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

by Carrie Marsh

  He purred.

  Laura listened, but whoever it was had not left a message. She pulled out her mobile, and found the battery had run flat. When she plugged it in, there was a message from Howard, as Monty had predicted.

  “Hi Laura,” he said as she listened to the voice message. “Things are getting hectic. I'll be at the police-station until late.”

  Laura swallowed, hearing the urgency in his voice. He sounded tense, the way he did when he was deeply involved in some emergency.

  I wonder if I should drop past? she thought. At least I can take him some leftover scones. She lifted the basket of leftover tea-things Mrs. Allen had sent back with her and, lifting her coat from its peg she walked back through the door.

  CHAPTER NINE

  A WATCHFUL GAZE

  A WATCHFUL GAZE

  The last of the evening sun shone on the Millerfield police station when Laura arrived. She drew in a deep breath, remembering her last confrontation there. She checked the parking-lot, but did not notice the chief-inspector's car. Probably already home, she thought.

  She slipped out and walked in through the door, where the reception area was still open. She was greeted by Mr. Stanton, the friendly young policeman.

  “Hello,” she smiled back. “I was here to wait for Dr Lucas?”

  “Oh! Of course. He's downstairs. He should be almost done, though.”

  “Oh, good. If I can wait?” Laura asked, inclining her head towards the row of chairs.

  “Of course. It's a lovely evening, isn't it?” he asked.

  “Very lovely,” Laura agreed. She had a thought. If the young man was happy to talk – and it seemed he was – then perhaps she could ask him how the case was progressing. She knew he wouldn't be allowed to divulge anything serious, but he knew she was friends with Howard, so perhaps he would trust her just a little more. “You look tired,” she began.

  “I am,” the young man ran a hand down his face. “We've been on our feet all week since...you know. The case began,” he explained.

  “I can imagine,” Laura said sympathetically. “I know Dr. Lucas has barely left the station,” she added. “He's pretty involved down there now, huh?” she inclined her head towards where the morgue was situated.

  The man nodded and leaned on the desk, clearly relaxing somewhat. “The doctor – Mason, that is – he called him about two hours ago. They've been down there since then. They seem to have noticed something new. And there are developments on our side, too,” he added proudly.

  “Yes?” Laura asked. She knew about all there was to know about the body – besides the new developments, which she would probably hear about later. She wanted to hear about the other side of the investigation.

  “Well,” the young man looked about him nervously. “I'm not supposed to tell you anything, but maybe Dr. Lucas should know too...” he bit his lip. Looking at the office across from him, he lifted a Post-it from his desk and wrote something on it. “There might be something important on that paper,” he said casually, and walked around the desk to throw it in the waste-paper bin near where Laura was sitting.

  Laura smiled to herself as he glanced around again and then returned to his seat. She waited a moment and then retrieved the paper. She folded it up and placed it in her purse to read later.

  “Thank you,” she said, beaming.

  “Not at all. In fact, don't mention it.” He grinned.

  “I won't,” Laura agreed conspiratorially. She leaned back in the chair. As she bent to pick up her magazine, she had the peculiar sensation that someone was watching her. She turned, and noticed a policeman she had not seen earlier, standing in the corridor. She swallowed hard and looked away. What if he saw the note? What if he heard us..? She didn't want the young officer to risk his career for her. She considered throwing the paper away unread, but at that moment he moved and walked lightly in through the door.

  “Stanton,” the man said crisply to her friendly officer, “what's going on here?”

  “Miss Howcroft is waiting for Doctor Lucas to finish his work,” Stanton explained, looking worried.

  The man turned and looked at Laura coolly. “Why?” he asked.

  Laura blinked. “Why not?” she asked immediately, feeling her temper rise. She had enough of impertinent policemen for one week.

  “She's a friend of the doctor,” the young officer pointed out, noticing how the newcomer's face darkened when Laura spoke up. “Detective Benfield, this is Laura Howcroft. Laura, Detective Richard Benfield.”

