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

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Cooking With The Dead (A Millerfield Village Cozy Murder Mysteries Series 2) Page 13

by Carrie Marsh


  The farmer blushed. “As soon as they've been tasted, Miss, I promise you one's yours.”

  “Ooh!” Janet smiled. “Did you hear that?” she turned to Laura. “I just bagged a tart.”

  Laura laughed. “Good work, Jay.”

  She kept an eye out, looking through the crowded tent. She hoped Howard would come, but was not sure if he was on call or not. Doctor Price was there at the first aid tent, a semi-retired medic who took care of the cases Howard could not attend.

  Just then, someone arrived at their stall. Laura blinked, recognizing him.

  “Captain Browne?”

  “Miss Howcroft.”

  “You're on the judging panel?” Laura asked brightly.

  “No, I'm not,” the police captain said coolly. “I wanted to have a word with you.”

  “Me?” Laura flushed.

  “Yes. You're meddling in this case. I have to ask you to stop it.”

  “Meddling? Me?” Laura felt the blood drain from her face. “Why? Who said that?”

  “Does it matter?” the man asked. He was six foot six at least, and Laura felt dwarfed and threatened.

  “No,” she conceded, “except that I would like to know who made such allegations. I have done no such thing. Of course I take an interest – I feel involved, since I employed him two days before he died. But I do not think anything I have done can be construed that way.”

  “You can use fancy words if you like, Miss,” the man said gravely, “but I call it meddling, and I'm saying it for your good. This is a murder. People don't take kindly to people sticking their noses in. You could get killed.”

  Laura swallowed hard. “Thank you, Captain. I will try to console myself with the fact that I was warned by a police officer, if anything happens.”

  He raised his eyebrows, blinking at her scalding words. “You're a sharp tongued lassie, aren't you?”

  “I am not a lassie,” Laura said acidly. “Good day, Captain.”

  Janet, still talking to the farmer, had heard nothing. She turned to Laura, beaming, a blob of lipstick on her nose from where she had distractedly touched it up.

  “So the contest is starting now?”

  “Mm,” Laura said, distracted. “You can see the judges there, working their way up the rows.”

  “Oh!” Janet craned her neck around the corner. “Look! There's Mr. Merrick. He is judging himself. So I hope he likes Danish...”

  Laura smiled back. She felt sick. The band was playing a lively march, the procession was making its way down the tent and somewhere on the grass outside the self-named Mr. Popples, the village clown, was doing cartwheels and making the children laugh.

  “It's really hot in here...” Laura commented, feeling dizzy.

  “It's not too bad, Laura...” Janet said, frowning. “Are you okay?”

  “I'm okay...” Laura agreed faintly. The noise, the crowds, the closeness of the tent all pressed in on her, making her chest ache. She was frightened. Mr. Priestly, and now Captain Browne? What is going on?

  “I...” Laura felt her head whirling, and caught onto the table to stop her fall.

  “Laura” Janet hissed. “Here they are!”

  Laura blinked. In front of their stall stood Mr. Merrick, Mr. Preston the hotel owner, and the representative from the mayoral council.

  “We have two entries,” Janet was saying. “A sweet one and a savory. Would you like to start with the quiche..?”

  The judges tried their wares and wrote complex notes on their score-sheets.

  “Thank you,” Mr. Merrick said smoothly. “That was delicious.”

  “Oh,” Janet said faintly, and beamed.

  “You see?” she whispered to Laura. “He liked our cheese Danish!”

  “Your cheese Danish,” Laura reminded her gallantly.

  Janet sighed, and put a hand over her heart. “He's cute. Like a taller, more square-faced Clooney...”

  Laura laughed, feeling slightly less ill. The noise had died down a little – Mr. Popples at least had settled down outside. She felt calmer.

  “I'll just nip off to the toilet, Jay...” she whispered.

  “Sure, Laura,” Janet said, leaning back to her. “Just hurry up – we're getting a peach tart!”

  “Thanks,” Laura said quickly, and raced across the field to the hotel.

