Murder at Maple House

by Hugo James King

  Applause broke out.

  Ruth pressed a hand to my back. “Go on.”

  Monday 23th August 2007

  I’d had a lot of coffee to drink, and Harry had bought me a new violet chiffon scarf to wear with my blouse. It was a warm day and upon opening the doors to the office building of a converted barn; the place of my new job—and it was going to be for twelve years.

  My first day, I was set to meet Diane. I clutched my handbag close to my chest, and my foot was in the constant throws of tapping away on the ground by the waiting room.

  “Evelyn,” her first words to me. She smiled and nodded. “Nice to have an older lady join the team.”

  The first thing I noticed about Diane was the bright red lipstick she wore, and the comment she’d made about me, albeit she’d been much older, and I was sure the only reason she’d taken a chance on me is because of the age.

  I’d done many things during my life, and I’d had many jobs too. I’d been to university for journalism and I’d worked for a couple gossip magazines while I was younger, doing the agony aunt style columns, it had been something I needed to break free from, and for Diane to have given me the chance to write for the magazine, I was happy.

  And now, for the new opportunity she’d given me to work for the newspaper, a job doing investigative work, a job I’m sure I’d dreamed of as a young woman at university, writing hard-hitting articles and exposé essays.

  The first piece I’d written for Diane at the magazine was about the red roses and Doreen Maidstone. It was a connection I had with her through Harry. She was where it all started.

  * * *

  A scream pulled me out of my thoughts. “Help!”

  Everyone turned away from Diane and Patrick.

  Charlie raced to me and yapped by my feet.

  We were in the middle of the ballroom and the scream came from the back of the hall.

  “Someone help!”

  Charlie’s small body jumped over my feet and onto the source of the screaming.

  THREE

  A stampede of footsteps chased after the choir of cries. They headed straight for the back of the ballroom. My eyes were scrambled in all directions, attempting to fix on the source as I searched through the sea of heads.

  “It’s Angela,” a voice called out.

  Angela?

  The marketing worker who’d recently broken her leg, what else could have happened to her. There weren’t any stairs around for her to fall down.

  Gasps came, and the whispers grew. Ruth’s head turned quick on her neck, listening to half words from people. In an attempt to find Charlie, who probably placed himself at the centre of it, I waded forward.

  “There’s a body,” a voice said.

  “A dead body,” another.

  “He’s dead.”

  “—dead—dead—dead—”

  Ruth and I glanced to each other. “Who’s dead?” we asked together.

  Neither of us knew, but tonight was about to get a little rougher if there was a dead body at the event.

  We continued forward into the eye of all the action. Shocked gasping continued; the overall shrill call of what was happening. The call for police intervention, an ambulance, anyone who could help.

  “Is there a doctor?” someone asked, it was quiet, but they continued in their repeating, louder in our approach.

  Jeannie, the young receptionist for the magazine, headed straight to me, her head shaking as she shuffled through the people.

  “Eve,” she cried out, clutching at her neck. “Someone’s dead in the disabled toilets.”

  “Who?” Ruth asked. “Do you know who it is?”

  Her quaked breath hitched as she sniffled onto the back of her hand. “I can’t—I—I—”

  “Did you see?” I asked, stroking a hand against her upper arm.

  “Blood in his mouth,” she said. “I think—I think. I don’t know, I think—I think it was blood,” she said. “And—and—and Charlie, he’s all the way up there, comforting poor Angela.”

  “Angela found him?” I asked.

  “No, no, Charlie went to her.”

  “I meant the body.”

  Jeannie nodded once again, tears rolling down her cheeks. Picking her head to make eye contact, she looked behind me.

  Diane waved a hand to her—or us.

  “You should go see her,” I said, gently squeezing at her arm. “There’s napkins around so you don’t get any makeup on that beautiful dress.”

  She sniffled. “Thank you.”

  Jeannie walked off behind us, towards Diane and Patrick, the only remainders at their table. Everyone else had fled their seats in order to take a peek at what had caused such a scream. It wasn’t unusual, at least not in a room filled with people in the publishing industry.

  “Who is it?” Ruth said, looking around.

  “I don’t even see anyone missing.”

  There were too many people for me to know all of them, even if I had consulted with Diane on the seating chart before the event.

  Through the crowd of people, Charlie came running back to me.

  This was his way of telling me he found something; it wasn’t a dead bird in the woods, or a small injured animal bleeding out. This was a body, another body. The third body in just as many months.

  “Get here,” I said, careful to dip in my dress. I grabbed Charlie from beneath his stomach and pulled him into my arms. “Don’t you dare run off.” My eyes examining every part of him, at least I wasn’t cleaning blood from his snout or fur this time.

  “The police have been called,” I heard announced.

  “They’re on their way.”

  “Sounds like food poisoning,” someone said in a shudder as they passed us, and we continued to walk forward into the crowds as they disbanded slowly.

  Ruth tssked her teeth. “Definitely not food poison,” she whispered close to my head. “If it was, more of us would’ve been sick.”

  “Who is it?” I asked, trying to get to the bottom of the dead body. “Who is—”

  “Finley,” another voice murmured. “Poor bloke.”

