Farewell, My Cuckoo

by Marty Wingate

  Callow nodded her permission.

  Having made this minor inroad, I rashly tried for more. “And what about him? Do you have new evidence? Is that what you’re going to talk with him about?”

  The DI cut her eyes at Pammy, who leaned over the counter to listen.

  With a shake of her head, Tess began. “We have CCTV footage that shows Tony Brightbill at motorway services on the M18 near Doncaster—that’s a three-hour journey at best. He went into the M&S, bought a cold lasagna, which he claimed he took home and put in the microwave. He’s his own security system at the gate of his house, which he has shared with us. It backs up his story, showing he arrived home just before eight o’clock. And speaking of CCTV, this enquiry would be going more smoothly if the estate—”

  “A fascinating discussion,” I interrupted, “which I know you will want to have with Linus. Now, why didn’t you tell me Guy had form?”

  “He had a caution eight years ago, but it was removed—taken off his record.”

  “What’s his alibi for the time span you have for Bob’s death?”

  Tess studied me, I’m sure weighing the danger of handing over the information.

  “He was working in his fields until about seven o’clock—seen from the next farm over—after which time he removed to the Royal Oak until eleven. Then, back to his cottage.”

  “Doesn’t account for his whole weekend, does it?” I asked. I shouldn’t have asked it aloud.

  “Julia, you know not to approach Guy Pockett.”

  “Do you really think I would attempt to interrogate Guy concerning his whereabouts the day Bob was killed?” I asked blithely, praying she didn’t notice how I qualified my statement. “I know better than that.”

  * * *

  —

  Pammy hadn’t said a word since explaining to Tess about Tommy’s sketch. After the DI departed, she slumped in a chair at the table, hands in her lap.

  “Makes me quite ill seeing the other side of it,” she said. “Tommy finding out what her husband has been up to.” She whisked away a tear. “Julia, the man I was seeing, that I was living with—he really did tell me he was getting a divorce. But wasn’t I the fool to believe him?”

  I gave her a quick hug. “That’s finished now and all for the better. Things are looking up, aren’t they?” That got a smile out of her. “And now you are officially relieved of your TIC duties, Pammy. Thanks for filling in.” We packed up a sandwich and her slice of coffee-and-walnut cake, and I handed her the cottage key as a reward. “I might have an errand after I close up, so don’t worry if you step out.”

  She studied the key in her hand. “Gavin took a day shift at the pub, but he’ll be free for a bit until he has to go back again.” She smiled. “He said he’d pop down between and perhaps we’d go for a meal.”

  “Extra hours—my, isn’t that industrious of him?”

  “You think he did it, don’t you?” Pammy asked. “Tony Brightbill. You think Tony killed his own brother and Noel Pears saw it and now Tony may suspect there’s a witness. Mr. Can’t-Keep-It-in-His-Trousers had better be careful.”

  I laughed. “I don’t know. At the moment, Noel Pears should be far more worried about lying to Detective Inspector Callow.”

  “His game is up,” Pammy declared. “He must know that.”

  Chapter 31

  The second half of the afternoon I spent alone, as tourists found their own way round the estate without any help from me. Just as well. I needed to think about the people and events surrounding Bob’s murder. DI Callow would say it was none of my concern, but it was, because those people existed in my world, swirling round me like the cotton fluff from a poplar caught in the breeze.

  I rang Tommy, but had to leave a message. I dutifully ate half a chicken sandwich, before proceeding to the afternoon’s main course, my slice of Nuala’s fantastic chocolate cake. The kettle switched off as my phone rang.

  “I’ve my feather identification exam this afternoon,” Michael said when I answered. “As soon as Rupert finishes the radio interview he’s recording. I was hoping you could help me cheat.”

  “Oh, I’d be delighted,” I replied, putting him on speaker as I made my tea. “Here’s a helpful hint. If it’s extremely long and blue and at the very end looks as if it has an eye painted on it—it’s a peacock feather.”

