“I was looking forward to the evening.” He switched on the radio. 90s rock filled the car. Ben lowered the volume, so they could speak over it. Eve sat back, starting to relax.
The car park of “The Golden Slipper” was filled with expensive sports cars and limousines. As befit the name, golden light filtered through the mosaic windows of the half-timbered Elizabethan building. The nostalgic part of Eve admired the thatched roof that made it picture perfect. Her practical side saw it as a fire hazard.
A host led them to a secluded booth close to an enormous fireplace that could easily hold a whole pig and had probably done so in the past.
Eve relaxed as no other guests paid them any attention. It must have cost Ben a lot of nerve to face down the hostility she’d witnessed in the “Green Dragon”. She fought back a sudden dull pain in her chest. She’d never been that close to her father, to make such a sacrifice. Or any sacrifice at all. He hadn’t wanted her to get too close after they lost her mother.
She focussed on the menu.
“You’re very quiet,” Ben said.
“Sorry. I was day-dreaming.” She made the corners of her mouth curl up in the hope the muscle movement would transform it into a real smile. It worked.
“I need to check in with my owl again,” she said after they’d both ordered salmon and white wine. “I did intend to keep a bird-watching journal, but I haven’t started yet.”
“It’s not too late. You are taking this seriously.”
“It’s either that or joining one of the available clubs to get me out of the house.”
“I’d choose the owl.”
“My thinking exactly. Do you have any idea how long it’s been living in that area, or if it’s male or female?”
He shook his head. “I don’t usually walk along there.”
Eve touched his hand. “I didn’t want to bring up the past.”
“It’s okay. Better than having to tiptoe around the subject. And you couldn’t know.”
“Know what?”
Their food arrived, intricately arranged on the plates and as delicious to eat as it looked.
Ben concentrated on his fish. “After – things happened, I cleaned out the cabin. Donna used to go there to have some privacy. She’d put in a day-bed and a few other pieces of furniture. I found a packet of antihistamines and a half-empty box of condoms in a drawer. Donna had no hay fever. She was only allergic to dogs.”
“They could have been left by someone else.”
“The last occupant was a farm worker who retired in 2000.” He looked up to meet her concerned gaze. “It doesn’t matter, Eve.”
“It doesn’t?”
“Our marriage had died long before that. Why should I mind if she found a bit of happiness elsewhere?”
“It could have been with the wrong person,” Eve said.
“She didn’t die in the cabin.”
“Did the police at least talk to the man?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You didn’t push the issue.”
“My father had already had all he could take.” He ate, surprisingly calm. How could he not care?
“How about your family? Do they mind that you’re thousands of miles away?” he asked.
She thought about her father, and their strained conversations. “I think they’re good. If I’m honest, my father seems to prefer it this way. As does the wife du jour.”
“Now it’s my turn to say, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. Liberating, actually. To know where I stand.” She pushed her food around. “But he taught me to play pool when I was a kid. You said you’ve got a table.”
“A family heirloom. My mother’s.”
“I’ve only inherited Mom’s impatience and her jewellery. Easy to pack up.”
Ben leant over and touched one of the dangling earrings. Eve could smell his musky aftershave. “Pretty,” he said.
“These weren’t hers. I keep those for special occasions.”
“I see.”
“If you invite me over to play pool, you just might.” She grinned.
His mouth twitched. “Tomorrow? Or are you busy on a Friday night?”
“I haven’t touched a cue in years.”
“It’ll come back. It’s like riding a bike.”
Eve held her phone on her lap as she sat on her bed. Maybe both she and her father shared the blame for their disconnect. Ben unquestioningly put his own life on hold to support his father. Hayley gave up her independence without a second thought when her grandmother needed her. And what had Eve done? Run as fast as she could when things got tough.
It had been too painful to watch her dad first retreat into his shell when her mother died, and then replace her with a long-legged blonde with expensive taste in clothes and cars and cheap taste in other men. It took him a decade to find out, or more likely, to find the courage to react. By then the bond between him and Eve had dwindled to a thread.
