“I’m sorry, but my lunch invitation doesn’t include her,” he said.
I laughed, relieved to be back on a more familiar footing with him. “Thank goodness for that. It’s just that she – she’s got something for me. Something I need for this research work I’m doing for The Chronicle. The one I was talking to Liam about on Saturday night. You know, old folks’ memories and all that sort of thing.”
It wasn’t exactly a lie, but I was uncomfortably aware that it wasn’t exactly the whole truth either, and was relieved when he didn’t follow it up.
“It’s always wise to put a time limit on a visit to Elsie, otherwise you’ll be there all day.” He looked at his watch. “How about I pick you up about twelve, and we’ll take a run down to the coast? I thought we could go and see if that cafe on the beach still does those amazing crab sandwiches. I haven’t been there for ages.”
I scrabbled around frantically for a convincing-sounding excuse. For a reason I couldn’t even explain to myself, I didn’t want to go to lunch with him. Even if it was to my most favourite beach cafe in the whole world. Was it because of John telling me how he and Sally had hoped Will and I might make a go of it, as he’d put it? Or Jules telling me about Will and the sexy Swedish vet? Or – and I had to admit, I was feeling pretty snarky about this one – was it because Will was asking me out, not because he wanted to, but because his dad had told him to?
“Will, I’d love to,” I lied. “But the problem is Mum. I’m working for her all this week. Well, the rest of my life probably. I suppose you know what I did to her car? I should imagine she’s told the whole world by now. It’ll be on the front page of The Chronicle next week, I shouldn’t wonder.”
“I saw the damage. You must have given something a hefty clunk. What was it?”
“A metal gate. I was trying to do a three point turn and got it a bit wrong.” I decided not to tell him the metal gate had been up near Compton Wood, nor what I was doing there. That information was on a strictly need-to-know basis and I decided that Will, like Jules, didn’t need to know. “So, I don’t think Mum would be too happy if I skived off.”
“Your mum said she’s fed up with you grumbling at everything, from her choice of music to the colour of the curtains…”
“I didn’t grumble about the curtains. I simply suggested, very tactfully, that the salon needed a bit of a makeover, that’s all. Which is nothing but the truth. As for the music, how would you like to spend all morning listening to Des O’Connor? She says the customers like him. But honestly…”
“Anyway, she said she’s tired of you mooching about the place and would be much obliged to me for taking you out from under her feet,” he said. “So, are you up for it? Or have you got something more exciting planned? More business meetings with smooth-talking Irish journos, maybe? You haven’t told me anything about this job he’s talking about. What exactly is it?”
Time, I decided, for a quick change of subject. I had also run out of excuses. “Twelve o’clock will be fine,” I said, as I waited for a small minibus to drive past before I crossed the road. “Can you pick me up from Mum’s?”
“Better had. I’d hate to start Elsie Flintlock’s tongue wagging again.”
“Hah! I don’t think that would be possible. That would be to assume it ever stopped wagging in the first place.”
***
Elsie opened her front door and screamed. “Come back here NOW!”
I flattened myself against the porch wall as something small, fast and hairy hurtled towards me, shot through my legs and disappeared out of the front gate.
“Would you like me to go and get him back?” I asked.
“No point. The little monster will be half way to Dintscombe by now. He’ll come back when he’s hungry.”
Elsie’s little dog, Prescott, whose brown and white fur always reminded me of a worn-down toothbrush, was of dubious parentage and even more dubious temperament. He was notorious for biting first and asking questions later.
“Did you want something?” Elsie asked. “Or are you one of those detractor burglars? You know, one of you keeps the poor old soul talking on the doorstep, while the other goes round the back and helps himself to all her valuables. We were warned about it by that young policeman who looked as if he shouldn’t be allowed out without his mum. He came to talk about crime pretension at our last Young Wives’ Group meeting.”
“If you mean a distraction burglary, then of course I’m not here for that,” I said indignantly. “I, I just popped round for a chat, that’s all.”
