The Wrong Boy

by Cathy Ace

  Surely both Stew and Sadie could be saved.

  ‘So who was it Mr Watkins saw on Aled’s bike on 5th November? Was it you?’ he shouted.

  ‘Yes. I needed to get over to Lower Middleford while the second transformation was taking place, so I took Aled’s bike and raincoat. He always leaves them around the back of Green Cottage, and my old bike had a puncture, so I took his.’

  ‘And why did you need to get to Lower Middleford, Sadie?’

  ‘To chuck the boy’s camera away, of course. And all the bits of his clothes that didn’t burn properly. You really aren’t very observant for a policeman, are you? Rhosddraig doesn’t have any large bins or anything, and if you throw something down to the beach it’s going to be found, sooner or later. Besides, St Melangell wouldn’t want me to litter. So I rode over to the social club in Lower Middleford where they have those big wheelie-bins that are collected every week. I just shoved the camera and stuff down to the bottom of one of those, and that was that.’

  Evan noticed the girl was beginning to sway more, now that she was standing again, and her eyes seemed less focused.

  ‘Sadie!’ He called her attention back to him; he didn’t want her to notice what was going on around her. He dared to allow her to see he was moving toward her, hoping she’d train the gun on him, not Stew.

  It worked. Evan should have been pleased, but his mouth dried up.

  ‘Stop moving,’ she shouted forcefully. ‘I won’t let you take him. He’s too special to Aled. I saw them kiss. Stew must have forced himself on Aled, because I know Aled loves me. I must be the only person Aled needs. Once I’m transformed I will be complete. I will be his everything, and he will be mine. Like Romeo and Juliet. Then we will eat the holy food together, and be as one with the earth and all that is beneath it. He will become my master, and I his concubine. I have been shown how to allow others to transform, you see. Because I was chosen, even before my birth.’

  ‘What’s the holy food, Sadie? Is it a secret?’

  Sadie smiled coquettishly, then giggled. ‘No, it’s like my secret place – everyone sees it, but no one knows what it is. I do. I know where to forage for it, and how to use it. Others don’t.’

  The penny dropped for Evan. ‘But I do, Sadie, because I have also been chosen.’

  Sadie laughed, mocking him. ‘You’re lying. You’re too stupid to have been chosen. Besides, you’re old. Go on then, tell me, where does the holy food come from? Tell me.’

  ‘It’s all around here, sometimes in the grass, and much more often under the trees in the woodlands; but not now, of course. I bet you found it first in September and October, didn’t you? When the days were damp, and you were out early in the morning. The holy food was given to you; it grew up from beneath the soil, not out in the open, but in hidden places, that only you knew about. You ate it, and then you were able to see what others can’t. The colors in the air, the vibrations of all living things. Am I right?’

  Sadie stopped swaying. She looked intrigued. Puzzled. Evan was pleased – that was exactly what he’d hoped for. But the gun was still trained on him. That wasn’t good.

  ‘Okay then, mister retired policeman, if you know so much about it, how does it taste, and feel, in your mouth?’ she asked petulantly.

  Evan smiled. ‘Not so good – but it’s holy, so it’s not supposed to taste good. It’s a bit slimy if it’s freshly picked, but if you let it dry out, it’s not too bad. A bit chewy. Earthy. Do you eat it all the time?’

  Sadie swayed, and shook her head. ‘Only on special occasions. Full moons. Halloween. And I’ve got some for my birthday, of course. Then it will be given to me again when the days shorten, and the master has more control than in the summertime. You’re right that it’s not nice, but nor is the holy food in church . . . that starts dry, and ends up slimy, but everyone eats that. It’s all flesh – the holy food in church that Nan was always so righteous about, and my master’s holy food. I gave some to Stew when I brought him here. Look at him, he went all floppy. I don’t know why. Probably because he’s not special. Just ordinary. I had some too – just a little. Today has been difficult for me. I needed to see the colors. Love, and family, and faith . . . it’s all so tiring.’

  Evan was very close now. ‘Come down, Sadie. Let me share my holy food with you. I love the colors too. We can talk about them. No one else will understand, but we will. Throw the gun away, and the knife. You don’t need them. This is all so exhausting.’

