Silver Lake Cozy Mystery Bundle

by Hugo James King

  Gertrude was one of the elderly women in the village. She could usually be found at the newsagents, alongside Francesca and Nancy, one of the many gossips—and I loved every second of it.

  I took a seat, placing the coffees on the counter space. “So, what’s been going on?”

  She sighed. “I should be asking you that really, don’t you think?” She eyed me, humming deep into her throat. “You found a dead body.”

  “How does everyone know I was there?”

  Ruth snickered. “You’ve hardly been quiet about it.”

  “You know you’re talking to me, Eve,” Gertrude said. “I know everything that happens here. I’m basically a fountain of knowledge.”

  “Oh, really?”

  She nodded vehemently. “Absolutely.”

  “Right, not with the moving,” Ruth said. “I’m trying to remove this bleedin’ thing.”

  It was quite literally bleeding, or at least it was full of blood.

  Gertrude and I looked away. Not something I wanted to see, at least before lunch.

  “So, tell us what you know?” I asked, bending and extending myself to tap her on the lap.

  She scoffed. “Too much.”

  “Sounds like a confession,” Ruth laughed, dabbing at her arm with a cotton pad. “Did you do it, Ms Adler?”

  “Oh, yes,” she played along. “It was me, it did it while I was sleepwalking.”

  “Case closed,” I said.

  But I wanted to know what she knew, and whether or not it was something we already knew. The village was small, so I’d probably heard everything about it by now, the only thing I didn’t hear about was anyone seeing Gilbert the night it happened.

  “Ever heard of loan sharks?” she asked. “I was watching a documentary about them, ruthless people.”

  “No secret they were in debt.” Ruth grabbed a cup from the cardboard. “But we don’t exactly have gangs in Silver Lake.”

  “That you know of,” she immediately said. “They hide in plain sight.”

  I chuckled harder. “And I bet they’re all at Petunia Heights,” I said. “A gang of oldies.”

  Gertrude slapped her knee. “We’ll all be old, one day.”

  “Well, you’re all done,” Ruth said. “I’ll have your blood tested and call you when the results are back.”

  Ruth lowered the examination chair for Gertrude to step off.

  “If it’s bad news, don’t bother.”

  Gertrude left, and Ruth walked alongside her, taking Frank the coffee I’d brought.

  I took a seat on the comfy examination chair, sighed deep into the seat as she came back. I poured the hazelnut flavoured coffee into my mouth.

  “We’ve got ten minutes,” Ruth said.

  “You’re never going to guess who I’m interviewing tomorrow.”

  “The Queen?”

  Right off the bat with the silly suggestions. “Scott Pope,” I revealed. “Apparently he’s running some business retreat up in the hills somewhere.”

  “Weird,” she grumbled. “The man gives me—eugh.”

  “Eugh?” I asked, raising my brows. “He’s weird. He was in the office all smiles, but it’s all too coincidental that he’s around, especially with what’s happened.”

  “Maybe he’s the loan shark Gertrude was talking about.”

  Oh. Maybe. “Some mafia boss?”

  She shrugged. We were shooting around ideas. “I’m still intrigued to find out where his brother was,” I said. “Not like he’ll have a good alibi anyway.”

  Ruth dropped her chin in an impression. “I was home, the wife was out, it was a chilled evening,” she mocked in her faux posh accent. “My money is on him, but I don’t gamble.”

  Thomas Sodbury wasn’t on anyone’s radar, but I doubt people knew the history the brothers had, not like I knew it. They were never friends, hardly siblings. My husband had dealings with both brothers, and Scott—I knew how he made everyone involved in him lose money, it was a good thing my husband wasn’t alive, or he’d be up alongside the suspects—of course, he wouldn’t have done it, at least not over something as replaceable as money.

  EIGHTEEN

  In order to prepare for the interview the following day, I’d have to be on my A-game. That meant I needed to be prepared for everything and anything he could’ve said, including anything he said about Harry.

