Shaking his head he takes in the room. “This is crazy. I’m going to go to the local pubs and drag everyone out and up here to the village hall.”
“You can’t do that!” I say, appalled.
“I can and I will. People need to stop listening to stupid gossip and get their priorities straight,” he fumes.
George wanders in to stand between us. “Well, it’s seven o’clock. We should start the meeting.”
“No.” Jack waves a hand as he darts past us and out into the chilly September evening. “Give me ten minutes.”
“Ten minutes to do what?” George asks me, a surprised expression on his face. “Where’s he going?”
“To the pub down the road to part everyone from their pints and haul them up here to the meeting.”
George nods his approval of Jack’s hare-brained scheme. “Right. We’ll give him ten minutes then.”
I lean against the doorway and watch Jack sprint down the street, soon disappearing inside the Ring O’Bells public house. Amazingly, within a matter of minutes, he’s leading some thirty or so people back towards the village hall. My stomach tightens with nerves. Now we just have to convince these people to support the campaign, and with Jack having dragged them away from their pints they probably won’t be in the best of moods. Standing to one side to let people through the doorway, I cross my fingers the meeting will all go off OK. It could all just descend into a heated debate about me and how likely it is that I stabbed Armand.
“I’ll go and check the other pub up the road, see if I can get any other interest. You make a start if you like.” Jack ushers the last of the batch of people into the hall and then sprints off once more along the road in search of any other people he can twist their arms to attend.
Following Brenda and George up the wooden steps at the side of the tiny stage to the top table, I feel sick with nerves. The sound of the squeaky floorboards echo around the village hall now that everyone is seated and waiting expectantly. When I’d got dressed for tonight I’d briefly contemplated putting on one of my black business suits which are still lurking in my wardrobe, stark reminders of my corporate past. Wearing a suit might have bolstered my confidence but it would also probably have alienated me even further from the locals. The jeans and sweater I’m wearing are, I’m sure, a much safer choice.
“Thank you for coming to this meeting to try to save the village store,” I say, knowing from the burning sensation that my cheeks are blushed bright red. “We hope that you’ll join us in trying to do everything we can possibly think of to try to keep the store open. Firstly, please all ensure that you sign the petition you’ll find in the store itself and in the local pubs.”
“The pub we were just dragged out of you mean!” heckles a man I don’t recognise, and I cringe at his words.
“There are also some letters printed off on the table here which are all written and ready to go,” I force myself to continue. “You just need to sign them and send them off to the local council to protest against the idea that we could lose the only store for miles around. We cannot allow Brenda and George’s wonderful shop to be converted into yet more holiday accommodation, something that we certainly don’t need. The store, I’m sure you’ll all agree, is a lifeline for the community in this village and the ones which surround it.”
“Hear! Hear!” Brenda claps enthusiastically at this remark and there’s a ripple of applause around the room. Encouraged, I continue to explain about the campaign and how local people can get involved to help in the battle to keep the store open. As I speak another dozen or so people filter into the hall and sit down towards the back, closely followed by Jack who grins at me, gives me a thumbs-up gesture and takes a seat himself.
One hour later the campaign has been discussed in great detail, several good ideas have come to the fore, and people are heading back to the pub to finish off the evening – and probably their earlier pints too.
“Joining us for a stronger drink, Lizzie?” George stops stacking chairs back into the alcove and wanders over to where I’m chatting with Brenda over a cup of tea.
“Oh, not for me, thanks. I don’t want to ruin people’s evening even more,” I say, attempting a lame joke.
Brenda flaps a hand at me. “Nonsense! You ignore the silly gossip and rumours, dear. You’re coming to the pub with us to celebrate a successful evening. People have taken letters to sign and post and offered help in distributing flyers and getting signatures on petitions. Now, I’d call that a success, wouldn’t you?”
I nod and smile weakly. “I think that’s more down to Jack’s efforts than mine though. He was the one who dragged everyone up here to the meeting.”
