I clicked my tongue. “So, someone hit him, or stabbed him, something to make him bleed, then threw him into the river.”
“We’re looking for someone who can drag the body of an overweight man then.”
Taking a sip of my cappuccino, I looked around. There were many men in Briarbury, I didn’t know how many of them had an issue with Gilbert, but I was sure the percentage was high.
“Who do you think did it?” I asked.
She threw her hands up, puffing her cheeks. “Take your pick.”
That’s what I worried about. “Probably got on someone’s last nerve. It was only a matter of time.”
“Motive, revenge?”
I shuddered. “I’d question Wendy. Her sudden appearance is odd.”
“She still has family here, but I doubt she had motive. Let’s be real for a second, she left him broke.”
“Flat broke, think he borrowed more money and scammed more people after marrying Harriet than when he was with Wendy.”
That was a thought. “He has been asking for a wallop between the ears for some time.”
“Can’t say he didn’t see it coming.”
“Not if they struck from behind.”
She chuckled for a moment, but it was quelled quickly, realising we were discussing a dead person. It had happened within the last 24-hours, and we were drinking coffees and talking about it as we would a daytime television show.
“Must be tough,” I said.
“And to think there’s a—” Ruth exhaled and shuddered. “To think there’s a killer out here, in the town, or worse, our village. Imagine knowing you’d killed someone. I don’t think I could live with myself.”
“I doubt killers think too far beyond their actions.” I stroked at Charlie’s back, helping to calm me. “I’m not even capable of picking my cast iron frying pan without both hands and a round of shoulder exercises.”
We chuckled once again.
“I can’t imagine getting so close to it.”
“The body?” I shuddered.
Charlie yapped, jumping to the floor beneath the table. It was his way of getting attention, telling us all he found the body.
“Charlie got close to it,” I said with a nod to my feet. “We need to think of another route to walk. I can’t bring myself to walk near the lake again.”
“I’m sure Charlie wouldn’t mind,” Ruth said. “Seems he’s quite the wonder.”
She was right. Charlie was a wonder, he’d been a rescue, and still continued to have as much energy as the day we originally met. “He’s keeping me young.”
I grabbed my handbag and pulled out my notepaper. Flipping to the page after my notes on Samuel and his son at the shop.
“What’s that for?” Ruth quizzed. “Taking minutes now?”
“Oh, no,” I grumbled back, uncapping a pen. “We said it ourselves, Gilbert could’ve been killed by anyone.”
“Ooo,” she cooed. “A list?”
“Exactly.” I had already written some earlier, but we started fresh; I didn’t want Ruth of all people to think I was obsessing.
“First name, Thomas.”
His brother. I scribbled the name down. “Thomas doesn’t the upper body to carry someone.”
“Could’ve been dragged?”
“True.” I added a line from Thomas’ name. “Motive?”
“Money. Obviously.”
“Obviously.”
“People kill for money all the time,” Ruth continued. “I’ve seen the documentaries, they’re usually always the first suspects.”
Next to Thomas’ name, I added the motive. It must have been money, or at least something similar. Everyone knew Gilbert’s money problems, but he still tried using the Sodbury name to gain investments and money.
It gnawed at me. My husband had been the rich one in his family, leaving his brother and the current town police inspector as the poor sibling who didn’t have money, but Paul wasn’t a businessman, he was a police officer.
“Who else are you thinking about?” I asked.
“Anyone from the pub,” she replied, tilting her head slightly to the side.
“The Drunk Ewe?” I scoffed. “Highly doubt he’s allowed to set foot in there.”
The Drunk Ewe was a pub in Briarbury, a historic place and landmark, but given the fact Gilbert had a history of being a drunkard, it was likely he’d been barred.
“It’s possible,” Ruth said. “Perhaps he didn’t settle his tabs.”