  Evan was hoping the psychedelic properties of the magic mushrooms Sadie had ingested would be carrying her toward a sleepy phase, not a manic one; she seemed to be more relaxed than she had been when they’d arrived.

  She smiled down at him – a beaming, innocent smile – and the gun and knife clattered onto the stone slab. She clutched her stuffed toy as black-clad figures clambered onto the ancient stones, shouting orders she either didn’t hear, or which she chose to ignore. Stephen Wingfield came barreling down the slope to gather his son into his strong arms, laying him on the grass, where he held him, and wept.

  As Stephen pushed his son’s long hair from his bloodied face, shaking him gently, Evan saw the boy open his eyes a little. He croaked, ‘You’re all silver and gold. Your hair’s a river, Dad. And those wings! I bet you could fly now, if you tried.’ Stephen gathered Stew into his arms, sobbing.

  Liz reached Evan and hugged him. ‘I hope I’m allowed to do that,’ she said. ‘Thank you, Evan. You were brilliant. Well done.’

  ‘I had to keep her attention away from that lot coming toward us. I didn’t mean to take over. The job would have fallen to whichever one of us was this side of the monument. It just happened to be me.’ He knew Liz would have been able to achieve the same outcome.

  ‘Good call on the magic mushrooms, Evan. And a very convincing explanation of how they taste and feel in the mouth.’ Liz winked.

  ‘People tell you a lot of useful things in interviews,’ replied Evan, grinning. ‘I’ll let you take it from here,’ he added – glad to be able to do so. ‘I want to get back to my wife.’

  Betty

  Once the paramedics had taken responsibility for Helen and Aled, Betty had managed to find an old pair of binoculars which she’d trained on the scene unfolding across the sweep of the bay at the Devil’s Table. She’d watched the advance of the armed response unit, and could see Evan was engaging Sadie, getting closer and closer to her. With her heart pounding, she wished with every fiber of her body she could hear what was being said. Her inner being begged her husband to not do anything dangerous – though it was clear to her the entire situation could become horribly tragic at any moment.

  She understood Maggie Wingfield’s desire to run along the path to help, but stayed close to the petrified woman, sharing the binoculars with her, so she at least had a chance to see how her son and husband were faring.

  Finally, the end came, and the only unknown was exactly how badly Stew had been injured; the blood on his body was obvious, even at a distance. Once they saw Sadie being subdued by the figures in black, the two women ran from the pub, heading toward the monuments. As they cantered along, Maggie’s phone rang; she stopped to answer it, and Betty stopped to listen.

  Betty’s heart lifted when she saw Maggie’s expression change from anxiety to relief. ‘He’s alive,’ she said tearfully. ‘Cut, and bruised, and drugged – but alive. They’re going to carry him back here, and there’s another ambulance on the way. I need to see him.’ She took off again.

  Betty managed a few more steps before her own phone rang. She let Maggie keep going, but wanted to hear Evan’s voice. ‘Cariad, you okay?’

  ‘Fine. Love you.’

  ‘Love you too. I’m coming.’

  ‘Meet you halfway.’

  When the pair finally met on the path, Betty burst into tears and blurted, ‘I am so proud of you, my darling. You did a wonderful thing. You’ve saved both Stew and Sadie.’

  Evan hugged his wife close, which she enjoyed very much.<
br />
  She added, ‘Sadie’s going to need a lot of help. I hope she gets it.’

  ‘I’ll make my statement, as will everyone else, and we’ll let the experts decide that one, shall we?’ replied her husband, cuddling her tight.

  ‘Best to always do that,’ said Liz Stanley as she caught up with the couple. ‘And on that note – and just so you all know I’m a really amazing detective – I’ve just received a text from colleagues in Slough. Bob Thistlewaite is wanted for failure to appear in court there – beat up the new wife, and ran off, apparently. I dare say that’s why the renewed interest in these parts. I’ve asked local to pick him up at the social club in Lower Middleford where he’s staying. So that should help Helen Jones for now, at least. And I promise I’ll keep an eye on her case over the next few weeks and months. What news about her from the paramedics, Betty?’