  “Finley?” Ruth asked, frowning. “Wasn’t he the—”

  “The one making a scene earlier,” I finished for her.

  Finley Carson, a businessman. Now dead.

  Ruth shook her head. “He clearly upset the wrong person tonight.”

  That was the thing, he had managed to argue with at least half the guests here tonight, and if it wasn’t directly, he had stirred parties and tables of people into arguments. He’d even managed to stir me.

  “Think he was—” I began.

  “Killed.”

  Four Hours Earlier

  As Ruth and I were staying the night, we arrived at the Maple House manor early. We needed to deposit our clothes in our rooms and organise the spa activities for the following morning. The event was an all-expense paid trip of sorts, and we probably wouldn’t have had it if it wasn’t for Diane’s birthday coinciding with the anniversary party.

  I stood in the doorway from the long hall, looking into the ballroom hall, watching as the staff tied bows around the backs of chairs. The colour theme was cream and gold, I presumed because Diane’s favourite colour was gold, but all that went through my mind was how my peach dress I packed would be camouflaged into it.

  A tap stirred me at the shoulder.

  “Ruth, did you—” I paused upon seeing the figure behind me, it wasn’t Ruth.

  A face I hadn’t seen in many years, stood with a glass of champagne, swirling it in his hand. He smiled. “Evelyn, I thought that was you.”

  After a moment, I took a guess. “Finley?”

  “In the flesh,” he said.

  “Surprised to see you.”

  He smirked. “But why? I’m an investor, it’s a business, it’s what I do.”

  I nodded. “Of course, of course.”

  “Your husband didn’t seem to.” He smacked his lips together and squinted deeply, leaning for
ward and staring into my soul. “I was an investor for some of his projects too.”

  I hadn’t known that, but many people invested in Harry’s businesses. My brow creased to wonder where he was going with all this. “Good for—”

  “And he didn’t do well on those promises.”

  “Promises?”

  His nostrils flared. “I didn’t get anything back when those businesses were sold off, shut down, or when he died. I lost money.”

  My jaw sat agape and slack; a makeshift trap for flies. “I’m sorry to hear that, but it was over five years ago.”

  “And?” He swirled his champagne more vigorously.

  “I never dealt with his businesses, but if you had a contract then surely, you’ll have been paid your fair share.”

  Finley stumbled over his words, mumbling back and stuttering. “We didn’t leave a paper trail,” he said. “You know, his word was his bond.” Sipping back the last morsel of bubbled liquid from the glass, I knew he wasn’t altogether there.

  “Doesn’t sound like an investment to me then,” I replied.

  He stared disappointed into the glass, and then he glanced to his wristwatch, pulling the cuff of his sleeve slightly. “I hope they’re faster than this at topping drinks up tonight.”

  “It hasn’t even started, and I’m sure they’ll be cutting you off soon,” I said. “You might want to slow down on that before you say something you don’t mean. You never know who you’re going to offend.”

  “Offend,” he said, smacking his lips. “Everyone’s offended these days.”

  FOUR

  The police and an ambulance arrived in twenty minutes of the call. Police tape already pasted around the door to the disabled bathroom and a tall police officer stood guard.

  I clutched a glass of water in my hand as I stood by Ruth. We watched closely as people came and went from the dead body, snapping pictures with the mobile phones.

  A flash of a camera came in my direction.

  “Uh,” I groaned, twisting around to my side. “What’s—”

  “Think they’re taking pictures of everything,” Ruth said.

  I shook the hazed white dot from my eyes. “They hired a photographer,” I said. “But I doubt he’s getting paid to take any near the body.”

  “He won’t get far if he plans on selling them,” Ruth scoffed back.

  “The police will take it as evidence.”

  Sipping the water, I flattened out a hand down my dress before glancing at Charlie stood by my feet. He always wanted a piece of the action. I knew I should’ve brought the lead out of the car.

  “Wonder how long it’ll take them to clean out the scene?” Ruth mused.

  “I can’t believe he’s dead,” I said to her, chomping my teeth together. “I spoke to him earlier, after trying to avoid him.”

  She shrugged. “Didn’t know him.”

  “I would’ve introduced you, but you were in the bathroom,” I said with a half grin, “then you’d know what kind of person he was.”

  “You didn’t say.”

  “There was nothing to say about him.”

  “He came over to the table, wobbling on his feet, and he accused me of stealing from him.”

  Ruth hummed as she took the remains of her champagne to her lips. “We all noticed him, visibly intoxicated, surely someone cut him off.”

  “Cut him off.” It was something I’d wished. “I think even if they tried, there are too many people here for them to remember.”

  “Could’ve been anyone,” Ruth mumbled.

  “Anyone.”

  But Finley Carson wasn’t anyone. He wasn’t the most well-liked man, and for one reason or another, he attracted people with big business ideas, bank accounts, and friends. At least, that’s what I recalled from Diane when she’d mentioned him during the seating arrangement plans.

  Paul arrived combing a hand through his thinning hair. “Ladies.”

