by Agatha Frost
Had she put her foot in it again already?
Dot scrambled for something, anything to say. Glancing at her hands, the lines and age spots inspired her.
“When you get to my age,” she said from deep in her chest, as wisely as she could muster, “you can tell these things.”
Vicky nodded, the bomb defused despite the age gap between them being no more than twenty-five years. Still, Dot remembered being that age. She thought she’d known herself then, had it all figured out.
The fool.
“He’s part of the choir,” Vicky volunteered, looking over at the church as the peppy lyrics of ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful’ swelled forth. “I thought he asked me here to finally watch a rehearsal. I’ve always loved singing, but he didn’t even let me past the front door. I’m so . . . humiliated.”
“Sweetheart,” Dot asked, reaching out and scooping up Vicky’s hand. “Is it Gus?”
Vicky’s confused look turned to a nod that gave way to more tears. She blew her nose again, and Dot could only pat her hand and wait for them to stop.
“How did you know?”
“A feeling,” she said, summoning her wise voice once more. “You’ll understand one day. No point crying over it. Like you said, it might not have been anything, anyway.”
“We never even kissed,” she admitted, dabbing the corners of her eyes though it only made the mess of mascara worse. “It was more . . . emotional.”
“Sometimes they feel more real.”
“You actually get it.” Vicky let out a sigh of relief. “I’ve felt so alone. I loved him but . . . he belonged to someone else. He said he’d leave her.”
“They never do.”
“I shouldn’t have fallen for it at my age,” she said, rubbing under her eyes and finally ridding herself of the mascara mess. “Although maybe my age is why I fell for it. It’s not like men are lining up around the corner.”
“That’s not true,” Dot said, squeezing her hand. “There’s always a line at your coffee van.”
At least Vicky could find a chuckle, even in her state.
“After all that stuff in the paper,” Dot whispered, pushing her shoulder against Vicky’s, “he’s done you a favour.”
“Right?” Vicky huffed. “That wasn’t even the half of it.”
“There was more?”
“So much more.”
“Worse than a break-in?”
“I-I shouldn’t say. I promised him.”
“Promised a man who never kissed you and left you out here to cry alone?”
Vicky frowned, and once again, Dot thought she’d gone too far. She surprised her with a nod that kept going until she let go of Dot’s hand and rose.
“You’re absolutely right.” Still nodding, she blew her nose again. “I’ve spent all day slaving away in that van, and the one time I think he’s invited me to be part of his life now that she isn’t in the way, he tells me it’s over. Done. No refunds. He thinks just because it’s the anniversary of his son’s death I won’t make a scene. Six months! He strung me along for six months! I’m going to go in there . . . and give him a piece of my mind.”
“Alright, now.” Dot fanned her hands. “Best not to get carried away.”
“You’re right.” Vicky tossed the tissue into a nearby bin and snapped her fingers. “I won’t go in there. I’ll get revenge.”
“Yes.” Dot stood. “Wait, no, that’s not what I meant.”
“I’m going to ruin his life like he ruined mine.”
“How about a cup of tea back at—”
“Thank you.” Vicky squeezed her into a rocking hug, the dogs crammed between them. “You’re a great listener. You’ve really helped.”
If this one came to bite Dot on the behind, she wasn’t sure how she’d explain it, other than somehow ending up riding a runaway train on which she wasn’t even a passenger.
As Vicky marched across the village green to do who knew what, Dot and the dogs returned to the church as rehearsals ended. As on her previous visit, the crowd orbited around Gus and his outpouring of grief. This time, Percy was in the fray, and there were smiles instead of hostility.
If they’d been playing dominos, her debut interview with Gus had been the wobbly one that sent all the others crashing down.
“Get anything?”
“Afraid not, Dorothy,” he said, pushing up his glasses before accepting Bruce’s lead. “He was rather preoccupied with his son, Shawn, today. But he always is this time of year.”
