by Nancy Warren
I was a witch. A water witch. I had powers. And sisters. Women who needed me to be strong and in control. It wasn’t just about me and my search for my birth family anymore; I was part of a community now. I had to be more in control of my powers.
“Poppy? You up there?”
Hamish ran down the path towards me, panting. I’d been so lost in my thoughts that I hadn’t even heard him coming.
Zero out of ten for keeping your wits about you, Pops.
“Thank heavens you’re okay,” Hamish said. “Susan burst into the pub with an expression on her face that nearly made my heart stop. I thought something had happened to you.”
Hamish put his arms around me in a bear hug. He smelled of warmth, fires and good food, like the pub. I inhaled and let myself be comforted—it was creepy as all hell out here, after all.
Sly seemed happy to see Hamish too, and he nuzzled against his foot.
But another voice broke us apart. “You’re alive!”
It was Gaurav. Carrying a flashlight.
“I am, I am. Thank you both for rushing over here.”
“Thought you might need a torch.”
“Thanks, mate,” Hamish said.
“She’s over there,” I said quietly.
Hamish followed my gaze. “Susan is waiting for the police. She said Marlene was shot.”
“Yes. I had to check to see if she was alive, but I tried not to touch anything in case it’s needed for evidence.”
“Good thinking, Poppy,” Hamish said. He took the flashlight and went closer to Marlene’s body and squatted down. I averted my gaze, as I didn’t want to see poor Marlene lit up.
“It was a shotgun,” he said quietly.
Hamish turned back to the body. “She was shot with what you’d call buckshot.”
I had so many questions, but I heard Susan’s voice. She was with DI Hembly and Sgt. Lane. And, to my surprise, Benedict was with them, also carrying a flashlight.
DI Hembly greeted me with his brusque manner, all business. He was dressed for work. Sgt. Lane, on the other hand, looked like he’d been off-duty when the call came in. He was wearing jeans and a casual shirt, as was Benedict.
“She’s over there,” Susan said, pointing, and Hamish once more focused the beam of light on the dead woman.
Benedict took a step closer. “She looks familiar.”
“Her name was Marlene Applebaum,” I said.
“She was killed by a shotgun,” Hamish added.
Benedict looked right at me. “Wasn’t she one of the Somerset wild bird people? She’s still got her binoculars. But what on earth was she doing out here at this time of night? And all alone?”
“I don’t know. But she and her group had an argument with your father. They were trying to save their ancient rights of way.”
Benedict’s eyes opened so wide, I could see the whites gleam in the moonlight.
While Benedict took a moment to process that information, DI Hembly gave instructions to Sgt. Lane.
Hamish waited until he’d finished, then said, “There’s something you should see, Detective Inspector.” He pointed his flashlight beam to a spot on the ground behind us. Sgt. Lane went over, then got a plastic bag out of his pocket. He retrieved something, then came forward and showed us a shotgun cartridge he’d retrieved from the grass.
“That’s from shooting magpies and crows,” Benedict said. “It’s perfectly legal.”
Hamish said, “Birds would be shot with a light load. One ounce of shot. This cartridge is a heavy load. Almost two ounces.”
“That’s the size for a fox,” Benedict said.
Hamish replied, “It’s enough to take down a man.” He glanced down at Marlene. “Or a woman.”
I gulped. Having my suspicions confirmed wasn’t always rewarding. There was foul play here, and now no one could deny it.
Sgt. Lane turned to me. “Susan told us you were out walking when you bumped into each other. But did you see anyone?”
“No,” I said. I paused for a moment. “Wait. Yes. I saw a man, shadowy because it was getting dark. Near the manor house.” What I was about to say could have some serious connotations. I didn’t want to take them lightly. “But Marlene and her bird society were here earlier today. They were protesting. They believe the earl is trying to take back their ancient rights of way.”
“This was today, you say?”
