Paper Crafts Club Mystery Box Set Book 1-3

by Emily Selby

  Katie looked at the sketch. The shape looked familiar, definitely familiar.

  'It looks like a slotted quilling tool.'

  'A what?'

  'An instrument used to roll strips of paper. This craft is called quilling or paper filigree,' she continued automatically. A chill rippled down her spine.

  'Have you even used one?'

  'Not for years. It's generally used by beginners, or when doing something difficult for the first time. I tend to use a plain quilling tool, which looks...' she paused and looked at him. Her mouth turned dry as paper. 'Like a very thin knitting needle.'

  'I see...' he said slowly. 'About 1mm in diameter, you'd say?'

  Katie nodded.

  He returned the pen and paper to the desk. 'It looks as though we’ve identified the assault weapon.'

  'The murder weapon, you mean?'

  'That's a little more complicated. From what I understand, Mrs Dunbar fell and hit her head before she was stabbed to death. Some of the stab wounds probably preceded the blow to her head. The forensic team needs more time to figure that out, if they ever will. They have also found traces of'—he consulted the faxed document-'a commonly used anti-anxiety medication. Some people use it to fall asleep easier. Did she take anything like that?'

  Katie thought back to the bottles she'd seen in Mrs Dunbar's en-suite bathroom.

  'I think I've seen something like that around the house. Maybe that’s why she sounded sleepy on the phone.'

  'Possibly. But the question is why she took it.' He fished his phone from his jacket pocket. 'I think we need to go back and check a couple of things.'

  'The weapon?'

  'That as well, although we didn't find anything like it at the scene. The killer probably took it with him or her. But I'd be interested to check Mrs Dunbar’s medicine cabinet and look for anything else that may be useful. Like her diary. Did she keep a diary?'

  'Yes. She kept it in the kitchen. I think somewhere above the hob.'

  Katie wiggled in her chair. A thought kept bugging her.

  'Do you think a quilling tool could have killed her?'

  'I'd prefer to have the final say from the forensics, but theoretically speaking it's possible. How long is it?'

  'They vary in length depending on need. But it can be'—she spread her index finger and her thumb to show—'even this long.'

  'That's about four inches, some ten centimetres. If it's sharp and sturdy, it's as murderous a weapon as a knitting needle.'

  'Sunita was right then.'

  'Sorry?'

  'It may be nothing,' she said, confusion fog gathering in her head. 'A while ago, in summer, we somehow ended up talking about using craft tools as murder weapons. Sunita Patel, one of our club members, insisted that a quilling tool was as dangerous as a knitting needle, but simply underestimated.'

  Heaton stared at her intently.

  'Are you sure that’s what she said?'

  'Pretty sure. I’d just pricked myself with one of those needle tools and thought exactly the same thing. Sunita's husband is a family doctor and she used to work as a nurse. I thought she knew what she was talking about.'

  'Do you remember who else was in the room during this conversation?'

  Katie cast her mind back.

  'I think it might have been the same meeting Vera attended, because we don't do that much quilling these days. I think the older ladies don't feel too confident with their fingers. Coiling the paper requires precision, not exactly suitable if you have arthritis or failing eyesight. And the glue gets everywhere. Anyway, if it was that day, it was a big group. It happened during the meeting we discussed the church fete. I think some fifteen people or so. A few non-members attended, too.'

  'Was it the time Vera slammed the door when she left?'

  'No, it was the meeting before that. And I think it was towards the end of the session. Some people had already left. We were cleaning up. As I said, I pricked myself with the tool and my finger bled. I didn't notice until Sunita realised my blood had stained her card. She got upset. Then Roy came to collect Mrs Dunbar - she was rushing to a church board meeting. Linda was also keen to go. It was the day her grandson wasn't too well. All in all, it was a great big mess.'

  'Can you get me a list of those present?'

  'Yes. We should have a list of attendees.'

  'Okay, but if you could do it discreetly, please. This is all just guesswork. I don't want to alarm anyone.'

