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

by Carrie Marsh

  Laura washed her dishes and put on some makeup, smiling at her reflection. The dark red lipstick Janet picked out for her actually suited her quite nicely. Ready for work, she walked down the rain dampened pathway to the car. In her driveway, she was interrupted by a quiet query.

  “Excuse me?”

  Laura blinked at the figure who stood there – a little old lady, dressed very elegantly in a tweed jacket and pleated skirt, as if she had stepped out of the early Fifties.

  “Yes?” Laura asked.

  “Do you work at the hotel?”

  “Yes,” Laura said hesitantly. “May I ask why?”

  “Oh,” the woman blinked. “I thought I saw you there. Could I ask you to deliver a letter for me?”

  “Maybe,” Laura said, frowning. Maybe this is the woman Janet saw a week ago in the lobby. The one she said wanted the post-office.

  “It's for a guest of yours,” the woman said, searching through her handbag. “Oh, dash it!”

  “What is the matter?” Laura asked as the woman frowned up at her crossly .

  “I forgot the thing! Silly me.”

  “Oh, dear,” Laura said gently. “Well, perhaps you can bring it in later?”

  “Perhaps,” the woman agreed, agitated. “Perhaps.”

  “Can I give you a lift somewhere?” Laura asked, concerned. The little woman, though elegantly-dressed, was awfully thin and did not look like she had the strength to walk anywhere far.

  “No, thank you,” the woman said politely. “I will go to the shop – it's not far.”

  “If you're sure,” Laura said reluctantly.

  “Yes, I'm sure.”

  “Very well,” she agreed.

  “Goodbye.”

  Laura waved to the woman and waited until she was safely on the sidewalk before reversing her car out of the drive and heading up the street to town.

  “Okay,” Laura said to herself as she put her foot on the gas pedal of her aging Renault. “What have we learned so far?”

  She mentally ran through her findings as she shot down the lanes through the village.

  There was not a lot she could run through: There is a baking contest underway, the prize for which is probably fairly substantial, to say nothing of the publicity involved. Whoever killed the man was clearly involved in the baking world, or why would he even have used a pastry cloth?

  With those two bits of information, Laura thought, there was still only one suspect: Mr. Priestly, the baker at Beaverton's. She still needed to find out more. Especially his whereabouts when the murder took place

  This visit to his aunt either ruled him out entirely, or seemed far too convenient to be anything but a lie.

  “One way I can find out,” she mused aloud, “is to ask Duvall’s neighbors. If he visited her, they would certainly have seen him.” She was fairly sure that the police would have asked the neighbors about visitors as well, but she needed the information for her own investigations. After all, the likelihood of Captain Browne divulging the information to her himself was rather small.

  “It would be a clever thing to do, to pretend to be elsewhere, if you wanted to murder someone,” Laura mused, then blinked as someone leaned on their horn behind her. “But someone would have seen him.” She looked around and suddenly realized she had driven through the only traffic light when it was red.

  “Oh, bother,” she sighed. “I suppose I am a bit obsessed with this, aren't I?”

  She turned into a side-street, hoping no one in the village, especially not the police, had seen her.

  “I should probably let go of this case a bit,” Laura sighed, “I think it's messing with my head.”However, it was too late to change her mind. Mr. Duvall’s house was on her left, on the corner of Hague Road. She was early and she had the time to drop in quickly now.

  As she looked at it, Laura shuddered. It was still cordoned off, and there was still a police car parked outside, though the occupants were either inside the house or elsewhere. Everything was as it had been when she visited two days ago, but somehow it had changed. The whole place looked empty and more desolate, the shutter already hanging skew and the garden more unkempt, the hollyhock by the door leaning sideways, the lawn growing rank after the recent rains.

  It seemed charged with sadness, a sense of outrage and horror still clinging to the place. A sense of reproach, as if each person who passed it were to blame for its neglect, its emptiness. Laura swallowed hard. The last place, she thought, that I want to go is anywhere near it. Nevertheless, she had to. She owed it to the deceased man.

