by Mona Marple
Sandy did a double take at the change of subject. “Who would concrete their head in a microwave?”
“I think his name was Bill.” Bernice said, her attention firmly focused on the washing up once more.
Sandy smiled to herself and left her friend to it.
She needed to discover more about Victor Dent, and she knew exactly where to turn.
7
Sandy arrived at Books and Bakes early, her trusty notebook stashed away in her handbag ready to begin questioning people about Victor Dent. She had slept fitfully, her body refusing to warm up so she climbed out of bed twice in the night to add additional blankets. When she woke, foggy-headed, to her alarm at 6am, she saw there were no blankets at all on the bed. Her nighttime wanderings to the closet must have been dreams. Her duvet had been tossed to the floor and The Cat had padded such a cosy looking sleep chamber into it that she had left him, and the duvet, in that position when she left for work.
Arriving at the cafe, she flicked on the lights and turned the radio on a low volume to keep her company. Thoughts of Gurdip, his hard-working honesty, flicked at the edge of her mind but she pushed them away and gathered her ingredients.
She kneaded dough to prepare a shortcrust pastry, mixed the frozen fruits she had pulled from the freezer the day before, mixed up a cherry jam that smelt devine, and toasted flaked almonds before sprinkling them on the finished Cherry Bakewell. She slathered slices of bread with good-quality butter on both sides, arranged them in a heavy dish, sprinkled sultanas, a sugar mix, and then a mix of whisked eggs and milk, then added a dash of cinnamon before placing the bread and butter pudding in the oven and hungrily inhaling the scent.
Baking in the morning was a dangerous occupation. In the first two years of owning the cafe, Sandy’s waistline had spread as much as word of mouth, until she managed to control which cakes she sampled, and how big the sampling pieces were.
Now, she focused on the other senses that baking required. There was nothing quite like the scent of bread and butter pudding, spicy and rich, or the tactile experience of kneading dough.
There were so many things that machines could do now. No need to mix your own dough, slice your own ingredients, or wash your own dishes. She’d happily never wash a dish again, but there was a magic involved in chopping, mixing and measuring. Experimenting, just a little. Adding a touch to the cake that told people, this is my creation.
The toasted flaked almonds, when all of the recipes called for simply flaked almonds, created another flavour sensation. A taste dimension that surprised and delighted the foodies. An unexpected piece of heaven, on a plate, in a little cafe in Waterfell Tweed.
Sandy took another deep inhale, as the door unlocked.
Bernice flashed her a grin. The only other person who truly understood the joy of arriving early and creating food for others to savour.
“Smells good.” She complimented. “I do love your Bakewell.”
Sandy smiled to herself, and despite her restless sleep and the weight on her shoulders, she knew that Books and Bakes was still her sanctuary. Whether she was in the kitchen baking, or upstairs tending to her books, the place gave her calm. Centred her.
“Thanks, B.” She said, and walked through to the cafe to add the Cherry Bakewell to the highest cake stand in the display case.
The bell rang out as she did, and in walked Dorie Slaughter, her hair such a pale lilac it was hard to tell whether the new shade was intentional or not. Her bottom half was fit ambitiously into a pair of lycra yoga pants, her top half swamped in a bright pink t-shirt that commanded “RELAX!”.
“Good morning Dorie, look at you.” Sandy said with a grin.
Dorie glanced down at herself, as if she had forgotten what she was wearing, which Sandy doubted was possible of that outfit. Dorie’s tiny feet were adorned in trainers, and judging by the fact that she had been in the cafe for almost a whole minute and hadn’t said a single word, she seemed to be out of breath.
Dorie took a seat at the table closest to the counter and picked up a menu, despite being a daily customer and probably knowing the offerings better than Sandy herself did.
“Shall I get a tea ready for you?” Sandy called across.
Dorie nodded, jowls of fat below her chin bobbing up and down.
Sandy poured a huge mug of tea and then, on the spur of the moment, poured a tall glass of cold water and delivered both to Dorie. Dorie took the water and glugged it all in one, letting out a grateful ahh afterward.