  A coldness hit me at the core as he approached. Of course, the Maple House manor was still inside Briarbury, and that meant Paul Green, my brother-in-law the inspector for the town would make an appearance.

  “Why is it, every time there’s something crazy going on, you’re always near it?” he asked.

  I nodded to Ruth. “Clearly, he’s talking about you.”

  “Are you accusing us of something?” she asked him.

  He smirked. “No, not at all.” His eyes narrowed, looking at us. “Making an observation.”

  Crossing my arms over each other, I mimicked his narrow expression. “Well, what have you observed so far?”

  Paul pulled a notepad from inside his jacket. “Seems like an awful accident,” he said. “Drunk man, alone in the bathroom, probably fell, banged his head.”

  I nodded at the commentary, but I wasn’t sure if this was the story he was telling us, or himself. I hadn’t seen the body, so he could’ve told us anything about it.

  “We heard there was blood in his mouth,” I said.

  Ruth clicked her tongue. “Blood vomit?”

  “The blood,” Paul said, eyeing his notes, “is going to be tested. But those tests can take a while to come back, you know that, right, Ruth?”

  Ruth knew, of course, she was a nurse.

  “If you’re testing it for alcohol, we can tell you he was very drunk,” I said.

  “But if you think—”

  “Blood tests can be useful for a number of things,” he said, cutting Ruth off.

  An officer approached Paul from the side. “We’re putting the building on lockdown.” He said, loud enough so I could hear as he spoke.

  I locked eyes with Paul. “Lockdown?”

  He waved the officer away and turned to me with a scowl. “A precaution.”

  Ruth and I hummed at the comment.

  “Have you told anyone else?” I asked.

  “Not like anyone is leaving anyway,” he said, gesturing around. “The band is playing again, and everyone is interested in what’s happening. I doubt anyone is going to leave, but officers are dispatched to come stand at all exits.”

  It was true. I looked around, and almost everyone after finding out the news was back to sipping from their champagne flutes and picking at small favours around the chocolate fountain. There was a morbid curiosity to wanting to see the body, but when the news broke about who it was who died, it was accepted without question.

  “We’re asking for statements of people who have talked with the deceased this evening, and—” Paul began, skipping through pages in his notebook. “Your name appeared here a couple times.”

  “My name?” I asked. “Well, I did.”

  “So?” he said, glancing to Ruth. “Can I take a statement, preferably alone.”

  I nodded.

  Two Hours Earlier

  As the event began and people pooled into the main ballroom. I found the seats at the front of the hall, directly before the stage. I placed a small bowl on the ground beside the leg of the table for Charlie; his tether.

  Ruth went to scout out the bathrooms, and I took my seat, realizing my worst fears, I was well and truly blending into the colour scheme. But I really liked my peach dress and the matching shawl I had purchased on a girl’s trip into the nearby city with Ruth.

  “Evening,” Yvonne said, joining me at the table.

  Her husband, Earl greeted me with a nod, before quickly leaving Yvonne’s side.

  “Love your dress,” I said across to her. “I put Charlie in a bowtie.”

  She looked past me, behind me.

  I turned to see him, swaying over in my direction. Finley Carson, a man I’d hoped would’ve fallen asleep earlier after already being clearly far from sober to attend the festivities of the evening. He wore a dress shirt, no tie, the top two buttons undone, a black dinner jacket and matching trousers. At least he tried to make an effort.

  “Evelyn,” he said, opening his arms wide. His grasp on his glass teetering on the edge of playfully dangerous. “You’re still here.”
>
  I stood to greet him. “Finley,” I said. “You’re still drinking.”

  “Didn’t stop.”

  More people began taking their seats as Finley approached, and ears were always listening. I knew people were always listening. I grew closer to him, bridging the gap between the two of us.

  “Are you ok?” I asked him.

  “I don’t hold grudges,” he said in a slur, “and I don’t speak ill of the dead, but—”

  “But?” My nostrils flared.

  He chuckled. “I wish I got to see Harry one last time before he died.”

  “Everyone he did business with knew,” I said.

  Everyone knew what was happening with Harry, it didn’t come as a shock to anyone. All his close business associates knew, everyone who meant anything came and told him how they felt, how they were. And those who came, I knew their faces and names, because we’d sent them thank you notes. And those were the ones who turned up to the funeral.

  “A thief,” he spat. “The man was a thief. I introduced him to people, I connected him with people. He shut down businesses, he took my money.”

  “Were you friends?”

  “Friends,” he scoffed. “I told you, we were business partners.”

  I scoffed back, harder. “Whatever it was, it was years ago. Get over it.”

  “Get over it?” he reached and took my arm.

  Charlie yapped, racing over to us.

  I yanked my arm away. “What are you doing?” I scolded. “What are you doing here? You work on behalf of an advertising company—or however you managed to get your name in front of Diane.”

  “And you’re just a writer.”

  He swung his glass around wildly, the last drip escaping the bottom.

  * * *

  Paul tapped his pen against the paper, dotting it over and over again. He’d asked me what we’d talked about, twice now, and the longer I thought about it, the more I grew annoyed about what had happened, and the way he talked about my Harry—Paul’s brother.