Prelude to Poison

by Morgan W. Silver

  “Death is always lurking where you least expect it,” Detective Black said and pulled up the blanket to my chin. “Get some rest.”

  I closed my eyes and fell asleep immediately. I didn’t wake until noon and went downstairs. I left through the back only to get into my own store, but before I could face anybody in there, I rushed upstairs to put on some makeup. I hadn’t bothered this morning, and to my horror I looked as bad as I felt. It was a miracle that Alistair hadn’t run away.

  When I felt a bit more like myself, I went downstairs to see Eddie and Susan. No doubt it would be busy. When there was a piece of news like this, people met up wherever they could. And I knew the book club ladies would be there, because no doubt they’d also heard it was Nancy and I who had found Victor.

  “Maggie,” Eddie shouted as he spotted me from across the store. He was setting up a new display but abandoned it to rush over and hug me. “Are you okay? Nancy said you were at her place, resting. How are you?”

  “I’m much better now, thank you.”

  “They say Victor was poisoned,” Eddie said, looking rather pale himself.

  “Poison? Really?” I asked. “I didn’t even know that. It’s not like I inspected his...body.” Had the poison been in the tea cup? Or had someone injected something? Poison was usually used by women, and it had the benefit of not having to be around to kill someone. Could it have been his wife? But who knew he would be there? Was Mrs Field in on it? My mind was a tornado of thoughts.

  The women of the Castlefield Book Club gathered around. Eleanor gave me a kiss on the cheek and was kind enough to bring home-made scones.

  “Thank you for coming, ladies.”

  “It’s just so awful,” Poppy said.

  Several women had burst into tears, even the usually distant Lily. Victor had been even more popular than his wife. I tried to assess if any of them could have been his lover, but I detected nothing suspicious. Poppy clutched my arm and dabbed a lace handkerchief at the corner of her eye, even if she wasn’t crying any more.

  “Maggie, can’t you do something? This is just so awful and you’ve helped us before.” She made a very obvious gesture with her head towards Lily who instantly shot her nose up in the air and looked away. If anybody was to blame, it was her thieving cousin.

  “This is not really my area of expertise,” I said, flattered they thought it was.

  Ava, Dawn’s wife, scoffed. “Are you joking?” she said in a Scottish accent. “You write about murders. You get into killers’ heads.” She tapped her temple and then blew a few strands of her fringe away. “If anybody knows how a psycho killer operates, it’s you.”

  Eleanor cleared her throat and then smiled at me as if to say she didn’t mean it like that. She had to do that a lot when Ava spoke.

  “Yeah, thanks, Ava. I’ll see what I can do.”

  There was a collective sigh of relief that startled me. Had my concession really been that important to them? And how the hell was I going to live up to their expectations? I could hardly solve a real murder, could I? I pictured the sense of pride and accomplishment if I actually managed it. Not just to be able to solve something so complex, but to set something right for Victor and to protect the villagers. Perhaps even impress a certain detective. Also, if a killer could strike once, he could strike again.

  “Of course you can do it,” Detective Black said from behind me. “I’ll help you.”

  When I glanced back, he was gone again. What the holy muffin had I just said yes to?

  Chapter 5

  The women stayed in the back of the bookshop where the scones, tea and armchairs were, so that at least Poppy could sit down. I went to the front to greet Susan, who looked pale and rattled. Her hair was not its usual tight ponytail, and strands of her hair dangled in front of her face.

  “Are you okay?” I asked her.

  “Fine,” she said curtly, as if to indicate that there was no room for discussion.

  “Just take it easy today,” I said. Apparently, it took a murder to awaken her emotions.

  Was it the fact that a murder was committed? Something else entirely? Or had she known Victor better than I thought? There was a time when he frequented the bookshop not too long ago. Was I being paranoid?

  “Being paranoid is a good thing for a detective,” Detective Black said.

  “Not for your personal life,” I said.

  “What?” Susan came out from behind the curtain where she’d put her bag.

