Murder on Silver Lake

by Hugo James King

  “The murder,” Yvonne said. She didn’t mind her job security, she was married to Earl, an editor, and someone with plenty sway around here. “Eve found the body.”

  “I didn’t find the body, but I was there when it was found,” I said, correcting her, once again. “But I shouldn’t even be talking about it at all.” I closed my eyes and shook my head slightly; all this talk was bringing back the images of dirt where fingers had clawed at it.

  “Right, well make sure to get it all out in here,” Suzanne said. “I’m busy working on my top ten for January list.”

  Yvonne gave her a one-hand salute. “Sure thing, boss.”

  We were both older than Suzanne. She was in her late twenties, and had a lot to learn about the world, including how to not stress yourself out about work. Stress could motivate you, but it was also a killer.

  Suzanne left the kitchenette and Yvonne handed me the cup of coffee.

  “It’s only Monday and she’s pressed at least ten of my last nerves,” she said. “You know why Diane hired her, right?”

  I didn’t. “Because she sees herself in her?”

  “Right,” she laughed. “Earl was telling me, that’s why Diane’s her editor, he didn’t want anything to do with it.”

  I couldn’t imagine why he didn’t want to be her editor—I snickered in thought.

  As we left the kitchenette, Jeannie waved us over, a large smile gracing her face from cheek-to-cheek.

  “I have a theory,” she said, wiggling her brows.

  “About the murder?”

  She nodded back.

  “Go on then,” Yvonne said in a hushed whisper. “Be quick about it.” She looked nervously over her shoulder.

  “It’s always the bitter ex,” she said. “They did a little profile of him in the paper. He was divorced.” She tapped a finger hard at the newspaper laid flat on her desk. “Scorned ex-wife, she must have done it.”

  Yvonne hummed, swilling the thought around like a bland wine. “But why wouldn’t she have killed the new wife?”

  “Exactly,” I added. “Why wouldn’t she have just offed the competition?”

  “Scorned,” she repeated. “I’ve had my heart broken before, Evie. It was hard to get over. But I did, after keying his car, the bonnet, the doors, even the roof. I got over it.”

  Jeannie had a wicked side. I stared back, my wide eyes, a dead giveaway of my shock. Surprise at someone so petite could go on such a rampage. “Well, I hope no one was hurt.”

  She gasped. “I was heartbroken.”

  The deep purr of an engine turned our heads.

  A light blue sports car arrived in the drive.

  “Who is it?” I asked.

  Jeannie fumbled to check the papers on her desk. “Diane’s meeting,” she said. “Um, um.” She snapped her fingers. “Scott. Scott, something.”

  “Pope?” I asked.

  Arriving with his large smile and his orange glow. He pulled away his sunglasses, and I felt the need to wear some, given the hue and brightness coming from his face. I needed something to protect my eyes.

  “What’s he doing here?” I asked in a whisper, only Yvonne heard.

  “Evelyn!” he greeted loudly. “Didn’t know you worked for Diane.”

  “Didn’t know this was the business you were talking about.”

  He chuckled. “Which way to her office?”

  Jeannie struggled to quickly move around the reception desk. “Uh. Um. Let me—let me just go get her.” She held a finger in Scott’s face. “Just wait right here.”

  He laughed back. “Diane’s expecting me,” he said. “I’m sure I can go right through.”

  And he did. He walked ahead, ignoring Jeannie completely. I followed quick on his tail, alongside Yvonne. I tried to keep my coffee steady and, in the cup, as I walked. He stopped and turned sharp.

  “Charlie?” he asked, kneeling to the dog on the ground.

  I nodded. “Surprised he’s not barking.”

  “I was a stranger yesterday,” he said. “Today, he knows me.”

  Scott was still a relative stranger, at least to me, and definitely to Charlie. Nobody had heard a wink or word from Scott in years, and for him to appear, just as questions mounted and suspicions grew.

  “Scott,” Diane called out, her loud voice, causing all eyes to look at her. “Come into my office.”

