The Magpie (Rufus Stone Detective Stories Book 3)

by K. J. Frost

  “I am?” I nod down at my arm. “I’m not as useful as I could be.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Being as tall as you are, at least I don’t have to climb on a chair to do the decorations at the top.”

  “No, I suppose that’s true. But if I had the use of both of my arms, I could lift you up and you could reach them yourself.”

  She giggles and lets her head rest on my chest. “Hmm… that might be more fun.”

  I put my arm around her. “There’s no ‘might’ about it.”

  She raises her face to mine and stands up on her tiptoes, kissing me all too briefly. “Right,” she says, turning and putting her hands on her hips, “we’d better get on.”

  The first job is the lights. “At least they’re not tangled,” I remark, smiling down at her as she unreels the flex and hands the end of the cable to me to start putting them on the tree. “Aunt Dotty is renowned for leaving hers in a mess. It used to drive Uncle Sam mad.”

  “No, I always insist on putting them away properly. Beth was a great one for just stuffing things away in boxes, regardless…” She blinks a few times to disperse her tears, clearly remembering something.

  “Well, I’m glad you took charge of the lights.” I lean down to kiss her cheek. I don’t want her to dwell on her memories too much, although I think she’s finding that difficult, and she puts her arms around my neck, holding on for a while, careful not to crush the lights between us, until eventually she coughs slightly and pulls away.

  “Thank you,” she mutters.

  “Don’t thank me.” I raise her face to mine and kiss her again – on the lips this time – only breaking away when the need for her starts to become too much. “I suppose we’d better finish this.” I nod towards the tree.

  “I suppose we had.” Her reluctance is as tangible as my own.

  Once the lights are strategically placed and Amelie has plugged them in to check they’re functioning, we work our way methodically through the rest of the decorating, with Amelie placing the baubles on the bottom branches, while I do the ones nearer the top.

  “So… how is the case going?” she asks, kneeling at my feet and placing a red and blue bauble onto the tree.

  “Rather badly, if I’m honest.”

  She looks up. “What’s happened?” The concern in her voice is touching.

  I look down at the glass ornament in my hand, purely for distraction, not even really noticing it. “We had to take the child’s father to identify her body,” I explain, letting out a long sigh. “That was bad enough in itself, but when we took him home, his wife was having some kind of fit… or tantrum. It was hard to tell which. He tried to calm her, and she turned on him. It was ugly. Really ugly. Not the sort of thing I like to witness, even on a good day, but in those circumstances, when their child has been killed in such a way as she has…” I leave my sentence unfinished and sigh, before continuing, “And then we had to interview a man.”

  “A suspect?” she asks, kneeling up slightly.

  “We’d hoped he might be. We’d pulled him in because he had a prior record of having assaulted children.”

  “But it wasn’t him?”

  “No.” I shake my head. “Talking to him was difficult though and his behaviour in the interview was – frankly – disgusting. Thompson tried to hit him, so I had to send him out of the room, and then get him to go home. He’s been badly affected by all of this.”

  “And you haven’t?” she asks.

  “Yes, I have. But I think Harry’s finding it especially hard. With Julia being pregnant…”

  Amelie nods her head and sidles closer. Then I feel her hand on my leg, resting on the front of my thigh and I look down, to see her upturned face gazing up at me, my breath catching in my throat. “Are you alright?” she asks.

  “Um… I’m not sure.”

  “What’s wrong?” She raises her hand a little, edging closer still and I struggle to swallow. “Do you want to sit up on the sofa and talk?”

  “Not especially. I mean, we can sit up on the sofa if you like, but I can think of a lot of other things I’d rather do, and none of them involve too much talking.”

  She tilts her head to one side, as though she doesn’t understand, and then suddenly glances at her hand, and snatches it away, her face reddening.

  “I’m so sorry,” she mumbles. “I didn’t even realise I’d done that.”