  “What? Err, just let me know if you need anything.”

  “I’m fine,” she said again as if I’d insulted her.

  “Good, good, good.” I moved away and returned to the ladies in the back.

  “Do we still have our book club meeting tonight?” Poppy asked after she grabbed her third scone. She had strawberry jam on her chin.

  “Of course,” Eleanor said. “We need it now more than ever. Ah, Maggie. Is it okay if we have our meeting here tonight? I’d like to go all out. I’ll ask Olivia to come and bring a cake or two.”

  The women all made excited noises, and I guess it didn’t matter if I was okay with it or not. Eleanor was right, they needed this. Perhaps even I needed this.

  “Does this mean you’ll all be discussing the book you’re currently reading? True Love?” I managed to say it without making a face.

  Eleanor inhaled slowly. “Right, yes. I suppose we will discuss that book. No spoilers, though.”

  The women cheered.

  “It’s so good. Have you lasses reached chapter four yet? I read it last night and had to fan myself to cool down,” Ava said.

  “Do you—do you like that sort of thing if a man’s involved?” Poppy asked with wide eyes.

  “Lass, I may not particularly like pianos, but that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy watching someone else play on it.” Ava laughed.

  Leave it to Ava to call someone thirty years older than her ‘lass’.

  Poppy nodded, but looked as though she still didn’t understand. I stopped myself from chuckling. Poppy’s expression was usually made up of confusion and added to her charm. She had been a single most of her life, only married briefly, and I wondered how much she had seen of the world.

  Soon the women moved on to who Victor’s potential lover could be, and I tried to convince them that the curse was baloney. They said they believed me, because how could someone like Victor cheat? But I could see in their faces that that wasn’t what they really thought. The curse was part of this village, unfortunately, just as much as Eleanor’s scones.

  It was what made me decide to close early. I understood the reason for wanting to discuss the murder, but I could only take so much of it. Eddie took a while to convince that I was fine and after he went home, I went up to Nancy’s flat and made some macaroni and cheese. I put the leftovers in the fridge for Nancy. Bailey stared at my every move the whole time. He was six years old, and when we first got him, I occasionally fed him my vegetables. Hence the love for human food. Oops.

  After I finished dinner, I took Bailey for a walk. I needed some fresh air, and it was still nice and warm outside. Bailey wagged his tail as he darted forward. I had to pull him back or I’d end up being dragged around by him. He was strong for a small dog. I walked around for ten minutes without a clear purpose, but ended up in the street where Patricia Woodsbury lived. How was she taking the news of her dead husband and had she known that he had been having an affair? It depended on how long the affair was going on and how good he was at lying. Did the wife always know? Still, even if he was having an affair, why kill him? What was wrong with a good old-fashioned divorce?

  The Tudor-style house looked spacious and well kept. It was a detached home, surrounded by high bushes at the sides and a wooden fence at the front, rose bushes placed alongside it. A small fountain was placed in the middle of the front garden and a white bench was below one of the windows.

  Bailey pulled on the leash. He was about to pee against the tyre of a car. When I pulled him back, I recog
nised the car as a Volkswagen Beetle. I swallowed. Beth had said Alistair had a car like that. He was probably talking to Patricia.

  “Hmm. I’d love to be a fly on the wall during their conversation,” I said to Bailey and pulled him along as he sniffed the ground. He didn’t seem to agree with me, though, and pulled me in the other direction. He let out a little bark.

  The front door opened and the sudden sound of voices startled me into action. I scooped up Bailey and rushed behind the bushes that separated Patricia’s front garden from that of her neighbours’. Hidden behind the hedge plant, I lost my balance and fell into the prickly twigs of the English laurel. I was afraid to move as I heard Alistair, DC Daniels and Patricia walk the path to the pavement and Alistair’s car. Bailey licked my face and I held my breath, afraid any sound would give me away.

