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The Snow Day Murders (Edward Crisp Mysteries Book 2)

Page 5

by Peter Boon


  ‘Of course, mate. Like I said, nothing formal for now. Just your usual casual poking round and see what you can find out. That’ll hopefully give us a good enough idea for when we get through.’ He stopped for a moment and I could feel his eyes on me. ‘Go on then, what’s your plan?’

  ‘I was thinking I’ll leave the two Flowers men until last, and hopefully find out what I need from the others in the meantime.’

  ‘Sensible, mate. One of the hardest parts of our job, questioning grieving relatives. I wouldn’t expect you to do that unless it comes to it. Hopefully we can pick up that part when we get through.’

  ‘I can talk to Gloria Hernandez easily enough as she’s in the volunteer group based at the pub, so I’ll probably start with her,’ I continued. ‘She’s fairly chatty anyway so she should be easy to speak to.’

  ‘Sounds good, mate,’ Appleby said, but I could tell he was distracted again by someone off screen. ‘What about the others?’

  ‘Kimmy and Claire Atkinson have been around this morning too, and their B&B is only just off the square, so I should be able to speak to them okay. My brother’s quite friendly with them, so I might get him to help me with that.’

  ‘Good plan.’ Appleby’s attention was back on me now, and I could tell from his narrowed eyes and focused expression he was trying to listen intently. ‘Just remember to replace your brother guarding the crime scene while he does that. I want two people there at all times, so Wood is free to work with my virtual team.’

  I liked how thorough Appleby was, and his rounded thinking reminded me of my own. But I couldn’t help feeling like one of his junior officers, receiving instructions from their superior.

  ‘Everest Brown I don’t know and have never spoken to,’ I continued. ‘But Noah’s struck up conversation with him already, so he can maybe help with that.’

  ‘Just be careful with how you use the young lad,’ Appleby commented back, again leaving me feeling put in my place a little.

  ‘Yes, I know,’ I snapped back a little too quickly, before hoping he didn’t notice. ‘He’ll be fine with me. Anyway, the one I might struggle to speak to is Pedro Hernandez. I haven’t seem him since he stormed away this morning, he might not be in the village centre anymore – he could be snowed in elsewhere in the village.’ I had no idea where in the village Pedro lived.

  ‘Ah, hopefully you can get him, mate, he’s really important.’ Appleby replied. I knew this and cut him off before he could continue.

  ‘Yes, definitely. Especially if I’m not speaking to Reverend Flowers yet. I need Pedro’s version of what that was about this morning, and if there’s any truth in the Reverend and Cherry thing.’ I’d thought about this and wanted him to know I had a plan. ‘His restaurant is at this end of the high street near the square, so hopefully I’ll be able to get through the snow to try there. I also need to find out where Cherry is and where she’s been this morning, as she could be a suspect too.’

  ‘Excellent, Edward. I like your thinking. It’s possible this Pedro guy has the wrong end of the stick about the affair, or he has the right end but it’s someone else. Although it’s not our business if it’s not the Vicar. This all sounds good, mate. Keep me posted after each person.’

  ‘Will do,’ I said, pleased that my approach seemed to be meeting his approval. ‘And while talking to them, I’ll keep my ear out for anything else I can about Frances, and anyone else who might have had an issue with her.’

  ‘It’s a strange one, mate,’ Appleby said in reply as he scratched his nose on screen. ‘I mean, who has an issue with the nice, quiet Vicar’s wife?’

  That’s exactly what I’d been thinking too. But I barely knew anything about either Frances or Reverend Flowers outside of their public personas, and anything could have been going on behind closed doors. I suddenly remembered the strange way the Reverend had took all the other ladies in for a cup of tea after the confrontation, but had left his own wife out in the cold. What was that about? I was about to tell Appleby about this, when I heard a phone ring tone off screen and he looked distracted again. ‘Hang on a sec, my work phone’s going. You’re on my personal one so I could keep it free.’

  He went off camera and I could hear his muffled voice in the background, but not enough to hear what he was saying. It dawned on me how already this felt so different from my part in the Miss Finch case. Even with my well thought out plans, I still felt like an imposter that didn’t belong.

