Silver Lake Cozy Mystery Bundle

by Hugo James King

  She’d given me a week to keep considering it. The deal seemed to be something people would chew her arm off for—namely, Suzanne. I could continue a half-and-half approach, but Diane already gave me a lot of freedom with the magazine as it was. It wasn’t my creative freedom which I craved. I didn’t crave much, except for the occasional chocolate bar or a nice smoked salmon.

  Charlie had left my side during my conversation with Diane. I hadn’t noticed until I pushed the phone into my bag, zipping it shut and holding it tight to my chest.

  “Charlie?” I called out. “Charlie.”

  The stouter police officer glanced in my direction, but turned once again, talking with the other. They held a large plastic shopping bag, heavy by the way it swung like a pendulum.

  I snapped my fingers, calling out the name of my beagle once again. He was small, and with such smallness, came the need for beady eyes and a thorough attention to detail.

  He was back by the car. “Charlie!”

  In an attempt to step closer, Healey, the short officer stood in my way. “Get him on a leash.”

  No. It wasn’t the law for him to be leashed. “It’s in the car,” I lied. “But there’s no need. We’re not out walking.”

  “Keep him under control then, please.”

  Charlie ran back to my side, as if it had all been a ploy for my attention. “Hope you’re happy,” I grumbled at him. It would’ve been nice to have the officers on my side when it came to coaxing information and being readily available to spill the details.

  We walked toward the other side of the driveway. Stretching my legs, we stood in front of the ambulance. There was no driver, nor could I hear any of their voices from inside.

  I’d noticed it on the drive in, Doreen had her recycling bins out, but she also had her grey wheelie bin out too. The grey bin was collected once a fortnight; it was used for general waste. But the green flower stems poking out the side of the lid seemed to say otherwise.

  We also had green bins for garden waste, so seeing the flower stems was odd.

  Pulling the lid back, I peered inside. I found a small bouquet of pink lilies. They were neatly wrapped and fresh from the look, only a few petals had wilted.

  “Oh, Charlie,” I grumbled, turning on my heel to see if any officers were curious to me now I was out of view. And nervous about whether Paul would come back with another mouth full of complaints.

  Tucked between the lilies was a small blue card.

  ‘I can’t wait to see you again. - P’

  A lover? Doreen had never mentioned anyone.

  The ambulance engine rumbled, startling my feet to shuffle forward. The bin lid slammed shut and Charlie barked.

  “We’re leaving now,” the paramedic said, his head hanging out of the driver-side window. “You might wanna move, we don’t have room for another body in the back.”

  Stepping away, my beating heart now attempting to break out through my throat as it swelled. I opened my handbag and shoved the card inside, throwing the flowers back into the bin. Perhaps P knew what happened to Doreen.

  SEVEN

  Once the ambulance was gone, I rushed to my car. Waving to the police officers in my stride. I had to hurry, doctors, nurses, and paramedics all talked. And if Ruth wasn’t answering calls, I had to see her in person.

  Charlie jumped into the seat by my side. A certain level of excitement now ran through him, as if today was one of those days when we would take a spontaneous walk.

  It wasn’t, unfortunately. But there would be a lot of moving around.

  Driving off, I noticed Paul walking from Mortimer’s house. He was ready to give the two officers a grilling most likely, and a second grilling for using some old plastic bag for evidence. I knew even that screamed amateur hour.

  My phone rang out from my bag. The cheerful jingle, only a slight distraction as I focused on the road. It cut out and started once again. Whoever it was, they could wait.

  I drove for twenty minutes, through the winding country roads and over the bridge which connected the two parts of the village together.

  Rain drizzle speckled at the windshield. The beautiful and unpredictable British weather at its greatest.

  My phone rang once again as I parked outside the GP’s office. Before reaching the phone, it cut off.

  Missed calls, five of them from Ruth, and one of them from the GP landline.

  “I’m here now,” I grumbled, cutting the engine and pulling the key from the ignition. “Right, Charlie, it’s raining. Let’s try not to get dirty.”