  I was first at the café that Tuesday afternoon. I waited with Charlie, napping by my feet. I scribbled on my notepad, looking busy. I didn’t want any part in this, but I had to for my job. I didn’t even want to be around Scott.

  With every jingle of the bells above the door, I looked up, each time, my heart jittering in place as each person entering could have been him. And at this point, he was already late. You’d have figured, given his wealth, the man could’ve afforded a watch that would have kept him on time wherever he went.

  “Evelyn!” he greeted, loudly.

  Everyone inside the café stopped what they were doing to turn and see him. Even though he was technically a local, he stood out for all the wrong reasons. He looked like a tourist in a zoo, exploring the natives with a wandering eye.

  “Scott,” I said, not moving from my seat. I was a hostile interviewer. “You’re late.”

  “Well, early, late,” he said with a shrug. “It’s all the same, in the grand scheme of things. Time is flexible.”

  “Your time, perhaps,” I said, flipping to a new page in my notepad. “My time isn’t.” Even though I had no other plans for the day. The interview was the only thing I had left. I liked to get my work done early and as quick as possible. I was efficient in that way.

  Scott sat and snapped his fingers in the air.

  A waitress approached quickly to his side. “How—how—what can I get for you?” she asked, her bottom lip trembling.

  “You hungry?” he asked, tapping the table to grab my attention.

  “No.” Yes, I was. I’d only had one coffee this afternoon, and I was yet to have lunch. That was perhaps what I’d had planned after this interview, but I wasn’t going to let him in on it. “I will take another cappuccino.”

  “I’ll take a coffee—black, and I’ll have a slice of chocolate cake—whipped cream on the side.”

  She noted quickly. “Anything else?”

  “That’s all,” he said.

  I cleared my throat, glancing at him as he flashed a smile back at me. “Let’s get right to it.”

  “Business already?” he asked. “I’ve only just sat down.”

  I relaxed my shoulders and sighed. “How was your day?”

  “It’s been relaxed, very easy, no stress,” he said. “And how was your day?”

  “Oh, me?” I asked, tapping the tip of my pen to my chin. “Oh, I’ve been preparing for this interview, and then I spent oh-oh I don’t know, thirty minutes waiting. Possibly longer.” I tapped at the empty mug.

  He laughed, slowly, and then in short bursts as if reliving a joke, over and over. “That same humour,” he said. “But if you want to get down to business, I’m fine with that. Just thought it would be nice to have a little catch-up, especially since we haven’t spoken since—since—”

  Really wracking his brain. “Since the funeral.”

  “Ahh, so it was.”

  It definitely was. It was almost as if cutting all ties with the family, which I somewhat did when all of the business assets were sold. I didn’t want to have to deal with them and their boy’s club, it was far too much for me to do, especially on my own.

  “Business retreat,” I said. “Do you have a location? Dates? Cost? Capacity? Activities?”

  He guffawed at all the quick-fire questions. I didn’t anticipate asking them all at once, but in the moment, I was just trying to change the topic in my internal voice from speaking about my husband.

  “I’m in talks with a couple manors,” he said. “Probably Magnolia Estate,” he said. “But I’ve seen Miss Lucy’s Manor, and they’re both spectacular places.”
/>   “Don’t you own property here anymore?”

  “Not where I want to conduct business,” he said. “And I prefer to keep my personal property out of the eyes of people. If you get what I mean. If people knew where I lived, well, they’d constantly be over.”

  “Lucky for you, you don’t live here anymore.”

  “Lucky indeed.”

  I noted both the properties down on the notepad. “And is that the reason you’re back?” I asked. “You said you were finishing some business.”

  “And as ever, your memory is great.”

  Already, I knew, I wasn’t going to get a response to the question. “Diane didn’t tell me much,” I said. “What’s the retreat for?”

  “End of February dates,” he said. “I’ll give those to Diane once I have them, so just leave a little space when you’re mentioning those. But it’s a thousand pounds per head, and it will be for business owners to come together, help each other, I’m having some famous faces come and give talks. It’s going to be small.”

