Death and a Dog

by Fiona Grace

  Xavier ran his hands through his dark hair, looking suddenly agitated. “Everything was fully booked. The British, they love a cheap holiday in the Spanish sunshine. There was space on a flight early the next morning, but it was already too late by then. The police intercepted me at the train station, while I was sitting on my train waiting for it to depart for Heathrow. It was so humiliating! I must have looked like a criminal to everyone in that carriage. It was six in the morning! The man had only been dead a matter of hours, yet they had already managed to track my movements and follow me all the way to Exeter city. To move that fast, they must have immediately decided I was a suspect. They told me they were only questioning me as an important witness, but I can read between the lines. When the police ask you not to leave the country, it can mean only one thing.”

  His words resonated with Lacey. She thought back to that chilly evening on the island, as she was sat on her boulder with a man lying dead in the police’s white tent. Superintendent Turner had asked her not to leave town. She’d known instinctively what that meant; that she was a suspect.

  “They zeroed in on the outsider,” she said, with a sudden surge of empathy.

  Xavier nodded slowly. “It looks to be that way.”

  Lacey shouldn’t have been surprised—the same thing had happened to her after Iris’s death, too—but it still made her stomach feel heavy with sadness. It was as if the police automatically suspected the out-of-towner, as if they were unwilling to believe one of Wilfordshire’s own could be the culprit.

  Lacey’s gaze flicked over to the inn. “No wonder you’ve been keeping out of the way.”

  “Yes, I am stuck here until this mess is sorted,” Xavier confirmed. “I only stepped outside for some fresh air because I knew the rain would clear the streets.”

  That didn’t stop him, for the hundredth time, from glancing around him. He was clearly on high alert, and Lacey couldn’t help but feel terrible for him.

  “This might sound crazy,” Xavier added, “but I think I am under surveillance.”

  “It doesn’t sound crazy at all,” Lacey assured him, recalling how plainclothes police had been stationed outside her store after Iris’s death.

  And though the streets were completely empty on account of the gray clouds and threat of rain, that didn’t mean the police hadn’t positioned people inside the surrounding buildings, watching from the window in order to report back that their main suspect was on the move. Lacey shuddered as she remembered just how invasive and disconcerting it had felt when she’d gone through the same thing.

  “Can you help me?” Xavier said, suddenly.

  “Me?” Lacey asked, taken aback. “Help you with what?”

  “The police. The locals. I am stuck in a nightmare!”

  “I don’t know what I can do to help,” Lacey said. “I’m in hot water with the police myself.”

  “Then we are in the same boat, are we not?” Xavier said. “You and I, we must stick together.”

  The sincerity in his tone was unmistakable, and the fact that he was appealing to her through their shared experience was compelling. But Lacey knew she mustn't let her personal experience cloud her judgment. Just because she saw something of her own experience in Xavier’s didn't mean he was totally innocent. There were some weird coincidences connecting him with Buck’s death; he’d gone head-to-head with Buck for the sextant, and been beaten. He was meant to be 30,000 feet in the air on a flight bound for Spain at the time of the murder, but was not. Lacey had to accept the very real possibility that she was standing face to face with Buck’s killer.

  But on the other hand, this was too good an opportunity to miss. If Xavier did have anything to do with the murder, this would be her only opportunity to question him. This was her chance to get him to divulge.

  She looked down at Chester beside her. Her guard dog would keep her safe from harm.

  Then she looked back up at Xavier. “I know somewhere quiet we can go and talk.”

  *

  They walked side by side, quick-step, heads bowed against the drizzle and prying eyes. Lacey wasn’t sure if she was behaving recklessly or not, but she’d chosen her path and she was sticking with it.

  She was taking Xavier to Brooke’s tearoom.