  Taking a deep breath, she climbed out of the car and walked up the path of the neighbor's house.

  At the doorway, she paused with her hand ready to knock.

  “What do I say?” she said under her breath. She stepped sideways, concealing her presence temporarily with the huge bed of hollyhocks that grew near the front door. She felt suddenly silly. “I can't just say 'Hi, I'm Laura, and I'm investigating the murder case.’ can I?”

  She breathed in and composed her thoughts. She heard the policemen return next door, slamming their car doors as they got in, and decided she had better take action before they saw her. She knocked.

  “Yes?” A woman of middle height with red hair opened the door and looked at Laura with narrowed eyes.

  “Hi,” Laura began, with a sickly grin. “I'm Laura, and I'm here to...to do a market survey.”

  “No, sorry,” the woman said, looking at Laura with deep mistrust. “No time for it today...” She was closing the door, and Laura panicked.

  “No,” she said. “Really. I wanted to ask you some things about the pastry industry. In connection with...that event.” She jerked her head at the house next door. “We think it might be an important part of the investigations,” she added in a whisper.

  “Oh,” the woman said, eyes widening. She seemed to loosen up at once, feeling included by Laura's conspiratorial manner and clearly assuming she was official. “That's another matter. Step in, step in...”

  She glanced behind Laura as Laura slid inside, as if scanning the street for listeners, and then closed it.

  “Right,” the woman said. “I'm Sandy Robbins. What did you want to know?”

  Laura felt relief wash through her. The woman was suddenly on her side, evidently pleased to be involved in what she assumed was a covert detective investigation. Laura sighed. If only I had thought of doing that earlier!

  “I wanted to ask a few questions that only you could answer for me,” Laura said hesitantly. “About, for example, who was visiting at the house next door the days before Mr. Duvall passed. If you don't mind?”

  Laura cleared her throat, pulling out a notebook and pen on which she normally wrote her shopping list. I should have a clipboard, or at least something more convincing, she sighed, trying to cover up the “Tesco” logo on the front page with her palms. It would have to do.

  The woman looked into Laura's eyes decidedly.

  “That policeman, the one what thinks he's big deal, he already asked me that,” she said, confirming Laura's suspicions, “but I'll tell you again. He didn't have so many visitors, Mr. Duvall didn't. Wasn't a very popular man, I can tell you that. Awkward bloke, not well liked,” she sniffed. Laura could imagine that. “But he had some visitors. I saw his auntie, Mrs. Harries, and I saw their char-lady, Ami Wharton. And a fellow what was selling fruit. And someone else...” she closed her eyes, clearly thinking.

  “Yes?” Laura asked, holding her breath. She wrote the other names down, but waited with mounting impatience to hear the one the woman hesitated over.

  “Oh, yes!” She said, her face clearing into a smile. “That was it. It was a bloke I didn't know, which is why I noticed him. Wouldn't have otherwise. He was a nondescript sort of man – tallish, with a bald head. The sort of man you wouldn't recall, except as he spoke funny. Like his teeth were hurtin'. You know – thort of like thith,” she said, miming the lisp as best she could.

  Laura wrote down a descri
ption: Tall man with a bald head and a speech impediment.

  Then she stopped and stared at what she had written.

  A tall man with a bald head and a lisp?

  “He was here the day before...that happened?” Laura asked, throat suddenly dry, hands shaking.

  “Aye,” the woman said casually. “He was. Scarcely noticed him. Nondescript man, I suppose you'd say. Why, lassie? Was it important?”

  Laura looked at her, face pale, and swallowed hard. “No, not really,” she said hoarsely. “Just new information. Thank you so much,” she added quickly. She tucked away her notebook and pen and stood, signaling that the interview was over. Mrs. Robbins stood too.

  “Anytime, lass,” she said kindly. “Now, will you be alright? You look as if you've seen a ghost!”