She checked her watch. With any luck, her father would be on his lunch break, far away from wife number three and the speakerphone.
Eve scrolled through her contacts, without success. For some inexplicable reason, this revelation hurt. How could she have left her father’s phone number out when she updated the list on her new phone? She could look it up in her address book, which currently lived in a trunk-sized suitcase under her bed with a gazillion other items she intended to find a proper place for one day.
She rolled onto her back. She’d send an email instead. “Hi, Dad. Thinking of you. Talk soon? x”.
She hit send before she changed her mind. It would be good to hear his voice. It hadn’t mattered for so long, but now it did. She hoped for her own sake it was because she cared about him after all and not because she needed to prove to herself she wasn’t a heartless bitch.
Eve swallowed her disappointment when her inbox sat empty in the morning. It had been stupid to hope for an instant reply. Instead, she’d concentrate on her work and her sleuthing. An early lunch and a chat with Hayley couldn’t hurt, if she managed to catch up on her neglected translation. Technical manuals were not her favourite topics, but they put the butter on her bread and usually jam as well.
The “Green Dragon” belonged to its lunch-time regulars. The men gave Eve a brief nod as she bade them a cheerful hello. Her heart swelled with pride. They recognised her. She’d arrived.
“We’ve got nothing apart from sandwiches or soup today.” Hayley swiped her hair behind her ears. Her accustomed beam appeared strained.
“Is everything alright?” Eve asked.
“My nan has hit a bit of a rough patch. Until I’ve found a chef, our menu is restricted.” Hayley pulled a grimace, but Eve suspected she worried more than she let on.
“Soup is fine,” she said.
“I’ve got to warn you. It’s home-made, but I’ll have to microwave it.”
“No problem.”
“I’ll bring it to your table.”
Hayley brought a sandwich for herself as well.
“If there’s anything I can do to help, give me a shout.” Eve tasted her thick vegetable soup. “Except for cooking. I’m useless in the kitchen.”
“That’s under control. I’ve enlisted the Women’s Institute,” Hayley said.
“Smart.”
“Except I’ve got no clue how to pick the right candidate.” She bit into her sandwich and pulled a face. “I forgot to put in the rocket.”
“Can your nan get down the stairs?”
“With my help, yes.”
“Let them cook for her. She can sit and watch, and then choose her own successor.”
“Not a bad idea.” Hayley let out a deep breath. “That might work.”
“Have I met the Women’s Institute?” Eve asked. They might be useful to chat to.
“Not yet. Or you’d find yourself with a filled out membership application form.”
“Not me. Like I said, I’m not much of a joiner.”
“What are
you doing in a small town then? Apart from the obvious attractions.”
“It’s a bit like a goldfish pond, isn’t it? With all these tiny ripples and undercurrents and all the inhabitants interdependent.”
“Including the feeding frenzies and attacks on smaller fry going on underneath the pretty surface.” Hayley finished her sandwich. “Speaking of which, I’m putting out some bait in support of your scheme.”
One of the men rang the bar-bell and lifted three fingers.
“Two minutes,” Hayley said in his direction.
Eve lowered her voice. “I won’t keep you, but Donna had an affair. The bloke might have had hay fever. Ben found some medication.”
Hayley whistled under her breath. “I’ll be run off my feet this weekend, but I could pop into your place on Monday morning.”
Eve folded the clean throw and set off to play pool with Ben Dryden. There was only one way from the main road to the house, but there would be a number of dirt roads or lanes leading up to the farmland.
It had rained heavily on the night in question. She needed to find out if the police discovered any unexplained tyre tracks, or if police cars and ambulance had obliterated any traces. She wouldn’t ask Ben though, unless he gave her an opening.
