Paying Back The Dead (A Millerfield Village Cozy Murder Mysteries Series 3)

by Carrie Marsh

  Laura yawned and looked at her watch. It was only six p.m., but she had been awake until one a.m. the previous night at a function at the hotel. The long day was finally catching up with her. She set aside her tea and was startled out of her reverie by the phone ringing.

  “Coming,” she sang out. She answered the phone. Monty, dispatched from her knee, sat on the floor at her feet sulkily.

  “Laura?”

  “Howard! Hi!” Laura said, pleasantly surprised. She had expected to see him for supper later – it was her half-day and he usually visited for dinner.

  “I'm sorry – I'm going to be late.” he said quietly.

  “Oh?” Laura felt instant concern. His voice was tense and the tension set her on edge. “Is anything the matter?”

  “You could say that,” Howard said tightly. “I've been called by the police. They found a body.”

  “Oh...” Laura felt the phone drop from her nerveless fingers. Oh, Heavens! Not again, please. She closed her eyes, feeling suddenly sick. “Where?”

  “At the bank.”

  Laura sat down on the bed, head reeling. Death and taxes. The only two inevitabilities.

  Is it murder? She wanted to ask it, but was almost scared to do so. It didn't have to be. It wasn't. “Are you okay?” she asked instead.

  “I'm fine,” Howard said. His voice sounded infinitely weary. “I'll be done here in about an hour. Then can I come and visit? I want to talk.”

  “Sure,” Laura agreed gently. “I want to see you, too.”

  “Thanks. Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  Laura hung up but did not move from the bed. Her heart felt like ice. Her whole body was cold. Monty jumped onto her knee and she sat stroking him. Waiting for news of a death.

  CHAPTER TWO

  EVENING NEWS

  EVENING NEWS

  Howard walked in at eight o' clock. He dragged himself in over the threshold and ran a weary hand down his brow. His tall frame was stooped and he looked exhausted, dark rings around his eyes.

  “Hi, Laura,” he sighed and flopped into an armchair in the sitting-room. He covered his face in his hands and his shoulders slumped. He looked up at her, chin still propped on his hands.

  “Tell me,” Laura said gently. She sunk into the sofa opposite, taking his hands in hers.

  Howard drew in a long breath. “Not a lot to tell,” he said. “A man was found dead in the entrance to the bank – you know, where the cash-machine is?” Laura nodded, visualizing the place.

  “How did he die?”

  “I don't know what killed him yet,” Howard sighed. “Not a mark on him, besides some bruising on his arms. And he was blue in the face. Either he choked, or it's congestive heart failure. Those are my two guesses just now. Poor man,” he looked at his hands, lost in memory.

  “Who is he?” Laura asked. “Is it someone we know?”

  “Albert Hugh.”

  What?

  Laura gripped the side of the sofa, feeling like she was somehow in stuck a bad dream.

  “Albert Hugh?” How strange is it, that I just discovered I have a relative, and now he's dead? Thoughts whirled around her head. Was it a natural death? Was he killed? What about Judy? She thought she might faint, all the confusion rising up to overwhelm her. She swallowed hard and dug her nails into her hand, trying to stay seated.

  “Laura?” Howard asked. “What is it?”

  “He's a relative of mine,” she said.

  “He is?” Howard stared at her, surprised.

  “Well – I've never met him,” Laura explained, “but he's related by marriage. He's married to my mom's only cousin”

  “Laura!” Howard exclaimed. He took her hands in his, all of his own concerns forgotten. “I'm so sorry...”

  “No, don't be,” she said after a moment, reaching out to pat his shoulder. “I didn't actually know him. I'm just shocked. I just found out I had relatives here today. And now he's dead. It just doesn't really make sense.”

  “I'm so sorry,” Howard said again.

  The two of them sat quietly for a while. Outside, the wind rustled the lilac bushes and a car passed somewhere on the road. Inside, there was merciful silence, broken only by their breath and the sound of Monty stirring in his sleep.

  “Coffee?” Laura asked, shaking her head to clear it. She felt suddenly old and weary, the shock draining her of strength.