“Fine,” I said, scribbling down the name of the pub, alongside the motive; money. “But do you think the owners would go out of their way to kill a man.” I raised my eyes at her. “Everyone knows once someone’s dead, they’re not paying off their debts.”
“I have no idea what anyone is capable of doing.” She reached for her mug.
Charlie yapped as the café door opened.
In a sharp-creased suit stood a man, but not any man; next on the list. He was someone my husband had dealings with in the past, as had Gilbert.
“What?” Ruth asked.
Glazed over, I stared ahead at him behind Ruth in my line of sight.
“What? Is there something on my face?”
Charlie continued to bark, turning eyes in our direction.
The grasp around my pen grew tight. My eyes looked through a squint. “Scott Pope.”
TEN
Scott Pope approached the table we were at. He held a tall paper to-go cup in one hand and texted on his phone with the other. By this point, I’d written his name inside my notepad and slammed it shut before his eyes could cross it.
“Afternoon, ladies,” he said, flashing his Hollywood white smile.
“Afternoon,” we returned.
Charlie growled softly in Scott’s direction.
He chuckled back at Charlie. “Feisty one,” he said. “How long have you had him?”
“Couple years,” I said.
The last time I’d seen Scott, was most likely at my husband’s funeral. He seemed to have been growing distant from the entire town before that happened, and now he was out in America, or doing business in China.
“What brings you back?” Ruth asked.
He laughed a little harder, winking at us. “Well, what makes you think I’m back?”
“You’re standing right in front of us,” I said.
He pushed his phone into his trouser pocket. “I’m only here to sign a couple documents, then I’m off again.”
“Selling?” I asked. “Or buying?”
Scott owned a lot of real estate and property inside the village and town. He could’ve probably renamed the entire place. Granted, he wouldn’t have been in such a position without having bought my husband’s portfolio.
He hunched slightly. “Loose ends.”
Charlie growled, sitting at Scott’s feet.
“Doesn’t seem to like you,” Ruth chimed.
“Probably smells my daughter’s dog on me,” he said.
Ruth stood, the same height as Scott. Staring into his eyes with a squint. “How much did it cost?”
“The dog?” he laughed, sipping coffee.
“The plastic surgery,” she continued. “Not many people notice, but I know a surgery scar when I see one. They really pull your entire face behind the ears, didn’t they?”
He laughed at the remark. “Not quite.”
“The veneers are obvious too.”
“You know what’s kept me young? Divorce.”
Ruth scoffed, sitting again. “Your surgeon did a good job.”
He pulled his sleeve, glancing at his wristwatch. “I should be off.” He tssked his teeth.
“Haven’t you heard the news?” I asked.
“What news? There can’t be. I’ve not made any statements yet.”
Looking across at Ruth, we both shared a similar befuddled look.
“Oh, the news of Gilbert,” he continued, shrugging. “My assistant told me. A shame.”
Of course, he’d heard. Every
one had heard. But for Scott to be here, right after it happened, well—he either did it, or he was waiting for something from it.
“Yes,” I said. “Didn’t he owe you a lot of money?”
Laughing at the remark, he rolled his eyes. “Most people do.”
“It is unusual,” Ruth said, tapping her fingertips on the table. “Turning up the day of his murder. Some people might think you had something to do with it.”
“Oh, but I’m not pointing any fingers at you,” I lied.
He chuckled, looking around to see faces flinch back at their coffees. “I was out in London last night, so follow some other rabbit down a different hole.”
Charlie sniffed around at Scott’s shoes. They were clean brown brogues, not a single speck of dirt on them. One look at Scott revealed he hadn’t lifted his fingers for manual labour in many years, but he certainly had the figure of someone who could’ve pushed or dragged the plump body of Gilbert Sodbury.
“Well, I’m sure Paul will be around to question you later,” I said as if feigning to have a better relationship with my brother-in-law than I did. “I’m sure you can admit to yourself; your timing is unusual.”