Eve itched to have another chat with John. Why had he disliked Donna so much? Was it because he’d found out about her affair? He couldn’t have been this hostile when they moved in. Ben would have seen to that. Or was it because he blamed her for her own murder and the shadow it cast over the Drydens?
Eve rolled her eyes. Now she sounded as melodramatic as one of the trashy novels Mrs Holdsworth number two left behind. Facts. She needed facts. With logic she could solve any puzzle.
She parked her Renault at the end of the driveway, in clear view from the road. She told herself she wanted to make sure the engine noise didn’t disturb John in case he took a nap, but deep down she realised an edge of fear. This was a house where murder had happened, and she came here to disrupt everything.
Eve rang the doorbell, a brass circle surrounded by ivy. Someone made sure it stayed free of the intruding plant, but no more effort appeared to be spent on the maintenance.
Ben opened the door. A dim light in the hallway cast sinister shadows over his face. She instinctively took a step back. He moved closer into the remaining daylight and closed the door behind him, breaking the gothic atmosphere.
Eve handed him the throw. “I washed it,” she said as he led her to a side-wing. It was one big room, with white walls, a small fireplace, framed Hopper prints, and French doors placed to capture the day-light. A built-in bookcase, two easy chairs, a large globe, a table and a gleaming mahogany pool table with turned legs filled the room without cluttering it. A light dust film covered the bookcase. The rest sparkled.
“Can I offer you a drink?” Ben flipped the top of the globe. Inside, it held whisky, red and white wine, and matching glasses.
“Red wine, please,” Eve said as she put her coat over a chair. “I’m impressed.”
“It’s still the way my mother left it. This was her sanctuary.” Yours too, I bet, she thought. “Did you play with her?”
“Or read, or sit, and chat. The books were hers, too.”
Eve ran her fingers over the spines. Jane Austen, Josephine Tey, Dorothy Parker, WH Auden … An eclectic collection for a farmer’s wife. “She had great taste.”
“My father isn’t much of a reader, but Mum fiercely guarded her private time, and that included reading. It kept their marriage happy.” He poured two glasses of red wine and set them on the table.
“I used to go for walks with my mother, wherever we moved. We’d ignore the car and set off on foot. Most neighbours called her eccentric. That was in America,” Eve said.
“Did she mind?”
Eve shook her head, lost in happy memories. “Why should she? She never conformed to unwritten rules she didn’t like either. I think my dad was secretly proud of that.” She stopped herself. “Shall we play?”
He racked up the balls.
“You break,” she said as she ran her hand along the length of the cue to test it.
“They’re all good,” Ben said. “Mum would turn in her grave if I let you play with inferior material.”
He took his leisure over his shot. Eve admired his aim, and the strategic placement of the balls. He sank four balls before he missed the pocket by a fraction of an inch.
She tried to copy him but slipped after her second shot. “I’m seriously out of shape,” she said.
“May I?” Ben stepped behind her and guided her hands. Her pulse quickened. She took a deep breath.
“Relax,” he said. “Plan ahead. A good player doesn’t go for one ball, he lines them up for successive shots.” He stood to the side.
“Okay.” She closed her eyes as she visualised the set-up. “I’ve got it.” The next two shots brought her back into contention and she started to enjoy herself.
An hour later a bell rang in the middle of a game. Ben placed his cue in the rack and said, “That’s my father. I’ll need to check in with him.” A troubled look came into his eyes.
Eve put her cue away as well. “Do you want me to go?”
“No. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He left through the French doors. There should be a connection to the main house, Eve thought. She remembered from the newspaper reports that there had been no signs of a burglary, but these French doors could be opened with a credit card.
She ran her hands across the wall, hoping to find a hidden opening. There was none. Maybe Ben’s mother had it bricked over to create a truly secluded hide-away. There were no signs of Donna. Did Ben use this room as his refuge too, while his wife went down to the cabin? She felt a new pity for both of them. What was it that held unhappy couples together long after the affection had gone? Children, she understood, and in Ben’s case, economical reasons, if he really valued the family place and his father’s attachment to it higher than his own and his wife’s happiness. Although wouldn’t that also count as an unhealthy attachment? And how could anyone leave so few traces of her personality behind?
