A Simple Country Deception

by Blythe Baker

  A Simple Country Deception

  Blythe Baker

  Copyright © 2019 by Blythe Baker

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Description

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  The violent death of a friend plunges Helen Lightholder into another case of danger and deceit as she struggles to unravel the truth behind the grisly killing. With her own past continuing to haunt her, Helen works to uncover the ultimate answer behind the mystery that has plagued her since the beginning.

  Return to the quaint - and deadly - village of Brookminster a final time for the dramatic conclusion to Helen’s adventures.

  1

  The first of September swept through England like a whisper. Hardly noticed by anyone, apart from the school children, the trees began to change from their vibrant greens to the rich coppers, scarlets, and golds. The rains had slowed, but the dull, steely grey clouds decided to stay, blanketing Brookminster in a quiet stillness.

  Life around Brookminster had been rather enjoyable, as of late. With Sidney being gone, and the murder of Mr. James behind us, I was a little surprised, and yet at the same time relieved, that life had gone back to a sense of normalcy.

  The haberdashery was booming, as people began to prepare for the holidays that were around the corner. Mothers wished to send important bits and bobs to their sons off serving in the war, or wanted to customize the sweaters they had spent months knitting for them for Christmas in order to remind them of home. Wives began to pull their family’s winter clothing from the attic, and after dusting them off, realized they needed patching, or new buttons, or ribbons without stains.

  I had more orders than I knew what to do with, but I was pleased with my work. It was a much more pleasant way to spend my days than looking for murderers and running for my life.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Georgianna,” I said with a wave as the kindly woman made her way to the front door of the shop.

  She returned the gesture with a smile, and the bell above the door chimed as she stepped out into the cool, cloudy afternoon.

  I pushed the box of navy buttons back onto the shelf beside its brethren, straightening it so it sat flat.

  The clock on the wall began to sing its hourly song, and with a sigh of relief, I realized it was three o’clock. Time to close up for the day.

  Life was certainly beginning to feel normal, at least in the small village. The world at large was still at war, and I did my best to keep myself abreast of what was happening, but most of it was so troubling that it did nothing except make my stomach churn.

  The only positive side of having such troubling times in our own town had been that everyone’s focus was forced inward. In its absence, it was much easier to see the evidence around us that the war was waging. People had family members serving, some of whom had not been heard from in weeks. Smiles were still exchanged, but I noticed how strained most of them seemed.

  The same thoughts passed through everyone’s mind; when would it end? And what would it ultimately cost?

  Nevertheless, everyone attempted to carry on with their daily lives. After all, laundry still needed doing, and meals still needed cooking. Shops still served the townsfolk the goods they needed, and the children continued their education in the small schoolhouse down near the river.

  I collected my ration coupons from the drawer in my kitchen, checking my pantry for the goods I absolutely needed. Since the war began, I found myself drifting to my grandmother’s cookbook, filled with recipes of few ingredients that were satiating and easy. I’d become quite efficient at making the most of the limited amount of food I was allotted during the week, and had even begun making extras for others in town, like the Driscoll’s and the Diggory’s.

  I scrawled a few items down onto a piece of paper, including some flour, salt, molasses, and gelatin, and tucked it into the pocket of my jacket. I shrugged it on and headed out into the dreary afternoon.

  It didn’t take me long to make it to the grocer’s, and just like every other Monday afternoon, I saw the same customers looking for the same items. Monday meant that canned vegetables were buy one, get one can free. While I wasn’t all that fond of canned green peas, they were much easier to use than the fresh peas that I’d already picked from my back garden, and canned for the winter. I had never considered myself much of a gardener before moving to Brookminster, but Irene had taught me a great deal…as had Sidney Mason, despite the fact that he betrayed me, in the end.

  I was beginning to enjoy my life in the village, and for the first time ever, it felt like my life. Not the life I lived with my parents, and not even the life I’d started with my husband, Roger. It was a life I’d chosen for myself, and I had built it the way I’d seen fit.

  I glanced over my shoulder, out the window of the shop into the street, my eyes scanning the shadows of the alleyway between the two shops on the opposite side of the road like they always did.

  Are you there, Roger? Are you still watching me?

  It had been weeks since I’d seen him. The flower he left in the low cobblestone wall between the buildings in town was safely pressed between the pages of a book that I kept on my bedside table. There had been no clues, no notes, not indication that he was still in town.

  I wasn’t surprised, of course. Even though I didn’t know the specifics of his secret mission, or what it was exactly that kept us apart, I knew that he had made the effort to reach out to me and let me know he was still alive, likely going against orders to do so.

  Even still, I wanted to see him. I found myself waking in the middle of the night at the slightest sound, wondering if he had finally come home to me. The more I thought of it, the more I realized I wanted it.