“A chat?” Elsie couldn’t have looked more surprised if I’d said I’d dropped in for a quick game of carpet bowls. She folded her arms and gave me a challenging look. “Now what would you and I have to chat about?”
I gave a little shiver, hoping she’d take the hint and invite me in. No chance. “Well, I’ve just seen Jules,” I said. “And she was saying how Gerald and Donald had a bit of a set-to in the pub yesterday lunchtime and that you were there. Is that right?”
Elsie looked at me, her small pointy head cocked to one side like a little bird, her eyes bright and inquisitive. “Why would you want to know that?” she asked. “Last week, you were quizzing me about Marjorie Hampton and now you’re on about Mr High and Mighty, Call-Me-Councillor Crabshaw. What is it with you?”
I shrugged and avoided those all-seeing eyes. “I was just curious, that’s all.”
“Curious?” Elsie gave a cackle that would have done credit to the Wicked Witch of the West. “Well now, young lady. You know what curiosity did, don’t you?”
“Killed the cat?”
“And what were you insisting on people calling you the other day? Kat, was it?” Her face became suddenly serious, her eyes shrewd. “You be careful, Katie Latcham. People can get very funny when folk go around asking questions about them. And people aren’t always what they seem, you know.”
“Who do you mean?”
“I’m naming no names. But let’s just say, there are some people who don’t like others prying into their business. They don’t like it at all.”
That was rich, coming from Elsie, of all people. But I bit back the comment and merely nodded.
“Well, if you must know,” she leaned forward, her eyes gleaming as they always did when she was about to pass on a particularly juicy bit of gossip. “Donald said something to Gerald Crabshaw about paying his dues. At which, Gerald all but stamped his feet and left. Donald gave me one of those silly, embarrassed grins he does and said something about people who don’t pay their bar bills, and what makes them think he is made of money, that he can extend them unlimited credit? Anyone would think there was Bank of Much Winchmoor over the front door, he said, the way some people took advantage of his good nature.”
Donald said Gerald owed him money? So, not only was Gerald having an affair, he was running up debts too. A shiver of excitement chased down my back. What if I was right all along? The evidence was indeed beginning to stack up against Gerald Call-Me-Councillor Crabshaw.
The question was: should I tell Liam before or after meeting Will for lunch? In the end, I decided to leave it until later. Liam had said something about a big story breaking, hadn’t he? And I didn’t think he’d meant lost cats or stolen underwear.
“Hurry along now,” Elsie smirked. “You don’t want to keep young Will Manning waiting, do you? If you ask me, you’ve been doing that for quite long enough.”
I stared at her. Centuries ago – I’d bet next month’s salary on it if I had one – Elsie Flintlock would have been burned at the stake as a witch. “How did you know I’m meeting Will?”
Elsie cackled. “If you will hang about chatting on street corners, you must expect people to take notice.”
“You were in the minibus, weren’t you?” I said, remembering one had swept past as I’d waited to cross the road. “But I still don’t see…”
“My friend Olive is a very good lip reader,” Elsie said, as I felt my cheeks begin to burn. �
�And I don’t think you’re in a position to go around accusing folks of having a wagging tongue, do you? Now, you go off and meet your young man and forget all about asking questions. Like I said, people aren’t always what they seem. He’s not the empty headed, harmless fool he appears to be.”
Before I could point out to Elsie that Will was not my ‘young man,’ she’d closed the door. I stood on the doorstep for a few moments, thinking hard. So Elsie had seen this other side to Gerald Crabshaw, just as I had.
Which brought me back to the question that had been bugging me since the small hours of the morning. What to do about it?
Chapter Nineteen
“You ok?” Will asked as he took my hand to help me across the tumble of rocks at the entrance to the beach.
“More than ok.” I took a deep lungful of the crisp, salty air that was blowing straight off the sea into my face. “I’d forgotten just how much I love it down here.”
