by Mona Marple
“I guess you have to protect yourself.”
“Oh yes, I have been a master at that, Sandy. Protecting myself at work. Not getting too close to clients. Detaching myself from cases. Turns out, I should have been protecting myself at home. That’s where the hearts really get broken.”
Sandy took a deep breath. “I don’t know how to say this, but I think I have to. I don’t know if you know…”
“Spit it out.” Ingrid scolded, then met Sandy’s gaze and softened. “Look, here’s a tip for you, if you’re going to continue with these investigations, and you do have a flare for them, maybe you could even open a detective agency or something. Let me give you a piece of advice. You must rip the Band-Aid off, forgive the Americanism. You must tear it off, without warning, and as quick as you can. Don’t you dare sit someone down, tell them you’re about to pull it off, give them a talk about how sorry you are to have to pull it off, and then slowly, millimetre by millimetre, pull it off, all the time apologising for how painful it must be. No, Sandy, when you’re in that situation, you tear that thing off as quick as you can. So?”
Sandy gulped and met Ingrid’s gaze. “Heavenli’s pregnant.”
Ingrid’s wild laughter attracted the attention of the prison guards who stood stationed around the room. The other visitors stopped their conversations and looked across at Ingrid. The inmates appeared less interested, their reactions dulled by time, hopelessness, or drugs.
“Ingrid? Did you hear me?”
Ingrid stopped laughing and looked straight at Sandy.
“That poor fool.” She said, her eyes wild. “He couldn’t have children. It’s not his.”
9
Sandy had placed almost half of the new stock on the shelves, and already she could sense the bookshop returning to its previous, bulging glory. Some of the stock would have to remain in boxes until more space was made, but she wanted to make sure that the books most likely to sell were put out first.
She patrolled each aisle in turn and considered which sections had grown larger than they needed to be.
She was also entering the first spring with the increased space in the shop, and knew that the reading tastes of her customers may change as the warmer months approached.
It was almost Mother’s Day, and she had created a small display area of books that she imagined mums might like. Poetry collections, skin care guides, walking tours of Britain collections. She’s also ordered a small selection of Mother’s Day cards, so customers could complete their Mother’s Day shopping all under her roof, and she stood back and looked at the display, wondering whether to move it downstairs where more people would see it. Even the reluctant reader might have a mum who enjoyed a good book.
Yes, downstairs was much better, she decided, and packed all of the books she had selected into one of the large cardboard boxes. She took the book down in the lift and selected a bookcase that was almost empty, sat forgotten about near the staircase.
The cafe was quiet, in that mid-morning lull between breakfast and lunch. She watched Coral wipe down tables and could hear Dorie mumbling to herself.
The only other customer was a man who Sandy thought at first was a new face, until she heard his lilting voice. Marshall Tate.
“You know I had no time for either of them.” He said. He sat at the table closest to Sandy, furthest away from the counter, and didn’t realise he was being overheard. Sandy placed the cardboard box down on the floor, careful not to make a noise, and began to place the books on the case.
“Oh, never! Did I look okay? I’m pretty sure they got my worst side, of course.” Marshall said into the phone pressed against his ear. “No, no offers yet, I don’t think I’d do it anyway. Can you imagine me eating spiders in the jungle? Ha! Did you see the crying? It wasn’t too much, was it? I used that onion trick, remember them teaching us that in drama school?”
Sandy listened to his every word, her face growing redder and redder as she did. Did the man have no shame?
“He’s penniless, of course, but it’s not always about money. You never know who’s watching, I could be the perfect face for someone.”
“Excuse me?” Sandy asked. She had left the books and pulled up the seat opposite Marshall. The colour drained from his face.
“I’ll call you back, love, alright.” He said, and ended the call. “I’m sorry, can I help you?”
“I think you owe me an explanation.” Sandy said. Her face was shaking with fury. “I know you set it up so the press came here and stumbled across you, sitting here ready to give an interview.”
