The extra room for that had pushed the conservatory wall farther out into the garden. What had once been a path from Willow’s kitchen to her shed, was now flush with the wall. Although the area was drab with the chill of winter, by the time she was ready to open the teashop, it should be bursting with flowers full of joy and color.
Feeling comforted by her investigation, Willow retreated to the lounge to sit down. The TV blared mindlessly into the room, a set of infomercials for nothing she wanted to buy. It would be a long time until her favorite show was on—Miss Walsham Investigates.
It still sent a thrill down Willow’s backbone to think that the cast and crew would be visiting her small town of Aniseed Valley to film a couple of episodes for the upcoming season. The date was marked in her diary with a big sunburst. The teashop would be open for business by then, but Willow had no qualms whatsoever about closing it down for a week to star-chase. She hoped that the reality of operating the shop wouldn’t intrude on that dream.
Even with the noise of the TV blaring, Willow still jumped when the phone rang. She pumped the volume down and hurried over to grab the landline from its cradle. After the morning she’d had, it made sense to be a bit cautious, so Willow answered with a tentative, “Hello?”
“It’s Reg.” There was a pause as her friend gasped or sobbed. Either one, it sent a wave of distress running through Willow. “I’m down at the sheriff’s office. They’ve been questioning me for a couple of hours, and they still won’t let me go. Wender said I only had one call, and I didn’t know who else to phone.”
“The sheriff is questioning you?”
“He said it’s going to be hours yet. I don’t know why—I’ve answered all his questions, but he just keeps going over the same stuff, again and again. It’s like he’s trying to trip me up!”
Willow felt a jolt of panic as her knees tried to give way again, dumping her on sofa unexpectedly. She closed her eyes and attempted to focus on what advice to offer. Although it had been a few months since her own foray into the sheriff’s office, the experience felt closer than that, popping to the top of her thoughts in bright technicolor where other, more recent happenings, faded and drifted away.
“If you’ve already answered a question, then you tell the sheriff ‘asked and answered.’ Have you got that?”
“Does that work?”
“I don’t know, but if he’s going over the same area, then he’s trying to catch you out on something. Don’t give him the opportunity to twist your words or offer up a suggestion. That’s how false confessions happen.”
Although her words were meant to reassure Reg, his breathing edged into short, frantic pants. “You think they want to pin this murder on me?”
“I don’t know what they want. I’m sure that the sheriff is just trying to get things right. Last time there was a murder, he had another department stride in and take him over, remember?”
Detective Jones’ face sprang into Willow’s mind. If that man had been in charge of the last investigation from the start, then she felt confident she would now be appealing for help from a jail cell.
“Don’t worry, Reg.” Willow tried to inject a note of soothing into her voice, even as her own levels of panic increased. “It’ll all be over soon. After all, it’s not as though you actually killed Jeff Waterman, is it?”
There was a long pause, then just as Reg came back on the line, it clicked off. Dead. Willow hung the phone up, waiting tensely for a few minutes in case it rang again—her friend having accidentally terminated the call. When it didn’t, she gave a firm nod of her head.
Reg was in trouble, and when a friend was in danger, Miss Walsham had taught her there was only one thing to do. Investigate!
Chapter Six
It didn’t take Willow long to draw up a list of suspects. There would be others, she felt sure of that, but the ones she knew about were the two employees who’d been fired and the woman whose building job Jeff Waterman had screwed up.
First, she would tackle Charley. Not because he was the most familiar to her—though that was a reassurance—but because Willow thought she knew where he’d be. The Old Chestnut. The day was hardly over the yardarm yet, but if the man liked a drink in his local, then that’s where he’d go after bad news.
And if she was wrong? Then she’d go to the library and enlist Harmony’s help to track down the others.
It turned out Willow was spot on in her assessment. As she walked from the bright winter sunlight of the town square into the dowdy recesses of the pub, she immediately spotted Charley propping up the bar.
