by Agatha Frost
“More than anything.”
“Then why don’t you want to marry her?”
“I never said I didn’t want to,” Roxy fired back, “but if I do, the wedding itself isn’t that important to me. I wasn’t one of those little girls who dreamed of having a fairy-tale wedding, mainly because I imagined my Prince Charming as Princess Charming. If the time felt right, I wouldn’t make any fuss.”
“And how does Violet feel about that?” Leah asked.
“She’s Russian.” Roxy sipped from her pint. “She’s not big on grand gestures of emotion. As long as there’s vodka and pirozhki, she’s set for the day.”
Leah sighed and relaxed into her chair. Despite having two divorces under her belt and having vowed never to marry again, Leah looked upset that the conversation had taken such a turn. Julia wondered if it was because Leah was a wedding planner, or because she had fallen head over heels in love with Johnny and wanted to marry him.
“What happened to romance?” Leah asked, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “That huge day to celebrate the beginning of your life together is supposed to be special. Start with a bang?”
“My idea of romance is when Violet rubs my feet after I’ve been stood up at school teaching six-year-olds all day.” Roxy took another swig of her pint. “Which I’d be doing right now, so cheers to that burst pipe in the boys’ toilets!”
The conversation shifted from weddings to Christmas, and then back to Julia’s wedding again when their food came out. When they were halfway through eating their turkey, stuffing, and brussels sprouts, the topic veered to Gloria’s sudden death.
“It has to be Rita,” Leah mumbled through a mouthful of roast potato. “If her speech was as vibrant as you described it, there’s no other explanation. She somehow killed Gloria to ascend to the throne.”
“How did she even kill her?” Roxy asked. “Mind control? Poor woman dropped like a house. She didn’t stand a chance.”
“Maybe it was natural causes?” Johnny suggested. “She was overweight. Maybe her heart just gave out? She was singing quite loud.”
“That’s hardly going to sell your papers, is it?” Roxy rolled her eyes. “Stop the press! ‘Woman Dies of Natural Causes!’”
“It’s just an idea.” Johnny blushed as he shovelled more turkey into his mouth. “Have the police confirmed that it was murder?”
“As good as,” Julia replied, “and don’t you dare quote me on that, editor!”
“What do you think happened to her, Julia?” Leah asked.
Before Julia could answer, her phone vibrated in her bag, which she had collected on the way to the pub. Having gone so long without it, it took her by surprise and made her jump in her seat. She was relieved to see it was a text message from Barker.
“Arsenic poisoning,” she said.
“Oh, c’mon!” Roxy chuckled as she sawed through a tough piece of turkey skin. “Isn’t that all a little ‘wife killing off her husband so she can run off with the butler in 1856’?”
“No, really.” Julia held up her phone to show the message from Barker. “Official confirmation from the toxicology report. DI Christie just told Barker.”
They silently stared at the phone for a moment, their knives and forks hovering over their food.
“How does someone even get poisoned by arsenic?” Leah asked before popping a sprout into her mouth.
“Well, for a start, it’s tasteless, odourless, and colourless.” Julia tucked her phone away. “It’s not easy to get hold of, but it’s not impossible. It naturally occurs in nature, and it just so happens to be our natural Kryptonite. Rice even has small traces of it, though not enough to kill us. Slip a little of the pure stuff into someone’s drink, or even their food, and they’re not likely to live to tell the tale.”
Leah spat out the sprout and dropped her knife and fork. Johnny and Roxy did the same, pushing their plates away from them.
“And suddenly I’ve lost my appetite,” Roxy said with a sigh before patting her stomach. “Probably for the best. I’ve been using ‘‘tis the season’ since October to keep stuffing my face.”
“Arsenic poisoning?” Johnny echoed, shifting in his seat. “That’s a very intentional way to kill someone.”
“There goes your natural causes theory,” Leah said, tapping him on the knee. “Whoever killed Gloria really meant to do it.”
“She could have ingested it by accident,” Julia suggested. “But that doesn’t seem likely.”