“Where is Jack? I must thank him,” Brenda says, looking around.
“If he’s any sense, he’s probably in the pub himself,” George says with a chuckle. “Come on, let’s go and join him.”
“I think I’ll head home. It’s been a long day.”
Brenda quirks a questioning brow at me. “You’re sure? You’re not just saying that to let those pesky gossipmongers win?”
I rest a hand on her arm. “I’m really tired. I just need an early night. Honestly.”
“Thanks for helping to organise all this, Lizzie. I don’t know what we’d have done without you.” Brenda places her cup on the table and envelops me a warm hug which goes a long way towards lifting my spirits.
“You’re welcome. I just hope that it does the trick and you manage to keep the store.” I watch the two of them leave and then shut and lock the doors behind them. I need to return the keys to the village hall to the caretaker, who is probably in the pub with all of the others. I can just pop it through the letterbox of his cottage on my way home though rather than face tracking him down in the local hostelry.
“Not going to the pub?”
I jump and clasp a hand to my chest. “Jack! You scared me! I thought everybody had left. I’d just locked up.”
“Nope, I’m still here. Just taking a phone call in the corridor out the back.”
I wonder who the call was from. Could it have been something to do with the investigation? It could also have been a woman he was chatting to - an ex-girlfriend, a future girlfriend. Brenda had said the other day that Jack was single so I presume there isn’t a current girlfriend. Especially after the way he’d kissed me earlier today. A flicker of jealousy bubbles inside of me. This is crazy. Jack Mathis is trouble. The last thing I need right now is more trouble, and yet…
Perched on the edge of the table for support, the pressures of the investigation, the campaign and running the farm all crash together, and a wave of tiredness washes over me.
Jack peers at me, concern in his eyes. “You all right?”
“I’m fi-”
“Fine,” he finishes the sentence for me. “You were about to say, once again, that you’re fine. Well, you’re obviously not fine. Why do you keep pushing people away when they’re worried about you or trying to help you?”
The kiss we shared is running again on the mini cinema screen in my head. “I didn’t push you away earlier.”
He stops frowning and his features break into a cheeky grin. “No,” he says, nodding. “You definitely didn’t push me away when we were sharing that amazing kiss.”
I blink and look across at him. Did he really just describe our kiss as amazing? I mean, I’d rank it in the amazing category myself, but men aren’t usually very effusive about things like that. Adam certainly wasn’t one for romantic gestures or whispering sweet nothings in my ear. Could this crime-busting special agent, all six foot plus of muscle and heart-stopping smile, be one of those rare creatures? A romantic guy? Surely not…
Anyway, I can’t risk getting involved with him. We’re in the middle of a murder investigation. I should never have let that kiss happen.
Silence hangs between us, and as I shuffle my backside across the table a little more in an effort to get comfortable, Jack rubs a hand at the back of his neck and looks plain old unco
mfortable. I rack my brains for something to say, needing a change of topic.
“How did you know that everyone would be in the pub before the meeting?” is the best I can come up with.
“That’s just where people congregate, more comfortable there than in this draughty old place with the most uncomfortable chairs on the planet. Come on, let’s lock up and take the keys to the caretaker, he’ll be in the pub as well no doubt.”
“No. I’ll just drop them through his letterbox on my way home.”
He meets my gaze and then nods. I’m guessing he knows I’m not going to be persuaded to walk into a crowded Ring O’Bells public house and have everyone staring at me. “Oh, I almost forgot. That call I just took. It was from a contact of mine with the feedback about Armand’s mobile phone records.”
Instantly I perk up, eager to hear his news. “And?”
“At the time you mentioned hearing Armand yelling and ranting on his phone, the call appears to have been to his manager, Billy Brunsworth.”
“Oh,” I say, feeling unaccountably disappointed. “I thought it would turn out to be his wife. So, there was something he wasn’t happy about with his manager too then.”
“Looks that way. I’m already looking into the background of this Billy guy. Hopefully we’ll find something useful there soon.”
