In Sickness and in Death

by Alana Ling

I turned to Sam who answered her question.

  ‘Well, you’ve taken the deal now, haven’t you?’

  Amanda shook her head. ‘Of course not. I could never do that to Poppy. Poppy was my friend. And poor Rory has been through enough.’

  ‘Well, for some reason, Mrs Blakely thinks you have agreed to the deal,’ I said.

  Amanda’s shoulders dropped. ‘Okay, okay. Rory asked me to tell Tia I would take the offer. He doesn’t want her going around town offering women money to marry her son and embarrassing him. Now if you don’t mind, I’m starving so I need to have a shower and go back out for dinner. Have a good night, ladies,’ she said and took us back to the door.

  When we were in the car Sam spoke up. ‘All of a sudden, Rory has a motive, doesn’t he? Kill Poppy so his mother goes back to the drawing board, get to Amanda before she does so she can take the offer and stall his nuptial agreement long enough for him to live his life with Tom for a while.’

  ‘But how long can you delay something like that? A year, max. And he had a deal with Poppy. She didn’t mind him having an affair with Tom. Why would he take the murderous way instead of Poppy’s way? I do think it’s time we paid a visit to our groom again.’

  Sixteen

  I called Rory and found out he was still at work. I drove us to his office and we saw him about to get in his car. I honked at him and he turned around to look at the two of us. He waved and gave us a big smile. Candy floss invaded my mouth, only this time it tasted rather sour.

  We jumped out of the car. He extended his hand to shake both of ours. From underneath his trousers vibrant pink and white polka dot socks flashed us.

  ‘To what do I owe the pleasure, ladies?’

  ‘Tom didn’t tell you?’ Sam asked him.

  He flinched and his head cocked to the side, looking at Sam. ‘Tell me what?’

  ‘We know everything, Rory,’ I told him.

  He winced. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Everything,’ I repeated slowly.

  ‘Oh God!’ He breathed out. He supported himself on the car and took deep breaths. ‘Wha-what do you want? Money? I’ve got plenty.’

  ‘The truth would be nice.’

  ‘What truth?’ he asked.

  I wasn’t going to beat around the bush. ‘Did you kill Poppy?’

  He stopped his breathing exercise to stare at me in disbelief.

  ‘Well…did you?’ Sam insisted.

  ‘Of course not. Why would you think I did?’

  ‘Well, you had the most to benefit from it. You kill Poppy, you don’t have to worry about marrying someone else, you live happily with Tom,’ I explained.

  He laughed a sad laugh. ‘What would be the point? She already had another woman for me.’

  ‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘Amanda. Who you begged to take the deal and stall your mother.’

  His eyes returned to me. ‘You know about that, do you?’

  We both nodded.

  ‘Well, I know it looks bad, but I never touched Poppy. Yes, I hated her. Yes, I couldn’t stand her face. But I didn’t kill her. All right? I was never even in the same room with her on the day. I was with Tom.’

  I smiled. ‘I know you were, but you could still have been the one to poison her.’

  ‘Poison? What are you talking about?’ He looked genuinely confused.

  Sam explained how Poppy died. Rory gasped.

  ‘Hemlock, huh? I thought that stuff was a plant.’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘Then, what? Did she eat a plant? That is so absurd.’

  ‘So you didn’t poison her, or strangle her with the bouquet?’ Sam recounted. ‘Why should we believe you?’

  ‘Because, I hated her, but she’d agreed to split up and never have kids. That was the perfect deal. Why would I ruin it?’

  ‘Precisely. Why, is the question?’ I said.

  Rory exhaled. He swallowed and his Adam’s apple bobbed. ‘Look. A lot of people hated Poppy. A lot of people wanted to see her six feet under. But I was not one of them.’

  ‘Who are these people?’ I asked.

  Rory seemed to take a moment to decide if he should share that information. Sam was staring him down waiting for an answer, and it worked as he seemed to have decided it was better someone else being a suspect than him.

  ‘Well, Gemima was always jealous of her. Not to mention the fact that she is seeing Lloyd,’ he revealed. ‘Now, I need to go, ladies. It’s been a very long day and I need to rest. I’ve got the funeral to prepare for this weekend.’