  “Thank you for your time, Mrs Woodsbury,” Alistair said. “If anything comes to mind, please don’t hesitate to contact us.”

  “Yes, I have your number. Please do keep me posted on your investigation. I need to know what happened to my poor husband,” Patricia said.

  “Will do, Mrs Woodsbury. Take care,” Alistair said. Two car doors slammed and the engine was turned on. After the car drove off, Patricia spoke like she was talking on the phone.

  “The police just came.” A pause. “Yes, I’ll see you in five minutes.” Then her footsteps retreated back to the front door and the door slammed shut.

  I sighed with relief, then struggled as I tried to push myself forward and out of the hedge. Bailey jumped out of my arms before I got to put him back on the ground. Then he looked ahead of us. I followed his gaze to Patricia’s neighbour who stared at me with an open mouth, holding a shopping bag. I realised now that I was standing in her front garden. The hedge had been the only separation.

  There were some plants planted along the path to the front door, but the rest was grass, so luckily I hadn’t trampled on anything. The neighbour was still gaping at me: the weirdo that had been standing still, half fallen into a hedge whilst holding her dog.

  “Err, there was a squirrel,” I said. “A really big one. You’re supposed to stand still and avoid eye contact. That way they don’t see you.” I took a few steps in the direction of the pavement. “They can be very dangerous. I think it’s the tail and the teeth. Very...yeah. Bye.” I waved and scurried past Patricia’s house. From my hair I pulled a twig and hoped it didn’t show that I had just been hiding in a hedge.

  Patricia’s phone call bounced around in my head. Was she having an affair too? Also, when I wrote my grieving characters they were much more upset than Patricia seemed to be, but then again I’d never written a character like her before.

  I lingered on the corner of the street where I still had a visual of Patricia’s house while Bailey decided to lie down at my feet instead of pull at the leash. Perhaps he sensed that what I was doing was important, or at least more exciting than typing on my laptop.

  One by one I spotted the fancy hats on top of the heads of Patricia’s loyal gang of friends. I knew their names. Frances, Dorothy, and Anne. So nothing sinister then, just a couple of girlfriends coming to support her.

  My faith in people was restored, for now.

  THAT EVENING AT THE bookshop, Nancy and I moved things around to make room. Eleanor had provided plenty of chairs that she set in a circle with Lily and Poppy. Olivia and her husband brought a long table to put all the food on, and Jessica had brought a radio that she’d taken from her daughter’s room, since her daughter was away at uni. Apparently this book club had wild intentions. I had put enough copies of the book on the chairs for them, so they didn’t have to bring their own. My plan was to help them set up, but instead I decided to stay. It would be a welcome distraction.

  Ava and Phoebe were the last to show up. Ava came in laughing and pointed at Phoebe when she found she couldn’t speak. Phoebe was wearing a onesie that was meant to resemble a cow. She had her hands stuck in the udders.

  “What?” she said. “I’m going to bed after this, and it’s very comfortable and warm.”

  Ava caught her breath long enough to shout, wheezing: “Sh—she’s a cow.”

  Phoebe’s cheeks turned red with anger, and she stomped off to the table with the cakes, lemon tarts, and scones. We would all have to be rolled home after tonight.

  The other women started to giggle. It wasn’t so much because of the situation, but we needed to discharge all the heavy feelings related to the murder, and this was the perfect excuse. The giggle rose to a burst of laughter, and soon we were all laughing, even Phoebe.

  Instead of composing ourselves and demurely sitting down in the circle, I put out half the lights and Ava plugged her phone into the radio and started blasting Imagine Dragons. It wasn’t the best music to dance to, but we did it anyway. Phoebe moved her arms up and down, looking more like she was flailing and Eleanor danced circles around Poppy. I danced with Ava, and even Lily at some point. Nancy was moving to her own music, which was apparently very slow as she made calm, fluid motions. Then she paused and started headbanging.

