The Windmill Cafe Part 2 Autumn Leaves

by Poppy Blake

  Matt swivelled round to peek over the leaves and Rosie did likewise, her heart thudding out a melody of excitement – after all, this was her first ‘stakeout’! - mingled with the dread of being discovered. She wasn’t sure if it was exhilaration or nausea that was causing her breathing to become so shallow.

  The couple paused at the Porsche, the man reaching forward in a gallant gesture to open the driver’s door. Helen smiled affectionately at him before jumping inside, revving the powerful engine and disappearing from view. Her companion remained on the pavement, running his fingers through his thick, silver hair as though pondering his next move. He stroked at the stubble on his jaw, clearly oblivious to the scrutiny of his audience. Eventually he turned and continued down the street in the opposite direction to the guest house until he reached a sleek white Audi TT.

  Not the ideal vehicle of choice of your freelance hitman, mused Rosie, raising herself up onto her tiptoes so as not to miss a thing.

  The man yanked open the door and was about to climb inside when he paused, swinging his head towards the B&B, as though sensing their observation at last. Rosie ducked her head and took a hasty step back into the garden, the heel of her boot squashing a cluster of impressive polyanthus fireglow. Perspiration bubbled at her temples and her heart flayed at her ribcage with panic.

  ‘Did he see me?’ she hissed in Matt’s ear.

  Was he already marching back down the street to investigate, ready to thrust an arrow into her back as she ran for her life? Or would he tackle Matt first? Wrestle him to the ground before plunging a knife into his chest? Thankfully, Matt severed her stream of thought before she could conjure up any more gruesome scenarios.

  ‘No, I don’t think so, but I think we should get back to the café. I don’t know about you, but I want to be there when Helen hears about what happened to Rick so I can watch her reaction.’

  Rosie heard the Audi’s ignition catch and the engine roar away. Within seconds, she and Matt were tearing back to the car park at the Drunken Duck and racing towards the Windmill Café, all thoughts of their romantic encounter on the back burner. As they navigated the narrow country roads at speed, Rosie tried to sculpt a plausible, innocent theory from the events she had just witnessed, but as the café grew nearer each hypothesis became more unlikely than the last.

  Still, there was one thing she knew for certain. Even if Helen hadn’t arranged for Rick to be incapacitated, she definitely had secrets to tell, and the sooner they spoke to her about them the better.

  Chapter 8

  Rosie jumped out of her Mini Cooper just as Helen was walking towards the terrace of the café and she broke into a run to catch her up. However, she was too late to stall her because Phil appeared at the door, his face a picture of shock, then panic.

  ‘Oh, erm, Helen, I…’

  ‘Phil? Brad? What’s everyone doing here? I thought you were hiking to Garside Priory after the camp?’ asked Helen, her eyes bouncing around the sombre gathering in the café. She reached up to twist her long, honey-blonde hair into a top-knot and secure it with a sparkly clip she had taken from her pocket. She radiated cheerfulness – her cheeks displaying a healthy glow and her lips perfectly outlined into a scarlet Cupid’s bow – and it looked like no one was in a hurry to spoil her mood.

  Clearly her meeting with the silver-haired stranger has raised her spirits, thought Rosie. What a shame her bubble of contentment was about to be burst big-style by her next question.

  ‘Where’s Rick?’

  ‘I’ll put the kettle on, shall I?’ suggested Mia, heading towards the kitchen.

  ‘I’ll help you,’ added Steph.

  Rosie cast a glance in Phil’s direction and saw him shake his head, a clear indication that he expected her or one of the others to inform Helen of her husband’s unscheduled visit to the hospital. She looked over to where Emma and Brad were slumped together on the sofa, both studiously avoiding catching her eye. She sighed – the poor woman had been kept in the dark long enough, so she grasped Helen’s elbow and guided her towards one of the Windmill Café’s overstuffed white leather sofas and sat down facing her, sympathy suffusing through her body for the shock she was about to deliver.

  ‘Helen, I’m sorry, we’ve been trying to contact you all morning but your phone must be switched off.’

