by Sarah Kelly
India’s heart skipped a beat. “Black magic… 666, albeit with an extra six. Do you think that’s connected?”
Xavier pursed his lips together, his eyes crinkling with thought. “Maybe.”
“The guy in the hood with the weird name!” India exclaimed. “Maybe it was Charlie!”
“You didn’t get any good look at him?” Xavier asked. “Recognize his voice?”
“No,” India said. “It’s all a blur to me now, but even then, it wasn’t quite… crisp, if you know what I mean? It all had a bit of a dream-like quality.”
Xavier visibly shuddered. “I don’t even want to think about it. I just realized, though, that if Tasha and Charlie really did kill Liam, they’d get to keep his share of the money. Because I’m guessing she knew wherever it was hidden, right? That means Tasha and Charlie would both have the twenty thousand to share between them. Considering how little money both of them have… well, that might be enough of a motive to kill.”
“Maybe,” India said. “Then do you think the whole Alexander thing is a big red herring? Like his shady activities have nothing to do with this?”
Xavier rubbed his chin, where stubble was beginning to form a beard. She’d begged him to grow out a little facial hair to get an Idris Elba-esque look for ages. “I don’t know. Maybe it really is unconnected. I think we should find out more about him.”
India nodded. “He seemed to be having some kind of mental breakdown,” she said. “A serious case of paranoia. There’s definitely something going on. I wish Mary had given us her cell.”
They walked on in silence for a moment, holding hands and swinging them back and forth. The sun was going down and flooding the field with golden-mauve light. “We could try her hotel tomorrow morning,” Xavier suggested.
India nodded. “Perfect.”
***
“Thank goodness you’ve come back,” Mrs Clitheroe said, and she actually leant forward to hug India, the first time she’d ever done so. “I was worrying terribly.” She ushered them through the hallway and into the sitting room. “I am dreadfully sorry about dinner today. I was with Tasha, and I’m afraid she was so distraught I could not bear to leave her alone.”
“Why?” India said, her heart beating faster in the fear of another tragedy. “What happened?”
Mrs Clitheroe was shaking as she lowered herself into her chair. The shock seemed to have run all through her, and all the color had drained from her face. “It turns out that my little theory about Tasha… well, I was not the only one thinking it. Constable Middleton arrested her this afternoon. Just barged right into the house and accused her on the spot, not giving a moment’s thought to her condition. As soon as I saw her face I knew she hadn’t done it. I feel awfully guilty for what I said before. It really wasn’t her, I can tell, but the Constable said I was to be quiet and let the investigation take his course.” She shifted in her chair, pursing her lips together. She clearly thought Constable Middleton was a dreadful man. “She was crying her eyes out, poor lamb. It was the least I could do to stay and console her. I do apologize. You do understand, don’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Xavier said. “Of course.”
“And you needn’t apologize,” India added. “Is she still at the police station now?”
Mrs Clitheroe nodded. “Muriel’s down there with her now. Offered to spend the whole night, bless her. I would have stayed but well, my hip plays up something terrible and—”
“No one could expect you to stay,” Xavier said. “You must have been there for hours.”
Mrs Clitheroe nodded sadly as Churchill slunk into the room. She looked at him mournfully and he came up and snuggled into her ankles. “Not as long as poor Tasha. I really do feel ashamed about what I said earlier.”
“There’s no need to feel guilty, honestly,” India said kindly. “It’s an investigation. We always throw names and ideas around. It’s nothing personal towards Tasha.”
“I suppose.” Mrs Clitheroe bent down to stroke Churchill under the chin. “Poor girl couldn’t keep her eyes dry.”
Xavier glanced at India. “Maybe we should go and see her.”
“She’d like that, I expect,” Mrs Clitheroe said. “And Muriel will, too. The Constable’s on the night shift and he’s probably giving them both plenty of grief. Did you get some dinner, in the end?”
“Oh, yes, thank you, ma’am,” Xavier said. “We had chip butties.”
India laughed. “And then Xavier had fish and chip and pork pie and scotch egg butties.”