  My warning to Charlie fell on deaf ears; he didn’t understand the English language, and I didn’t speak dog.

  Ruth stood in the doorway as we approached. She fiddled with her dark blue uniform scrubs. Her eyes were wide, expecting me to spill the moment I saw her.

  I hurried clutching my bag to my chest. “Oof,” I let out, shaking off the light rain as I entered the building.

  “What’s going on?” she asked in a hushed voice.

  The waiting room was empty, but Bea at the reception desk was one more pair of ears than I needed.

  Charlie burst in behind me, squeezing himself between my legs.

  “Free room?” I asked.

  Bea glanced in our direction. She scoffed. “I’m not being nosey.”

  I had to disagree. She was the definition of being nosey. “Could you watch Charlie?”

  He wasn’t allowed in the exam rooms, they had to stay sterile for the humans.

  “It’s always a pleasure,” she said, unhooking the swinging gate of the reception. “Come on little one.”

  He knew, already at the gate.

  Ruth pulled my arm, taking me in her direction. “I saw your calls, and then you didn’t pick up. I was worried for you.”

  Once we were alone and the door closed. I exhaled, my top teeth gnawing into my bottom lip. I didn’t know how to break the news.

  She took a seat, tapping the chair opposite. “Come on, tell me.”

  “Doreen’s dead,” I said, there and then. It came out like verbal vomit, quick and to the point. “And I was there when her body was found.”

  “Jeez, Eve.” She grabbed my hand. “Did you see—”

  I shook my head. “No, thankfully I didn’t get a look.”

  “Maybe you need to stay home,” she said. “Everyone might be safer that way.” Her mouth turned into a smile. “I’m kidding.”

  “I know, I know, but it feels weird.” My chest relaxed and my head rolled back on my shoulders looking at the white ceiling. “She’s dead, and I was right there when they found her.” I took the seat. There was more to my exhaustion than just finding a dead woman. “Paul was there too.”

  “Surprise,” her voice groaned. “Bet he gave you an ear full and with that coffee breath as well.” She extended her tongue, as if to gag.

  “Well, I walked Doreen’s neighbour back home, Mortimer, he was complaining about land, and so I tried to settle him from going off into some crazed fit.”

  “Was she killed?”

  My next point. “They found shears in her back, Ruth. Nobody falls on shears like that.”

  “You saw?”

  “Well, no. I told you, I didn’t see her.”

  Nodding, she rolled her hands for me to continue.

  “But I listened to the two police officers, they said more than they should with me in earshot,” I said, my brow creasing up. “Anyway, you don’t fall on them. They don’t stand straight, they go flat. It’s like you falling on a needle or something, I mean, because they land in a line.”

  She hummed, the thought swilling. “I guess, but age takes its toll, and people fall or slip. I wear these shoes so I don’t, but I can’t imagine she—”

  My fingers snapped in the air. “Wellies have good grip on them.” My immediate thought. “I just don’t think it could’ve happened like that to her.”

  “In your gut?”

  It was. “And I found something.”

  I pulled th
e card from my handbag. The note written on it was for Doreen. I handed it over to Ruth. Her face dropped as her mouth became slack and lopsided.

  “I know where this is from.”

  “You do?” It hadn’t struck me as familiar.

  “The flower shop in Briarbury,” she said. “We have a standing order for the reception area. They list the flower names on these for us.”

  “Briarbury in Bloom?”

  “That’s it.”

  It made sense as to why I didn’t recognise it. Nobody had bought me flowers since my husband’s death, and the magazine was always very loyal to Doreen during this time of year.

  “Seems like she had a boyfriend,” Ruth said. “But to give her flowers, a woman whose entire brand is roses, seems to be in poor taste, doesn’t it?”

  “They were pink lilies.”

  “Cute.”

  I shuffled in my seat. “Whoever P is, they might’ve killed her.”

  “Perhaps.”

  I hadn’t even begun thinking about who could’ve done it yet. Other than what Diane had suggested. “Do you know if she had a business partner?”

