by Mona Marple
“You want to come with her?” One paramedic asked Sandy, who was about to say yes.
“No, she can’t.” DC Sullivan answered for her.
Sandy looked at him but said nothing.
“What happened to her?” Sandy asked.
The paramedics were placing Cass on a stretcher. She was lifeless, her beautiful hair bloodied.
“She’s been hit with some kind of object. We’ll know more at the hospital but I think she will be ok.”
“She’s alive?” Sandy asked, and the relief caused her sobs to come. She collapsed to the ground and allowed them to take over her body, crying for what could have been minutes or hours.
When she opened her eyes, DC Sullivan was standing over her.
“Sandy Shaw, I’m arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Reginald Halfman and the attempted murder of Cass Zuniper.”
**
Sandy was returned to Room 3 where this time she was cautioned and the interview was recorded. Her whole body was still shaking with a delayed reaction to finding Cass.
“You cried when you were told Ms Zuniper was alive. You didn’t cry when you thought she was dead. Why was that?”
“I don’t know!” Sandy exclaimed. “I don’t know the correct way to act in this kind of situation, and I’m sorry I got it wrong. I was just bottling things up and then when the paramedic said she was okay, I was so relieved. I couldn’t hold it in anymore.”
“You told me yesterday that you were upset with her.”
“Yes, but I don’t kill people I’m upset with!”
“Who do you kill?”
“Nobody!” Sandy cried. “This is ridiculous. You can’t believe that I have done this.”
“You have the motive to have killed Mr Halfman; he was going to open a competing business and, with your belief about his finances, he surely would have had the resources to be bigger and better - that was your fear, yes?”
“All of that is true except that it didn’t make me kill him.” Sandy said. “I’m a peacekeeper, I don’t even argue with people never mind kill anyone.”
“I see that a lot. People who bottle things in and then lose control and lash out. Is that what happened here?”
“No.”
“I don’t suppose you have anyone who can corroborate where you were this morning when someone was attempting to murder Cass Zuniper?”
“I live alone, DC Sullivan. There is nobody to corroborate my actions any morning.”
“But usually you’re in the cafe, baking cakes. The cakes themselves, if they’re in the oven or freshly made, would effectively corroborate that that’s where you were. Not this morning. Isn’t that interesting?”
“I wanted a lie in. I asked a member of staff to open the shop.”
“How convenient.” DC Sullivan said.
“It’s the -”
“It also suggests pre-meditation.”
“What?”
“When did you arrange for this member of staff to do your morning duties?”
“Yesterday, I sent her a message and asked at around lunchtime.”
“So we could say that you planned yesterday to do this today.”
“No, it’s not true.”
The door opened then, and Jim Slaughter appeared in the doorway. He gave her a brief smile then turned his attention to DC Sullivan. “Can I have a word, guv?”
DC Sullivan stood up and approached Jim. They remained in the doorway, Jim whispering something to him. DC Sullivan sighed.
“Miss Shaw, I am told that a lawyer has arrived for you. Would you like to speak to them?”
Jim, standing behind DC Sullivan’s back, gave a quick, urgent nod in her direction.
“Erm, yes, yes I would.” She answered.
**
The lawyer was a woman. Ingrid Tate.
Sandy had seen her on local TV many times, being interviewed about various cases. She was dressed immaculately, her hair sprayed to within an inch of its life to maintain the beehive style it had been placed in.
“Ingrid Tate.” The woman said, standing to shake Sandy’s hand as she walked into the meeting room. Ingrid closed the door behind them. “So, Sandy, you’re innocent right?”
“Of course.”
“Forgive me, dear, I’ve never met you. I have to ask. Have you been answering questions?”
“Yes, of course.”
“That’s only a good idea if you really are innocent. Now you’ve been in there long enough, I will suggest you stop answering questions and leave the talking to me.”
“Can I go home soon?”
“Sweetheart, if I wasn’t here, you’d be going to prison, not home.”
“What?”
“These police are lazy. They’re out of their district to solve a crime they’ve got no interest in; nobody wants to be sent away from the exciting city to a little village like this, even for two murders. They want to find someone and get gone. You were nearly the scapegoat they want. Thank goodness I’m here.”
“Who called you?”
“Hmm.” Ingrid said. “That’s the best part. It was Miss Cassandra Zuniper.”
**
Less than an hour later, Sandy was back in her cottage.
Ingrid had told DC Sullivan that he had no evidence against Sandy at all, and when he sneered at that suggestion, Ingrid had quoted pieces of law to him, until he had agreed to allow Sandy to go - for now.
She went into the bedroom and changed out of her clothes into the fleecy pyjamas she loved, then pulled her dressing gown on. She was chilled to the bone.
A quick glance at her phone showed a message from Bernice asking if everything was OK and saying that she had remained in the shop all day. It made Sandy grateful that she had a friend who was so unflappable.
It was 6.30pm, and Sandy collapsed onto her bed but found she couldn’t sleep.
Reginald Halfman’s murder had unsettled her, but an attack on her best friend? And if the police were as lazy as Ingrid Tate suggested, ready to lock up the first person they could for the crimes, then maybe Sandy needed to take matters into her own hands.