  Laura was not sure what to say. She did not want to say: “pleased to meet you”, as she certainly wasn't pleased. She inclined her head. “Inspector,” he smirked. “Miss Howcroft.” He turned away from her and to Stanton. “You should close this place up – it's six thirty. In case you haven't noticed, we have important confidential business in this station.”

  Stanton turned red. Laura felt quite sorry for him. She wanted to say something, but there was no way she could defend him. The young man turned to Laura, but she had already collected her bag and was walking to the door.

  “It's okay,” she said gently. “I'm leaving. I'll wait in the shop.”

  Leo Stanton looked embarrassed and thankful all at once. “Thanks,” he said.

  “Don't mention it,” Laura smiled. He caught her reference to their earlier chat and grinned. Laura walked out and into the small shop opposite, wondering why the man had been so rude to her.

  She took a place on the bench in the entrance of the small grocer, pleased there were no elderly ladies sitting there at this time of night. Running a weary hand across her face, she breathed in and collected her thoughts.

  Did that man see Stanton give me the paper? She had no idea if he had been in the doorway then or whether he had overheard them talking. All she could do was wait until she had a chance to read it without anyone seeing her. She reached for it, but something made her think better of it. She would feel better looking at it when she was as far away from here as possible. That way she could be sure no-one would know.

  Howard came out of the station a few minutes after she had left. He looked exhausted and Laura was disinclined to burden him any further with her own worries.

  “Laura!” he said as she made her way across the street. The way his face lit up made Laura's heart flip. His handsome features glowed with a smile.

  “Howard!” she said happily. “I heard your message. I thought you might feel like some scones?”

  Howard ran a hand through his hair. He breathed out. “Thank you, Laura,” he said. “That's a great idea.” He looked about the dusk-dark road. “Shall we take my car? We can sit there and eat some scones. It's warmer,” he added, shivering in the cool evening.

  “Of course,” Laura agreed. They walked back across the street to the station, where Howard's silvery BMW was in the parking lot.

  In the car it was indeed much warmer. Laura relaxed, leaning back on the soft seat. She passed Howard a scone, and he took it, chewing thoughtfully.

  “These are good,” Howard said appreciatively, wiping crumbs off his chin. “Did you make them?”

  “No,” Laura said, pleased he thought so. “I was at the Allen dairy farm today. Mrs. Allen made them.”

  “Oh,” he said. “That must have been nice. I wish I'd been there. Anywhere rather than here,” he added, inclining his head; exhausted.

  “What's going on?” Laura asked, laying a gentle hand on his elbow.

  “Looking for the murder-weapon,” Howard explained. “We have a pretty good idea now that the pneumathorax idea is the right one,” he elaborated. “But what did they use? And where is it? Mason and I have tried to profile it from the size of the puncture. We are looking for a rigid, pointy object about forty centimeters long and two millimeters wide. The police have checked the bins, the bank, the street outside the bank...” he sighed. “The trouble is, we don't know where to start. And it is such a tiny thing. Literally like looking for a needle in a haystack.”

  Lau
ra nodded. “Do they have any idea where to start looking?”

  He sighed. “The first place they've searched is the deceased's home. They were there today.”

  Laura clapped a hand over her mouth in shock. “Judy's home? But..?”

  Howard sighed. “It's the obvious place to start, Laura. I know,” he added tiredly, “it seems cruel to accuse her. But you have to admit she has a lot to gain.”

  Laura closed her eyes. She had to admit that she also had her suspicions about Judy. But the woman was a widow, and in mourning! It was obscene to search her house so soon after the memorial service!

  “Poor Judy,” she said gently.

  “I know,” Howard agreed. He put his hand over hers affectionately. Laura smiled a little sadly.

  “I actually like the woman,” Laura said, sounding surprised. “I hate the thought of people accusing her...” her voice trailed off.

  “I know,” Howard said again. “We can do everything we can to help her. I don't want to believe she did it either.”