  Though her preference was the patisserie, going there would’ve involved walking the entire length of the high street where they were bound to be spotted. The locals would lose their minds if they saw Lacey with Xavier, and she could kiss her reputation in this place goodbye forever. Besides, Tom had made it perfectly clear that he had no time for her at the moment. So she’d decided on Brooke’s tearoom instead. It was in the other direction, away from the high street and along the seafront where the only other stores were touristy gift shops and arcades, all of which were closed on weekdays. And though Brooke’s tearoom may be in a prime location on a sunny day, on a drizzly day no one really went to the beach, and most people decided not to venture too far from town. It baffled Lacey a little bit; considering it rained so often in England, she’d have thought they’d be used to it, but she was quite certain if they went to Brooke’s, they’d be the only people there. She’d also have an ally to witness the meeting, and a much needed dose of caffeine.

  “It’s just up here,” she told Xavier, gesturing with her arm along the promenade.

  Xavier took directions without question, following her like a lost lamb in desperate need of guidance.

  Lacey felt her heart pounding with nerves as they marched along the promenade and up to the tearoom, triggering its automatic doors to swish open. Lacey went in first—a blast of air conditioning warming her instantly—with Xavier bringing up the rear.

  “Well, if isn’t my old mate, Lacey!” came Brooke’s familiar, chipper voice. “And is that Tom?”

  But when Xavier raised his head, Brooke blinked with surprise. Her gaze darted to Lacey, and her eyes filled with curiosity.

  “This is Xavier,” Lacey said, feeling odd to be introducing the man whom she’d only just learned the name of. “He’s a contact of mine from the antiques world.”

  “I know who he is alright,” Brooke said, stowing her cleaning rag at her hip. “He’s the fella from the auction. The one who was bidding furiously on the sextant that a soon-to-be murdered man won!” She narrowed her eyes suspiciously and folded her arms in a hostile gesture.

  Lacey bristled at her brazenness.

  “I had nothing to do with Buck’s death,” Xavier said, holding both his hands up in a truce stance.

  Lacey turned to him quickly, jumping in before Brooke had a chance to respond. “Go and take a seat,” she said firmly out the side of her mouth. “I’ll get the coffees.”

  Xavier cast a morose look toward Brooke, then finally acquiesced to Lacey’s suggestion.

  “Black. Thank you,” he muttered, before slinking off past the cactuses and slumping down at one of the shabby chic picnic benches.

  As soon as he was out of earshot, Lacey turned back to Brooke behind the counter and glared at her.

  “You don’t have to be so rude,” Lacey said.

  Brooke folded her arms. “What are you doing having coffee with a murder suspect!”

  “Brooke, please,” Lacey said, keeping her voice low in an attempt to encourage Brooke to lower her own. She had no such luck.

  “You’re being naive!” Brooke replied, loudly. “What happened? Did he sweet talk you with his Spanish charms? I thought you were smarter than that!”

  Lacey frowned, displeased with Brooke’s insinuation.

  “Look,” she said, firmly. “I’m doing my own investigation, okay? Xavier isn’t the only suspect on the police’s radar. I’m one too.”

  “You?” Brooke relied, looking like nothing could be more ludicrous.

  “Yes,” Lacey hissed. “The sextant was found in my store.”

  “So what?”

  “So the police think I killed Buck to steal it back.”

  Brooke’s eyes began to widen as realization
dawned on her. “But… but that makes no sense,” she said, looking horrified.

  “I know that. But the police think the sextant and the murder are connected.”

  She thought of her Venn diagram, with the MO for murder circle and the MO for theft circle, and that all important overlapping section in the middle. Just as she had in the beginning, the police would be focusing on the overlap. When she’d started her investigation earlier, the middle section only had Daisy’s name in it. Now, a new name could be added: Xavier. But there was a third name, too, one that had belonged there all along: Lacey.

  “That’s so unfair,” Brooke said, looking genuinely upset. Her gaze went past Lacey’s shoulder to Xavier, who was sitting in a dejected slump. “But you don’t actually think he’s innocent, do you? He’s the only other person who bid on the sextant...”

  “I know,” Lacey returned. “But if he wanted the sextant so bad he’d kill a man for it, then why the heck would he put it back in my store?”