Mrs Clitheroe laughed along. “Very healthy.”
“Maybe not,” Xavier admitted with a shrug. “But super delicious. And seeing as I’ll never ever get that in Florida, I thought, why not?”
“I’m only teasing,” Mrs Clitheroe said affectionately. “Well, I haven’t got much time to cook if you’re going now, but would you like me to make you some jam sandwiches?”
“Oh no!” Xavier said. “I couldn’t eat another thing.”
India giggled. “Me either. I feel like I might never eat again.”
After a glass of water each – their dinner had been so incredibly salty – they were on their way to the police station again.
“It feels like walking into a trap,” India said with a shudder, as they passed through the quiet streets of Aston Paddox, the evening breeze cool against their faces. “Or back into the jaws of that horrible Constable Middleton.”
Xavier shook his head, his mouth tight and clenched. “That guy is so, so, so unprofessional. If I was back in the US I’d actually report him.”
India traced her fingers along his bare forearm, something she always did when she was trying to soothe him. “Do you think he’s got anything on Tasha?”
“Doubt it,” Xavier said. “He’s probably just randomly going through the whole town on a whim. First it’s us, next it’s Tasha, Mrs Clitheroe next. Who knows?”
“Maybe.” India shrugged. “Or maybe he’s actually right.”
“So you’re standing up for him now?” His voice had a real edge to it that got right under India’s skin.
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous.” India flung his hand away and walked on by herself. “How could you even think that? Firstly, it’s not a competition between you and Constable Middleton.”
“He’s just… argh!” Xavier said. “He does everything wrong! He’s not once told us something that makes sense. We could have all worked on this case together.”
“Yes, if he wasn’t such a… well, an idiot, then maybe, yes,” India said. “But there’s no point getting mad about it. It is what it is. And when have we ever had a cop be interested in helping us before? Look at Detective Kirby, too. You should know better than anyone else that cops aren’t always reliable.”
Xavier was still so annoyed that it came through in his walk – it was more of a march with clenched fists. “Yeah, well, they should be.”
“Yeah, well, they aren’t,” India said. “So we’ve just gotta deal with it.”
CHAPTER 15
“India!” Tasha said. Her eyes were red with tears, and she looked a pathetic sight, hunched over against the wall, her bump sticking out in her tight vest top. The bars divided her cell from the hallway Xavier and India stood in. Tasha wore leggings and fluffy slippers, like Constable Middleton hadn’t even given her a moment to slip on some proper shoes. “And this must be… Zachary?”
“Xavier,” Xavier said. “Nice to meet you, Tasha. I’m only sorry it had to be like this.”
But Tasha didn’t have time for pleasantries. “You guys have been looking into the case, right?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Xavier replied.
There was still tension between India and Xavier, and India felt annoyed. Why was he so darn polite? She knew that was unreasonable, but his southern gentleman mannerisms always began to get on her nerves when she was in a less than good mood with him. She took a deep breath and tried to put it to the side.
“You don’t think I did it, do
you?” Tasha said, her eyes wild and desperate. “Because I didn’t. I swear on my life I didn’t. I didn’t kill Felicia. And I definitely didn’t kill Liam. Why would I do that? He was my boyfriend.”
India nodded. She was inclined to believe her, just like Mrs Clitheroe had done, but she knew she had to keep an open mind. Murders were often great actors, too. “No, we don’t think you did it. But, to be honest, we don’t think you didn’t either.”
Tasha gasped and sat up in shock. “What do you mean?”
Xavier made a soothing hand gesture as he said, “It’s okay. What we mean is that until it’s solved, we can’t eliminate anyone from the investigation.”
“All right.” Tasha slumped back against the wall, looking miserable. “But I just want to be on the record as saying I didn’t do it.”
Muriel came into the hallway from behind them, clutching her purse. “Tasha, sweetie, do try and get some rest. You’ve said you didn’t do it a thousand times. I don’t think it makes much difference, really.”
“But it’s true,” Tasha said, on the brink of tears.
