Parcels of Doom (Chapel End Mysteries, #1)

by Lown, Anne

  Paul locked the door to the granny flat behind the pub. He’d been staying in the village a few days, so word had spread about why he was there. He nodded to a passerby, their interest in him a common occurrence when he was on a job. The young woman pushing a pram averted her gaze and scurried away with his response to her stare.

  Their chat from Saturday night played like a tape in his mind. George had given him a few leads, people who’d been around at the time. Not all were still in the village, so he’d start with who he could and trace the others if need be. That was the most the police would help. If he found something of interest, they’d look at it. So far, the ramblings in the girl’s diary were not enough to reopen the case.

  Ben Vickers had been about the right age at the time, and he lived close by. Now in his forties, he worked up at Manor House as a gardener-cum-handyman. Paul drove from the pub—he never knew where else he might need to go. Arriving at the gate, he got out of his car to use the intercom. The buzzer sounded; it was brief, but the wait wasn’t. He was about to give up when a female voice came through the speaker.

  “Can I help you?”

  Paul chose his words carefully. He’d keep the questions for the person he interviewed. “Hi, I’m looking for Ben Vickers. I need to speak to him.”

  The voice came again, “You do realise he doesn’t live here?”

  Paul rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “I’m aware of that. I’m trying to locate his whereabouts, so I can have a chat with him.”

  “Are you that investigator everyone’s been talking about?”

  “Yes, Paul Worthers, Private Investigations.”

  A buzz sounded followed by a click, and the gate lock released. He had to push the gate open himself before driving through and then closing it behind him. He drove on, tyres crunching along a gravel driveway, and turned left around a clump of evergreen trees, ideal for shielding the view of the house from the gate. It was a modestly sized manor with a large lawn stretching out in front. No view to the back could be seen—that was shielded by shrubs for even more privacy. Paul glided to a halt at the same time the front door opened, and he was greeted by a young woman nearing thirty years old.

  “Miss Rake is expecting you, please follow me.”

  He walked behind her along a hallway and into a living room.

  The woman waiting for him stretched out a hand and introduced herself. “I’m Sarah Rake. What can I do for you?”

  He strode across the room and shook her hand, then sat in a chair opposite. She was older than the housekeeper by about twenty years and was sitting in a wheelchair with a blanket across her lap. “I’d like to speak with Ben. Do you know where he is?”

  “Yes. He’s my gardener, but he’s out picking up some plants for the garden. Is this to do with the death of that girl?”

  “What do you personally know of what happened? Were you living here at the time?”

  With a laugh of disbelief, Sarah said, “Good grief, no. I was up in London. I was a jazz singer until a few years ago. Now I spend my days here.”

  “So, what do you know about it?” Paul was sure he’d get nothing here, but he needed to hang on and wait for Ben. That was if the housekeeper didn’t tip him off first.

  He watched with interest while Sarah stared out of the French doors. She seemed to be considering her words like she knew the damage saying the wrong thing could do. He could think of one case in America where a man had gone to prison partly based on false testimony. People lied for nothing more than they enjoyed the escalating gossip and wanted to be part of it.

  “I know there was more to it than a simple suicide,” she said.

  “And how do you know that?”

  “My partner, Giles, knew her mother at the time. The poor woman was terribly broken and met her own death not long afterwards. She kept saying someone had been bothering her daughter but didn’t know if it was that lad she hung about with or another one. Annalise was a vulnerable girl with mental health issues. She cut her arms when things got too much and was doing it a lot before she died.”

  Paul had already taken out a Dictaphone and was recording the conversation. “Did the police not take this into consideration?”

  “It didn’t seem to matter, she’d been acting out,” Sarah said. “I suppose they saw it as evidence of her not being of sound mind.”

  “Was there anyone she might have confided in at the time?” Paul was hoping for a new lead. The diary said someone was harassing her. Maybe there was some truth in it.

  Could someone have drowned her and made it look like a suicide?

