by Mona Marple
“Well, like I say, if he lost vision, he could have been entirely lost.”
“Must have been, I guess.” Tom said with a shrug. He wouldn’t argue the point.
“I might go out there.” Sandy said. She took a sip of her mocha and felt the satisfaction of the velvet smooth texture. “Fancy joining me?”
“Sure.” Tom said, too quick, too easy. He flashed her a boyish grin. “I’ve been waiting for you to suggest it.”
“You haven’t?” She exclaimed with a laugh. “How did you know I would?”
“Like I say, something just doesn’t sit right with me. I’ll pick you up at 10am?”
“Tomorrow?” She asked, unused to this version of Tom who was headstrong with her. She quite liked it.
“No point waiting.” He said, and then leant across the the bar and planted a kiss on the tip of her nose.
“I love you, Tom Nelson.” She said, with a smile.
“I love you.” He said, holding her gaze for a moment too long, until a customer stood further down the bar coughed their impatience. “Oops, back to work.”
“I’ll leave you to it, The Cat will be furious with me.” Sandy said, climbing off the bar stool and turning to leave.
As she walked towards the door, she could see inside one of the cosy booth seats, hidden from view on the walk towards the bar. To her horror, Cass sat in there, uncomfortably close to Bomber, who appeared to be talking at a million miles per hour. Cass, doe-eyes, spider lashes, listened intently to him until, sensing someone nearby, turned her head and spotted Sandy.
“Oh, hey Sand.” Cass said, uncomfortable. “Erm, want to join us?”
“Yes, I think I might.” Sandy said. She sat opposite the two of them and watched the smile drain from Bomber’s face.
“Is that the time?” He asked, with a glance at his watch.
“Don’t leave on my account.” Sandy said, her voice a sheet of ice, imploring him to do the opposite.
“I’ll have a few more minutes.” Bomber agreed.
“We’ve just been catching up.” Cass explained. “Bomber’s done ever so well for himself, you know. Got a whole team of people working for him.”
“Is that right?” Sandy asked. Bomber smiled at Cass but said nothing. “What do you do, exactly?”
“Jack of all trades, I reckon.” He said. “I follow the money.”
“Hmm.” Sandy said, concerned by his vague answer.
“Sandy, we’re just catching up, stop the interrogation.” Cass said with a laugh, attempting to change the mood.
“Cass was telling me about her salon. I always knew she’d go far.”
Cass beamed at his flattery. Sandy tried not to roll her eyes.
“And you.” Bomber said. “The bookshop and stuff. I mean, you girls are really doing well.”
“Yes, we are.” Cass said, and raised her wine glass for a toast nobody else took part in. Bomber’s pint glass was empty and Sandy had left her half-finished mocha on the bar. “Here’s to the three of us, business owners! Who’d have thought it.”
Sandy gave a half-smile.
“Right, I’m going to go.” Bomber said. “Leave you ladies to it.”
“Aww.” Cass grumbled. “We were having fun.”
“We can carry this on another time.” Bomber said to her with a wink, and her cheeks flushed red. He stood, gave a half-wave to them both, and left.
“Geeze, he makes me cringe. Please tell me you’re not being sucked in by all of that.” Sandy said.
“Sandy.” Cass said, a warning in her voice. “You have to back off and let me make my own decisions.”
“Back off?” Sandy challenged.
“Sorry… that came out harsher than I meant.” Cass admitted. “But you do need to let me make my own decisions.”
“Mistakes.”
“Maybe. But it’s my mistake to make.”
“You know he arrived back in town on the day Gurdip died?”
“He didn’t actually, it was the day after, and what has that got to do with anything, anyway?”
Sandy swallowed. “He told you it was the day after?”
“Erm.” Cass began. “I saw him the day after and he said he’d just arrived.”
“It was the day Gurdip died, trust me.”
“And?”
“And there’s suggestion - this is just between me and you - that it might not have been an accident.”
Cass’s eyes widened. “Another murder?”
“I don’t know. I’m going to look into it.”