  I had believed the war had taken him from me forever. Knowing now that wasn’t true, I wanted nothing more than to reconcile with him, and to find some way to pick up where we left off together.

  There was nothing in that alleyway outside, just like there hadn’t been for weeks now. I supposed I just needed to be all right with that, and accept it for what it was…for now.

  If I was honest with myself, I would have seen that I was, in fact, afraid of something happening to Roger. A German spy had so easily infiltrated my life, and the little village of Brookminster, that it made me realize anyone could be a spy undercover, and I would never know. What if one of these spies caught up to Roger? Noticed him watching me? Communicating with me? What would they do? Was Roger putting himself at risk by revealing himself to me? If he watched me as closely as I believed he did, then how could I be sure someone else wasn’t watching him as closely?

  These were the same questions that chased themselves around inside my mind at all hours of the day. It seemed I could never find reprieve from them.

  Not only that, but I found I had nothing but questions in my life ever since Roger’s supposed death.

  I paid for my groceries and stepped back out into the late afternoon day.

  As the sun began to make its way toward the horizon, I discovered I was among many who were out tak
ing care of errands and other responsibilities before the day came to a close. Mrs. Taylor ushered home her sons, both of whom had very long faces, likely having been pulled away from playing with their friends well past their supper time. Mr. Trent was out watering his mums with a bright green watering can, something his wife must have recently repainted. Mr. and Mrs. Henrietta were out for an evening stroll, Mrs. Henrietta carrying a lovely blue parasol, even though there was no sun to block from her fair skin. Mr. Henrietta held tightly to the leash of their Great Dane, Sanford, who was all too happy to tug against his restraints to come and sniff the edges of my jacket.

  “Good evening, Mrs. Lightholder,” Mrs. Henrietta said, smiling kindly at me as they slowed to a stop outside the grocer’s. “How are you this fine evening?”

  “I’m quite well, thank you,” I said, bending over to give Sanford the appropriate greeting of scratches behind his floppy, black ears. “And how are you both doing?”

  “Just fine, all things considered,” Mr. Henrietta said. “Just said goodbye to the Mayfields.”

  “Goodbye?” I asked, my brow furrowing. “Where are they going?”

  “Oh, just a trip to see their son out in Hertfordshire, nothing serious. He works for a company that’s been supplying the military with ammunition. Foul work, I tell you, but they haven’t seen him in months. This war has been demanding so much of our young people…”

  “Yes, it certainly has,” I said, frowning.

  Sanford licked at the underside of my hand with his wet, sloppy tongue.

  “They’ll be back by next Monday, though, old Jim’s got his own responsibilities down at the meadery,” Mr. Henrietta said.

  “That, and Karen Smith’s wedding is next weekend,” Mrs. Henrietta said with a nod. “Mrs. Mayfield would certainly never miss her own niece’s ceremony.”

  “Too true, my dear,” Mr. Henrietta said. “Though I can’t blame them for wanting to leave town for a bit, eh? Awfully nice that things have been as quiet as they have been as of late.”

  “Don’t say such things,” Mrs. Henrietta said with a jab of her elbow to his ribs.

  “I agree, though,” I said, wiping as much of the slobber off my hands onto Sanford’s side as I could while he happily panted and sniffed. “I hope that we can have a quiet few months before Christmas. And who knows? Maybe we will be able to see the end of the war coming sooner rather than later.”

  “We can only hope, my dear, we can only hope,” Mrs. Henrietta said heavily.

  Something behind me caught her attention, causing a perplexed expression to pass over her face.

  I glanced over my shoulder to follow her gaze, and saw Inspector Sam Graves walking toward us.

  “Good evening, Inspector,” Mr. Henrietta said with a casual salute up at the man who was easily twice his height and width. “Good to see you out of the station for once.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Sam said, giving Mr. Henrietta a nod of acknowledgement. He gave me a sidelong smile before inclining his head to Mrs. Henrietta. “And you are looking well this evening, Margaret.”

  “Oh, thank you, Inspector, as are you,” she said. “Well, Helen dear, it was lovely to catch up with you. Do call me soon so we can schedule a time for tea, won’t you?”

  “Of course,” I said. “I look forward to it.”

  She smiled as she and her husband started off back down the road, tugging Sanford along regretfully behind them.

  “A lovely couple,” Sam said. “It’s too bad their son moved off to America. I know they miss him terribly.”

  I studied him for a moment. “You really seem to know everyone in this village, don’t you?”

  He met my gaze with his own piercing blue one, the same steadiness and stoic nature revealed there as always. “Yes, I suppose I do,” he said. “Though it certainly is part of my job. It’s better to know them and understand them than to be caught off guard when someone does something surprising.”

  I arched an eyebrow at him.