  ‘Oh, yes, silly me. I often forget to turn it on first thing in the morning. What … what did you want me for?’ At last, it had started to sink in that all was not right and Helen flicked her eyes nervously around the group as her anxiety began to mount. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘It’s Rick. He’s had an accident.’

  ‘Oh my God! What kind of an accident? Is he okay?’

  ‘He’s fine, he’s fine. It’s probably just a flesh wound, nothing serious.’

  Matt, who had followed her to the café in his SUV but had paused in the car park to take a phone call, appeared at the French doors and Rosie heaved a sigh of relief. For the briefest moment, his bright blue eyes lingered on hers before he strode towards Helen, his palm outstretched, with Freddie bringing up the rear.

  ‘Helen Forster? I’m Matt Wilson. I own Ultimate Adventures and I led the hike to the Garside Priory this morning. I’m so sorry about what has happened. I’ve just spoken to the hospital. They’ve X-rayed Rick’s ankle and diagnosed a displaced fracture which means he’ll need surgery. He has to wait for the swelling to go down before they can operate so he could be in there for a couple of days.’

  ‘But … I don’t understand. What happened? I’ve just got back from the village to be told he’s had an accident … what … what kind of an accident?’

  Before Matt could answer, Brad jumped in, the corners of his lips pulled into his cheeks as he struggled to keep the smirk from his face. If Rosie hadn’t known better she would have thought he was enjoying his friend’s misfortune.

  ‘He was shot with an arrow. Our esteemed chairman does nothing by halves!’

  ‘An arrow?’

  Helen’s hand flew to her mouth, her fingers trembling on her lower lip. Her eyes widened and her face drained of all colour beneath her expertly applied mask of expensive cosmetics. She stared at Matt in confusion, and then turned to Rosie, her lower jaw working overtime as she struggled to understand what Brad had said and formulate her next enquiry.

  ‘Someone fired an arrow at Rick? You mean like a bow and arrow?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Helen flicked an incredulous glance at Phil, then Emma, clearly expecting them to tell her it was all a joke, a switch-around of the pranks Rick regularly played on them, and Brad, and no doubt all the other members of the Myth Seekers Society.

  ‘It’s true,’ said Emma, an involuntary shiver rippling through her body as she took the seat on the other side of Helen. ‘I’m so sorry, Helen. We found him this morning collapsed in the middle of the cloister at Garside Priory with an arrow sticking out of his leg. It was … well, it was horrible.’

  ‘Oh my God!’ cried Helen, her jaw loose, disbelief scrawled over her soft features. At last the tears began to course down her cheeks leaving pale tracks in her foundation. ‘I’ve … I’ve got to get to the hospital.’

  ‘Of course. A taxi is waiting in the car park to take you over to Norwich immediately. I’m sorry, there’s no point trying to ring Rick,’ added Matt, seeing Helen extricate her phone from her handbag. ‘His phone’s out of battery. Also, I should warn you that I’ve just taken a call from the police and they’re on their way over there to talk to him.’

  ‘The police want to talk to Rick?’

  ‘Well, I suppose they’ll want to talk to everyone.’

  ‘What about?’

  Rosie thought she detected a ripple of fear in Helen’s voice, and if it were possible her complexion blanched even further – which only served to encourage Rosie’s creative theories that Helen, or her friend, were in some way involved in her husband’s accident. She conveniently ignored the fact that Helen appeared genuinely stunned at the n
ews, putting it down to her being a very good actress.

  ‘They’ll need to establish exactly what happened, and to ask us whether we saw anything unusual either this morning or last night that might give them a clue about who could be responsible.’

  ‘If you’ll excuse me, I just need to…’

  Helen jettisoned from the sofa and rushed towards the Windmill Café’s bathroom, her face so white she looked like she’d just endured an hour of root canal work, yet the clacking of her stiletto heels on the white-washed wooden flooring sounded incongruously jolly. As she reached the door, Steph met her carrying a large silver tray laden with a fresh cafetière of coffee, eight mugs and a plate of homemade shortbread balanced on the top.

  ‘Oh, Helen, I’m so sorry about Rick. I thought you’d like a…’

  Helen ignored her and ran into the Ladies’.