  He’d know more if she’d talked to someone, another villager she’d been close to.

  Sarah frowned. “The only people I can think of is Jason, who’s just returned, and a girl she was friends with, but I don’t know her name. Giles might, but he’s away on business for a few days. You can ask him when he returns, if you like.”

  The living door opened, and the housekeeper stepped inside. She waited until they’d finished talking before she spoke. “Ben’s just got back.”

  “Thanks, Dawn,” Sarah said. “Can you show Mr Worthers out to his shed? I think you’ll find him there.”

  Paul stood and thanked Sarah for seeing him. It was new information George hadn’t told him, and he decided he’d ask anyone else he saw about it.

  Chapter Nine

  Jenny let her uniform trousers slide down her legs, then kicked them across the floor. She sighed, relieved to be finished with another day at work. Her limbs ached. She squeezed the side of her neck, massaging the tight muscles. Any thoughts of the company’s gym made her grimace, her routine now completely blown.

  So much for being fit and healthy.

  The jumper she pulled over her head sent static hair flying around her face. She swept it away with her hands, her gaze lighting upon the window just in time to see Paul drive by in his car.

  He came from Manor House.

  She knew he could’ve come from anywhere, but if he was going to be asking questions, it was most likely he’d start in the village. Jenny finished getting dressed. Grabbing her jacket, she left the house and walked in the same direction she’d seen him go.

  Children screamed, running in all directions as they passed her on their way home from school. It took longer than she wanted to get to the high street, prams pushed side by side blocking her path. Jenny flitted her gaze from car to car before she spotted the one she wanted outside the shops. At first, she thought he’d gone into the convenience store, but a quick peek inside got her a glare from the owner. How that man ever sold anything she’d no idea. Next was the charity shop. She pressed her hands and nose to the glass to see past the window display. Inside, Paul stood by the counter, watching Carmie throw a tantrum in front of the customers.

  Jenny pulled back from the window, but not before Carmie saw her. The woman waved for her to come inside. With reluctance, Jenny pushed open the door, knowing any chance of a decent conversation with Paul was ruined.

  Carmie jutted out her chin, radiating superiority. “What did I tell you, Jenny. Didn’t I say someone’s going to get hurt?”

  Jenny felt like she’d been punched in the chest. Her attention moved from one to the other. “What? Has something happened?”

  Carmie shoved a parcel on the counter in her direction. It was still partially wrapped, and she used the end of a pen to do so. “Look what came this morning.”

  “But I didn’t bring this, it wasn’t with the post I dropped off.” Jenny’s mind raced. She tried hard to remember what she’d brought, and this hadn’t been with it. She stared down at the parcel.

  What the hell?

  It was a voodoo doll.

  “No, but someone dropped it off.” Carmie was nodding when she spoke, her eyes bulging. “I found it here on the counter but I never saw anyone come in. It must have been a witch that did it.”

  “Now stop it,” Paul said. “There is no such thing as witchcraft, and it’s just a doll. Prob
ably someone’s idea of a joke to scare you.”

  Clearly offended by what she was hearing, Carmie blurted out, “It’s no joke. Someone’s going to get hurt, and it’s going to be you.” She jabbed her forefinger at him as she said the last words.

  “And what makes you think that?”

  Suddenly, Carmie grabbed hold of his arm. “It has your name on it.”

  JENNY FOLLOWED PAUL out of the shop in time to see him open his car door. He held on to the metal rim longer than needed, but as she got nearer it was obvious why. His face was ashen, and a muscle twitched at the side of his eye. The poor man was clearly frightened. He’d put on a brave face in front of Carmie, but now he was visibly shaken. A pang of guilt washed through her. She should’ve done more to rein in her friend. For all she knew, Carmie could’ve made it herself, but she, too, had looked scared. Not for herself, but for Paul. It made Jenny wonder what she’d seen in the years before moving to the UK, because the voodoo doll turning up at the shop had rattled her.

  Before he could close the car door, Jenny shouted, “Paul!”