“Hold on.” Cass said, her eyes narrowed. “Are you suggesting Bomber had something to do with it? Because it’s a big jump from someone who was a bit of a rogue as a teenager, to being a murderer.”
“I know.” Sandy admitted. She wasn’t ready to level the accusation at Bomber… yet. “But he’s hiding something.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. But I’m going to look into that too, Cass. I need to protect you.”
“I’m an adult, Sand.” Cass said, but her voice faltered.
“What did he tell you tonight? He was clearly boasting, but did he give you any specifics?”
Cass looked to the side, replaying the conversation. A smile crossed her lips. “He wanted to talk about me mainly. I had to force the information from him about himself… oh, not like that, he’s just shy. Modest.”
“Or sketchy.”
“Look, we’re not going to agree on this. He isn’t hiding anything. He’s just found me after years, and he wanted to get to know me again, not talk about himself. Isn’t that sweet?”
“Possibly.” Sandy said. She glanced at her own watch. She needed to go home. “Just be careful.”
“Yes, mum.” Cass teased. Sandy rolled her eyes.
“You know I’m just worried about you, Cass, don’t you?”
Cass looked up at her and Sandy realised how much effort she had made for this meeting with Bomber. Her foundation was thicker than normal, her face contoured to within an inch of it’s life, creating hollow cheeks and sculpted cheekbones. Cass was a wizard with a make-up set. Her eyelashes, always heavy with black mascara, seemed gravity-defying.
“I don’t want to be on my own.” Cass admitted. “I’m ready to settle down, not play games. So, trust me, if Bomber has any tricks up his sleeve, I’ve got no time for them. I just… I never really got over him. He was my first love and, gosh, I saw him tonight and my stomach flipped. He’s not your type, I know that, he’s too loud and flash, but under all of that, he always had a good heart.”
“If that’s true, why did he…”
“Because he was a kid!” Cass exclaimed. “I’m deciding whether I can forgive him. And that’s my decision to make, Sandy, not yours.”
The ghost of Tom’s own warning rang out from Cass, and Sandy nodded her understanding.
“You’re right. I’m sorry if I’ve been too overbearing.” She said. “I only ever want to look after you.”
“Oh, I know that.” Cass said, a smile returning to her lips. “You’re my best friend, it’s your job to warn me about stupid mistakes. But, sadly, it’s also your job to watch me run full speed ahead towards the mistakes, and then dry my tears when I’ve had my heart broken.”
“I hope I don’t need to dry your tears this time.” Sandy said, as she reached across the table and squeezed her best friend’s hand. “But I will if you need me to.”
6
It was a glorious sunny day, the visors in the car pulled down to protect their eyes from the intense beam. They drove through the outer streets of Waterfell Tweed, rows of neat cottages transforming to occasional farmhouses, a shabby B&B, and then the pavement itself disappeared and the land opened up to fields on each side.
Sheep grazed behind dry stone walls, their coats thick, spray painted to suggest an elaborate code by which the farmer could tell which ram had impregnated which ewe. Occasionally, they looked up at the noise of the car passing, but mostly they continued their feas
t, unperturbed.
“Nearly there.” Tom said.
Sandy nodded, lost in her thoughts. They continued driving in silence until Tom indicated and pulled in close to Black Rock.
“I’d forgot how close it was to the road.” Sandy said, as she unclipped her seat belt.
“It needs to be handy for the teenage couples to get to.” Tom said with a grin. It was a famous kissing spot locally, although Sandy only knew that through the grapevine. No boys had invited her to Black Rock as a teenager, when she’d been awfully uncomfortable in her skin and had spent her evenings in her bedroom reading novels.
They climbed out of the car and walked across the grass towards the ledge. There was no police tape, no restriction on people coming and going from the area. Sandy stood as close to the edge of the ledge as she dared, forcing herself to look down at the drop.
“What a horrid way to die.” Sandy said, the jagged bits of stone dotted around the drop making her wince. Poor Gurdip.
