On the way home, I stopped by the newsagents. I left Charlie in the passenger seat; his head sleepy on his car pillow.
An immediate coo of noise welcomed me into the shop, alongside a gust of warm air.
“Evelyn,” Nancy said. She hurried from the fridges as if wearing rollerblades on her feet, she was at my side in the instant.
“Nancy,” I said with a nod, loosening my scarf. “Francesca,” I said, glancing to the other sister behind the counter.
“Ooh, we heard,” Nancy said. “Apparently, you were there.”
As suspected, the village gossips knew. It hadn’t even been twelve hours and the news was around the entire village.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” I said, allowing Nancy to guide me down an aisle. “Where’s the bleach?”
“Bleach?” Francesca called from the front. “What on earth do you need bleach for?”
“Cleaning,” I mumbled back. If I was going to get my early Spring clean kick, I’d have to buy supplies to aide me in it.
“By toiletries,” Nancy said.
I usually bought cleaning supplies out at the supermarket; it was much cheaper.
“What happened to her?” Nancy continued. “I’m sure she was only in here the other day. Poor Doreen.”
Grabbing at a blue plastic bottle of bleach and a couple sponges, I approached Fran. I wondered how much the twins knew about Doreen. “Were you close?”
They both shrugged. It wasn’t the response I was counting on.
“We spoke, from time to time, we’re similar in ages, so we’ve known each other for a while,” Fran said.
“But as time happens, people change, businesses grow, you know how it goes,” Nancy continued.
“Was she dating anyone?”
“Dating?” the said together, as if confused by the concept.
“I guess not then,” I replied. Not a huge deal of help. If they knew anyone she was seeing, it would’ve helped. It would’ve given me the slightest hint at figuring out who the anonymous letter P was.
After paying, Nancy followed me to the door. “What else happened, we heard you and Paul got into it earlier.”
I guess that was gossip now too. “Not sure what you mean,” I said, forcing a smile across my lips. “He’s possibly just stressed with everything on his plate.”
“Stressed. Ooh. You hear that?” she called out, turning back to her sister
“What’s he stressed about?” she said. “It’s not like she was murdered.”
And the smile was no longer forced. They didn’t know anything other than she’d died. But what I’d said could’ve possibly hinted that it wasn’t any ordinary death. “Of course not,” I said in a gasp. “But it’s so close to Valentine’s Day, and you know how the rose market is in the area.”
The hummed in unison.
It was a close call. I pinned Paul as the one who would’ve been revealing information, and I almost did the same thing I was annoyed at him for doing.
Back in the car, I drove home. The dark blue and purple mixed hues in the sky were a beauty to see while crossing over the bridge and viewing them reflect back on the river. Somewhat relaxing.
“Hope you’ve slept enough,” I said to Charlie. “You can help me with all this cleaning I’ll be doing.”
He didn’t seem phased by my musings.
The house was as I left it, except now there was a chill in the air. I hadn’t turned the boiler’s heating system on its timer, meaning I was being welcomed to a cold home instead of a warming one.
It looked like I’d be keeping the coat on, at least until the radiators warmed. I stuck my feet into a pair of plush slippers and scooted into the kitchen, Charlie quick on my feet as we raced to his dog bowl and water dish.
In a cupboard, where all Charlie’s food was kept, I knelt to grab a tin. I pulled out two. “Chicken in gravy or lamb in gravy?” Neither of them smelt the best, but there were added veggies in the lamb mix. “Lamb then.”
After emptying the tin into his dish and filling the water bowl, I checked a radiator with the back of my hand, feeling for some warmth through the frosty cold.
“Give it five,” I told myself as I turned back into the kitchen and faced the mess I’d created through years of neglect. It wasn’t the only place, but it was a start.
Throughout the years, I’d often been productive in trying to clean. I had purchased cardboard boxes and file organisers to help sort through it, of which only few were used.
The rest of the boxes were still flat and collecting dust in the garage, while the garage itself was another matter. The entire houses at this point needed a good dose of TLC.
I boiled the kettle for a cup of tea. I’d had too much coffee already today, and tea could be calming. While the kettle came to a boil, I went into the garage.
A mess, but there was some order to it, including a pile of flat unmade boxes. They’d need taping together and building before I could throw anything into them. And I hadn’t even thought about throwing any of it away until that point.
“Could always grab some black bags,” I grumbled.
I pulled the cardboard out and closed the door from the house to the garage. I wasn’t going to have the heat building be threatened by the cold vortex harbouring in the garage.
Charlie soon disappeared after eating, probably hiding in a dog bed.
I made my tea and removed my coat, finally welcomed with a little warmth. I examined the room and sipped the tea, letting the caramel taste warm my throat.
“I can do this,” I said. “I don’t need to throw it out, but I do need to sort it out.”
They had once all been sorted, into bags. My husband didn’t have the best filing method. Everything in bags, everything in old deteriorating boxes. I could’ve kept them all in there, but I’d been too nosey for my own good and decided to go through them all—except the day I went through everything never came, and I was somehow stuck with a growing pile on the island counter, on every single counter, and spilt out into the living room.
