by Shaun Baines
“Why didn’t you ask Judy to meet you?” Holly asked. “Did you tell her what you were up to?”
“I didn’t tell her any of it.”
After Derek had been declared bankrupt, he didn’t speak to Holly for a month. They chatted about the weather and what to have for dinner, but they didn’t talk about losing the business or how long it would be before they lost their home. His silence had scared her. Not wishing to expose her troubles to friends, who had their own, Holly went to a counsellor. The session was confidential and they spoke of secrets between husbands and wives. Big secrets damaged a marriage. Small ones often protected it. Holly left thinking she understood the difference, but watching her marriage deteriorate, she realised there wasn’t much difference at all.
“You didn’t tell her because she’d have known there was something odd about that delivery,” Holly said. “Judy would have questioned it. She would have stopped you from getting involved.”
“Maybe,” Mr Winnow said. “Maybe.”
They heard running water coming from the flat above the shop. The bathroom window was open. Steam escaped in feathery wisps as Mrs Winnow showered.
Mr Winnow cocked his head, listening to the water gurgling down the drain. “I’m going to tell her, but in my own time. Not when you two are here.”
“We don’t want to cause trouble,” Holly said. “Just tell us who paid for the delivery and we’ll go.”
“What’s this all about?” Mr Winnow asked.
“Who was it?” Callum asked, pulling out the tinned salmon he found in the boat wreckage.
“I don’t know. Honestly.”
Taking the key, Callum delicately peeled back the metal lid. He tilted it in Mr Winnow’s direction, exposing the plant bulbs for him to see.
Mr Winnow’s eyes widened. “What are those?”
“That’s what you delivered,” Callum said.
Holly saw the wheels turning in Mr Winnow’s mind, the cogs slotting into place. She saw him realise he’d been tricked and that he should have spoken to his wife.
Holly twisted the wedding band around her finger, feeling it loosen with every rotation.
Mr Winnow had been made to look like a fool and he knew it.
“Am I going to jail?” he asked through a clenched jaw.
“Don’t worry,” Callum said. “We’ll keep you out of the big house.”
Holly took the spray can from Mr Winnow, placing it on the ground. She took his hand, not caring that her own would be stained with paint. “You were misled. You’re the victim, but if we don’t figure this out, the whole village might be in danger.”
“It was an email,” Mr Winnow said, staring at his bodged reindeer. “I thought it was spam. I ignored it until the money arrived in my bank account the next day.”
“Did you get the name of the person who sent it?” Callum asked.
Mr Winnow turned away and sniffed. “No.”
“What about the email address? Did you recognise it?” Holly asked.
“There wasn’t one,” Mr Winnow said. “It said Origin Unknown.”
Holly felt the pressure in her hand increase. Mr Winnow was squeezing too hard.
“I’m going to ask again,” she said, “because this is very important. Did you get a name?”
The water falling in the bathroom stopped and Mrs Winnow began singing. Like her spoken word tapes, her voice was pleasant, carrying a warmth that was homely and inviting.
Mr Winnow’s face crumpled.
“The only thing I know is where it came from,” he said. “At the bottom of the email was the name of an internet café. It was called Coffee and a Byte.”
“I know that place,” Callum said, staring at the horizon. “It’s in Crockfoot.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
The computer screen in the Herald office lit Holly’s face. She watched the spinning wheel of her cursor blink blue before finally giving up on the creaky Internet. She retrieved a wad of paper from her handbag, consulting her research for the article she was writing on the local cattle mart.
Apart from the glow of her computer, the office was shrouded in a veil of darkness.
Holly had walked past the switch and slumped into her chair, unheedful of the shadows. She’d switched on her computer and blindly wrote her article. The words had tapped out of her without conscious thought and she had to re-read them twice to make sure she’d finished.
Old Jack had abandoned his work at the newspaper, but Holly felt a duty to keep the Herald afloat.