  “Thanks,” Howard said. He ran a hand through his chestnut-brown hair again, and leaned back on the sofa. Laura lifted herself out of the sofa and walked heavily through to the kitchen. She was shaking as she ladled out the coffee-grounds. This is silly, she rebuked herself. But she couldn't help it.

  “I'm sorry, Laura,” Howard added as she returned with two steaming cups of coffee in hand, “I should have made it, but I'm so tired.”

  “Don't be sorry.” Laura passed him his coffee and looked into his eyes, her own blue ones adamant. “You've just been investigating someone's death. Of course you're tired.”

  Howard sighed and leaned back in the chair, the coffee in one hand. “It's so draining – all the noise, the medics, the police. And the irony of it – a tax-man dead in the bank. Poor sod,” he said again.

  “True,” Laura said, lifting her own cup of coffee. The smell reassured her and she breathed in deeply, letting her heart-rate return to normal. “Are they treating it as a natural death?”

  Howard set aside his cup. “They have to consider everything,” he said evenly. “I mean, so far, all we know is that he's dead. There's no way to say anything else just now. I did a superficial examination, but the path. Guys will have a look later and we'll know then.”

  “We?”

  “I was his doctor,” Howard said tiredly. “I have to be involved. Mason at the lab needs all his records. All I know is that Hugh had no underlying pathologies: no heart problem, no diabetes, nothing that might cause a sudden death.” He massaged his temples, eyes closed.

  “Oh,” Laura said in a thin voice. “Please don't work too hard,” she added. “You've seen too much death in the last few months.” I know. So have I.

  “Laura?” Howard asked, sitting up. He seemed to have sensed her thoughts, for he leaned forward, dark brown eyes looking into hers, and took her hands. “Will you be okay? I mean, it must be a shock, knowing that this guy was related to you, however distantly.”

  “I'll be okay,” Laura repeated gently. “I'm not the one whose just been at a crime-scene. I'm worried about you!”

  Howard chuckled. “I'm a doctor, Laura. This stuff is not so different from what I do every day. Except, my patients can usually walk out afterward.” He gave a cough of laughter, though his eyes were serious. His hands on hers were warm and gentle, their touch massaging Laura's soul.

  “I know,” she said gently. “But if you need to talk...”

  “I will come here,” Howard said levelly, finishing her sentence. “I appreciate it, Laura, really I do. I appreciate you.”

  The way he said that made Laura shiver, a slow tingle starting in her abdomen and working up to her chest. She shuffled sideways on the seat, so she could lean across towards him. They looked into each other’s eyes. Howard leaned forward and, raising a hand to stroke her hair, he kissed her.

  Laura closed her eyes as his mouth descended on hers. Sweet with the sugar from coffee, warm like firelight, the touch of his lips made her whole body melt. She leaned against him, wishing the arm of the sofa were not in her way so that her whole body would touch his. Her body pressed against his lean chest, and it felt so right. She wished she could stay there forever, wrapped in his strong arms, her hand on his chest, feeling his heart where it beat under the layers of muscle.

  He sighed and sat back, breath shaky. “Laura,” he said his voice raw, “I should leave. If I don't, I'm afraid I'll do something we might regret,” he added, with a lopsided grin.

  Laura looked up at him, blue eyes wide. Stay, she asked silently. Instead, she sighed. “I suppose you're right.”
r />   Howard blinked. He looked at her, surprised. “I suppose?” he repeated. “Laura, you mean...you wouldn't mind if I stayed?” he trailed off. He looked quite shocked, and Laura could have giggled at his expression. She supposed she could sympathize. For the best part of a year she had been keeping aloof from him – rebuffing his invitations to travel with him when he went to town, maintaining a strict distance at all times. And now, on the eve of a murder, she was collapsing in his arms? She must really be confusing the man.

  “I am sure you know what I mean,” Laura said primly, though she grinned wickedly. “I suppose you are right that we should wait until tomorrow, when we have clearer heads, to discuss it.”