“Ah, well, I’m…”
“Save it.” Sandy said. “I’ve sat behind there and heard your conversation. Are you seriously hoping your brother’s murder somehow launches a, what, an acting career for you?”
Marshall shrugged. “Not necessarily. I just think it’s best to be open to opportunities. You never know who…”
“You said you don’t like either of them. Was that Marshall and Heavenli?”
Marshall rolled his eyes. “Dear girl, if you’re going to eavesdrop, do it properly. I’ve got no problem at all with Heavenli, apart from that silly name of course. She really needs to change that before the baby arrives.”
“Who did you mean, then?”
“I don’t see why you think you can interrogate me about a private conversation!” Marshall objected.
“Because right now, you look very much like a man with a motive to have ordered the hit.” Sandy said, her lips pressed tightly together. “So, I’d suggest you talk.”
“You must be joking. There was no love between me and Hugo, but I didn’t care enough to want him dead.” Marshall said with a shrug. A cup of coffee sat in front of him and he began to idly stir it with the teaspoon.
“Do you have anything to gain from his death? An inheritance, or something?”
“Absolutely nothing. The best I can hope for is a spell as a C-List celebrity doing the rounds on reality TV. Now, I’ll admit to you, if those opportunities come, I’ll take them. But I really would be clutching at straws if I killed him to try and get my face out there more. Don’t you try to hide your face, generally, when you’re a killer?”
“Not necessarily.” Sandy said. “Are you telling me you came across here from Wales so you could appear on TV?”
Marshall sighed. “Look, love, it’s alright for you here, as long as people like me want coffee and cake you’ll be in business. Acting isn’t like that. There’s one role and fifteen thousand people who want it. Who knows where this opportunity could lead? A true-life drama, maybe, and I could play myself. Probably direct it as well, and give creative input about the man Hugo was.”
“That’s unbelievable.”
“I don’t claim to be the nicest person in the world.” Marshall said. “Look, it is sad, but they’ve all been playing with fire if you ask me.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, Ingrid has enemies. People who should be out of prison and are in it. People who should be in but are out because of her.”
“It wouldn’t make sense for someone to try and hurt Ingrid by killing her ex-husband.” Sandy said.
“Did you know they’d separated?” Marshall asked, with a raised eyebrow. “Because I didn’t.”
Sandy considered his question. She was hardly friends with Ingrid, but her clients wouldn’t be either. It could be a possibility.
“I’m still not convinced it wasn’t you.” Sandy said.
Marshall pursed his lips and took out his mobile phone, which he scrolled across and then held up for Sandy to view. The image was a screenshot of his bank account, showing a minus sum balance.
“My dear, I’m afraid if I did want him dead, I’d have had to have done it myself. I couldn’t have afforded a hit man. Poor actor here, remember?”
Sandy examined the image and frowned.
“Go through the transactions if you want. You probably won’t find one to Domingo Cavali, ref ‘murder of my brother’ but you al
so won’t see any large cash withdrawals. Well, you won’t see any large transactions at all.”
Sandy met his gaze. “Okay. I’m still not happy that you’ve used my business as a setting for your ploy to raise your profile, so if you want to still be welcome here while you’re in town, you need to tell me everything you can about your brother.”
“Oh, Hugo, Hugo… he was so dull, there really isn’t much to say.” Marshall said. “I’m the flamboyant one, you may have noticed.”
“Are you guys okay?” Coral asked, appearing at the side of their table. She eyed Sandy, checking she was okay.
“I’m just having a talk with Hugo’s brother, Coral. We might be a while.” Sandy said. She flashed a smile at her sister, who nodded and walked away. The door pinged to signal customers arriving.
“What was your reaction to him leaving Ingrid?” Sandy asked.
“I had no idea that had happened until I arrived here.” Marshall admitted. “Hugo and me, we didn’t keep in touch. Nothing in common. That’s what I meant when I said I didn’t have time for them. I always found him boring, and that got worse when he married Ingrid. She was so powerful, so forceful, it was like watching a cat being neutered. Or a dog, whatever. Not that he was ever the wildest tom cat in town, but he became so domesticated. Doing all the housework, bed by 9pm, it was embarrassing.”