“It’s hard to imagine the storm being so bad that he wouldn’t make it to the road.” Tom said, surveying the scene. The road led to a small, unofficial parking area, where people could either follow the public footpath across the fields, or admire Black Rock.
“It’s not enough to turn this into a murder investigation, though.” Sandy said. “Could it be suicide?”
Tom shrivelled his nose up.
“No, I don’t think so either.” Sandy admitted.
Tom stood next to her and took her hand in his. “I’d hate to lose you, you know.”
She gave an awkward laugh. “I wasn’t going to jump.”
“Ha, ha. It just makes you think, standing here. I’m glad I found you, Sand.”
“I’m glad too.” Sandy said, and allowed Tom to kiss her.
“Get away!” An incensed voice called, and Sandy jerked away from Tom, worried that perhaps the scene was a police restricted area after all and she had failed to see the signs. An older man, in a flat cap and with a border collie trotting faithfully by his side, stormed towards them. “I said get away!”
“We’re okay.” Tom called, cheeks flustered pink. He moved away from Sandy and towards the man, palms outstretched, conciliatory. “We’re being careful up here.”
“Careful?” The man barked, his walking stick swinging by his side as he darted expertly across the land towards them. His scraggled beard glistened with sweat, or spit; it was impossible to tell which. “I don’t give a rat’s uncle whether you’re careful. This is my land!”
“This is public land.” Sandy countered, although her certainty came only from the fact that it was treated as if it were public land.
“Is that what they’re telling people?!” The man exclaimed. He was just a few feet away from them now and Sandy saw that he had a whistle on a chain around his neck. His jumper had moth-eaten holes in, but she caught a glimpse of a shirt and tie underneath it. “This is my land. You’re trespassing and I’m done with it. It’s getting ridiculous. Go on, get away.”
“I’m sorry.” Sandy said. “Who are you?”
“I’m Victor Dent, and this here’s my land.” He said, gesturing across the car park (which was more a worn down strip of grass) and towards Black Rock. It was difficult to say how old the man was, with so much of his face hidden behind facial hair, but his eyes were a piercing blue, as if while the rest of him had aged his eyes had remained bright and youthful.
“Mr Dent?” Tom said. “There’s a car park here, and a public footpath. We’re entitled to be here.”
The man groaned and fished around in his trouser pocket. Sandy glanced at Tom nervously. She wasn’t sure she wanted to hang around and see what he pulled out. She’d heard her fair share of warning tales about incensed farmers shooting intruders. Shoot first, ask questions later seemed to be the motto for some of them. Tom, however, patiently watched the man dig through a collection of pockets without alarm, until Victor Dent found a large mobile phone. He swiped at the screen inexpertly and then held up a photograph of a map showing the boundaries of his farmland. “See? Now, get gone.”
“I’m confused, Mr Dent. Why is there a footpath across your land, if you’re saying it can’t be used.” Sandy asked, genuinely curious. She had directed many Ramblers and other holiday makers to the Black Rock trail for a day’s walk, making her a definite contributing factor to the farmer’s annoyance.
“Bloomin’ council are useless. It’s been going on too long, I won’t stand for it any more. You are trespassers and trespassers get what they deserve. Understand?”
Sandy gulped and nodded, the words sending a chill down their spine, as Tom reached for her hand and led her away.
“We’re sorry, we’ll go.” Tom said. They returned to the car and sped out of the car park as Victor Dent looked on menacingly.
**
They returned to Sandy’s cottage, where The Cat looked at them with disgust for disturbing the peace before returning upstairs to Sandy’s bed.
Sandy made her and Tom steaming mugs of tea to calm their nerves.
“We should call the police.” Tom suggested.
“And say what? He’s entitled to protect his land, surely.” Sandy argued.
“How can Black Rock be his land, though? It’s a public area.”
“I might go to the library and check the records.” Sandy said. She draped her legs up on the settee and let out a yawn.
“Tired?”
“I didn’t sleep well.” She admitted. “I don’t know if I’m ready for another murder investigation.”
“You think it’s murder?”
