Cozy Mystery: Dining With The Dead (A Millerfield Village Cozy Murder Mysteries Series)

by Carrie Marsh

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  SOMETHING SINISTER

  “See you!” Laura called at the gate as Howard's BMW pulled off from her driveway.

  “Bye...” He shouted over the sound of wheels on gravel as the vehicle headed back.

  Laura felt light, free...intoxicated. She drifted up the drive to her gateway, humming a song.

  “Goodbye...” she murmured, and blew a kiss after the now-distant car, a silhouette in the darkness. She sighed.

  “My heavens, but that man is so stunning...” she giggled. She had never felt like this about anyone before, ever.

  Howard had not only taken her home, but had invited her to join him for supper at the Highwayman's Post, one of the three local pubs. They had had a magical evening. They had talked about so much, and they had so much in common! And Laura, who did not usually drink beer, had been persuaded to try the craft beer, and giggled as she remembered how the bubbles had gone up her nose, making her sneeze.

  “It's not supposed to be for inhalation,” she said, repeating what Howard had said to her then. She giggled again.

  “Oh, it has been such a lovely day...” she sighed.

  She walked dreamily to the postbox, and took out her small pile of mail, and then waltzed into the house.

  “I-I-I'm in love...” she sang, making a little turn in the middle of the floor, and setting her mail on the table for perusal as the supper cooked.

  Monty, who had been asleep, padded in from the bedroom next door.

  Good evening, he said, sitting down in the center of the kitchen floor. Good to see you eventually.

  “Oh, Monty,” Laura said, and bent down to scratch his head. “Don't be cross with me. I think I'm falling for Howard...”

  Monty huffed, non-committal.

  Laura went to the refrigerator and pulled out the vegetarian lasagna she had bought, and slipped it in to heat. She put Monty's supper in his bowl, and he walked over to inspect it critically. She made tea, and sat down at her table, sorting through the mail.

  “Something from the village shop – bills, probably – an advertisement from carpet cleaning...and I don't even have one!” she chucked, and sorted those into another pile. “An advertisement from the optician...” Then she stopped. “And what's this?”

  It was an unmarked envelope.

  She drew out a folded note, and unfolded it, reading aloud:

  “Don't ask questions. We will hear about it. You will wish you hadn't.”

  Oh, my…Laura felt faint. She dropped the note, feeling a sudden tightness in her chest.

  “No...” she whispered.

  She suddenly felt in danger: someone might be outside, watching her. Springing up, she checked she had locked the door. Then she carefully drew the curtains, going through to the bedroom to switch on the light and close the drapes.

  “Who would have said that?” She said aloud, standing in her bedroom. With the light on, and the curtains hiding the small window, she still did not feel safe. Monty padded in.

  What?

  “I think someone just threatened to kill me,” Laura whispered.

  Oh. Monty sat down on the mat and started licking his foot, urgently. That is something serious. His eyes met hers. He looked as worried as she felt.

  Something tapped at the window, an insistent sound. Monty froze mid-lick. Laura stiffened in fright.

  “Who's there?” she called, hearing her own voice waver into the waiting silence.

  She heard the wind sough in the tree outside, and the tapping began again.

  “Probably the branch, knocking the window,” she said boldly. Her own voice sounded hollow in the silence.

  In the passage, something creaked. She tensed and relaxed.

  “I am being silly,” she breathed. “But I don't want to stay here alone...”

  I don't think you should, Monty agreed.

  Walking quickly down the passage to the kitchen, she noticed how stiff and alert she was, each nerve-fiber trained to sights and sounds of intruders or threat.

  “I'm going to go barmy if I stay here any longer...”

  Reaching her handbag and phone, she quickly pressed “Janet Lister” in her list of contacts.

  The phone rang, on and on.

  “The person you have dialed is not available...”

  Laura pressed the off button, feeling wretched.

  “Come on, Janet...” she breathed. She tried again, a minute later. Still nothing. “This is scary...”

  She could not sit still. Every noise scared her. What if there was someone out there?