“What do you fancy?” Sandy asked, hovering at Dorie’s table with her order-taking notebook and pencil poised ready.
“What’s… healthy?” Dorie barked, as if ejecting the word from her mouth as far as she could.
“Erm, well, I’m no expert…” Sandy admitted, aware of the small muffin top overhanging her own trousers. “But poached eggs are supposed to be, I think? Or scrambled eggs.”
“Ugh.” Dorie curled her nose up. “I’ll have a full English.”
“Okay.” Sandy said, hiding her amusement. “Are you on a health kick?”
“Elaine’s idea.” Dorie said. “She reckons we all need to get a bit more exercise, watch what we eat. If you see her, tell her I had those poachers eggs.”
Sandy giggled. “Your secret’s safe with me. I’ll call it data protection…”
“Very good. Well, go on, get cooking. I’ve walked all the way here and I’m famished.”
Sandy retreated to the kitchen and placed the order with Bernice, then returned to Dorie’s table with a second glass of water for her.
“So, what’s kicked off this health regime with Elaine?”
Dorie rolled her eyes. “My Jim had a check up and the doctor said he needs to lose some weight. Stupidly, my Jim told Elaine, thinking she’d comfort him, like I would have, you know, offer to make him a nice dinner like a woman should. Oh no, not Elaine. Now the house is like a lettuce farm and she’s on at us both. Hiding car keys so we have to walk!”
“Oh, wow. I guess if it’s for your health, though, Dorie…”
“Health, puh. I’ve got some padding, but my husband didn’t have any and look what happened to him.”
“What happened to him?” Sandy asked, realising the point Dorie was trying to make only once the words were out of her mouth.
Dorie shot her a glare. “He died, Sandy.”
“Oh, yes. Sorry.” Sandy said.
“Gurdip was too thin too. Thin enough for the wind to blow him off Black Rock, anyway.”
“I wanted to ask you about that.” Sandy said.
Dorie’s ears pricked up instantly at the hint of gossip. “Well, of course dear, I am a font of knowledge as you know.”
“I wanted to know about Victor Dent.”
“Ooh look, breakfast’s here!” Dorie exclaimed. Bernice placed the heaped pile of food in front of her. “Sandy, let me eat in peace for once? People are always wanting my time.”
“Oh, of course.” Sandy said. “Another time.”
“Hmm.” Dorie murmured, attention firmly focused on checking that Bernice had made perfectly runny egg yolks.
**
Victor Dent’s name came up on its own that morning in the cafe.
Sandy was helping Coral make a particularly difficult order - a cappuccino with an extra shot. The science behind the request appeared to have baffled Coral, leaving her unable to do more than stand by and watch as Sandy pressed the cunningly disguised ‘extra shot’ button on the machine.
“Victor Dent’s out being a menace again.” A man announced to the cafe. Sandy turned to see that the voice belonged to Gus Sanders, the butcher, who was sat with his wife Poppy. She placed a hand on his arm, attempting to make him be quiet. “He should be keeping a low profile.”
“The man’s always been a menace.” A villager who Sandy didn’t recognise called across to Gus.
“Gus, is Black Rock public land?” Sandy asked.
The butcher puffed up at her question being directed to him, h
is chest growing taller and inflated. “Well, of course it is. Car park up there, public footpath entrance, it’s for the good of the whole village that is. A place of beauty. We had our first date up there, didn’t we, Pop?”
“Oh Gus.” Poppy said, embarrassed. “It was hardly a Black Rock date. We went for a walk.”
“You’re wrong.” Dorie called, empty plate in front of her, second mug of tea cooling down nicely ready to drink. “The land belongs to Victor Dent.”
“Nah, it can’t.”
“It does.”
“It can’t, Dorie, you’re mistaken.”
“I can assure you I’m not.” Dorie said. “That piece of land has always been in the Dent family.”
“Why’s there a car park then, eh?” Gus asked, showing off now. Sneering.
