by Sarah Kelly
India sipped her tea slowly, trying to straighten everything out in her mind. “We know that Liam and his friend carried the freezer up the stairs. He said it was on a list that Laurence left him when he went away, the last thing on the list. Laurence said that he had no idea the freezer was even there, so one of those two was lying. We could ask Laurence, of course, but Liam…”
“Dead men tell no tales,” Mrs Clitheroe said, nodding.
“I doubt we’ll ever find out the truth about that.” Xavier rubbed the back of his neck, as he often did when he was deep in thought. “Let’s just say Liam was lying and he was bringing the freezer upstairs for his own reasons… Maybe he and Tasha killed Felicia together. Then he got cold feet, and she killed him.”
“But then we heard him blackmailing Laurence,” India said. “And though murder wasn’t exactly mentioned, Liam implied that Laurence had killed Felicia. Liam asked for £20,000 yesterday…” Her mind twisted itself in knots as she tried to work out what was real and what was not. Maybe it was all real. Two alternate scenes seemed to have played out. “Well, at least, I think he did.”
Mrs Clitheroe’s eyes were as wide as her floral saucers. “Well, that settles it then, doesn’t it? It was Laurence. He killed Felicia because she’d stolen the money, then Liam found out, probably because of the freezer, of course, and blackmailed him. Then Laurence killed Liam.”
Just as she spoke the door suddenly opened from the outside without warning. They all startled, then sighed with relief as a big fat cat came prowling in.
“He can open doors?” India said, her hand to her chest.
“You scared us all, Churchill,” Mrs Clitheroe berated the cat. He looked at her for a moment with his squashed up, disdainful face, then continued to stalk his path toward the window. Churchill was enormously fat, with long dark gray hair that fluffed up around his face. “Yes, goodness knows how he learned that party trick. He gives all my guests a fright.”
India couldn’t help but giggle. “He’s so haughty.”
“Oh, yes,” Mrs Clitheroe said. “I think he firmly believes that this is his house and I am merely a long term guest allowed to stay because of his generosity.”
Xavier laughed. “Yes, he looks just like that. I’m sure he’d have a very upper class accent if he spoke.”
“I’m sure he’d be a dreadful bore, actually,” Mrs Clitheroe said, getting up to open the back door and let him out. Both India and Xavier rushed to their feet to do it for her, but she flapped her hand. “Oh, no, dears, it’s good for me to stay as active as possible. You sit down and take some more biscuits.”
India turned to Xavier as Mrs Clitheroe let Churchill out and chatted away to him. “Maybe we should try and track down Charlie, Liam’s friend who supposedly helped him to carry the freezer upstairs. And maybe then we could even find the driver. He could let us know who put in the delivery order.”
“Good idea,” said Xavier. “We’re also going to have to talk to Tasha at some point, too, though not today. We’ll give her some time to grieve. If she’s innocent, that is.”
India nodded, then as an afterthought added, “Not too long, though. Every moment we could be getting closer to the next murder.” She puffed out a long breath. “That said, why don’t we go find Charlie right now?”
“All right,” Xavier said, finishing off his third bourbon biscuit, and tucking two more in his pocket for when they were out on the road.
“That’s right, dear, stock up,” Mrs Clitheroe said, her eyes lighting up with amusement. “There are plenty more where that came from.”
“That’s a relief,” India said, laughing. “We’re getting more and more addicted each time we try them. We don’t have them in the States.”
Mrs Clitheroe smiled. “Well, then, we’ll send you on your way with rather too many packets of them in your luggage, then.”
“Sounds perfect!” Xavier said. “A lifetime’s supply, please.”
“I’ll do what I can, young man.” She straightened up the lace decoration that hung over the arms and back of her armchair. “Did I hear you two say you were off somewhere?”
“Yes,” India said, getting up out of her seat. “We have a few people to talk to.”
“I don’t doubt, I don’t doubt.”