They reflected in silence for another minute. Shirley, the landlady, came over and cleared away their half-finished dinners. Julia sipped her wine and leaned back in her chair, mind whirring.
“Why your wedding?” Leah asked.
“Huh?”
“Why kill her during your wedding?” Leah repeated, sitting up straight. “If someone meant to kill her, they could have poisoned her at any time. And why poison? They could have killed her all kinds of ways.”
“Maybe they wanted to send a message?” Julia suggested. “To me? To the village? To Gloria during her last minutes alive?”
“Or they were in a rush.” Roxy finished her pint and rose, grabbing her jacket from the back of her chair. “Speaking of which, I should get going. I promised Violet we’d clean out the spare room since we have the day off school. She wants to turn it into a crafting room. We watched Ghost last week, and she’s convinced she’s going to start pottery.”
“Are you Patrick Swayze or Demi Moore?” Johnny asked.
“Oh, Swayze all day long.” Roxy winked. “Don’t call. I’m sick and tired of the lot of you.”
“Love you too,” Julia said as Roxy kissed her on the cheek. “Be good.”
“Shan’t.” Roxy waved as she headed for the door. “I’ll see you losers around.”
“Will we see you at the bonfire tonight?” Leah called before Roxy left. “I heard they’ve gone all out with the fireworks.”
“Fireworks?” Roxy thought about it for a second. “I’ll pass. I think I’d rather clean my spare room, to be honest. See-ya!”
“And just like that, we’re sixteen again,” Johnny said with a fiddle of his glasses. “Who said we have to age gracefully?”
“Forty is the new twenty, according to a magazine I read in the doctor’s waiting room,” Leah said after finishing her wine. “And beige is going to be a big trend for spring and summer next year, which is going to make my wedding portfolio as exciting as a bowl of porridge.” She patted Johnny on the shoulder and stood up. “We should get going too. I’m pitching my ideas to a fussy bride in an hour, and you’ve got that piece about the stolen street signs to research.”
“Ever the exciting life.” Johnny drained his pint before standing up and pulling his messenger bag across his body. “Good luck with your mystery, Julia.”
“Will we see you at the bonfire?” Leah asked. “There’ll be treacle toffee.”
“As tempting as destroying my teeth on toffee sounds, I think I’m going to pass too.” Julia smiled. “I’m not quite ready to face the world on that scale yet.”
“I understand.” Leah ruffled Julia’s hair before kissing her on the cheek. “If you change your mind, I’m leaving my cottage at seven.”
“Can I credit you as a source regarding the arsenic poisoning revelation?” Johnny asked. “It’s important that the people know what’s going on.”
“Nope.”
“Worth a try.”
Johnny and Leah left arm in arm, leaving Julia alone in the pub. She reached into her handbag and pulled out her small notepad. It was open on her working sketch of her wedding cake design. She ripped out the page and scrunched it up before dropping it into her bag. On a fresh page, she wrote ‘Gloria Gray’ in the middle, with ‘arsenic poisoning’ underneath. Beneath that, she wrote ‘Motive: message or necessity?’, underlining both. She enclosed the entire thing in a bubble and drew two lines away and wrote her two suspects. On one tangent, she wrote ‘Rita Bishop: Rival Leader’, and ‘Skye (surname
???): Denied Lead Vocals’, on the other.
It wasn’t a lot to work on, but it was a start. She knew the police might be interviewing suspects even as she scribbled her notes, but the conundrum gave her something to occupy her mind. Without her friends distracting her, it was easy to slip into her own dark thoughts.
She was about to pocket her notepad when another thought sprang to mind. She turned to a fresh page. With her pen hovering over the paper, she hesitated before writing ‘Father David’ in the middle. She drew a giant ‘?’ through his name, and then added ‘blanked me like a stranger’ underneath. He had probably been deep in his thoughts, especially after having witnessed his choirmaster die during one of his wedding ceremonies, but a niggling feeling in the back of her mind wanted to investigate further.
Satisfied she had exhausted all she knew so far, she finished the last drop of wine and dropped her pad back into her bag. When she stood up, the picture of Gloria Gray on the front page of Johnny’s abandoned The Peridale Post stared up at her.
