Merrily Murdered

by Sonia Parin

  The next morning, Abby stood in her small sitting room looking at the photo albums spread out on every available surface.

  Joyce had been the one to notice the little golden car positioned along the main street on its way out of town. It had appeared on every photo taken at the beginning of the month.

  According to Joyce, only one person drove a gold colored car. A gold BMW, to be precise.

  George Mercer’s wife, Gloria.

  They had spent the night puzzling over Harold’s inclusion of the car in his model village because they had hit a dead end with the pram.

  She picked up her phone. Someone had to know something…

  Bradford’s words sounded measured when he said, “You must have a very good reason for calling me at seven in the morning.”

  “You collected the lights from Harold’s garage. Did he keep his car there?”

  “Yes. People usually keep their cars in their garages. Unless they happen to be Abby Maguire and she gets to keep her car out in the sun. Actually, Harold had a shed, not a garage.”

  “What type of car did he drive? The day he died, Harold drove into town in his truck. I remember it had Moorhead Electrical written on the driver’s door. I want to know if he had another car.” Abby heard him sigh and then shuffle some pages around. “Are you still there?”

  “Is this about my car not having air-conditioning?” Bradford asked. “Are you trying to rub my nose in it?”

  “Oh, you mean the way you’re doing about me having to park my car out on the street?” Abby couldn’t keep the confusion out of her voice, “I just want to know what type of car he drove. Never mind why. I mean… I’m working on a little theory and it has nothing to do with your four windows down system.”

  “A Range Rover, just like mine.”

  “Old and full of rust?”

  “No, brand new. He liked to keep up with George Mercer.”

  “What color?”

  “Black.”

  Abby thanked him. Sifting through the photos, she found the ones with the gold BMW and, sure enough, she found a black Range Rover headed in the same direction.

  She looked through her notes and found a question mark next to Harold’s name and an arrow pointing to Gloria Mercer.

  Had they been having an affair?

  She sent Joshua a text and thought she didn’t want to be in George Mercer’s shoes.

  Joshua called her straightaway. “You’re up.”

  “Since the crack of dawn. I intend making the best of the morning before the heat sets in.”

  “How are you feeling this morning?”

  She had woken up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat and the vague memory of a bad dream. “Great.”

  “You sure?”

  “Are you about to suggest I seek counseling for the trauma I experienced yesterday?”

  “It’s your traumatic experience. If you don’t deal with it, it could become a problem.”

  She changed the subject by saying, “You sound chirpier today.”

  “That’s because I just had my first coffee and I didn’t break into a sweat.”

  Rubbing the wedge between her eyes, Abby tried to remember where they had left off the previous day. “Did you get anything out of Mrs. Barnes?”

  “The Barnes farm is across the road from Harold and she also has a clear view of the highway. She saw us arriving and then she saw me leaving.”

  But she hadn’t seen anyone else. How did the intruder access the property? The back paddocks?

  “Did you get my message about George Mercer’s wife?”

  He sighed. “Do I really want to hear your theory?”

  “Of course, you do. Why did Jon Reeds come looking for George Mercer at the pub when George Mercer said he’d been out all day driving his cattle to the reservoir. Jon Reeds is his foreman. Surely, they would have been out there together. Then, the moment George Mercer heard about Harold’s death, he rushed to see his accountant to get the ball rolling.”

  “And what does his wife have to do with any of it?” Joshua asked.

  “There’s a rumor about Harold being a Lothario. Gloria Mercer goes out of town every month. What if…”

  “Okay. I’ll follow up on it. Honestly, I don’t see George Mercer being so careless. If he killed Harold Moorhead, he would have remained calm and waited until a more appropriate moment to see his accountant. As for Gloria Mercer having an affair with Harold… No, I can’t picture it. But you’ve been right too many times. Anyhow, I have to get going,” he said. “I guess you’ll be busy going through the albums.”

  “Um… Yes. Lots to do and today looks like it’s going to be even hotter.”

  Doyle made an appearance, stretched and yawned and then went to sit by his bowl.

  “Yes, breakfast time. I’m not taking any chances today. I’m having breakfast at the pub.” She took the stack of photos Faith had printed out down to breakfast and spent the next hour taking notes.

  When Mitch came by to clear her table, she asked if he knew of anyone who’d had a baby recently.

  “Only one way to find out,” he said.

  “I’m all ears.”

  “Talk to Martin Smith. If anyone has a baby, they’re most likely getting their baby stuff from his store.”

  Chapter 14

  After breakfast, Abby headed to the café. When she reached it, she found Joyce setting up the tables outside. Noticing the umbrellas had somehow acquired icicles again, she smiled. “You’re persistent. Aren’t you worried the tape will melt off again?”

  “Did you forget already? Last night you gave me the tip about making them with glue. I found some clear glue and voila. Icicles!”

  “For your sake, I hope someone actually sits out here.”

  “You should consult a doctor,” Joyce suggested. “You might be allergic to the sun. Did you ever think about that? And, look at you. You’re not wearing a hat.”

  “I forgot… Actually, hats flatten my hair.”

  “Vanity over comfort?” Joyce clucked her tongue.

