Once Upon a Crime

by Mona Marple

  Next, she picked up seven bags of arborio rice, a large bag of sundried tomatoes, two packets of dried porcini mushrooms and four bulbs of garlic. The mini risotto was an ambitious addition to the menu, but if she could cook it to perfection and then keep it warm and moist until serving, she knew it would be a crowd pleaser.

  She added a large jar of queen olives to the trolley and three packets of goat’s cheese, plus a large bottle of balsamic vinegar, then moved through the aisles with reckless abandon. Being able to prepare a menu of her own creation, with no set budget, almost made her giddy.

  She grabbed a huge bag of cheddar cheese, another bag of red Leicester, and four large spring onions. Next, she added a huge bag of potatoes to the trolley, followed by ten heads of broccoli and a wheel of Stilton. Three dozen eggs followed. Individual cheese and potato pies, and broccoli and stilton quichettes, were on her menu.

  An hour and a half later, she left the wholesaler empty-handed, opting for the items to be delivered. The order total was more than a month’s rent, but it would be worth it.

  The heavens opened on her drive back to Books and Bakes, and Sandy turned the radio off so she could hear the rain hammer against her car. As she left the more built-up town and returned to Waterfell Tweed, she thought how glad she was to live in a small village. The sight of green fields always soothed her soul.

  She was thoroughly relaxed until she saw a police car parked outside Books and Bakes.

  She parked in front of it and jumped out, only to notice that the engine was still on and DC Sullivan was sat inside. She glanced inside the shop, where Bernice was placing a large breakfast in front of Dorie Slaughter.

  “Ms Shaw.” DC Sullivan said, lowering his car window. He had such an unpleasant face, Sandy thought. So arrogant and smug.

  “DC Sullivan. Is everything ok?”

  “No. No it isn’t.” The man said, sneering at her. Sandy’s heart sank; what had happened now?

  He noticed her expression and rolled his eyes. Actually rolled his eyes. “There’s a murderer walking the streets. A murderer who should be in jail.”

  As if she had forgotten. “Of course, officer. Do you have any new leads?”

  “I don’t need any new leads.” He grunted. “I know exactly who did this, and I want to be clear with you Ms. Shaw, I have worked on bigger and better cases than this, and I have caught bigger and cleverer criminals than you. Your days are numbered. I assure you, you will be punished.”

  With that, he sped away, leaving Sandy standing on the pavement, her cheeks burning with anger and fear, attempting not to cry.

  She glanced from side to side to ensure that nobody else had heard the conversation, then walked away from the shop and into the pub. Finding the quietest booth in the empty pub, she sat and tried to calm her breathing, then took out her phone.

  “Ingrid?” She asked when the woman answered the phone on the sixth ring.

  “Ingrid Tate, who’s calling?”

  “It’s Sandy Shaw.”

  “Sandy…?”

  “Sandy Shaw. You represented me at the police station, do you remember.”

  “Of course!” The lawyer said, unconvincingly. “Have you been arrested again?”

  “No!” Sandy cried. “No! I wanted to know what’s happened, what’s happened since the interview.”

  “Well, nothing’s happened,” Ingrid said.

  “What do you mean? I thought you were on my side?”

  “I was, Sandy. I was at the police station, I got you bail. But there’s nothing to do now.”

  “So I sit back and wait to be charged?”

  “Well… there really isn’t anything else to do.”

  “Thanks for your help,” Sandy said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She had no knowledge of the legal world, no idea whether her so-called solicitor was any good and even less idea what she thought the solicitor should have been doing instead of doing nothing. But she knew she felt alone. Alone and scared.

  **

  “Get everything we need?” Bernice asked as Sandy returned to Books and Bakes after composing herself with an apple juice in The Tweed.

  She nodded, not quite ready for Bernice’s enthusiasm. Bernice had been suggesting to her for a long time that they should try and work more corporate catering occasions, but Sandy wasn’t so sure. They were enjoyable every so often, a nice chance to work under pressure which always gave her a buzz of excitement, but customers usually wanted high-quality food for low prices. It was too much work to do without making a fair profit. Luckily, the Harlows appreciated that and always paid a fair amount.