  “No...” Laura swallowed again. “I'll be fine. Really. And thank you. You have been very helpful. Any time you recall anything else useful, don't hesitate to call.” She scribbled her mobile number on a piece of shopping-list and handed it over. I really wish I had a business card or something, Laura thought.

  “I will, lassie. I will.”

  “Thank you.”

  Laura shook hands with the woman and then walked down the steps. She was light-headed, as if she was about to faint. The man Mrs. Robbins had seen entering the house the day before the murder was clearly Mr. Priestly. The man who had said he was out of town.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ACROSS THE VILLAGE

  The day at work passed slowly, and Laura wished she could be elsewhere. She felt jumpy, and each slammed door or loud noise startled her. She just wanted to go home.

  When the day finally ended, Laura walked swiftly through the cold, dark evening to her car, feeling herself shiver, as much with tension as with the rising breeze. She could not settle down since she heard Mrs. Robbins' disturbing testimony.

  Laura stopped the car in her driveway and half fell through the door, feeling weak with anxiety. . She was too tired to stand.

  Mr. Priestly had lied about his whereabouts. Why would he do that, if he were not the killer?

  “I still don't know if I should alert the police,” Laura said to herself, stumbling up the pathway in the darkness towards her own front door. “I don't even know if they would listen.”

  If I tell them, and I am wrong, what will happen?

  “At best, I'll have made an enemy of Mr. Priestly. At worst, the real murderer will get away,” Laura answered her own question, unlocking the door and stepping inside, sitting on the floor of the sitting room to tug her boots off.

  She went back into the hall and put her coat and boots away, then switched on the light, feeling safe for the first time that day. Now it was just her, four walls, and her best friend, Monty.

  “Hello?” she said aloud, checking if Monty was in.

  Hello! A bright voice said into her mind. You're back!

  “You sound cheerful,” Laura smiled, as he came out from her bedroom to say “hello”. She walked through to the sitting room, patting his silken fur as she walked past on her way to the kitchen. He followed her briskly.

  I am cheerful, he said, and Laura could hear a smile in his voice. I've been in the fields, with Keillor, and we had such fun!

  “You did?” Laura smiled. She was pleased for the distraction from her dark thoughts, and felt even more appreciation and affection for Monty than usual. Keillor was his friend, a female cat he had met a few months ago in the village, and he seemed to spend a lot of time visiting her. Laura smiled and tuned in to hear his next statement, interested in the progress of his relationship.

  Yes! And we didn't just stay in the fields. We explored some gardens around the village, too!

  “Were there any exciting things?” Laura asked, reaching for his bowl where it sat on the floor.

  Rats! Monty enthused. Big ones! Lots of rats.

  “Really?” Laura said, surprised, as she selected some food for Monty's dinner. Her surprise was not because Monty found rats so wonderful – she already knew that part – but so many? “Where in the village are there lots of rats?” Most of the village houses were scrupulously well cared for. The likelihood of a huge rat population seemed strange.

  There's an abandoned cottage! Up at the far end of the village, near the fields. The garden is all wild and the house is falling down. And there are big rats, Monty said enthusiastically, as Laura bent down to put his food in front of him.

  “At the far end of the village...” Laura mused to herself, trying to picture it. She reached into the cupboard and prepared her supper almost on autopilot – chicken stew made with a chicken from the local farm stall, and home-made dumplings to go with it. The dumplings were Mrs. Poole's special recipe and Laura had already learned it by heart she had prepared it so many times.

  Monty was crunching his own meal – leftover chicken from the previous night – but he still heard her question.

  I'd take you there if I could, Monty offered. Near the road that goes to the Hogarth's farm. Where Noelle lives.

  Monty liked Noelle. She usually brought him a present and scratched his head. Laura shook her head, not at all surprised that he had discovered her home.

  “I would be interested to see that,” Laura agreed. She had never heard of any abandoned cottages in the village, and was intrigued. Any new knowledge was useful, and it seemed strange to her that there was a whole section of the village that was unknown to her.