Adding her last full stop, her eyes were drawn to his makeshift office. Old Jack had lied about the Foxglove sisters’ disappearance. She had her suspicions as to why, but perhaps she was wrong. Time could warp memory. Perhaps he’d simply been mistaken.
Guilt could do the same. Either way, her trust in him felt misplaced, like Mr Winnow’s trust in the mysterious email.
The idea that someone in Crockfoot was shipping plant bulbs to Little Belton didn’t fit with Holly. Their only interest in their neighbours was in watching their demise and that included the Salting brothers. It made more sense to suspect a Little Belter. Faced with a terrible internet connection, a short trip to Crockfoot wasn’t without question.
But out of everyone Holly knew, who might have sent the email?
Holly left her seat, her heartbeat resounding in her ears as she crept into Old Jack’s office. His computer was turned off and Holly guessed it hadn’t been used in a while. His desk was littered with notebooks filled with spidery writing. Holly flicked through the pages, finding mentions of a fundraising raffle at a donkey sanctuary, a minor landslide on the B234a and a John Nettles look-alike competition. They were the typical scoops Holly had come to associate with the Herald.
The potential ruination of Little Belton was too controversial for Old Jack.
The drawers to his desk were unlocked and Holly searched through them, finding nothing more interesting than a packet of fruity chewing gum.
Snooping on her boss left her feeling ungrateful for a job she needed, but Old Jack had been acting oddly since Nancy had gone missing and Holly wanted to know more.
His Alnwick Castle mug contained a forest of chewed Biro pens. Holly decided to leave a note asking for a chat when he returned to the office.
Grabbing a piece of paper, she snatched a pen. It caught on something lodged in the mug. Pens spilled onto the desk. The mug tipped over and Holly saw inside. There was a crushed ball of cardboard and she eased it free, flattening it out on the desk.
She recognised it immediately and ran a finger over her lips as she reread the cover. The cardboard was a sleeve for the anti-depressant Seroxat. Her husband had been taking them since the demise of his business. Now, it looked like Old Jack was using them too because the box was empty.
“Is anybody here?”
Holly jumped at the voice, spinning in her chair to face it. The office light was switched on and she blinked at the sudden illumination.
Mrs Masterly slinked into the room, wearing jeans so tight, Holly imagined her feet to be blue. On her arm was another expensive handbag, sparkling with golden threads.
“Can I help you?” Holly asked.
Her voice attracted Mrs Masterly’s attention and she held onto her handbag like a shield. “I’m looking for Old Jack. I was told he works here.”
“He’s not in.”
“Why are you in his office?” Mrs Masterly said, looking down her nose.
Holly hoped it was still too dark for Mrs Masterly to see her blush. She slipped the Seroxat packet up her sleeve. “This is my office. He works over there,” she said, pointing at her own desk.
Mrs Masterly raised an eyebrow. “The one with the handbag on it?”
Why hadn’t she left her tatty handbag in the car, Holly asked herself?
“That’s right,” she said. “That’s his desk.”
“I remember you from the village green,” Mrs Masterly said. “You were very vocal on the new development.”
“It felt more like a student demonstration. Aren’t you too old for that?”
Holly skulked into the main office, her hands behind her back, hiding the fact they were bunched into fists. “Why do you want to see Old Jack?”
Mrs Masterly smiled. “We have another announcement to make. After you disturbed the last one, we thought it would be simpler if we placed it in the local press.”
The way Mrs Masterly said the word ‘press’ set Holly’s teeth on edge.
“I work here,” she said. “I’ll make sure it gets mentioned.”
“Very well,” Mrs Masterly said. “It’s about the appeal process. There isn’t going to be one.”
Holly leaned on the ironing board where Old Jack kept the kettle. It wobbled under her shaking hand.
“Apparently, the council have reviewed their appeal policy and found it redundant,” Mrs Masterly continued. “Arcadia Leisure are free to build their theme park as soon as logistically possible.”
Holly swallowed repeatedly.
“You can’t do that,” she said, spitting out the words.
“My husband can be very persuasive.”