  “Hey, I’m not the only one who wants to stay out of the sun. Look at Doyle. He’s waiting by the door. If I wanted to sit out here, I’d have to tie him to the chair.”

  “At least you’re dressed appropriately. Think of all those poor office workers who have to wear shirts and jackets to work.”

  “Yeah, yeah. So people keep telling me. Speaking of clothes, are you taking a break from dressing up?”

  “No.” Joyce looked down at herself.

  She wore a yellow T-shirt matched with a yellow tutu skirt.

  “Give up?” she asked.

  “Um… a Christmas tree light? No… wait. A star?”

  Joyce nodded and smiled. “Coffee?”

  “Yes, please. I’ve had breakfast at the pub, but the coffee… Well, it’s not your coffee.”

  “Praise will get you anything you want.”

  “Great. I do need something. Do you think you can contact Mrs. Barnes?”

  “Sure. What do you want to know?”

  Abby followed Joyce inside the café and sat down at the counter. “I’d like to know if and when George Mercer leaves his place today.”

  “And you want to know that because…”

  “I’d like to speak with Mrs. Mercer.” And something told Abby George Mercer wouldn’t be happy about that.

  “And you don’t want her husband to know. I wonder why?” Joyce didn’t wait for Abby to offer an answer. “This is about the rumors. You think Harold and Gloria had something going.”

  “You’re the one who suggested it first.” Distracted, Abby looked around the café. “Do you have the AC on?”

  “Sure do.”

  She fanned herself. Was it really all in her mind?

  Joyce set a mug of coffee down in front of Abby and took the stool next to her. “Okay. Walk me through your theory.”

  She wouldn’t necessarily call it that. George Mercer had already triggered her curiosity by appearing to
lie about his whereabouts, even if the fact he had acted so promptly after hearing the news about Harold suggested he had nothing to hide.

  On the other hand, if his wife had been carrying on with Harold…

  Yes, that would give him motive for murder. Unless…

  Had he been prepared to turn a blind eye?

  “The photos Harold took show Gloria’s gold BMW and his black Range Rover heading in the same direction. You said Gloria went to Melbourne regularly.”

  “If it turns out to be true, what will it prove?” Joyce asked.

  Abby shrugged. “It could prove an affair existed. If George Mercer found out about it, he might have decided to take matters into his own hands. What else do you know about Gloria? You said she’s been happily married for thirty years. How do you know?”

  “I just assume. She’s still married so she must be happy.”

  “Is it possible she might be attached to her way of life and be prepared to put up with anything just to maintain the status quo?”

  Pressing the tip of her finger against her chin, Joyce gave it some thought. “I can’t help being an optimist and a romantic at heart. It pains me to admit it, but I suppose anything and everything is possible.” Joyce reached over the counter, got her phone and placed a call to Mrs. Barnes. When she ended the call, she said, “Mrs. Barnes will let us know if and when George leaves the house.” Joyce offered her another coffee and as she prepared it, she asked, “What about the pram? Have you had any new ideas?”

  “None. Despite no one around here having a baby, I insist it has to mean something. Maybe there’s a baby on the way.”

  The first customers of the day arrived. Joyce got busy serving them, leaving Abby to look through the photos she had taken of the model village.

  Closing her eyes, she went through the photos she had seen. They had all been organized by date.

  Each set of photos differed from the other. The ones going back to before Abby’s arrival had shown Faith and another little figure that could only have been the owner of the Gazette, Dermott Cavendish, at the newspaper office. Abby had only seen the man once and… unfortunately, he had been dead.

  The only photos with any similarity had been the ones taken at the start of the month when Harold had positioned the gold BMW and his car on the main road. He’d also made changes for the different seasons and special town events, but none had been recurring. Only the ones with the two cars. Almost as if he’d wanted to mark the special occasion.

  With more people coming into the café, Abby put away her photos and looked for Doyle.

  Joyce swept by. “You look puzzled.”

  “I’ve just noticed you don’t have any Christmas decorations.”

  “Thanks for reminding me.” Joyce reached behind the counter. A moment later, the cheerful tune of a Christmas carol filled the café. Joyce signaled to the ceiling and pulled a switch.

  Abby looked up and saw the entire ceiling come alive with strings of light.

  “It’s supposed to look like snow falling. The tree is going up tonight.”

  “Pretty but…”

  “But what?”

  “It’s all so understated.”

  Joyce gave a pensive nod. “I did the over the top one last year.”

  Abby collected her photos. “I’m going to have a wander around the place. I really should do my job and start asking questions.”

  “I’ll let you know when Mrs. Barnes has any news.”

  When Abby called Doyle, he jumped to his feet and scurried over. As they left the café, Abby glanced around the tables and wondered if her attacker was right that minute sipping a coffee. Dismissing the thought before it could settle in her mind, she said, “Come on, Doyle. We need to snoop around.” She slipped her sunglasses on, looked up and saw Faith approaching.

  “Any news?” Faith asked.

  “I’m almost embarrassed to admit I didn’t even read the international newspapers this morning. I’m sure something’s happening somewhere.”