  I chuckle and crouch down in front of her, our faces almost level. “Don’t be sorry. I liked it. I probably liked it a bit too much. And I especially liked that you feel able to do things like that. So stop worrying about it.”

  She smiles. “You’re sure? That you don’t mind, I mean.”

  I smile back. “Oh, I definitely don’t mind.” I lean forward and close the gap between us, my kiss proving the point.

  We’re well into the second box of decorations, having finally resumed the task in hand, when Amelie notices the fire is dying, so I naturally I offer to see to it, but she says she’ll do it herself, and gets up off the floor, where she’s been kneeling, and kisses me rather sweetly before going over to the fireplace. I take my chance – because I don’t know when I’ll get another one, and this seems like too good an opportunity to miss – and remove the ring box from my pocket, placing it carefully in one of the square cardboard compartments within the decorations box. When Amelie comes back, I’m hanging a blue and green painted glass bauble from one of the top branches.

  “I’ve always liked that one,” she says, looking up at what I’m doing before turning to the box and bending down to make her next selection.

  There’s a moment of silence, and then I hear a slight gasp, taking my cue and getting down on one knee behind her as she reaches into the box and turns, her face lighting up, her mouth opening in wonder as she sees my position, the tiny ring box clasped in her hand.

  I speak, before she has the chance to ask, to question, or maybe even to doubt. “You already know I love you, Amelie, more than I can ever hope to express. You already know you mean everything to me and that I want nothing more than to walk through life with you by my side… so, would you please do me the honour of agreeing to become my wife?”

  Without a second’s hesitation, she nods her head. “Yes, Rufus,” she murmurs. “Oh God, yes.”

  I stand and, regardless of my broken limb, I lift her up into my arms and twirl her around, holding her body close to mine.

  I lower her eventually, and take the box from her hand, opening it and turning it around for her to see. “Oh… that’s so beautiful,” she says a little breathlessly.

  “Promise you like it?”

  “I love it.”

  I take the ring and, letting the box fall onto the chair, I place it on her finger. “You’re mine,” I murmur, my voice a surprisingly low growl, and she smiles, nodding her head, as I lean down and kiss her.

  We’re on the sofa, the decorations still only half done, the boxes scattered on the floor, and Amelie lying in my arms. And I can honestly say, I’ve never felt so happy in my life.

  “You do realise I’m not even twenty yet, don’t you?” She looks up into my eyes. “We’ll need to ask Uncle Gordon’s permission.”

  “I’ve already done it,” I explain and her eyes widen in surprise.

  “When did you do that?”

  “Yesterday evening. I saw him when I got home from work. He was doing something in the garage, and I caught him on the driveway.” I smile. “It was probably an unusual place for such a conversation, but he didn’t seem to mind.”

  “And what did he say?”

  I lean down and kiss her. “Well… I asked you to marry me, didn’t I? So I think you can assume he gave his consent.”

  A slight smile forms on her lips and she nods her head slowly. “What about your mother? Does she know yet?”

  I shake my head. “No. But if it’s alright with you, I’ll tell her either tonight when I get home, or tomorrow morning. As I’m sure you’ve gathered, she’s been longing
for this day nearly as much as I have, so I can’t keep her in the dark.”

  She smiles. “No, I don’t mind at all.” I pull her closer and she puts her arms around my neck. “I like this,” she murmurs, nestling into me.

  “Hmm… and I love you.”

  Chapter Nine

  Dearest,

  Please tell me this isn’t true? Please tell me you don’t really want to break things off with me? How can you? After everything we’ve been to each other.

  I don’t suspect you of anything, my darling. I know you’d never do anything so disgusting. The suspicion came entirely from the police, I promise. All I did was confirm that I’d been with you that lunchtime. I told them that you would never have done such a thing, but it’s not my fault if they don’t believe me, is it?

  What else could I have done? What more would you have me do?

  If you can just be patient for few more days, I’ll try to find a way to get out of the house, and I’ll come and see you, if you still want me. We can talk it through and you’ll see it’s not my fault. It really isn’t.