  Scott picked himself, his knees cracking from where he’d squatted to pet Charlie. “Right away.”

  Diane clocked eyes with me before they shifted an inch. “Jeannie,” she snapped her fingers. “Two coffees.”

  Angela raced in after him, carrying a thicker folder in her arms.

  She was the only one working in the marketing department. She was the marketing department.

  SIXTEEN

  I waited at my desk with a watchful eye on the office door. I wanted to know what Scott could be doing here, especially after his comments. He was on my list of suspects, people I thought were possible of committing murder, alongside the note left in my letterbox.

  All my articles for the magazine had been finished, and I spent the majority of my time at my desk, working on the pitches for future articles. The next magazine was going to be a Valentine’s Day special, which meant everyone was already going crazy with all their loved-up ideas.

  I had an in with some locals, people who sold roses, and the likes. I couldn’t do any more of the date night ideas, given I was a widow and had nobody to date. I was limited in what I could do, other than offer other grieving widows what they could do.

  That was an idea on all its own, how to enjoy the Cotswolds alone. Probably wouldn’t fly with Diane and the others, but it was playing to my strengths, and occupying my mind while I continued to look from the laptop screen every other second.

  Click.

  Whoosh.

  The door swung open.

  “We’ll speak with you soon,” Diane’s loud voice travelled far.

  Scott left the office, waving a hand. He waved at everyone else, smiling as if he was a member of the royal family and we were all here to support him.

  Diane and Angela left the office seconds later, Diane standing in the doorway, she coughed into a closed fist, gathering our attention. She wasn’t one to shout, but her silence was equally as commanding.

  “I’ve decided,” she said, sighing heavily. “I’m giving you all Wednesday morning off to attend the funeral,” she said. “It’s a decision I didn’t come to lightly, but it’s a hot topic right now, and we’ve got the magazine ready for print, so hopefully you can all settle you gossiping mouths for a little while.”

  Gossiping? I wondered, she was the one trying to ask me questions earlier.

  “Diane,” I said, as she turned. “Can I have a moment?”

  She smiled, hungrily, expecting I was one of the gossiping mouths she only seconds ago asked us to settle. “Absolutely,” she said, waving a hand into her office. “Come on in.”

  Pushing out from my desk, I noticed hands twitch in my direction. And at my age, there was no shame in admitting that you wanted to gossip, at my age, there was no shame in most things people I considered the youth to find shameful.

  “What is it?” she asked, taking a seat at her desk.

  I took a seat opposite, chewing on the advice I was mentally giving everyone. There’s no shame in coming right out with it. “I don’t trust Scott.”

  “The man is harmless, Eve,” she replied. “And he’s got money to burn. Quite literally.”

  “I spoke to him over the weekend.” Clenching my hands together, it slightly pained me. “He said he was here to settle some business. I hope that doesn’t include this magazine, because if it does, I’m not sure I can stay.”

  “Oh, goodness,” she chuckled. “He was here to purchase ad space for a business retreat.” Scoffing slightly as her eyes dipped to a paper on her desk. “Not that it’s any of your business—”

  “But I think he killed Gilbert,” I said outright.


  “If you believed that, you’d have been to the police station already,” she scoffed once again, this time louder, incorporating a loud tut. “In fact, your brother-in-law is the inspector on the case, if you thought that, he’d already be in cuffs.”

  She wasn’t buying it, not a single bit. Not a single bite.

  “My husband was a business partner with him,” I said. “I knew—I know what stuff Scott’s capable of doing.”

  “Eve,” she droned. “Go take a nap. I do, daily. Helps keep my young.”

  I did enjoy a nice afternoon nap, but that wasn’t what was happening here; I wasn’t tired, if anything, I was flustered with everything happening, and I wanted to get to the bottom of it. “I’m still working on my pitches for the meeting on Thursday.”

