‘Do you think Gillian and Victor are in it together?’ Julie asked. ‘They have always seemed a little too close for comfort, if you get my drift.’ She waggled her eyebrows in a way that made her drift obvious to people several villages away. ‘Maybe there’s some sort of Parish Council–Board of Governors conspiracy.’
‘In that case, I think I’m best off packing my things and leaving today,’ Arrina said. ‘I’m no match for that.’
Julie wasn’t listening for the moment. She was lost in her own crazy theory. ‘Maybe that’s what happened to Hugo,’ she said. ‘Maybe he overheard something he shouldn’t have, and they needed to silence him.’
‘What exactly could he have heard?’ Arrina asked. ‘A plan to convert the college into a sweatshop? Or maybe they’ve found oil under the building, and they need me and the pesky kids out of the way so they can dig it up?’
‘Exactly.’ Julie turned to her, wide-eyed. ‘It’s all starting to make sense. I think you’re onto something.’
‘I think you need to have your head examined. Have you been eating those funny-looking mushrooms from the forest again?’
‘I’ve told you before, there’s nothing funny about porcini. They’re completely normal mushrooms. And no, they won’t be ready for picking for a few more months.’
‘Well, mushroom-based fantasies aside, I don’t think Hugo was killed because he overheard Victor and Gillian conspiring against the college. I think we’re best leaving the crime solving to the police.’
‘Hmm,’ Julie said, clearly choosing not to listen to Arrina’s suggestion. ‘Well at least if they’re focused on solving Hugo’s murder, you can throw your efforts into saving your job at the college. That way you won’t need to leave Heathervale. At least, not without a fight.’
The warm Christmassy fragrance of Julie’s biscuits felt like it was soaking into Arrina’s skin. Maybe Julie was right, and Arrina didn’t need to work on her CV quite yet.
‘So,’ Julie said, standing up sharply and returning to the oven. She pulled out the tray of freshly baked biscuits and set it down to cool. ‘How many Christmas biscuits do you think it will take to get you battle ready?’
Arrina looked down at the stretched and faded T-shirt she wore. Her pale legs poked out from the bottom, with ankles that still bore the faint brown mud streaks and scabbed grazes of yesterday’s hike.
‘I think three,’ Arrina said. ‘Maybe three and a half.’
‘Five it is, then,’ Julie said, scooping them up onto a plate, which she pushed firmly into Arrina’s grip.
Arrina was hungrier than she had realised. She swallowed down the first two biscuits before she even registered their taste.
Then she was overcome by the delicious spices and the soft warmth, which seemed to seep through her whole body. She savoured the next two in between sips of her smoky tea.
Finally, she stood up and carried the last biscuit to her bedroom. She nibbled on it while digging through her wardrobe to find a beautiful bottle-green dress that brought out the hints of fire in her russet-coloured hair.
When Arrina was clean and dressed in the softly flowing fabric, she felt certain that Julie was right. There were plenty of things she could do before giving in. Running away and hiding was really very far down her list of options. More importantly, she had to get her college open again. Perhaps the key to all that would be finding out just what had happened to Hugo Hayes yesterday. But first, she had to make sure that no matter what, classes could start on Monday. And for that, Arrina had a plan.
9
When Do-Re-Mi—the café in the very centre of Heathervale—opened that morning, its traditional window display of cakes and biscuits was replaced by something entirely different. Arrina Fenn sat in the middle of the full-length window. She had a computer in front of her and files spread out on a desk. She was hard at work for all the world to see.
Passers-by did double takes. The nosier members of the village stopped to peer in at what she was working on. Through the thin glass of the shopfront, Arrina heard many people speculate about what exactly they thought she was doing.
‘What’s this?’ asked William Brown, staring in at Arrina intensely. ‘Is it some sort of modern art thing?’ William was a pig farmer who Arrina had chatted to occasionally in the Horse and Hound. He’d always seemed nice enough, if a little pig focused for Arrina’s liking. Almost every conversation with him came around to his animals—he was nearing seventy but showed no signs of tiring of his work.
