Cooking With The Dead (A Millerfield Village Cozy Murder Mysteries Series 2)

by Carrie Marsh

  “At the murder scene, you mean?” Laura asked, though she knew that was what he meant.

  “Yes,” Howard agreed, already standing. “I'd best go. You're sure you'll be okay?”

  “Yes,” Laura nodded, her hands clasped around her coffee cup for warmth. She still felt awful, but his visit was reassuring.

  “Good,” he said. “See you later, huh?”

  “Yes,” Laura agreed. “You won't forget your promise?”

  “No,” Howard agreed. “No, I won't.”

  He smiled at her worriedly, and then walked briskly through the door.

  Laura sat on the couch a long time after he had gone, trying to make sense of things.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  STARTING AN INVESTIGATION

  Laura called in to excuse herself from work at eight o' clock. Janet took the call.

  “Laura!” she said at once. “Did you hear the news?”

  “Yes,” Laura said tiredly. “I did.” She did not need to ask which news – the tone of Janet's voice told her it must be about the murder.

  “It's horrifying!” Janet said, sounding quite excited. “He was strangled, they say! The police are still there...”

  “I know,” Laura said wearily. “I was there six hours ago.”

  “You where? Oh my...did you see the body?”

  “No,” Laura said. Janet's curiosity knows no bounds, does it?

  “Oh,” Janet said, sounding disappointed. “Are you okay? I mean, it must have been terrifying!” she said belatedly.

  “It wasn't much fun,” Laura agreed thinly. “Which is why I'm phoning now. I don't think I can work today. I've been up most of the night, and I'm suffering from shock,” she added, pleased that Howard had armed her with that information.

  “Of course you are!” Janet sympathised. “Don't even think of coming in to work,” she added. “I will come and visit and bring something round at lunch break.”

  Before Laura could protest against her kindness, she hung up.

  Laura shook her head bemusedly. She was glad to have met Janet. A gossip she might have been, and wild she certainly was, but she was the closest thing Laura had to a good friend for years. All the girls at the law-firm were so unkind. And silly.

  Laura did not mean to be unfair, but the other secretaries had seemed shallow and vain and had begrudged her her relationship with one of the lawyers, taking every chance to make snide comments behind her back. Janet was nothing like that. She settled down and tried to get to work.

  All I know about him is that he was a chef. He was single – I guess, or where was his wife last night? – and now he's dead.

  Laura sighed. That was not a lot of information. She hoped Janet could bring some more.

  Janet arrived at one p.m. as she had promised, armed with a vast flask of soup from the kitchen, and a loaf of country-style bread. As they sat eating it, Janet gossiping away, Laura felt her sense of equilibrium returning.

  “...and the police are having a heck of a job finding next-of-kin,” Janet explained, talking blithely about the case in between spoonfuls of soup.

  “So he wasn't married?” Laura asked carefully, breaking a piece of crusty bread off the loaf. She loved farm-style bread; one of the relics of her rural upbringing. She dipped it in the soup as she listened to Janet's reply.

  “No. Well, he was, apparently, but they separated. He was all alone.”

  “Poor man,” Laura commented gently.

  “Indeed!” Janet chuckled. “I know how he feels!”

  “Oh, Janet. You never stop looking, do you?”

  “The single life doesn't suit me,” Janet said matter-of-factly. They both laughed.

  “You think not?” Laura, genuinely interested, asked. For herself, she was not sure if that was true.

  “Mm,” Janet agreed. “Yourself?”

  “I don't know, Jay. I think I want it. Just as a break.”

  “Lucky you,” Janet snorted.

  They laughed.

  When she had gone, Laura filled in the few blanks she could now fill in her notebook, though there were still too many. He wasn't married. That's about all I know. I should sleep – when Howard gets here he'll have more information.

  Howard arrived just after six o' clock that evening.

  “Howard?”

  “Laura!”

  He looked exhausted, dark lines around his eyes. Laura stood back wordlessly to let him come inside.