  As she climbed the stairs to the back door, she came face-to-face with Mr. Priestly.

  He stared at her, and did nothing to move out of her way.

  Laura stared back. After a long moment, she realized people were staring, and stepped down the stairs. Mr. Priestly bulled past her, shooting her a glare.

  Laura ran lightly up the steps and across the entrance hall to the bathroom, where she collapsed against the door, breathing hard.

  “Where is all this going to end?” she sighed. A tear rolled down her cheek. She felt like she was stuck in a nightmare – a band-playing, cart wheeling, balloon-infested nightmare.

  “At least I should see Howard tomorrow,” she said quietly.

  That would make everything feel better. At least for a few hours she could forget about the murder and return to sanity.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  SUSPICION CLEARED

  It was evening. The sunset painted long shadows on the field behind the hotel, making the ground a patchwork of navy and gold.

  Laura, standing in the stall she had manned with Janet, leaned back and breathed deeply.

  The competition was over.

  The last of the wares from her and Janet's stall were eaten, the dais and chairs already being packed by workmen standing on the shallow stage. The light in the tent was fading fast and Laura knew that soon it would be time to organize the deconstruction of the tent.

  She gave herself a moment to pause and recover, looking wearily over the scene. The field was a soft gray-green in the evening light, the workman's truck painted gold by the sunset. Besides the men carrying the speakers, the tent was empty, and the tarpaulin flapped idly in the evening breeze. A light laugh alerted Laura to Janet, walking through the lifted tent-flap with Mr. Murray, the farmer who had manned the stall next door. He was talking earnestly and Janet was laughing, a light, happy sound.

  Laura smiled. It was good to see Janet looking so happy. As she looked over the scene, she realized she was parched with thirst. She decided to see if any drinks remained at the refreshments tent.

  She glanced over to where the food-trucks were parked, and sighed deeply, noticing the dark-haired head poking through the flap. I really like that woman. I hope it doesn't turn out to be her. Laura felt sad, thinking about the small, intense woman as a murderer. If it is her, I don't know what I'll do. She would hate to turn her in to the police. It would feel wrong, and sadden her deeply.

  As she walked across to the smaller tent, Laura passed by a small group standing by the packed-up announcement system. The tall man was the hotel owner, and there was a second man she did not recognize. The third had his back facing her, so it was only as she walked past the group that she overheard a snatch of talk and recognized him as Mr. Halston, the double-dealing franchiser. She instinctively slowed her step and walked over to where the men were packing the speakers, to listen.

  “...and so I decided to move the franchise here, closer to my current base in Bishopstone...”

  “I heard,” Laura's boss was saying.

  “Makes sense,” the third man replied.

  “I thought about Maidstone, mind,” Mark Halston replied, “but it was unfortunate. The Nesbitts were out of the country until a few days ago, and so I could not contact them until the deal was all but closed elsewhere. I would have liked to break it to them slowly...they're nice people.” He sighed.

  “They were out of the country?” Mr. Preston, Laura's boss, was asking.

  “Mm. In Corsica, would you believe it. Time share vacation home they have there apparently.”

  “Miserable weather,” the other man observed.

  “Typical timeshare!
” Her boss laughed. “I mean, who wants to go to Corsica in winter?”

  “They had some nice days there last week,” Mr. Halston was saying. “I talked to Len Nesbitt yesterday, and he said it was actually fairly pleasant until the day they flew out – which was Tuesday, I think,” he said, and shrugged.

  There was a brief pause in the conversation, and Laura heard Mr. Preston clasp his hands. “So?” he said, “that was a good job. Anyone fancy a drink?”

  As the three men agreed and turned to go inside, Laura stepped back and almost stumbled, her knees weak with relief.

  “They were out of town until this week,” she said to herself, relieved. “They couldn't possibly have done the murder.”

  She stumbled forwards and decided to sit down, the exhaustion of the day's events combining with relief to drain her.

  She looked up at the pale evening sky, the clouds light pink and floating high against the colorless backdrop.

  “I wouldn't have wanted it to be her,” she said, smiling with relief. “I rather liked Ms. Nesbitt.”