“What’ll you have, love?” the bartender called out. His cheerful voice was at odds with the atmosphere, the lighting was subdued, and the clientele occupying the space so far were quiet.
Willow gave a thankful nod and paused. She didn’t drink much and wasn’t sure what the current fashion was. “A glass of white wine?” she said, more of a question than a statement.
“Right you are,” the barman said, walking over and opening up a refrigerated cabinet. Willow took a seat next to Charley who so far hadn’t even turned his head at the exchange.
When her drink arrived, condensation beading on the side of the glass, Willow nearly fell off her barstool at the cost. She’d expected something akin to the outrageously priced coffees that were served in the café opposite. Instead, the bartender informed her it was double that. Willow paid the money over reluctantly, even more sure that she wouldn’t fall prey to the allure of alcohol. It would eat through her savings far too quickly.
“Hey, Charley,” Willow said when the man seemed determined not to acknowledge her.
A grunt was the only answer, so Willow picked up her glass and had a sip. The sour taste and coldness would have been refreshing in the height of summer. Now, despite the warmth of the bar, the mouthful just made her shiver.
“Not often we get a pretty lady in here, is it, Charley?” The bartender’s attempt to engage the man in conversation fell as flat as Willow’s.
Charley took a mouthful of his pint, seemingly enough to tease out the words, “Shelby was in here just last night.”
“True enough. I think the keyword there was pretty.”
The bartender's quip drew nothing more than an eye-roll from its audience.
As Willow looked around, uncertain how to go ahead with questioning such a recalcitrant man, her eye was caught by the antique mirror at the back of the spirits bar. Between the muted lighting and the sheen of age on its surface, the reflection it gave of her wiped a good twenty years off Willow’s age.
She turned her head from one side to the other, appreciative of the temporary change. If she genuinely looked like that, modeling would still be an option open to her. Not the fashion runways of youth, but a sweet gig selling momsy-type things to the masses. An infomercial, like the ones she hadn’t watched that morning.
Not usually vain, Willow was so entranced with the alterations—as enticing as a funhouse mirror—that she almost didn’t notice when her companion finally turned and acknowledged her existence.
“Didn’t he tell you?” Charley asked in a low grumble. “I’m not working for Mr. Jeff Waterman and his terrible building business any longer. If you want to complain about the workmanship, it’s not me you’re looking for.”
He took another long swallow of his beer, draining a third of the pint glass in one go. Willow took another sip of her wine to keep him company, once again shivering a little as the cold liquid hit her palate.
“Didn’t you hear about your old boss, then?”
“Hear what?” Charley turned to look at her with an expression somewhere between blank and shocked. He seemed different in here than he had in her kitchen, making jovial conversation in his British accent while waiting for a cup of tea.
“Jeff Waterman is dead.”
“I told you that, Charley,” the bartender said, wandering back along to where they were sitting. “Don’t you remember?”
Charley smiled sudden
ly, his face transforming in an instance into one of joy. “Aye. I’d forgotten. That deserves another round.” Charley drained the last of his beer and held the empty glass aloft.
But the barman was shaking his head. “I’m afraid not. You need to get home and eat something. Once you sober up, you can come back in, but I won’t serve you again today. You’ve had too much as it is.”
Charley looked disgusted and pushed back from the bar, spinning and almost falling off the side.
“Give me my keys, then,” Charley demanded when he righted himself. “I need them to drive home.”
“You’re not driving anywhere.” The bartender gave Willow a curious look. “Unless you’re here to bundle him home, love? I could hand them to you.”
“I don’t even know where he lives,” Willow admitted with a short laugh. “So, I doubt I’m the best option.”
“Go down Gardiner’s Lane, take the main road out to Pine Fields, then turn right. It’s halfway along the street.” The bartender issued the directions while rummaging in the register. “Here you go. It’s a red Ford parked just a few spots down.”
