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

by Carrie Marsh

  She told him about her conflict with the police-chief. He looked shocked, though he laughed at the part about what she had said. “Now I know what Stanton meant,” he added smilingly.

  “What did he say?” Laura asked.

  “He said I have a great friend.”

  Laura's heart danced. She might have had a demanding day and she might still be feeling unsettled, but at least she had a friend at the station. It was a comforting thought. She slipped her hand into Howard's and together they walked to his car, the evening dark blue and cool around them.

  At home, they walked in to the darkened sitting-room, lips locked on each other. As Laura leaned against him, melting against his chest the phone rang. He swore.

  “I'm on call. I have to go. I'm sorry, Laura?”

  “It's okay,” Laura said quietly. “But I'm not going to let you back out of dinner – and as soon as possible!”

  Howard grinned, making Laura's heart race, and he walked quietly out into the night.

  “Monty,” Laura said to Monty, who jumped up to sit beside her as she collapsed into the sofa, head reeling.

  Yes?

  “Why do I love that man so much?”

  No idea, Monty said evenly.

  Despite herself, Laura laughed. She leaned down and planted a kiss on his silky head and sat with Monty on her knee until she dropped off to sleep.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ACTRESS IN THE VILLAGE

  ACTRESS IN THE VILLAGE

  It was Friday. The work week had passed with little new information, and that day had ended as uneventfully. It was no bad thing, Laura thought, feeling relieved to have no extra demands placed on her when she still felt so raw and confused. Laura sat in the confines of the Sadler's pub, the only pub in the village, facing Janet across a plate of salad and two pints. The room was warm and crowded, the light dim. Laura sat on the wooden bench and breathed in the scents of beer, salad-oil and strong perfume, all overlaid with the dusty, homely scent of the small, traditional pub.

  “...and did you see her?” Janet was asking, rolling her eyes at Laura, who shook her head, at least partially to clear it.

  “See who, Janet?” she asked. “I'm sorry – it's just difficult to hear in here.” She waved a hand at the surroundings in general. The pub was crowded, the football match being raucously cheered over at the bar every few minutes. Laura was already tired, and the dim lights and noise were making her even more tired. She reached for her drink and drank some ale, hoping it would wake her up.

  “The actress!” Janet said impatiently. “Imelda or Imogen, or whatever her name was.” She frowned, trying to recall it. “Imogen. That was it. Did you see her coat?”

  Laura laughed. Trust Janet to forget the woman's name and remember her outfits! The actress, she remembered suddenly, was their latest guest at the hotel. Her arrival had caused a stir, as it was the closest the Woodend Hotel had ever come to hosting celebrities. She grinned and speared a tomato with her fork, chewing thoughtfully as Janet continued.

  “It was amazing! It was probably fake fur – I hope it was fake fur – but...” she trailed off. “It was a really good fake, and it must have cost tons! To say nothing of the style – so elegant!”

  Laura smiled. “She might have money, but you have taste.”

  “Aw! That's sweet.” Janet reached across and squeezed her hand. “Should we order something else?” she added, indicating the salad that sat on the table between them.

  “Another ale?” Laura suggested, raising a brow. The pub specialized in home-brew, supporting all the artisan beer-brewers within a five-mile radius. And that was quite a supply, Laura had to admit. One thing every English village had aplenty was craft breweries.

  “Okay,” Janet agreed. “I wouldn't turn one down. This stuff is good,” she added, lifting it to the light to peer through its clear depths.

  “Tell me more about the actress?” Laura asked, finishing the salad as Janet hailed their waiter.

  “Well,” Janet continued languidly, “she's rich and she was in all sorts of things! She's best known for her appearance in the soap “Day and Night”, though,” she explained, referring to the most well-known regional soap-opera. “I'll admit she's stunning, though I hate to admit it,” she laughed wryly.

  “Oh, Janet,” Laura said fondly, and squeezed her friend's hand. “You don't have anything to worry about there, I think.”

  Janet chuckled. “Well, she's only here for a week, so we shall see.”