‘No,’ said William’s sister, Zena. ‘It’s that gig economy that’s always in the news. Young people these days have lots of little jobs to make ends meet.’ Zena was at least five years older than her brother, but just like him, she did not appear to be slowing down in her old age. ‘They’re all on zero-hours contracts and working their side hustles. I’ve read all about it.’
Arrina kept her head bent low over the spreadsheet she was editing to keep her smile concealed. Since she was suspended, she probably did need a side hustle, but combing through the timetable of the college’s classes for the following week probably didn’t qualify.
‘It looks more like art to me,’ William said. ‘An office set up in the window of a cake shop. That’s got to be a statement on the conflict between work pressures and the enjoyment of everyday living.’
‘You might be right,’ Zena said, pressing her heavily lined face up against the glass. Arrina, sitting only two feet away, felt her cheeks growing hot with the scrutiny but tried her best to keep on working.
‘I like it,’ William said. ‘It really speaks to me as a farmer.’ He and Zena walked off slowly, and Arrina strained to hear the rest of their conversation. ‘There’s no greater view into the connections between work and life than when you’re raising animals for food.’
‘You make a good point,’ Zena said before walking out of Arrina’s hearing.
It seemed like, earlier that morning, Julie hadn’t been quite right when she said that news of Arrina’s suspension was all around the village. A few people, like William and Zena Brown, were unsure of what Arrina was doing there. But most people whispered knowingly as they walked past the café. Arrina used up every ounce of confidence to keep working in the face of this.
Inside Do-Re-Mi, ninety-three-year-old Mrs Pangle leaned over to the grandson she was sharing a scone with and said, ‘Do you think she’s not heard she’s been let go?’ with the lack of tact that only a woman her age could get away with.
‘Gran!’ the boy said, shuffling down in his seat. The boy had an older sister at the college, and he would probably go there himself one day. If it stayed open, that was.
Arrina was slightly disconcerted to find that rumour of her situation had escalated from suspended to fired. But she didn’t want to focus on that right then.
‘Don’t worry,’ Arrina said, turning to the old woman, who had cake crumbs stuck in the whiskers around her mouth. ‘I’ve heard all about it, Mrs P. This here is the work of a concerned volunteer.’
Then Arrina turned to the young boy, who had flushed such a bright red that he could have blended in with the postbox on the corner. ‘You can tell that sister of yours that I’ve not forgotten the essay she owes Bill Yates. He wants it in first thing Monday morning.’
Then Arrina turned back to the desk to pick up her ringing mobile.
‘Hi, Faheem,’ she said loudly. ‘Give me the good news. How many rooms have you got for me?’ Arrina made sure to sound upbeat and excited, even though Faheem, the manager of a nearby eco holiday camp, only had a couple of cramped portacabins that he could let Arrina use as classroom space. It’s better than nothing, Arrina forced herself to remember. And nothing was all she’d had when she woke up that morning.
Several people who saw Arrina in the window looked shocked and pale as they walked past. When they muttered to their companions, their eyes watered, and sometimes tears were even wiped away. Each time she saw this, Arrina felt a lurch of sadness in her stomach at the mem
ory of Hugo. He was such a beloved member of the village that, even though Arrina hadn’t known him for long, she was sure she’d be feeling his absence for years.
When Arrina saw the red-eyed villagers walk by, she thought about moving her desk out of the window. She didn’t want to upset people through her connection with Hugo’s death. But each time she considered it, another clutch of smirking gossips would walk past, whispering about the downfall of the college, and Arrina knew that she had to protect the place where she worked and the futures of the students who went there.
She made phone calls, sent emails, dredged up the names of connections she had with places that could offer classroom space for free. It was a slow and difficult task, but it was working.
After the morning rush, Julie came to sit down with Arrina at her desk, which was in fact Julie’s desk from the tiny office at the back of the café. Julie wouldn’t miss it for a while, she’d insisted. It was usually just a place for storing piles of unsorted receipts and spare bags of sugar and flour.
