by Agatha Frost
“But not the only founding member in the village,” Chloe said with a bitter laugh. “My father was the first member of this group. Yolanda wanted him to take over, but you all had different ideas.”
“There’s your motive right there!” Amy cried as she stumbled back, a finger pointing at Chloe. “You heard her. She wants her father to take over this club. That’s the best motive I’ve heard so far.”
Julia narrowed her eyes on Chloe, wondering if Amy could be right. The theory had crossed her mind after seeing the items on Chloe’s backseat, but she had wanted to look the woman in the eyes before jumping to conclusions.
“Are you being serious?” Chloe cried with a strained laugh. “You don’t believe this, do you?”
Chloe looked around the group, but they all avoided her eyes. She turned to Julia, but she also could not maintain eye contact. She was sure if she did, it would give her suspicions away in an instant. Chloe uncrossed her arms, and Julia noticed small scratches covering her fingers. She nudged Johnny and nodded to them. Had they been there when Julia had visited the cottage with the cake the day before? She could not remember.
“Rose thorns!” Johnny whispered, before turning to Chloe and puffing out his chest. “Where were you yesterday afternoon, Chloe?”
“I was at home.”
“Can anybody prove that?” Johnny asked, his pen poised over his notepad.
“Are you asking me for an alibi?” Chloe mumbled. “I don’t have to listen to this. You people make me sick.”
She turned on her heels and stormed out of the village hall. The doors slammed, sending a dull shudder through the room. The clicking of Brendan’s camera was the only thing interrupting the silence.
“She did it!” Amy cried. “Chloe killed Margaret, Elsie, Edgar, and then she tried to kill Emily!”
“I did sense a darkness around her,” Evelyn mumbled as she pulled a crystal from her pocket. “Such darkness for such a young woman.”
“Why would she want to kill all of those people?” Mary cried, laughing as though she found the whole thing amusing.
“Because she wants her father to be president,” Amy mumbled as she set off for the door. “And I’m the only one left to stand in his way. I need to go.”
She ran across the hall and burst through the doors. Julia sighed, unsure of what to think. Amy’s theory did make sense, but something just did not sit right with Julia. She felt like she was still missing a vital piece of the puzzle.
“Well, the show must go on.” Mary stood up and clapped her hands together. “We need to get some more texture shots for the magazine before the reveal on Saturday.”
“It’s still going ahead?” Julia asked. “Are you being serious?”
“We still have a magazine to produce,” Mary mumbled as she scribbled something on her clipboard. “I think this is going to be our best issue yet. Come on, Brendan. I look forward to tasting your macarons, Julia. I heard they were delightful.”
Mary also headed for the door, followed by Brendan who trailed behind snapping pictures of Julia and Johnny as he went. The club quickly descended into chaos without an obvious leader. The chatter rose until many separate arguments broke out in small clusters. Julia and Johnny left the suffocating village hall before the group turned on them too.
“What do we do now?” Johnny asked. “You’ve done this before.”
“It’s not like I go around solving murders on purpose,” Julia said as they walked out of the church grounds. “I’ve never experienced anything this complicated before. We can’t sit back and let this happen again.”
“I need to get back to the office,” Johnny said as he checked his watch. “My editor is going to kill me. We’re going to print with the Emily story tomorrow, and I haven’t even started writing. I don’t know where to start.”
Julia looked across the village green at her café. Jessie was sweeping the doorstep, but it looked quiet inside.
“Can I come with you?” Julia asked, already heading for Johnny’s car. “Tracing the killer’s steps might unlock something.”
11
Julia had never visited The Peridale Post offices before, but she had always imagined they were modest in size with a handful of employees. When they drove out of Peridale and onto a small industrial park with tall office buildings and hundreds of cars parked there, Julia realised her mental image could not have been more wrong.
“This is your office?” Julia whispered as she climbed out of the car and looked up at the tall building with wide eyes.
“We only have the fourth floor. The entire building needs pulling down and rebuilding, but they’re not about to do that for a dying platform. All of the newspapers from the surrounding villages work here too. Cotswold Media Group bought us all out a couple of years back and lumped us all together here. It was apparently easier and cheaper to have us all under one roof.”
“Hardly the local operation that comes across in the paper.”
“We try our best to keep it as authentic as possible,” Johnny whispered as they passed a well-dressed man in a suit who nodded at him. “Not easy when you’ve got the men upstairs breathing down your neck about column inches and ad space. It’s only a matter of time before they scrap the local news all together and just fill the paper with sponsored content.”
They walked up the steps to the office building, which was impossibly dated. Like the village hall, it looked like it had been built in the 1970s, but its brutalist architecture and beige tiled walls had not aged as well.
They hurried through the scanners at the entrance and towards the reception. Johnny flashed his badge at the lone woman behind the reception desk, but she did not look up from her copy of Women’s Weekly. Johnny quickly scribbled Julia’s name in a book on the desk and reached over the desk to grab a small white badge. He pinned the ‘VISITOR’ badge to her cotton jumper, and they set off up the stairs.