  He dashed off to his car in seconds, leaving Sam and I standing outside his office.

  ‘Do you have a black dress?’ I asked Sam.

  ‘Of course. Why?’

  ‘We’ve got a funeral to attend.’

  Two days later, Sam picked me up at nine sharp. She was dressed in a mini black dress and her hair had been straightened for the day. I chose to wear a black suit jacket over a black high-cut blouse with a matching pair of calf-length trousers. Similarly to Sam, I’d decided to match my outfit with black stilettos, a torture I never allowed myself other than on special occasions.

  ‘Funny things, funerals. People talk a lot, you see,’ I commented as we entered the graveyard. The ground was hard. It had been dry for the last few weeks, but the grass didn’t seem affected as it stood proud and green under our feet.

  ‘You don’t really think the murderer will talk, do you?’ She stared at me in disbelief.

  I shook my head. ‘For starters, it’ll be interesting to witness everyone’s acting skills.’

  We reached the burial lot in the back of the graveyard, where all the family plots were. Each was bigger and grander than the last one, where they’d chosen all sorts of materials for the gravestones and all kinds of pictures and titles to commemorate their loved ones, competing for dominance over the status quo even in the afterlife.

  Sarah and Lesley were at the front, next to the vicar. Sarah was blowing her nose in tissues, her eyes red and her cheeks wet. Lesley’s eyes reflected that of his wife’s, but no tears were in sight. The attendance was incredible. Almost everyone invited to the wedding was in attendance.

  Next to the Guildfords, Rory was looking rather sombre. The guy didn’t love her, but even I was surprised he wasn’t brandishing fake tears for the public. Next to him, Lloyd, with his arms around Rory, was in a state. Black circles were under his eyes and untidy stubble decorated his face, hardly the dashing man I’d met a few days ago.

  The rest of the Blakelys were sat on the front rows of chairs. Gemima was sitting next to Jack Blakely. Holding a tissue loosely in her hands, wearing a big black hat with netting all over it, she stared hard at the back of Lloyd’s head. Next to her Robert was inconsolable. He was staring at the coffin, his nose red and snuffly. He was impossible to ignore.

  Tom was sat next to him, looking up at the sky, not bothering to put on a show for anyone’s benefit. Amanda was in a yellow dress, standing out like a sore thumb in a sea of black dresses. Her fascinator was a small canary on a nest. I was embarrassed for her, but she didn’t look bothered by everyone’s disapproving stares. She was looking at Poppy’s coffin with a blank face, betraying no emotion.

  I spotted Daniel behind a bunch of faces. He nodded at me and moved around the circle to come and meet me.

  ‘Detective Anderson.’ I greeted him.

  ‘Miss Christie, fancy seeing you here,’ he said, the sarcasm detectable in his disapproving look. ‘What are you doing here, Jo?’

  ‘The same thing you are.’

  ‘And what would that be? You’re here to catch a killer?’

  I shrugged. ‘That would be nice.’ I pursed my lips and grinned at him.

  He grabbed my forearm and pulled me back. ‘Jo, I told you this is dangerous. Why are you doing this? Do you want to end up in a ditch like Poppy? You promised to let it go.’

  ‘No, I didn’t,’ I said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I just said okay when you asked
me. I didn’t promise anything.’

  Before Daniel could go, the silence of sniffles was cut by a big wail. I looked at Sarah, but she was looking behind her, staring at the source of the wail. Tia was crying, loudly, into a piece of tissue with Jack’s hand soothing her. Gemima covered her mouth at the show and Amanda reached out to her with an extra handkerchief. Tia took it gently and quietened back down into sombre grieving.

  ‘Did you know she was paying Poppy to marry Rory?’ I asked Daniel, staring at Mrs Blakely.

  He chuckled. ‘Please. I found that out when I first interrogated her.’

  ‘Well, did you know that she’s paying Amanda to marry him next?’ I added.

  ‘Really?’ he asked. The sarcasm hadn’t left his face.

  ‘So you know all these things, but you haven’t made any arrests. What gives?’

  He sighed. ‘It’s a difficult case, Jo.’

  ‘Aren’t there any fingerprints around the room that you can use?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Everyone’s fingerprints are there. Literally.’