  She sat there while the men finished their packing and alighted back into the truck.

  As she was about to get up, she heard feet come up behind her, muffled by the grass.

  “Laura!” two voices said at once.

  “Janet?” Laura said, smiling at her friend, who was radiant and grinning.

  “Yes!” Janet aid brightly. “We're done!” she sang out. “Coming for a drink?”

  “Yes,” Laura replied, and turned to find the source of the second voice, which she thought she recognized.

  “Hello, Laura,” Sadie said. “I'm just packing up. Want a drink and a share of the stock?”

  “Yes,” Laura said, smiling. “Why don't we all go over to your truck. We can have quite a party!”

  Laughing, the three women walked over the now-silent field towards the truck, the evening light softening the scene.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  REACHING OUT

  Sunday evening. The competition was finally over, and Laura sat back in her chair, soaking up the sunshine, a cup of steaming-hot tea between her hands.

  Monty sat in the patch of sunshine on the rug, purring in his sleep.

  “I'm so glad that's over,” Laura sighed. She had been glad for the diversion, but the extra work had drained her and she needed time to recover. Sitting on the sofa with a cup of tea was exactly what she needed.

  Monty purred and breathed out huffily.

  You still awake? He asked drowsily.

  “Mm,” Laura agreed. “Almost.”

  You should sleep, Monty said carefully. You're so tired.

  “I am,” Laura agreed, touched as always by his care for her. “But I'm happy with my tea and the sunshine, Monty. I'll sleep later.”

  Good, he said warmly.

  Laura finished her tea, blowing on the steam and watching it disperse into the rays of late sunlight. There was no sound besides the tick of the clock, barely noticed on the edge of hearing. She set her teacup on the table and stretched, yawning. She could almost follow the advice of Monty and fall asleep.

  The doorbell rang.

  “It's five o' clock,” Laura said drowsily. “Who is it?” she called, walking over to answer it.

  “Me,” Howard called through the thick wooden paneling. “Is it okay if I come in for a chat?”

  “Of course,” Laura smiled. Her heart beat faster, and she quickly checked her appearance in the reflective surface of a window before opening the door.

  “Sorry to visit without letting you know first,” Howard demurred, “but I was on call all afternoon. Yesterday too. So I missed all the to-do at the hotel.”

  “Not to worry,” Laura smiled, inviting him in.

  “Do you have any quiche left?” Howard asked, sounding hopeful. “I was looking forward to sampling it at the fete yesterday.”

  “I saved one,” Laura teased, and went through to the kitchen to fetch it, putting the kettle on as she went.

  They took the tea and quiche through to the sitting room, where Monty was stretching on the carpet.

  “Hello, Monty,” Howard said, kneeling down to stroke him. Laura was surprised that Monty let him, though he had a long-suffering look on his face that made her laugh.

  Monty walked off to Laura's bedroom, and Laura sighed to herself. It was the first time Howard and Monty had responded to each other. It was progress.

  “So,” Howard said, leaning back on the sofa, “how was your day?”

  “Tiring,” Laura admitted. “And pretty stressful.” She wanted to tell him about the policeman, Priestly, and the threats, but he clearly wanting to discuss the old lady and the cottage.

  “That's too bad,” he said sympathetically. “Especially for someone who just baked the best quiche in the whole region,”

  Laura blushed. “Thank you, Howard.”

  “I mean it,” he said, collecting the last crumbs of pastry on his fork. “Who won, if you didn't?”

  Laura giggled. “Some obscure fellow from down Curring Place Way. Why?”

  “No reason,” Howard replied. “Except that it would be miserable if you left the village to go and work in that hotel.”

  Laura looked up at him. His brown eyes were level and he was not teasing her.

  “Thank you, Howard,” she said warmly. “I think so too.”

  “Good.”

  They sat in comfortable silence beside each other, neither wanting to break the spell.

  “I suppose we should go and visit the cottage now,” Howard said reluctantly. “I told the lady I would try to move her to the clinic today, and that I would bring you with me. She remembered you.”