When Willow hesitated, the barman winked at her. “It’ll give some tired mother a nice spot to park when she’s doing her shopping. Otherwise, old Charley here will just end up with another ticket for overstaying his welcome.” The man raised his voice. “Something he has a tendency to do everywhere.”
Charley flapped his hands in annoyance at the bartender, but from the rapport between them, Willow guessed they were old mates.
“Okay.” She grabbed the car keys. “Are you alright to walk to your car?” Willow asked Charley. After a few staggers, the man straightened up, and she breathed a sigh of relief.
Outside, the bright sunlight hit them both, sending Willow into a furious bout of blinking. By the time she got a hand up to shade her eyes, Charley had managed to wander out onto the road, earning himself a shout from a cyclist passing by.
“No, you don’t.” Willow grabbed hold and steered him toward the vehicle the bartender had described. She felt a twinge of guilt as she pressed the button, then relief as the car beeped back at her and the doors unlocked. It wouldn’t do her reputation any good if it looked like she was stealing a vehicle in the middle of the day.
After she helped Charley into the passenger seat, it occurred to Willow that it wouldn’t look good for her either way.
The drive was just a short distance. A lucky thing, too, otherwise Willow would have faced an unexpectedly long walk back to the town square.
After bundling Charley inside the vehicle, it was just as much of an effort to reverse that and tug him back out to escort him through the front door. Not wanting to intrude any more than she already had, Willow didn’t worry about putting the car in the garage. She just left it parked in the driveway.
“Do you want a cup of tea, then?” Charley asked her as Willow was smoothing down her skirt, ready to leave.
She turned back to him, seeing that the bleary look in his eyes was already starting to clear. A hot drink would be nice but getting home would be nicer.
You tracked him down for a reason, her internal voice insisted. Remember that your friend is currently being interrogated.
“That’d be lovely.” Willow sat down in the dining room, presuming that the tipsy wave of Charley’s hand was an invitation.
“It won’t be as good as yours, but it’s strong.” Charley brought a teapot over to the table, along with a couple of cups and saucers made from delicate china. They were so incongruous with the man bringing them across that Willow laughed.
“Hey. Isn’t a man allowed nice things?” Charley asked with a grin. He was close to being back to the same man who’d been at her house yesterday. Either the effects of alcohol were short-lived, or he hadn’t been nearly as many sheets to the wind as he’d seemed.
Willow thought about all the things she wanted to ask him, not sure the right way to go about it. Where subtlety might work on another person, she doubted it would have the same effect on Charley, especially if his state of drunkenness hadn’t been an act.
“I heard Jeff yelling at you yesterday,” Willow said, an old admonition from her mother coloring her cheeks a little as she realized the admission amounted to eavesdropping. “He was very loud,” she added defensively, even though Charley hadn’t said a word.
“Wasn’t just me he fired. The poor kid on his apprenticeship was kicked out, too.”
“That’s Lee Harrington, right?”
Charley nodded, taking a sip of his tea. Willow tried hers as well and swallowed with gratitude as it turned out to be nice and tasty.
“He was set to finish out the year, then he’d be able to call himself a qualified builder and go out on his own. Now—” Charley shrugged “—he’s back to square one.”
“Couldn’t someone else just take over his training?”
“There’re none others who offer it around here. That’s how Jeff roped a lot of young men into working for him in the first place. I mean, it’s great if you’re starting out, but after a decade at the same wages, it grows a bit thin.”
Willow sipped her tea again, staring into the cup and swirling the liquid around against the fine china to reveal its beautiful sheen. “He had nothing to lose, then?”
At that, Charley snorted. “Lee had more to lose than any of us. He’s got a pregnant young wife to look after, and he’s only nineteen. To lose that job wrecked all his plans in one fell swoop.” Charley rubbed his hands along the length of his thigh, looking downcast. “I’m the reason the kid got the boot.”
“What do you mean?”