  ‘Okay, we have some news,’ Appleby declared as he returned to the screen. He was distracted again though, this time reading through the notes he’d been making as I’d relayed my story earlier. ‘What time did you say Frances Flowers left your mum in the pub, about 9.45AM?’

  ‘That’s right.’ I knew that would become important, so I’d already double checked with Mum and Noah the timeframe of our tea-making, and therefore what time Frances would have left.

  ‘That’s what I thought, mate. Your Doctor and the Pathologist have got the time of death to an hour window: somewhere between 9.30 and 10.30, but definitely no later than 10.30. Therefore, she was killed within 45 minutes of leaving you guys at the pub.’

  11

  ‘How exciting! All we have to do is track Frances Flowers’ movements in that 45 minutes and we’ll solve the case.’

  I’d finished the video call with Appleby and immediately jumped on hearing Noah’s voice, who it turned out had been sat at the back of the church hall the whole time.

  ‘Noah, what are you doing here?’ I questioned as I turned to him.

  ‘I thought that I need to be kept in the loop, but I knew the DI wouldn’t let me in on police business. So I stayed silent the whole time, even you didn’t know I was there,’ he said proudly as he grinned at me. ‘Aren’t you impressed?’

  I considered him for a moment as he stood beaming at me. This case was becoming more puzzling by the minute, and when you have a puzzle to solve, Noah’s unique insight is sometimes just what you need.

  ‘Yes I am, very much,’ I said warmly, deciding not to tell him off for sneaking in and listening. ‘So, what do you think of what you heard?’

  I gestured him to come and sit down as I spoke, and he came hurtling over to join me at the table. His eyes lit up when he saw all the various stationery – flipchart paper, markers, highlighters, post-its – waiting to be used.

  ‘I think it’s really sad for poor Frances Flowers.’

  ‘Really?’ I don’t know quite what I expected his answer to be – likely something about narrowing the suspects down, or some kind of murder mystery plot twist he was expecting – but it wasn’t that.

  He plonked himself down on the seat and looked straight at me. ‘I was just thinking about it. I’m excited to investigate who did it, but it’s really sad too. She was a nice lady and we were making a cup of tea for her. But less than an hour later, she was dead.’ He stopped speaking and I noticed he looked quite sombre. All of a sudden though, he picked up a marker pen and pulled the flipchart paper towards him. ‘Shall we work out who killed her then? I’m looking forward to another puzzle to solve.’

  I stopped myself shaking my head as I watched him write Frances’ name down in the centre of the paper. Perhaps the bigger puzzle to solve was how Noah’s mind worked. Thinking of the murder victim as a real person, even one he felt sorry for, was huge progress for him. But then he switched that part of his brain back off and went immediately back into storybook detective mode.

  Maybe I needed to be more like him. I too felt sad for Frances, but the difference was it was weighing on my mind; it was unsettling me. The revelation that she’d left our pub and was killed within 45 minutes felt too close to home; it was almost literally on our doorstep. Frances was a pleasant but quiet and meek lady, who had surely done little harm to anyone and was one of the last people I’d expect to be brutally murdered.

  But she had, and it was time to find out why.

  12

  ‘You don’t need to look any further, Ped
ro did it.’

  Gloria Hernandez hadn’t wasted any time naming her ex-husband as the number one suspect, pronouncing him guilty as soon as we found her in the village square.

  I was surprised to see her back in her market hut for Sweets for your Sweet, the only trader now out on the winter market except for Everest Brown at Burger She Wrote. I could understand Everest, as a stranger with no emotional attachment to Frances Flowers (though I needed to find out his connection to the Reverend), carrying on with business as usual – although he maybe should have been helping clear snow instead – after the body had been discovered only a few feet from the market. But Gloria was the Flowers’ best friend and here she was trying to sell Christmas candy canes like nothing was wrong. More so, she’d roped me and Noah into helping her, in exchange for helping us to solve her close friend’s murder (she’d seen straight through my excuse to speak to her and knew I was investigating – probably thanks to Mum’s announcement in the pub).