  “That’s the way it’s going to be, is it?” he asked, and I could hear the smile in his voice. “How are you faring without Vesta?”

  “Not bad, it’s turned quiet. But when I had to dash out earlier, I had a ready substitute. Your sister.”

  “You let Pammy loose on a load of unsuspecting tourists?”

  “She managed just fine—she was even civil to Tony Brightbill.” I settled at the table and filled Michael in on the day’s news—Tommy’s surprising sketch of her husband, Noel’s affair, and seeing Noel and Tony in conversation.

  “I don’t know, Michael, it’s as if all the evidence and clues and witnesses and suspects are just a heap of spare parts dumped on the floor at Tess’s feet, and she’s supposed to make something from it. I don’t know how she does her job.”

  “That’s just it,” he reminded me sternly, “it’s her job.”

  “Yes,” I muttered.

  “But you can’t stop thinking about it. So tell me.”

  It was what I needed—to say it all aloud. I sat up straight and shifted my idling mind into gear. “All right. Guy, he needed to keep Bob quiet about the field being sprayed, or he’d lose his organic status.”

  “And he’s violent,” Michael added.

  “But there’s Tony,” I said. “His finances are stretched thin, and he didn’t want to pay Bob’s huge loan back.”

  “Did Bob demand repayment?”

  “I don’t know—did Bob have a solicitor? You wouldn’t think.”

  “And Tony’s got an alibi, according to Tess.”

  “Are you defending him?”

  “Talk me out of it.”

  “He could’ve doctored his own CCTV tapes if he knew an expert. He could’ve hired someone to kill Bob.” A thunderbolt of a thought struck me. “That’s it—he hired Noel Pears to kill Bob. That’s how they know each other! Apart from the software installation, that is.”

  “Noel Pears is a software engineer and a hired gun?”

  I huffed. “All right, a bit far-fetched. Really, it’s that Noel Pears might be a witness to something or someone. The fact that he’s kept quiet because he didn’t want his affair revealed makes him…a cad. Worse. But now he’ll have to confess his omission—and Tess will put the screws to him.”

  “What about Lottie?”

  “Whyever would Lottie kill Bob?”

  “He abandoned her all those years ago, a young woman madly in love, and the anger has been building. Suddenly, he’s back in her life. What else would she do?”

  I thought of Lottie’s sad-happy face as she told her childhood story. Wistful not revengeful, as if she had started dreaming about what her life would’ve been if Bob Brightbill hadn’t fallen out of that tree.

  “No, I don’t buy it. If she would harm anyone, it would be Tony.”

  “How about this,” Michael offered. “The spirit of one of your monks from the abbey floated over to the pond and did it. That would be fantastic publicity for your medieval banquet and ghost tours.”

  I had taken an enormous bite of cake at that moment, and spluttered a laugh.

  “Tea and cake?” he asked, a well-informed guess.

  “Mmm.”

  He was quiet for a moment, and then said, “I remember you eating chocolate cake in Nuala’s that first time.”

  I sighed at the memory—one of our earliest encounters. “I thought you were smug and inefficient. And you didn’t even tell me I had chocolate icing smeared on my face.”

 
“I confess now, it was all I could do to keep from leaning over the table and licking it off.”

  I blushed with pleasure.

  “I wish you weren’t on the phone,” I confessed.

  “We’ll have time soon enough. I’m taking you off tomorrow.”

  “Off?” An electric thrill ran through me. “Off where?”

  “I’m not saying. It’s a surprise.”

  “A surprise!” I squealed. “Will you blindfold me?”

  “Blindfolds don’t work with you, remember?”

  “Not fair,” I said, well remembering the instance. “It wasn’t my fault I could see out the bottom—you didn’t tie it on well enough.”

  * * *

  —

  I boxed up the lemon squares and cherry-and-almond traybake and closed the TIC, all the while drifting along in a dream world as I imagined being whisked off the next day. Where would Michael take me? It could be a dingy hotel in Peterborough, as far as I was concerned, as long as it was only the two of us. Of course, I hoped it wasn’t a dingy hotel, but…

  Reality began to weasel its way into my dream. I couldn’t leave Vesta alone on a Saturday. What if the Spanish students returned at the same moment the Germans and Swedes walked in? What if a swarm of bicyclists arrived needing a circular route round the estate? No, I couldn’t. But it would’ve been lovely.