“Who would want to kill you?” Julia whispered to the picture. “Who did you upset, Gloria?”
7
Even though Julia had decided against going to the village’s annual bonfire, Barker convinced her it would be a good idea to get out and face the world before reopening her café, if only to show everyone she was still standing. With Jessie on a date with Billy to catch the last showing of a horror movie left over from Halloween, Julia didn’t want to spend a silent night alone in the house while Barker wrote in the dining room. They wrapped up in hats, scarves, gloves, and heavy coats, and met Leah outside her cottage across the lane a little before seven.
“I’m so glad you decided to come,” Leah said, her breath turning to steam as they walked arm in arm down the dark lane, fireworks popping in the sky all over the village. “I haven’t seen a bonfire as big as Peridale’s in over twenty years. I never realised how much I missed the little things about village life.”
They waited a couple of minutes at the bottom of the lane before Johnny joined them. Following the scent of burning wood, they crossed the village green and started towards St. Peter’s Primary School. They veered off halfway, climbing over the wall and into the field between the school and the graveyard.
The bonfire, which was held in the same spot on the edge of Haworth Forest every year, stood as tall and wide as a two-story house. It burned bright in the dark, orange sparks crackling up to the inky sky.
They ventured into the sea of villagers who had come out to witness the tradition. Children held out fizzing sparklers, and their parents ate jacket potatoes that had been cooked in the fire. As was custom, Guy Fawkes’ giant effigy burned brightly at the top of the blaze. Even from a hundred feet away, the heat from the fire was something to behold.
“There you losers are!” a familiar voice called from behind them. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
Roxy and Violet, both wrapped-up in thick woolly layers, appeared behind them. Violet was licking a treacle lollypop, her eyes firmly fixed on the giant furnace.
“I thought this wasn’t your scene?” Leah asked.
“Violet wanted to come and see it.” Roxy rolled her eyes as she nodded at her girlfriend. “We were on holiday this time last year. The whole concept of Bonfire Night boggles her mind.”
“You celebrate ancient terrorist who tried to blow up your government building!” Violet cried in her thick accent, a grin spreading across her pale, beautiful face. “If I did not know better, I’d think this was Russian tradition!”
“We don’t celebrate him, as such,” Barker said, shivering as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. “And he wasn’t just one man; he was part of a group of eight Catholic men who wanted to blow up the Houses of Parliament to assassinate King James The First, who was a Protestant. It was an act of treason.”
“So, they wanted to shoot the king?” Violet asked, still mesmerised by the fire. “With thirty-six guns?”
“Thirty-six barrels of gunpowder,” Barker corrected her. “They had been stored under Parliament, and the assassins wanted to set them on fire when they knew the king was going to be there. Think a 1605 version of a giant bomb. It wasn’t even Guy Fawkes’ idea, but he was the gunpowder expert and the guy who was caught red-handed before they had the chance to blow anything up. Bonfires started all over the country as a celebration that the king was alive. The following year, it became an official public day of thanksgiving, and we’ve kept it up for four hundred years. I don’t really know why, it’s just something we do.”
“It’s an excuse to build a giant fire and set off fireworks,” Roxy said. “Who knew you were such a geek?”
“He’s not just a pretty face.” Julia mushed his cheeks with her hands. “Brains, too.”
“I love your silly British traditions,” Violet chuckled as she looked down at her lollypop. “But treacle toffee tastes like old feet.”
They basked in the warmth of the fire while Barker spent the next fifteen minutes talking about how the entire country would have been very different if the Gunpowder Plot had succeeded. Julia’s interest in history was limited but seeing Barker’s face light up as he spoke warmed her more than the fire. Even though Roxy and Leah kept letting out yawns, Johnny and Violet listened to every word.
Julia tried to follow along, but her mind wandered, as did her eyes. She scanned the familiar faces in the crowd. People smiled and nodded at her, and even though she received a few questionable expressions, being in public wasn’t as bad as she had expected. She felt safe behind her many layers of clothing, with her fiancé and friends to accompany her.