The conservatory was the safe area, devoid of paperwork.
“You’ve got this,” I reiterated back to myself. “I don’t have to order anything, just box it.”
I grabbed at some silver masking tape and built the boxes; five of them. The idea was to scoop paper into my arms and throw them into boxes, but even those plans were best thought up and not actual events which took place.
Placing a box by my feet, I grabbed at a single stapled clump of file paper.
“Loan to Barry Danvers,” I read aloud the words from the top. “Five-thousands pound?” I choked back. “Oh—” I continued reading. It had been to help someone get started with a business.
I knew he did that. He helped many people.
I dropped the file into the box and grabbed another. “Shares in Easy Ice Cream,” I said. “No idea.” I dropped it.
After half-an-hour, I didn’t know why I’d been nosey all those years ago. Probably out of a need to feel closer to Harry after he’d gone. He’d been part of every single piece of paper, and in a way, having them around was like having him around, having his name stamped over everything and the way he sometimes lopsidedly scribbled his signature.
A small area of the counter was thinning out, but it only made it easier to spread the mess.
In the mix of paperwork, there were also photos. He would get pictures taken with people he worked with, often shaking hands, often smiling. I had plenty of photos of him already, but every time I saw one more, my heart fluttered as if seeing him again for the first time.
“Oh, Harry,” I said, stroking his face in a photo. I added the picture to a second box, currently reserved for such things.
Another photo came out of the pile.
“Doreen?” I turned the image over in my hand to see Harry’s writing on the back, ‘Doreen Maidstone, 2009’
I turned it once again, examining the image. They were signing something on the table. I hadn’t been aware they�
��d done business together. In the background, there was a man. She never married, and her daughter was out of the picture at that time.
I knew there had to be more information still buried inside. But Harry had dealings with her, and it all made sense as to why she was always incredibly nice with me—possibly not just because of my position at the magazine.
What business did Harry have with her?
TWELVE
Friday, February 1st
I left the kitchen in a state of mess before bed. After filling one box full of paperwork, I’d decided to eat, and then it through my weary eyes it was undecidedly time for bed.
Seeing it again for the first time in the morning was somewhat like waking with a slight migraine hangover and trying to remember what had happened from the night before.
“Only one box,” I grumbled, tapping it with my slippered foot. There was the second box at the side of it, slowly filling with different pictures I’d picked out from the papers.
I knew the images were hiding in there, but I had plenty pictures of Harry around the house, shown proudly in gilded photo frames.
Charlie growled lowly, kicking a paw at his bowl.
A yawn rolled out of my mouth, throwing me into a large stretch. “Right, right,” I said, pulling my nightgown tight at my waist. The heating was finally on the timer, but it didn’t help that the house was sometimes a draughty hell. “Let me put the kettle on and I’ll deal with you.”
It was Friday, and I was taking more liberties of time off. Diane didn’t mind, after the circulation their last national paper got, I knew given the time and proper thought, I could make this one just as big.
After feeding Charlie, I collected the morning paper and milk from the stoop outside the front door. It had rained overnight, the paving outside was dark and wet, but it wasn’t raining now, perhaps it had recently stopped.
“Today we’re going to visit your new friend,” I said to Charlie as I walked back into the kitchen. He didn’t seem to notice me or pick his head up from his dish. I was referring to the cat he’d met inside Mortimer’s house.
I made my coffee and sat inside the conservatory, ready to flick through the morning paper. I scanned through a couple pages, looking at the headlines, glancing through the pictures. My brain couldn’t get into anything, busy with thoughts about the mess and progress I’d made last night.
It took a little time before I huffed and folded the paper, slapping it down on the table. “Fine,” I grumbled, grabbing my cup and heading back into the kitchen. “Where to start?”
There was a lot of places for me to get stuck in and rummage through. Like anyone, I started at what was on the surface, but in the back of my mind, it continued to niggle about the photo I’d found, showing my husband and Doreen. Whatever they’d been signing, there had to be something in here to go alongside it.
I pawed, reading only headlines. I was on a mission, looking for something in particular.
Doreen Maidstone—block letters at the top of the page.
“Gotcha!” I plucked it, attached to several more by a staple.
The front page was mostly business jargon; receipt of sale, seller, deed of sale.
My fingers flicked through it until I came upon a photocopy in black and white. “Deed of sale,” I grumbled. “Doreen Maidstone, Mortimer Forster.” Chills vibrated through my upper arms and across my cheeks.
Mortimer had sold Doreen the land. The very same land he complained about her stealing.
“Harry.” I noticed his name written and signed as witness.
Flicking through more pages, I found another receipt this time made out from Harry to Doreen. “An investment,” my lips mumbled. My finger trailed the page to the footnote. “To cover the cost of land; business expansion.”
Brriinngg. Brriinngg.
The landline phone called out from the wall, shooting my adrenaline levels to sky-high figures.
Charlie barked, running around the house and stopping by the front door to bark at the wall-mounted telephone.
I dropped the papers and hurried to the hallway. “Hush, hush,” I called to him, snapping my fingers.