  He shrugged, looking away. “It’s true, and you know it is, as much as you don’t like to admit that people, even good people, make mistakes sometimes.”

  I sighed. “Will you ever have a more cheerful view of the world?” I asked.

  He gave me a sly grin. “Perhaps one day, when I am far removed from my post, and have spent a great deal of time on my own out in nature, with nothing but the trees and the babbling brooks for company.”

  I considered arguing with him for a moment about how lonely that life was sure to be, but then realized the romantic idealism of it. “I suppose…” I decided on.

  “Where might you be heading this evening?” he asked me, sliding his hands into the pockets of his trousers.

  “Home, I suppose,” I said, lifting a grocery bag so he could see. “I’d rather not carry these around all night.”

  “May I walk you home?” he asked.

  There was something so juvenile, so innocent about his words that it caught me off guard. He never struck me as the sort of man to ask for permission for things. Instead, he simply just did as he saw he needed to, and would make amends later if needed.

  “Yes, all right,” I said, smiling at him.

  Before I could stop him, he stooped and took the bags from my hands, tucking them into the crook of his arm. “No sense in making a lady carry these heavy bags.”

  My face turned pink. “Well…thank you,” I said, and we set off up the street together.

  Our mutual companion was silence for a short time. Dogs barked and mothers called out to their children. Bike bells chirped, and a car engine thrummed to life a few streets over.

  “How’s business been lately?” Sam asked finally, his voice breaking the tense quiet between us.

  “Quite good, thank you,” I said, my hands clasped tightly in front of me, as I was uncertain what else to do with them. “I’ve recently been able to expand my available items for sale, including new sewing needs and even a few machines, as well as some very fine threads made of spun silk to use. I haven’t been able to keep them in stock, and – ” the color in my cheeks deepened. “I’m sorry, you probably don’t want to hear about all that.”

  “On the contrary, I find your business fascinating,” he said. “Far less troublesome than my line of work.”

  I smiled. “Well, that much is for certain. I’ve been pleased to have the chance to focus on my business and not be chasing after some…well, someone who has committed some sort of terrible crime.”

  Sam laughed. “Certain men at the station think quite the opposite. They’re becoming rather bored with the lack of excitement around here lately. I heard one threatening to transfer over to London, saying he had vital experience that could help them catch the most dastardly of criminals there.”

  “They cannot be serious,” I said. “Would they rather our village be overrun with criminals, with crime, and death?”

  “They are the young ones. The ones who are brave, and have no sense yet,” Sam said, shaking his head. “The ones who really haven’t experienced the gruesome side of their jobs yet.”

  “How is it that I have experienced more than they have?” I asked. “I'm not even on the police force.”

  “I know,” Sam said. “But you have seen more than most people should have to in their whole lives. You lost your husband, discovered the truth about your aunt, and attempted to show compassion to someone fleeing the war, only to find greed and selfishness rearing their ugly heads and stealing lives away.”

  I frowned. “It makes my life sound ideal when you put it that way,” I said sarcastically.

  “I never said it was,” he said. “But you have learned to use your experiences to your advantage, instead of allowing the fear to control you and drive you away.”

  I let out a low, hollow chuckle. “You don’t know me very well then, do you?” I asked. “You aren’t there in the middle of the night when the nightmares come, and – ” I cut myself off, pulling away from the vulnerability.

&nb
sp; “I understand all too well…” he said.

  My house appeared ahead, the silence falling between us once again.

  “Someone was asking about Sidney’s house, you know,” Sam said as we came to a stop right outside the gate to my front garden. “A young family with children, hoping to escape the outskirts of London, for reasons I’m sure you can imagine.”

  A chill ran down my spine as I looked up at the cottage, the memories of the night Sidney died by my hand all too clear and easy to recall. I shook my head. “Do they know what happened there?” I asked. “I’m not certain anyone would buy it if they knew.”

  “It’s not the house’s fault,” Sam said. “Besides, if everyone knew the full history of the houses they bought, I doubt anyone would ever step foot inside anything that wasn’t brand new. Life happens within the walls, but when those lives move on, new lives can step in and the house continues on, unaffected. Look at you, for instance. You know that your aunt was killed in your home, yet you still continue to live there.”

  “Yes, but that doesn’t mean I don’t struggle with it still,” I said. “Often, I just do my best to not think about it. But I see your point. How can we be sure that the houses we choose have not been tainted in some way?”

  “If anything, his house is a testament to your strength,” Sam said. “Your refusal to give up. What happened that night is proof that good does win in the end, and that is a story of hope.”

  I stared up into his face, the golden light of the setting sun making the blue of his eyes look almost green.

  He really was a handsome man, with a good heart and a fierce sense of duty and loyalty. There were few like him in the world.

  “Well…thank you for the encouragement, Mr. Graves,” I said, smiling at him.