by Agatha Frost
“They will have given him a blanket,” Barker muttered with an apologetic shrug. “But he wasn’t charged, that’s the main thing.”
“Because he’s innocent!” Dot cried, her hands buried deep in frizzier-than-usual curls. “And now Percy’s the victim of a crime, and what are they going to do about it?”
“They’re looking into it,” Barker replied.
“A crime?” Eugene leaned forward, his voice lowering. “What happened?”
“Some American man broke into his flat this afternoon,” Julia answered, feeling as exhausted as her gran looked. “I caught him in the act. He’s been sniffing around the village all week.”
“An American, you say?” Eugene’s brow arched as he leaned in further, hands clasped together. “How odd. Evelyn took Marley and me to the Comfy Corner last night for dinner since we never got to try the Peridale pie the first time around. The lovely owner – oh, what’s her name?”
“Mary,” Dot answered bluntly.
“That’s it!” Eugene snapped his fingers. “She told us the strangest story. After we all left Ian in the restaurant, Mary said he made his way through two of the pies and a full bottle of champagne. Apparently, he was just about to start on the third slice of pie when a handsome American chap came looking for him.”
Julia’s ears pricked up. “What happened?”
“Mary said Ian was like a spider trapped under glass when he saw the man,” Eugene continued, the juiciness of the gossip pulling the corners of his mouth into a smile. “Ian ran through the kitchen and jumped out a window to get away from him.”
“Hardly friends, then,” Julia said, almost to herself. “Did the man say anything while he was there?”
Eugene shook his head. “Mary said he asked around about Ian, but when he realised nobody knew anything about him, he left. I’d bet he’s the same American who was banging our door down at the B&B last night too! You don’t suppose he could have murdered my brother?”
“That’s why we’re all here,” Dot said, fiddling with her watch. “We’re going to sort this out tonight because I will not allow my poor, innocent Percy to be the target of those pigs again! Where’s that niece and nephew of yours? I said seven.”
They sat in silence for over a full minute. Julia could feel Barker itching to talk about whatever was in the cardboard folder his fingers were drumming against. She didn’t know what he had spent the day doing. Considering how many sheets of paper were poking out, she imagined it had involved significant internet research.
“Are we only waiting for Thomas and Helen?” Marley asked, speaking up for the first time.
“Yes,” said Dot bluntly.
“Oh, I see.” Marley glanced at his husband, and they both appeared to come to the same conclusion at the same time. “So, you’ve only invited people you think are guilty, then?”
“That’s not what I said.” Dot sat up stiffly, eyes avoiding her new brothers-in-law. “But I suppose you could put it that way. We all know someone in the family must have killed Ian. Nobody else at the wedding knew him.”
“What about the American chap?” Eugene pointed out.
“And what about Percy?” Marley glanced up at the ceiling. “If we’re talking about family suspects, surely he should be at this table too?”
“I told you.” Dot cocked her head, lips thinning. “He’s resting, and he’s innocent.”
“Did the police say that?” Marley asked, his words biting at the end of Dot’s. “Or did they release him because they didn’t have enough evidence to charge him?”
“They had no evidence,” Barker replied, his voice taking on its former-DI authority. “Nothing concrete, at least. But then, they have nothing on anyone. He was arrested on anecdotal evidence concerning his relationship with Ian. It’s the most obvious place to start, but it doesn’t mean he’s guilty.”
“Nor does it mean he’s innocent,” Marley snapped back. “I don’t appreciate the insinuation that Percy is the only innocent Cropper when the rest of us are clearly being put in the frame.”
“Forgive my husband.” Eugene rested his hand on Marley’s. “He gets tetchy when he doesn’t have his afternoon nap. What he’s trying to say is, why do you suspect us and not Percy? We’re all trying to get on the same page, that’s all.”
“Well,” Barker said, finally flipping over the folder, revealing a printed-off newspaper article, “would you care to explain this?”