  He flinched when he heard his name, his lips pressed into a thin line. “What is it now?”

  “I need to speak to you. It’s about Jason.”

  Paul hesitated. He breathed a sigh and got out of the car, waiting for her to catch up.

  A bitter breeze bit into Jenny’s neck. “Can we go somewhere warm, the pub maybe?”

  “Okay.”

  She followed him across the street and through the pub door. The warmth of the overhead heater hit her like a brick, and it was more than welcome. No sooner had they’d got to the bar than Tracy came from the corridor to see to them, her stare not once flicking to Jenny to acknowledge her presence. Paul paid for the drinks and led her to the table he’d sat at with DS George.

  Once comfortable, he asked, “What can I do for you, Jenny?”

  He must’ve heard Carmie say her name. She’d thought over and over what she wanted to know but now she had her chance it felt disloyal. It wasn’t that she believed the rumours of Jason being a killer, but she needed to hear it from another outsider, with facts instead of gossip to allay her fears. Jenny glanced at the bar. Tracy was doing the same thing she’d done the other night. She was listening in to their conversation, but Jenny couldn’t worry about that right now, she needed to know the truth.

  She decided to be blunt. “Who employed you to investigate all of this?”

  “I can’t tell you that.”

  “You can’t or you won’t?”

  Paul stared at her for a few moments before leaning in close, so Tracy couldn’t hear. “I can’t because the client was anonymous. They paid up front, and I don’t even have a contact to relay my findings to.”

  Jenny nearly spat out the drink she was sipping. “Don’t you think that’s odd?”

  “Yes, but business is slow, so a case is a case.”

  She was surprised by his answer, but she could understand why he’d accepted. Anyway, the events were, Jason returned, Paul was engaged, and then the diary had turned up. Now a voodoo doll. It had to be someone from the village. “So what do they want you to find out?”

  “Who killed Annalise Jessop.” Paul pulled out his Dictaphone and placed it on the table. “Do you mind if I record this?”

  She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture of consent. She’d nothing to tell him, so it didn’t matter anyway.

  It was now Paul’s turn to question her. “What do you know about Annalise’s death?”

  “Nothing except gossip. Annalise tried to commit suicide, and Jason stopped her. Unfortunately, she went back later and succeeded.”

  “You’ve not discussed it at all with Jason?”

  “No,” she said. “We were here the other night so he could tell me, but so were you with George. He didn’t get around to it.”

  “What if I told you I think the bruises on Annalise were from him trying to drown her. He did hurt her before, it said so in her diary.”

  Jenny’s mouth dropped open, then just as quickly she shut it again, biting her tongue. Tracy had been listening. The sound of breaking glass echoed around the empty room. Jenny jumped; she’d forgotten the woman was there.

  She held her hand over her mouth. “That doesn’t prove he did it.”

  Paul leaned in close. “But you could ask him about it. Maybe he’d talk to you in confidence, then you could come and tell me.”

  Jenny sat back in her chair. “Hell, no.” He was asking for her to be disloyal. She couldn’t do that to anyone.

  “It’s up to you,” he said, “but you might want to ask him all the same, for your own piece of mind.”

  “And what are you going to do in the meantime?”

  “Go on asking questions, see where it leads me.”

  “Aren’t you worried about the doll? That someone’s threatened you?”

  Paul shrugged. “No, it’s just someone playing games. Nothing’s going to happen.”

  Chapter Ten

  Questions itched at the back of her mind. Now more than ever, she needed to know the truth. Jenny flexed her fingers, not sure whether to knock on the door or walk away. Part of her was afraid to find out, but not the part that shouted the loudest. Jason’s front door was like a barrier she didn’t know if she should breach. What if she didn’t like the answers? What would she do then?

  “You come to see me?”

  Jenny jumped. Jason was in his back garden and saw her standing at the side of his house. He stood behind the closed garden gate, the gaps between the wooden slats making it possible for him to see her in the light of the street lamp.