“Yes. Preferably before I get arrested.”
He walks over and takes my hand. “You won’t get arrested. I’m on the case. The local constabulary might not have much experience with solving murders, especially ones involving celebrities, but I have. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
Hmm. Easy for him to say. I won’t be able to stop worrying until whoever stabbed Armand is safely behind bars. I gently ease my hand out of his and get to my feet. “I should be going.” I wonder if he’s about to kiss me again, but he doesn’t. He follows me outside and walks me to my car which is parked just across the road. It’s even chillier now, and I wrap my coat around me more tightly, a part of me wishing that Jack would snuggle in close to warm me up a little. But he doesn’t do that either.
“I’ll give you a call in the morning to update you on the investigation and what happens next,” he says as we reach Daisy and I blip the remote to unlock her.
Forcing a smile, I look up at him. “Thanks. That would be good.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I wake at the ridiculous hour of four in the morning. It’s pitch black outside. I’m not much of a morning person. Is this even classed as morning? It feels like it’s still the middle of the night. My mind refuses to switch off for long at the moment, so here I am, plus my stomach is churning with worry - and with hunger. Toast in hand, I sit at the dining table and wonder if I should start making contingency arrangements for the farm in case I do get arrested and held in a police cell for days or months on end. The very thought fills me with horror. I can’t ask Frazer to help out around here; he has more than enough on his plate at the moment as it is. Emma should be released from the hospital today, much to his relief. The children are staying on with their grandparents for a few more days to give their mum a chance to settle back in at home. I can’t ask Jack either; he’s already got work on his brother’s farm to sort and he’s trying to catch a killer and clear my name. Plus, in a few weeks he’ll be back working at the agency. Getting to my feet, I dump the half-eaten toast in the bin, any semblance of appetite now gone. At least Stella and David are arriving today which might help take my mind off things a bit.
As soon as it’s light outside, I pull on some wellington boots and head out to start my daily tasks. First up, feeding the chickens. Eskdale has about fifty free range hens which my uncle used to know all the names of. Sadly, I haven’t yet reached that level of knowledge and I hope they’re not so sensitive as to take umbrage with me and refuse to lay eggs on principle. I let them out of the various sheds where they have been snug overnight, protected from any wandering foxes, and set about feeding them before I collect up the latest eggs. Usually I find feeding the chickens to be quite a relaxing and contemplative experience, it’s one of my favourite jobs around Eskdale. Today though my thoughts are not calmed at all by going through my usual routine. Once the chickens are sorted and pecking happily in the field, I head to the greenhouses and start on feeding, watering and harvesting the plants. A few hours later most of my planned jobs for the morning have been sorted and I’m armed with loads of tomatoes, courgettes, spring onions and salad leaves to box up along with the eggs. I’ll deliver them to my customers later in the day.
Back indoors, I decide to tackle baking a cake for Stella and David. Scanning the bookshelves in the living room, I find one of my aunt’s old recipe books and thumb through it. The cakes inside it all sound delicious, but I know some of them I don’t have the ingredients for and others are way beyond my limited cooking abilities. Truth be told, all of them are way beyond my baking abilities. But today, for some reason, I feel more optimistic. Perhaps it’s the prospect of seeing Stella again. I’ve missed her so much. I miss seeing my parents on a regular basis too. I miss gathering in a local trendy coffee shop for a good gossip. I miss lots of things and people from my old life in London. Maybe one day I’ll go down there and stay with my parents or Stella and David for a weekend. I can always avoid the people and places I definitely don’t want to reconnect with. Maybe one day.
Deciding on carrot cake I gather together the ingredients and make a start. Grating the carrot and stirring the mixture makes me wish I was a better baker. Why didn’t I inherit the cake gene from my Aunt Molly? I spoon the mixture into a tin and pop it into the Aga. Unfortunately, my aunt didn’t include oven details in this particular recipe. I guess she knew those off by heart. Closing the door on the Aga, I just hope I’ve guessed that part of the process right. Heading upstairs, I figure I should have enough time to take a quick shower and get changed before Stella and David arrive. With perfect timing I’m just walking back downstairs, dressed in my smartest jeans and a sweater, when I hear a car pull up in the yard. Rushing outside I envelop Stella in a huge hug before she’s even completely out of the car.