‘Rochelle managed all of an hour today before she went home with a migraine,’ Julie said, propping her feet up on a chair next to Arrina. ‘Now I’m back to being a one-woman band.’
Arrina leapt up. ‘Let me help,’ she said.
‘You’ve got more important things to work on,’ Julie said, waving her back to her seat. ‘How’s it all going?’
‘So far I’ve secured about a third of the rooms I need,’ Arrina said. ‘It’s mostly church halls and Scout huts, which I don’t yet have the desks and chairs to fill, but I’ve got feelers out with a couple of events companies.’
‘That sounds great!’
‘I also need to work out the transportation between these different locations,’ Arrina said.
‘What about tractors pulling flat-beds?’ Julie asked, her dark eyes sparking. ‘It’ll be like the Halloween hayrides! Everyone loves them.’
‘I was actually thinking of minibuses,’ Arrina said. ‘After that runaway tractor at the end of last term, I want to stay far away from the things for a good long while.’
Arrina felt a pang of sadness as she thought about Hugo. The only upside to almost being run over by the tractor that day had been getting to meet him. And now, just two months later, he was dead.
‘Minibuses it is then,’ Julie said. ‘Right, I’ve got to get back to it.’
Arrina glanced around the café at the mess left behind from the morning rush.
‘Are you sure I can’t help?’
Julie shook her head. ‘Actually, I need you for something far more challenging than wiping down tables.’ She reached into the pocket of her apron and pulled out a small greaseproof paper packet. She opened it on top of a stack of Arrina’s scrawled notes. ‘Can you taste all these biscuits and tell me which one’s best.’
‘I always like everything you bake,’ Arrina said with a smile. ‘I won’t be able to choose.’
The biscuits were shaped along an autumn theme. There was a bushy-tailed squirrel, a neatly iced sheaf of wheat, a witch’s hat, and a cat that reminded Arrina of Tinsel. They smelled absolutely delicious.
‘I told you it would be a challenge,’ Julie said. ‘But I think you’re up to it.’
Arrina had eaten two more of the Christmas biscuits while she and Julie drove into the village earlier that morning, which made seven in total. But that was several hours ago. Now, she easily chewed her way through the handful of treats in front of her, selecting the lemon-and-lavender squirrel as her favourite. Just as she polished off the last of a matcha-flavoured wheat sheaf, she looked up to see one of the college’s newest teachers hovering outside the café.
It was Maggie Lee, the young chemistry teacher who was covering Nick Robertson’s paternity leave. Maggie had moved to the village back before the start of the summer. She wasn’t needed until the next term, and her eagerness to get to know the college and its students had been impressive. Arrina was already considering ways to expand the chemistry department if she proved to be a success.
Earlier that morning, Arrina had fired off an email reassuring all the teachers about the status of the college. She’d hoped that some of them might pop by the café, as she’d told them she would be working there. However, several of them helped out on family farms during the summer, so they couldn’t get away, and many others were still on holiday for the next few days. She’d had lots of messages of support, but it wasn’t the same as a helpful colleague to share the workload with.
When Arrina saw Maggie, she was glad to have an ally from the college. She leaned over and knocked on the glass, then gave a wave. Maggie flinched at the sound. And when she caught Arrina’s eye, she suddenly turned and walked away.
Arrina got up from her seat and dashed out of the café after Maggie. Perhaps the young teacher had been confused and thought Arrina was shooing her off.
Out on the street, Maggie was nowhere to be seen.
Arrina looked both ways along the High Street. To the right was the village green—a large rectangle of clipped grass with the Horse and Hound pub at its head. To the left were the rest of the shops that served the village, including a post-office-cum-library, a craft shop, a three-aisled supermarket, and the busy local greengrocers, which also served as a bank.
Maggie must have nipped inside one of the nearby shops. It would be easy enough to find her and apologise for any confusion. Then hopefully, Arrina could get a little help with the enormous task of sorting out the class timetables.
