Silver Lake Cozy Mystery Bundle

by Hugo James King

  “Ruth?” I said, hearing the click of the phone answer after one ring.

  “Glad you got home safe,” she replied. “I’ve just finished my chapters for the day.”

  My unsteady sighs. My breath on the edge of giving way to an entire bridge of panic. “Yes, but—”

  “You don’t sound okay.”

  “There’s a letter.”

  “Letter?”

  “Let me finish,” I spat in a panic.

  Ruth snickered slightly. My brow tensed. “We don’t get post on a Sunday.”

  “It said ‘it was him’.”

  “What was him?” she asked. “You’re not making sense.”

  None of this was making sense. “The letter. What if someone knows who killed Gilbert, and they’re trying to tell me?”

  “What if it’s Gilbert?”

  I hung up the phone. My hands were shaking. Ruth was only trying to help, but I needed someone to take it seriously, and she wasn’t doing that, she was entertaining the thought, but she wasn’t taking the letter serious at all.

  The phone rang out. I let it go unanswered, even as Charlie barked, as he would if I was taking a nap or sleeping. The phone ringing was the least of my worries. Someone had been to my house, someone must have known about the list I was making—but only Ruth knew.

  After fifteen minutes of calm, the phone rang again.

  “Hello?” I answered.

  “Finally,” Ruth griped. “I’ve been thinking. If the letter is from someone who knew the killer, and they’re saying it was a man, then we think about the men on the list, and we have—”

  “Two men.”

  She hummed back in agreement. “The brother, or the businessman.”

  “And we’ve only seen one of them so far,” I replied. “You think Thomas is in hiding until all this blows over?”

  “But why would they even send it to you?” she asked. “You write for a travel magazine. You’re hardly an investigative journalist. You’re not hunting down leads.”

  “Unless someone thinks that’s what I do.”

  Most people knew I worked for a magazine. But not everyone knew what my life was involved in, and it certainly wasn’t as glamorous as hunting down murderers. That, I knew nothing about, but I did know how to get to the meat of a story.

  “Well, don’t answer the door to anyone,” she replied. “And if you want, I can come over.”

  “No, no, no,” I said. “I have work to do, and all I really want to do right now is climb into some comfy clothes, close my curtains and settle in for the afternoon.”

  That’s exactly what I did. Settling in for the afternoon after a nice soak in the tub. My mind still plagued with thoughts. I didn’t want to talk to anyone else about it. I plugged away at the computer keyboard, writing notes for future articles, but instead, I continued to write about Gilbert and his death.

  As the evening approached, I made salmon with boiled baby potatoes and asparagus. It was the least I could do for my body, given the torment I’d but it through recently, especially all the copious amounts of added sugar.

  I fed Charlie before feeding myself, and we both sat in the darkness of the living room to watch the evening news.

  To both of our surprises, Paul appeared on the screen.

  “—and we’re currently still investigating the death of a local man from Silver Lake,” he said into a microphone, held by the reporter interviewing him.

  They were both stood to the backdrop of the crime scene, heavily light with sharp white lighting.

  “How can people help?” the reporter asked.

  “All we ask is for people to stay away from the lake and the riverbeds during this time,” Paul responded. “We’ve been told that if anyone wants to pay their respects to the deceased, there’s a funeral being held at St. Julian’s Parish outside of Silver Lake on Wednesday at 11 A.M.”

  I’m sure Harriet didn’t expect to have the funeral broadcast on the local news.

  And I’m sure Paul didn’t expect for the burial to be taking place so soon either.

  “Back to you in the studio,” the reporter said as the screen flashed blue.

  “Awful, just awful,” the female news reporter said to her male co-host. She glanced to the camera, her eyes wide as if she’d made an error. “And now, to our main headline news,” she said. “Plastic bag use is on the rise, even after shop owners and supermarkets being forced to charge customers.”

  FOURTEEN

  Monday morning hit me like a bus. I didn’t want to climb out of bed or tend to Charlie’s weak cries for attention. I had given him the chance to use the bathroom before I settled in bed for the night, and now he probably sat at the foot of the stairs in wait.