Chapter 11
Ben returned to find her settled with “The Essential Dorothy Parker”. Sudden worry lines made him look older. “I’m sorry, but my father has taken a bad turn,” he said.
“Not another stroke?” She touched his shoulder.
“Luckily no. He simply can’t calm down. I’ve called his massage therapist to come over.”
“On a Friday night? You’re lucky.”
“Very. Chris is a life-saver, and he originally started training as a nurse.”
Eve took her coat. “I hope your father will feel better soon.”
“Actually, if you don’t mind, he’d like to say hello.”
Her surprise must have showed on her face, because Ben said, “He’s a pretty nice man underneath that crusty exterior. Once you give him the chance to warm to you. ”
John sat close to the fireplace breathing laboriously. His hand trembled, and the mottled skin was nearly translucent.
Eve squatted next to him. “Hello, Mr Dryden.”
“Get your friend a chair.” It cost him an effort to say it. Friend; not girlfriend, not lady friend. That was good. Much better than implying a juvenile attachment, like Hayley had.
Ben put a chair for Eve next to the wheelchair. He moved John around, so the old man could look at her without moving his head.
“You’re not afraid to come here, are you?” Eve struggled to understand his slurred speech.
“Afraid? Oh. No. I believe in the police.”
“Good.” He sank a little deeper into himself. “They went through everything in this house. Everything. And found nothing.”
“That was a long time ago,” Eve said.
“Long time.” His eyes were clouded with pain. “Couldn’t even give away her things. Tainted. But you’re right. Lot of water under the bridge.”
“How many generations of your f
amily have lived here?” Eve hoped to distract the old man until his massage therapist arrived. Ben gave her a tiny nod of encouragement.
“We go all the way back to William IV’s reign.” John sat a little more upright now and the trembling lessened.
“That’s right before Queen Victoria, isn’t it? That’s impressive.”
“The first Drydens raised sheep, and horses. Passed down from father to son. My father made the switch to orchards. Too few good shepherds left around to keep up the flocks.” The pride in his voice was unmistakable, despite his struggle to get the words out. “We got many medals for best in show in the old days for our rams and our wool. I’d like to show you another time. They’re stacked away, with all the other unused stuff.”
The logs crackled, for a moment covering any other sound. Eve gave a start when she heard feet shuffling behind her back and a tall, brunette man with an open grin and the build of an athlete gripped John’s wheelchair.
“Eve, I’d like you to meet Chris,” Ben said.
Chris let go of the wheelchair and shook her hand. He had a good grip, firm, but not overly long, a bit like Ben. A nice, reliable man. “Pleased to meet you,” he said. “Now, John, what’s going on?”
Ben saw Eve to her car. She should have parked closer to the house, she thought as she saw the tyre tracks on the grass which Chris’s car had left when he squeezed past her Renault.
“I probably won’t have a chance to get away tomorrow,” Ben said.
“I’ll say hi to the owl from you. Tell your father I’d like to see those medals, if he really wants me to see them.”
Ben clenched his jaw. “They’re not that easy to get to. It’s a bit of a jumble in the attic, with my wife’s old things.”
“You kept them?” Eve wished she could take back her words as she saw him flinch.
“Nobody wanted her belongings. Her parents live in Northern Ireland, and I couldn’t dump her clothes and stuff in the landfill.”
“Maybe if someone else donated them?” Me, for example, she thought. “Or Hayley. I could ask her. It might be good for your father too, to get rid of sad memories. My dad didn’t keep anything of my mom’s around after she died.” Although that could have been the work of his next wife. Memories got muddled up in retrospect.
Let Sleeping Murder Lie: A cozy mystery Page 8