Ruth’s voice was immediate in my ear as I answered. “Eve, Eve, Eve!”
“Ruth?”
“You’ll never guess who I saw.”
“Who?” I asked, my voice quiet as another chill crossed my back.
“Doreen’s daughter.”
“Her daughter?”
“Yes! Amanda. She was walking near the newsagents.”
My tongue dried in my mouth. I had some gossip to tell Ruth as well. “That’s odd,” I said. “She must have heard about—”
“And she has a son!”
She hadn’t been with child when she lived here. “You sure?”
“Well, late-teens, but definite family resemblance. They’ve got that same bum chin with the—with the—you know, like a dot in the middle.”
I knew what a bum chin meant. I chuckled at the comment. “Well, she’s definitely back because she knows what happened to her mother, clearly.”
“Didn’t take long though, did it,” she grumbled.
“Talking of Doreen,” I said. “I found a picture of her and Harry last night, signing something, and this morning, I only went and found the documents they were signing. Apparently, he invested in her company, he gave her the money to buy the land Mortimer was adamant she stole from him.”
“Ooo!”
“What are you doing up early anyway?”
“I’ve got to be at work for half-past eight,” she said. “You know, like every day.”
My brain knew it wasn’t the weekend, and yet it didn’t click. “Well, I’m going over to Mortimer’s to see if he remembers anything about this sale soon, so—”
“So, lunch at Wiches?” she finished for me.
“Right!” I chuckled. “See you at one-ish.”
“Make it twelve.”
“See you then.” I placed the phone back on the holder, letting it click in place.
I exhaled the weight from my shoulders. There had to be something Mortimer wasn’t telling me yesterday. I had a photocopied receipt of sale; he couldn’t well argue or talk his way out of that. Definitely not while I was presenting the evidence. Unless, his faculties were leaving, and he truly didn’t remember.
Charlie waited by my feet, looking at me. I hoped he wasn’t waiting for me to tell him who was on the phone—not like he listened anyway. “You ready to visit your new friend?” I asked. “Let me whip some breakfast up and we can go.”
My appetite was coming back, a sure sign of things looking up. I had two slices of toasted bread and a small bowl of scrambled egg. I didn’t want to eat too much, given the precarious position of my stomach being filled with hot beverages from yesterday.
I showered and dressed. Putting on a pair of dark denim jeans, a purple blouse and matching silk scarf.
“You ready?” I asked Charlie, waiting by the front door.
I took a look at myself in the mirror beside the door, combing a hand back through my hair to tease some volume into it. I pulled out a lipstick from my bag, aptly named ‘air blushed’, a deep peachy nude colour.
“I’m ready now,” I told him, slipping my feet into a pair of black ankle boots with small wedge heels.
Before leaving, I’d stuffed the paperwork and picture into my bag. Perhaps Mortimer could shed light on the picture I’d found of Harry and Doreen together, or use it to jog his memory.
The drive to Mortimer’s house was slow. I wanted to get a good examination of all my thoughts on the way. It was awful to think, but it was entirely possible Mortimer had something to do with this, even if he couldn’t remember.
Passing Doreen’s house, there was police tape across the front door, but not a single police car in sight. I’d been there twenty-four hours earlier and I couldn’t comprehend how she’d died—or been murdered, perhaps if I’d arrived earlier, it wouldn’t have happened. Or, a sickness rose in my
throat—or, I’d have been caught in the murder as well.
As I pulled into the drive outside Mortimer’s house, the front door opened and he stood, shouting and waving his walking stick around in the air.
“Mortimer,” I called out, cutting my engine and waving a hand to him from the window. “Mortimer, it’s me, Eve,” I said, poking my head out for him to see.
“I’m sick of the lot of ya,” he said. “Just want peace and quiet.”
I rolled the window back and stepped out, clinging to my handbag. Charlie jumped out after me. “I came over yesterday, but you had another guest, so I left.”
He grumbled deep into a snarl. “Right,” he said. “You here with the police? I want to know what they’re doing about my land.”
Perfect. “Yes, yes, I’m here to talk about the land.”
He stepped back into the house, waving me in with his stick. “I’ll put the kettle on.” Mortimer continued to mumble and huff under his breath as I walked inside after him.
He stood in the kitchen, filling cups of water, transporting them to fill the kettle.
“Too many people have been,” he grumbled. “Can’t get a moment of peace.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Mortimer.”
“Mr Forster to you,” he scoffed.
My brows raised and I sucked back. “Sorry,” I said. “I found something about the land.”
“Yeah?” he grumbled, slamming his hand on the kettle switch. “What?”
“Well, it’s your signature,” I said, opening my handbag and pulling out a clump of folded white papers. “And a land deed,” I said. “You and Doreen signed this. It’s a receipt of sale.”
“Nonsense!” he scoffed.
Charlie barked at the raised voice. Extending back on his front legs, ready to pounce, as if he could ever be as aggressive or intimidating as a bigger dog. I snapped my fingers.
“Let me see!” He grabbed at the glasses from his neckline, attached by a string and pulled them to his face. He pressed them deep against the bridge.
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