Xavier held up his cup and saucer. “Should we wash these or…”
“Oh no!” Mrs Clitheroe said, scandalized. “You’re my guests. Just leave them there on the table and I’ll see to it.” She shook her head, like the very notion of them helping out was ridiculous. “Off you pop, dears. I shall be off to see Tasha and offer my condolences.”
“All right, then,” India said. “See you later, Mrs Clitheroe.”
The elderly lady was about to pick up their cups and saucers but paused. “I think I might have become carried away in what I said earlier. I’m sure Tasha is entirely innocent.”
Xavier shrugged as they walked out. “Probably, but it’s our job to suspect everybody.”
“That includes me, then?” Mrs Clitheroe asked with an amused smile.
“Yep,” India said with a grin. “Though I think your cat looks more suspicious.”
Xavier nodded. “Churchill is suspect number one right now.”
Mrs Clitheroe’s laugh was shaky with age. “Oh, I do love having young people in the house. Lovely, just lovely.”
India and Xavier exited the cottage and walked through Mrs Clitheroe’s front garden, through which a paved path meandered between blooming bushes and carefully tended flowers in raised beds.
“Where shall we look for him?” India asked, opening the gate.
Xavier shrugged. “I guess we could ask in the pub.”
“All right.”
As they began to make their way down the quiet street toward The Arms, they heard a car draw up behind them.
“Aha,” a voice said. “Just who I wanted to see.”
India and Xavier spun around to see Constable Middleton pulling up behind them in his police car. Just who they didn’t want to see.
“Good afternoon, Constable Middleton,” Xavier said politely. “Why did you want to see us?”
Constable Middleton had already pulled the police car up on the side of the road and quickly got out of the drivers seat. He stood in the middle of the sidewalk, his knees bent and his arms ready to block like a soccer goalie. “Don’t try and run away now.”
India laughed in spite of herself, he looked so comical. “Run for what?”
Constable Middleton straightened up, pretending not to be embarrassed. “Oh, playing it cool, are we? Well, whatever your act is it isn’t going to work.”
“Sorry, sir,” Xavier said. “But we have no idea what you’re talking about.”
The constable’s lip curled and he laughed in a mirthless way, his beady eyes locked onto them, full of malice. “Yeah, all right. I believe you,” he said, in a way that made plain he didn’t in the slightest. Then he pretended to be casual. “Don’t you think, though, that it’s a bit of a coincidence?”
“What is?” India asked.
“That ever since you two showed up in town there have been two murders.” He leant against the police car and pressed his hand against the side of his head, like he was chatting to a friend. “Who’s your next victim, eh?”
“We’re here to investigate,” Xavier said firmly, “as we’ve already told you. And we don’t appreciate being accused of murder.”
The constable rolled his eyes. “Keep your hair on, mate. Right, let’s go. Get in the back.”
India and Xavier looked at each other, bewildered.
“Sorry?” India said.
“Do I have to spell it out? Get. In. The. Back. Of. The. Police. Car. Easier for you to understand?”
Xavier stood tall. “But why?”
“I’m questioning you,” Constable Middleton said. “Now hurry up about it. Don’t make me do the whole backup, nightstick thing. Us English police might not shoot people like your American cops, but we’re
still not to be messed with. Get in. Now.”
CHAPTER 10
“I think you know something,” Constable Middleton said, narrowing his eyes at them. He’d hauled them into a room like India had seen on old English crime dramas, nothing like the sleek, mirrored interrogation room Xavier used to work in. It was nothing but a dingy, old fashioned space with a little window looking directly out onto a tree, which blocked the light as it struggled to stream in. A simple bulb hung overhead. Constable Middleton sat across from them, a desk that look like it came from a flat pack furniture store between them. All three chairs were like the kind in a school auditorium, and the whole place had a functional, uncomfortable vibe.
India looked at Xavier again. “We told you what our thoughts were already. But it could still be anyone.”
“I’m not talking about that,” Constable Middleton said, placing his fingers on the desk, his palms raised into little mountain peaks as he stood. “I’m talking about back in Florida. Are you affiliated with any enemies of Alexander Drummond-Coe?”