“The lift stopped working last month,” Johnny panted as they made their way past the third floor. “Said they were sending someone out to fix it, but I doubt that will ever happen. I don’t even think they’ve made the call if I’m completely honest. We didn’t have any working toilets on our floor until last week. We’ve been using the Chedworth Gazette’s on the fifth floor for years.”
They reached the fourth floor, which was labelled ‘The Peridale Post’ in a logo she had not seen on the front of the newspaper since she was a little girl. Julia followed Johnny through the double doors and into the open plan office.
“Alright, Johnny,” a young man mumbled as he twirled chewing gum around his finger. “Who’s the woman? Not from head office, is she?”
“You wish,” Johnny said, knocking the man’s feet off his desk as he walked by. “She’s a villager.”
“From Peridale?” the man called after them as they walked across the empty open office.
“Where else?” Johnny called back with a roll of his eyes. “The kid has never even been to the village.”
“But he writes for The Peridale Post,” Julia whispered as she hurried to keep up with Johnny. “How does that work?”
“Only the editor and I are from Peridale,” Johnny said as he slowed down at an immaculately clean cubicle. “This is my desk. It’s not much, but it’s mine. I’m the last original journalist left after the group took over. The rest of them saw sense and jumped ship. They replaced a couple of the positions with people from within the company, but there aren’t many of us left now. Readership is down across the area, but Peridale is still fighting strong compared to some of the others. I like to think that’s because I spend half my life in the village to fill the pages with things people want to read, but maybe they’re just buying out of habit.”
“It’s a good paper,” Julia said as she looked around the sad and depressing empty office. “Despite everything.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Johnny said with a wink. “This is Rhonda’s desk. This is where the obituaries have been appearing.”
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br /> They walked to the cubicle on the other side of Johnny’s. It was not as clean, but unlike Johnny’s cubicle, the short walls were covered with family pictures. Julia did not recognise the woman who appeared in most of them, but she guessed that was because Rhonda was another woman working on the paper who had never been to Peridale.
“So, what you’re telling me is, pretty much anybody can get into this building?” Julia asked with a sigh as she leaned against Rhonda’s desk. “A building that is shared with a hundred other people.”
“And one security camera,” Johnny reminded her before turning and cupping his hands around his mouth and facing the young man at the front desk. “Josh? Have you gone through those videos like I asked?”
“On it, Johnny boy,” Josh called back with a thumb in the air.
“Useless,” Johnny mumbled under his breath. “Do you see what I’m up against? I can’t juggle everything, but I feel like I’m running this paper on my own. The editor is always up on the ninth floor with the design team. He thinks the layout is more important than the content. Haven’t seen him down here in weeks. It’s all email and cloud now.”
“It sounds like you’ve fallen out of love with things,” Julia suggested as she flicked through the paperwork on Rhonda’s desk. “You still need passion.”
“I have passion,” Johnny said with a shrug. “I thrive when I’m sniffing out a story. There’s always something going on in Peridale, you just need to listen. Besides, with all of these murders recently, I’ve had a lot to keep me busy.”
“Maybe a little too busy?” Julia stepped back and stared down at the desk with the image of the killer planting the obituary in her mind. “When was the last time you went on a date?”
Johnny blushed as he pulled off his glasses. He squinted at Julia as he cleaned them on the edge of his blue shirt.
“Do you really want to know?” he asked with a half-smile. “When we went for coffee.”
“But that was two years ago. You haven’t been on a date since then?”
“It’s not that long ago,” he mumbled back as he pushed his glasses back up his nose. “I’ve been busy.”
Julia squeezed his shoulder and gave him a reassuring smile. She did not like to think that Johnny was burying his head so much in his work that he was not living his life. She wanted him to find somebody like she had found Barker because he deserved better than his last date to be a quick coffee with a woman who had told him they were just great friends.
“There’s only one door into this room,” Julia affirmed, turning her attention back to the case. “So that eliminates the possibility of sneaking in. They’d have to walk through the front door. Pretty brave, don’t you think? Do you think Josh knows anything?”
“I’ve already asked,” Johnny said as he followed Julia back to the front of the office. “He’s only part time anyway. Most of the people are. The office is empty most of the time if I’m not here.”
Julia walked out of the doors and then walked back through them. She carefully traced the journey the culprit was likely to take. She tried to imagine what they were thinking as they made their way to Rhonda’s desk to leave another obituary. Would they be excited, or nervous?
“They must have known that it was Rhonda who dealt with the obituaries,” Julia theorised. “Or it was a good guess?”
“It’s not hard to find out,” Johnny said. “She’s the person who replies personally to all of the families. But if they’re getting in here, they probably knew this was her desk. There’s no name tag.”
“There’s the pictures,” Julia said. “But that would mean they needed to know what she looks like.”
“A quick internet search would bring that up. How many Rhondas could there be in this area?”
“Good point.” Julia tapped her finger on her chin as she paced back and forth. “So, they could know who she is, or they could have found out. They could have a pass, or they could have snuck in. We’re getting nowhere!”
“Maybe we should take what we know about Chloe to the police?” Johnny suggested. “They might already be looking into her.”