Julia attempted to read the headline. Barker flipped it and slid it across the table to Eugene, whose eyes were firmly on Barker and not on the paper; it was almost as though he already knew what it would say.
“Barker?” Julia whispered to her husband.
He shook his head, laser-focussed on Eugene, who pulled a pair of reading glasses from the breast pocket of his jacket. Eugene balanced the glasses on the end of his bulbous nose, and his eyes finally moved to the paper after giving Barker one last narrowed glare. Eugene scanned the document. He slid the sheet back.
“Everyone has a past, Mr Brown,” Eugene said as he tucked away his glasses. “I’m not ashamed of mine, nor do I think it’s relevant to the issue at hand.”
Julia read the headline, and her stomach dropped.
DISGRACED POLITICIAN’S WIFE SPEAKS OUT!
“W-wife?” Julia almost choked on the word. “You were married to a woman?”
“Yes, my dear,” Eugene replied, exhaling as he grasped Marley’s hand. “My husband told me he’d let you in on my past, although I daresay from your reaction that he missed that part.” With his free hand, he pulled a white handkerchief from the other breast pocket and dabbed at his shiny face. “Yes, before I married my Marley, before it was legal to marry another man, I was briefly married to a woman.”
“How brief?” Dot asked.
“Ten years.” Eugene offered a dry chuckle. “So, it wasn’t brief, as such, but it wasn’t real either. It’s a very long and complex story, but the marriage between Besa and me was purely professional.”
“How does that work?” Barker asked, glancing at Dot as she read the article. “Did you pay her?”
“What a ludicrous suggestion!” Eugene belly-laughed as he continued dabbing at his face. “I must say, I didn’t expect to talk about this today. I haven’t spoken about our marriage for a long time.” He cleared his throat and tucked the handkerchief back in its pocket. “Besa is Albanian. She came to the UK in the late 80s, before Albania was part of the European Union. We might be about to leave, with Brexit and all, but Besa was desperate to get in. She had no opportunities in her home country. She’s a terrific neurosurgeon and a fabulous poet who always dreamed of living in the UK – although it would surprise me if she’d be so keen in our current state. We met in 1988, the same year I ran and won my seat as MP for Northash. All my advisers insisted I keep my sexuality quiet, and to be honest, I agreed with them. People were turning against my community in masses in the late eighties and early nineties. While none of you will understand what that feels like first-hand, I’m sure you’ll understand why I wanted to be discreet, given my new career.”
“So, you lied to the poor woman?” Dot tossed the article across the table. “She sounded heartbroken.”
“My dear,” Eugene said carefully, “I told Besa to do that interview. I didn’t want to drag her down with me, so I told her, almost word for word, what to say to garner public sympathy. You don’t become a politician without learning the right things to say in a scandal. Of course, I couldn’t talk myself out of the mess, so I quietly stepped down and retreated.”
“But wasn’t she upset when she found out?” Dot asked.
Eugene chuckled. “Sweet Dorothy, Besa knew about my preferences from the moment we met, and she loved me because of them. She said I was the most theatrical man she had ever met, which I took as the highest compliment. You see, we both needed something. She needed a way to stay in the UK legally, and I knew having a wife would further my career. I fell so in love with Besa and her story,
I might have married her just to help her. We went into our arrangement with open eyes. We never shared a house, let alone a bed, but we became the best of friends. In fact, I saw Besa just last year, right before Christmas. She remarried quickly. Her adoring husband passed on four years ago, but after me, she had a real life with a real husband.”
“So, it was a green card wedding?” Julia asked, the slots falling into place.
“That’s one way to put it,” Eugene said, nodding. “Although, as far as the residents of Northash are concerned, I tricked my poor unfortunate wife into marrying me to cover up my true self. I’ve kept that secret for twenty years, and I’d appreciate it remaining that way. People would be more understanding today, but when I stepped down in 1999, I knew I would have to take the secret to my grave. I did everything I could to protect Besa. While I doubt anyone would prosecute us today, we still knowingly broke the law.”