  “Coffee. We both need it.”

  Howard laughed and followed her through to her small kitchen.

  A few minutes later, they stood in the kitchen, drinking coffee and discussing the case. The sun was just sinking outside the windows, painting long shadows on the lawn and sending amber light slanting in through the kitchen windows. Laura watched it. It was her favorite time of day.

  “...The marks clearly indicate the man was strangled,” Howard was explaining quietly. “I suspect he was partly under the influence of alcohol, as he didn't struggle much, by the look of him – no bruising on the face or fists.” Howard looked into his coffee as he spoke, and Laura thought how horrible it must have been to examine a dead body.

  “So it was murder, for certain.”

  “Yes.” he sounded stiff.

  “And the police chief and what he said about the pastry cloth – that was right too?”

  “Mm,” Howard agreed, finishing his coffee. “The weapon – if we may call it one – was still there.”

  “So it probably was a business rival, then?” Laura asked, wrinkling a brow.

  “Why?”

  “Well, who else would know what a pastry cloth is? I didn't. Not before this morning.” She huffed an ironic chuckle.

  “True,” Howard agreed. “I wouldn't know either.”

  They stood in silence for a few moments, watching tendrils of steam rise from the kettle, back lit by the early evening light. Everything in the cottage kitchen was so peaceful.

  It would be so easy, Laura thought, to forget about all of the horror and simply get on with something else. Especially with Howard there. Something else was always a possibility. A delicious possibility, sinking into his arms...my lips locked on his lips...

  Laura shook herself It was her self-appointed responsibility to find out how he had died, and why. Laura sighed and pulled herself together.

  “So,” Laura said, draining her coffee, “If we assume he was killed by his rival, the best place to start looking is the only other pastry shop within a five-mile radius. Beaverton's.”

  “How do you know that?” Howard asked, impressed.

  “Well,” Laura said, slanting her eyes at him, “market research.”

  They both laughed.

  “Well,” Howard agreed, putting his cup down on the draining board, “you are the lady for this job! You certainly know more than Captain Brown from the Broadstairs police department.”

  Laura nodded. “Thank you, Doctor.”

  Howard grinned back.” Don't mention it.” He sighed. “It's not much of a compliment, really. You know him?”

  Laura frowned. “No. I met him just last night.” Her dealings with the police were a thing she could count on one hand. She had met a policeman for the first time a few months back, when she and Howard were investigating the other case. Her life had been strictly lawful before then, without so much as a speeding ticket. How innocent I was!

  “I do,” Howard sighed. “Stuck-up sod.” He shook his head.

  Laura blinked. Howard was the mildest person she knew, and for him to say even such a small derogatory thing was unusual.

  “He must be really bad, if you say so!” Laura laughed.

  “He is,” Howard chuckled. “Tells me how to do my job, and doesn't seem to like the way I do it.” He looked down into his almost-empty cup, lost in memories.

  “That's bad,” Laura nodded. She knew enough of Howard to know that he would hate that. He was an easy, mild man, but he had huge professional integrity, and would not take kindly to any
one interfering in the way he carried out his tasks.

  “It is.”

  “Well,” Laura swallowed, feeling nervous, “I don't much fancy taking him on as a rival investigator.”

  Howard laughed. “He hasn't a patch on you, my dear.” He made a mocking bow.

  Laura giggled delightedly. The fact that he had called her “dear”, even in a joking way, made her heart flip over.

  “Really, though,” Howard said soberly, “You might want to avoid that man, if at all possible.”

  “I'll do my best.”

  “Good.”

  They stood quietly together, finishing their coffee and looking out over the garden. It was a moment of deep closeness, and Laura felt her whole body relax in his simple, safe company.

  “I should go,” Howard said eventually. “Evening rounds at the clinic await me.”

  “I suppose,” she said reluctantly. “I'd better get on with my work, too. Investigative work, I mean. And I plan to pay this cafe owner a visit as soon as I can.”

  “That sounds like a plan. I'll keep my ears open for anything helpful too. Be safe, huh?”