  My face creased as he spoke. “I have no idea why you’re advertising with us.” If there was any merit to what Gertrude had said, it was most likely blood money for the reason he had so much of it. “Do you know our demographics?”

  “People coming to the Cotswolds,” he said. “Or people who want to say they came but didn’t want to stay inside some tiny hobbit hole of a bed and breakfast.”

  “Charming,” I mumbled back.

  “It is,” he said. “It is why people come here, time and time again, for the charm.” He looked around the café. It was getting busier, and people obscured the quaint look. “I’m offering an experience for business owners.”

  “So, you’re seeing this as an experience and a business gathering?”

  He shrugged. “It’s whatever they want it to be,” he added. “I won’t be running it, I don’t really do the day-to-day stuff anymore.”

  “How many days? Nights?”

  “Different packages,” he said. “Three-night stays, five-night stays.”

  I noted it down. “You mentioned famous faces.”

  He pointed to himself. “I’ll be there, of course.”

  Before I could question him further, the server came with his chocolate cake and our drinks. It seemed like he was winging it, like he was creating an alibi for himself, something for him to cling to as a story for coming back.

  “How long have you been planning this?” I asked, hoping to catch him out.

  He shrugged. “We did one in the south of France.”

  “France?”

  “Oui, je parle en français.”

  “Great,” I said, wondering why I’d heard so much about France recently. “So, it was a success?”

  “Relatively so,” he said. “Figured we’d give one closer to home a go. Bigger budget, figured we’d take out an advert.”

  “And an interview?”

  He chuckled. “Usually I’m paid to give interviews,” he said. “And usually they’re done over dinner.” He dug a fork into his chocolate cake and winked at me.

  Inappropriate. I turned away, leaning to pet Charlie. I wondered why he hadn’t barked yet, but after Scott gave him a stroke on the chin yesterday, it was almost like he didn’t have reason to bark at the relative stranger. I still would’ve liked it, to reassure my gut there something about Scott not quite right.

  After answering all my questions, Scott continued to ask about dinner, lunch, another coffee. I wanted food, but I didn’t want it to be with him, not even the slightest.

  “How long do I have you for?” he asked as I slipped my notepad into my handbag.

  “You don’t,” I said. “The interview is over.”

  His menacing squint looked me over. “I want to read the article before you send it to Diane,” he said. “I need to know what you say about me.”

  “Everything you told me,” I said, attempting to stand.

  He tapped his knuckles on the table. “Why don’t you smile?”

  I quickly sat back in my seat, Charlie stood, unsure what to do with my indecision. “Because the only person I can think about who had a history with Gilbert, is you, and you show up in the village, almost immediately after it happened.”

  He combed a hand through his hair, flattening it from the top to the back. “So, that’s what you’ve been thinking about,” he smirked. “Of me as a killer.”

  “He owed you money,” I said. “He borrowed, and borrowed, he gambled every penny he owed you.”

  “I’m sure you didn’t know, and you can apologise later, but Gilbert paid his debts,” he said. “Months ago. Back in June last year, actually.”

  “What?” I muttered. “What?” I asked, louder.

  “Yeah, but I guess there’s more you didn’t know about me. I’m doing three days a week veggie now, have been since I watched a documentary.”

  I shook my head, impossible—all of it. “But Gilbert was murdered.”

  Scott turned, looking around. He puffed out his cheeks. “If you think so, you shouldn’t say it too loud.”

  He was right.

  “If there’s a killer, and they think you’re looking into it. You might be next,” he continued.

  I gulped. Hard.

  “They’ll probably be at the funeral tomorrow,” he said. “Are you going?”

  I nodded. “Of course, I’m going to show support for Harriet.”

  “I’ll be there,” he said. “I offered to pay.”

  “You did?”

  “She told me it was covered.”

  I continued to crease my forehead in question. It wasn’t something I did knowingly, but there were still questions I had. “I assumed it was money related,” I said aloud. “But he paid you back.”