Dried seaweed crackled beneath our feet as we crossed the morning’s tideline, and my nostrils filled with that unique, evocative smell you only ever find on the sea shore. As we scrunched across the shingle I felt the tension I’d lived with for so long begin to ebb away while the salt-laden wind caught at my hair and blew away the last fragments of my disturbed night.
Even the problem of what to do with my suspicions about Gerald Crabshaw faded, as I decided to call Liam about it later and see what he advised. But until then, I pushed it to the back of my mind and simply enjoyed the way the early spring sunshine painted the cliffs the colours of deep golden honey and sent a thousand diamond-bright glints dancing off the sea. All around there was nothing to be heard but the mewling cries of the seagulls and the rhythmic swish and pull of the receding tide. Bliss.
Much Winchmoor with its murder, gossip and intrigue seemed a zillion miles away as Will and I walked along the shingly beach. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to remain hand in hand as we walked. Two good friends, enjoying each other’s company, on a near-deserted beach in early spring. Nothing more.
“Let’s see if you are still as rubbish at this as ever,” Will said, as he sent a pebble skimming across the sea, skipping over the surface of the water like a swallow in flight.
“That’s not fair. You’ve probably been practising,” I said, as my pebble sank like the proverbial stone after three pathetic bounces.
“Oh yes, of course. I get the chance to come down here most evenings—” His sarcastic comment was cut off abruptly as a larger than expected wave caught him unawares, dousing his jeans from the knees down and leaving me helpless with laughter.
“Right. You’ve done it now. Prepare to be soaked.” Before I could run away, he grabbed me, pinned my arms to my sides and dragged me down to the water’s edge.
“No, please, Will, don’t,” I screamed, kicking out in a futile attempt to free myself. “These are my best jeans. They’ll be ruined. Please. I’m begging you. Put me down. Please.”
He stopped, inches away from the water’s edge and set me on my feet, although his arms were still around me. I looked up at him. I’d forgotten how tall he was, how lean and muscular, how safe I felt with his arms around me. Safe, that is, now he’d decided against throwing me in the sea.
He was holding me so close, I could feel the thudding of his heart beneath his sweater. My breath caught in my throat.
“Will?” I must be seriously unfit if larking about on the water’s edge for a couple of minutes left me feeling like I’d just run a marathon. “We – we are all right now, you and me, aren’t we?”
“How do you mean?” He sounded like he’d just run the marathon with me.
“I mean, we’re still mates, aren’t we?”
I staggered slightly on the damp shingle as he took his arms away. “Yeah, we’re still mates,” he said quietly, then with a complete change of tone called, “come on, race you to the cafe. Last one there buys lunch.”
Over lunch, our conversation was light and undemanding with none of the awkward pauses there’d been earlier that morning. We agreed the sandwiches were even better than we remembered, the crab meat filling more succulent, the bread crustier and the chips must have been cooked by angels – my words, not his. It was like the days out we used to have. Before things got complicated.
“Do you want a coffee?” Will asked as the leggy young waitress cleared our plates.
“Maybe later.” I stretched like a cat. “Ah, that was so good. You’re not in any rush to get back, are you?”
“No rush at all,” he smiled. “In fact, there’s something I want to say to you, Katie – no, sorry, don’t bite my head off. I mean Kat, of course. But do you have any idea how difficult it is to remember to call you that when I’ve known you all my life as Katie?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said, as I scanned the sweet menu, then realised I couldn’t eat another thing. “I’ve almost given up trying to get people around here to do it. Are you having a sweet? The Dorset apple cake’s always good.”
He shook his head. “I’m done.”
“Me, too, more’s the pity. The thing is,” I said. “Going back to this name thing. The longer I stay in Much Winchmoor, the less Kat and the more Katie I become.”
“And is that such a bad thing?” he asked, his face suddenly serious.
“Yes. It is.” I was desperate to make him understand. “You see, Will, Katie is all about my past. But Kat is, or rather was, my future. It was my chance to put dumpy, frumpy Katie Latcham behind me and do what Gran used to encourage me to do, and spread my wings. Be someone new.”