It seemed about a year ago, but it had only been a few hours. “Yes. They made so much noise, we had to stop filming the baking contest. Marlene was the ringleader. She and the new security guard clashed heads.”
“And she had words with our director, Fiona,” Gaurav added.
“But that was nothing compared to the argument she had with the earl yesterday,” I told them.
Benedict said, “My father was only defending his rights as a landowner.”
“And then I saw Marlene in the pub after we’d finished filming for the day,” I continued. “She was drinking tea with the other society members. That was only a couple of hours ago. It seems impossible she’s dead.”
Sgt. Lane scribbled away in his notebook, taking it all down.
“What were you doing here, Poppy?” DI Hembly asked.
“I was coming to see Susan to get some eggs for tomorrow. We heard someone shooting and came to see what was going on.” I sounded as nosy and interfering as the earl no doubt considered the birders.
Susan said, “Seemed an odd time for someone to be shooting.” I appreciated her support.
I said quietly, gesturing at Marlene, “Her skin was still warm when I checked for a pulse.”
“Forensics will be able to tell us the exact time when death occurred. They’re on their way,” DI Hembly said. “But I agree. You may have heard the shots that killed her.”
“If only we’d gotten here sooner,” I said, almost to myself.
Sgt. Lane turned to Benedict, who looked like he’d seen a ghost.
“Where might we find the earl now, sir?” he asked.
“Don’t be absurd,” Benedict replied, pulling himself together. “I don’t like what you’re insinuating here. My father would never kill a woman on his land. Besides, he only uses Purdey shotguns and shot.”
Hamish pointed to the bag still in the sergeant’s hand. “That is Purdey shot.”
Chapter 13
“What’s going on here?”
By now I would recognize that pompous tone anywhere. It belonged to Arthur, the gamekeeper, who was returning home to a murder scene.
DI Hembly stepped forward and explained what had happened to Marlene, and I took the opportunity to give Arthur the once-over. He was in the same hunting tweeds I’d seen him in earlier, but he’d ditched the shotgun. He looked genuinely surprised at finding a group of police officers (and baking contestants) gathered near his property, and I watched as that surprise turned to disbelief and then horror. His features seamlessly arranged themselves into the right configuration. He was clearly someone who knew how to respond to bad news. Was that good schooling, or had he faced a lot of adversity in his time? Now that I knew he was the son of someone Marlene had liked and respected, I tried to soften my earlier judgment of him.
“That’s terrible,” Arthur said when DI Hembly finished. “I was just out checking on the grouse chicks for the night. I didn’t hear anything. You said she’s been shot to death?”
“That’s right,” DI Hembly said. “I don’t suppose you know where we could find the earl?”
“Now?” Arthur asked.
DI Hembly nodded.
“Whatever for?”
“We have some questions we’d like to ask him.”
Was it my imagination, or did Arthur look genuinely worried about his boss?
“I have no idea where the earl might be. Try the big house.”
“He means Broomewode Hall,” Benedict chimed in. “But like I said earlier, my father would never do such a thing.”
You would say that, Benedict.
; Susan came closer to me. While the others talked, she said softly, “I can believe Robert would shoot birds of prey but not that he’d gun down a human being.”
My mind traversed all its memories of the earl, flicking through each of our encounters like an old film reel: the first time we met, when I bluffed my way into the manor house, to the moment I caught him out hunting yesterday with that horrible smirk on his face as he raised his shotgun to the hawk. Could this reserved, uptight member of the aristocracy, so concerned with airs and graces and traditions, really have a much darker side?
It wasn’t like murderers walked around wearing T-shirts with Killer in bold type across their chests. One thing I’d learned over the last month was that the most surprising people were capable of murder, given the right triggers.
The crime scene investigation team began to arrive, bringing lights and equipment.
DI Hembly asked if Benedict would accompany him and Sgt. Lane to Broomewode Hall to speak with the earl. Benedict obviously didn’t want to but, with a shrug, led the way.
