“There has to be.”
Scribbling on a blank page, I wrote ‘Gilbert’. Burning a hole into the page, I circled the name, over and over. A man was dead; someone killed him.
I had meant to be focusing on meeting with the chocolatiers; think of questions, help put them in the spotlight. It wasn’t how my mind operated, I’d probably ask them something the cuff. I was never prepared, no matter how often I tried, or how much thought I put into trying.
“Who did it, Charlie?” I asked.
He peered from his dog bed, sniffing the air. He stood and waddled over, planting his face on my lap and stretching as his neck along my leg.
“Well?”
He huffed through his snout, pulling away.
He’d probably thought I was giving him a treat or something, and now I was the worst human being alive. I couldn’t blame him, I was quite terrible for knowing he’d come over.
“You’re the one who got us in this mess,” I added, watching him strut out of the conservatory.
I imagined the entire village would think it was me... but I was hardly an enemy, that had been my husband. Gilbert had many enemies. They were my starting point, where I had to begin. I jotted the names of people I knew Gilbert had dealings with.
Too many people to name, I could’ve easily written the village as a whole.
“Someone was going to do it, eventually,” I mumbled aloud. “Poor Harriet, she must be beside herself.”
I can’t—could I? I knew what must have been going through her mind, but my Harry wasn’t murdered, and I wasn’t sure if she knew he’d been killed. For all I knew, Paul was playing it close to his chest—but I once knew Paul, he wasn’t clever enough to play games.
Appearing in my mind, the visual of Paul, he was putting wanted posters on walls, doors, recycling bins. He probably only had those old western films to go from as an insight into handling something like this.
Chuckling at the thought, my mind continued, acting out Paul as he questioned people about issues they had with Mr Sodbury. And there were many issues, he was a general nuisance; loud and obnoxious.
“Bless her heart.” I knew I’d have to visit Harriet, even if she didn’t know what had happened. She couldn’t continue to be a pariah because of what her husband did.
On the paper, I added names of men I could think were responsible. It was possible any of them could’ve done it—even people from years ago, many years ago. Members of the now disbanded boy’s club; members I couldn’t recall.
Alongside my husband, Ruth’s husband had been a member. Gilbert too. Gilbert’s brother, Thomas, there was also a set of twins, and a few other men. There were at least nine or ten of them, and immediately, a handful of suspects.
After chugging the rest of my tea, I let out a gasp. “Right. Charlie.”
He skittered back into the room.
I still had no treats. “We’re going back out.”
Better than a treat. He jumped at my legs.
“We’re going to find something nice for Mrs Sodbury, a card, perhaps. Chocolates?” I shrugged; Charlie wasn’t going to answer back.
Brriinngg. Brriinngg.
Standing, Charlie jumped away. “Let me get that.”
On the calling end, a deep sigh welcomed my ears. “Darling, dear, it’s mother.”
“What happened?” I asked. “You’ve been gone a week, did you leave something?”
“Oh, no, no,” she grumbled. “Just concerned, that’s all.”
“Concerned?” I asked. “I told you, I’ll clean the house eventually. You don’t need to keep harassing me.”
“No, no, no dear.”
“I swear, if Ruth has put you up to this,” my voice petered off into a chuckle. The last thing Ruth would do is go out of her way to call my mother.
“No,” she said once more. “Sweetie. You found that poor man’s body.”
“What?”
“Well, Paul phoned, he seemed quite in a way about the whole thing. I think he’s worried. Poor soul.”
“Mother!” I snapped. “I’m a grown woman, I don’t need you or anyone else telling me what to do.” My breath shallowed and hicked sharply. “Why would he phone you anyway? You barely know him.”
My mother sobbed quietly, somewhere in the distance.
“Eve.” My younger sister, Kathleen tutted. “I don’t think it’s safe for you there. I mean, with someone dead right near your house, and the state of your place—I mean, I think—”
Oh. No. “Kat, I’m fine, and I can do whatever I want with my house, because it’s mine.”
“You’re probably right. Nobody would want to go inside anyway.”
“It’s a natural defence, anyone tries to rob me, they’ll be too mixed up in all the mess.” I chuckled.
Kat scoffed, followed by a slam; cutting the call.
My sister was in her late forties, never married, never had children, and was currently living with our mother. She said it was because mother needed her, but I knew her well, and my mother would survive well enough without Kathleen around.
With my heart racing a million miles an hour, I walked through to the kitchen and filled a glass with water.
I can do whatever I want, I told myself. I can’t believe they’d even try and tell me what to do and what not to do. The gall on my family, the gall on the people in my life.
If I wasn’t already stressed out about the idea of a killer around, then I was incredibly stressed about the thought of anyone else trying to tell me what to do—that possibly could turn me into a killer.
“Right,” I said, washing out the glass.
My house wasn’t scruffy, it was a mess—yes. But I wasn’t living in squalor, my kitchen sink was always empty; the pots, pans, and silverware were always kept clean. The only thing that appeared to make my house a mess was my inability to trash anything with sentimental value; it was the only thing I had left with meaning.
The phone rang once again.
“Eve, it’s Kat,” she said. “Mother wants to know if you’re okay?”