“Forget that,” she whispered, looking around to make sure they were alone. “Let me tell you something you didn’t know. Turns out Gus and Vicky were having an emotional affair, and Ethel knew about it.”
“‘Give my love to Vicky!’”
“Exactly.” Dot leaned in, her smile growing. “The way she was talking, she seems over the moon that Penelope isn’t in the picture even if she didn’t get what she wanted. Gus just dumped her.”
“She’s back.”
“Who?” Dot looked around.
“My Dorothy.” He pinched her cheek. “All you needed was a whiff of a clue and you’re ready to go again.”
Taking in the grand church, Dot puffed out her chest. She was ready. Pulling off the glasses and scarf, she released a heavy breath.
“Back home,” she said, looping her arm through Percy’s as they walked down the aisle. “I think we need to start with a fresh sheet of paper and a new point of view. And Percy? From now on, I may need you to tell me if I’m stepping over the line.”
“A-are you sure about that?”
“Yes.”
“Then I shall give it my best shot.” He cleared his throat. “I would have quite liked to interview Gus myself at the last rehearsal.”
“Steady on,” Dot said as they left the church. “Let’s start fresh now.”
“Right you are, dear.”
Dot gazed out at the village as the sun slipped from the sky and declared another day done. She loved her village, and that was enough for her, no matter what people said about her or the lack of moments in the sun.
“Tomorrow,” she said to Percy. “Tomorrow we take a burglar and a murderer off the streets for the sake of this village. And then we get our team back together. It’s not over until it’s over.”
13
Waiting for Barker by the front door, with Olivia already in her pram, Julia tapped her foot. He’d had a whole morning to find his reading glasses. As had all too frequently become the case in the year since he’d gained the prescription, opening the front door had triggered what Julia dubbed the ‘psycho specs search’.
“Really, Barker?” She leaned away as a scatter cushion flew from the sitting room and sent Mowgli on a skidding dash towards the safety of under the bed. “Every time.”
“Ah, ha! Left them in the paper.” Emerging with a pat of his shirt pocket, he climbed over the mess he’d created. “Want me to quickly—”
“No, no.” She pushed the pram over the threshold. “We’ll sort it later. Let’s get going.”
Speedy exits from the cottage had been a rarity since Olivia’s arrival. If they weren’t rushing off to an appointment, they were hurrying back because they’d forgotten something. Julia had learned to be thorough with the pram-packing, but there was always something. She almost missed the waddling slowness of late pregnancy.
Once again, she had no time to slow-waddle and enjoy the morning birdsong as yet another perfect spring morning played out around her. They rushed a wave to Leah as she pruned her rose bushes but didn’t stop to chat. When speed was necessary, Julia found she could take advantage of the winding lane down to the village in such a way that it was quicker trundling with the pram than packing and unpacking the car at either end.
“I think she’s enjoying it.” Barker jogged to keep up, wiggling a finger at Olivia. “Is this fun? Is it? Yes?”
“She loves it,” Julia said, taking a wide berth around a pothole she’d learned to avoid. “I think it’
s the bumpiness.”
The lane’s exit and the village green came into view, as did Johnny on his way up. Olivia’s vibrating gurgles smoothed as Julia slowed to a halt. Catching her breath, she ran a hand down her windblown hair and met Johnny in the middle.
“Sorry for yesterday,” he said, shielding his eyes from the sun. “Someone should tell Shilpa how dangerous that two-for-one offer is.”
“I don’t think it was the energy drinks,” Julia said with a smile. “Up to Leah’s?”
“I was on my way to you, actually.” His brows dropped, sending Julia’s heart plummeting with them. “I’ve not had the greatest morning.”
“She didn’t say—”
“No.” He shook his head quickly, glancing at Barker as though to check if she’d told him; she hadn’t. “It’s not that. I . . . I think I’ve just found out who my hit-and-run driver was.”
Julia and Barker glanced at each other as he pulled something from his cross-body messenger bag. He unfolded a sheet of paper. Orange letters on a black background stitched together a single word – a name – like something from a film. There was a picture of a car, too, cut from a glossy magazine.
