“You only think it was Liam, or are you sure?”
“I’m not positive, but I believe it was, although Cate told me she hadn’t seen him in a day or two.”
—
As they pulled into Pru’s drive, she could see the lamp by the cottage’s sofa glowing with a warm and cheerful light, unaware of the tragic events of the day.
“I’ll get a fire going,” Christopher said once they were inside. She ticked the heat up a few degrees and stood by the Aga until the fire blazed.
They settled on the sofa, brandies in hand, his arms encircling her. She tried to relax, but her thoughts were like jumping beans, and at last she sat up, put the brandy on the floor beside her, and leaned toward the fire.
“This is such a terrible thing,” she said. “Cate’s lost her father. To see Ned there—I keep wondering, did he die immediately? Did he hope someone would come?”
Christopher rubbed her back. “You can’t think of that now, not tonight.”
She glanced back at him, her face hot with guilt. “What I’m really thinking about is—what about the garden? What will happen to it? Will Davina and Bryan chuck it all in? What about me?” She covered her face with her hands. “Oh God, how could I be so selfish?”
“You’re putting so much of yourself into this place—how could you not be concerned? Come here.” He reached for her, and she willingly went back into his arms. “Life has to go on. This is a tragedy and someone will pay for what happened, but the rest of us have to go on.” He kissed her hair. “It’s just that it’s so fresh in your mind right now, you don’t think you’ll ever get over it. But I can’t believe this would deter the Templetons from showing off the garden—your garden.”
She allowed herself to be comforted. “Mmm. My garden.” All was quiet except for the hissing and crackling of the logs. Even her mind was stilled as the flames mesmerized her. Eventually, a burned-through log broke apart and fell in a shower of sparks.
“How did you learn to build such fine fires?” she asked.
He didn’t answer, but her head was against his cheek, and she could feel him smile. She sat up and saw that he’d turned red, and not from the fire. “I was a Boy Scout.”
She laughed as she cupped his cheek in her hand. “Oh,” she said, “of course you were a Boy Scout. Did you help little old ladies across the road?”
“Certainly not,” he said, “that’s far too dangerous.”
“The roads?”
“The old ladies.”
She laughed again, leaned in, and her lips brushed his as she said, “You’re quite good as distracting me.”
“I can do better than that if you let me,” he whispered.
“I’m all yours.”
—
Snuggled up against him in bed, she drifted off quickly, but sometime during the night she woke up shouting, “No, no,” and flailing her arms as if to ward off an attack.
“Pru, it’s all right, you’re all right.” He held her close and began murmuring quiet, calming words.
“I looked in Ned’s face,” she said, sobbing. “His eyes were open, just as I found him. But then he…he said, ‘He did this—you know he did this.’ ” She wiped the tears from her face and said to Christopher, “But I don’t. I don’t know. How could I?”
“Lie back down,” he said. He covered them both up and wrapped her tightly in his arms. As dreams do, Ned’s face faded from her mind as Christopher talked, soft and low. He started telling her a story about going on a Boy Scout outing to Staffhurst Wood, near Edenbridge, where he grew up, when he was just seven years old. It was the first time he saw a badger. She wanted to listen, to remember this piece of his childhood, but her muscles began to relax and she slipped into that twilight place before drifting off to sleep.
Chapter 14
“We should stop by the shops this afternoon,” she said as they got out of the car at Francine’s flat, where Cate and Nanda were staying. It was the ground floor of a house off the Frant Road out of Tunbridge Wells. “Just for a few things.” Breakfast had been meager, as she hadn’t expected Christopher for the weekend; tea and toast didn’t seem enough to offer. She’d retrieved Ivy’s moussaka from the freezer to thaw for their dinner. “Buttermilk,” she said. “We’ll need buttermilk for breakfast.”
“We won’t drink it, will we?” he asked.
A stout woman had appeared on the front step of the house across the road from the flat and stood watching them. Pru smiled and nodded, and the neighbor did the same, after which—with her eyes still on Pru and Christopher—she called over her shoulder into the house. “Trevor—come!”