  'Oh yes,' she said, through a flutter of excitement. 'I'll be discretion itself.'

  7

  As soon as the morning shift arrived, Katie returned to her dusty office box. Her head was spinning. Did the silly, playful chatter at the end of their meeting give anyone the idea to use quilling needles as a murder weapon? And if yes, that would mean only one thing - a thing she had known for a while, but it'd never stared her so blatantly in the face. Phyllis Dunbar was murdered by someone she knew. By someone Katie knew.

  A chill flowed down Katie's spine. She texted Miriam asking for the list of attendees at the meeting in question, hoping the Club president would not be too curious about the reasons for it. A few minutes later a screenshot of the list landed in Katie's inbox. No questions asked. What a relief!

  Katie copied the list onto a sheet of paper. Twelve names altogether. Not too bad. She'd hand the list to the DI later.

  Jotting the names down on the paper made her feel a little calmer. Calm enough to focus on her job. She picked the first folder and started to go through the report. Entering the data into the computer system was strangely soothing and, after a few minutes, she became engrossed in her work.

  A gentle knocking on the door interrupted her flow. Katie lifted her head.

  'Come in,' she called.

  The door opened, and Celia Baxter's curly head appeared in the gap. 'Are you very busy, Katie? We need a hand.'

  'What is it?'

  'I have to help the inspector. Can you man the reception for a minute? The guys are out on a patrol.'

  'No problem.' Katie was always happy to help when her uniformed colleagues were busy. 'I'll just grab my panic buzzer.'

  Celia rushed into the interview room. When she opened the door to enter, a voice raised in protest boomed through the office. She glanced the screens above the desk area. The interview room camera system showed three people. DI Heaton sat opposite a tall, slender man with thinning fair hair, who was vividly gesturing. Celia sat on the other side of the man, leaving the exit door clear.

  Katie watched the gesticulating man for a moment, to double check if her initial impression was correct. Yes, it was Reverend Alan Miller. This was an interesting development. What on earth was the vicar doing in the interview room? And why was he so animated?

  The interview didn't last much longer. The DI and Celia must have managed to calm the pastor, because he stopped waving his hands and shaking his head. When the interview ended, Celia escorted the vicar to the main entrance.

  Once the glass door swooshed closed behind Rev Miller, Heaton emerged from the interview room, looking a little ruffled. Celia shot him a glance.

  'You're all right, sir?'

  Jack rubbed his cheeks pushing his glasses back onto his nose.

  'I'm no good talking to the locals, it appears. Do I need a recommending letter from the local councillor or what? Honestly, this is harder than I thought,' he groaned.

  'You've done a good job, sir,' Celia said. 'He was difficult.'

  'Is he normally so obstructive and touchy?'

  'I'm not really a churchgoer,' Celia said, 'but I've seen him shouting at kids kicking the ball on the square opposite the church. I thought it was a bit of an overreaction, at the time. After all, it was a public space. What do you think, Katie?'

  'I've seen him waving and shaking his hands like that a lot lately. We've had many interactions with him over the past few months, in connection with the church fete next November. He's been hard to catch and often grumpy. Not his normal self. Apparently,
the parish finances are in the red and he's worried. The church anniversary is a big expense.'

  'Yeah, the financial difficulties were definitely the key feature of this interview,' Celia agreed. 'Apparently, no matter how hard he tries, something’s always breaking down, or otherwise needs attention and money. It seems he's been trying to get this whole anniversary prepared as best as he can. He claims the parish council has not been very supportive.'

  'You mean Phyllis Dunbar?' Katie asked before she realised the gravity of her question.

  Celia opened her mouth and closed it again. Her eyes wandered to the entrance door, as if she was checking to confirm the reverend had really gone.

  'That is a question I've not been able to get any answer to.' DI Heaton pushed his hands into his trouser pockets.

  'He was vague even with me,' Celia added. 'Just grumbled about people's ungratefulness and lack of appreciation.'

  'I felt we were running around in a circle, so I let him go.'