But then she saw something that put thoughts of Maggie completely out of her mind.
It was Hugo Hayes.
He was standing there, right in the middle of the village, coming out of the greengrocers, with an apple in his hand. He rubbed the bright-red apple on his shirt and bit into it. Arrina froze on the spot. Hugo was walking towards her as though nothing had happened. Arrina looked around to check if anyone else was seeing this. But there was nobody out on the street right then.
As Hugo got closer, tears sprang to Arrina’s eyes. It had all been a terrible mistake. Hugo wasn’t dead. He was all right. Everything was all right.
But when he drew closer to Arrina, she saw it wasn’t him. It was Hugo’s brother, Rory. Just two years younger and every bit as tall and strapping as Hugo. But it wasn’t the same man. In fact, as he came within a few feet, Arrina was reminded that aside from their distinctive build, the two men did not look much alike. Her mind was merely playing tricks and seeing what it wanted to.
Arrina knew Rory by sight—he was a loud and jovial regular at the Horse and Hound. Since the right-of-way dispute that Hugo had overruled his brother on, Arrina had felt a little awkward when bumping into Rory. But that didn’t matter anymore. The poor man was grieving.
Arrina stepped out into the empty road to go over and talk to him. She didn’t know how she could possibly express her sympathy for something so awful, but she would try.
‘Rory,’ she said as she walked closer, ‘I just wanted to say—’
He took another bite of his apple and walked past, not seeming to hear her. Arrina turned and watched him walk on towards the village green. His steps were slow and purposeful. He did not check for traffic as he crossed the road, barely registering the world around him.
Arrina considered going after him. But then she saw that he was heading to the pub. He would get lunch in there, as he always did, and see friends who would know what to say. Arrina could pass on her condolences another time. But right then, it seemed as though Rory was still lost in the shock of yesterday’s tragedy.
Arrina slipped back into Do-Re-Mi and buried herself in work. She had several successful phone calls in a row and didn’t notice the lunchtime rush until it was over. Then Julie sat down next to her with a platter of hearty ham-and-pickle sandwiches, warm cheese scones that were liberally spread with butter, and moist slices of carrot cake for the two of them to share. After that, the pair made quick work of the café’s mound of washing up before Julie pushed Arrina back t
o her desk.
Late in the afternoon, Arrina looked up to rest her aching eyes and saw Maggie Lee hovering at the window once more. This time, Arrina didn’t knock on the glass. She watched the young chemistry teacher from the corner of her eye, trying to work out what was going on.
Maggie stepped towards the door of Do-Re-Mi and then away again. She glanced over at Arrina then up at the café’s sign. After a minute of this, she walked away.
Arrina could not figure it out. Could the young woman be nervous of her new boss? That didn’t make sense—they’d had several friendly chats that summer. Maybe the murder at the college had scared her. But then why wouldn’t she come into Do-Re-Mi and explain this? Arrina added phone Maggie to her to-do list.
Then she looked at her computer screen to get back into the labyrinthine task of rehousing all the college’s classes for the following week. But the enormous spreadsheet of data blurred before her eyes.
She needed a proper break.
Arrina glanced around the café and noticed how busy it was in there. People at several tables looked impatient as they waited for their orders.
She hopped up from her desk and went through to see Julie in the kitchen.
‘Can I help?’ Arrina asked. Julie was stirring a pot of soup with her left hand while filling up a teapot with her right.
‘No,’ Julie said. ‘I’ve got it all under control.’ Her thick black hair was sticking up in all directions. Her apron was even more stained with batter, jam, and chocolate smears than usual. And the chaotic mess around her made it clear that she definitely did not have it under control. A timer beeped beside her, and Julie stared at it in utter confusion.
‘You’d be doing me a favour,’ Arrina said. ‘I can no longer see straight. I absolutely have to help you out in here so I can give my eyes a screen break.’
‘Well,’ Julie said, ‘if it would keep your eyes healthy...’
The Slay of the Land (The Heathervale Mysteries Book 1) Page 6