The detective inspector told me and Susan to return to the inn, where he’d come to take our statements later. We agreed, of course—as if I wanted to spend a moment longer at a murder scene in the middle of the dark countryside. Susan and Sly led the way, with Hamish and Gaurav following. I took one last look at the scene, now busy with experts who would try to find out what had happened to Marlene. I didn’t see or feel her nearby so I imagined she’d passed on smoothly, at least.
I was sad to think of that determined woman having her life force snuffed out like that. There was some consolation knowing she’d moved on. I wondered if poor Gerry would ever find his way to the other side.
As I was about to turn, I saw a moving shadow above the gamekeeper’s cottage. The hawk, I was sure of it. Probably I was in shock, but it seemed perfectly normal for me to raise my hand as though I were waving to an old friend.
When I joined the group, I didn’t feel quite so terrible.
We were a silent group. Gone was the easy chatter between us. It wasn’t like we could compare the best techniques for making puff pastry or poaching pears after an innocent old lady had been gunned down. Even Sly walked at a melancholy pace.
But our silence was broken by the sound of someone whistling tunelessly. As we grew closer to the inn, a shadowy figure came into view.
“Who’s there?” Susan asked, her voice steady but with a tinge of trepidation creeping in.
“And why are they whistling ‘Eye of The Tiger’?” Hamish added.
“Who are you? And what’s your business here?” was the curt reply.
I let out a breath in relief. It was Martin, the overzealous security guard. He nearly blinded me when he directed a powerful flashlight beam on us all. His head of dark hair was styled in his usual severe parting, and he was wearing the gray security guard’s uniform of smart trousers with a crease down the middle, walkie-talkie at the hip, and a short-sleeved shirt with the Broomewode crest. But for the second time this weekend, he was nowhere near the baking tent. Wasn’t his job to guard the filming area, not ramble through the fields? Was Martin a renegade or just bad at his job?
Or could there be a more sinister explanation?
“Isn’t that the security guard Florence was flirting with?” Hamish asked softly.
I told Hamish that it was the second time I’d seen him wandering around at night with no clear reason.
“Martin, it’s Poppy. You know me. And Hamish and Gaurav from the baking show.”
“Turn off the light, mate,” Hamish said, putting a hand in front of his eyes.
“Can’t be too careful,” Martin said. “Thought I heard shots.” He lowered the light but didn’t turn it off. “And you spend an awful lot of time wandering around at night, Poppy.”
“It helps me relax,” I said. Not that it was any of Martin’s business what I did. “Anyway, we’re headed back to the inn now. Night.” He watched us all the way.
When we arrived back at the pub, it was even busier than when I’d left. Though only an hour or so had passed, I had gone from determined to do well in my baking tomorrow to being determined to find out what had happened to Marlene.
Edward was still there, sitting at a table with some of the crew from the show, including Robbie, the sound guy. I caught snippets of their conversation, mostly grumbles about scenes that were going to have be reshot after the bird-watchers’ antics earlier. Hearing that made me even sadder. They spoke of Marlene as if she’d been nothing but trouble, but all she’d wanted was to protect the countryside and the wild birds who called it home.
Hamish asked if I wanted a drink, but I needed my wits about me for my upcoming police interview. Besides, I was chilled to the bone, so I asked for a pot of tea.
I inched closer to the crew’s table to hear more.
“So many shots were messed up,” one of the cameramen was saying. “It’s played havoc with the schedule. And that costs some serious money. I wouldn’t want to be in Donald Friesen’s shoes right now. That all comes down to him.”
“That man is always stressed,” Robbie said.
“If you want to get paid the big bucks, you have to be able to handle the big stakes,” the cameraman said. “Him and Fiona should have got those pesky old age pensioners under control yesterday.”
“Or hire better security guards,” Robbie added. “That new one’s hopeless.”
Florence beckoned me over, and I abandoned eavesdropping and joined the group who were still there after all. Florence, Daniel, Maggie and Amara were waiting at our usual table and gestured for us to sit down.