  Her world was filled with hostile people. It could be almost anyone in the village. Farmer Hogarth, the village regulars, the hotel owner...It could, she shivered, be Janet.

  “No!” Laura said aloud, expunging the suspicion. “I won't believe it. Why would she be?”

  Why not? The darkness seemed to whisper it to her, the words tendrils on a coil of shadow, beckoning her to madness.

  “Damn this,” Laura said, voice shaking. “I can't take it! I will go mad...”

  With a final sense of resolve, she scrolled down the list to Dr. Lucas.

  “Howard...” she whispered. “Please be there.”

  Monty looked up at her, willing her encouragement.

  “Lucas here. Hello?”

  “Howard!” Laura breathed, suddenly weak with relief. She heard her own voice crack on unshed tears, and could not conceal them any longer.

  “Laura!” Howard said, sounding shocked. “What is the matter? Please, tell me...”

  “Oh, Howard!” Laura said again. “I'm so frightened. Please, come quickly...”

  He did not even hesitate.

  “Sure,” he replied at once. “I'll be there in five minutes. Hold on till I arrive...”

  Sighing with relief, Laura pressed the off switch and leaned back, eyes closed. Help was on its way.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  RECOVERING

  The night seemed somehow darker, the space shrinking to include just Laura and Howard, and shut out the whole world.

  Outside the cottage, the wind picked up, buffeting the plum tree outside the window, and singing eerie, keening songs across the gaps in the thatch. Monty had looked at Howard and then moved off into the bedroom for sleep. They were alone.

  “So,” Howard said as they sat together on the couch, cups of cocoa clasped tight for the warmth, “you have no way of guessing who might have sent it?”

  “No.” Laura said quietly. “None. No postmark, or name, or even anything characteristic in the writing...”

  “So, no-one threatened you verbally?” he asked, leaning closer. His black eyes were concerned, and Laura felt her frightened soul unfurl, melting into those compassionate depths.

  She paused. “Well, my boss threatened me today, but...”

  “What did he say?” Howard's voice was very quiet.

  “He said I was nosey?” Laura sniffed. “I mean, basically he threatened to fire me, because I was looking on Facebook during work,” she blushed, “but...”

  “Facebook...?” Howard said questioningly.

  “Well,” Laura smiled. “I am on it, but I wasn't looking at my friend's stuff. I was doing some investigation, actually,” she said. “Remember I told you I'd talked with Farmer Hogarth?” He agreed and she continued, “Well, I found him on Facebook.”

  “Scary,” He chuckled. Then his eyes narrowed. “Did the owner see what you were looking at?”

  “I...” Laura stammered. “He could have...” She looked at Howard, her blue eyes wide.

  “Why would he think you were nosey, just for checking the Facebook?” Howard asked. “I mean, some people are weird, but that is a bit too weird, isn't it?”

  “Maybe...” Laura began. “But why on earth would he be angry with me for looking at Farmer Hogarth's Facebook?”

  “Depends,” Howard said, sucking in his bottom lip while he thought. “I mean...we know something happened at the Hogarth farm?”

  “Y
ou mean, the ghost-sighting?” Laura laughed. She could feel the fear receding in his warm presence.

  “Yes,” Howard said. “That. What if there is some connection?”

  “What if...Mr. Preston is the ghost?” Laura said suddenly. “He'd be able to appear anywhere in the hotel, and what if he's connected to the farm somehow?” Laura felt her mind reeling with the shock of it. “That would explain why he doesn't want me to snoop around in Mr. Hogarth's business...”

  “Hold on, slow down!” Howard chuckled. “We can't know that yet. But it is a possibility, yes, that he was involved. Of all the villagers, he certainly knows where you live, as well” he mused.

  “Yes...” Laura agreed in a small voice.

  “Laura,” Howard said suddenly, and his voice was very intense. “I can't stop you investigating, if you want to, but I can worry about you.” He reached out, and took her hand in his. Laura froze. The warmth of his touch flowed through her body like syrup.