“Okay?” I asked. “I’m absolutely fine.” Lying, I was stressed with them.
“You know, I found a dead body once, in the nursing home,” she said. “And that scarred me for life. I can’t work in one of them ever again.”
And another thing about Kathleen, she couldn’t keep a job. She was the one we should have been worried about.
“I told you. I’m fine.” I slammed the phone on the receiver.
Now or never; I needed to get out the front door and in my car before the phone could ring again.
I grabbed my handbag from the conservatory, shoving my notebook and pen inside. I turned off the music and headed to the front door.
“Charlie, come on.”
Pushing my arms into my thick blue coat and wrapping a scarf around my neck. I was toasty warm and ready to venture out into the cold of the day. This time there weren’t any clouds threatening to rain.
I took a second look inside my handbag. My car keys, door keys, and a healthy supply of breath mints were in sight.
“Right, we’re ready.”
SIX
It had been a few hours since I was out on my morning with Charlie. My first stop was Jim’s, the newsagents and post office inside Silver Lake. Owned and operated by twins Nancy and Francesca Dickenson, the shop itself was named after their father, Jim.
Both women were in their late sixties, I assumed, and it had been going for longer than I was alive.
Nancy was shorter than her sister, and a lot skinnier too. Usually, she was seen running around the shop stocking shelves and manning the post office booth for two hours a day.
Francesca, or Fran, as she preferred, was a bigger woman, usually behind the cash register, seated and reading from a magazine.
“Morning,” I called out, entering the shop.
I’d left Charlie inside the car. Even with Silver Lake being small and quite compact, there were plenty of parking spaces dotted
around, making it easy to drive through.
Fran tutted from behind the counter. “Oh. Goodness.”
“What?” her sister snapped from the other side of the shop. Nancy rushed forward, her large frame bifocals hanging on by the tip of her nose. The glasses themselves were incredibly thick, I could almost see inside her irises.
“Morning,” I said once again.
“Oh, lord,” Nancy grumbled.
Creasing my forehead, I looked around to make sure something hadn’t followed me in. But it seemed it was the three of us. “You ladies okay?”
“We should be asking you,” Fran said, extending herself across the counter, propping her face with her hands, she squinted. “Poor bloke. Only in here last night buying a case of lagers.”
“You heard?”
Nancy scoffed. “We’re the ears of this place.”
It wasn’t far from the truth. The river of gossip ran deep through this town, and the twins were at the helm of it. “Do you know what happened?”
“We should be asking you that,” Fran said, once again. “We should be asking you that, indeed.”
“Harriet was just here,” Nancy said.
“How’s she doing?”
“Already in black.” Nancy rolled her eyes. “Her husband’s not even warm in the grave and she’s already playing the grieving widow.”
Possibly because she was a grieving widow now. “Well, I was on my way to see her,” I told them. “I know how she must feel to lose a husband.”
“Well, we heard it might have been murder,” Fran added. “So, maybe you shouldn’t get too close or they’ll think you did it.”
“Did it?” I asked, hoping not to confirm my own fears, and if the twins had heard something, I should at least know before approaching Harriet.
Nancy tutted. “She’s only kidding.”
“Only think out loud.”
“We haven’t heard any names yet.” She huffed and shrugged her shoulders high. “But.”
“No but,” Fran scoffed back. “It’s obvious, plenty people hated his guts. Not buts, but plenty of guts.” She pulled away from the counter, chuckling and chortling; wheezing and laughing.
“Right, enough from you,” Nancy said, smacking a hand on the counter. “We’ve had enough excitement this morning.”
I had intended on coming in for something to give Harriet, but it might have appeared an admission of guilt to be throwing gifts at her. “I’ll grab a water,” I said. “Need to keep Charlie hydrated while we’re out today.”
Fran continued in hysterical laughter.
“I’ll serve you,” Nancy said, giving her sister the side-eye.
Leaving the newsagents, I looked the left and right of the store, not a single soul in sight.
I went back into my car. Charlie stood on the seat, his paws at the window. Yapping with excitement as he saw me.
Shooing him across, I took a seat in the driver’s side.
“Right, mister.” I unscrewed the cap of the water bottle. “I’ll have to leave you again. Only for ten minutes, fifteen max.” I poured a little water out into the small round dog bowl placed in a cupholder. “This should be enough while I go visit Harriet. Don’t get too excited with people passing by the car.”
Not that he’d listen, or even acknowledge what I was telling him.
Harriet Sodbury lived in one of the many terraced houses along Croft Road. Number 12 Croft Road. I knew, because like any small village, you knew where everyone lived, and that’s where they’d been for many years.
I knocked on her front door, adjusting the strap of the handbag on my shoulder. My lips changed from smiling to frowning, and back again. I didn’t want to appear insincere or maniacal, I butted my lips and waited for her to answer.
Thud. The door opened and was stopped by a chain latch. “Hello,” her meek voice spoke. “I’m not accepting visitors right now.”
“It’s me, Eve,” I said. “Evelyn Green.”
“Evelyn?” she shut the door, whipping the chain across before pulling it open again.