  “I will.”

  They embraced again, and then Howard was on his way to his rounds, leaving Laura alone in the kitchen with the beginnings of a plan. She would drive to Beaverton's as soon as possible and start asking questions. It was a good place to start.

  CHAPTER SIX

  FIRST STEPS

  Beaverton's was a pale green building on the street corner in Drayton, the next village. The windows were embossed with gold letters stating “Beaverton's and “Bread. Pastries. Café.” The sun shone through the tall windows, painting bright splashes on the threshold and brightening the red geraniums in the window boxes.

  Laura walked in, hearing the floorboards creak under her as she crossed to a gingham-covered table in the corner. The place was cozy and pleasant, and she felt herself relaxing.

  “I'll have a custard pastry, please,” Laura said to the waitress who came to take her order, “and a black coffee.”

  When the woman had left, Laura leaned back and looked around, gathering information from the surroundings.

  The room was quite full, suggesting Beaverton's was well known and prospering. The counter showed a plethora of delicacies, many of which Laura did not recognize, but all of which looked delicious. The air smelled of coffee and perfume, warmed with the sunshine. Laura adjusted her sunglasses – worn to conceal her identity – and listened in to the lilt of voices surrounding her.

  “And Bert said he's trying to get the school in Broadstairs to take Bobby on...”

  “How's the crops doing?”

  “Did you see that dress in Waverly's? Wasn't it stunning...”

  Laura sighed, smiling. It was normal village gossip – news, crops, things people had seen or heard about or done. The clients were varied – some local farmers, some village wives and mothers, and some retired couples on a coach party. The bell over the door rang, and Laura looked up as a new customer entered the shop.

  He alone was different to all the others present.

  A tall man, with brown hair and strong features, he was wearing a tweed suit and had a solid presence that seemed to fill the entrance of the shop. He shrugged off his coat, went to a table across the room from Laura’s, and sat down.

  The waitress had noticed him too, and went across to him, carrying Laura's order on one arm.

  Laura watched as she took the man's order and he gestured to her, saying something that only the two of them could hear. She nodded once or twice, and then went quickly into the back room.

  “That's mine...” Laura said faintly as she passed, but the woman rushed past.

  A minute or two later, she returned, and gave Laura her pastry and coffee, along with many apologies.

  “Don't mention it,” Laura said kindly, smiling reassuringly at the woman. “I am sure that man over there is an important customer?”

  “Oh, that be Mr. Merrick!” the woman explained brightly with a strong accent. “He did want to talk to the manager. I think that's why he's here. He's not usually here this time of day.”

  Laura looked across and noticed that a man had accompanied the waitress out of the back area and was with the newcomer, standing at his table. The two men were talking and laughing.

  “That's Mr. Priestly?” Laura asked. “The owner of this place?”

  “Yes,” the woman agreed. “He's the owner and the chef both.”

  “Ah,” Laura said knowledgeably.

  “Milk and sugar?”

  “Sorry? Oh, yes. Please. Both.” Laura nodded, and the woman passed them to her, then went to take another customer's order. When she had gone, Laura resumed her scrutiny of the pair across the restaurant. The chef, Mr. Priestly, was a man of average height or slightly taller, with vast shoulders and a balding head.

  “...and you'll be there next week?” Mr. Merrick, the tall customer, was asking him.

  “Of courth, Nigel. I'd be glad to be there. It'th going to be thomething.”

  Laura blinked, and mentally stored the information about Mr. Priestly, the owner. Strong-looking. Balding. Lisp.

  The men shook hands and the owner went back to the kitchen, waving genially at the customer. Laura watched him leave, and then turned her attention to her food.

  She lifted the silver fork and carried some of the sweet confection to her lips, smelling the scent of creamy vanilla as she cut into it. She chewed it slowly, savoring the sweet custard. It was truly delicious.

  Washing the last of her pastry down with coffee, and licking the last of the sticky custard off her cake fork, Laura sighed. If the rest of her investigations were as pleasant, she could like this job.