  “When did she arrive?” Laura asked idly, watching the scene at the bar as she talked. Their beer had arrived, and she sipped it, feeling pleasantly mellowed.

  “This morning,” Janet explained. “Oh, yes!” she covered her mouth. “I'd forgotten about that...” her voice trailed off.

  “What?” Laura asked, interested. Janet did tend to forget things, and often they were important ones.

  “She was meant to arrive on Wednesday, your half-day. Then she had a sudden cancellation, and she only arrived today. Weird,” she added, shaking her head.

  “On Wednesday?” Laura asked, brow raised. “She didn't mention what caused the delay?”

  “No,” Janet said. “And with all the worry around that murder I completely forgot about it.”

  “Oh,” Laura said shortly. Then she paused. It was odd that the woman had been delayed round the time of the murder. Oh, come on, Laura! she chided. Why would a famous local actress have anything to do with a taxman being killed?

  “So, how are you?” Janet asked, surprising Laura from her thoughts. “I always talk about me, and I never ask you!”

  “I'm fine,” Laura said immediately. “Tired, but okay. Thinking about this thing with my cousin,” she added.

  “Your cousin? Oh, yes. Judy.” she remembered. “Well, Margie knows her, and there's a tea at her house this weekend...you could come with me? It would be easiest to meet her that way. Don't you think? Then you could introduce yourself and not have to even tell her you're her cousin if you decide not to. She might not remember you,” she added helpfully.

  “Probably not,” Laura agreed. She thought about it. What Janet was suggesting was sensible. And she would like to meet Judy. She wanted to ask her about her children, and about the inheritance, and....she rolled her eyes.

  “What?” Janet asked, setting her glass aside momentarily.

  “I was just thinking – I don't want to get involved in the case,” she sighed. Not again, she thought, but did not mention it. Janet didn't know to what extent she had been involved in the past murder-cases, and she didn't wish to enlighten her about it.

  “Well,” Janet sighed, “don't, then.” she leaned back, relaxed. “It's not like you have to, or anything.”

  “No,” Laura agreed, though inwardly she wondered if it was possible for her to remain neutral about it. Not only because her own family was involved, however indirectly. Also because of her own natural curiosity. And Howard. If he was involved – and, as the village doctor he had to be, however peripherally, in the case – then she would have to take part. She couldn't help it.

  “So,” Janet asked, “are you coming this weekend?”

  “Yes,” Laura agreed.

  “Good,” Janet sighed. “It would be nice to have you there – I don't like any of the other women half as much as I like you – pack of gossips! Sorry,” she added, remembering that Laura's relative was a part of the group she had just maligned. “But they are. All of them.”

  Laura smiled. “I'm sure it won't be too bad,” she soothed Janet. “I'd like to come, really I would.”

  If I'm there, I can gather some information, she thought to herself. She sighed, realizing that she couldn't help herself.

  I wonder about this actress, she thought privately. A famous actress, coming to our tiny village, just at the time of a murder? It seemed odd. She shook her head at herself. There was investigation, she decided, and there was being suspicious. The woman had every right to visit Millerfield every day, if she chos
e! But it was odd, then, that she was delayed until a few days after the murder had happened...

  She shook herself, trying to clear her head. The football-watching crowd let out a roar, and Janet laughed.

  “Bloody hooligans,” she dismissed them, grinning. Laura laughed.

  She decided then to lighten up a little. She was here in the village, with good friends and a potential lover. She shouldn't be dwelling on misery and death. She was here to live her life, and it was a good one.

  But she would go along to tea that weekend. Just in case.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  A FARMHOUSE TEA

  A FARMHOUSE TEA

  Laura sat beside Janet in her unwisely-purchased Mazda MX5 – unwise because Janet couldn't really afford it but had bought it anyway – as she slid the hood down as they bowled away through the countryside.

  “It is quite far out,” Janet admitted as they headed towards Margie Allans's farmhouse, “but it is worth it. Margie has the best parties,” she explained.