“No!” India said.
“We’d never even heard of him until we came here,” Xavier said patiently. “As we’ve told you, we are professional investigators.”
Constable Middleton tittered. “Yeah, yeah, if you say so.” He strode over to the window, then turned abruptly. “Okay, India, answer these questions.”
India suppressed an urge to roll her eyes. “Sure.”
“What’s your name?”
She sighed slightly. “Mrs India Kirby-Bradford.”
“What is your occupation?”
“Xavier just told—”
Constable Middleton’s nostrils flared and his voice was harsh as he repeated himself. “What is your occupation?”
“Private investigator.”
“Why are you here?”
She couldn’t believe they were wasting time with all this when a murderer was out roaming the streets. “We were called by Lord Laurence Drummond-Coe to investigate the disappearance of his niece, Felicia Drummond-Coe.”
“Then she was found dead, by yourselves,” Constable Middleton said, striding back and forth between the narrow walls. “And then Liam Dancer is also found dead, by yourselves.”
“And Laurence,” Xavier added.
Constable Middleton glared at him. “Sergeant Taylor didn’t mention him being there when he came to secure the crime scene.”
“He nearly fainted,” India said. “He went back to this studio to calm down.” As the constable paused to think she asked, “Do you still think he did it, then? Killed Felicia? What about Liam, do you think he did that, too?”
“I… I… Uh,” the constable said, looking flummoxed. “I can’t tell you,” he said eventually, sticking his chin up. “And you shouldn’t be getting involved in police business.”
Xavier looked at India. He was one of the politest guys she had ever met but even so it was evident his patience was wearing thin. “I don’t mean to be rude, sir, but there could be a murderer out there and Laurence has asked us to look into it, so we’re going to. Can we please leave now?”
Constable Middleton’s eyes shone with malicious delight. He sat back in the chair heavily, like he wasn’t expecting to move for a good long time. “Oh no,” he said, savoring the words like they were candy on his tongue. “I know the truth about who you are.” He looked between both of them, his beady brown eyes glinting. “American assassins sent to kill Felicia Drummond-Coe, over some shady Florida business deal, no doubt. Then Liam got in your way.”
“Have you been speaking to Geoffrey Forsythe?” India asked, her foot tapping under the desk in immense frustration. “That’s what he said. American assassins.”
“Er, no… I deduced the truth myself.”
Xavier shook his head. “Sorry to bust your theory, but 1. It’s not true. And 2. If we were assassins sent to kill Felicia, wouldn’t we have left by now? And 3. Why would Laurence have employed us?”
“Maybe he’s in on it, too,” Constable Middleton said. “He never could understand the greatness of Alexander.”
“And 4,” Xavier continued, “she was already missing before we got here, so it doesn’t make any sense at all.”
Constable Middleton was caught on the back foot. “Well…”
India could tell he was about to bluster through some more pretentious grandiosity that they had precious little time for. Besides, something had struck her. “The greatness of Alexander, you say?”
The constable actually looked a little grateful she’d thrown him a lifeline. “Oh, yes. Wonderful chap, Alexander. Smashing cricketer. A real drinker, too. Had such a way with the ladies he’d have all of them laughing and ready to give their heart away. Such a shame about the rest of the family.” He shook his head, turning his lips down and scrunching up his nose in the ugliest expression. “That daughter of his was pretty, all right, but she had a personality like a wet blanket, dull, dull, dull.” Then his eyes widened, like he’d just realized he was overtalking, and said, “And you did her in, didn’t you. Both of you.”
India sighed again, crossing her arms. “Constable, sir, my husband has just told you that it was not us and why it could not be us. Have you not considered Tasha, given that Felicia and Liam were supposedly having an affair? Or maybe that Liam killed Felicia because she was going to tell Tasha, then Laurence found out about Liam and killed him in revenge? Or maybe Laurence killed Felicia because she was stealing his money, then Liam blackmailed Laurence and Laurence killed him?” This last one was the one that had been playing on her mind the most, given what they’d overheard in the garden. “Or that there really was an American assassin who’s skipped town? Or even that Mrs Rowan or Mrs Clitheroe are secret serial killers? That idea is about as laughable as the one you’re throwing around.” She then felt a bit rude. “To be honest.”