  She waved for the waitress and asked for the bill. When the woman brought it, she tried to ask her some more questions.

  “That was excellent, thank you. You must have so many customers here!”

  The woman blushed and grinned. “Oh, thank you, Miss. Glad to hear it. Yes, we do. Run off my feet, I am.”

  “And you're open on weekends, too,” Laura observed, signing the bill. “Do you get a day off?”

  “Oh, yes, Miss,” the waitress – a pretty woman with red curly hair – said.

  “Tuesdays?” Laura guessed. Tuesdays were usually slow days for restaurants, and many of them found it prudent to close, or to offer some daily specials on that day.

  “Mm,” the woman agreed, taking the folder with the bill, “though I had most of this week off as well – we only opened again yesterday!”

  “Really?” Laura asked, intrigued. “Why is that?”

  “Oh, Mr. Priestly, he was off on a holiday.”

  “He was?” Laura asked.

  “I think so. Said his aunt was poorly. Had to be in Canterbury to stay with her and extended his stay a few days. He hardly ever takes time off.”

  “Oh,” Laura said shortly. “Well, it's good that you had a holiday as well.”

  “It was,” the woman laughed. Laura laughed with her and stood, pushing her chair in.

  “Thank you.”

  “Thanks, Miss, have a good day,”

  Laura smiled and walked out.

  “And I hope your eye gets better,” the woman called after Laura, who blinked and then, embarrassed, removed her sunglasses. She had forgotten she had been wearing them indoors, trying to hide her identity.

  Well, she thought to herself, it has been a productive visit. I just learned a lot.

  Who was Mr. Merrick, and why was he here?

  Had anyone seen Mr. Priestly talking to Mr. Duvall before he died?

  Where was Mr. Priestly on the night of the murder? Was he really in Canterbury until yesterday?

  I have, Laura thought to herself, a lot to find out.

  She walked back to her car, a frown between her brows. She felt excited, as she always did when some mystery was afoot, but she also felt apprehensive.

  “I should suggest my ideas to someone else, shouldn't I?” she
said to her reflection in the side mirror as she drove away.

  The thought of approaching the police was daunting, but it was the right thing to do. This was a murder case and, whatever her opinions of the captain in charge, she would have to involve them. She did not feel confident to solve this case alone.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  BRUSH WITH POLICE

  “No, sorry. Not in here.”

  Janet's voice, fraying at the edges with impatience, broke through Laura's reverie. She was standing in front of the reception desk – Laura could just see her from her post in the dining-room. She looked stressed. Whoever was in front of her was part-obscured by the door-frame.

  “Yes, yes...” she said, more gently. “Come, now. Get yourself home. Should I call a lift?”

  Laura watched as she escorted whoever it was towards the door.

  A minute later, Janet appeared in the dining-room.

  “How's your day?” she queried.

  “Not bad,” Laura ventured. “Yours?”

  “Stressful!” Janet said feelingly. “I have so much to organize – so many guests! And there are deliveries coming in for the new bathroom. And now lost souls...” Laura gave her a questioning look, and Janet continued. “Just now, some poor old dear came in. Didn't seem to know where she was. Said she was looking for the post office. I just walked her out to the bus-stop. Heavens! I don't want to be old...”

  Laura laughed and rolled her eyes. “It doesn't seem too bad, really,” she countered. “You get to knit, and gossip about everyone and you don't have a boss...sounds good to me!”

  Janet laughed. “I like your positivity.”

  “Thanks.”

  Janet chatted a while longer and then drifted off to her desk, expecting their boss to drop in.

  Laura sighed and put her head down, getting back to work. The investigation was not going particularly well, and she needed to make progress.

  I'll go past the cottage later, Laura decided. I want to talk to the real investigators.

  The police were almost certainly still at the site of the murder, and, Howard's warnings aside, Laura still wanted to speak to them. She would be more than happy if they solved the case – her only object was to clear her own conscience. The sooner she found out, the better.