Pru expected either a young boy or a husband to emerge, but instead, out trotted a stout beagle, wagging his tail. The woman attached a leash and walked to her front gate as Pru rang the bell.
Cate carried a wadded-up tissue in one hand when she opened the door; her eyes were rimmed red. She waved wanly at the woman, who waved back. The beagle gave a single yip.
“Mrs. Arabella Sock,” Cate explained in a quiet voice. “Nanda and I have been here at Francine’s for only three weeks, but I can already tell you that Mrs. Sock keeps an eye on everyone—whether she’s asked to or not.” She led them into the sitting room and said, “I’m so grateful you’re here. Francine is taking Nanda out, and I didn’t want to face the police alone—hearing about Dad.”
“You don’t want to face one of them alone,” Pru said over her shoulder to Christopher, “that’s for sure.”
A young woman with long auburn hair came out of the hall putting on a coat while she herded a little girl in front of her. Cate introduced them to Francine Rosse, who said hello, and to Nanda, who said nothing but stared at them with big blue eyes. Her coloring was midway between Cate’s black hair and dark skin, and Jamie’s blond features. Her hair, drawn up to the top of her head, shot out of its ponytail like a palm tree.
Pru knelt down in front of the little girl. “Hello, Nanda.” Nanda stared.
“Right, we’re off, Nanda-Panda,” Francine said. “Nanda’s going to help me buy a new pair of boots, and then…”
“I get sweeties,” Nanda burst out.
Cate gave her daughter a hug and a kiss. “You be a good girl for Franny.”
“Bye, Mummy.” Nanda waved at Cate on her way out the door, looked at Pru and Christopher and snatched her hand back.
When Francine opened the door, Pru could see that Mrs. Sock and Trevor had made little progress; she seemed to be still in the process of pulling the gate closed.
“Mummy! I see the doggie!” Nanda said, jumping up and down. That caught the attention of Mrs. Sock, who smiled and waved, and Trevor, who yipped and whose tail beat back and forth like a metronome set on presto.
“Off you go with Franny,” Cate said to her daughter. “Don’t bother Mrs. Sock.”
The door closed, and Pru put her arm around Cate, thinking that both Mrs. Sock and Trevor looked as if they’d love to be bothered by Nanda. “If there’s anything I can do, you’ll let me know, won’t you?”
“Thanks,” Cate said, dropping the brave face she’d had in front of her daughter. “You…you f-f-found him, didn’t you?”
Pru had hoped that Cate wouldn’t ask for details. She didn’t want to think about them, and she didn’t think Cate should hear them. “Robbie—you’ve heard of Robbie?” Cate nodded. “Robbie thought something was wrong and came back to get me. I rang the police immediately, but…it was too late.”
“Are you going to conduct the investigation, Inspector?” Cate asked.
“Please, call me Christopher,” he said. “I’ve no jurisdiction here. The Met can be called to work on cases outside of London, but only if requested. I wish I could help.”
They chatted a few minutes about a service for Ned to be held—Cate hoped—on Thursday, if the police would release the body.
Forewarned is forearmed, Pru thought. “Cate,” she said, “the sergeant, David Hobbes, is a good man, very easy to talk with. But the
inspector—well, he’s sort of loud and…” That was as far as she got before the knock.
When Cate answered the door, Tatt held out his badge and bellowed, “Cate Tanner? Inspector Tatt.” He saw Pru and Christopher standing behind her and shoved his badge back in his pocket as he said, “We need to speak with you about your father—should we come back when you’re alone?”
“Is it all right if they stay?” Cate asked. “I’d like to have them here.”
“That’s just fine.” Tatt spat out the words as he walked past her, ignoring Pru and Christopher. His DS trailed after him.
“Detective Sergeant Hobbes,” he introduced himself. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”
“Shall I start the kettle?” Pru asked.
Cate kept her eye on Tatt, but turned her head to Pru. “Yes, thanks. I’ve the tray all set up.”
After clicking on the electric kettle, Pru returned to the sitting room. All the breathable air seemed to have been sucked up by the cloud of irritation that surrounded the inspector. She sat with Christopher and Cate on the small sofa, while Tatt and Hobbes each took a chair.