  Brooke looked stumped. She held her hands up in truce. “Alright, fine. You’ve got me. I don’t know. I guess I’ll just make you coffee like a good little barista. But if anything bad happens, I reserve the right to say I told you so.”

  She was only half joking, Lacey could tell.

  She let her friend go off to make the coffees, and joined Xavier at his bench.

  “Your barista friend thinks I did it,” he said, as the sound of the coffee machine whirred to life in the background.

  “She’s just looking out for me,” Lacey replied.

  Chester settled himself beneath the picnic bench, but Lacey noticed that he wasn’t relaxing. His ears were up, alert, taking in all the noises. His nose was lifted, sniffing for clues. Chester being on edge always put Lacey on edge as well. His doggy sixth sense had not failed her yet.

  “But this is the thing, Lacey,” Xavier began. “I… I do know something.”

  Lacey’s stomach began to churn. “What do you know?”

  “I know who is the murderer,” he replied. “I saw them.”

  Lacey gasped. “What? When? Who is it?”

  “I did not know what I was witnessing at the time,” Xavier said, running his hands through his hair nervously. He let a beat pass, then announced, “But I was on the beach that night.”

  Lacey could feel the cogs in her mind beginning turn at a rate of knots. Xavier wasn’t just in Wilfordshire at the time of the murder, he was practically at the scene! She held her tongue and listened as his explanation unfolded.

  “I realized I was going to miss my flight almost as soon as I left the auction. The bidding had gone on much longer than I thought it would; I was so caught up in the moment I had not even noticed the time slip by. I left and called the airline to ask for a transfer. Well, of course it was a budget airline and you know how terrible they are; they refused and said I must pay for a whole new ticket! There was no space on a flight until the next morning, so I decided to stay in Wilfordshire for the night. What a bad choice I made. If I had just gone to the airport and stayed in an ugly hotel, none of this would have happened! But no, I decided to stay here, to be beside the ocean! Estúpido!”

  “You’re not stupid,” Lacey told him. “You couldn’t have known.”

  Xavier sank his head into his hands, and Lacey could see the expression of deep regret in his eyes. It was the look of missed opportunity, of hindsight, of one of those knife-edge moments in life where just one decision decides your fate forever.

  Xavier exhaled loudly. “I booked myself a room at the Coach House Inn. I did one, two hours of work, maybe a little more, just catching up on emails. After that, I went for a long walk along the beach, heading west. I passed the island, and did not think much of it. But after I turned back—the light was fading, you see—that was when I saw the path of sand leading to the island. I was surprised; it had not been there before! So I paused, watching the tide come in, watching the water cover it. And that was when I saw the rowboat coming to shore.”

  Lacey continued listening without interruption, but her mind was in overdrive. Xavier was dropping in an excessive amount of extraneous information to his explanation. And if the sandbar had been out on his return trip, it must have been around seven p.m. But one or two hours of work would’ve taken him to 4 p.m., or 4:30 if she was being generous over how long it him took to check in at the inn. So he would have had to have been walking for three hours for the timing to match up. In his smart suit and leather brogues, no less, which were notoriously badly suited for walking on sand.

  “I did not think much of the boat at first,” Xavier continued. “Fishing is popular where I come from. Doing it during the quiet, dark hours is also very common. But then I heard her weeping.”

  “Her?” Lacey asked, interrupting him for the first time.

  Xavier nodded, slowly. “Her,” he repeated. A moment of silence passed before he finished. “It was the wife.”

  Lacey was about to exclaim in shock, but Brooke suddenly appeared beside her, holding her tray of coffees and a bowl of doggy kibble for Chester. Lacey instantly snapped her lips shut, not wanting to say anything that might provoke Brooke into a scathing attack on Xavier.

  Her friend must have noticed the descent of silence her presence had prompted, because she plonked the coffee down quite aggressively.