  Katie chewed on her cheek.

  'How did you even arrive at the point to suspect the vicar?'

  'Mr Pompous,' Jack said, his face deadpan.

  Celia chuckled.

  Katie quickly ran through her mental list of prominent Sunnyvale residents who might appear pompous.

  'Mr McBride, the councillor and the vice-chairman of the parish council,' Jack offered with a cheeky smile.

  'Ah yes, of course,' Katie laughed. 'He can be a little too official.'

  'Actually, I have a favour to ask, Katie and Celia,' Jack said when they stopped laughing. 'If you could find out what's been happening with the parish council lately, I'd really appreciate it. It's hard being new in this town.'

  And not knowing how to evaluate information people offer, Katie added in her head.

  'Yes, sir.' Celia gave a curt nod without hesitation.

  'I'll do my best,' Katie said gingerly. This was the second time the DI had asked her for help.

  'Whoa, you're joining the force,' Celia said jokingly.

  'Maybe this is what I should do. Or should have done all those years ago,' Katie said trying to sound light-hearted, but on the inside, she felt a pang of regret. Maybe she should have stuck up for herself during her marriage and insisted on continuing with her law studies or maybe even switching to the criminology course... but this was water under the bridge and crying over spilt milk.

  Katie rubbed her hands together.

  'That was an intense morning. Tea anyone?'

  8

  After work, Katie slid into her car, her head filling with thoughts of Phyllis Dunbar's death. She'd left the attendee list in DI Heaton's cubbyhole, but she couldn't stop thinking of it. Who was capable of murder? She kept crossing everyone off, and then starting all over again. She needed more information. But what kind of information? About people's murderous tendencies? Or motives? Or alibis?

  Her head was spinning, making her even less sure of where to take her investigation. How was she supposed to find the killer, if she couldn't think for herself?

  'Right, pull yourself together, Katie,' she said aloud. The most recent request, to find out what'd been happening on the parish council, sounded like a good place to start. Linda McKay, the council member, was the obvious choice, but Katie didn't want to talk to her, or any other town gossips. Fortunately, she had a discreet friend who kept up-to-date with the local grapevine. Michelle Webb, her best friend and the owner of the town’s most popular beauty and hair salon, would have served a few parish council ladies for sure. She'd pay Michelle a visit after she'd finished her cleaning this afternoon.

  Pleased with her idea, Katie started the car keen to continue with the rest of her day.

  When she clambered out of the car, a gust of cold September wind hit her in the face, bringing with it a musty smell of rotting leaves. It started to rain. Katie zipped her jacket. She lifted her head and froze. She was standing opposite Phyllis Dunbar's bungalow!

  'Oh, I can't believe I forgot,' she mumbled, her shoulders slumped. There was no call for cleaning here anymore. She'd also have to find another client, otherwise, it would be hard to make ends meet. She needed to make a little ad and pin it up on the community board in the shopping centre on the way home. Young families with little children often needed extra cleaning help.

  She slid back into the car, started the engine heading towards the new estate. Phyllis' back garden and the old workshop came into view. She would have driven right past it, but she spotted a familiar figure in the same blue overalls. What was Roy Dunbar doing there, and why was he looking through the dirty window inside a disused workshop?

  Katie stopped the car, opened the door and shouted, 'Hello Mr Dunbar, are you alright?'

  He pulled away from the window.

  'Ah, it's you,' he said grimly. 'What are you doing here?'

  There was a simple, and completely innocent answer to this question. Katie got out of the car.

  'It's my usual cleaning day. I came here automatically. It was such a shock, Mrs Dunbar's death. I still can't believe it happened.'

  He flinched.

  'Me neither,' he croaked, looking at the house.

  'She wasn't even old. Such a shock. I'm so sorry for your loss.'

  'She was seventy-seven. Not a spring chicken any more, but she was quite healthy, and we thought she would live much longer.' His shoulders shook.