“Mrs. Tanner,” Tatt began.
“Bobbins,” Cate said.
“What?”
“It’s Bobbins. I’m taking back my own name. Cate Bobbins.”
Hobbes jotted something down in his notebook, while Tatt barked, “Are you married to Jamie Tanner?”
“We’re separated.” Cate drew herself up straight.
Tatt sighed. “When was the last time you saw or spoke with your father?” he asked.
“He rang on Wednesday. He wanted to see Nanda today—we were going for a visit. He…” A sob caught in her throat.
“Mrs. Tanner…” Tatt began.
“Bobbins, sir,” Hobbes said quietly.
Tatt glared at him. “Do you know anyone who might want to harm your father? Someone with a grudge? Someone angry with him?” Each question seemed to hammer Cate farther down into the sofa.
“What do you mean? Someone who would…?” Cate swallowed hard.
“You know what I mean, Mrs. Tanner,” Tatt cut in.
Pru couldn’t keep still, but as she opened her mouth to object to his manner, Christopher intervened in a quiet but firm voice.
“This can’t be easy for you, Cate,” he said. “Take some time to—”
“Pearse!” Tatt shouted. “I’d like to see you outside. Now.”
Christopher followed Tatt out the front door without looking back. The three of them—Cate, Pru, and DS Hobbes—sat in silence, their attention inexorably drawn to the raised voices on the porch.
“Are you trying to steal this investigation, Pearse?” Tatt’s voice was too loud even through the closed door.
“You might get more information if you would show some sympathy for—” Christopher started, not too quiet himself.
“Are you saying I need help in this investigation?” Tatt bellowed.
“Are you asking for help?”
“How dare you…”
Click. They all three jumped as the electric kettle switched off. Pru stood, eager to get as far away as possible from what sounded like the beginnings of a brawl. “I’ll pour up the tea,” she said to Cate.
By the time she returned with the tray, Tatt and Christopher were filing back in. Tatt’s florid complexion had taken on shades of apoplexy; Christopher’s expression was grim.
Except…Pru took a second look and could see that ghost of a smile around his mouth. She almost dropped the tray and hoped the rattling teacups covered her snort of laughter.
“Ms….Bobbins,” Tatt began, sounding as if someone had hold of his throat, “did your father own a mobile phone?”
“Yes,” Cate said with a small, sad smile. “But he never used it—he would never even turn it on. Just one more thing to carry in his pocket.”
“We haven’t found one on the body or at his cottage,” Tatt said.
Cate’s chin quivered. “Are you saying someone did this just to steal his mobile phone?”
“We are looking for any piece of evidence that could lead us to the murderer, Mrs. Tanner…” Tatt turned his head, as if pulling at a too-tight collar. “I mean, Ms. Bobbins.”
Cate reached for the teapot with a shaky hand, but Pru stopped her. “I’ll be mother,” she said. As she handed out cups of tea, her eyes met Christopher’s for a moment. He should be a teacher, she thought; he’s already got Tatt acting more civil.
“Do you know any of Ms. Parke’s workers at Primrose House?” Tatt asked Cate. A stillness settled over the room, while a prickly sensation crept up Pru’s arms.
Pru didn’t realize that Cate’s dark complexion could show red, but she saw it now.
“Yes,” Cate said.
“Do you know Liam Duffy, Ms. Bobbins?”
“Yes, I know Liam and Fergal—we were in school together, but that was years ago.”
“And do you know Robbie, too, and his mother, Ivy? Have you met them?” Pru asked. She didn’t like Tatt singling out Liam, it looked as if he suspected him of…something. “Cate’s lived here most of her life. Lives overlap—she probably knows loads of people in the area.”
“Did you see Liam Duffy the day of the murder?” Tatt asked, ignoring Pru with his pen poised over his notebook.
“No,” Cate said, her voice on an even pitch and her face calm and quiet. “Why would I see him? What’s that got to do with what happened to my dad?”
“Was your flatmate here Thursday evening?” Tatt asked.