  Diane clapped her hands once. “Oh, yes,” she said with glee. “I have the finished articles in my inbox. Let me get you set up with your next assignment then.” She pulled a post-it note on her desk and scribbled some numbers.

  “What is it?”

  “He had asked for Suzie,” she said with an eye roll, “but I’m not here to entertain her today, least of all not on a Monday. And she’s far too busy writing for the young audience.”

  A young audience? A smiled every time it was mentioned. We didn’t quite have a young audience, but we did have people in their twenties pick the magazine, on occasion. “What is it?” I asked again.

  “Scott’s business retreat,” she said. “Given your history, I think you’re suited to it, and you don’t need any introductions.” She passed the post-it across the desk. “And if you don’t already have it, this is his number.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “How much is he paying?” I asked, glancing at his telephone number. “Because we have two weeks until we go to print next, I’m sure I can find someone willing to match it.”

  She smiled. “Contracts have been signed.”

  Not what I wanted to hear. “And what’s his little retreat even about?”

  “You’ll have to call him, schedule an interview.”

  I didn’t want to speak to him, let alone act interested in what he was doing. I’m sure he didn’t know I disliked him, because it was possible he assumed everyone loved and adored him, the man who made a million, and then some.

  “And if you truly think he killed poor Gilbert, then I’m sure you’ll find a way to look into that as well.”

  “Oh.” I smiled. “And what if he—”

  “I said, contracts have been signed, Eve.” She waved a hand. “Money has been deposited.”

  She wanted the gossip. She wanted to be the first to know. Diane had started her career off as an investigative journalist, and I’m sure part of her was still the shark in the sea, catching a scent of blood and going in for the kill.

  She clicked her tongue slightly. “And if he is the killer, I’ll let you sell the story,” she said. “I’ll waive the non-compete clause in the contract, but only if you find out.”

  A thunderous beat appeared in my chest. “Really?”

  “Could easily make a couple thousand from one story,” she said. “And I’ll tell you what, if tell me about it beforehand, I’ll tell my husband, I’m sure one of his newspapers would pick it up.”

  I was too old to be investigating a murder. This was the stuff Suzanne would’ve dreamed about doing. And the only reason she was even telling me any of this was because it was what I wanted to hear, I doubt she believed a single word I was saying about him.

  Diane shrugged. “But I want an article on Scott’s retreat before you fall down this rabbit hole.”

  And there it was, it was all to motivate me into doing the article.

  And it did.

  I was motivated.

  I wanted to contact Scott immediately. I had excitement pumping through my veins and even if nothing came of Diane’s promise, it was somewhat like a free pass to ask him questions burning a hole through me.

  “Do we have a deal?” she asked, extending her hand.

  I shook without question. “A deal.”

  “Great, now get back out there,” she said. “Suzanne will be watching my door like a hawk, probably got some counter up on her computer so she can about it in a meeting.”

  I hummed. “She doesn’t like to think you’re giving anyone special treatment.”

  Diane didn’t smile at the comment. “And don’t tell anyone what I said.”

  That was something I couldn’t possibly commit to, I’d have to tell Ruth. “Got it.” I toyed with the post-it note, glancing at the number. “And I’ll organise an interview right away.”

  “Well, you have two weeks,” she said. “But he is leaving next week, so get it done ASAP.”

  His appearance, out of the blue, it was cause for suspicion.

  This all seemed like a convenient cover story.

  SEVENTEEN

  Back at my desk, I played with the paper for a few moments longer, wondering if it would call on its own, or whether I’d have to ring it and talk to him. Unfortunately, only in my head would such an idea be possible.

  I picked the office phone up in a huff and dialled the number.

  “Hello?” he answered immediately.

  “Eve—um—hello, it’s Eve.”

  “Eve?”

  “I’m calling from Inside the Cotswolds,” I replied. “You know who I am.”

  “Oh, Evelyn.”

  “Or, Mrs Green,” I said. “But Eve is fine.”

  “What can I help you with?”