  “I know she had a daughter. But they had a falling out. Do you remember when all those clothes were floating down river? Must’ve been at least ten—ten—maybe sixteen years back.”

  “Oh? Were they hers?”

  She nodded. “Drug problems, I think.”

  Opening my hand, I counted on a finger. “Estranged daughter, boyfriend, potential business partner, and annoyed neighbour.” My finger hesitated on the last one. He wasn’t really a suspect. He couldn’t be. But he was right there, with access and motive.

  “There you go,” she said. “You’ve already got your list.”

  I grabbed at a notepad from my bag and unspooled the pen from the loops. “And I want to prove Paul wrong. The first time I solved a case, I did it on my own.”

  “Well, I’ll certainly give you that.”

  “He seems to think he saved me. Charlie was the one who drew attention, he could’ve got anyone, but Paul was probably closest.”

  “Or Charlie could tell who had handcuffs on them.”

  I snapped my fingers. “I should get some.”

  “As much as I support you, I don’t think you should be physically challenging anyone. Especially not to make a citizen’s arrest, Eve.”

  When Ruth said it, it wasn’t the worst thing in the world. If the words had come from Paul’s mouth, it would’ve been an altogether different matter. I couldn’t have him pretending to speak on behalf of my husband’s wants.

  “Fine, I won’t,” I said. “And nobody would suspect me of being anything other than a middle-aged woman who writes about chocolate, flowers, and fun things to do in the Cotswolds.”

  “Unless they read the scathing article,” she chuckled. “Anyway, what did Diane say?”

  “She’s encouraged me to follow my gut.”

  “Then do it, but safely.”

  Safely. I wondered. How would I go about investigating a potential murder in a safe way? I’d need a loud whistle. That was probably safe enough.

  EIGHT

  Leaving the GP’s office, Charlie hustled quickly by my legs, hoping I’d shelter him from the sputtering of rain. His plan was flawed; I wasn’t a good umbrella.

  I had to head to the florist in the nearby town of Briarbury, aptly named, Briarbury in Bloom. My streak was hot, and I had to find out who P was. I should’ve told the officers about the note, but after Paul’s general attitude, it wasn’t something I wanted to sweat over.

  In the car, Charlie shook himself, sending rain droplets caught on his fur in all directions.

  “You couldn’t have done that outside, could you?” I grumbled.

  Before leaving, Ruth had told me not to do anything too crazy, and definitely don’t get myself arrested from following my gut too close. It wasn’t like I was about to do anything too brash. I was generally gentle in my approach.

  I also wasn’t going to let anyone know Doreen was dead. The only people who knew so far were me, Mortimer, Ruth, as well as the officers and the paramedics at the scene. If anyone else knew, it either meant they killed her—or less on the dramatic side, the village gossips had caught wind of what had happened.

  On the drive to the flower shop, I’d mentally thought through my reasons for being there. I worked for a culture hub of Cotswold tastemakers. People were usually pleased to see me if I stopped by

  I’d be able to use my position as a writer to gain favour. I knew this much, I’d done it in the past, but back then, I wasn’t looking into potential murder suspects. I was just looking for the odd free biscotti with my cappuccino.

  Briarbury in Bloom was owned by Jonathan McDermott, a family business, having been passed down by his father, and his father before him.

  I parked as close to the florist as possible, in a resident parking bay—of which, I had a permit. A benefit to living and working in the area, otherwise finding parking was usually a hellish feat.

  The slow drizzle continued to fall, and the clouds clumped together, growing darker.

  “I’m going to carry you,” I said, glancing across the car at Charlie’s wide eyes. I hooked my handbag around my arm and in my second arm, I scooped Charlie from his belly. “You can’t be running off in here.”

  Climbing out of the car, I hunched my shoulder at the cool breeze throwing rain in my face. I locked the doors, then hurried straight ahead up the street.

  A giant blue sign painted on a wooden board was where I headed. The sign was old, chipped at the corners with paint peeling at the tops and bottoms of the wood panelling.