  Standing out on the pavement, I considered my options. No need to go directly home—Pammy might be entertaining Gavin. I darted across the road and to the corner, into Akash’s shop for a cool drink, where Gwen said, “Isn’t it wonderful about Pammy’s job?” After that, I nipped into the chemist for a new pair of tights and heard the same comment, then I dawdled long enough outside Sugar for My Honey for Helen to put her head out and say she planned to send Pammy off to Oxfam with a pound of mixed candies. All the while talking myself into and then out of going to Guy Pockett’s farm to collect the tin he said belonged to Bob.

  I shouldn’t do it. I got out my phone to ring Tess and let her take care of the matter. But then, I tried to imagine what sorts of things Bob had collected. More eggshells? Or something more personal? I would go. I dropped my phone in my bag, but my sleeve pulled up and I saw the tip of a bruise, now the bright shade of a yellow wagtail. No, leave it to the police. I retrieved the phone, as I found myself standing in front of Three Bags Full. I wondered if Willow was upstairs. And if she were, would her new best friend be with her? I dropped my phone back into my bag and walked in.

  Two women stood chatting near a display of tams while Lottie demonstrated what I heard her call the “eyelet stitch scarf” to a third. When she saw me, she nodded to the stairs in the back, and I slipped past the women and went up.

  I hesitated in the doorway as Willow carried a pot of tea from the kitchen into the sitting room while Tommy perched on the edge of the sofa.

  “Hello,” I said. “I hope I’m not disturbing, but Lottie said to come up. I’ve brought something for your tea.” I held the bakery box aloft.

  Tommy leapt to her feet.

  “You see, Tommy, I told you she’d be by,” Willow said with an enormous smile. “Come in, Julia.” She sat and poured three cups.

  “I’m sorry I ran out earlier,” Tommy said to me. Her ponytail sagged, and her face had no color, except for bright red cheeks, like spots of rouge.

  I shook my head. “You don’t need to apologize—you had a shock. My, you’ve stayed in the village later than usual—is everything all right with the children?”

  “Oh yes,” Tommy said with relief. “My mother’s taken them to her flat for the evening. Always a treat when their nan’s in charge, because it involves a movie and being able to eat pizza on the sofa.”

  “Well, then,” I said, unwilling to bring up Noel’s name, “I’m so glad you’re here with Willow. We were all a bit concerned, you know.”

  “All?”

  “Me. Pammy.” The police. “Pammy was so grateful that you were able to…” catch your husband lying about his whereabouts? Hmmm, must tread carefully.

  “He shouldn’t have been here on that Saturday,” Tommy said. “He told me he was going to Grimsby in Lincolnshire—an important customer had insisted he sort out a problem, weekend or no. A lie. And it wasn’t the first. He couldn’t keep away from her, I suppose. They were meeting here, in your village, weren’t they?”

  Relieved I wasn’t the first to mention the affair, I still stumbled over my words. “I…really, I don’t have details.”

  Tommy took a deep breath, but it caught halfway in and she cleared her throat. “Julia…I think I’ve known for a while that he was seeing someone else, only I didn’t want to admit it to myself. Another woman in his department tried to drop a heavy hint not too long ago—I ignored her. But when Pammy began to describe the person she saw here on that Saturday, it was as if my suspicions were coming out the end of my pencil and showing me what I could no longer avoid.” Her voice wobbled, and she sank onto the sofa.

  Willow put a hand on her arm. “It’s a hard truth, and you’re amazingly brave to face it.”

  Tommy sniffed. “But this is my problem, Julia—not yours. Your detective inspector wants to know if Noel was a witness to Bob’s murder.”