  Faith looked up and down the street. “It’s a small town. You’d think the police would have someone in custody by now.”

  Abby remembered what Joyce had said earlier. She was right. They’d had more than their fair share of incidents. “Doyle and I are going to see what we can find. I should start talking to people.”

  “And I guess I should get to the office and take the phone off the hook.”

  “That’s the spirit.”

  Abby found Martin Smith signing for a delivery. “Are you open?”

  He waved her in.

  If she had to describe him, she wouldn’t know where to begin. Nondescript? He looked about forty. His light brown hair had a hint of gray. He had regular features. Nothing that stood out. Abby decided he would make an excellent killer or spy.

  Doyle settled down by the door while Abby walked up and down the aisles.

  “Is there anything I can help you with?” he asked.

  Abby hesitated for a moment thinking that if she asked a direct question, Martin Smith would most likely entertain a few assumptions and, before she knew it, the entire town would be talking about her personal life... Then again, anything could be turned into a rumor. “Where’s the baby section?”

  He did not hesitate. “End of aisle one, in the corner. Is there anything in particular you want?”

  “Nappies.” Let him make of that what he will, she thought.

  “Aisles one. You’ll find the others further along.”

  The others? Abby strolled down the aisle, glanced at the nappies and then looked further down…

  Incontinence?

  Great.

  Instead of people talking about a possible pregnancy, they’d be discussing her state of incontinence.

  Abby glanced toward the front of the store. “Do you have doggy nappies?”

  Doyle looked over his shoulder and she would swear he rolled his eyes.

  “I think you’ll have to be creative.”

  “I see you’re well stocked. Are people buying nappies on-line or are you just not selling nappies?”

  He set a box down and looked at her for a moment as if trying to figure something out about her; something Abby found odd because she’d expected him to look more puzzled by her previous questions.

  “No one’s had a baby here for several months now but we get the occasional tourist running out... Are you doing market research?”

  “Me? Oh… no. It’s the heat. I’m… I’m a little discombobulated.”

  “You should wear a hat or drink tea.”

  “Tea?”

  “Hot drinks on hot days actually help.”

  Yeah… No, she wasn’t buying into that idea. She had a look at the shelf with the tea. “Is ginger tea good for the heat?”

  “I couldn’t really say.”

  It seemed to be a popular item.

  When her phone rang, she excused herself and stepped out of the store.

  “The coast is clear,” Joyce said. “George Mercer has just driven off and he’s headed this way.”

  “Okay, Doyle. This is our chance. Are you with me or would you like to stay with Faith?”

  He put his nose to the ground and kept up with her. Crossing the street to her car, Abby groaned under her breath. “Are you sure you want to come with me?”

  Doyle jumped in and settled in the passenger seat.

  The steering wheel was almost too hot to handle. She let the AC run for a few minutes and then she got them on their way, stopping at the intersection to check for traffic. Making her turn into the main street, she saw a car approaching. She didn’t recognize it so she drove on. The next car she saw coming toward her looked like a Range Rover.

  “That’s him.” Abby slowed down and tried to look as if she was out and about minding her own business. “I think the coast is clear.” She checked the mirror and saw the Range Rover drive right through. “Interesting. He didn’t stop in town. I wonder where he’s going?” Her window of opportunity had just widened
. She couldn’t waste a single minute.

  Abby tapped her finger on the steering wheel and focused on getting to the Mercer homestead in record time without breaking the law. Along the way, she formulated a few key questions. Or, at least, she tried to.

  “What does one ask a woman suspected of having an affair with the local ex-electrician?”

  Had she ever considered leaving her husband for Harold? If not, why?

  Joyce had told her Gloria Mercer was all hoity-toity. What had compelled her to settle in an out of the way corner of the world? Snobbish people tended to want and need to be seen in the right places by the right people. According to Joyce, Gloria never showed her face in town.

  Harold’s house came into view. Abby looked toward the right and just made out the Barnes farmhouse. She imagined Mrs. Barnes standing by the window with binoculars. In fact, she thought she caught sight of a reflection. Just in case, she waved.

  Like all the homesteads in the area, the Mercer house was set well back from the road. Unlike the homesteads Abby had visited or driven past, this one had a gate and an intercom. It seemed the Mercers wanted to keep the riff raff out. It didn’t stop Abby from trying to open the gate.

  When it didn’t budge, she pressed the intercom button. Looking up, she saw a camera pointed directly at her. That required some thinking. Should she smile or keep a neutral, businesslike expression?

  A woman answered but she didn’t identify herself.

  “Abby Maguire to see Mrs. Gloria Mercer.”

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No, but I believe Mrs. Mercer will want to see me.”

  “How so?”

  How so? “Is that you, Mrs. Mercer?” Abby introduced herself again, adding, “I’m a reporter at the Gazette. I’m interviewing people who knew Harold Moorhead.”

  “What makes you think I knew him?”

  Aha! The woman herself.

  “He was your neighbor.”

  “We didn’t exactly share a fence. It’s a no comment from me, I’m afraid.”

  “Wait. Mrs. Mercer, it’s rather hot out here.” Abby chased a bead of perspiration and wiped it off.