For her friends’ safety.
And to prove her innocence.
6
After a fitful night’s sleep, Sandy was in the shop’s kitchen earlier than normal, whipping up batches of her most popular cakes, which she planned to offer for a special one-day-only low price.
If she wanted to solve the crimes, her first step had to be information gathering - and her very own cafe was the best place to do that.
Before the shop opened, she had a Victoria sponge, a lemon drizzle cake, a fruit loaf, chocolate chip cookies and a coconut tart all ready and displayed.
She waited for a few minutes while her ancient printer fought to produce an A4 sign for the door.
“Happy World Kindness Day - Cake Sale today only!”
She hadn’t even finished blu-tacking the sign when the first customer came in.
“Are you ok?” Bernice Alton asked, her eyes wide. She grabbed hold of Sandy and pulled her in for a hug.
“I’m ok, Bernice, I promise,” Sandy said. Bernice must have heard on the gossip grapevine about her being arrested. “Does everyone know?”
“Cass rang me from hospital. An officer had gone to see her and told her - as if the case was closed! - that they’d arrested you. She rang and told me everything, and I told her you needed a lawyer. She sorted the rest. I think everyone else will think you were giving a statement.”
“Thank you,” Sandy said, believing Bernice’s words. Bernice was one of the few people in the village who didn’t get involved in gossip. That was probably why Cass had chosen her to phone. “How is Cass?”
“She will be fine. She should be home in a couple of days. People can visit… but, I don’t know if…”
“I’ll be going after work. DC Sullivan won’t stop me going to visit my best friend.”
Bernice broke into a smile. “Good girl.”
“Bernice, wh
at do you think about Reginald Halfman’s murder? Who could do such a thing? Do you think the same person attacked Cass?”
“I don’t think it’s the same person,” Bernice said. “Whoever killed Reginald made sure the job was done. Cass was hit, with an object, once. I can’t help wondering if someone with a grudge against Cass decided now was the time to hurt her, and make it look connected to the murder.”
Sandy’s stomach flipped at her friend’s words. “Oh my God… so there could be two attackers out there?”
“Do you know anyone who would want to hurt Cass?” Bernice asked. “You know her better than anyone.”
“No. There’s nobody.” Sandy said, shaking her head. But her mind returned to the scene in the village square a few nights before, Cass arguing with a mysterious woman. Maybe she didn’t know Cass that well.
She returned to the counter and grabbed her trusty diary, flicking back a few pages to the date in question. She stood and scribbled everything she could remember about the argument, including the time and as much as she could think of to describe the woman. Then she turned to the page for the day before and wrote about Cass being attacked. Could it be a coincidence?
“I’m going to stick around today.” Bernice said. “And don’t try to talk me out of it. Don’t pay me if you can’t, but you need support right now.”
Sandy smiled at her. “Thank you, Bernice. That means a lot.”
The bell rang, announcing a visitor, and in walked the Harlow family. Benedict and Penelope sat down at a table, while their daughter Charlotte wandered into the bookstore part of the shop.
“Good morning,” Benedict called out. “We are here to show our support.”
“Thank you, Benedict. Penelope.” Sandy said, walking over with a notepad to take their order. She’d never mastered the art of memorising orders. She appreciated them being there. They were the faces of Waterfell Tweed, and their faces being in her cafe would be great for business, and her reputation.
“Such an awful business,” Penelope said, reaching for Sandy’s hand. “How is Cass?”
“She will be ok. Actually, I’m going to visit her later.”
“Pass on our regards, please?” Benedict asked. The two of them looked fresh from a countryside magazine; him with his tweed jacket and her with her Hunter wellies and raincoat.
“Of course. What can I get for you?”
“I’ll have a black coffee,” Penelope said.
“Tea please, and get us a couple of those scones.”
“And for Charlotte?”
“Oh - I quite forgot she was here!” Penelope admitted with a laugh. “Let her order for herself when she’s finished browsing. Who knows how long she will be when there are books around.”
“What’s she doing back? She seems to be home more often than normal.” Sandy asked.
Benedict leaned into her. “I don’t think she’s thrilled in the city.”
“Oh no, that’s a shame,” Sandy said, unsure of what else to add. She’d never felt a connection with Charlotte Harlow, despite them being similar ages.
She retreated from the table and got on with making the drinks, under Bernice’s watchful eye.
“Bernice, I’m ok.” She said.
“Hmm.” Her friend replied.
Charlotte Harlow didn’t emerge from the books until her parents had finished their drinks. Sandy would usually be excited to have such a keen book lover in the shop, but in her experience, Charlotte was a browser, not a buyer. True to form, she reemerged, empty-handed.
“Americano, please Sandy.” She called across, even though Sandy was at another table taking an order from a stranger who was out hiking in the area. Sandy gave a thumbs up to acknowledge the order.
The hiker was a nervous-looking man, wrapped up in more clothes than was necessary for the weather, all of which he kept on his body despite being indoors. Sandy took his order as fast as she could and then asked Bernice to prepare the complicated order, which was a breakfast from the menu with every item replaced or changed.