  Noel was a despicable, lying lowlife, but he still could assist in the enquiry. “It’s quite possible he saw someone or something. DI Callow is eager to talk with him.”

  The phone on the coffee table vibrated, and Tommy lifted an eyebrow at it. “There he is again—been ringing all day, but I haven’t answered.”

  “One of those was mine,” I said. “And you might have one from the DI as well.”

  Tommy’s brow furrowed. “Sorry, I just assumed they were all Noel. I know I’ll have to face him, but I can’t do it now. And he keeps leaving these messages—‘I love you. We need to talk.’ I stopped listening. He knows I know.” Tommy picked up her cup and saucer, but they rattled violently, and so she set them down again. “I came here to the shop after I left you, Julia, and Lottie sent me upstairs, told me I could stay as long as I needed to. Wasn’t that kind of her? I sat there”—she nodded to the front window that overlooked the high street—“and it was so peaceful. Until I saw Noel walk by a couple of hours ago.”

  I looked out to see the Friday traffic moving like treacle and the few people on the pavement outpacing the cars. A couple of hours ago—that was well after Noel had stormed out of the TIC. I didn’t like to think of him skulking round our village the rest of the afternoon. Had Tess not found him yet, explaining to him a witness had put him in the village the day Bob was murdered?

  “Just as well you stayed here,” I said and returned to my cup of tea. “So, what have you two been up to? Oh, wait. I mean…that is…I didn’t mean to imply…I only thought…”

  “We aren’t planning a visit to the pond, if that’s what you mean,” Willow said, and I reddened because that’s exactly what I had meant. “Bob didn’t want us to—so, no need to worry.”

  Right, no need to worry.

  “And I promised Cecil.”

  Better.

  “Well, that’s grand. So—Cecil. I hear he’s going to get Guy Pockett back on the straight and narrow.”

  “Yes, he’s taken on Guy as a personal project. He’s out at the farm now,” Willow said.

  That was the all-clear I needed. No one could object to my visiting Guy when another person was present. “I’m so glad. Well, I’d best be off.”

  “All right, then. Lovely to see you, Julia,” Willow said. “Thanks for the cakes from Nuala. And you rest assured that Auntie and I are taking care of Tommy.” She frowned. “Where’s Pammy?”

  “She’s, er…well, I’d say she’s with Gavin. He’s between shifts at his pub—and said he’d pop round. Why?”

  Willow brightened. “No reason. It’s only, we hoped she wasn’t alone. Otherwise,
we would’ve asked her up for tea.”

  That would be an interesting trio—or quartet, if they counted Bob. Did they?

  Chapter 32

  I eased the nose of my Fiat out into traffic and joined the parade, creeping along with the others up the high street toward the end of the village. It took forever. I stuck my elbow out the open window and inhaled the scent of summer—warm with a miasma of green and floral scents mixed with car exhaust. As we crept by the turnoff to Church Lane, I glanced over to the Stoat and Hare and noticed Tony Brightbill standing outside the door, his eyes on me. He made no acknowledgment—not a wave or a lifting of the head in greeting—only watched as I continued to inch my way out of the village. I stared straight ahead, but glanced in my side mirror, and noticed Lottie walk up to Tony. I kept my eyes on them as they spoke, but when the car behind me honked, I realized traffic had moved along and I hadn’t. I edged forward.

  Tess had finished talking with him, I supposed—absolving him of his brother’s murder. But did the DI know of Tony’s connection to Noel? I think not. It could be nothing, but it might be something. I would ring her later. Brightbill still made me quite nervous. I tried to get a final glimpse of the pavement in front of the pub—empty. Was Tony now harassing Lottie Finch? Or perhaps it was the other way round and Lottie would have it out with him for the way his family treated her all those years ago.

  Once I reached my turnoff at the north end of the village, I relaxed. I picked up speed along the empty lane, passing the car park for the abbey ruins and continuing to the track that led to Guy’s farm, where I hit a hole so deep that my head bounced off the roof of the car. I slowed, but not much—I preferred to arrive while Cecil, my buffer, would still be in attendance.