Will laughed, like I knew he would. “Dumpy, frumpy Katie? You wouldn’t be fishing for compliments by any chance, would you?”
“From you? I’d be fishing forever, waiting for those, wouldn’t I? No, I was just trying to make you understand.” I gave up. There was no point. He didn’t get it and I didn’t want to waste the rest of this lovely day by arguing with him. Instead, I shrugged and said, “I expect you think that sounds barmy?”
“Totally nuts. But then, I always knew you were.” He picked up one of the small packets of sugar that were jammed into a glass in front of us and began to twist it between his fingers. When he looked up, I was surprised by the uncertainty in his eyes. He looked like he was weighing up whether or not to say something and couldn’t quite decide.
For once, I didn’t say anything and waited for him to carry on. Which he did, eventually. “You know how you said Dad and I aren’t very good about talking about our feelings—”
He broke off as my phone began to ring. I glanced at it. The caller was Liam. Bad timing or what? Whatever Will was working up to say, it looked pretty serious. I hit the button to send the call to voice mail.
“Anyone important?” Will asked.
“It was Liam,” I said, aware that Will’s scowl seemed to be a knee-jerk reaction to the very mention of Liam’s name. Not surprising, really, if he’d been badgering Will and his dad about the murder. “I’ll call him later. Now, what were you saying? Something about your dad?”
“Well, not about him, really.” He concentrated on folding and refolding the sugar packet with clinical precision. “I was—”
This time it was the ping of a text message that interrupted him. Once again, it was from Liam. It read: “Pls call me. NOW. V URGENT.’
“I’m sorry, Will,” I said. “Whatever it is, it sounds really, really important. I’ll have to call him.”
Will pushed his chair back and stood up. “It’s ok,” he said stiffly. “I’ll go and get the coffee. You still take it black with no sugar, I suppose?”
***
Liam answered at the first ring. “What’s so urgent that it can’t wait until I’ve finished lunch?” I asked, trying but not quite succeeding in keeping a flash of irritation out of my voice.
“Did you tell anyone about following Doreen yesterday?” he asked, his voice low as if he was anxious not to be overheard. “Anyone at all?”
“No. Of course n
ot. Why would I?”
“Then don’t. Don’t tell anyone.”
“Well, it’s not something that’s likely to come up in conversation, is it? But why the urgency? I don’t understand.”
“I can’t explain now. There’s a big story breaking and I need to be there. In fact, I needed to be there ten minutes ago but I wanted to touch base with you before I did. Can you still meet me tomorrow?”
“I’m not sure. I think Mum’s got me enslaved for the rest of the week. But I’ll see what I can do because there’s something I need to talk to you about.”
Beyond the cafe window, I watched a group of seagulls swooping down low across the sea, filling the air with their ear-splitting shrieks. For one fanciful moment, it seemed like their cries were mocking me. I shivered as all my worries about Gerald Crabshaw came crowding back.
Liam gave an impatient sigh. “Look, do you want this job or not?”
That got my attention. A jolt of excitement shot through me. “You mean a real job? With The Chronicle?”
“It’s possible. But I’ve got to go. I’ll call you tomorrow about where and when to meet.”
“I’ll be there, whatever suits you,” I said hurriedly “I’ll sort something with Mum. And Liam?”
“What?”
“Thanks. For thinking of me. For giving me a chance. That means a lot.”
“It’s only a maybe. You do realise that, don’t you?”
“Yes, but…”
“I’ll call you tomorrow.”
***
“Good news?” Will asked, as he placed a steaming mug of coffee in front of me. “You’ve got that smirk on your face you always get when you’ve done something you’re pretty pleased with.”
“I do not smirk.”
“Always have done. Ever since I’ve known you. In fact, we used to call you Smirker Latcham at school. Did you know that?”
“No you didn’t. I refuse to believe that. Anyway, that’s so unfair. I have nothing to smirk about. The job’s anything but a done deal. Just a chance. A ‘maybe’ is what Liam called it. That’s all.”
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