“Unless I’m missing something, it’s a pretty clear message,” he said, handing it over to Barker’s outstretched hand. “Callum. Do you think that’s why Desmond asked? Because he knew his grandson was the driver?”
Closer inspection revealed black-tinged water droplets and the halved ring of a coffee stain. Even without those clues, Julia knew who’d put together the letter. She opened her handbag and did what Barker had dubbed her ‘psycho bag dig’. Under a bottle of peppermint chewing gum, her fingers closed around the shiny paper of the flyer. It had crumpled into something resembling a wonky flattened paper airplane, but it was still perfectly legible. She held it next to Johnny’s art project.
The cut-out letters were identical.
“‘Vicky’s Van Grand Opening,’” Barker read aloud. “‘Come on down to Mulberrry La—’ Wait. Mulberry with three r’s?”
“Which is why I know this flyer didn’t make it into circulation,” she said, dragging the pram to the side as a car slowed to pass. “First time I spoke to Vicky, these were hot off the press, and I noticed too. She said she was glad I’d spared her the embarrassment, and unless she sent them out anyway—”
Julia dove in again and pulled out the more professionally designed, less creased, and correctly spelled flyer Vicky had opted for. This one had a 20% off coupon attached to the bottom.
“Then it had to be Vicky,” Johnny said, taking it back. “I don’t get it. Why would she send me this? And how does she know?”
“Have you shown the police?”
“I wanted to see what you thought first,” he said, folding it before putting it away. “I’m on my way there now, and I can tell them where to look.”
“Then we know where we need to start,” Julia said to Barker as she set off again. “We talk to Vicky first, and then we go to the library like we planned. Johnny, station.”
They walked to the bottom of the lane together, after which Johnny sped ahead and left them behind. When Julia reached the village green and glanced at her café to check how busy it was, movement in the alley drew her eye.
“What on Earth . . .”
“Ah!” Ethel ducked under the ‘ILLEGAL PARKING’ sign strung up between the café and the post office in front of Katie’s pink Fiat 500. “Just the woman we wanted to see!”
Another of the women took over holding the string while a gang of conservatively dressed pensioners rushed out and arranged themselves around Ethel. Holding either end of what looked like a large bedsheet, two women spread out in front of the café. ‘ILLEGAL PARKING’ written in red paint on the white sheet blocked the view through the window.
“You can’t do that,” Barker called, overtaking Julia.
“We have a right to protest!” A megaphone appeared at Ethel’s lips on the final word. “Peridale’s Eyes stands against illegal parking, and we want to make sure everyone in this village knows the truth about this alley. It’s a public right of way!”
Julia bit her tongue and denied Ethel the reaction she was no doubt gunning for. Penelope might have been vaguely irritating when she popped up with her complaints, but she had never made it personal.
“You might have a right to protest,” Barker called, pulling one of the women away from the café’s door so Father David could leave, “but you don’t have a right to block entry to someone’s business.”
One of the women whispered something into Ethel’s ear, and the words ‘former detective’ crackled through the megaphone. Ethel batted the woman away like a fly and scanned Barker from the tips of his shoes to the top of his head.
“Illegal parking!” she cried through the megaphone with a rallying cheer. “Is this what you all want for your village? Peridale’s Eyes stands against illegal parking, and we are recruiting for—”
Ethel’s voice fell abruptly silent as a pair of scissors cut through the sheet from behind. Reaching up until her apron was as short as her top, Katie sheared through the fabric and stepped through the slit she’d made. A click of her keys unlocked her car and she climbed in, slammed the door, and started the engine. Blaring the horn, she crawled forward, and the protestors scattered like ants.
Ethel stood her ground, forcing Katie to drive around her. She parked on the row adjacent, where the short-lived Happy Bean chain coffee shop remained abandoned years after its failed attempt to steal Julia’s customers.