  'I'm sorry for your loss,' Katie repeated, not sure what else to say, and trying not to be too pushy with her questions. 'And I'm sorry for being a bit wary the other day. I was in shock, and I wasn't used to seeing anyone around the house.'

  'No problem.'

  Katie hesitated over her next step.

  'You're the closest family member, I guess. Will you be taking over the house?'

  The man's brown eyes narrowed.

  'Yes. Why?' he asked warily.

  'I'm sorry to ask, but in case you needed help with the final cleaning of the house, I'd be happy to offer my services. Not even for money, just because I liked your aunt.'

  'I'm not sure. My wife will probably organise it all.' He paused and watched her for a few seconds. A hot wave crept into her cheeks.

  'You're Katie Redford, previously Redford-Cox?' he asked suddenly.

  'Yes, I'm Katie Redford. Cox is my ex-husband's name.' She said gingerly. 'Why?'

  'A strange thing. I've just talked to the solicitor and she told me something...' he said slowly, his eyes narrowed.

  So, it is true.

  'Oh, I think I know what you're talking about. The police has mentioned it. I'm not sure how it even happened and why,' Katie said.

  'The solicitor will want to talk to you soon,' Roy replied. 'I'm not supposed to talk to anyone about it, but since you know anyway...'

  Katie's heart accelerated. 'Do you know what she'd left me?'

  Roy gave a short grunt, pointing to his right.

  'The workshop?' Katie asked.

  Another grunt, now accompanied with a short nod. 'Just don't tell anyone I've told you before you heard it from the solicitor.'

  'But why did she leave it to me?'

  'Because she felt you deserved it. For your hard work, fairness and helping others. And to help you and your daughter.'

  Katie felt lightheaded. On one hand, it was great being offered something just because someone thought you may need it or you deserved it, but on the other hand, it seemed as though everyone in town knew about her financial problems.

  Katie shook off the immediate desire to protest that she didn't need anything and focused on a more puzzling issue.

  'What would I even do with it? Is it in good shape?'

  Roy shrugged. 'Depends on what you would want to use it for. It's not bad. If you wanted to use it as a workshop, it would just need a bit of clean-up.'

  'I'm not sure,' Katie said. 'Would you consider having a look inside, when the investigation's all over. In case there is something you may want?'

  His face brightened and a sparkle appeared in his t
ired, brown eyes. 'Why not? I could help you check the condition of the structure.'

  'That'll be great. How long is this all going to take, do you think?'

  'What? The inheritance process?'

  'That and the investigation.'

  'The inheritance process takes time, but it also depends on the investigation. You work with the police, don’t you? How would I know?'

  Katie's cheeks burnt a bit more.

  'Yes, but I'm just a clerk.' She moistened her lips with her tongue, determined to push for more information. 'I'm shocked by the whole thing. Who would have done such a thing to your aunt? Did she have any enemies?'

  He pushed his hands deep into the pockets of his overalls. 'I can't comment on potential enemies, young lady, but I wish I knew who did it.'

  'Did you see anyone around the house? I arrived after... after it was all over.'

  'Nope. I've already told the police. I was in the shed, singing and potting the flowers. Didn't hear nothing. Didn't see nothing.'

  'Did you know she had a visitor earlier in the day?'

  The brown, tired eyes narrowed again. 'What do you mean?'

  'A woman visited before I arrived. I didn't see her, but she came to see your aunt about some crafts stuff. Did you see her?'

  'Ah, the woman? Black hair, nice er...'

  'Yeah, that one.'

  'Of course, I did. She came to say hello and said she liked my singing. Apparently, she used to sing in a bar when she was living in London.'

  'Oh, it was you singing? The music I heard as I was walking through the front garden.'

  'Yes,' he confirmed a little too eagerly for Katie's liking.

  'Do you know what time she came to talk to you?'

  'Are you a police officer or what?' He was back on the defensive.

  'No,' Katie added hastily. She really had to put some effort into preparing her investigations with a lot more back story, so she didn't have to invent it all on the fly. 'Of course, not. I was just wondering if I might have seen her or anyone else on my way here. '