Silver Lake Cozy Mystery Bundle

by Hugo James King

  In the back of the police car, Spencer welcomed Nora. Deep in his arms. He was uncuffed. I glanced at Paul.

  “If she’s gonna help us,” he said. “She’s got to trust us.”

  After the crying, which lasted several minutes longer than it should have with Spencer cooing at her, and her fussing over his appearance.

  “Stink of alcohol,” she mumbled, doing up his tie around his neck. “No wonder, you were out of it. I can’t imagine what you were thinking.”

  “I didn’t do it,” he replied.

  “We have reason to believe he was blackmailed,” Paul said.

  “Blackmail,” her voice dropped an octave as she repeated. “What? Why? Who would blackmail you?”

  “That’s why we tried to call you,” I said softly. “The note—”

  “The note,” Paul took over, giving me a sideways glance. I had overstepped my mark. “We have a note naming you in what we believe to be blackmailing Spencer into taking the blame for the murder.” He stuck his hand inside his jacket pocket, pulling his notebook out.

  “What?” she asked, pressing both hands against Spencer’s cheeks. “Me? Why?”

  I had thought by now, the why would’ve been obvious. Spencer was married, and she was his mistress.

  “You know,” Spencer replied softly. “Caroline.”

  “Is she behind it?” she asked.

  We’d been there already—well, I had already thought it was her.

  “It doesn’t make sense for her to kill Finley,” I interjected.

  Paul nodded. “And to mention, she’s not here.”

  Spencer’s brow creased, the question of how appearing in his face. Just as it appeared in mine.

  “We contacted with Caroline,” Paul said. “She’s at home, nearly four hours away.”

  They both exhaled deeply. But it didn’t quite matter whether or not they were being blackmailed because now people knew. Whether or not he took the fall, people now knew about him and Nora.

  “We have a list of names,” Paul said. “We’d like to know if you recognise any of them, someone from your past, someone you told about Spencer. Perhaps they’re a friend, or ex-friend.”

  “Someone from the charity,” I said.

  Nora scoffed. “That was years ago,” she said. “We could be talking, fifteen years.”

  “Fifteen?” I choked. It had been going on for fifteen years, and Caroline didn’t know? And nobody had spilt the beans before this? It baffled me.

  “Wasn’t it started twenty years ago?” Spencer asked.

  I hoped he wasn’t aiming the question at me. I had no idea how long ago anything was started. Although I knew Harry had been in business for an incredibly long time, definitely for longer than we’d been together and married.

  “Whatever,” Nora said. “Let me see the names. I lived with many different people during my time under the charity, but I never told anyone about Spencer. I never said a word.”

  “That’s okay,” Spencer said, giving Nora’s arm a gentle squeeze. “Did you bring the boys?”

  She nodded. “They’re asleep.”

  He smiled back at her.

  “Let’s go over there,” Paul said, nodding to an empty spot between cars.

  As Paul and Nora left, Spencer sobbed lightly. Shaking his head. “I can’t believe I almost took the blame for it, I’ve never felt so—so stupid,” he said. “Caroline’s family has a great solicitor; they’ll take everything when they find out.”

  From what I’d seen last on the phone, Caroline had attempted to call and text him. I don’t think she knew about the affair, but the suspected murder was definitely on her mind, and perhaps that would be her grounds for divorcing.

  “Eve! There you are!” Ruth said, interrupting my thoughts. “I’ve been all over the place looking for you.”

  Spencer attempted to step out of the car.

  “Stay,” an officer said, stepping from behind the car and in front of the car door. “to be cautious.”

  I joined Ruth, exasperated as she grabbed at my arm.

  “What happened?”

  “I know how it’s made,” she said, pulling me away from the prying ears of wandering police officers.

  “The ricin?”

  She nodded. “Someone very skilled with a steady hand,” she said. “It’s made with lye water.”

  “What’s that?”

  She puffed at her cheeks and sighed. “Sodium hydroxide.”

  I rolled a hand over. “Again, I know sodium is salt, but—”

  “It’s dangerous,” she said. “And soaked with the castor beans, it makes an incredibly deadly powder.”

  “Can anyone make it?” I asked.