  “You’re miles away. I bet you’re still tweaking the menu!” Bernice said, with a grin.

  “I haven’t decided what cakes to make yet,” Sandy said. “In fact, I thought maybe you could be in charge of that side of things?”

  “What, choose the cakes myself?”

  “You know what people like,” Sandy said, with a shrug.

  Bernice was beaming, her smile so wide it reached her eyes. “I’d love to.”

  Sandy smiled at her, forcing herself to focus on the good. She had a great event to cater, and a great employee to help her.

  She pulled her apron on and got back to work, just as Elaine Peters walked in the door.

  “Good afternoon, Elaine.” Sandy greeted.

  “Hello, Sandy, I can’t stay but I wanted to tell you something. Can I have a word?”

  “Of course,” Sandy said, leading Elaine to a quiet corner of the deserted book area. “What’s wrong?”

  Elaine looked close to tears. “I’ve just had a visit from DC Sullivan.”

  “What did he want?”

  “He asked me questions… about you. Said it was just informal, no need to go to the station. I didn’t know what to do, I mean you can’t refuse to talk to a police officer, can you? So I let him in but I didn’t like it, Sandy. I didn’t like his questions.”

  “It’s fine, Elaine. I’ve got nothing to hide, you’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “He said something to me, and I think you deserve to know.”

  “Ok… what was it?”

  “He told me he’s got enough evidence to charge you, he’s just waiting for the right time. He said after the way you’ve been parading around town - they’re his words, not mine - after the way you’ve been parading around town, he wants everyone to know what you did. And then he said he’s looking forward to the Winter Ball.”

  Sandy creased her brow. Why would DC Sullivan be at the Winter Ball?

  “Why would DC Sullivan be at the Winter Ball?”

  “He said he’s had a personal invitation, which I thought was strange because Jim… Jim hasn’t.” Elaine said, blushing at the mention of her boyfriend’s name. “Nobody’s had an invitation.”

  Sandy nodded. Whenever the Harlows hosted an event, it was announced and everyone was welcome, but there was no formal guest list and no individual invitations. The Harlows refused to do that in case someone was missed out. “Thanks for telling me, Elaine.”

  She bid her friend goodbye, then returned to the kitchen and took out her notebook.

  WHO INVITED DC SULLIVAN? She wrote in large letters, as she tried to work out exactly what might lay in store for her at the Winter Ball.

  15

  Sandy wrapped her mac tighter around herself as she walked up the gravel path to Waterfell Manor. The stately home sat in an elevated position, overlooking much of the village. It was a beautiful old building, maintained by the many generations of the Harlow family who had inhabited it before passing it to the next generation.

  Sandy had no memory of the manor being home to anyone but Benedict and Penelope, but the entrance hall to the Manor was filled with oil paintings of the earlier inhabitants, who had each taken their turn managing and protecting the Harlow home and fortune.

  She knocked on the door and stood back to wait for an answer. After a few moments, she heard someone approaching from within. To her surprise, Charlotte Harlow
opened the door. Dressed in jodhpurs and a checked shirt, Charlotte’s expression was sullen.

  “Yes?” She asked, inconvenienced by having to answer the door herself. Sandy wondered where the housekeeper was.

  “Are your parents in?” Sandy asked, the words making her feel as if she was talking to a child and not a woman the same age as herself. Despite her moving to the city to embark on her own career, whenever Charlotte returned home, she seemed childlike again, living in her parents’ shadow.

  “Mother!” Charlotte called, walking away from the door but leaving it open. Sandy followed Charlotte inside, closing the door after herself.

  “It’s such a beautiful home.” She mumbled, to herself as much as Charlotte.

  “It’s too big, impossible to heat, and the windows are tiny,” Charlotte said. “What do you want, anyway?”

  “I wanted to have a look at the kitchen. I’ll be preparing the food here for the Ball, and I wanted to see what I need to bring and just look at the space where I’ll be working.”