  ‘They can’t be sure, yet. She should recover from the effects of the opioid poisoning alright, but they won’t know what damage might have been done to her liver and kidneys by the acetaminophen in the Solpadols until they run some more tests. Since they have no idea how many she swallowed, they’ll have to wait to find out how she’s going to be, long term. They’re cautiously optimistic, and hope she only ingested a few. She didn’t tell us what she’d done. We’ll have to keep our fingers crossed. I’d like to check on her at the hospital when we’re finally able to get away. It could be a difficult future for her – and not just because of what she’ll have to cope with relating to her daughter’s actions.’

  Evan kissed Betty’s head. ‘Sadie would know how many tablets Helen took, because she’s the one who gave them to her; Helen didn’t try to commit suicide, her daughter tried to kill her.’ Evan sounded as grim as he looked. ‘Putting the bottle of pills beside her mother’s bed, so we would think she’d taken them herself, is chilling. And Sadie admitted poisoning Gwen Beynon with warfarin. That was certainly premeditated.’

  Betty was shocked by the news, and realized she still had a lot to learn. She happily let Liz get along, so she could get all the facts from Evan. The FIT people were on their way, so Betty knew Liz had a long day ahead of her, and suspected she and her husband did too.

  Eventually, she and Evan were able to enjoy a fortifying pot of tea, while Agata took up a position at the pub’s front door where she was telling what appeared to be the entire population of the village that the pub would be closed, until further notice.

  Once Evan had told her everything that had transpired at the Devil’s Table, Betty asked, ‘What do you think will happen to Sadie now?’

  ‘I don’t know, exactly, love,’ was her husband’s gentle answer. ‘But I hope, and trust, our justice system allows her to get whatever help she needs, and whatever else it is she deserves.’

  ‘I know what you deserve,’ said Betty, ‘a medal. You were ridiculously brave, cariad.’

  ‘After today, a quiet retirement is all I’m hoping for,’ said Evan.

  ‘Got any sense of closure yet?’

  Her husband sighed heavily. ‘Closure? For this case? I’m not sure I ever will, love. I know Sadie’s got an illness – some sort of mental imbalance, probably exacerbated by her use of magic mushrooms over the past months – but I’m still grappling with her horrifically nonsensical reasons for doing everything she did. I have to admit I know in my heart I’m feeling more certain than before that I’m past all this. Yes, there’s the frustration of being on the outside of a case, of watching it unfold in the media without being able to be useful. But maybe that’s the lesser of two evils. Maybe I can find peace pottering about the house and garden, and with my history books, after all. And I have you. I should focus on allowing us to become all that we can. Together.’

  Betty was relieved, in so many ways. ‘Let’s play our part here then, and we’ll pop in to check on Helen at the hospital on the way home. And how about, over the next few weeks, we see what sort of flats might be available for sale down in Mumbles? Or maybe even Caswell Bay? A complete change might help us both settle to our new future, whatever it might hold.’ said Betty.

  Evan kissed her. ‘Tidy.’

  Acknowledgements

  This book has gnawed away at me for the better part of two years. Finally, here it is. During that time I’ve been encouraged to keep going by my husband, without whose continual patience and support I wouldn’t have managed to get it written. My mother and sister have also cheered me along every step of the way, and my beloved Poppy’s been at my feet, or allowing me an excuse for a long walk when I/she needed it.

  I’ve received valuable input from two members of my extended family in Wales – one of whom works in law enforcement, the other within the legal system. They will remain anonymous, but know who they are. Readers should know that any inaccuracies in either the legal or policing elements of this book are not because I was given poor advice, but because I ‘might’ have chosen to ignore parts of it – the fault, therefore is wholly mine; this is, after all, a work of fiction.

  Sue at the Bay Bistro in Rhossili was a great help – thanks, Sue; Emma Mugford knows the Gower Peninsular intimately, and that shows in all her work – thanks for letting me use your photograph for the cover, Emma. I changed the name of Rhossili to protect the innocent – the people there are lovely, and it’s a wonderful place; maybe you’ll be inspired to search it out online, or even visit.