  She sat down at the dining table, leafing through the newspaper to find the crossword puzzles and listening to the comforting sounds of the kettle and Monty chewing, and felt relaxed for the first time that day.

  The kettle announced the water was ready for tea and Laura made herself a cup, sighing as she tasted the sweet brew.

  “I think I could do with an outing tomorrow,” she promised herself. It would be good to see these neglected houses.

  You could take me, Monty said peaceably, but I have a date with Keillor, and...

  Laura grinned. “It's fine, Monty. Don't disturb yourself. I'll find it alone.”

  Good, Monty smiled.

  Laura sighed peacefully and drank her tea, feeling more positive than she had all day. She and Monty were both settling in, she was getting used to the village, and she might just have caught a murderer. That couldn't possibly be a bad thing, could it?

  She settled down with a book and tea to wait for supper to cook, the kitchen filling with savory scents. She tried to distract herself from her worries with the novel she was reading, but it didn't really help.

  As she stood to check the stew, the phone rang.

  “Laura?”

  “Yes, Jay?” Laura asked, hearing Janet's voice on the other side. She sounded tense. “What's wrong?”

  “Nothing's wrong!” Janet said, excitedly. “It's just that Mr. Halston called, just after you left work. He was so cross! He seems to have lost some document or other, and he was hopping mad. You haven't seen anything, have you?”

  “Mr. Halston?” Laura asked. She knew the regular customers by name now, but she still found it hard to keep up with their itinerant population of guests.

  “The business bloke who's staying in Room Fourteen,” Janet explained, as if that should mean something to Laura. “Remember? The one who asked us to call a taxi and then complained because he didn't have room for his luggage?”

  “Oh, yes,” Laura remembered. “I do recall him. I'm sorry you got shouted at,” she added. “He's not a very nice man.”

  “No,” Janet agreed, “he's not. But you wouldn't have happened to see his missing file or brochure or whatever, would you?”

  “I don't think so...” Laura said, thinking back. “Would I know it if I did?”

  “It's big, apparently – A4 size – and cream-colored,” Janet said absently. “And it has photos of pastries on it.”

  Laura almost dropped her phone into her supper.

  “Pastries?”

  “Yes,” Janet said, sounding confused. “Why?”
>
  “No reason,” Laura gulped. “If I remember anything, I'll call you back. I'd better go now, my supper is burning up.”

  “Okay,” Janet said, laughing. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Bye,” Laura said quietly, and went over to her table to sit down.

  “Why,” she said to herself, “is everything coming up to do with pastry?”

  A pastry chef. A pastry competition. Now a brochure of pastries?

  “I need to make sense of this,” Laura said to herself. “And fast.” Before it became an obsession.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAOS AS NORMAL

  “Laura...”

  A shrill voice broke through Laura's reverie the next morning as she sat behind her desk at the hotel. She looked up as Janet came rushing towards her desk, a flurry of black business suit and red hair.

  “Yes, Janet?” Laura asked, hoping the brochure had been found, and that whatever crisis was ensuing now was not too serious.

  “I've just been talking to Nigel about the competition! We need balloons, and have you managed to hire the tent? I can't get through to them. And where on earth is that folder I was using to organize everything? The one with the numbers for emergency services and things? It used to be in the front office, and now I can't find it...”

  Laura sighed. “Slow down, Jay! I can't think that fast.”

  “Okay,” Janet said, breathing in deeply. “Balloons. Helium canister. Tent. Folder.”

  “I called the man with the helium yesterday,” Laura said, ticking the things off on her fingers as she went. “You said the tent was being organized by Mr. Merrick yesterday. But I'll call too, if you like. And the folder is...” she stood and rummaged around on the desk beside her. “Here!” She retrieved it with a flourish. “Oh, and did you find Mr. Halston's brochure?”

  Janet sighed with relief. “Oh, Laura! I knew you could make everything alright. And yes, we did. He'd left it in here. You're a lifesaver.”

  Laura smiled. “I'm glad I could help.”