  ‘When you say everyone’s?’

  He raised his eyebrow. ‘Everyone. Mr and Mrs Guildford, all of the Blakelys, the bridesmaids, the best men. All of them.’

  I looked at the funeral guests. ‘I can understand the bridesmaids’ fingerprints. All of Poppy’s meetings took place in there. But I don’t know what everyone else’s would be doing there. Unless they’re old prints?’

  ‘I know, Jo. It’s taken us a long time to get all the prints, there were so many. But I’m talking about the freshest ones. We’re looking at all the suspects,’ he said and browsed the attendants. All hundred of them.

  ‘Not everyone had a motive,’ I said.

  ‘People don’t need a motive to kill. The stupidest reason can make someone kill another human being.’

  ‘But it’s got to be someone in the immediate circle. Everyone had a reason to kill her.’

  Daniel paused and took me in. His eyes shone in the sunlight and my jacket felt heavy all of a sudden.

  ‘You’re right.’

  I squeezed my eyes. ‘What?’

  ‘You are correct. Most of them had an alibi. Most of them never left the garden. Which leaves us with the immediate circle.’

  Sam elbowed Daniel in his side. ‘Who do you think did it?’

  He glanced at her and shook his head as if in despair. He turned back to me. ‘Stop getting involved in this. Do you hear me?’

  I nodded and he walked away.

  As if there was any chance in hell I was stopping now.

  The cafe the Guildfords had picked for the reception was around the corner from Mum’s shop so I decided to pay her a visit. Sam had nothing better to do with her Sunday so she came with me. I didn’t know if I should feel sorry for her for spending her day off with her boss, although technically, we were still working. Only we were not planning an event, but solving a murder instead. I wondered, for the hundredth time since I’d met her, what had made her come to this foreign town where she knew no one, to do a job she’d never done before.

  We entered the shop and found Mum crocheting with a bunch of elderly ladies, surrounded by teapots, teacups and yarn. She cheered when she saw me and dropped her hooks to come and kiss me.

  ‘And who is this lovely lady?’ she asked.

  ‘Sam, this is my mother, Effie,’ I said, noticing the change in her hair. Today it was a teal colour.

  Sam shook her hand, while my mum went the extra mile by kissing both her cheeks and embracing her with motherly affection.

  ‘Would you like some coffee? You look like you’ve come out of a funeral,’ she said dragging us to the back.

  ‘We have. Poppy’s,’ I explained.

  ‘Oh, I know, sweetheart. I read it in the paper.’ She got busy boiling coffee on her ibrik and I sat down on the sofa.

  Sam browsed around looking from shelf to shelf, before Effie came to her with a plate of biscuits. She hesitantly picked one up and inspected it. She looked at me.

  ‘It’s a butter biscuit,’ I explained. ‘It’s a Greek tradition to bring them out for guests with coffee.’

  ‘I didn’t know you were Greek,’ Sam said, biting into her biscuit.

  ‘Half. Dad was English. Mum was born in Greece, but brought here when she was a teenager, hence her English accent and the Greek habits.’

  Mum approached us with cups of Greek coffee and she passed one to Sam. Sam took a long whiff of the coffee and winced. ‘Smells strong.’

  ‘Oh, it’s not that bad.’ Mum laughed. ‘Give it a try. And eat some butter biscuits. Look at you, stick-thin. You girls need to put some weight on. How will you ever find a man looking like a pile of bones?’

  ‘Mum!’ I scolded her.

  ‘Okay, okay. I’ll stop.’

  Sam hummed. ‘It’s nice. I like it.’

  Effie laughed. ‘Good, now drink up so I can read your cup.’

  Sam looked from one to the other of us waiting for an explanation and Mum took her time to explain the process of preparing a cup for reading. Sam plastered an enthusiastic smile on her face and followed Mum’s instructions to the tee. Effie took the cup from her once it was ready and inspected it with her cat eye glasses.

  ‘You poor thing. All I can see in your past is darkness,’ she said.

  Sam’s eyes popped.

  ‘Look here,’ Effie said and pointed somewhere in the cup. ‘It’s all black. But you got out of it. And doesn’t the future hold great things for you. There’s someone in your future, and you’re going to meet them soon. Oh, will they spoil you.’