“I’ve missed you!” Stella says with a laugh as she stumbles out of David’s top-of-the-range car. The waves of her long red hair are restrained in a ponytail secured by a scarf of, no doubt carefully chosen for the season, autumnal colours.
“It’s been too long,” I reply, standing back to give her room to breathe. “You look fabulous!”
She waves her left hand in front of my face as she grins from ear to ear. “Maybe that’s what getting engaged does for me!”
I grab at her hand, inspecting the small but beautifully-formed diamond nestling on a band of white gold on her perfectly manicured finger. “You didn’t!” I gasp, delighted for her.
“We did!” she says as David comes round the car to give me a friendly hug. I stand on tiptoe and peck his cheek in congratulations. David is far and away the tallest person I know. Oh, actually, come to think of it, Jack’s probably about the same height.
“I’m so pleased for you both!” I squeal.
Stella links her arm through mine, her expression now suddenly serious. “I so wanted to tell you but I was worried and, well, if this is difficult for you, I understand, truly I do, and I’ll say no more about it. But I couldn’t not tell my best friend… you do understand?” she asks anxiously. “Is it OK?”
I nod and beam a smile at her. “Of course it is!”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m absolutely positive!” I reply as I lead both of them inside. In the kitchen I stand in the middle of the floor and raise my arms. “Well, this is Eskdale. My home these days. Come in, make yourselves comfortable.” Suddenly, I feel a little embarrassed. The wooden cabinets now look scuffed and battered rather than rustic. The sofa in the corner of the room somehow seems more saggy and faded today. Despite my best attempts to clean and smarten up the place, there’s still a definite air of shabbiness lingering and I know it’s a far cry from the
smart little apartment in London which Stella and David share.
“It’s gorgeous,” Stella enthuses. “I adore it!” She gives me a reassuring hug.
David nods his approval. “It’s a proper farmhouse. So cosy and homely. Sorry we didn’t get chance to come up here sooner to see you. Things have been crazy in London.”
“Even worse than usual,” Stella chips in. “Working all hours. I really have missed you.”
“I’ve missed you too,” I say, with a flicker of regret.
“So, any chance of a cup of coffee? I’m parched.” Stella moves to the Aga. “Oh, wow, this is like one of those you see in the lifestyle magazines. They say there’s quite an art to cooking using them. Is it true?” She stops and sniffs the air. “Can I smell burning?”
Oh, sugar! The carrot cake is still inside the Aga! I’d completely forgotten about it. Grabbing a tea towel, I open the oven door and peer inside. Great. It’s a disaster. “Sorry,” I say as I pull the cake out and place it on a wooden board on the worktop. “It’s a bit on the burnt side.”
Stella rests a hand on my shoulder. “No worries! If we cut the top off then the inside will be perfectly edible!”
I doubt it but I smile and nod, grateful for her optimism. “I’m still getting to grips with the Aga,” I say by way of excuse.
“David, since you’re the one who loves cooking, you should give it a go. Cook us up a nice meal tonight, perhaps? What do you think, Lizzie?”
“Sounds good to me.” David is a brilliant cook. “I’ll look forward to it. Let me know what you need and I’ll head to the local shop for groceries. Provided it’s not too exotic and something they don’t stock, otherwise I’ll end up driving thirty minutes to the nearest supermarket.”
“What do you fancy from my extensive recipe repertoire?” David asks, checking out the Aga as he speaks, opening doors and squinting at dials.
“How about that chicken pasta bake you made the other week at home?” Stella suggests. “That was delicious. Lizzie?”
Murder On The Menu: A Romantic Comedy Culinary Cozy Mystery (A Celebrity Mystery) Page 11