“You must be proud of him,” Holly said, releasing her grip on the ironing board. “Proud of everything he’s done to villages like ours. Like he did to Eureka in Nevada.”
For a moment, Mrs Masterly’s smile slipped. “He’s an adventurer and sportsman.”
“And a millionaire,” Holly said. “What attracted you to him first, I wonder?”
Mrs Masterly snapped open her handbag and retrieved a lipstick. She proceeded to apply another coat to her mouth.
“I’m not the only one attracted to him,” Mrs Masterly said, finishing her paint job. “Your husband took a shine to him, too. That was your husband, wasn’t it? Asking my husband for a job? He sounded hungry for it, poor soul.”
Holly yanked her shirt away from her chest. She was suddenly too warm. “It’s time for you to leave.”
“We left Eureka how we found it. Little Belton will be the same. We rarely intrude unless we have to.”
“And are you going to?” Holly asked. “Intrude into our lives, I mean?”
Mrs Masterly smacked her freshly rouged lips. She turned to the door and Holly wanted to follow, to physically and unnecessarily eject her from the premises, but her body was too stiff. Her muscles were bunched in anger. It wasn’t Mrs Masterly’s words that hurt, but the fact that they were right. Her fury transferred briefly to Derek. For his treachery and for giving this woman ammunition.
Holly was humiliated by his desperation.
“Tinned salmon,” she shouted.
Mrs Masterly stumbled, holding onto the doorframe as she looked over her shoulder. “Excuse me?”
“You know what I’m talking about.”
And Mrs Masterly did. Holly was sure of it and her mind raced, stitching thoughts together in rapid succession. She recalled what she’d discovered over the previous few days and like any good journalist, Holly constructed a story.
“Arcadia Leisure sabotaged Eureka when they raised objections to your theme park,” she said, marching up to Mrs Masterly. “You did it in the most underhanded of ways. Getting someone else to restrict gun permits so you wouldn’t get your hands dirty. It was subtle and devastating and you’re doing the same thing here.”
Mrs Masterly looked to the door.
“An anonymous source tricked one of our residents,” Holly said, “playing on his weakness for an easy penny. He smuggled plant bulbs into Little Belton. They were destined to go to Black Rock Manor, which you now own. They were hidden inside tins of salmon.”
“And what are these bulbs for?” Mrs Masterly asked.
Holly’s galloping thoughts deserted her. Her mind dissolved and Holly found she had nothing to say.
Mrs Masterly smirked. “Are they an invasive species? Are they poisonous? Do they have something to do with a beanstalk?”
Holly bit her tongue, to stop it from talking further nonsense.
“Why would we put bulbs in tins of salmon?” Mrs Masterly asked.
“I told you,” Holly said. “To hide them.”
“For what reason? To hide them from whom?” Mrs Masterly adjusted her handbag around the crook of a bent arm. “If you don’t mind me asking, are you okay? You must be under a lot of stress. I imagine money must be an issue.”
Mrs Masterly turned on her heels, but lingered by the doorway. “I suggest you spend more time at home before you lose that as well.”
Old Jack’s kettle called to Holly and she fantasised about bashing it over Mrs Masterly’s head, but it was the only one in the office and Holly couldn’t afford to replace it.
“By the way,” Mrs Masterly said. “I found this pinned to the door. Let’s hope it’s not an eviction notice.”
She slapped an envelope into Holly’s hand and left in a haze of choking perfume.
In the battle of the handbags, Holly had lost. In terms of waistline and wealth, Holly was a loser there too. What had she been thinking? How could Holly defeat someone like Mrs Masterly?
A sigh escaped Holly’s lips and she angrily tore open the envelope, wincing when she gave herself a papercut. The letter inside had been torn from an exercise book. It was frayed at the edges and slightly yellowed.
Holly’s throat dried as she read what was on it.
The letter said, ‘Follow The Star.’