  They drove home after that. Howard dropped her at her door and turned towards her. “I would love to stay, but I'm exhausted.” His face was pale, the rings of sleeplessness dark below his eyes. Laura nodded.

  “Of course, Howard,” she agreed gently. “See you soon.”

  “See you soon,” he affirmed, and, waving, drove slowly away into the dark.

  Inside, Laura collapsed onto her couch. She was so tired! She felt as if she had been the one bending over bodies all day. She sighed. She had been making her own investigations, it was true, but was not sure she could conclude from them anything different to what the police thought.

  “Where did that paper go?” Laura said, rummaging in her bag. It had been occupying her thoughts since it had been handed to her, and she finally had a chance to see it.

  She found the paper and unraveled it. Held it to her eyes and read. Dropped it and then read it again.

  Only person without an alibi was seen in the street near the bank: Brandon Hugh. Brother.

  So there was another suspect! That could clear Judy's name. If only Laura could tell her! For the first time since she had left the house that morning, Laura wanted to cry with relief.

  CHAPTER TEN

  A FAMOUS PERSON

  A FAMOUS PERSON

  “So, this weekend was fun, wasn't it?” Janet asked Laura, breaking in on Laura's reverie where she sat at her desk.

  It was Monday morning, and Laura had barely managed to sleep that night, wrestling with the news about the latest suspect. She knew she was not supposed to know, and the thought of that made the knowledge a huge burden.

  “It was nice to meet my cousin,” Laura said evenly. “And the tea was great.”

  “I know!” Janet rolled her eyes. “Margie is just too good a cook. It isn't fair!”

  Laura giggled. “Yes, but not any better than you, really.”

  “Aw! Thanks, L!” Janet replied. “I need to talk to you more often. I need all the reassurance I can get, with Imogen around.”

  Laura frowned, then remembered Imogen Weston, the actress who was staying at the hotel. “Why because of Imogen?” she asked.

  “Well, she's just so stunning! And even Murray says so. I could have smacked him, actually...” her voice trailed off as she thought back. Benjamin Murray was Janet's new boyfriend, a wealthy farmer in the district. Laura knew she was both very fond of the man and equally insecure.

  “Oh, Janet,” Laura sighed. “Murray might be saying nice things about her, but he really likes you. And what would he have to talk to an actress about, anyway?” she rolled her eyes. “They wouldn't like each other!”

  Janet laughed, but she did not look reassured. “I'd agree, except the woman is local,” Janet said crossly. “She comes from Drayton.”

  “No way!” Laura was surprised despite herself. Drayton was the small village that neighbored Millerfield – about five minutes' drive away, and even smaller and more rural, were it possible to be so. The fact that a well-known actress came from there was unbelievable.

  “Yes!” Janet said impatiently. “So she's even more local than me, really. And don't say that's incredible, because it's not. I come from just outside Canterbury.”

  Laura had to laugh at Janet and her sense of affront. “I wasn't planning to say anything of the sort,” she grinned. “But it is a surprise. Is that why she is here now?”

  “I have no idea why she's here now,” Janet countered. “Though I have heard something...”

  “You have?” Laura asked, not entirely surprised. If anyone was going to gossip about famous local celebrities, Janet was definitely going to be a part of it.

  “Yes!” Janet leaned in towards her conspiratorially, glancing around the room to make sure no-one was listening. “They say she is hiding out here,” she said. “She had some big scandal a few weeks ago – something to do with her money. She was either accepting money she shouldn't have, or she was sneaking it over into Switzerland without declaring it. I don't recall the details,” she said airily. “But she came here to lie low a while, or so they say. Makes sense,” she added. “Why else would she choose to come back to the middle of nowhere?”

  Laura bit her lip and nodded. She didn't really want to believe it – it was just gossip, probably put about by people who didn't like the woman. Glamorous and aloof, she seemed to make enemies wherever she went. Laura had seen her once, briefly, in the dining-room and had liked the look of her.