  Laura smiled, surprised and pleased.

  She and Howard washed the dishes, and then drove across the village to the cottages in Howard's car.

  At the house they were met by the old lady, and Howard carefully explained what he planned to do. He had some money from the town council that he could use to pay for basic renovations, and, while they were being done, the old lady herself could stay in the clinic, where someone could take care of her arthritis and her lung infections.

  “...so you'd just be staying at the clinic for two days,” Laura soothed their older friend, “just while Howard sends someone here to clean up for you.”

  Laura supported her one arm, and the two of them walked out to Howard's car.

  “But what about Jessie?” the woman asked, worried.

  Jessie was evidently the cat. Laura smiled. According to Monty, her “real” name was Melissa. Laura wondered idly if Monty had a real name too, and what it was.

  “I will take care of Jessie,” Laura promised.

  “Thank you,” the woman smiled. “Oh, thank you, you dear thing.”

  “Please,” Laura said gently, “call me Laura.”

  It was only after they had walked her to the car, and Laura, the cat on her knee, had ridden with Howard to the surgery and settled her in, that Laura realized she had not asked the woman's name.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  A PRIZE

  Monday dawned blustery, but warm.

  “So,” Janet said, as Laura walked in to work briskly, “that sod Mr. Marling won.” She blew out her cheeks, looking cross.

  Laura chuckled at her. “Oh, Janet!” she sighed. “You didn't really want to move away, did you?”

  Janet laughed. “I suppose not. It just seemed so exciting! And, well, you know I like winning.” She looked down at her hands, smiling ruefully.

  Laura smiled. “You might not have won, but I suspect you'll be visiting Melgate farm?”

  Janet blushed crimson. “How did you guess?”

  “Well,” Laura smiled, “you and Farmer Murray were clearly getting along.”

  Janet giggled. “You see too much, Laura. But yes, I am seeing Ben later this week.”

  “That's so exciting!” Laura said, grinning.

  “I want you to help me choose an outfit, mind,” Janet warned. “I
'm not going out in anything without running it past you first.”

  Laura smiled. “Come round anytime.”

  “Thanks, L.”

  Laura went through to her office, remembering that after work she had promised to drop past the clinic. Howard had arranged for a carpenter to visit the old lady's home, and he wanted Laura to check if there was anything she wanted moved.

  The day was strangely peaceful, the hotel almost empty after the contest.

  “Hello Mr. Merrick,” Laura smiled, as Mr. Merrick walked in. “I thought you would have gone back home now that the contest is over.”

  “I'm booked in until the end of the week,” he said without looking back and went to his table by the window.

  Laura blinked at the abrupt way he replied to her question, and went back to her work.

  “Lucky Janet. Ben's a much nicer person,” she said under her breath. “I wouldn't have wanted to see her with Mr. Harry Casual.”

  The lunch service was easy, and the day between lunch and supper was a pleasant respite. There was nothing to do, so Laura decided to fit in her visit to the clinic in her tea break.

  “I'm just going out,” Laura said to Bethany, fetching her coat. “I'll be back for supper service.”

  “Okay, Miss Howcroft,” Bethany called out. “If anything happens, I'll shout.”

  “Thanks.”

  Laura drove to the clinic, where Howard's nurse showed her through to the tiny ward.

  “Hello?” Laura greeted the old lady, who was sitting up in bed. She had arranged her hair, which was clean and soft, and she looked so much healthier already. Her blue eyes shone.

  “Good afternoon,” she said politely. “Are you here for a visit?”

  “Yes,” Laura agreed, and produced the bunch of tulips she had bought on the way. The old woman stared.

  “Thank you,” the lady replied at last, her eyes damp. “Those are beautiful. I will ask the nurse to put them in water when she returns.”

  Laura sat and talked with her a while. She was clearly an educated and intelligent woman, with a keen wit. Laura found herself liking her. They talked about village life, her past as a teacher, and the way the village had grown since her youth. Eventually, Laura steered the conversation around to the alterations being done on the cottage.

 

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