  “That sounds nice,” Laura said, feeling her teeth chatter together as they rumbled down the uneven trackway – she was not sure sports-cars were meant to go on gravel, but thought it prudent not to say so. Janet was a bit of a speedster at the best of times, and might have been tempted to put her foot to the pedal just to prove her car could do it.

  “It is,” Janet agreed. They were heading out to the women's group tea, hosted that week on the best dairy farm for miles around. It was only about fifteen miles outside the village, but along a particularly nasty section of road.

  Laura bit her lip as they shuddered and bounced across the road-surface, and tried to concentrate on the beautiful scenery passing them. The air smelled of pollen and dust, and the sun shone on tranquil greenery, the hills rolling and the fields waving where corn bent under the weight of seeds. It was late summer, the first chill of autumn in the air.

  “Does Judy often attend these get-togethers?” she asked, planning to find out as much about her topic of interest as possible during the time before meeting her.

  “Yes,” Janet affirmed. “We have them once a fortnight, and she's always there. She makes a good roast vegetable salad,” she added matter-of-factly, as she turned the wheel and slewed them around the corner. “Almost there,” she added, noting that Laura had turned pale.

  Laura nodded and bit her lip. She had had almost as much as she could take of country roads when Janet gave a little yell and slammed on the brakes.

  “There we are! Almost went straight past! Silly me.”

  Giving another wrench to the steering-wheel, she set them on a course up a short slope. Laura noticed a sign with a cow painted on it, proclaiming “Ayshire cows's milk: Hilltop Farm.” She gave a sigh, relieved, when they pulled in on a grassy lawn before a thatched cottage. If Janet noticed, she didn't choose to comment.

  “Janet! Yoo-hoo!”

  Margie Allan was a robust woman with pale hair and a merry face, and she appeared before the farmhouse waving cheerily at them.

  “Margie! Hi!” Janet embraced her, bending down from her comparative height. “You know Laura?”

  “We met at the church on Saturday,” Margie confirmed. “Good to have you here,” she added, blue eyes twinkling as she grinned at Laura.

  “Thank you,” Laura smiled, and meant it. It was strange to finally be taking part in village life, but nice. She finally felt welcome in the small, close-knit community.

  “Well, inside with you!” the woman shooed them in. “Hannah is already here, and Amy. Judy said she'd come later, and Camilla is sick. She can't make it.”

  “Oh, that's sad,” Janet said, commiserate. “Anything serious?”

  “No! Well,” the woman leaned in conspiratorially. “My friend Allie said she'd seen Brett there, and you know, he had the 'flu last week. As Allie said, what were they doing there, that she got the 'flu as well? Will is out of town, you know...” her voice trailed off.

  Laura blinked. How could someone gossip, just because someone was ill? It hardly meant the woman was having an affair! She did not know Camilla, but felt sorry for her, being talked about like that.

  Janet caught her expression and fell back to catch her up.

  “Don't die, Laura!” she grinned. “It's a village. People say things like that.” She rolled her eyes and gave her friend an affectionate hug.

  “I know,” Laura said distantly. She squeezed Janet back and together they walked into the long, low farmhouse to join the women there.

  Laura was hit at once by the scent of cooking. She could smell scones and bread and cakes, mixed into a redolent, delicious bouquet of yeast-scented wonder. She sat down in the armchair, her mouth watering.

  “Hello, everyone!” Janet was saying, effusively. She sat down in a chair opposite Laura and smiled. “Nice to see everyone!” She was greeted with some enthusiasm, and then she gestured to Laura. “This is Laura,” she added. “Laura Howcroft. You might know her from the hotel?”

  “Yes! Hello, Laura,” a woman said. She reminded Laura of her teachers from preschool, and the association was not entirely encouraging.

  “Hello,” she said and tried to be as friendly and engaging as possible.

  The women chattered on for a few minutes and Laura found herself feeling impatient. She had come here to see Judy, and she hadn't arrived yet. The scents wafting from the kitchen were playing hell with her thoughts, distracting and enticing her at once.

  “Tea is ready!” their host announced.