  A pounding thunder came through my head, as if telling me to have a sick day. I had after all been sick yesterday, even if it didn’t count, my brain hadn’t caught up with all the thoughts running through it.

  “Come on then,” I called out to him.

  Meeting him at the bottom of the stairs, I was dressed in my thick winter pyjamas and even thicker nightgown. It was after 7 A.M. and I had a little over an hour to get ready for work before driving.

  Opening the front door to the regular finds, my bottle of cold milk sat atop a newspaper, leaving behind the ring of wet condensation. Usually, I’d tsk my teeth as I saw it, and every time, I’d huff and sigh, but not today. Today, I smiled.

  Everything was going back to normal. It was almost like—

  LOCAL MAN FOUND DEAD, the headline, plastered over the front page, alongside the scenic look of the river bank with the police tape in its grainy black and white print.

  Charlie barked, causing my eyes to move away from the title.

  “Right, right,” I said. “I’m coming.”

  Closing the door behind myself, I hurried into the kitchen to meet Charlie, pawing at his bowl. I wasn’t off schedule, he had no reason to be this needy. I filled his bowls and unfurled the paper across the mess cluttering the counter.

  “Reckon I should call Paul?” I asked aloud, hoping Charlie would yap in one decision or the other. I didn’t want to talk to him at all, especially about the note I received. I didn’t want to bring up a single word to the man, because he always managed to try and belittle me, no matter what he did.

  “You’re right,” I said. “I need breakfast.” It wasn’t to anyone specifically, but I could often hear my Harry’s voice telling me to get something in my stomach; I have work today, it’s not like I’ll be walking around the village or talking to my neighbours.

  After porridge oats and a coffee, I showered and dressed in a nice thick purple woollen jumper and a pair of denim jeans. It was freezing out and I wasn’t about to catch a cold, especially not in the office.

  Inside the Cotswolds, the magazine I wrote for, was a nice place to work, but sometimes it was warmer outside. The building itself was made from a converted barn, and incredibly draughty. It worked both ways, either cold or hot; no perfect medium, except for the ten minutes every hour the space heater was allowed on.

  Today was probably a good day, for myself, and all the people at the office, given I had gifts for them.

  I arrived on time, lugging my handbag on one arm, my laptop bag on another arm, and my fingers clung to the gift bag from the chocolatiers.

  “Morning, Evie!” Jeannie greeted from the front desk.

  “Morning.” I attempted to wave.

  Jeannie had worked for the magazine for over a year, and I still didn’t have the heart to tell her I hated being called Evie. I walked in with a smile, and Charlie followed behind, skipping along on his short legs like a show dog.

  I puffed out a huff, heading across the office floor to my desk.

  The magazine office was open plan, the only closed offices belonged to Diane, the editor-in-chief. Earl, a content editor, and the final room was a meeting room on the floor above. Even the small break room didn’t have a door on it, an attempt to discourage gossip among the staff.
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br />   There were ten or so desks, scattered around the room; some of them for permanent staff, like me, and other desks for freelancers who were temporarily in the employ of the magazine.

  My desk was clean; a couple photos, a small potted plant, and a stack of unused notepaper. It was very different to my home desk.

  “Morning,” I continued on my way around the office.

  My desk had a direct view to Diane’s office door, not as glamorous as being able to look outside onto the wildlife, but we rarely spent long enough in the office to be considered cooped up in there.

  Diane Von Rose, walked from her office to my desk, her stiletto heels tapping the ground on her approach. Smiling and flicking at the collar on her pristine white blouse, she glanced to the large bag on the desk.

  “Are those the chocolates?” she asked, not breaking eye contact with the bag.

  “Yes,” I replied. “Enough for everyone.”

  Her deep red lips parted slightly, and her gaze rose to me. “Well, I’ll see what I favour, first.”

  I handed her the bag. “I’ll warn you against the liqueurs.”