“There isn’t a car park.” Dorie said with a shrug. “It’s grass that’s been parked on time and time again.”
“Alright then, why doesn’t the dry stone wall come up to the road? Why leave the space for a car park?”
Dorie sighed. “Because it’s on a bend without a passing place. Victor was tired of cars hitting the wall - nobody got hurt there but he was out repairing that one piece of wall every week. So he decided to move it back a little.”
“That makes perfect sense.” Sandy admitted. The bend was lethal, with no visibility. To imagine it without the space that Victor Dent had created made her wince.
“Of course it does, it’s what happened. And then all and sundry saw it as an open invitation to use his land. He’s got every right to be annoyed.”
“There’s a code and he broke it.” Gus called.
“Oh, for goodness sake. What code would you know about? Victor Dent is a good man. I’m not going to sit and listen to this rubbish.” Dorie exclaimed. She rose to her feet and stormed out of the cafe.
“Oh Gus.” Poppy said. She tapped her husband’s arm and watched out of the window as Dorie began the trek back towards her home.
“Looks like old Dorie’s got her eye on a new man.” The unknown villager called out with a grin. Sandy glared at him. Dorie had remained faithful to her late husband’s memory throughout the decades since he passed. But she had been unusually defensive of Victor Dent, and Sandy couldn’t help but wonder why.
“What’s this code anyway, pal?” The man called across to Gus.
“When you work the land, there’s a code. You never see another stuck.”
“Like those truckers who drive across frozen lakes? Always have to come to the help of another driver if they see one stranded? Even if they hate his guts?” The man called.
Gus nodded vehemently. “Exactly like it.”
“What’s that got to do with anything? You are talking rubbish, Gus.” Poppy said. Sandy could imagine her eye roll. Poppy, the primary school teacher, dealt with children all day and yet gave the impression there was no bigger kid than her husband.
Gus sighed, splaying his hands across the table. “He was horrid to Gurdip.”
“When?” Sandy asked, interest sparked.
“The night before he died.” Gus said. “Gurdip got lost out there and old Victor Dent found him. He was in a bad way, Gurdip was, but Dent didn’t help. Screamed at him, he did. Practically man-handled him off the land. Tells him, if he ever goes back on his land, he’ll kill him.”
A shiver ran down Sandy’s spine at the words. “Are you seriously suggesting Victor Dent threatened to kill Gurdip the night before he died? How do you know that?”
“Gurdip himself told me.” Gus said. “He came in The Tweed. Needed a drink to calm his nerves before going home. He was pretty shook up. Even, well, nearly,” he paused, uncomfortable with the words, as if betraying an embarrassing secret, "nearly cried at one point. He was scared.”
Sandy allowed the words to sink in as the customers continued their conversation.
“Sis.” She whispered to Coral, who had seen the best and worst of life working as a journalist. “Killers don’t threaten to kill, do they? Don’t they just get it done straightaway?”
“Oh no.” Coral said, breezily. She hadn’t been listening to the conversation. “Some people threaten it for years and then one day they snap. You should always take a threat like that seriously. Why, have you upset someone?”
“No.” Sandy said, her heart heavy. “But I think I’ve just found another murder to investigate.”
8
Sandy didn’t so much as walk down the street to The Tweed, but storm there. She knew she should give Tom a reason to explain why he hadn’t mentioned Gurdip’s emotional visit there the night before his death, but she was furious. Red-faced, shaking fists kind of fury.
She barged into the pub, quiet in the lull between lunch and the evening, and physically collided with a startled Bomber, who managed to hold out his arms to catch her.
“Thanks… sorry.” Sandy managed, thinking she really needed to start entering the pub a little slower, before she realised who the man was. “Oh, it’s you.”
“Always a pleasure to see you too, Sand.” Bomber said with a grin. Sandy could imagine the women he’d flashed that smile at over the years, women who she guessed would have been flattered by it until realising his true colours at some later date. The trouble with Bomber, his attention felt captivating. When he was interested in you, he wasn’t just interested, he was obsessed, infatuated. A true Romeo, with his cheeky grin and his guitar-playing. It was no wonder Cass was falling under his spell again. “In fact, can we have a chat?”
