what is going on. And you can stay afterwards? I want you there.”

  Howard sighed. “You know I don't want to be anywhere else.”

  Hands still clasped despite the fact that Howard was driving, they headed back to her house: to solve a mystery.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CASTING SUSPICION

  CASTING SUSPICION

  “Hello?”

  Laura looked up from her work, surprised to hear Howard on the other end of the line. She had expected a guest making a reservation. It was Monday morning, and she was back at work.

  “Laura,” Howard said. “Hi! I have to go to the lab his evening. We're having another look at the body. I will be late. Maybe you can stay on, or go out with Janet for an hour? I don't like to think of you being there alone.”

  Laura smiled, despite her worry. “Thank you, dear,” she said, looking to check Janet wasn't around and eavesdropping. “I appreciate how much you care. But I'll be fine for an hour, I'm sure. Monty's there after all.”

  Howard laughed. “Okay. I can't stop you. But please be careful? I don't like this one little bit.”

  “I'll be careful,” Laura promised. “If I so much as hear a funny noise in my house, I'll grab Monty and we'll drive to Janet. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Howard sighed. “See you soon. Stay safe.”

  “Stay safe.”

  Laura was still smiling as she hung up.

  It feels nice to be cared about.

  Laura leaned back and looked up at the ceiling for a moment, full of gratitude that her life had taken the course it had. All her life she had imagined love to be some distant thing in films and novels, not something she would have every day. How silly she had been.

  “Laura!”

  Laura whipped round to see Janet standing at the desk sporting a black jacket and a big smile.

  “Hi, Jay!” she said, putting her hand on her heart. “You scared me!”

  “Sorry, Laura,” Janet said gently. “I know you've been stressed. I just wanted to ask if you're free this Friday? I have so much news!”

  “I think I am,” Laura said hesitantly. “I hope we can see each other. I'd like that.”

  “Good!”

  At that moment the bell at the front desk rang, and Janet hurried off to see what it was about. Laura reached for the bookings list to organize the reservations before lunchtime.

  As she printed out the labels, she was surprised to see a table reserved in the name of Weston – a table for two.

  Oh, come on, Laura, she dismissed herself impatiently. The woman is single, and she can see anyone she likes! Stop scandal-mongering just because she's well-known.

  Nevertheless, as the lunch guests started to arrive around midday, she noticed she kept a special eye out for the actress.

  At one o' clock, Imogen Weston drifted into the dining-room. She was wearing a grey shift dress, but the cut and quality screamed designer-wear, and it was the most elegant thing Laura had seen in ages. As Imogen walked past her, Laura noticed a deep perfume – a mix of irises and musk that also spoke volumes. She did not look around the crowded room, but went straight to the one empty table – her reserved table for two.

  “Miss?”

  Laura blinked. “Oh, hello Major. You reserved a table? I put you alongside the window.” Laura mimed it, knowing the man was hard of hearing.

  “Thank you!” he said loudly, and then walked off to his place.

  As soon has he had gone, Laura found herself looking at the small table for two again. Laura could not help watching Imogen Weston as Bethany took her the menu. She perused it briefly, nodded once and set it aside. Then she took out her phone and was, to all intents and purpose, lost to the room. Until a man walked in to join her.

  Laura blinked. Of all the people she had imagined, she had not imagined this one. Shorter than the actress, with thick grey hair and beard, narrow eyes and a sour expression, he was far from the glamorous beau she imagined. He was certainly elegant, but there was a businesslike and slightly grasping manner about him that Laura could not help disliking. If this was Imogen's partner, she felt sorry for her.

  As she thought it, she remembered the day in the rain, when she had almost been in an accident. Imogen had been in that car. But it was not this man who was driving it. That man had looked overwhelmingly like Anthony Morrison. This man looked nothing like him.

  I wonder what is going on? Laura asked herself. Always an investigator, Laura decided to see if she could hear what the pair discussed together. They were sitting facing each other, with Laura able to see Imogen and a third of the man's head. The actress was leaning in to talk to the man without being overheard. In the crowded room, it was entirely inaudible. All Laura could tell from that distance was that she looked uncomfortable. She decided to go over.

  “Can I fetch you the wine-list?” she asked quietly.

  “Oh,” Imogen frowned. “Not for me. But for you, Peter?”

  “Yes, please,” the man said dryly.

  Laura walked briskly to fetch the list, trying to eavesdrop as she did so. To her disappointment, the two were not saying anything. The man called Peter was reading the menu, and the actress had just taken out her iPhone again.

  “Here you go,” Laura said, returning with the menu. She passed it to the man, who took it after a brief glance in her direction. He thereafter began to read it without looking up.

  Having handed him the list gave Laura a good excuse to hang about, and she posted herself about a meter away, where she could just hear them.

  “Now, Peter, can we get down to business?”

  Business?

  “Of course, Imogen,” the man said thinly. “We were discussing your foreign resources, yes? Waiter?”

  Laura presumed that was her, and appeared, trying not to look as if she had been listening.

  “Yes?”

  “A glass of the Chateau Blanc Cabernet?”

  “Of course,” Laura nodded. “And for the lady?”

  “The house white, please?” the actress asked, far more polite than her friend had been.

  “Very good.”

  Laura walked off to where Bethany had just delivered an order to another table. “Bethany?” she said quickly.

  “Yes, Laura?”

  “Could you nip out and get a g
lass of Chateau Blanc Cabernet and the house white, please? I'm quite busy up here.”

  Bethany nodded, and Laura breathed out a sigh. At least she could hang around and listen.

  She walked back to her post by the table, trying to pretend she was cleaning up.

  “...and in the Swiss account, we have still got fifty thousand.”

  “I know,” the woman said, sounding less than cheerful. “But does anyone else?”

  “Of course not!” the man said emphatically. “What I mean is – I am discreet. No-one should know, and no-one does, as far as I know.”

  “Good,” Imogen said, sounding pleased. At that moment, Bethany appeared with the wine. “Oh!”

  The man took his and sniffed it, and then drank appreciatively. The actress also seemed to enjoy hers, and Laura noticed how tense she had been earlier. At that moment she heard the phone ring and ran across to answer it.

  “Hello?”

  It was Janet, calling through to tell her to expect a large party for dinner that night. She was snowed under in the front desk, checking them all in. Laura agreed and ran back to her position as quickly as she could, but by then their soup had arrived and they seemed to at least temporarily have stopped discussing business.

  Laura listened in intermittently throughout the conversation, but only managed to turn up one more piece of information.

  “...so you'll be back in the office on Tuesday?”

  “Yes. There's a lot of work from Harling Corporation coming in. We handle their assets too.”

  Okay, Laura thought, swallowing. So the man is some sort of an investment banker or a lawyer – in some sense he is managing Imogen Weston's investments. She has money overseas. She doesn't want anyone to know. Why not?

  There was one obvious answer, and it hit Laura like a hammer. Evasion of taxes.

  It sounded insane, even to her. But why else would someone have a secret Swiss bank account?

  Come on, Laura! She chided herself. There are loads of reasons someone might not want people to know. Perhaps she just wants her wealth to be a secret. After all, everyone has the right for no-one to know what they own.