Harriet Sodbury was dressed in all black, from jeans to blouse. She held a thick wad of tissues in hand, pressing them to her cheeks.
“Can I come in?” I asked.
She nodded, sniffling into the tissues. “Yeah. Sorry about the mess.”
Entering, it wasn’t a mess at all. Not a single item out of place. She walked me through to the kitchen where her kettle hissed to a boil.
“Would you like a tea?” she asked.
After the second tea this morning, I wasn’t sure I could take another. “Coffee?”
She smiled.
A strong lavender smell wafted through the entire house. I turned around to try and see if she had them fresh, or from a plug-in air freshener.
By her back door, two large black sacks sat.
“I hate that the bin men only come once a fortnight.”
She sighed. “Most of that’s for recycling,” she said. “I need to make a trip to the recycling centre in Briarbury. I was going to do that today, but then I—I—I—”
In one fell swoop of words, Harriet was bawling in tears. Sobbing uncontrollably. She grabbed at me and hugged me tight, pressing tissues to her face.
“It’s a shock,” I cooed.
“We were about to go to the Seychelles.”
“Oh. Honey.”
“It was our winter getaway.”
There was nothing I could say, I’d never comforted a person in mourning before. I patted her back lightly. “You can still go.”
She pulled away, wiping at her eyes. “Paul wanted me to go see the body.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I couldn’t do it.”
“Is it definitely him?”
Hugging me tight, she sniffled into my shoulder. “He said so, without a doubt.”
“When did you find out?”
She shrugged. “Few—few hours ago.”
“I’m so sorry.” The only thing I knew to say.
“He could’ve told me,” she said. “If he’d spoke to me, maybe we could have gone to counselling.”
“Counselling?”
She pulled back and looked me in the eye, concern on her knitted brows. “For the depression.”
What was she trying to say? “Why?”
“It’s clear he killed himself.”
That much I wasn’t clear on. It screamed murder to me, and to Paul. “Oh, dear.”
She went in for another tight hug. “I can’t believe he would’ve done something like this.”
“Did Paul tell you it was suicide?”
She continued. “Leaving me to pick up the pieces.” Looking at me once again, she shrugged and shook her head. “He didn’t have to tell me.”
Looking around, I knew Harriet needed to get out of this place. I only wanted to drop by to make sure she was okay with what Paul had told her, and I’d realised she was deluding herself to think her husband had committed suicide.
“I know what will make you feel better,” I said, the words spilling out of me, “I’ve been invited to a chocolate tasting and I know chocolate always saw me right when my Harry died.”
“Oh?” she asked, blotting at her cheeks. “I do love chocolate.”
Don’t we all? “But if you think you should stay here and—”
“Oh, no, and be left with my thoughts. Goodness knows what I’ll do. I’m barely thinking straight. I’ve already mopped the floor three times already.”
I glanced to the floor. “I should’ve taken my shoes off. I’m sorry.”
“Nonsense. Perhaps it can be clean now that—now that Gilbert isn’t here.”
There it was again. The crying.
My heart raced and my throat swelled with heat. “Let’s have a brew and then we can go taste some chocolate.”
That time I meant it, extending the invite once again.
She needed to get out of the house before going doolally.
“Okay.” She wiped away her te
ars. “I have biscuits too.”
I couldn’t refuse. “Sure.”
SEVEN
We sat with our hot drinks and a plate of biscuits on the coffee table. Her television played without sound, and her blinds were closed off, casting a melancholic beige across the living room.
Harriet sat with her hands in her lap, blindly looking ahead.
“I can help you get through this.”
She glanced in my direction.
“I can help you with this.”
She exhaled, dabbing a tissue at her cheeks. “Thank you.”
“I know we’ve never been close, but I’d like you to think of us as friends.”
A smile flickered across her lips, fading slowly. “I don’t have anyone.”
I placed my coffee on the table. “I’m here.” I inched across the sofa, closer to her. “And you know what always helps me, making a list.”
“A list.” She agreed with a nod.
Reaching out for her hand, I squeezed it lightly. “And the first thing on my list is to get you out of the house. Let’s clear your head a little.”
Accepting my hand inside a shaky hold. “Please.”
* * *
I drove with Charlie and Harriet. He wasn’t pleased to sit in the back, but it meant we were going somewhere. The drive into Briarbury was short, but it was far too cold to be walking into town, and finding parking was more of a nightmare.
Parking outside St. Julian’s Parish Church, I leashed Charlie; we’d have to walk the six-hundred metres or so to reach the chocolatiers.
Through the cold air, the scents of the outdoor market travelled. Fruits, fish, and warm food stands expressing all manner of smells, from baked potatoes to rotisserie chicken.
We weren’t spending time inside the market town, we were headed straight to Hopkin & Son, owned and operated by Samuel Hopkin and his son, Seamus. They’d been in business since 1969 according to the sign above the door. 50 years of business.
Charlie winced at his collar, trying to run on ahead inside the shop.
Lots of moving people, wandering around, coming and going.
“Oh, goodness,” Harriet gasped.
“You okay?”
“Not sure it’s a good idea for me to be here.”
Silver Lake Cozy Mystery Bundle Page 3