  ‘You might as well make yourselves useful if you want any more information out of me,’ she’d said once she’d finished slandering her ex-husband, obviously expecting payment in labour to slander him in more detail.

  The price of ‘information’ was lugging several boxes of sweets through the deep snow, from her storage cupboard in the church hall (another perk), across the square to her hut. I’d even tried to persuade her to come sit down in the investigation room while we were in the same building, but she was having none of it. I was attempting to wade through knee high snow, while trying to focus on carrying three large boxes of various sweets, and listen to Gloria (who wasn’t actually carrying anything) at the same time.

  ‘As if the Vicar would go anywhere near that little jezebel,’ she was saying as she trotted along in front of us, making the trek through the snow look easy.

  ‘You don’t think it’s true then?’ Noah’s voice enquired from behind a tower of boxes.

  Gloria stopped dead in front of us and turned around. I got a whiff of her strong, feminine perfume in the cold air. ‘Of course it isn’t true.’ She snapped as she stared out Noah.

  ‘Why would Pedro say that?’ Noah asked in his usual innocent tone.

  ‘Because he’s an idiot,’ she said dismissively as she brushed the falling snow off her shoulders.

  ‘So, Cherry McDonald isn’t having an affair?’ Noah continued. I let out a frustrated sigh; I’d come on to how Cherry related to everything (including her current whereabouts), but I wanted to shift the conversation back to the victim, Frances.

  ‘Of course she’s having an affair!’ Gloria said sharply, her voice cutting through the ice cold. ‘My moron ex-husband just got the wrong guy, that’s all. It could be anyone. That’s what happens when you take up with a trollop more than half your age.’

  Thankfully, we’d arrived back at the market and I was relieved to put the boxes of sweets down in the back of the hut. I was worried about running out of time with Gloria - who hadn’t told us much beyond her own biased opinion so far – and I decided to strike. ‘Gloria, is there anything concrete you can tell us about Frances’ death that might help us? Did you see her again after the confrontation in the square, for example?’

  We stepped back out of the hut without her replying to me, and then she glanced at her watch before gesturing over to the pub. ‘Just gone 1 o’clock, not too early for the first glass of wine of the day. Let’s go have a drink and I’ll see what I can remember. It’s on you, by the way.’

  13

  I felt guilty stood at the bar waiting, as I watched Dad pour a large red wine for Gloria. I’d already spent nearly half an hour carrying boxes, and now I was back in the pub buying her a drink. I’d expected my investigations to be more active and more fruitful than this; I was worried I was wasting time.

  ‘So all she’s talked about so far is how she thinks Pedro did it?’ Dad asked as he served me.

  ‘That’s all. Oh and how Cherry was definitely having an affair with someone, but not Reverend Flowers,’ I replied as I drummed my fingers on the bar.

  ‘She’s bound to say that, on both counts!’ Dad remarked. ‘Everyone round here knows she hates Pedro after he took up with young Cherry. She’s made enough song and dance about it over the last year or so!’

  I only had a vague recollection of all of this, and realised that I didn’t actually know the timeframe of the Fernandez’ split and Pedro’s affair with Cherry. I wish I’d paid more attention to Mum’s gossip the dozens of times she’d told me this story. ‘Is that when Gloria and Pedro broke up, a year or so ago?’ I asked Dad.

  ‘It must be about that, yes,’ Dad replied as he poured a draft lemonade for Noah. ‘Actually, I remember exactly when it was. There was a big scandal about Gloria finding out about Pedro and Cherry on Christmas Day, terrible to-do it was. She kicked him out on the day. So yep, that was a year and a bit ago.’

  Of course. I remembered the Christmas Day fiasco as soon as Dad mentioned it. It was a drama worthy of a soap opera festive episode. And I realised that it wasn’t as long ago as I thought. No wonder Gloria hated her ex-husband. But those raw emotions made her bias very real; I made a mental note to take anything related to Pedro with a bigger pinch of salt than I was already.

  ‘I need to find out what I can from her about Frances, but she just keeps going on about Pedro,’ I complained to Dad as he took my alcoholic ginger beer from the fridge. ‘She knows exactly what she’s doing in making me wait too, she thinks it’s a game.’