Both India and Xavier said, “Hi, Mrs Forsythe,” and it annoyed India that they both said it at the same time.
“Hello,” Muriel said, then took a seat on the bench at the end of the hallway, looking disturbed.
India turned back to Tasha. “I think Mrs Forsythe is right. You really should get some rest. But we really need to ask you a couple of… well, personal questions before we go. They may not be the nicest questions to answer, but they could end up clearing your name, if you’re innocent.”
“I am,” Tasha said eagerly, her eyes wide. “I’ll answer anything.”
“All right,” Xavier said. He walked up to the bars and looked at her intently. “You and Charlie are together, aren’t you?”
Tasha gulped and glanced over at Muriel. Then she slowly nodded, looking worried.
“Say it out loud,” India said. It was too easy for people to deny what they’d said when there was just body language to go on.”
“Yes, I am together with Charlie,” Tasha said super quickly, like she was ripping off a bandaid and wanted it to hurt less.
India nodded. “All right. But how long have you been with him?”
Tasha made a horribly embarrassed grimace. “About… two years,” she whispered.
India was surprised by that but tried not to let it reflect in her body language. “All right.”
Xavier watched Tasha for a moment, saying nothing at all. But somehow it seemed to put pressure on her, and soon so much was spilling out of her mouth, like she’d been dying to tell someone. “Liam knew about it. Or at least, he knew we’d been together… once.” She looked down. “You see, that’s why he wasn’t really into the pregnancy. Because… well, I didn’t really know if it was his. And I just couldn’t hide that from him. The guilt would have killed me. I had to tell him. I didn’t know if… well, I still don’t know if Toby is Charlie’s or Liam’s. But please don’t judge me. Liam and I never ever had a good relationship.”
“Why didn’t you break up with him?” India asked.
Tasha looked down again. “Well… I was going to. But when I found out I was pregnant… I thought, at least he’s got a steady wage. Not like Charlie.”
India regarded her for a moment. “You love Charlie, don’t you?”
Tasha’s eyes filled with tears. “Yes. Yes, I do.”
***
The next day Xavier and India both ended up sleeping in. They’d managed to make up their differences on the way back from the police station, and had ended up taking a long walk in the darkness, running through endless theories of who the killer or killers might be. She just couldn’t stop her head bursting with theory after theory after theory. And since Xavier had just as many of his own, too, they’d ended up getting back after midnight.
They didn’t get downstairs until mid morning, by which time Mrs Clitheroe was already cooking up a storm. “Since I kept you hanging for your dinner yesterday, we’ll have a lovely big brunch this morning. Now shoo, off out of here. Go and watch the television in the sitting room or something.” She said this all with the most affectionate smile, like they were her favorite grown up grandchildren. And India felt fine with slumping down on the sofa and waiting for the feast to be ready – Mrs Clitheroe looked totally in her element as she stood at the cooker, flipping this and stirring that.
And when it was ready, both India and Xavier stared at her with wide eyes over the small table she kept in the kitchen. It was meant to be brunch, but it had taken her so long the clock had ticked past midday and it had become lunch. But none of that mattered.
“Mrs Clitheroe, this is incredible!” India said.
The elderly lady looked pleased with herself as she shook out her napkin with a flourish and drew it onto her lap. She had indeed laid out an incredible spread before them and she took her time to point out each dish in turn. They were all laid out in the center with serving spoons, so they could pick out exactly what they wanted. “These are hash browns, then we have fried bacon, fried eggs, grilled tomatoes, sausages, mushrooms, fried bread and last but not least, baked beans.” She flashed them a proud smile. “Tuck in.”
As they ate in the cozy kitchen of Mrs Clitheroe’s cottage, India and Xavier were almost able to forget they were in the middle of a murder investigation. They felt, rather, that they were visiting an old English aunt they happened to have, and it was so nice to feel unburdened and free for a while.
“Are you going to Laurence’s fundraiser tomorrow?” Mrs Clitheroe asked.