  ‘I can’t face eating or drinking anything until I know Rick’s going to be okay!’ declared Emma, getting up from the sofa and linking her arm through Brad’s. ‘I’m going back to the lodge for a lie down. Are you coming, Brad?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘I think I’d like to go back too, Steph,’ mumbled Phil, his jawline rigid from the strain of trying to keep a lid on his emotions. ‘To be honest, I’m absolutely exhausted with all the emotional turmoil. I could really do with a nap.’

  Rosie suspected Phil wanted to leave so he could have a good cry in the privacy of his lodge, but she didn’t blame him. In fact, she felt exactly the same – a bout of tears would definitely ease the tension that had been mounting since they’d discovered Rick.

  With a sigh of relief, she waved off her guests, saw a pasty-faced Helen settled into the back seat of the taxi, and then returned to sit with Mia, Matt and Freddie at one of the tables in the empty café. She inhaled a long breath, relishing the faint fragrance of Flash, its familiar aroma soothing her nerves and settling the rampaging bewilderment that had threatened to send her to her own bed. She scanned her beloved café, appreciating the extreme order she always craved when life got too complicated.

  ‘Well, I don’t know about you, Matt, but I could definitely do with a mug of that coffee Steph and Mia made – and I’ve never been known to refuse a slice of your homemade lemon shortbread, Rosie,’ announced Freddie, kneeling down at the table to pour them each a drink, his customary cheerfulness lifting the mood.

  ‘Me neither,’ said Matt, his smile of gratitude for his friend’s offer cancelling out the smudges of tiredness beneath his eyes. Rosie saw the glint of mischief in Matt’s eyes and knew that he was joking, but of course, the situation was far from a joke; it was deadly serious, as his next few words proved. ‘I have it on good authority that shortbread can cure a multitude of ills, including the potential devastation of a person’s business. I didn’t want to announce it to everyone before, but when the police called earlier they told me that the centre has to close its doors until the person who shot Rick is caught. I’m so sorry about all this, Freddie, and to you too, Mia. I know how much you were looking forward to getting started on your training.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Matt, Ultimate Adventures will come through this,’ said Mia, biting into a piece of shortbread, catching the crumbs with her palm so as not to freak Rosie out. ‘Just like the Windmill Café did. And do you know why?’

  ‘Why?’ asked Freddie, forgetting about Rosie’s crumb-vigilante tendencies and sending cascades of sugar onto the table. Rosie fought her demons for a mere two seconds before declaring their victory and reaching for a cloth. She was just too tired to wage war on her foibles that day.

  ‘Because Matt and Rosie are going to team up again and solve the Case of the Divergent Arrow, aren’t you? I saw that gleam in your eye, Rosie, when you were watching Helen’s reaction to Rick’s accident. Am I wrong?’

  ‘So you’re reforming Willerby’s crime-busting duo again?’ asked Freddie.

  Matt smiled at the enthusiasm in his best friend’s voice. ‘Mia’s right, as usual. Rosie and I have talked about asking a few questions to see if we can solve the mystery before I totally drag my father’s reputation through the mud, or we go bankrupt from lack of trade. But just because we’ve done it once, doesn’t mean we’ll be as successful in identifying the culprit this time.’

  Silence descended on the café as they each considered the implications of what had happened to Rick during an Ultimate Adventures expedition and what the fallout would mean.

  Rosie cupped her coffee mug in her palms and took an appreciative sip, watching Matt out of the corner of her eye as he ran his fingers through his blond spiky hair. Her heart contracted in sympathy for what he was going through, but the emotion she was experiencing was more than that. Matt was the one who had challenged her to stop wallowing in the mist of misery that her break-up with Harry had caused. He had taught her to simply stitch her heartbreak into the fabric of life and live alongside it, gathering new memories, collecting new experiences, making new friendships to embroider over the top. He had helped her to realize that happiness could co-exist with sadness.

  And, she was happy to report she was getting there. Life was a journey not a destination and she was beginning to enjoy the ride again, especially when she had friends like Mia, and Freddie and Matt, to share it with. She was proud to say that her go-to reaction when she woke up in the morning was a smile, and that she could at last see her future as an arrow-straight road, rather than a tangled web of lingering resentment over the way Harry had jilted her for someone else. She knew it was time to let someone new into her heart, just as her sister Georgina had done with Jack – a soulmate with whom she could share her life and trust with her future.