  She looked down at her hands. Slowly she moved one, so that her hand clasped his. He breathed in sharply.

  They sat like that a while, hands clasped, in n moment of tenderness like nothing Laura had ever felt before. It wrapped its sweetness around her, making her want to cry.

  “I can't promise,” Laura said shakily, “that I'll stop.”

  Their hands had slowly unclasped, and he raised a hand to her cheek. “Please, Laura,” he said. “All I can do is ask you to be careful. I have only just found you, and I don't plan on losing you yet.”

  Laura felt awareness slow to a trickle, time stretching around the moment. His mouth was close to hers, and it would be so easy, so very easy, to lean towards him and...

  His phone rang.

  “Damn,” he swore, reaching for it. He turned it off. “It's not important,” he explained, glancing at the number. “Just a friend, not a patient. But I should go soon...”

  Laura chuckled, her voice strained. “Good that it's not an emergency,” she said. “I wouldn't want to be responsible for a patient passing on...”

  As she said it, she realized the thought was a bit macabre. They had had enough of death and killing, enough of threats.

  “I promise I'll be careful,” she said to Howard, as he twisted in his seat, turning to face her. “I can't promise to stop.”

  “Okay,” he sighed. He reached across to her and ran his hand down the side of her head, stroking her hair. She leaned in towards his touch, wide blue eyes never leaving his face. “I'll see you soon,” Howard murmured. “Please, stay safe until then...”

  “I will,” Laura agreed. She did not move off the couch that night, curled up in the warmth of their conversation and the safety of a remembered presence.

  It had, she thought, as her mind slowly unfocused with sleep, been an amazing day.

  Threats, almost-firing, blackmail...and tenderness.

  “Tomorrow, I will try and find out more,” she promised herself.

  She went to the bedroom, where Monty was already asleep, curled up on the other side of the bed.

  Laura slipped in under the cover, trying not to wake Monty.

  Hello, he said sleepily.

  “Hi,” Laura said, stroking him gently.

  Goodnight, he thought to her, and curled up closer.

  “Goodnight.”

  As sleep wrapped around her, carrying her to peaceful obliviousness, she smiled. It had been a day of surprises.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CONNECTIONS

  Sunday dawned bright and blustery, clouds chased across the sky before a harsh wind.

  Laura woke feeling alive. She went through the bedroom to dress, still feeling a sense of unreality from the night before.

  I'm Laura Howcroft, she thought, grinning bemusedly. I don't have death-threats or lovers...She blushed. Had she even thought the words?

  “Laura Howcroft,” she said sternly as she carried the bucket out towards the clothesline round the back, “...don't even think about it.”

  She hung up the clothes, enjoying the magnificent scents of newly-mowed-grass and fresh air, then drifted inside, humming a love song under her breath.

  Monty padded out, sniffing the morning air.

  Rats, he thought to her, absently. I'll go to the farms and find some.

  “To the farms?” Laura asked.

  Yes, Monty said defensively. Why shouldn't I? Some of the cats around here go even further than me. There's a cat I talk to from a farm on the other side of the village!

  Laura paused, thinking. “He doesn't know anyone from the Hogarth's farm, does he?” She asked.

  I'll ask. He's a she, by the way, Monty said stiffly.

  Laura smiled. It would be ironic if Monty had found a girlfriend. And maybe this friend had seen the ghost. Any information could help.

  She made herself tea and fired up her laptop, sitting at the kitchen table.

  “Now,” she said to herself, “no-one can say I can't look on Facebook!”

  She went at once to the page she had been looking at when Mr. Preston walked in, feeling an uncomfortable prickle down her spine. What if he had been angry because of what she had been looking at? What if he did want to stop her investigations? What if, she swallowed. What if he was the murderer?

  If he murdered someone in cold blood, she thought, what's to stop him doing exactly what he threatens to do?

  “But where is the link?” she asked. Puzzled, chewing the end of her pen, she pulled her notebook along the table, and wrote down three names.

  Alfred Preston.

  Grant Hogarth.