Julia stopped pacing to stare at Johnny. She knew he was right, but she hated not seeing the full picture. A can of oil and garden shears did not equal a murderer, even if a niggling voice told her it made the most sense. She was about to agree with him until something familiar tickled her nose. She inhaled deeply, the smell transporting her to a different time. She turned to face a closed door.
“What’s in here?”
“Office stationary and cleaning stuff,” Johnny said with a shrug. “I never really go in there.”
Julia tried the brass doorknob, relieved when it opened. Her eyes lit up when she saw a thick, pink puddle next to a knocked over bottle. She crouched down and dipped her forefinger in the substance as she had done in Edgar’s kitchen, but this time, she knew why she recognised the smell.
“We used this stuff when I worked in the cake factory back in London before I had my own café,” Julia said as she rubbed the liquid between her fingers. “The smell would stick to your clothes.”
“What is it?” Johnny asked as he picked up the sticky bottle.
“It’s an industrial strength cleaner,” she said as Johnny read over the label. “We used it to sterilise the floors and the equipment.”
Julia found the light switch and flicked it on. The dim bulb did not make much difference, but it did illuminate boot prints Julia would have sworn were the same as the ones she had found at Edgar and Emily’s cottages.
“They snuck in, planted the obituaries, and then came in here to hide before they could make their escape.” Julia crouched down and picked up a big gloop of the liquid. She rolled it around in her hands and tried to shake it off. It did not move. “They unknowingly stood in this stuff and walked it back to the crime scenes. It only comes off with water, and it hasn’t rained all month.”
“But that doesn’t tell us who did it,” Johnny sighed as he flicked off the light. “Just that they were hiding in this cupboard. They were probably interrupted.”
Julia knew Johnny was right, but she was satisfied that she had at least figured out one tiny part of the mystery. It felt like she was edging open the door and now that her foot was crammed in, it would only be a matter of time before she could blow the door fully open and bask in the light of the truth.
“Keep looking over that video footage,” Julia said to Johnny as she stood up and looked down at her pink and sticky hands. “I need to get back to the café, but if you hear anything, let me know.”
“What about Chloe?” Johnny asked. “What if she did do it?”
“What if she didn’t?” Julia called over her shoulder as she pushed on the doors. “I might teach you a thing about investigative journalism yet, Johnny Watson.”
Julia quickly washed her hands in the old and rundown bathroom before making her way downstairs. She called a taxi and waited on the side of the road, her mind whirring. She felt like the truth was staring her in the face, but her eyes were closed to it.
“What am I missing?” she mumbled to herself as the taxi pulled up in front of her. “What can’t I see?”
12
“More,” Julia said, tipping up the bottom of the wine bottle as Barker poured it into her glass. “A bit more.”
“I thought you weren’t a drinker?” Barker asked as he emptied the wine into the glass.
“It’s been a long week.”
She settled into the couch, her feet toasting in front of the fire. The sun was still setting on Peridale, but for Julia, the week had already ended. The grand prize reveal was tomorrow, and she was still no closer to figuring out who the murderer was. After another sip of her wine, she was not even sure if she cared anymore. The Green Fingers had drained every last ounce of her energy. She leaned and peeped at the three hundred macarons that were currently cooling on her kitchen counter. It was more than likely that they were contributing to her sudden change of mood.
“I still can’t believe this charade is going ahead,” Barker said after returning with a fresh bottle of chilled wine. “With Emily still in intensive care, I thought the magazine might postpone the celebrations until they at least knew if she was going to pull through.”
“They want to throw their money at the winner so they can get out of here as soon as possible,” Julia said after another sip of her wine. “I can’t say I blame them.”
Barker topped up his glass and added another splash in Julia’s. She had only had one glass of wine, but it did not seem to be getting any emptier thanks to Barker’s constant top-ups. She closed her eyes, the warm and fuzzy feeling prickling behind her eyes.
“I wonder if the deaths will stop when the magazine leaves,” Julia thought aloud. “Or would it have happened regardless?”
“There’s the sabotage too,” Barker said. “That’s fifteen gardens sabotaged in some way now. We can’t keep up with the calls, but there’s not a lot we can do. You can’t charge somebody for the murder of a flower.”
“Try telling that to Evelyn,” Julia said with a girlish giggle. “She’s probably holding a séance for her gardenias right this minute.”
They chuckled behind their wine glasses like teenagers. She rested her head on Barker’s shoulder and stared into the flickering flames. It would be so easy to close her eyes and drift off.
A small scream echoed from within the cottage, startling them both. Julia’s wine glass wobbled, soaking her pyjama bottoms.
“What was that?” Barker whispered.
“It sounded like it came from Jessie’s room.” Julia pushed out of the deep couch. “Hold my glass.”
Julia rubbed her temples as she wandered to Jessie’s bedroom. She knocked softly before opening the creaky door. She popped her head in, surprised to see Jessie sat at her dressing table.
“Are you okay?” Julia whispered. “I heard a scream.”
“It’s nothing,” Jessie said as she clutched her hands. “I burnt my hand on this stupid thing – It doesn’t even matter.”