“Do you think that’s why he left?”
“Well, he left because of Heavenli. Heavenli, honestly, can we call her another name? I can’t keep saying that name.” Marshall said with a dramatic sigh.
“What attracted him to Heavenli?”
Marshall looked at her over the top of his glasses. “She’s not exactly my type, love, but even I don’t need to ask that question. The bigger question is what attracted her to him?”
“I think I know the answer to that.” Sandy said. “I think he showed an interest in the bit of her that nobody else did; her mind.”
Marshall burst into laughter. “Yeah, righto. Hugo was a bore but he was a red-blooded male too. He wasn’t thinking about her brain, trust me.”
“Was it like him to have an affair, though? Because if he was seduced by a pretty girl, surely that’s ten a penny.”
“Are you seriously suggesting my brother and that woman had a stimulating, intellectual relationship?” Marshall asked. “Look, Hugo was always a coward. He wanted out of his marriage but he didn’t dare leave, that’s my guess. And Heavenli, she probably wanted out of her job but didn’t have a Plan B. Almost a business arrangement, really, isn’t it. He leaves his marriage without having to be more lonely than he was in it, and she gets security.”
“Ingrid thought she was getting security too.” Sandy said.
Marshall nodded. “Well, what a surprise my brother turned out to be.”
“Are you staying around here for long?”
“I’ll be here until the press dies down.” Marshall said, straight-faced. “You may not approve, dear, but at least I’m honest about what I am.”
Sandy nodded. “Oh, one thing, did you know Heavenli’s pregnant?”
Marshall licked his lips and took a sip of the coffee. “What a mess. No, I didn’t know.”
“Did your brother want children?” Sandy asked. She didn’t want to reveal that Hugo couldn’t father children if Marshall wasn’t aware of that already.
“I could probably tell you less than five things about my brother, but I know for a fact he wanted to be a father.” Marshall said. His expression was serious, thoughtful, as he considered the child his brother would never know. “I teased him about it as a kid. I already knew I wouldn’t be having children. I mean, you can adopt now, but back then it was unthinkable, so I just resigned myself to not liking kids. Hugo loved them, it’s why he was a teacher. He wanted to be around them all the time, help them. He was the kid at school who’d volunteer to help the little ones read and stuff. Yeah, yeah, he’d have loved a babba... Done anything to get one. A shame, really, Ingrid never wanted them.”
“I’m sorry.” Sandy said as she realised his eyes were damp with tears.
“Not your fault, love. Not your fault. I’m absolutely here for the press, don’t think I’m not. But I’m saying goodbye too. You grow up being told you should be best friends if you’ve got a brother, and that was never gonna be me and Hugo. But he was still the only brother I had. Parents both dead, now him, it’s just me left. The family dies with me.”
“Not if Heavenli has his child.” Sandy said.
“Hmm.” Marshall said. He gave a single nod, an unspoken shared secret held between them.
10
“Wow.” Tom said as he handed her another book to slot into the newly created space among military history. “I can’t believe his brother’s cheek.”
Sandy squeezed the book in and brushed a strand of hair off her face. “I dunno, I think he might have more love for Hugo than he realised.”
“People are odd.” Tom said. He’d taken an afternoon off work to help her finish fitting in as much of the new stock as possible. It was tiring, sweaty work, to Sandy’s surprise. She wished she’d tied her hair into a ponytail. “Where next?”