“What’s going on? We’ve been so worried,” Florence said in her usual dramatic fashion. “Susan came rushing in demanding Hamish, then Gaurav went running after him. Now you all look like you’ve seen ghosts.”
“Ghosts?” Gerry suddenly appeared at my side. “Do I have company? Is it someone interesting?” He looked so pleased, I didn’t have the heart to tell him that yet another spirit had passed on while he was still stuck here. Besides, I couldn’t tell him anything without the others thinking I’d gone mad.
In truth, I didn’t want to tell anyone that another innocent person had been murdered in Broomewode. Everyone was already on edge—especially Daniel, who’d had a difficult day baking. I didn’t want to be the bearer of bad news.
Luckily, Hamish stepped up and explained what had happened. The bakers listened, wide-eyed and aghast.
“So you were right,” Maggie said quietly. “You did hear gunshots earlier.”
“I’m so sorry I thought you were overreacting.” Florence smiled sadly. “Normally that’s my job.”
I assured her it was okay. I wished that I had been overreacting. But after seeing the earl and Arthur hunting yesterday, the noise of their shots had stayed with me. I’d recognize the sound anywhere.
Edward must have sensed the drama at our table because he excused himself from the crew’s table and joined us, another half-pint of fizzing cider in his hand.
I took a deep breath and explained what had happened to Marlene.
Edward shook his head, and his blond hair fell over his eyes. “I don’t understand. We were talking to her just a couple of hours ago. I thought she was going home.”
What could I say? Edward was right. It was surreal. Too bizarre to really get my head around. Until yesterday, Marlene was a stranger to me. But this weekend, we’d crossed paths many times. Could that really have been a coincidence? Or were we supposed to have met? Could she have led me to more discoveries about my birth parents? I couldn’t shake the feeling that her ties to Broomewode Village and the gamekeeper position were a clue in the mystery of my search. I studied Edward’s contemplative face—now that I knew that he’d been born in Broomewode, maybe he could tell me more about Marlene and the old gamekeeper.
And he was right. Why hadn’t Marlene gone home?
“Before our chat today, had you met Marlene before?” I asked him.
/> He shook his head. “I’d seen her around. Remember talking to her at a fete once and my dad talking about her, but we’d never actually met. Dad was very sociable when we lived here. He knew a lot of local gossip.”
At this I had to control my excitement. How could I orchestrate a meeting with Edward’s dad? Yet another person who could perhaps shed light on my past.
“Back then, Marlene had been causing trouble with the local council about a new motorway they wanted to approve. But he said she wasn’t a bad sort. Just a bit determined. Clearly nothing had changed over the years. She was a firecracker.”
“Can you remember anything else?” I urged. “Any clue about Marlene’s past could help the investigation.”
Edward took a sip of his half-pint and then closed his eyes in concentration. “I don’t know how helpful it is, but Marlene was a country-bred woman through and through. She always had it in for the current earl. She thought he ran the estate purely for profit. He wasn’t country-bred, you see? Didn’t respect the traditions. She couldn’t forgive him that.”
Before I could press him for any more information, two of the bird-watchers from Marlene’s group walked into the pub, holding hands. They’d changed out of their daywear, and the woman was wearing a knitted dress with ballet pumps and the man a smart shirt and trousers. It was obviously date night, and by the look on their faces, one they’d been looking forward to. Had love bloomed over binoculars and wild birds?
They obviously didn’t know about Marlene, and I didn’t want to be the one who told them—I didn’t have it in me to break their hearts. “They don’t know,” I said, feeling horrible.
But as they waved hello and looked around for a table, Edward put his hand on my arm and said softly, “Don’t worry. I’ll let them know.”
I smiled gratefully. “Thank you,” I whispered.
Edward spoke to the two bird-watchers in a soft, thoughtful tone. He handled the situation with such compassion and care that my heart almost melted on the spot. But as he spoke, the bird-watching couple looked sick to their stomachs.