“You’re right,” he said in a gasp. “Clearly, a multi-millionaire like myself killed a man over what really is considered scraps.” He glanced to his watch again. “I must be off.”
“In a hurry to leave?” Ruth asked.
“Suspicious,” I mumbled under a breath.
“Very.”
“I have a meeting in—fifteen, ten minutes, actually.”
He waved us his goodbye and walked away.
I breathed a sigh of relief. Scott had always been an odd man, and coming back, he looked out of place. But he hadn’t always looked tan with a somewhat plastic tautness on his face. He’d once lived here, it’s where he grew his businesses and made most of his money.
A deep gulp of cappuccino settled the knotting in my stomach.
“I wonder what business he has coming back here,” Ruth said.
Oh. I remembered reading something this morning. “Did you get the morning paper?”
She shrugged. “Probably.”
“There was an article.”
“About Scott? Frank usually take the morning paper in.”
I chewed on my bottom lip. “Something about big business coming to Briarbury.”
“Has to be about Scott.”
Reaching my notepad and pen, I knew Scott couldn’t be trusted. “Motive?”
“Clearly, he’s very money motivated.”
“Did Gilbert own any property?” I wrote ‘assets’ beside Gilbert’s name.
“Anything he did own will go to Harriet, but she’ll probably sell.”
‘Property?’ I wrote on the page. “Surely, he filed for bankruptcy.”
“Personal or business?”
That was the question. “I’m going to assume he didn’t own any property. If he had, I doubt he would’ve been in bad financial health.”
I drank a little more, wondering what other reasons someone would have for killing Gilbert. There were many reasons to kill, but murder didn’t happen here. Not inside Briarbury, and certainly not inside Silver Lake.
“Does Thomas still live around here?” Ruth asked.
“Near us,” I said. “At least I think so. I don’t go too far down or talk to the neighbours, so he could’ve moved.”
“I’ve not seen him in a while.”
On our side of the river, we had more space between houses. We weren’t forced to see each other walking by our windows or hearing loud voices from proximity. The further you travelled down the road, the larger the houses were and the more space between properties there was.
I lived closer to the bridge, while Ruth and Frank lived further out in a much larger house.
“I’m sure he’ll come out of the woodwork soon enough,” Ruth said.
We waited another moment, sipping on our drinks and staring out into space.
Saturday’s were spent gossiping, but it felt like there was something truly terrible about gossiping on the day of someone’s death. I pushed my notepad away, not wanting to talk about the events of the day anymore. Thoughts of potential murder suspects turned my stomach and realisation that anyone around us could’ve killed Gilbert.
ELEVEN
That evening, I occupied my mind with writing. My attempts to push away what I’d witnessed during the day drove me to the television. Reality programmes about people stranded on islands, and people dealing with nightmare neighbours.
I slept in the armchair until Charlie barked me awake.
2:11 A.M. rubbing at my eyes as they adjusted to the light of the television.
“What are you doing?” I grumbled, forcing my body upright.
Charlie pressed his face against my leg.
“Let’s get to bed.”
Sunday morning arrived, delivering sunlight with it, blinding me through the thin curtains. 8:40 A.M. a little later than Charlie would’ve liked. He ran restlessly around the bedroom, throwing himself at the bed in his attempts to jump.
He yapped by my feet as I pushed them into slippers.
“I’ll feed you in a moment.”
No matter the day of the week, Charlie liked to be fed on time. The only difference between the week and the weekend, was our morning walks. He was usually fed twice a day, once in the morning, and once in the evening. I had treats for him during the afternoon, but he was a small dog and quite old for his human age.
Reaching the kitchen, Charlie pawed his bowls, sending them spinning around on the tiles.
I took both bowls to the cluttered counter, filling one with water and another with a small tin of food; chicken and veggies with gravy. I added a few dry biscuits and it was ready.
For myself, I poured water into the kettle, flicking the switch to boil. I grabbed a bowl from the draining board and pulled at the hefty box of corn flakes from the cupboard.