  Charlotte nodded. “Mother! The woman from the cafe is here!”

  “You know my name,” Sandy said, her cheeks burning with rage at Charlotte’s rudeness.

  “Do I?” Charlotte asked, and with that, she turned on her heels and left Sandy standing in the entrance way alone.

  She remained there for several minutes, and then heard movement towards the end of the hall.

  “Hello?” She called, feeling spooked by the size of the Manor and wondering if Charlotte was right. “Hello? It’s Sandy Shaw, can you hear me?”

  “Sandy!” Penelope called, appearing from a doorway in a body warmer and an old pair of jeans. Her hands, and spots of her face covered in soil. “So sorry darling, I was in the garden. Won’t kiss you!”

  Sandy smiled. “That’s ok. I just wondered if I could have a look at the kitchen? I like to check out a space before I cook in it.”

  “Oh! What a professional thing to think of doing! Yes, yes, follow me.”

  Sandy followed Penelope through the Manor, down a long hallway. The kitchen was right at the end, and it was even more incredible than Sandy remembered. The island in the middle felt bigger than Sandy’s home, and she couldn’t wait to use the Aga that stood against one wall.

  “What a beautiful space,” Sandy said.

  Penelope shrugged. “I can’t say I come in here. The garden, that’s more my type of space.”

  “What have you been doing out there?” Sandy asked, surprised to find that her wealthiest neighbour had such a mundane hobby.

  “I’ve got a little vegetable garden, follow me,” Penelope said, and Sandy did so.

  The little vegetable garden was bigger than Sandy’s whole garden, and it was beautifully tended. Vegetables and herbs grew in neat rows, each labelled to reveal what was busy growing there. Behind the vegetables was a manicured lawn, complete with a rusted slide and a large wooden climbing frame.

  This garden was separate from the public gardens that surrounded the Manor. This was the family garden.

  “I can see why you’d rather be out here than in the kitchen,” Sandy admitted, picturing herself sitting out in the tranquil space in the summer reading a book.

  “I’d spend entire days out here when the children were small,” Penelope said with a smile.

  “It must be a wonderful place to grow up.”

  “I hope so,” Penelope said. “We tried to make it that way. They both grew up and left though, didn’t they.”

  The two stood together in silence for a while, each one lost in their thoughts. Sandy was remembering her own childhood, how idyllic it had been growing up in a small village where everyone knew everyone and her safety was taken for granted.

  She remembered running off to the grocery store or the newsagent to fetch things for her parents, saying hello to everyone she passed on the way. Sometimes, elderly women would stop her and dig in their purse to give her 20p for sweets.

  Then there were the days she and Coral would disappear after breakfast and only return for dinner, worn out and golden brown from a day playing in the sun. She smiled at the thoughts.

  “Shall we get to work?” Penelope asked, bringing Sandy back to reality.

  “Yes, let’s.”

  They returned to the kitchen and Sandy began checking drawers and cupboards for equipment and tools she would need. As expected, the Harlow kitchen had everything she would need. It was a kitchen designed for professionals since the family themselves didn’t cook. On a typical night, the housekeeper would make dinner, and when guests were over, often a professional chef would be hired.

  “This is perfect, Penelope, it will be a great space to work in,” Sandy said. Penelope had hovered in the room, as if she may be called upon to answer a question while knowing that if that happened she wouldn’t know the answer. It was the way Sandy felt whenever she had to call a plumber out or see a mechanic.

  “Oh, I’m so pleased!” She said. “The Winter Ball will be just what we all need.”

  There came a loud crash from upstairs and Penelope glanced at the ceiling, then across at Sandy, who tried to act as though she hadn’t heard.

  “Charlotte’s up there doing something or other,” Penelope said, with a smile.

  “She wants to move back, doesn’t she?” Sandy asked, thinking back to the comment she overheard at the wake.

  “Oh, yes. She’d do anything for a quiet life.”

  **

  Sandy had one more visit to make.