  A ding rang as the door swung, it welcomed us inside.

  Ten or so people stood around, sniffing at bouquets, plucking single stem flowers out, and others rest plastic-wrapped bundles in their arms as if cradling a baby. They were couples mainly. I scanned the room to see a man standing in a doorway, his eyes grew as they locked with mine.

  The man wore a baby blue apron, akin to the colour scheme of the sign and the accent colours around the shop. In his approach, I watched his lips move.

  “Evelyn?” he said.

  I stood, cocking my hip out to rest Charlie on. “Yes.”

  “What brings you here?” This was the owner, Jonathan McDermott. An older man with salt and pepper hair and a thick greying beard. “Diane’s been very vocal about not wanting to work with us.” He tussled a hand through his facial hair.

  She had. It was possibly because of a messed-up flower order they’d taken a couple years ago. But I couldn’t tell him that, and with what he said, I was at a disadvantage, he certainly wasn’t going to speak about what I’d found now.

  “Conflicting interests,” I said, offering an awkward lopsided smile.

  “Doreen,” he said, clicking his tongue with a synchronised finger snap. “Makes sense why we’re never spotlighted.”

  My forehead relaxed and the tension settled in my clenched jaw. “I don’t make those decisions,” I said. “But, I came in because I had some flowers delivered, and it’s possible they weren’t meant for me.”

  “Oh?” he scratched his head. “Well, we always deliver where we’re asked.”

  “It would’ve been easier if they’d left more than an initial on the note,” I chuckled. “So, I was hoping you’d be able to help me out with that.”

  He sucked through his clenched teeth. “Some people don’t leave their names at all, we don’t keep records. In fact, we can’t keep anyone’s details anymore.”

  “Anyone’s details?”

  “Well, people have to consent to us having their information now. Instead, we don’t keep any of it. Only receipts for the tax man. Address, telephone numbers, e-mail addresses, most of what we had isn’t worth the fines if we’re caught contacting people.”

  I recalled the bare minimum about the recent government data protection act information, but it didn’t quite affect me, and I didn’t understand any of it at all. “So, yo
u don’t know anything about who sent me them?”

  He shrugged. “Not a thing.” He chomped his teeth a couple times. “What flowers were they? If he came in to place the order, I might remember.”

  “Pink lilies.”

  As I shifted Charlie once again, Jonathan gestured around his shop. He had a lot of lilies.

  “They’re quite a popular,” he said.

  I was seeing that now. “Well, it was worth a shot.”

  “What initial?” he continued. “You mentioned one.”

  “Oh, the letter P. One second, I do have the card they were delivered with,” I said. “You mind if I let him loose?”

  Jonathan chuckled. “As long as he doesn’t pee on anything.”

  I couldn’t promise that, so I smiled the comment away. “Behave,” I said in Charlie’s ear, dipping to place him on the ground. He was quiet once again, most probably all the smells overwhelming him. “I believe they were from here.” I pulled the small rectangle of card from my bag. Of course, it was from here, the same powder blue colour was on everything.

  “Oh,” he said, examining it in his hands. “It was likely written by someone who works here, maybe my son. I can’t quite be sure. I don’t take orders much. More big business and expansions.” He raised a hand and locked eyes with someone by the cash register, snapping his finger.

  “Think they’ll know?”

  A short boy, no older than twenty arrived at Jonathan’s side. He had a company embroidered cap on. “My son, Maximillian.”

  “Max,” the boy said. “Just Max.” Light crossed his face from the shade the cap provided.

  “Nice to meet you, Max,” I said with a nod. “Did you write this note?”

  He looked over it, accepting it from his father’s grasp. He shrugged. “I write loads like this every day. Nothing special.”

  The phrasing was incredibly ordinary. “Well, thank you anyway.”

  A rough voice coughed from behind me. “Eve.”

  Paul, of course. I appeared with a smile. “Paul.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “I could be asking you the same question. Seeing you twice in the same day, might think you’re following me.”