She glanced at the jacket potato stall and let out a yawn; a moment later, she heard a man shouting. She almost paid it no attention, until she saw that the shouting man was gripping a tiny woman’s arm. Even though Julia could only see the back of the woman’s wiry hair and long coat, she recognised Flora.
“I’ll grab us some potatoes,” Julia said as she broke away. “I won’t be long.”
She weaved through the crowd and reached the stall just as Flora broke away from the man’s grip. She bumped into Julia and fell back onto the ground, a foil-wrapped potato falling out of her hand and rolling onto the grass.
“Is everything okay here?” Julia asked as she helped Flora up.
“No, it’s not!” the man cried, his face turning bright red. He snatched up the potato. “That old biddy just tried nicking one of my spuds!”
“I thought they were free,” Flora muttered, her eyes on the ground. “I didn’t know.”
“Can’t you read the sign?” The man jabbed his finger on a piece of cardboard. “£1.99 per spud, or three for £5. There’s no five-finger discount here!”
Julia rested her hand on Flora’s arm as she looked down at her. From the way Flora was avoiding her gaze, Julia knew she had tried to steal the potato, but she wasn’t going to hand Flora to the wolves; like Julia, she had been through enough.
“I’m sure it was an honest mistake.” Julia gave the man a stern look. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll take seven jacket potatoes, please.”
The man scowled at Flora, but he reluctantly loaded the bonfire-cooked spuds with butter. Julia handed over the money, and he passed over the food. With Flora’s help, they walked back to the group and handed them out.
“You remember Flora, don’t you, Barker?” Julia said, ushering Flora into the group.
“Five sugars,” Barker nodded. “Nice to see you again.”
Flora smiled but barely looked up at the group. They all watched, jaws agape, as she devoured her potato as though she hadn’t eaten in months.
“Thank you,” Flora said, wiping her buttery lips with the back of her fingerless-gloved hand. “I won’t intrude.”
Flora turned and scurried away, but Julia wasn’t about to let her leave without an explanation. She handed her potato to Barker and ran after the tiny, nimble woman, taking them around the fire and towards the edge of Haworth For
est.
“Flora!” Julia cried. “Wait!”
Flora stopped in her tracks and glanced over her shoulder. She looked as though she wanted to continue her escape, but she turned and walked up to Julia instead.
“Is everything okay?” Julia asked softly. “What happened back there at the potato stall?”
“I didn’t see the sign,” Flora mumbled. “Like you said, honest mistake.”
Julia sighed, but she knew she wasn’t going to get a truthful answer from the strange lady. She wanted to know why someone in their seventies would need to steal food, but she didn’t want to offend her. It looked like it wouldn’t take a lot to push her over the edge.
“I’ve wanted to talk to you about what happened at the meeting this morning,” Julia started. “I’m really sorry that happened to you. It mustn’t have been nice.”
“I was going to quit anyway.” Flora shrugged before wiping her glistening nose with her glove. “It was never going to be the same without Gloria. None of them liked me, because I liked Gloria.”
“I wanted to ask you more about her,” Julia said, glad the dead choirmaster had come up in conversation. “I don’t really know anything about her, aside from her role in the choir and that she used to be a music teacher at the primary school.”
“Gloria never liked children.” Flora pursed her lips. “She always said they were the spawn of the devil. I think that’s why she never had any. It didn’t mean she didn’t have a big heart, though. She did, but in other ways. She always looked after me.”
“How so?”
“Little ways.” Flora shrugged, as though not wanting to reveal the intricacies of their relationship. “She was an only child, and her parents died years ago, so it was just her and me. We met in the post office in 1983. I was short a penny for a bottle of milk, and she made up the difference. Not many people would do that, you know? She told me about the choir, so I joined. I didn’t care about the singing, I just liked having her as a friend. I didn’t have any friends growing up. The kids at school called me Freaky Flora. Gloria was right about children. They’re so cruel. She was never cruel to me. It wasn’t her fault that the other choir members were jealous of her.”