  I’m crying as I write this. Please, please, my love, don’t give up on me. Don’t give up on us.

  Your beloved,

  Kitten x

  *****

  “You were late home last night.” My mother looks across the breakfast table at me, raising her eyebrows as she takes a sip from her second cup of tea. “We’d all gone to bed by the time you got back.”

  For the first time since Aunt Issa’s arrival, we’re all at breakfast together, which seems like an opportune moment to tell them my news, and get it over with all at once. “Yes. I noticed. Amelie and I decorated their Christmas tree.” Well, we did get it finished, eventually, when sanity finally took over again – even if only temporarily, being as we stopped every few minutes to kiss, or hold hands, or just look into each other’s eyes, both of us quite consumed with the thrill of knowing we’ll soon be husband and wife.

  “We’ve decided to do ours this afternoon,” Aunt Dotty says, biting into her toast. She gives me a knowing smile, which I assume is her way of letting me know she’s trying to be helpful; diverting the conversation away from mine and Amelie’s relationship. The thing is, just on this one occasion, I’d rather like to keep it there.

  “Do you still have the old angel that mother made?” Issa asks, and I start to wonder if, for once, I’m actually going to have to steer the subject around to Amelie myself. It’ll certainly make a change.

  “Yes,” Dotty replies, smiling. “It’s looking a bit battered these days, but I like to put it on the tree, just for nostalgia’s sake. Sam always used to laugh about it…” Her voice fades, reminding us all that his death is still very raw for her and I glance across the table at my mother, who’s blinking rather quickly, perhaps remembering past Christmases spent with my father.

  This isn’t quite the atmosphere I’d hoped for, and I wonder whether to postpone telling them anything until this evening. But then maybe it’s just what they need. It’ll give them something to look forward to… at least I hope it will.

  “While I’ve got you all here, and I’ve got a few minutes to spare, I—I wanted to tell you that I’ve proposed to Amelie.” There’s a pause, which I suppose isn’t that surprising, being as I’ve just blurted out my news, rather unceremoniously. “She’s accepted,” I add, to fill the silence, just in case anyone other than myself had been doubting her reaction, despite their words of encouragement before the event.

  My mother is the first to her feet, almost running around the table to stand by my side and throw her arms around my neck, kissing my cheek.

  “Marvellous!” she chimes. “How absolutely marvellous. I’m so pleased for you, darling.” She kisses me again, just as Dotty moves in on the other side, planting a kiss on that cheek.

  “Congratulations, dear boy,” she says. “That’s the best news we’ve had in… well, in years, I think.”

  Dotty steps back and Issa takes her place in this somewhat overwhelming procession. “You’ll make a perfect couple,” she says heartily, bending and kissing me.

  “Of course they will,” my mother adds, hugging me again. “They’ll both be very happy together.”

  We will, if this charade ever ends. I lean back slightly, just to get some air, and Issa and Dotty return to their seats. My mother takes a moment longer, staring down at me, before placing her hand on my cheek and giving me a beautiful smile.

  Once they’re all seated, the conversation starts up again.

  “Have you set a date?” Issa asks what I suppose is the inevitable question.

  “Not yet, no. We didn’t get a chance to talk about it last night.” We were too busy just gazing at each other, taking in the wonder of it all. And kissing. There was a lot of kissing.

  Mother takes a sip of tea, looking at me over the rim of her cup. “Well, I shouldn’t take too long deciding; weddings are always more popular during wartime. Perhaps I should make you an appointment with the vicar…?”

  “And there’s food to think about,” Issa chips in before I get the chance to reply to my mother. “Rationing’s going to make that much harder.”

  “And what about the dress?” Dotty jumps on the bandwagon as well now. “Do you think we should offer to help Amelie with that? Let’s face it, Millicent Templeton is hardly going to get out of her sick bed after the best part of a decade to go wedding dress shopping, is she?”