“But what does this have to do with Ian?” Dot asked, rechecking her watch.
“Ian outed Eugene,” Marley answered, wrapping an arm around his husband’s broad shoulders. “Again, you can’t know what that feels like, but it’s not a nice experience when you’re not the one calling the shots. Ian outed Eugene because he wouldn’t give him money.”
“It’s ancient history,” Eugene replied, sniffling as his eyes glazed over. “While I wish I could have stayed in politics, everything worked out for the best. I consider myself lucky; Ian didn’t know the true nature of my arrangement with Besa. If he had, I might have ended up behind bars, and she would have been deported back to Albania. I don’t blame Barker for dragging this up, especially since one side of the story was so officially well documented. For a short time, I resented Ian … until I realised he had done me the biggest favour a person could. I was free, and that’s when my life really began. Marley and I met in 2003, at an anti-fracking demonstration. We had a civil ceremony in 2006, and we officially married in 2014, when the government ended the ridiculous ban on same-sex marriage. We’ve lived a happy, quiet life ever since, and until now, Ian hasn’t been an issue in our lives.”
Marley pulled away from his husband, which told Julia he had yet to reveal their Ian-related financial issues. Before they could take the conversation any further, Thomas and Helen finally arrived at quarter past after seven.
“You’re late,” Dot scolded as she ushered them into the dining room. “Sit down. We have a lot to discuss.”
“My fault,” Helen replied with a shaky laugh, tripping over her own feet as she took a chair on the Cropper side of the table. “I couldn’t find my bus pass, so we had to get a taxi, but you know what taxis are like around here. Would have been quicker to walk and cut across Peridale Farm.”
“Hmmm,” Dot grumbled through pursed lips. “Well, you’re all here now. We’ve already made a little progress while we waited for you, but I’m sure you two can add more to the conversation.”
“What conversation?” Thomas asked, taking the seat next to his sister.
“They think one of us killed Ian,” Marley replied, leaning over to look at his nephew.
“Seriously?” Thomas forced a laugh, glancing from Julia to Barker and finally to Dot. “Oh, you’re not joking. Wow, okay. I don’t know how to respond to that.”
“Neither do I.” Helen frowned at Julia, and Julia alone. “And here I was thinking we were all starting to get a little closer as a family.”
“Why don’t I make us some tea?” Julia cried, jumping up before Dot could stop her. “Marley, why don’t you come and help?”
Marley followed her into the kitchen without argument. Julia closed the door gently behind him. She walked down the narrow galley kitchen. The windows on either side showed Dot’s lovely garden beneath the summer sun.
“Have you told anyone?” Marley folded his arms as he watched Julia fill the kettle.
“No.”
“Good.”
“Aren’t you going to tell Eugene?” She placed the heavy kettle on its base and flicked it on. “Tonight would be the perfect opportunity, don’t you think? Can you pass me one of those teapots?”
Marley grabbed one of the many teapots Dot had collected over the years from the shelf behind him. To her dismay, he picked a plain white one despite the colours on offer.
“I don’t see how it’s any of your business,” Marley replied, arms folding again, keeping his distance. “What I did with my money has nothing to do with anything, and it certainly has nothing to do with Ian’s murder!”
“I know, but I just thought—”
“Don’t just think,” he snapped, his voice low but firm. “Quite frankly, Julia, none of this has anything to do with you. You might think you’re the local Miss Marple, but my husband and I had nothing to do with Ian’s murder!”
Julia nodded her understanding, turning her attention to the kettle as the water started to rumble. Marley and Eugene had denied their involvement in Ian’s death countless times now, to the point where she was beginning to wonder if they were protesting too much. Regardless, Marley had given a valid reaction; it wasn’t her business.
“I’m trying to help my gran,” Julia replied quietly, dropping a handful of tea bags into the pot. “She’s done a lot for me over the years, and I want to repay the favour.”
“By accusing everyone with the Cropper name of murder?”