  “Don’t let me interrupt you,” Brooke said, bending down to give Chester his bowl and a scratch before straightening back up, the silver tray dangling at her side, looking suspiciously from one silent companion to the next. “Jeez,” she said, sounding quite offended now. “I’ll leave you to your little murder mystery chat, shall I?”

  Lacey watched Brooke walk away, feeling terrible about excluding her. But for whatever reason, Xavier trusted her, and she didn’t know if he’d clam up if Brooke joined them. She made a note to apologize to her new friend later, once this was all over.

  She went back to the conversation at hand, leaning closer to Xavier and keeping her voice down. “Are you sure it was Daisy you saw?”

  Xavier nodded again. “I am certain. I could not see her face, no, only her hair, but I am confident it was her. I did not know then that she had come in from the island where Buck was found dead. I just thought it was odd that a woman was rowing a boat alone in the darkness, weeping.”

  “Did you tell the police what you saw?” she asked.

  Xavier stared down into his coffee, looking guilty. “I did not. I thought it would make me look even more suspicious than I already did. It looked bad enough that I was not on my flight, but to say I was practically at the place of the murder was far, far worse.”

  Though Lacey understood his predicament, she couldn’t agree with his actions. “If you don’t tell the police what you saw, they won’t be able to solve the crime. Your information could exonerate the both of us.”

  Xavier frowned in reaction to her harsh tone. “You think the police will believe me? The Coach House Inn was full when I left. Full of witnesses who saw me exiting the place at a time consistent with the man’s murder!” He thumped his fist down on the tabletop. “I wish I had never come to your auction. Estúpido!”

  “Then why did you?” Lacey asked, feeling suddenly affronted. There was no need to take this out on her. Especially since she was the only person in the whole town not declaring him a murderer.

  “Because I am on a personal quest, trying to reunite all of my abuelo’s antiques. That is to say, my mother’s great-grandfather. Abuelo was a famous ship captain, and had a whole trove of relics that were passed down as family heirlooms. Then we discovered papá had been quietly selling everything to pay for his mistress. Mamá was devastated, as you can imagine, and I promised her I’d track them all down and bring them home. I managed to trace a substantial portion of them to America, to a store in New York called Doyle’s.”

  Lacey gasped. Her hand flew to her mouth.

  “That was my father’s store,” she said, her voice almost a squeak.

  Xavier look
ed stunned. “Really? When I saw there was another Doyle’s Antiques in England, I thought it was a chain. But… you mean, you are related?”

  “I’m his daughter,” Lacey said. Her throat felt very tight now and she was tearing up. “And I found the sextant by complete chance in the local charity shop.”

  Was it all just a coincidence? That two of Xavier’s great-great-grandfather’s relics, that had traveled to different parts of the globe, could be connected by her father? Or perhaps he’d purchased all the relics when he was in Wilfordshire on vacation, and accidentally left the sextant behind? That would explain how it ended up on a shelf of novelty mugs in the local charity shop, but it didn’t feel satisfying to her. Her father wasn’t careless. She couldn’t imagine him leaving an item like the sextant behind accidentally. She could only picture him giving it to someone as a gift.

  Lacey couldn’t help herself. Her mind began wandering back to the past, and that last vacation she’d spent with her parents as a married couple in Wilfordshire. There’d been an antiques store, she could remember shopping in it. There’d been a figurine, that Naomi broke accidentally, cutting her finger. And then there’d been the woman. The beautiful woman whom Lacey still had flashes of memories of. Was there a chance she had been the recipient of the sextant? Had her father gifted it to her, only for it to find its way to the local charity store years later?

  Lacey desperately wanted to ask Xavier to tell her everything about his trip to her father’s store, but at that very moment, a figure appeared at her left shoulder. She turned, expecting to see Brooke, but was surprised to discover that it was Superintendent Turner standing over her.

  “Xavier Santino,” the detective announced, “I’m arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Buckland Stringer.”

  Xavier’s face crumbled. Lacey looked past Superintendent Turner to the counter Brooke was standing behind. The look on her face told Lacey everything she needed to know. Brooke had called the police and tipped them off.