  “I highly doubt it,” my mother replies.

  “Can you all stop?” I raise my voice just slightly, while trying to maintain my good humour.

  They turn to face me as one, their eyes wide, their mouths open. “What’s wrong?” Mother asks eventually.

  “You’re not going to start making appointments, or planning anything without Amelie being here. Is that clear?” They pause and then slowly nod their heads collectively. “It’s her wedding,” I add, hoping they’ll get the message.

  “We know that, dear,” my mother says, patiently, “but you’re both working, and we’ve all got nothing else to do.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Issa mutters, but smiles at me at the same time.

  “Mother.” I clear my throat, my voice a little firmer this time. “No decisions will be taken without Amelie. Not one. Not the date, the venue, the dress, the cake, the food… none of it. She decides everything. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, dear,” she murmurs.

  “I know,” Aunt Dotty says, leaning forward in excitement. “Why don’t we invite Amelie over for dinner tonight? I can telephone her and arrange it when she comes in from work.”

  My mother claps her hands together with glee. “What a splendid idea. We can celebrate properly and spend the evening working everything out.”

  I almost groan out loud at the prospect of an entire evening spent talking about the merits of a sit down reception, as opposed to a buffet; cars, flowers, guest lists, invitations… not to mention the venue, which I think may be a sore point, judging by my mother’s mention of a visit to the vicar. Even so, I’ll sit through it, and I’ll ensure that my aunts and my mother don’t ride roughshod over Amelie. Whatever she wants, she can have, and they will just have to learn to live with it.

  I’m saved from too much more eulogising by the arrival of Sergeant Thompson, who parks up at the front of the house and toots the horn – which has become the custom over the last few days. He’s never timed his appearance better, in my opinion, and I leave my mother and aunts discussing cake ingredients, of all things, under strict instructions that they are not to decide upon, order, or confirm anything until after this evening. At least that’s one solace: I have another evening of Amelie’s company to look forward to – even if it will be in the presence of my interfering relatives.

  Thompson looks a lot better than he did yesterday afternoon, and as I take my seat beside him in the car, he turns to me and smiles.

  “You’re looking cheerful,” he says, even though I wasn’t aware of it.

&
nbsp; “I could say the same for you.” My news can wait, at least for a moment.

  He pulls away from the kerb and drives towards Walton Road. “I’m feeling much better. Thanks for letting me go home early. I needed it – probably more than I realised.”

  “You had a good evening?” I doubt it was as good as mine, but I suppose everything is relative.

  “I did,” he observes, smiling a little more broadly. “It made a pleasant change to spend some time with Christopher. And it gave Julia a chance to put her feet up.”

  “What did you do? With Christopher, I mean?”

  “We just played with his cars and trains. He’s absolutely passionate about trains.”

  “Destined to drive one in the future, is he?”

  “Oh no. He’s already decided that when he grows up, he wants to be policeman.”

  I look across at him. “Really?”

  He nods his head. “It’s funny. I was already in CID by the time he was born, so he’s never even seen me in uniform, and I’m not sure he actually understands what I do for a living, but that’s what he’s decided.”

  I chuckle. “Don’t take it too seriously. I wanted to be a farmer until I was about seven – according to my mother, anyway.”

  He laughs. “I can’t imagine you as a farmer.”

  “No, neither can I. And I don’t know where I got the idea from, although I think I might have had a toy farm, so maybe that was it.”

  “Probably.” He turns onto Hampton Court Way to go over the bridge towards Kingston. “I’m sorry about what happened yesterday,” he murmurs. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper like that.”

  “Don’t worry. Coates was just trying to provoke us. We both know that.”

  “Well, he succeeded, in my case.”

  “Did you manage to talk to Julia about it?” I ask.

  “Yes.” His voice drops. “She’s very understanding, which I suppose isn’t that surprising after five years of marriage, but it’s good to talk to her.”