“There’s a spare shelf over there, we’ll use that.” Sandy said. Together, they lifted the large box and carried it across the shop, past a teenage boy who was flicking through the retro comic selection and chewing gum. He glanced up as they walked past, raised an eyebrow and returned to the comics. Sandy hoped he wouldn’t buy any, they were comics from her own childhood. Whizzer and Chips had been her favourite. Her dad had walked to the newsagent each week to buy the Sunday newspaper for himself and a new comic for her and Coral to share. Coral had quickly grown bored of the comic and moved on to reading each section of the paper after their dad had finished it; her introduction to the world of journalism had been those shared Sunday mornings. Sandy had remained happy to curl up in bed and read the comic, laughing at the silly storylines.
Occasionally, on the best days, her mum would hear her laughter and appear in the bedroom doorway, a yellow rag in her hand, and tell her to move up, then climb in bed with her. She’d cuddle up close to Sandy, smelling of bleach and honey, and close her eyes. She didn’t want to read the comic, she just wanted to be close to happiness.
“I’ve lost you again.” Tom said. She shook her head to bring her back to the present. He stood close to her, his arm outstretched with books for her to add to the shelf in the right place. “You okay?”
“Sorry, I was just remembering something.”
Tom grinned at her. “Looked like a nice memory from the smile on your face.”
“I was thinking about my mum.” Sandy said. She didn’t tell people about her parents often. Her loss at such a young age made people uncomfortable.
“I’m glad you have those happy memories of her.” Tom said.
“It’s funny, all of the memories have a different meaning now.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well.” She began. “A few years ago, I’d have told you my mum was such a carefree spirit, a hippie, a dreamer. I’d have told you about her laugh and how carefree she was. But now, I think of those same memories and it’s really strange, it’s like I can’t find her happiness.”
“Do you think you’re starting to forget her?” Tom asked.
His words stunned Sandy. Was that what it was?
She forced herself to bring up one of her favourite childhood memories; her and her mum dancing in the kitchen in the late afternoon. Sun poured in, distorted through the net curtain, and danced along with them. Coral wasn’t there, her dad wasn’t there, it was just Sandy and her mum. That’s probably why it was such a fond memory.
She could remember everything, even down to the mustard colour of her mum’s dress, and the way she wore her hair in a plait that started at one side of her head and worked its way around to the other side. She remembered the slight stain of pink on her mum’s lips.
But as she examined the memory closer, as she searched h
er mum’s face, as she peered into her mum’s eyes, it was like examining a shell. Polished on the outside, empty within.
“No.” Sandy admitted. “I remember it all. I just understand it more now. She was unhappy. I’m sure of it. I just wish I knew why.”
“Lots of people are unhappy, Sand, maybe she had some bad days. You know how it is, things can get on top of you.”
Sandy nodded. “I think it’s more than that. I don’t know, maybe I’m being silly. I just wish I could ask her.”
Tom placed the books on an empty shelf and maneouvred around the box, then pulled her in close for a hug. “I’m sorry, Sand.”
“Oh, it’s fine.” Sandy said with a forced smile. She pushed herself away from Tom and straightened her back, stretching her nervous energy out of her. “There’s more urgent things to be thinking about today.”
“Like sorting these books?” Tom asked with a smile. Sandy knew he had to be back at The Tweed as soon as possible, he’d left Tanya alone to look after the place but it wasn’t fair for him to be absent from his business to help Sandy with her own.
“Well… and thinking of our plan with the murder case.” Sandy whispered, although the teenage boy seemed to be paying no attention to them. She remembered herself at his age; adults were generally invisible to her.
“Our plan?” Tom asked.
“I thought you’d like to be more involved.” Sandy said, with a shrug. “You have some good ideas.”
“Hmm.” Tom murmured. “Go on, where are we up to?”
“I confronted Marshall Tate.” Sandy said. “I’m fairly sure he had nothing to do with it.”
“Maybe it was Ingrid after all.” Tom said. “You know, the police do get the right person sometimes.”
“We can’t rule her out, you’re right.” Sandy agreed. “Hugo left her for a younger model.”
“And the younger model wasn’t exactly faithful to him.” Tom reminded her. “Poor guy would have been better staying where he was.”
“And let that be a lesson to men everywhere…” Sandy joked, with a glare towards Tom.