  “Only if you want me to,” she said.

  The catch clicked as it was lifted out of place, and the gate swung open.

  “Now why wouldn’t I want to see you?”

  A smile danced across her mouth, her cheeks growing warm in response. She ducked her head. This was becoming a habit. The effect he’d had on her when they’d shared that first tentative kiss hadn’t been ruined by recent events. If anything, she felt more attracted to him and hoped there’d be a second kiss, and then another, and another. She bit her bottom lip, unsure what to do next.

  “Come in,” he said.

  Jenny followed him through the gate and around the side of the house. The growing darkness meant she couldn’t see much of where they were going, the streetlights’ glare not extending that far. She waited a moment while he flicked a switch to illuminate her over the threshold. The house inside was run-down like the outside. She stepped into the kitchen and looked about her; it barely had anything in it. A dresser stood in the far corner and housed the equipment needed to make and serve a meal. Other than that, there was a cupboard containing a sink, a cooker, and a small table against a wall.

  Jason followed her gaze like he was seeing the room for the first time. He hung his head, standing there with his hands in his trouser pockets, not saying a word.

  Tentatively, she said, “We didn’t get a chance to talk.”

  “No, we didn’t. Is that what you came here for?”

  “And to see you. I know it’s only been a few days, but I’ve missed you.”

  Jason didn’t speak straight away. Instead, he took her hand in his and led her into the living room. A small lamp sat on a table by the window, and its soft glow washed gently over the boxes yet to be unpacked. It reminded Jenny of her own home, still much to do and little interest in doing it. Jason guided her to the sofa, and she sat beside him. Her thigh touched his, and a rippling chill ran through her. Goosebumps electrified the hairs on the back of her neck, and she tried to lick her lips, but her mouth was dry.

  “You still want to talk?” His voice was soft in the ambient light.

  She was still holding his hand, and her fingers trembled against his skin. He gripped it firmer and looked into her eyes. Jenny wanted to forget all about why she’d come. It’d been a long time since she’d felt this connected with someone, something she’d lost with Scott from all
his drama. While Scott went searching for it, Jason was a victim of gossip and circumstance. She wondered what it would be like with him after the upset died down. At this moment, she couldn’t imagine him hurting anyone, let alone a girl he cared about. Slowly, she tilted her head up, and he met her lips with the tenderest of kisses.

  How much time passed, Jenny didn’t know. Jason continued to gaze into her eyes and stroked her face with his fingertips. They traced along her neck and cupped her chin.

  “You’re so beautiful.”

  His words soothed her.

  She placed her hand on his and stared back. Jenny parted her lips. He moved in for another kiss.

  “We still need to talk,” she said.

  Jason’s hand dropped to his lap, and he leant back on the sofa, putting a small distance between them.

  To Jenny, it felt like a chasm. She sat forward, trying to see his face. “I don’t mean to upset you.”

  “I know. What do you want me to say?”

  “That you didn’t hurt Annalise,” she said. “That the bruises on her body weren’t from you trying to drown her.”

  “Where the hell did you get that from?” Anger tinged his voice.

  “Paul. I talked to him earlier. He said he’s investigating if really you tried to kill her.”

  Jason stood and paced across the room. He ran his fingers through his hair, gripping the strands in his fist. Through gritted teeth and with a hint of sarcasm, he said, “And here was me thinking you wanted to see me.”

  “I do want to see you, but I have to know. For my own piece of mind.” The whole thing now seemed a bad decision, and she wished she hadn’t come. Problem was, she had to know, and not asking was putting off the inevitable.

  “Well, I’m not going to tell you. Believe me or don’t believe me, it’s up to you.”

  Jenny sat there, open-mouthed, watching Jason stride from the room. She waited a few minutes before it occurred to her he’d left the house.

  This was a mistake.

  She stood and walked back the way she’d come in; the back door was still wide open. She left it ajar in case he didn’t have a key—that was more consideration than he’d just shown her. Maybe he wasn’t worth it after all.