  Looking to my side, a fury of fingers tapping on a keyboard came. Suzanne Jenkins, in her attempt to act unphased, she stabbed her fingers harder at her laptop keys.

  “Working hard, Suzanne?” Diane asked, glancing at her watch.

  Startled, Suzanne shook. “Oh. Yes. Always.” Her frizzy red hair covering the front of her face. “I have some new ideas I’d like to run by you later, actually.”

  Diane hummed. “You can bring them up in a meeting.” She weighed the bag in her hands, as if lifting weights. “They sure packed this, didn’t they?”

  “Surprisingly.”

  “Well, I don’t want anyone else taking my ideas,” Suzanne spoke once again. “So, could I tell you later?”

  Diane waved a hand at Suzanne. “It’s Monday,” she said. “It’s a busy day.” Glancing back in my direction, she smiled. “Once you’re all settled, Eve, can I have a quick word with you in my office?”

  I sat at my desk and Charlie found his bed at the side. “Sure.”

  Once Diane left, Suzanne coughed, pounding at her chest and coughing deeply. “I think it’s got fleas.”

  Suzanne was younger than me, by many years. She was the youngest staff writer at the magazine, and sometimes it showed. Not to mention, she sucked up to Diane constantly, something Diane hated.

  “Sorry?”

  Not like she didn’t do this daily.

  “You know I’m allergic.”

  “Charlie has never had fleas,” I said. “But.” I unzipped my bag with force and reached into the side compartment. “I do have allergy tablets.” Revealing the blister pack of antihistamines in my hand, I shook them.

  “I have some,” she grumbled, turning in her swivel chair.

  I smiled at Charlie in his dog bed. “Good boy.”

  Behind me, there were two empty desks, the other two permanent writers, both of whom were cutting it close to being late.

  Opening my laptop, I pressed the power button, waking it instantly. I pulled my coat away and placed it over the back of my seat.

  “Ready?” a voice asked from behind. Angela Paxton, a small blond woman with large oversized glasses tapped my shoulder. “Diane wants to see us.” She worked in marketing, and I was an article writer. It wasn’t unusual to have a meeting together, but a meeting in private. I was intrigued.

  Diane was already elbow-deep into the bag of chocolates, sorting them out on her desk. She had the office with the most natural light, her entire side wall was a giant window, and inside came the sunlight over the trees.

  “So, ladies,” she said, “take a seat.”

  I closed the door, being the last to enter and double checking to make sure Charlie was still laid in bed, undisturbed by Suzanne.

  “This is more of a marketing and organising issue,” Angela said, placing a folder with paper on Diane’s desk. “So, I’m not sure—” she turned in my direction.

  “Eve’s here because I’ve asked her to be here.”

  Angela didn’t question further. “We’ve got a special coupon for subscribers,” she said. “But, the chocolate people want it inside the magazine and not just a loose leaflet style coupon.”

  “Okay?” I mumbled back.

  “Well, Eve,” Diane said, squinting slightly as she looked me right in the eye. “If we stick their coupon inside the magazine, it means we’re cutting ad space on two sides. Plus, they’re expecting our readers to chop away at the pages as if making some glossy papier-mâché.”

  “Wouldn’t it mean more people buy the magazine?” I asked.

  Angela snapped her fingers. “It would,” she said. “The coupon is for forty per cent off. That’s a steal.”

  I hummed. It was a good deal. “But they’re paying for the ad space, aren’t they?” I asked, wondering why I was even in here, and which side I should have been taking.

  Diane nodded to the mess of chocolates. “This is their payment,” she said. “I mean, they paid for the spotlight, but this is what they think is considered payment for additional ads.”

  “It won’t be a large coupon,” Angela added, opening her file on the desk. “It’s just a regular rectangle, and people need to purchase it to get the savings.”

  “Fine, fine, whatever,” Diane said, waving her hand at Angela to leave.

  I stood to leave after her.

  “No, no,” she said, waving a hand back at me. “Not you.”

  “Oh?” I turned back. “You need anything else?”