  Howard stared. His face was a mix of delight and shock that Laura wished she could giggle at, but her emotions were too deep and complex for that. And she was tired. She had worked late the previous night, and the news of the death was draining in itself. She would rather wait until tomorrow, when they both had clear heads and stamina, to explore this newly broadening horizon.

  “I suppose you're right,” he said hesitantly. He sat up straighter and cleared his throat. “In which case, I should probably leave now, before I disagree with you.” His eyes were warm and his voice teased. He was still smiling bemusedly as he walked to the door and donned his coat and gloves again. “Will I see you tomorrow?” he asked as he paused in the doorway.

  “That depends,” Laura said, feeling slightly playful.

  “It depends?” Howard asked, confused.

  “On whether or not you have time tomorrow,” Laura said pragmatically. Howard laughed.

  “I couldn't have asked for a better answer,” he said. “A hundred percent logical, and promising at the same time.”

  Laura laughed and, as he said his farewells and closed the door behind him, she slid down to sit on the welcome mat. Dazed, confused and exhausted, she could not help but grin about that one piece of information. He wanted to see her again, as soon as possible. In all the fear and darkness that had suddenly descended on her world, there were definitely some bright spots after all.

  CHAPTER THREE

  GATHERING FACTS

  GATHERING FACTS

  “Laura?”

  Laura looked up from her desk at the Woodend Cottage Hotel and sighed. It was ten o' clock in the morning and she was still half-asleep. She had been tired the day before, and by now her head was aching. It wasn't even halfway through her workday. She opened her eyes to confront whatever it was that had woken her.

  “Laura?” the voice asked again.

  Janet Lisson, the other receptionist and a friend of Laura's, stood before her, eyes huge.

  “Yes?” Laura asked, running a weary hand through her blonde hair. She could guess what she was going to say next. Janet always had the latest news. Laura just sometimes didn't wish to hear it.

  “You heard about the taxman?” Janet asked in a whisper.

  “Yes,” Laura sighed wearily. “I did.”

  “Isn't it terrible? The poor man...” Janet's wide brown eyes were shocked, a manicured hand pressed to her lips in a gesture of dismay.

  “I know,” Laura said firmly, seeking to dispel a tide of speculative rumour. “It is terrible. But I heard it isn't certain. He could have just died naturally.”

  “You did?” Janet asked. “Where?”

  “Howard Lucas,” Laura said succinctly. Of all the people in the village, Janet knew of their friendship and the fact that it was teetering on the edge of a full-blown relationship. Strangely, this was one of the few of her secrets that Janet had chosen to keep. Perhaps because she confided all her secrets in Laura too.

  “Oh, yes! How is Howard?” she asked, her voice losing some of the scandalized interest it had held earlier when discussing the murder.

  “He's okay,” Laura said, non-committal. “He's tired, after all the hard work at the bank last night.”

  “I can imagine,” Janet agreed feelingly. “What with all the police, and everything...I heard from Margie that Judy – that is, Mrs. Hugh – was at the police-station this morning, giving a statement...poor girl,” she added. “She's really in shock, or so Margie said.”

  Margie was, Laura assumed, one of Janet's web of village informants. Trust Janet to already have all the news around the death. In this case, she was quite pleased to hear news of her cousin.

  “How is Mrs. Hugh?” she asked, concerned.

  “She's okay...well, as okay as anyone can be,” Janet said compassionately. “I'll probably see her tomorrow,” she added. “She's a member of the Women's Association – we meet at the church every month and have a bazaar for charity.” Janet explained. “That's where I know her from. Nice-enough person.”

  “I would like to meet her too,” Laura said thoughtfully. “She's my cousin,” she added.

  “What?” Janet exclaimed, startling guests who were drifting down the stairs towards the door. “Well, then, come with me this weekend!” Janet said. “What are you waiting for? The bazaar is this Saturday morning. You can even make some of that amazing cake of yours, and sell it! You should have been along ages ago!” she added happily. “Why ever didn't I think of it before?”