  “Jay,” she sighed, “we don't even know if that's true. And so what? We're not taxmen, now are we?” she grinned. “Why should we object?”

  The moment she said it, she bit her lip. We're not taxmen. No. But Albert Hugh was. And now he's dead. A week before the woman arrived.

  “Laura?” Janet asked, sounding worried. “What's up? You look like you saw a ghost.”

  I feel like I did. “It's okay, Jay,” Laura said softly. “I'm tired. That's all.” she yawned.

  “Late night?” Janet asked.

  “Kind of,” Laura nodded.

  “Coffee?” Janet asked kindly.

  “Thanks, Jay,” Laura agreed. “That would be nice.”

  “Great. I also want one. Back now,” she said, patting Laura's hand.

  Laura leaned back wearily. She sighed, watching Janet as she walked briskly down towards the kitchen.

  Yesterday morning, I had one suspect. Yesterday night, I had two. Now, maybe three?

  The theory about Imogen Weston sounded silly, even she had to admit that. But the woman had suddenly arrived in Millerfield, when she had probably lived away from Kent for years. Her stay had been delayed, so that she arrived a week after she had planned, missing the time at which Mr. Hugh was murdered. Laura sighed, running her fingers down her spine to try and ease out the tension there. She would have to find out more about Imogen.

  When Janet returned, bearing two cups of coffee in hand, Laura realised that she had a very reliable assistant.

  “Janet,” she said gently, “how would you feel about finding out more about Imogen Weston?”

  Janet stared at her. “Are you kidding? I'm the queen of digging dirt on people. Ask me anything you need.”

  Laura laughed. “That sounds perfect, Jay.”

  She sipped her coffee, feeling her headache wear away.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  MORE CLUES

  MORE CLUES

  “Laura?”

  Mrs Poole did not usually emerge from the kitchen unless it was an emergency, so when the short white-haired lady appeared before Laura's desk just before lunch-time, she knew it had to be something serious.

  “Yes?” she asked, feeling worried.

  “Boiler's not working. Can you call Mr. Perry?” The woman looked at her morosely from behind round glasses, arms akimbo.

  Laura nodded. “Yes, of course. It's almost lunchtime...Can you manage without it?” she asked dubiously.

  “Oh, yes, lass. Everything's done by now – I just need to wash up af
ter.”

  “Oh, good.” Laura sighed and turned to the telephone to call their plumber.

  She ran a hand through her hair, stroking stray locks off her forehead. As if the hotel was not busy enough: the shipment of linen was late – the drycleaner's truck was having a breakdown – and the fresh vegetables hadn't arrived yet either. It wouldn't have been a problem except for the fact that they were at their maximum capacity of guests. For some reason, there was a sudden interest in Millerfield. Maybe because they had been in the news since the murder investigation was underway.

  “Laura!”

  No sooner had Mrs. Poole left the front desk than Janet arrived. She looked unsettled and Laura wondered what was happening now.

  “Yes?”

  “He's here! Anthony Morrison: I just saw him! We'd better clean the place up...”

  Laura frowned. “He? Who?”

  Janet closed her eyes in exasperation. “Anthony Morrison! Famous local multimillionaire. He's single, too...”

  Laura grinned. That explained the cerise silk blouse and pencil skirt Janet wore today. “Well!” She glanced around the dining-room. “I feel quite self-conscious about the place now.”

  They both laughed. “It's okay,” Janet said, “he is used to our rural style, I'm sure. I hope.” she made a wry face.

  “I'm sure he is,” Laura reassured. I hope they get the boiler fixed soon...Mr Mega-rich doesn't want a cold shower...

  “Mornin' Miss Laura,” an old man with spectacles and an elegant head of white hair said curtly. “Where's the problem this morning?”

  “Oh, Mr. Perry!” Laura enthused. “It's the boiler. In the kitchen. If you'll come with me..?” she stood from behind the desk and, pulling a rueful face at Janet headed downstairs.

  When she returned to the desk, there was a man standing in front of it.

  “Good morning?”