“Ten till four!” Katie cried, pointing at the sign jutting from the pavement. “Get a life, woman! There are real things to protest about.”
Ethel checked her watch.
“Ladies, it’s ten minutes to ten.” She clicked her fingers and pointed them at the pink car. “Illegal parking! Illegal parking!”
Ethel’s eyes darted between Julia and Dot’s cottage. If Dot was in and could hear it, she had yet to rise to the taunting bait.
But Julia had one thing to say.
Or rather, one question to ask.
“Ethel?” she called, leaving Olivia with Barker. “Did you know Callum was behind the hit and run that put my friend in a cast for two months?”
Ethel’s tight-throated stutter through the megaphone was the only answer Julia required. Ethel stared blankly outwards, as though summoning a denial or an excuse.
“Illegal parking!” she continued, turning so her angle to Dot’s cottage was blatant. “Peridale’s Eyes does not stand—”
Julia tuned out, turning to the café as Katie scooped up the abandoned halves of the sheet. She returned to the counter to mild applause from the four morning customers.
“Something is trying to stop us getting to the library to talk to Desmond,” Barker said as they hurried past The Plough.
“Or something wanted us to have some more information before we got there.” She glanced at the B&B next door. “We’re starting to sound like Evelyn.”
Once they reached the top of Mulberry Lane, they glanced down and saw the shutter pulled low over the van’s serving window. The street was already getting busy for the day, but the lack of people lingering around the van indicated there wasn’t a ‘BE RIGHT BACK!’ sign today.
“Do you know where she lives?”
“Not a clue,” Julia replied. “And it was my job to interview her.”
Thankfully, the library was open, though today was one of the slashed opening days. Using the pram, she pushed open the loose door and the library’s insulation cut off the last crackle of the distant megaphone.
“If you’re here for your brother-in-law,” Desmond began from behind the desk as they walked in, lifting his gaze from his book, “he’s had to take the day off.”
“Is he alright?”
“No idea.” He closed the book. “Didn’t go into detail. If you’re here for me, I’m not in the mood to answer more questions, thank you.”
Barker gave Julia a sideways squint that
read as ‘Want me to take the lead on this one?’ She shook her head.
“There’s no point beating around the bush,” she said after pulling Olivia’s fist from her mouth and exchanging it with a plastic chomping ring still cold from the freezer. “I know your grandson was behind the hit and run, and I know you know.”
“Ah, yes,” he said with a nod. “I gave a little too much away with my question yesterday, which was why I didn’t stick around.”
“So, it’s true?”
“If you know, then it’s out there.” He nodded, sighing heavily. “I wish it weren’t, but it is. Maybe I let on more than I should have because I subconsciously wanted this to be over, but yes, he did it, and I knew. But I only found out when the others did at that last meeting.”
“The true source of the argument?”
“They were upset about the break-ins, naturally,” he said with another sigh, “but the hit and runs really pushed it over the edge.”
“Hit and runs? Plural?”
“Did I say that?” He tapped his head. “Slip of the tongue. Old brain.”
Julia had seen her grandmother try that trick enough times to know it didn’t always sell the way she thought it did, and she didn’t buy Desmond’s veiled attempt at deception any more than she did her gran’s.
“Want what to be over?” Barker pushed. “Penelope’s murder case or the things Callum has done?”
“Both?” He busied his hands with gathering books behind the counter. “They’re not connected. And before you ask, no, I didn’t kill Penelope.”
Barker and Julia glanced at each other. After going over their notes, Desmond had emerged as a prime suspect, and though they hadn’t been able to put their finger on why, they’d had a few theories.
“Where were you the night Penelope was murdered?” Barker asked, his detective inspector tone never too far away.
“Not that I have to tell you,” he said, turning a tight smile on Barker, “but I have an alibi your successor referred to as ‘iron-clad’. I’m one of Peridale Chat’s admins and founding members. On the night in question, I was moderating a question-and-answer session with a local musician.”