  ‘You know, Rosie, before you took over the Windmill Café, nothing interesting ever happened in Willerby. Matt and I even managed to sneak away on a few weekend fishing trips. Next thing we know, you parachute into our midst and we suddenly find ourselves right in the middle of another exciting episode of The Willerby Whodunnits.’

  Rosie laughed. ‘Nothing to do with me this time, Freddie, but I’m more than happy to step into the shoes of John Watson if Matt wants to go all Sherlock again and investigate what happened over at the Garside Priory. After all, I want to return the favour.’

  ‘Me too,’ added Mia.

  ‘Me three!’

  Freddie helped himself to a celebratory slice of shortbread, but this time he copied Mia by placing his hand at his chin and then tossing the crumbs into his mouth.

  ‘Okay,’ said Matt, turning his head away slightly as he took a gulp of his coffee to hide the swirling emotions his friends’ loyalty had caused. ‘Did either of you see anything or anyone suspicious on the trek over to the priory?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What I don’t understand is how we all slept through your alarm, Matt,’ mused Freddie. ‘It’s never happened before and we’ve done dozens of wild camping trips.’

  ‘Actually, Matt and I have a theory about that. We think someone must have put something in our coffee.’

  ‘Are you saying we were drugged?’ cried Mia, coffee spluttering from her lips. She peered into the bottom of her mug as if expecting to see the remnants of a sedative. ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘It’s the only explanation.’

  ‘Oh, my God! You’re absolutely right. Didn’t I tell you that my brain felt a little bit fuzzy around the edges when I woke up, like it was filled with strawberry blancmange? I was fine once we’d started on our trek to the priory and the fresh air worked its magic, so I didn’t think any more about it. Who do you think did that?’

  ‘Well, it has to be that moron, Rick, doesn’t it?’ spluttered Freddie, his tone not only indignant but angry. ‘He obviously wanted to be the only person in the group to witness the sunrise through the stone arch so that he could lord it over everyone at their Myth Seekers meetings and goad them about sleeping through it. We all saw how he went on during the camping trip, didn’t we? How he spent the whole time belittling his f
ellow club members, vying to be the leader of the group in everything they did?’

  ‘It does sound like the sort of thing he’d do,’ added Mia, her eyes widened in disgust.

  ‘It makes perfect sense,’ continued Freddie, on a roll with his deductions. ‘I think he set his own alarm, then, safe in the knowledge everyone else was out for the count, he set off to watch the sunrise and whoever is responsible for his murder was either waiting for him at the priory or followed him there.’

  ‘It’s possible,’ said Rosie, knowing that if the two incidents were unconnected, Freddie’s theory was the most viable. ‘Rick is definitely more than just an enthusiast when it comes to myth-chasing. He’s totally obsessed with everything to do with legends and folklore, and not just in the UK either.’

  ‘So what fairy tale was Rick researching in Norfolk?’

  Rosie paused for a second before leaping in. She knew Freddie held no truck with fables, legends and myths, preferring straightforward no-nonsense facts. He wouldn’t be interested in stories about the ghost of a Brown Lady or the spirit of a disgruntled monk wandering around the priory waiting to shoot an unsuspecting visitor in the foot. But then she glanced at Matt, his eyebrows raised high into his forehead, his face suffused with interest. Unlike Harry who had made it his mission to sneer and deride every suggestion Rosie made to improve their Pimlico flower shop’s business, she knew that Matt would listen carefully to her thoughts, however off-the-wall, and give them careful consideration.

  ‘Well, there’s…

  ‘No, no, let me have a guess! Maybe one of Robin Hood’s ancestors galloped over the fields, shot Rick with an arrow because he’d invaded the priory’s sacred ground, and then hared off back to Sherwood Forest? Or perhaps it was the tree fairies from the Isle of Man who followed him over here, bided their time as guests of the elves in the surrounding woods before wreaking their revenge for the time he trampled on their flower beds or gate-crashed their toadstool tea party? Oh, what if it was a ghostly black feline who attacks anyone who dares to trek across the farmer’s fields?’