  I tapped my fingers on my desk, it was the next best thing I could do to grinding my teeth. “I’m calling to set up an interview,” I said. “For the spotlight. You know, the ad space you paid for.”

  “How does this evening sound?”

  Definitely not. “Maybe—”

  “We could set up a reservation, somewhere nice, possibly French,” he continued. “I’ll pay, of course, unless it’s considered a company meal, then I’ll not get in the way of tax returns.”

  “I can’t do this evening,” I cut him off. “Tomorrow afternoon.”

  He tssked. “I suppose,” he said. “But I’ve already got reservations for tonight.”

  “Then ask someone else.”

  “That’s why I asked Diane for the other one.”

  A smirk formed as I glanced to my side, looking at Suzanne, stressing over her article, the visible creasing in her forehead. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow at one. The café. Briars.”

  “It’s a date.”

  “It’s a business meeting, Mr Pope.”

  He laughed, repeating his name back to me. It was formality, and it certainly wasn’t a date. We clearly had different ideas of each other. I disliked the man, and somehow that had translated in him thinking I was someone he wanted to date.

  “Who’s that?” Yvonne asked, tapping me on the shoulder.

  Resting the phone in the receiver, it took me a moment to process her question.

  “Well?” she continued.

  “Scott Pope,” I said.

  His name had caught Suzanne’s attention. “What did he want?”

  “I’ve got an interview with him,” I told them. “I’m covering a business retreat he’s organising.”

  Yvonne laughed. “I thought men like him went for younger women.” We both looked in Suzanne’s direction, as if she wasn’t already thinking of something similar. “Well, I guess slim pickings.”

  “Speak for yourself,” I said. “But it’s purely business.”

  “It must be,” Suzanne moaned.

  “Because I’m the better writer, of course.”

  Yvonne chuckled. “It must be.”

  Huffing, she turned away, focused on her laptop screen once more.

  I wasn’t about to have her thinking she’d gotten away with her snide remark. I might have been older than her, but my mind was still as sharp as ever, it just so happened that Yvonne’s tongue was even faster.

  The quiet c
ame, and I was back to thinking about what had happened. I was about to interview Scott, and I didn’t have a single idea about what his retreat was even about—possibly a good idea I was interviewing him about it—in a very public place; the ideal environment.

  An hour later, stewing over the proposal I was going to pitch, I left the office with Charlie. I didn’t mention my leaving to anyone, I could have had any number of reasons for leaving, but if Diane asked, it was for research.

  I was headed to the GP, the general practice run by Ruth and Frank. I would say I hated to bother Ruth while she was at work, but in fact, we both enjoyed it and most of the time, Ruth wasn’t too busy.

  As usual, I grabbed three coffees to go. One with Splenda, for Frank, and the other two with sugar and a little hazelnut syrup. I parked in their driveway. It took a moment to get Charlie out of the car while navigating the physics of holding the cardboard cup holder for three drinks when it was meant for four.

  On reception, Beatrice Holden sat with a friendly smile, permanently affixed to her face. “Afternoon, Eve.”

  “Afternoon, Bea.”

  “Here for Ruth?” she asked, as if it was the first time seeing me.

  “Which room?” I asked.

  She shook her head, sucking deep through her teeth. “She’s taking blood, you can’t go in.”

  The practice was only small, there were only a few examination rooms and one doctor’s office. It was only here to cater to the sick visitors and the locals; never busy, but always something happening behind one of the doors.

  “Right, well, I’m not a health hazard,” I chuckled. “Is it okay if I keep Charlie behind the desk?” It was, of course, he had a dog bowl for his occasional visits. “I’ve got him some water too.” I placed the coffees down and reached around in my bag for a bottle of water. “Here we are.”

  Bea opened the partition into the reception area. “Okay,” she said, “you know I can’t say ‘no’ to his cute little button nose.”

  “Room 2?”

  She nodded.

  I would’ve attempted to bribe her with coffee too, but she didn’t drink it—whatever that meant. I couldn’t wrap my head around it.