“Like you say, it’s odd that Gurdip was there in the first place. Maybe Victor Dent found him out there and lost his temper.”
“I think crazy farmers come out with guns not photographs of their land map.” Tom said.
“Yeah, that’s a good point.” Sandy said. “Although he wouldn’t risk a second killing, surely. One man falling off Black Rock in the storm is a tragic accident, but if everyone who goes up there starts suffering the same fate, that’s another story altogether.”
“Maybe he thought Gurdip would act as a warning.”
“It has done.” Sandy explained. “I’ve heard plenty of people in the cafe say they’ll be avoiding that area for their walks now.”
“Why would he be so keen to keep people off his land?” Tom pondered aloud.
“Boundary disputes are brutal, Tom. Coral always told me they were the worst cases to report on when she was covering the courts for the newspaper.” Sandy explained. Her sister had been a journalist before joining her to work at Books and Bakes. "Neighbours can get vicious with each other. I guess it’s the same with farmers sometimes.”
“I guess so.” Tom said with a shrug. He glanced at his watch and jumped up from the chair, grabbing his coat as he did. “I’ve got to go, I didn’t realise it was this time. Sorry, Sand!”
She let out a light laugh. “Fancy driving me in? I’ll check on the cafe.”
**
Books and Bakes was, of course, in no need of checking. Bernice ran a military operation always, just as her household had been ran as a child and how she had tackled the whole of life since. With expert planning, discipline, and a stiff upper lip.
The only sign of her busyness was the usual smear of flour that ended up highlighting her auburn hair.
“We won’t even notice when you go grey.” Sandy said as she joined her friend in the cafe kitchen. “We’ll just assume it’s the flour.”
“When I go grey?” Bernice asked with a smile and a raised eyebrow. “You think this colour’s real?”
Sandy gaped at her. She’d known Bernice as long as she could remember and she’d always been a beautiful redhead.
“Okay, close your mouth.” Bernice laughed. “My hair really is this colour. But I might get a little help with the pesky white hairs…”
“I’m plucking mine out.” Sandy confessed. The grey hairs were appearing quicker now, it seemed like every time s
he parted or brushed her hair, out sprung a long white tendril.
“Yeah, I did that at first too. Didn’t want to face up to it. Then I went to the hairdresser for a wash and cut, and she said to me, 'you’ve not got too many greys’! I was mortified. Then I figured if she knew about them she might as well hide them. Pulling them out isn’t a long-term plan.”
“True.” Sandy agreed. When she pulled a grey out, she would have crazy visions of herself in six months’ time, entirely bald.
“What do you want, anyway? I thought you were off all day.” Bernice said, back to no-nonsense. She had a plan for the day and it didn’t involve Sandy’s presence.
“There was an interesting turn of events.” Sandy said with a shrug. Bernice hardly reacted, she had no time for gossip or dramatics. “A farmer kicked us off his land, out at Black Rock.”
“Victor Dent?” Bernice asked, without raising her head. She was scrubbing stubborn pieces of scone from a baking sheet.
“You know him?”
“You mean you don’t?” Bernice asked. “Everyone’s got a story about him, I thought.”
“Well, I’ve got one now. What’s yours?”
Bernice’s cheeks flushed. “Oh, nothing really. I know the name, I could point him out for you, but he wouldn’t know me.”
“Hmm.” Sandy murmured. “Did you think Black Rock was public land?”
Bernice stopped scrubbing for a second to consider the question. “I guess so. I’ve never really thought about it.”
“I need to find out more about him.” Sandy said.
“Why?”
“Gurdip was on his land when he died.” Sandy explained.
“But it was a natural death.”
Sandy shrugged. “His widow is adamant it wasn’t an accident, and I’ve got this feeling. What she’s saying makes sense. Black Rock is so close to the road. Would an experienced shepherd like Gurdip really get so lost in the storm that he’d fall from there?”
“It’s definitely strange.” Bernice agreed. “But people die in strange situations all the time. Did you see that someone set their head inside a microwave with concrete the other week? He didn’t die somehow!”