Constable Middleton looked quite overwhelmed. “Well… yes, but… Well, we don’t… There’s not…”
“Let us go,” Xavier said. “We’re staying at Mrs Clitheroe’s if you need us. Unless you have any more questions?”
The constable was positively tongue-tied. “Not for now.” He got out some paperwork from a drawer and pretended to read it, then waved carelessly. “Go on, get out. Be off with you.”
***
“Are you Charlie?” Xavier yelled over the noise of the circular saw. A young man with no eyewear protection was sawing a wooden board in the back of what looked like an old junkyard. Xavier and India had been forced to pick their pathway through old TVs and kitchen appliances, car parts and general trash. Car shells lined the falling-down fence. The whole scene was quite incongruous, seeing that most of the houses in the village, even the tiniest little cottages, were well kept with flowers growing out front. This house was a little way out of Aston Paddox, along an overgrown country lane.
The young man stopped the saw then looked up. “Who’s asking?” he asked, his pale face pinched and hostile. He whistled and an aggressive looking white dog came bounding out from some trees in back, barking. “Come here, Pistol,” he shouted, tapping on his own thigh. The dog danced around him, barking and jumping. Charlie slapped him over the head. “Shut up.”
India looked Charlie over, trying not to instantly dislike him, though the slapping the dog over the head really got under her skin. “What’s he ever done to you?”
Charlie’s face screwed up into fury. “Get the hell out of here. Or I’ll shoot you in your faces for trespassing.” He tipped his head back to where a shotgun hung on the wall of the makeshift workshop he was in.
“We want to talk to you about Liam,” Xavier said.
Charlie turned away, busying himself shifting junk from one arbitrary place to another. “Yeah, he’s dead. And what?”
India got the impression he was hiding something. At first she thought it was sadness – he looked like the kind of guy who would never even admit to so much as having feelings, let alone expressing them. But maybe… could it be guilt he was hi
ding?
“He was your friend, right?” Xavier asked.
Charlie’s voice was ever more venomous. “Yeah, I knew him. He was a mate, I guess, yeah.”
India was pulled in two directions – firstly, the easiest one to follow, to judge him out of hand as a horrible man, or secondly, to try and extend some compassion to him. She got the feeling that he and Liam were closer than he made out. He was probably stuck right in the middle of a terrifying grief he had no idea how to handle. “We’re sorry for your loss,” India said softly. “It’s horrible to lose a friend.”
Charlie turned to them, his blue eyes icy. “Yeah. You’re them Americans, init? You was staying with Lord Loz, looking for Felicia. God, she was fit.” He looked up to see their incomprehension. “Buff? Peng? She was nice, init. Good looking. Jeez.” He shook his head, exasperated. “Anyway, what do you want from me? I’m doing something.” - except he pronounced it ‘summink’.
“We’ll be real with you,” Xavier said. “We’re private investigators.”
Charlie started banging tools about and tidying up, which he was evidently only doing so he didn’t have to stand there and keep eye contact with them. Apart from his rough demeanor, India was sure he was actually quite unsure of himself.
“Is that some kind of police?” Charlie asked.
“Nah,” Xavier said.
“Yeah but you probably chat to that Constable Middleton.” He used a choice swear word to refer to the constable and repeated it a couple of times for emphasis.
India nodded, sticking out her bottom lip. “Well, I might not use the same words, but he’s not our best friend either, let’s put it that way.”
“He’s always giving me trouble,” Charlie blurted out, like he was desperate to get it off his chest. “Coming around here and trying to arrest me for nothing. Anything goes wrong in the next three villages, they come looking for me.”
Xavier grinned. “And how often is it actually you?”