Chapter Twenty-Five
Holly shoved open the doors of The Travelling Star with her shoulder. Her mind had been whirring since her encounter with Mrs Masterly. It had been so combative, but had ended so oddly that Holly couldn’t conclude anything from it. As an answer flared in front of her, it raised a question to tamp it down.
The weather outside was mild, but the fire still blazed in the pub. Holly took off her jacket and headed to the bar.
Big Gregg raised a ham-sized hand into the air as she approached.
“Here comes the Little Belton warrior,” he said. “Defender of the people.”
“I’m not sure I did the right thing,” Holly said, sitting by the bar.
“You said your piece,” Big Gregg said, taking a clean glass from the shelf. “No one can blame you for that.”
With a damp cloth, he polished the glass, smearing grime around the rim. “I’m on your side. To hell what other people say.”
Holly gripped the bar. “What are they saying? Did they want me to leave Arcadia Leisure alone?”
Big Gregg grinned. “I’ve got something to show you.”
He twirled on his heels, his huge frame like a feather caught in the breeze until he landed delicately in front of the till. “This is new. We’ll have to train you up.”
Straining over the bar, Holly saw the old till had been replaced with something that looked like it had been designed by NASA. It had a dark touch screen with hieroglyphics pulsing in yellow.
The previous till had been old enough to be housed in a museum, but at least Holly knew how to use it.
Big Gregg looked at her like a proud father. “Practically the same as the one before, but quicker and smarter. I place an order and it adjusts the stock so I know when to reorder. Not that I have to do that because it reorders for me. It does the bookkeeping, switches the lights on and off and changes the music in the bar.”
“Does it pull pints, as well?” Holly asked.
“We still have to do that,” Big Gregg said, “but do you like it?”
Holly rubbed her face with her hands. “How does it all work? You must need broadband or something for it to do all that.”
Big Gregg pointed to the ceiling. “Got a satellite dish installed on the roof. Runs the till and it’s free WiFi for every customer.”
“How can you afford this?” Holly asked.
“It’s an investment,” Big Gregg said.
“For when the theme park is built and all the tourists come,” Holly said.
She lowered h
er head, allowing her hair to cover her face. Poor Gregg, she thought. He’d been swept up in a tide of hope like the Winnows and Holly couldn’t blame any of them. He might claim to support Holly’s actions, but she saw where Big Gregg’s dreams lay.
“Just wait until all the tourists come,” he said. “This till will pay for itself in no time.”
“I’m sorry,” Holly said. “I had no right to speak for you on the village green. I had no right to voice an objection.”
“This is your home. You had every right.” Big Gregg’s finger appeared under her chin and he gently lifted her face toward him. “I was proud of you, but this is an opportunity to bring this village back to life.”
“What if it’s not?” Holly asked. “What if it’s all a lie?”
“Why would it be?” Big Gregg asked back. “We haven’t done anything to Arcadia Leisure. Why would they betray us?”
Holly glanced at the new, space-age till. In her mind’s eye, she saw the Winnows’ freshly decorated souvenir shop. Behind every door in Little Belton, she imagined the excited residents preparing for a new future. Holly couldn’t tell them their hope was false. Little Belton was about to share the same headstone as the forgotten town of Eureka.
“Cheer up,” Big Gregg said, placing a shot of vodka by her. “In a couple of years, we’ll be able to open another pub. You can manage this one for me.”
Holly sipped her drink, noting how clean the glass was. “Is that how big business works?”
Nodding, Big Gregg gave her a grin. “It should.”
“Have you seen Old Jack recently?” Holly asked.
Big Gregg wiped the bar with his cloth. “Poor sod,” he said. “He was in earlier. Didn’t seem like himself. Kinda dazed.”
“I need to speak with him. Have you got his address?”
Writing on a beer mat, Big Gregg handed it over. The mat belonged to the bar and pictured a yellow star. Old Jack’s address was written along one of the points.
Holly considered the note given to her by Mrs Masterly. Follow The Star. What had it meant? Did it mean The Travelling Star or something else?