  Her relationship with Cass had been strained since she’d overheard the argument in the village square. While she knew that Cass’ attack meant she couldn’t have been responsible for Reginald’s murder, and she was horrified that she had ever considered her best friend to be a suspect, she had a troubling feeling that Cass may know something. That she may not have been responsible, but involved with the wrong people at the wrong time.

  She opened the door to Cass’ salon, to find her friend just taking money from a customer with furious, red eyebrows. The woman thanked her and left the salon, and it was just Sandy and Cass.

  “Hey, you!” Cass said with a grin. She was sporting an oversized green dress with large white spots, black tights, and black boots. The outfit would look garish on Sandy, but Cass pulled it off with style.

  “Hey, I love that dress on you.”

  “Hides the bumps and lumps!” Cass said with a laugh, giving Sandy a hug. “I’ve got a break until 2pm, want a coffee?”

  “Please.” Sandy said. “And can you fit me in for that eyebrow wax?”

  Cass’ eyes glinted with excitement. “Ohhhh yes! Come and lie on here.”

  Sandy lay down on the treatment bed and closed her eyes. The wax was warm, which she knew it would be but was still surprised to feel. It felt thick and sticky, but the sensation of it being applied was soothing.

  “Get ready.” Cass said, applying some kind of sticky tape on top of part of the wax, rubbing it, and then tearing it off.

  “Ow! Cass! Am I bleeding?!” Sandy cried, sitting up on the bed and placing a hand on her hurt eyebrow, coating her fingers with wax.

  Cass laughed. “Come on, Sand, it’s not that bad. Lie back down, you’re nearly done.”

  Sandy lay down, wiping the wax on a wet wipe offered by Cass. She remained lying down for the rest of the treatment, and a few minutes later glanced in the mirror to see her own red, angry, but tidy, eyebrows.

  “Thanks, I guess,” Sandy said, as she and Cass sat with a cup of coffee afterward. “How do people put up with that?”

  “Lots of people prefer it to plucking,” Cass explained. “I don’t think it hurts once you get used to it. And look how nice and tidy your eyebrows look nice.”

  “They do look nice,” Sandy admitted.

  “Well, pop in anytime. It’s only five minutes.”

  “Thanks Cass. You know, there’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you about for a few days.”

  Cass shifted in her seat. “Okay… what
is it?”

  “A few nights ago, I was followed by a man on my walk home from the shop.”

  “What? Are you okay? Do the police know?”

  “It was the police.”

  “You are kidding me.”

  “No, it was DC Sullivan. In fairness, he did it because he didn’t want me walking home on my own after the murder, but I only found out it was him the next day. The night it happened, I just turned and ran. And I ran back to the shop. I slept there.”

  “Oh, wow.”

  “I know. The beanbags really aren’t that comfortable after a while.” She said with a smile. “The thing is, though, when I was in the shop that night, I heard something. I heard you. You were arguing with someone. And I know you don’t have to tell me everything, but you don’t argue with people and not tell me. I’m worried about you, Cass.”

  The colour had drained from Cass’ face. She looked at the floor and tapped her feet rhythmically.

  “What’s wrong, Cass?”

  Cass took a deep breath and looked up at Sandy. “I’m hiding something.”

  Sandy reached over and took her friend’s hand in hers. “You can tell me anything.”

  “If I tell you, you’ll tell the police.”

  “Why would I tell the police?”

  “Because I’ve broken the law, Sandy. I’m in so much trouble.”

  And with that, Cass began to cry. Sandy pulled her in for a hug, then noticed a shadow standing by the door to the kitchen.

  “Cass, who’s that?” Sandy asked.

  Cass jumped up from her seat and looked at the kitchen, noticing the shadow for herself. “I told you to stay there!”

  The door opened, and a small teenage girl appeared. She was short, painfully thin, and sporting bruises across her arm and face.

  “What’s going on, Cass?” Sandy asked.

  Cass sighed and buried her head in her hands. “Sandy, this is Olivia. My sister.”

  “You don’t have a sister,” Sandy said. She had known Cass since they were children, there had never been another child in the Zuniper house.

  “Half-sister.” The girl said, her voice sullen.