  Laura chuckled. She could not fault Janet's enthusiasm. “Okay,” she offered. “I'll come along on Saturday morning and meet the ladies. Would that be satisfactory?”

  “Yes!” Janet said, cheerfully. “I'm making pancakes. I hope that works out. It did last week, though the first ones were a bit of a mess. I got the vicar covered in syrup when his pancake broke in half. A first for him, I guess!” she chuckled and Laura had to join in her laughter. The thought of the village vicar covered in maple syrup was amusing, she had to admit.

  “Okay,” Janet was saying, matter-of-factly. “You'll come along this weekend. Let's meet at the church at ten a.m. On Saturday. That work for you?”

  “Yes,” Laura agreed.

  “I'd better go,” Janet said, looking at her watch and making a sour face. “Old Preston'll be here soon, checking my work.” Mr. Preston was the hotel owner, and often dropped in to check on things. Laura nodded.

  “See you.”

  “See you!”

  Laura headed off to the kitchen to fetch herself a coffee before lunch service began. When the guests started arriving around midday, she noticed everyone was subdued. The normal crowd of wealthy farmers and pensioners passing through on bus-trips was silent, the usual laughter dampened. People did not look up, and there was a strange hush in the place. It was unsurprising – news of the death in the village had passed around quickly.

  Despite her resolution not to become enmeshed in it, naturally-inquisitive Laura could not help listening in.

  “...heard he was done in. I don't want to say it, but I wasn't surprised...”

  Laura blinked as an elderly farmer sitting at a table nearest the desk shared his opinion. It seemed a little harsh to say that Mr. Hugh being murdered was unsurprising. Laura listened in interestedly as one of his companions set his soup-spoon aside and contradicted him.

  “No, Ned! I heard he had a heart-attack. Poor sod. Not that I would have said that in life, mind...miserable bastard was our Albert.”

  “Agreed,” the third farmer said, reaching for a slice of farm-style loaf. “Never had a nice word for anyone, he didn't.”

  They resumed eating, spoons clinking as they finished their soup.

  Laura considered this. So Albert Hugh was disliked in the village. Interesting. I wonder if our farmer Ned is right? Maybe he actually was murdered. She shook her head, dismissing the thought instantly. She had to agree that taxes and taxmen were usually disliked, but murder? It seemed much too far-fetched to her.

  She stood and went across to show a newly-arrived customer to his reserved table. The dining-room was almost full – she supposed because it was a Friday, and the end of the month. Most people were looking for a nice start to the weekend and a leisurely lunch. She scanned the room, which was starting to become a bit livelier as it filled up. S
he was sorry not to see Howard there – he often came to eat at the hotel if he had time around lunch. It was where they met. She shook her head at herself. He probably had to make a statement for the police. The man can't always be here just because you want him to be. The thought of Howard made her think of her plans for that evening, and a slow grin spread over her face. It would be amazing to finally cross that line with him, moving their relationship onto a physical plane.

  The thought was so distracting she almost missed the next comment about the taxman's death.

  “...this village seems quite unsafe nowadays,” the lady she had just shown to a seat was saying. An elegant older woman with white hair and a black dress, she waved Laura over to ask her about the wine list. Laura went to fetch it, still listening in.

  “Oh, come, dear,” the woman's companion replied mildly as Laura passed them the wine list. “It was probably all above board. Seems perfectly safe to me here in the village.”

  “You never know, Richard,” she said darkly, perusing the menu as she spoke.

  “No, one can't really know. But until the police say it's murder, I'm choosing to believe the man died of natural causes.”

  “Agreed,” she affirmed. “It just does seem rather odd.”

  The couple sat in silence a while and Laura went back to her desk, leaving them some time to make their choice from the menu. She looked out over the bustling dining-room, feeling strangely detached. She sought for comfort in the familiar scene: its white tablecloths, its gold carpet with the faded spots and the cream wall with high windows. It was not much comfort, and Laura could not help an involuntary shudder. The village had suddenly been gripped with unrest, and even though the guests were going about their daily business, she sensed that they all felt it too.