“I haven’t accused anyone.”
“The suggestion is there.” Marley’s voice trembled above a whisper, and he pointed a long finger in her direction. “This really has nothing to do with you. In fact, with the amount of digging you and your husband are doing, I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re trying to stitch one of us up! We weren’t the only ones at that wedding. Your gran could have killed Ian on Percy’s behalf. And you found him, which is a bit convenient, don’t you think? When you point a finger, there are four pointing back at you.”
“I’m not pointing—”
“Leave us alone,” Marley said firmly, his eyes as hard as the teapots behind him. “If the police weren’t insisting we stay, we would have left already. This mess is the last thing we need.”
The Marley who left the kitchen wasn’t the same Marley she had baked and burnt vegan brownies with earlier in the day. If not for his bald head, zen-like linen tunic, and floaty trousers, not much would have separated the level of threat in his voice from that of the American stranger.
With the teapot ready, Julia added seven cups to a tray, along with a small jug of milk and a bowl of sugar. She picked up the tray, ready to bring some much needed calmness to proceedings, but the raised voices floated through before she even reached the kitchen door.
“I don’t have to listen to this!” she heard Thomas cry as she hurried back into the dining room. “Who do you think you are?”
Thomas stood, fists clenched by his side. The contents of Barker’s folder had been spread all over the table. The sheets all faced the Cropper side; she wished she had insisted on looking at her husband’s ‘evidence’ before the meeting started. She placed the tray in the middle of the table while Helen pulled her brother back down.
“I think we all need to take a breath,” Julia said as she resumed her seat next to Barker. “Nobody is accusing anyone of—”
“Your husband is!” Thomas bellowed, his fist colliding with the table, rattling the cups on the tray. “He’s dug up that I filed for bankruptcy four years ago like that has anything to do with anything!”
“Everything is evidence until proven otherwise,” Barker replied.
“Yeah?” Thomas gathered as many papers as he could, ripped them in two, and tossed them into the air. “I say it’s all a bunch of rubbish.”
The paper fluttered down around them like snow. Julia sighed, resting her face in her hands. Not only did she feel a mood swing coming on, but her bladder was also suddenly fit to burst. She clenched her legs, not wanting to leave the room again.
“You filed for bankruptcy?” Eugene asked. “But your kickboxing studio has alwa
ys done so well!”
“It wasn’t the studio,” Thomas snapped, eyes firmly on Barker. “I started a little personal training business on the side. It didn’t work out, leaving me with a lot of debt – which I have since paid back every penny of since. I thought we were coming here to see how my uncle was doing!”
“Thomas, please calm down,” Helen said, putting a restraining hand on his arm before looking at Barker. “Although, why are you suddenly acting like you’re in the police?”
“He was,” Dot interjected.
“But you left!” Thomas rolled his eyes. “I read your book, remember? Speaking of which, I was lying when I said I couldn’t wait for the sequel. I thought it was utter drivel, and so did Helen. Didn’t you, Helen?”
“Leave me out of this.”
“Why?” Thomas stood again. “This jumped up little nobody is acting all grand, accusing us of all sorts! I’m not surprised the publishing company ditched you.”
Barker jumped up. His chair went flying, making Julia unclench her legs enough to know she needed to run to the bathroom. The men stared at each other across the room, fresh testosterone pouring from them.
“How dare you?” Barker asked in a voice barely above a whisper.
“I dare.” Thomas walked around the table, nodding for Barker to meet him halfway. “Why don’t we settle this like men, huh? You and me, right here.”
To Julia’s utter shock, Barker met Thomas at the side of the table. Chests puffed out, they stood red face to red face, their flared-nostril noses millimetres from touching.
“Barker—”
“I’m handling this, Julia.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Dot cried, slamming her hands on the table. “This is all we need! A man has died, and unless you want to make it two more, I suggest you both step down right now. You won’t win, Barker. He has trophies to prove he can kick your behind into next year.”