  “Didn’t ask questions,” he said. “Could’ve been anyone, from what I remember, it wasn’t just money problems he had. It was a personality problem too; arrogant, cocky.” He clapped a hand over his mouth. “Speaking ill of the dead.”

  Was that his humanity showing?

  “Thank you,” I said, standing again. “I need to go write my notes while they’re still fresh.”

  He nodded. “If you’re looking for suspects who Gilbert owed money too, you might want to find out who’s still in that boy’s club of theirs.”

  “I might just do that.”

  He attempted to take my hand in his. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I hope not. I wanted to say.

  NINETEEN

  Before making my way to see Ruth, I grabbed a prawn cocktail sandwich from WICHES, a sandwich shop, aptly named. I bought a couple extra bites for Charlie, snacks until we made it home.

  There was no way I believed everything Scott was telling me. I believed some of what he said was a rouse to create an alibi for being here during Gilbert’s death. If it was him, he didn’t show it on his face.

  Perhaps Gertrude was correct; perhaps she had heard something. Scott as some mafia mob boss only passing through to make sure his hit was carried out.

  I snorted through my nose. Now, I sounded just like one of those old spy films Harry would watch.

  Parking outside the GP, I looked to Charlie and scratched behind his ears. “You don’t think I’m going crazy, do you?” I smiled. “Of course not,” I replied back to myself.

  Collecting my handbag on an arm, we left the car. A drizzle of rain spat from the skies. We raced to the automatic doors.

  Ruth stood in the waiting room, talking with Bea at the reception desk.

  “Eve,” she said, immediately hooking an arm around my arm. “How did it go?”

  I looked around and nodded to an examination room. “I’m starting to think he’s playing this town for a bunch of fools.”

  Ruth gasped, walking faster with me on her arm. I turned my head to see Charlie pawing at the receptionist door; he knew the routine.

  “So,” Ruth said, closing the door behind us.

  I sat in the patient’s chair and dug a hand into my bag,
picking out the sandwich. “He’s a weird man, Ruth. Weirder now.”

  “He’s always been weird.”

  I hummed and nodded. “Well.”

  “Well?”

  I smiled. “I wish you’d been there, maybe sat in the back, watching. He was trying to get me to go out for lunch with him, but I didn’t want anyone to think there was anything more happening than some business deal.” I peeled open the packaging from the sandwich.

  “I was talking with Frank yesterday evening, and he was telling me about the boy’s club. He can’t seem to remember any of their names, but he was the first one to leave.”

  I snapped my fingers. “They had ledgers.”

  “That’s also what Frank said.”

  “Why didn’t you phone me last night and tell me?”

  She shrugged. “Well, I’m telling you now, aren’t I?”

  I pulled a sandwich out of the wrapper. “Hope you don’t mind me eating this.”

  “Prawn?” she asked, sniffing the air. “As long as Frank doesn’t find out.” She chuckled, pulling a chair to my side. “So, what did you find out?”

  “Oh, oh, oh yes.”

  My brain was consumed with thoughts about wolfing down my sandwich.

  “Did you ask him about Gilbert?” she quizzed.

  I nodded, my eyes rolling back as I took the first bite.

  “So?” she continued. “Did he say anything about it?” Tapping my knee, she scooted closer. “Did he tell you he did it? I mean, stranger things have happened, Eve.”

  I ate while Ruth continued to blurt questions out and I answered with either a shake or a nod of my head. Mostly shakes, I didn’t find out anything to blow the investigation open.

  “Maybe we should bring him here,” she said. “Whenever someone is in that seat, they come gushing out with everything.”

  Being a writer for a magazine was the exact opposite. People knew if they spoke with me, it could end up in an article. If someone spoke with Ruth, it started and ended inside the examination room.

  “What did he tell you then?”

  “He told me Gilbert paid him back,” I replied.

  “He did?”

  “Shocker, right?”

  Ruth hunched over, frowning deep into her forehead. “Doesn’t make sense.”