  ‘Oh yes, she’ll run rings round you, that one.’

  ‘But Dad, her so called best friend is dead. She knows I’m helping to investigate it. Why would she mess me around?’

  ‘Firstly,’ my dad said as he put the three drinks onto a tray, ‘what makes you think they’re best friends? Edward, what you have to remember about certain women round here…’ He stopped and looked cautiously over his shoulder before he continued; presumably Mum was one of these ‘certain women’ and he didn’t want her over-hearing him. ‘Certain women round here act like they’re best friends but they’re not. Frenemies, I think they call it. Your mum, for example, is nice as pie to Gloria every time she’s in the pub, but she’d shed as few tears as she did for Miss Finch if Gloria was the one who died.’

  Ridiculous gender stereotyping aside, he had a point. I’d seen Mum make nice with dozens of women in the village, only to then say different once they’d left the pub. That probably says more about my mum than anything, but the point was just because Gloria appeared to be Frances’ friend, it didn’t mean she was.

  I mean, she could be your killer,’ Dad continued. ‘Maybe she’s after the Vicar and got Frances out of the way.’

  The ridiculousness of this floated into my mind for a second, before I dismissed it. It could be true. The fact was, Frances had been killed, likely by someone she knew well, and it could be for any reason. I had to piece together the different accounts from the various people close to her, but I knew from painful previous experience not to trust anyone.

  I’d not replied to Dad, and without realising it I’d zoned out and was staring into space. I was brought back when I felt Dad’s hand on mine on the bar.

  ‘Son,’ he started quietly. ‘You already solved one murder when no one else could. You can do this. I believe in you.’ He then withdrew his hand, and went back to washing glasses as if he hadn’t said anything.

  I thanked him and returned to the table with a renewed determination to get something useful out of Gloria. I got there to find her in full monologue mode about Pedro’s certain guilt, with Noah typing away hurriedly into his phone trying to keep up.

  ‘Okay Gloria,’ I said with as much confidence as I could muster as I put the drinks down on the table. ‘We know your theories about Pedro, but let’s move on. I want to talk about Frances, specifically. Starting with if you saw her alive again after the confrontation in the square.’

  She looked shocked. To be fair, I’d shocked myself. I could feel my heart ra
cing as I took my seat, and the words I’d just said felt like they were someone else’s.

  She narrowed her eyes and considered me carefully. ‘Edward, no offence, sweetheart, but I don’t have to tell you anything. I mean, you’re nobody.’

  I felt the sting of those last two words, but I had to push through. ‘Maybe, but I thought you’d rather clear things up with me now, rather than go through it with the police when they get here.’

  She glared at me again, then her whole demeanour changed and she started laughing. ‘Edward, course I’ll talk to you, I’m sorry. Thanks for the drink, by the way. Cheers.’ She picked up her wine glass and did an imaginary toasting gesture before she took a sip. I noticed the strong smell of her perfume again.

  ‘You’re welcome. And thank you,’ I said in reply as I picked up my drink and made the same gesture. I glanced at Noah who was still hurriedly typing, presumably behind in noting down her speech about Pedro.

  ‘I’m not heartless, you know,’ she said. ‘I just act up sometimes, especially when I’ve had a shock. I mean, my good friend has been murdered and I want Ped-, I mean I want whoever did this caught. Now, what do you want to know?’

  I took a moment to think about my next move with this whirlwind of a woman. I asked my question for the third time this morning. ‘Did you see Frances after the incident at the market?’

  She took a sip of her wine and pulled a face. ‘Tell your family they really need to get a better house red.’

  I wondered if she was going to say anymore or if she was still playing games, but then she spoke again. ‘Yes, yes I did, as it happens. Reverend Flowers took me, Kimmy and Claire into the Vicarage for a cup of tea. He sat us down in the living room, then went off to the kitchen to make the drinks. About ten minutes later, he came back with the tea. But just as he was handing the cups out, Frances appeared at the living room door looking like a ghost.’ She stopped and I could tell she’d realised her ill choice of description, but she didn’t correct herself.

 

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