She made Charlotte’s coffee and returned to their table.
“No books take your fancy?” She asked. Browsers didn’t pay the bills.
Charlotte furrowed her brow. “Oh plenty, I took a photo of the covers. I prefer to read on my phone.”
“Ah.” Sandy said as Charlotte held up her enormous phone. It must be the latest model, only released a few days ago. Charlotte Harlow wouldn’t have queued overnight for it, as a few of the younger villagers had; she probably had a member of staff to do things like that for her.
“You’ll be relieved there’s no competitor opening, I imagine,” Charlotte said.
“I’d rather a competitor than a man dead,” Sandy said, and the words were true. Despite her initial anger at Reginald’s business idea, she had come to realise that a second bookshop, and a third and a fourth, would be good for her business. They’d give Waterfell Tweed the reputation of being a book town, like Hay-on-Wye in Wales, and attract book lovers. If only she’d had a few days to get her head around the surprise, it could have been exciting for her and Reginald.
“He’d have been awful in the book business,” Charlotte said.
“Charlotte,” Penelope warned.
“It's true, mummy. He had no respect for the written word. At least you -” Charlotte said, then paused. The tone of her voice as she addressed Sandy appeared to be harsher than she meant. “You, Sandy, you love books. Like I do.”
“But you don’t read them,” Sandy said.
Charlotte laughed. “Oh, I would, if my life was different. A city life leaves no room for books. If I was living here, like you, my house would overflow with the things.”
“You don’t have to stay there forever, darling,” Benedict said to his daughter, who rolled her eyes.
“Can we talk about something else? This is frightfully dull.” Charlotte said, picking up her cup to take a sip of her drink.
Sandy smiled at the three of them and then returned to the counter.
The door opened again and in walked her sister, Coral.
“Hey, sis.” She said. “Can I get a porridge and a mug of tea?”
“Sure, I’ll bring it over,” Sandy said.
Coral turned and saw that there were several empty tables. “It’s ok, I’ll stand and chat. Have you heard the news?”
“What news?”
“About Cass? She was attacked.” Coral said.
“Oh, yes, I know that news. That was yesterday, sis, you’re a bit out of date.”
Coral laughed. “They sent me to Manchester yesterday on a course, and get this - no signal. No signal on the train, thanks for nothing Richard Branson, and no signal in the building.”
“Wow. How did you cope?”
“I’m going to get compensation. How can people live like that? Even here we get a good phone and WiFi signal. It’s so… 18th century!”
“18th century? I don’t think the biggest concern then was good WiFi.”
“Well, it’s my biggest concern now. I kept turning my phone on and off to test it, I couldn’t believe a place would have no WiFi… its… anyway, how is she?”
“I’m going to visit her later.” Sandy said. “I can’t believe you’ve only just found out.”
“Why would I find out earlier, sis? What happens here is no news at all in the city.”
Sandy frowned. Something about her sister’s words caused her to stop. Gave her a thought she couldn’t quite reach. Unlocked a memory, or a premonition.
Coral had disappeared to secure a table, and no sooner had she left the counter than the door opened again, and in walked Gus Sanders, the man who ran the butcher’s on the square. He was a rare visitor in the shop.
“Good morning Gus, how are you?”
“Better now I’ve seen that there’s a cake sale!” He said, laughing. “I’ll take three slices of lemon drizzle please for me and the lads.”
“Is that to go?”
“Yes please… see if th
ey last until lunchtime!” He said, with another laugh.
Sandy took the lid off the cake dome and found one of her sharpest knives.
“How have you been, Gus? Any news?”
“Only the graffiti on the shop again. I’ve told the police but they’ve got better things to do right now… awful business isn’t it?”
“It really is.” Sandy said. “I didn’t know the graffiti was still happening.”
“It stops and starts. Annoying, but I guess people have bigger problems.”
Gus had first been targeted by a graffiti artist a few months earlier, when an abusive message calling him an animal killer had been sprayed on the front of his shop. Since then, the spray painting incidents had been sporadic, and always targeted at his shop only.
“Well, if I hear of any angry vegans, I’ll be the first to let you know.” Sandy joked.
Gus raised a weak smile. “Tell the police, not me, or I might be called in for questioning myself.”
He took his bags of cakes and left the shop, waving his goodbye. His words caused Sandy’s cheeks to flush. He was the first to mention her police experience in such a lighthearted way, and while Sandy trusted that his intentions were good, she still found herself unsettled.
She looked across the counter into the kitchen to see Bernice watching her with concern.
7
It was rare that Sandy ever took a lunch break, but after Gus Sanders’ words, she struggled to stop her hands shaking and felt close to tears. She told Bernice that she was going to go for a walk to clear her head, and Bernice nodded her agreement.
Sandy pulled on her bright yellow rain mac and made herself a mocha to go, then set out on foot. It was a crisp autumn day, and the leaves crunched underneath her boots as she stomped her way across the village square. She followed the roads to the church and settled herself on a wooden bench underneath a large oak tree. It was serene and quiet, and a squirrel ran out in front of her, making her smile for the first genuine time since she had found Cass lying outside her door.