  Nigel Ramley.

  How were these men connected? And, she mused as she scrolled down a Facebook page, why did she even think they were?

  “It's the ghost,” she said. “That's the only link.”

  The ghost had been at the hotel where Mr. Ramley stayed. The same hotel that Alfred Preston owned. The ghost had also been on Mr. Hogarth's farm.

  “Maybe the ghost was Mr. Preston,” she decided. “But is he linked to Grant Hogarth? Or Nigel Ramley?”

  She looked again down Farmer Hogarth's list of friends. One face stood out. Ken Hogarth, businessman.

  “Mr. Hogarth mentioned him...” Laura thought. Absently, she clicked on him.

  “Okay...” she said, looking at a fairly ordinary Facebook page. The obligatory wife, child and dog scene was on his cover page, with a hot-under-the-collar, suit-dressed profile photo.

  “He seems a typical kind of guy,” she said under her breath. “Born in Linton village, educated in Tunbridge Wells...owner at Agrimarket Corps in London. But hang on...”

  She knew that face. It was Janet's “hot guy” from the hotel!

  She clicked on the link to the company. They seemed to be a big farming concern. No wonder he looks self-important, she smiled, wry. The guy owns half the countryside...

  Before she had really thought about it, clicked on his list of friends.

  There, near the top of the list, was a face she knew.

  It was her boss. Mr. Preston.

  “Oh, hell,” Laura whispered.

  There was a link. Was there a motive?

  Laura intended to find out.

  “I should speak to this Ken Hogarth,” she mused. “I haven't seen him around for days. Maybe I could catch him in London?”

  At least, she reflected, a trip to London would take her out of the village for a while. “It might be safer that way,” she decided. She felt she was onto something. She had a second suspect now. Mr. Preston, and Ken Hogarth. Maybe both? She just had to understand why anyone would want to murder Nigel Ramley.

  She went over to make breakfast. In the refrigerator, she found the plums from Hogarth Place. As she opened them, selecting one, she remembered something that had stood out in the conversation with Farmer Hogarth.

  “My cousin – who was visiting then – he said it's lucky ghosts don't exist.” She repeated, feeling suddenly cold all over.

  Ken Hogarth had been visiting them. That
was where Janet had seen him.

  “There is something in this,” Laura said, feeling slightly ill. “Something about farms. Something about here. And Mr. Hogarth and my boss are somehow involved, too.”

  Swallowing a mouthful of tea, Laura tried to make herself feel resolute.

  “I will go to London,” she said bravely. She had to. To find the next piece of this puzzle. And, she reflected as she buttered a slice of toast, it might be safer than being here.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  DISTURBANCE

  “Yer wanting me to do what?”

  The wind had increased over the weekend, and the mechanic at the tiny village repair-shop bawled over the sound of it, combining with the sound of an engine being tested just inches away.

  “Check...the...oil!” Laura shouted over the din.

  “Oh! Sure thing!” he bawled back.

  Whew, Laura thought. Point finally made.

  Just then, his colleague turned off the engine, and Laura felt her body finally relax. The noise, with her already-frayed nerves, had been terrible.

  “I can check it now, if you like...” the mechanic suggested.

  “Okay,” Laura agreed. She checked her watch. She was due back in an hour, to start the dinner service.

  The man opened the bonnet, and began to do things.

  “So...” he commented, wiping something dark and horrid off the dip-stick, “are you headed somewhere far?”

  “Mm... London,” Laura agreed absently, admiring the distant green hills. She had no real interest in what lay below the outside of the car, and besides, the smell of gas fumes was making her feel slightly ill.

  “London?” The man asked, as if she had said she intended to fly to Proxima Centauri. “In that case, I'd best check the brakes too...can't be too careful on a long journey!”

  Laura grinned inwardly. There was a time when she travelled to London regularly. It wasn't that far from where she had been raised. Just over fifty miles, she thought.

  “Thanks,” she said guardedly. “Will that cost extra?”

  “Not a lot,” he said, already half-way under the car.