  She rolled her eyes and her head shook like uneven on her shoulders. “Just to ask you how you are?”

  “Fine.”

  “Even after calling me in a panic?”

  Even after that. “Yeah.”

  “Well, if you want to talk about what you saw, I’m all ears.”

  Oh. I knew she would be now, given it had made the front page of a newspaper. And also, these were official office hours, if she could get some gossip from anyone, she would.

  “I’ll let you know if I need to talk to someone.”

  She looked away, pushing her glasses to the tip of her nose. “Don’t let it become old news now, people won’t be interested for much longer.”

  FIFTEEN

  Approaching my desk, I noticed Howard and Yvonne; they sat with their backs in my direction. But at that moment, they were both faced looking at me, their eyes filling with hope—and what I assumed were questions.

  I took a seat and sighed.

  “How’s everything?” Yvonne said.

  Howard appeared at my side. “Just got in? I think the kettle’s boiled.”

  Yvonne stood by Howard, both of them at my side. “Want to come make coffee?”

  I knew what this was, it was code; a rouse to get me away from my desk and away from Diane. They wanted to know what happened, they wanted to know more information than was currently inside the newspaper. I didn’t know what to tell them, I didn’t even see it. If they wanted to know anything, they should be asking the dog.

  As we made our way to the small office kitchen, Jeannie followed in after us.

  We stood in the box room as Yvonne prepared cups and the kettle boiled.

  “So?” Jeannie said. “You found a dead body. I’m surprised you even came in.”

  “They say it’s usually the joggers that find bodies,” Howard added, folding his arms and tutting.

  I shrugged. “It was,” I said. “My neighbour’s daughter found it.”

  “Out for a jog?” Yvonne asked.

  “Yeah.”

  Howard scoffed. “Adding insult to the injury, so cliché.”

  “If I’d been faster,” I said, growing breathless. “If I’d been faster, I would’ve seen it.”

  “You didn’t see it?” Jeannie asked.

  “I thought you did,” Yvonne said.

  I backed myself against a wall. “I saw some of it, but I wasn’t going to get close enough to se
e. Are you lot mad?”

  Jeannie shuddered. “I don’t blame you,” she said. “But I thought you saw it all.”

  “You know, Earl was telling me they’re calling it a murder.”

  Because it was. “Do you think it was?”

  They didn’t respond. It was where people seemed to draw the line, at calling out something as murder, especially so close to home. It hit hard, and it didn’t settle well. I didn’t want to think of it as a murder either, but it was what it was, and it certainly wasn’t someone drowning.

  “His poor wife,” Yvonne said, turning to the cups. “Sugar?”

  “I’ll have one,” Jeannie added.

  “One sugar.” I held a finger out.

  Yvonne made the coffees in the quiet, I could feel their brains working overtime to create questions. I guess, I was also somewhat related to the inspector on the case, but they didn’t know we weren’t on speaking terms.

  I wasn’t sure what information they were looking for. “Paul said it was murder,” I said, offering them something. “Couldn’t have been suicide. Ruled out almost immediately.”

  They sighed and shook their heads.

  “Poor man.”

  That, he was, incredibly poor. Not the poor where you have nothing, but the poor where you owe everything out.

  “Oh,” Suzanne griped, entering the kitchen. “This is where everyone is.” Her snarled upper lip, painted in a light brown lipstick, that or she’d already eaten the chocolate. “What’s the hot button topic this morning?”

  Jeannie and Howard were the first to leave, both cradling their coffee cups in hand.

  “The murder,” Yvonne said. She didn’t mind her job security, she was married to Earl, an editor, and someone with plenty sway around here. “Eve found the body.”

  “I didn’t find the body, but I was there when it was found,” I said, correcting her, once again. “But I shouldn’t even be talking about it at all.” I closed my eyes and shook my head slightly; all this talk was bringing back the images of dirt where fingers had clawed at it.

  “Right, well make sure to get it all out in here,” Suzanne said. “I’m busy working on my top ten for January list.”