“Not sure if we’re going for a walk this morning,” I said to Charlie as the teakettle hissed.
Grabbing the milk bottle from the refrigerator, I second-guessed my original words.
Pouring hot water in my mug, I looked out through the back window over the sink. “Perhaps we can visit Ruth, maybe see if Thomas still lives around here,” I mumbled. “What do you think, Charlie?”
The sloppy sound of his tongue splashing around in the water bowl was the answer I needed. Charlie didn’t care where we went, as long as we kept to our schedule.
I walked through to the conservatory with my cereal in one hand and my mug of tea in the other; my clean sanctuary.
Charlie followed me in, sitting in his bed, waiting patiently.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Odd. Nobody visits on a Sunday. I glanced to my wristwatch. Especially not before noon.
I placed the bowl and mug on the coffee table. “Who do you think it is?” I hurried to the door, hoping to wave the knocker away.
“Harriet?”
Her short slim frame weighed down by a large purple anorak stood in front of me.
Opening the door, I noticed her fluorescent yellow rain boots. Too bright. “Hello?”
“Oh, I’m glad you’re here,” she said.
“It’s where I live.”
“I know, I know,” she said, pressing her forehead into a deep frown. “You and Ruth were so nice to me yesterday, I wanted to say thank you.”
“It’s not a problem,” I said. “I would have done it for anyone.”
“Is it okay if I come in?” she asked.
No, it was a problem. With one hand still resting on the door handle, I turned my head slightly, glancing inwards of the house, looking over the mess inside the kitchen. Her house had been pristine and clean, and mine was, well—a pig sty.
“It’s okay,” she grumbled. “I shouldn’t have come, I just wanted to talk with someone.” She turned slightly.
I grabbed her hand. “Nonsense,” I replied. “Come in. My house is
a mess, so please excuse me.” And it was a real mess, not the one I thought I was going into when I was welcomed into her home.
Harriet stood by the front door while I attempted to block her view into the kitchen. She pulled away her rain boots and removed her anorak.
Charlie ran over his little legs. He yapped once before seeing Harriet, pausing to sniff at her boots. It always kept him occupied, and I was thankful he was back to smelling dirt instead of—well, anything else.
“Let’s go into the conservatory.” I extended an arm as a gesture into the only clean room for guests. “Take a seat,” I said. “Would you like some tea?”
“A tea?” she asked. “Yes, yes I would.”
“I’ll be just a minute,” I replied, wandering off into the kitchen.
“Thank you.”
“Oh, by the way, there’s a small goodie bag in there somewhere. It’s from the chocolatiers. I was going to deliver it on my way home, but of course, I spaced.”
“That’s sweet, thank you.”
“Sugar?” I asked.
“One.”
I pulled an extra cup from the shelf, fixing her a cup of tea.
“I have to say, I’m thankful you came yesterday when you did,” Harriet began as I walked back in with the cup. “I was probably about to go stir crazy if I’d spent any more time alone inside.”
“It’s what I would’ve wanted.” I placed the tea on a coaster. “It’s hot.”
She sat with the goodie bag on the floor by her legs. “It gave me breathing room.”
I picked up my bowl of cereal. “You don’t mind if I eat, do you?”
“Oh, no, please,” she said. “I knew I should’ve have come so early, but—” She sucked into her teeth.
“Have you been up long?”
Looking at the dark circles around her eyes, I shouldn’t have asked. She probably hadn’t slept or eaten much.
“I was up late with Wendy.”
“That’s right,” I said. “How was yesterday afternoon?”
She pulled the mug into her hands, gripping it tightly. “Bad, but it’s supposed to get easier.”
I shouldn’t have asked. I spooned cereal into my mouth, at least if I was eating, I couldn’t say something to trigger tears.
“I’m worried I won’t be able to cope after the burial,” she continued. “He’ll be gone, gone.”
Murder on Silver Lake Page 5