“This is Francine’s flat; she’s been kind enough to let us stay for a while. And, no. Francine’s the nurse at Chaffinch’s, the day care center in town, but she sometimes takes on private work, too. She was with a patient Thursday evening and didn’t get home until late.”
Tatt stood up. “That’ll be all for now. We’ll let you know if we need to talk with you further.”
Tatt ignored Pru and Christopher as he left, but Hobbes gave them a nod. When the front door opened, Pru noticed that Mrs. Sock and Trevor now stood in front of her next-door neighbor’s house, chatting with a man on a ladder set up against the chimney.
Cate closed the door, turned to them, and said, “I’m sorry to rush you off, but I’ve got something I must do. Thanks so much for being here. Pru, I’ll ring you as soon as I know about the service.” She spoke all this as she swept them into the front hall and out the door. The police car had pulled out; Mrs. Sock remained where she was. As they left, Pru looked back through the single pane of glass in the door and saw Cate pick up the phone.
Chapter 15
Pru waited until they were in Sainsbury’s shopping for buttermilk before bringing it up. “You enjoyed that, didn’t you? Telling Tatt off.”
A small smile and a slight shrug. “It isn’t my place, I know, but I can’t help feeling as if I might be able to…guide without carrying any responsibility. But,” he said as he chose a baguette from a tall basket, “Tatt won’t put up with too much of that, and so I need to keep my distance. And you cannot be involved.”
“I’m not involved,” she said, as if the idea never crossed her mind. He raised his eyebrows.
They pulled into the Two Bells on their way home, and once settled with pints, Pru realized she’d left her hair clip in the car, abandoned when she didn’t have room to maneuver. “I’ll just get it.”
As she walked out one of the doors, someone emerged from the other. She found her clip on the floorboard, and when she shut the car door, Jamie Tanner stood a few feet away.
He looked dreadful—crumpled clothes, his face puffy, and his eyes bloodshot. Cate had moved out weeks ago; had he finally given up hope or only just run out of clean clothes?
“Pru,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “You’ve got to help me.” He wiped his eyes on his sleeve.
“Jamie, what’s wrong?” She glanced over as two men came out of the pub and walked to a car.
“What am I going to do without Ned?” he asked. “I’ve nothing, no one
left.” He took a step toward her and she took a step back, as if in a dance. So that’s why he looked so bad, Pru thought; he had expected Ned to fix it all with Cate.
“What help do you need?”
“I’ve got to get her back,” he said. “Ned was going to help. He knew we should be together, he said he’d tell her that we needed to stay married. But now”—he sobbed—“now what? Ned’s gone.” And then he was quiet. “I know whose fault this is. I know.”
Caught between sympathy and repulsion, she chose a businesslike attitude. “Look, Jamie, I’m sure this is difficult for you, but you need to talk with someone—a professional. I’m in no position to do anything, and…”
He took another step toward her, but when she stepped back it was against the car. Just then, a Range Rover pulled in next to them; four young women got out laughing and Jamie had to move out of the way for them as they walked into the pub. He didn’t speak to Pru again, but turned and left.
She returned to the pub and sat down. She couldn’t keep hold of her clip, dropping it twice under the table until Christopher took hold of her hand and said, “What’s wrong?”
“I just saw Jamie Tanner outside.”
“What did he do?” Christopher asked as he started out of the booth.
“No”—she grabbed his arm—“it’s all right. He left.” Once Christopher settled back down, she said, “He’s upset about Ned—I think they were very close. He thought Ned would try to persuade Cate to take him back. He was just…a little too much, that’s all.”
Christopher rubbed his forehead. “I’ll side with Liam on this one. He may have been friendly before, but you should be wary. Don’t let him in again if he comes to see you. Don’t even answer the door. Ring Hobbes and stay inside—there’s no trying to reason with someone like this.” He took out his phone. “In fact, I think we’d better tell him right now.”
They learned from Hobbes that Cate had never filed a complaint about Jamie’s abuse, and so the report came second- or even thirdhand, and wasn’t really evidence. But Christopher was at least relieved that the DS would now have his radar up.
The Red Book of Primrose House: A Potting Shed Mystery (Potting Shed Mystery series 2) Page 10