“That’s tomorrow?” Xavier said. “Wow, time’s crept up on us.”
“I know, right?” India was astounded, too, just how quickly time had gone. “But of course we’ll be there. We wouldn’t miss that for the world. He’s so passionate about his dream.”
They chattered away pleasantly about Laurence and his art school. Then they got onto what their dreams were, and soon they were telling Mrs Clitheroe about their very first world problem of not knowing where to live – Mississippi, Grenada, Wisconsin, Florida, or maybe just a cozy little English village like this one.
But soon their plates were clean – along with every serving bowl, because it was just that delicious – and it was time to get back to reality.
“Thank you so much,” India said. “That was just… wow.”
Xavier grinned. “Indeed. I think we’re going to have to fly you over at least once a week, Mrs Clitheroe.”
“Aw, well, you’re most welcome.” She stood up to clear away the dishes and they did, too. “Don’t you even think about it,” she said. “Go off and continue your investigation. Where’s the fun in you having a good fry up if you have to wash and dry afterward? I’ll be offended if you insist.”
So India and Xavier thanked her ever more profusely and went on their way. They were planning to track down Mary at the hotel in Gillingsborough, but first Xavier wanted to go to Geoffrey Forsythe’s luxury cottage. “I want to check what he meant by Laurence’s funny turn.”
“But Laurence already explai… oh. You think he’s lying.”
Xavier nodded. “I wouldn’t doubt it. He mentioned being drunk and having to be carried home, but I mean, would that really be such big news that Geoffrey would mention that to us in the middle of a murder investigation?”
“That’s true,” India said, her heart sinking as it always did when they spoke about Laurence being guilty. “But Geoffrey could also be lying, too. Think about it.” Her brain began to whir into overdrive. “He stole the money from Laurence, sure Laurence wouldn’t notice because he was a scatterbrain. Then he went and killed Felicia on the same day, and spread the rumor that she’d run away.”
“Hang on,” Xavier said, furrowing his brow. “There’s something I never thought of before. Where’s all Felicia’s stuff? I mean, it made sense that the room was bare when we thought she’d run away to Florida, but since she was killed… Someone obviously made it look like
she’d run away deliberately. But her stuff must be somewhere.”
“That’s a good point,” India said, then shook her head. “But if the murderer’s smart at all, they’d have burned it all by now.”
Xavier sighed. “You’re probably right.”
When they arrived at the Forsythe home, they found the driveway empty and the garage closed. They pressed on the bell next to the front door a few times, but to no avail.
“Ugh,” India puffed out. “They’re not home.”
Xavier sat on the garden wall resolutely. “Then we wait. If they’re not here in a half hour, we’ll go.”
“All right,” India said. She plopped down next to him and planted a kiss on his cheek.
They sat in silence for a good while, enjoying the nature around them. Despite Mr Forsythe being rather rude, he was an excellent gardener and had a keen eye for beauty. That said, India had preferred Liam’s work at the Hall because it still had an element of wildness about it. This garden was pruned and weeded and primped within an inch of its life. Yet it was undeniably beautiful, with fuzzy pink bushes and rows and rows of roses. The cottage was tucked away in a side street, so not even the noise of traffic could reach them. All India could hear was the birds tweeting in the trees above them, and the wind rustling through the leaves. She felt a sense of peace spreading through her, but that was quickly displaced by a jumping anxiety as the huge black Audi swung into the drive, Geoffrey’s angry face at the wheel.
As soon as he parked up the car he practically leapt out of it. “Trespassing!” he said, pointing at them, quite hysterical. “Trespassing!”
Anxiety had gripped India, but in the face of this she actually couldn’t help but laugh a little, though she tried not to.
“We only came to ask you a question, Mr Forsythe,” Xavier said.
Muriel stepped weakly out of the car.
“My wife has been up all night with—”
“Tasha, we know,” India said. “We visited. It’s just one simple question.”
“Don’t be angry, Geoff,” Muriel said meekly, putting her arm out on the car to steady herself. “Answer their question and come in and make me a cup of tea.”