Bomber gestured to an empty booth table.
Sandy shook her head, but a glance at the bar showed Tanya alone, duster in hand, attempting to look busy. She let out a resigned sigh and followed Bomber to the seat, planting herself down on the plush, padded seating.
“What is it?” Sandy asked.
Bomber grinned and tilted his head to the side, like a curious dog. “Will you ever give me a second chance?”
The honesty of his question stunned Sandy for a moment, her mouth open like a goldfish before she composed herself. “What does it matter to you?”
“Haven’t you ever made a mistake, Sand?” He asked, his tone low. He fiddled with his hand as he spoke, picking at the skin around his thumbnail. “I know I blew it big time and Cass didn’t deserve it.”
“I don’t lie awake thinking about it, don’t worry. It’s not like it’s controlled my life for all these years.” Sandy said. “I just don’t want her to get fooled by you again.”
“I couldn’t believe it when she popped up and messaged me.” Bomber said.
“Something we agree on, finally.” Sandy allowed.
Bomber glanced at her, earnest, hopeful, and Sandy was transported to their teenage years. She’d spent almost as much time with Bomber as she had Cass while they were dating, Cass having told him that the two of them came as a package deal. She smiled involuntarily at a memory of him buying them each a Valentine’s Day present, a typically extravagant gesture - a dozen red roses for each of them. Cass had shrieked with delight while Sandy had accepted her bouquet with confusion, until Cass had explained that she had warned him not to dare buy something for just one of them.
“We had some good times too, eh?” Bomber said, as if reading her thoughts.
She nodded, unable to deny the memories. The lazy summer afternoons spent on the park, seeing who could swing highest. If she concentrated, she could remember the queasy feeling in her stomach as she swung higher and higher, the dread and excitement of wondering if the swing might do a full loop and wondering whether, if it did, she would be able to hold on. If her best friend back then had been Cass, and if Cass and Bomber came as a package deal just like she and Cass did, then surely Bomber had been her best friend too.
“Oh my.” Sandy murmured, with a gasp. She had thought she was acting so decently, so selflessly, remaining angry on her friend’s behalf. In actual fact, she was furious with Bomber because she had lost him too. He had betrayed Cass, and disappeared from both of their liv
es.
“Everything ok?” He asked, an eyebrow raised.
“I just remembered… we used to get on pretty well, didn’t we?”
Bomber nodded slowly. “I missed you nearly as much as Cass. Don’t tell her that.”
Sandy scrunched up her nose. “I won’t be keeping any secrets for you!”
“It was a joke.”
“I know.” Sandy said, running her fingers through her hair as a rowdy group of men in hi-vis jackets entered the pub. “I was so busy being angry at you I forgot how close we were.”
“You guys were the best.” Bomber admitted with a smile. “I mean, you drove me crazy at times, both of you, but I don’t think I’ve ever had better friends.”
“Hmm.” Sandy said, not ready to give up the hard anger in her chest. “And yet you still hurt us both.”
Bomber pursed his lips and Sandy flinched, although she couldn’t have said why. He had never been violent, never had a flash of temper, even as a teenage boy with a body full of raging hormones. “I did.”
“I’m sure we’re not here to go down memory lane, so what’s up?”
“I just want to…”
“In fact, you’ve had control too much. Let me do the questions.” Sandy said, pushing the memories from her mind. This was what he did. Mind games, smooth talking, a smile at the right moment. She refused to believe it. “Are you going to hurt Cass again?”
Bomber sighed, weary. “I hope not.”
“You hope not?” Sandy asked, incredulous. “Are you serious?”
“I don’t even know if she might give me a second chance, Sand. She cares way too much about what you think of it all. But if she did, I don’t know, we’re not teenagers any more.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means back then we had these dreams about how life would be, and now we’re paying bills and changing the bedsheets. I have no idea what this Cass wants from life, or if there’s a way I could fit in to that.”