  At some point I sneaked upstairs to my flat and got a few bottles of whiskey and vodka. I started handing out drinks, and soon Ava was dancing on one of the chairs while Phoebe tried limbo dancing even though there was no bar. Poppy kept meowing like a cat and Jessica was giving Phoebe a makeover with a couple of red markers and a pen. Nancy danced with a mop.

  There was a pleasant buzz that had started in my head and spread out through my body. Nothing seemed to matter, nothing but this moment. I didn’t have to worry about impressing people, or solving things. I could do whatever I wanted, and so I danced.

  By the time it finally quieted down, Lily and I sat on the chairs, surveying the damage. Katie Perry was blaring through the radio as Olivia and Eleanor were leaning against a bookcase, both seemingly asleep while Phoebe was lying on the floor, her head on a stack of books. Nancy was stuffing her face with a lemon tart, and Poppy was licking one of the windows.

  “Holy hell. What time is it? Two AM? Three?” I asked.

  Lily checked her watch. “What time did we start again?” she said with a slur.

  “Seven o’clock.”

  “It’s now nine.”

  I gaped at her. “We are not made for this.”

  “No, we are not.” We clinked our glasses and downed the rest of our drinks.

  Chapter 6

  That morning I woke up on my own sofa with a vague recollection of how I got there. Slowly, it came back to me. I was fairly sure three women had carried me up the stairs. My hair was a complete mess and someone had drawn on my left leg with a sharpie. I couldn’t make out what it was, although it had the possibility of being something dirty. I showered for about twenty minutes, had breakfast and then went downstairs to work in the bookshop since I felt like doing something productive.

  The shop was busy. People were browsing or buying books while gossiping about the murder. Though the topic of the gossip wasn’t fun at all, I still enjoyed the overall cosy vibe that a busy Saturday brought with it.

  A few hours later I was working on a new display as Eddie tapped me on the shoulder with repeated vigour.

  “What? What? What?” I said without turning around.

  “Guess what?”

  “You’re pregnant?”

  “Very funny.” He grabbed me by the shoulders and turned me around. His cheeks were flushed.

  “Oh, oh, this must be serious.”

  “It is. You know how everyone thinks it’s the curse that killed Victor Woodsbury?”

  “How could I forget?” I said.

  “Well, it’s spread and now there are Welsh ghost hunters coming to the Pembroke Hotel to determine the validity.”

  “Wow,” I said.

  “I know.”

  “No, I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you use the word ‘validity’ before.”

  Eddie glared at me. “I’m being serious.”

  “I know, that’s what scare
s me. The words ‘Welsh’ and ‘ghost hunters’ all in one sentence.”

  He grunted. “I knew I couldn’t talk to you about this.”

  “I’m just messing with you. Sort of.” I mumbled that last part. “Are there really people coming here with a bunch of equipment to make sure no ghost has killed Victor Woodsbury?” His death was not some story or show. Certainly not to me.

  “Or to make sure a ghost has,” Eddie said. “Look, what happened to poor Victor is big news in the ghost community.”

  “There’s a ghost community? Isn’t that just the afterlife?”

  “And by coming here it will bring lots of publicity to this village, not to mention that we could have a real-life haunted hotel.”

  “Or not.”

  He blinked. “I’m choosing to ignore your negativity.”

  “Or realism.”

  “I’m going back to work,” he said with a frown.

  “I don’t like this. Victor was a good man. His death should be investigated properly, and it shouldn’t become some circus.”

  Eddie pressed his lips together. “It’s not, Maggie. I really think that this will be good. Look, I know you liked him, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said this all excited, that was insensitive. However, I do think that it might be possible that ghosts did this, just like a lot of people do. If these ghost hunters prove there are ghosts, it may help us figure out what happened, and if they don’t, it will shut people up about the rumour. Either way, win-win.”

  “Not really. Victor will still be dead.”

  “Unfortunately dying is part of the being alive deal. He shouldn’t have died that way, no. But it happened. There’s nothing we can do about it. We don’t decide how we go.”