Charley shrugged, his face filling with color as he gulped the rest of his cup and refilled it from the pot. “The wage that Jeff paid us wasn’t enough. It might be for a young fellow on his own but I’ve got a mortgage to pay for, and Lee had his family. I’d started to do a bit of moonlighting.”
Willow nodded, relieved that she could admit to hearing that. “But I don’t understand what the problem was? Working a second job is fine with most bosses. Unless it was interfering with the work you were already doing.”
Charley stood up and walked over to the bench, tipping out the dregs of the tea, then pulling out the strainer and tamping out the wet leaves into the bin. When he came and sat down, Willow thought he looked completely sober again.
“Jeff wasn’t upset about us working on another job, per se,” Charley admitted. “It was more the fact that the jobs we were working were ones he’d bid on and lost.”
It took Willow a few seconds to grasp, then she voiced the idea slowly. “So you would wait to hear Jeff’s bid, then go in at a lower price to secure the contract?”
Charley nodded. “The thing was, even at the lower bid, Lee and I still made more money out of the deal than we would if Jeff took the job. I had the stupid thought that when it all came out, we’d be able to reason with him and it might all turn out okay.”
Willow bit her lips for a second, shaking her head, then gave a short laugh, unable to keep it inside.
Luckily, Charley had caught the same thought. “Yeah. I know. It was a silly thought, but brains seem to work on optimism, don’t they? Never look at the reality, always focused on the dream.”
“I can’t imagine that if Jeff found out he was slighted, he’d be happy to give away more money.” Willow shook her head, the bubble of humor subsiding as the truth of the words struck home. “Everyone might hope for an Amazing Grace moment, but people usually stay exactly the same as they are.”
“True enough. And Jeff firing us on the spot, without any recourse, that was what we both should’ve expected. It still caught us by surprise, though.”
“How’d he find out?”
That question took a bit longer for Charley to answer. He tilted his head to one side, staring at the middle distance while his brow furrowed in thought. “I don’t know. My best guess is that one of our clients called up Jeff, mistakenly thinking he was getting us.” Charley pursed his m
outh, a rueful expression on his face. “I can’t imagine how that conversation would go.”
“Didn’t the other workers know about your job?”
“If they did, it wasn’t any skin off their nose. Jeff had enough work for us as it was, he didn’t need the piddling jobs on the side.”
“If Jeff wasn’t after them, he wouldn’t have bid for them,” Willow pointed out. “He must have thought there was the capacity to get them done.”
But Charley was shaking his head. “Jeff didn’t just cut corners with our wages, he was money hungry and that led to him doing more with less than any builder should.” The man leaned forward, catching and holding Willow’s gaze. “Make sure you have someone good go over your place with a fine-tooth comb. I haven’t noticed anything shady going on there, but after the disaster with Shelby, I’d hate to think of your place being unsafe.”
They chatted for a while longer, Willow reluctant to leave for the walk home and an empty house full of silence. Even Mavis couldn’t compete with the intrusive thoughts of the sight Willow had seen that morning.
In the end, she had to go. Otherwise, neither her nor Mavis would be fed. There was a short tussle with Charley over calling a taxi versus Willow insisting she would enjoy the walk. A man sobering up was no match for her firm insistence.
As Willow walked back to her street, a journey of over twenty minutes, she thought about the details that Charley had revealed. He was a middle-aged man, not the kind to explode suddenly and strike out in a fit of pique. A young man, however…
Thoughts whirled and churned in Willow’s head long after she walked in through her front door.
Chapter Seven
Willow was just sitting down to a hot meal when Reg phoned again, this time almost in tears as he wondered if she’d be free to give him a ride home. After putting plastic wrap over the food, Willow gave Mavis a quick pat and headed out the door.
The relief on Reg’s face when Willow walked into the sheriff’s office was worth the journey. Even though he was a man usually averse to personal contact, he initiated a hug. As Willow squeezed him tightly, rocking back and forth, her friend started to sob. When he pulled back, Reg buried his face in his hands.
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