  Ensconced in the farm kitchen, wreathed with scents of yeast and cocoa, Laura felt at peace for the first time in the last week. She listened to the gentle chatter of the women, the click of Amy's knitting. She was served a delicious slice of pie with farm cream and thought she might actually die of bliss.

  Halfway through, there was a knock at the door.

  “Oh, heck!” their hostess jumped up guiltily and opened the door. “Sorry, Judy! I locked it.” She stood back to let the other woman enter the kitchen's warmth.

  Laura felt her heart contract. Cousin Judy had always been a big person – not necessarily in mass, but in character. And she had shrunk, it seemed. Hesitant and quiet, she greeted the women evenly and took a place by the fireplace. The conversation seemed to slow, and Laura found herself feeling slightly ill-at-ease.

  “I don't think you have met.” Janet spoke, catching Laura's eye and springing to the rescue. “Judy, this is Laura Howcroft. Laura, Judy Hugh.”

  Laura stood and shook the older woman's hand, shocked by how cold it felt. Judy was not well.

  Janet rolled her eyes at her, and Laura picked up on the cue she had so amply provided her.

  “Hugh?” Laura asked. “I'm sorry, but would you happen to be related to Shirley?”

  “Yes!” the woman said, her eyes suddenly lit. “Shirley Mansfield, who married a Howcroft? Oh my heavens! You're little Laura!”

  Laura felt a strange mix of embarrassment and pleasure wash through her and felt an unaccustomed blush wash her cheeks.

  “Yes,” she said shyly. “I suppose I am.”

  “You're not little now,” Judy giggled. “Come, sit here,” she said, indicating the seat beside her, which was vacant. “I have so much to catch up! How is your mother?”

  Laura frowned. “She's fine, Judy. Haven't been up there for a while, but she was fine last time I spoke to her.”

  “Good, good!” Judy enthused. “I miss her! I should go up there.”

  Laura nodded. Her mother would probably be pleased to hear from Judy.

  “I have heard you have children now?” Laura asked kindly.

  “Yes! My daughter's staying with me while...” she trailed off and Laura guessed she meant while the lawyer winds up the estate.

  “I understand. I would like to meet her,” she affirmed.

  “Yes! You must.” Judy agreed firmly. “You must come and visit. Perhaps next week, when Andrew arrives from York?”

  Laura nodded, noticing how Judy's face lit the
moment she even mentioned her son.

  “He's studying there?” Laura inquired, already knowing the answer.

  “Yes,” Judy smiled proudly. “He's finishing his first year in Architecture. I am so, so proud of him. He's doing so well...” she sniffed and reached for her handkerchief. “Sorry,” she added. “I just feel so raw right now. The smallest thing sets me off.” She blew her nose into the hanky.

  “I understand,” Laura said compassionately. “Of course you do.”

  They sat and chatted, and Laura felt herself relax. She was surprised to see the color returning to the woman's stark face, and even more surprised when she said, at five o' clock: “I am so pleased to have met you! It's so nice to chat.”

  Laura was surprised when a tear trickled down her cheek. “Thank you,” she said. She meant it. It was a pleasure to see family here in this tiny place. And it was nice to think she could relieve someone from sadness, just by chatting.

  “Not at all,” the woman said, patting her hand and then turning to cut them both some cake. Laura swallowed hard. Now she would have to get involved. This woman was a part of her family.

  When they left, later that evening, Laura thought back over the information she had gathered. She could not help but think that there was, somehow, the remotest possibility that Judy had done it. Her love for her son and her pride for him were so evident they made Laura's heart ache. But was that a motive for murder? She did not know. She would just have to find out.

  And a visit to Cousin Judy was the best place to start.

  When she arrived at home, she was pleased to find Monty sitting on the mat waiting for her.

  There you are! Someone called you while you were out, he added, gliding towards the kitchen.

  “Oh?” Laura asked. She walked through to the bedroom and there, sure enough, was a message-light on the answer-phone.

  Probably that friend of yours, Monty sniffed, following her in.

  Laura patted him on the head. “You silly dear, you don't need to be jealous.”