  Early readers gave me critical feedback. To the following, thank you for ploughing through my raw output: LM, SS, KA, SW, NP, KL. My editor Anna Harrisson and my proofer Sue Vincent have made my work better – thank you both.

  To the fellow authors who blurbed the book, the bloggers and reviewers who wrote about the book, the booksellers and librarians who helped you find the book – thank you so much; your efforts helped me get the word out about my work, and helped readers find it. I really appreciate it.

  And to you, who have chosen to read this book, thank you for doing so.

  This book raises some challenging topics. Online search engines can be useful when trying to locate up-to-date local laws and resources, and can often allow those in need to reach out – anonymously, if needs be. There’s no shame in asking for help.

  Other works by the same author

  (Information for all works here: www.cathyace.com)

  The Cait Morgan Mysteries

  (Published by TouchWood Editions)

  The Corpse with the Silver Tongue

  The Corpse with the Golden Nose

  The Corpse with the Emerald Thumb

  The Corpse with the Platinum Hair*

  The Corpse with the Sapphire Eyes

  The Corpse with the Diamond Hand

  The Corpse with the Garnet Face

  The Corpse with the Ruby Lips**

  *Winner 2015 Bony Blithe Award for Best Canadian Light Mystery

  **Finalist 2017 Bony Blithe Award for Best Canadian Light Mystery

  The WISE Enquiries Agency Mysteries

  (Published By Severn House Publishers)

  The Case of the Dotty Dowager

  The Case of the Missing Morris Dancer

  The Case of the Curious Cook

  The Case of the Unsuitable Suitor***

  ***Finalist 2018 Bony Blithe Award for Best Canadian Light Mystery

  Short Stories/Novellas

  (Published by Four Tails Publishing Ltd)

  Murder Keeps No Calendar: a collection of 12 short stories/novellas by Cathy Ace

  Murder Knows No Season: a collection of four novellas by Cathy Ace

  (Published by Sisters in Crime, Toronto)

  Steve’s Story in ‘The Whole She-Bang 3’****

  (Published by Obscura Productions)

  The Trouble with the Turkey in ‘Cooked to Death Vol. 3: Hell for the Holidays’

  ****Finalist 2017 Arthur Ellis Award for Best Short Story

  PRAISE FOR CATHY ACE’S WORK

  The Cait Morgan Mysteries

  ‘Ace is, well, an ace when it comes to plot and description.
’

  The Globe and Mail

  ‘In the finest tradition of Agatha Christie…Ace brings us the closed-room drama, with a dollop of romantic suspense and historical intrigue.’ Library Journal

  ‘…a sparkling, well-plotted and quite devious mystery in the cozy tradition, all pointing to Ace’s growing finesse at telling an entertaining story.’ Hamilton Spectator

  ‘Cathy Ace is a fabulous writer. She has a great way with words. It is wonderful to read an intelligent woman’s writing.’ MysteriesEtc

  The WISE Enquiries Agency Mysteries

  ‘…a gratifying contemporary series in the traditional British manner with hilarious repercussions (dead bodies notwithstanding). Cozy fans will anticipate learning more about these WISE ladies.’

  Library Journal, starred review

  ‘In my review of Cathy’s first book, ‘The Corpse with the Silver Tongue’ I compared her style of writing to Agatha Christie. While this book features four protagonists, the style is still the same. I also loved the setting…I strongly recommend this book and all of Cathy Ace’s books.’

  Lynn Farris, examiner.com

  ‘A brilliant addition to Classic Crime Fiction. The ladies…of the WISE Enquiries Agency will have you pacing the floor awaiting their next entanglement…A fresh and wonderful concept well executed.’

  Alan Bradley,

  New York Times bestselling author of the Flavia de Luce mysteries

  ‘Cozy fans will enjoy their chitchat as much as their sleuthing.’ Publishers’ Weekly

  ‘…a pleasant mélange with a garnish of death and danger.’ Kirkus Reviews

  ABOUT THIS BOOK