  Sam laughed. ‘I doubt it.’

  Mum slapped her thigh and pointed at her. ‘You listen to me, missy. Anything I see in the cup is the real deal. So shut up. I told you. You will meet someone who will spoil you rotten.’

  Sam looked at me for help and I laughed.

  ‘Now what is this?’ Mum asked and took a closer look at the cup. ‘It can’t be!’

  ‘What is it?’ Sam and I both asked.

  Mum raised her eyes from the cup and turned to us.

  ‘Girls! Why are you investigating a murder? It is dangerous.’

  Sam gasped and then she laughed. I couldn’t though. I was in serious trouble.

  Seventeen

  When your very own, Greek, mother had to sit you down for thirty-four long minutes to tell you each and every way looking for a murderer was bad and dangerous, and to stop nosing in on other people’s business, it did something to you, especially when that same person was always digging their nose into other people’s affairs. Yes, being told the same thing by Detective Anderson was one thing. Being told off by Effie, it lit a fire under my behind to get moving with my investigation and prove her wrong. Prove everybody wrong.

  Besides, I had been in no sort of danger so far. Surely, one of the people I’d met was a murderer, but they’d so far been nice about it.

  On Monday morning, Sam drove back to Brighton to pick up her finds for the birthday party and I was left to my own devices. Of course, with a Bean Therapy Bali coffee in hand, and Alfie’s lead in the other.

  I got Gemima’s address and buzzed her intercom. Of all the people in Poppy’s circle I’d met so far, Gemima was the only one not living in the outskirts of the town and in a large, expensive mansion. It was impossible she didn’t come from money, because being Poppy’s friend meant you were preferably made of it. Gemima answered the door of her first floor apartment, snapping me out of my daydream about human beings made out of fifty-pound notes.

  ‘Joanna. What are you doing here?’ she asked.

  I waved with my coffee hand, sploshing some on myself. The coffee had gone lukewarm so my skin barely registered the contact. Her eyes dropped to Alfie, who introduced himself by jumping against her knees and wagging his tail enthusiastically.

  ‘Well, hello there, little doggie,’ she said and smiled, her teeth smeared with pink lipstick.

 
She patted his head and swooned over him. If people swooned like that for me as they swooned for Alfie, my life would be set. Instead, I had to stand there and wait for the attention to be brought back to my visit and me.

  When Alfie got tired of being petted and returned all feet to the floor, Gemima’s eyes traced back to me.

  ‘Sorry, I love dogs. I’ve always wanted one, but my parents were highly allergic.’

  I shook my head. ‘Not a problem. He loves cuddles so feel free.’

  ‘How can I help?’ she asked.

  ‘I was actually dropping by to see how you were doing. I saw how upset you were at the funeral yesterday and wanted to make sure you’re okay.’ Her lips immediately went south of the equator, as if remembering she should be sad rather than ecstatic over a dog. Not that I could blame her.

  My assessment of her grief seemed to do the trick and satisfy her as she showed me in. She sat me in her living room, which was open plan with the kitchen adjacent to it. There were two long couches and an armchair boxing off a coffee table in the middle.

  ‘I’m all right. Really. I’m working a lot and it takes my mind off things.’

  ‘And thankfully you’ve got someone to lean on when that doesn’t work.’

  She looked up at me with a big question mark painted across her face.

  ‘What do you mean?’ she asked.

  ‘Lloyd? I’ve heard he’s been a solid rock by your side through all of this.’ I was becoming so good at coming up with lies to achieve my end goal that I was shocking myself.

  Gemima’s eyes grew bigger for a split second, and then she nodded as if agreeing with my statement. ‘He’s a great guy.’

  ‘I saw him the other day with Poppy, at Hotel Margot. He seems such a nice fella.’

  ‘When?’ she asked, life springing back to her face.

  I thought for a second and told her. She looked relieved.

  ‘Oh, yes, they met so she could check his suit was right for the wedding day,’ she said, a statement which could be true, but something told me it wasn’t.

  ‘How did Poppy take it when you got together? She must have been so nice about it seeing as you kept dating him.’