  Hesitant as she poked her tongue between her teeth. “Frank said whoever did it wouldn’t have been successful on their first try.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  We were looking for someone with scars. Someone who had possibly been burned by the ricin, by the lye water mixture. The stuff could bubble up the skin on contact. This wasn’t just anyone, this would’ve been someone who had some type of intellect to themselves. And it made sense for a cook, someone who had knowledge of preparing foods.

  As Ruth informed Paul of what she knew, she noted it down in his little book.

  “Did she recognise any names?” I finally asked, noting Nora wasn’t with him.

  He shook his head. “It was a long time,” he said. “They could’ve changed their names by now. I’m waiting on the photographs to be sent to my phone so she can look through them.”

  “And the cook?”

  “Nobody has seen her either,” he said. “But we have officers around the perimeter. And we’re looking for someone who could have had a hand in making the ricin.”

  “Someone with burns,” I said. “Someone with burns.” I repeated back to myself, a photo flooded my memory bank. I’d seen just the sort of burn.

  Paul nodded. “I’ll let them know.” He walked off, turning his back on us.

  “Ruth,” I said, taking her arm in my hand. “Someone with burns.”

  “Yes.” She nodded. “We said that.”

  “No, no,” I said. “Don’t you remember. The waiter with the odd hand, it looked sore.”

  Her eyes opened wide as she looked back at me. “The burn looked fresh, I thought perhaps from hot water, but you could be right,” she said. “I’ve not seen a chemical burn in years.”

  As a nurse, Ruth had seen a whole lot of different types of sicknesses and different things happening to people, but in Briarbury and Silver Lake, we weren’t plagued by too much bad luck regarding burns. Ruth and Frank dealt mostly with general check-ups. I knew this because anything remotely interesting was talked about over coffee.

  “Let’s go inside,” I said, tugging on my shawl over my shoulders. “Let me grab Charlie first.”

  “There’s at least eight of them,” she replied. “And they’re all wearing the same clothes with the same gloves.”

  “Do you remember his name?”

  I didn’t remember whether or not we’d been given a name.

  After finding Charlie sniffing around Nora and Spencer, I collected him in my arms, careful not to disturb them while they talked in the back of the police car. Spencer was still unable to leave it.

  Back inside, the party continued as if nobody knew anything else was happening outside. The jazz band played louder, almost loud enough to drown out the sound of drunk people talking. And this was too loud for Charlie’s ears. He yapped and writhed in my arms.

  “We’re going, we’re going,” I hushed him, as we walked into the kitchen.

  It was spotless.

  They’d cleaned all the countertops and mopped the floors.

  “The floor’s wet,” a chef said, nodding to the yellow sign on the ground.

  “Question,” I said. “One of the waiters, he burned his hand earlier.”

  He shook his head and shrugged. “Can’t keep track of everything,” he said. “If it was serious,
it’ll be in the accident book.”

  “AHHH!” one of the cooks screamed.

  Charlie jumped from my arms.

  Ruth and I chased after him, chased him right to the source of the scream.

  A cook was stood in front of the cleaning cupboard, staring at Lorraine as a muffled cry came from behind grey electrical tape wrapped around her mouth. She shook back and forward.

  “Don’t just leave her,” I said as the cook stepped away.

  The other cook came forward, followed by the two chefs.

  Ruth and I tore the tape from her face and untied her hands and legs.

  She gasped, the light mascara on her eyelashes now soaked into her cheeks.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “Daniel,” she said, between gasps. “I found him—them.”

  “Them?” Ruth asked.

  She nodded, sobbing into her chin. “Him and his mother.”

  “Mother and son,” I said.

  “They were planning on—on—hurting someone else.”

  From the note I’d found addressed to me, it could’ve been me they were trying to hurt. “Where did they go?”

  “She’s in the back o the ambulance,” Ruth said.

  “He went with her,” one of the cooks from behind us spoke.

  Had this been their plan all along? Get put into the back of an ambulance as their means of escape. Nobody would suspect the paramedics doing their job as part of the ploy for the killers to get away.

  We raced out through the hallway and into the reception area.

  If the ambulance hadn’t left, we still had time to find the killer.

  Outside, Paul choked on the smoke of a cigarette.

  “In a rush?” he asked.

  “We know who did it,” I said.

  He glanced passed us to see Lorraine, the other cook. The one we’d thought had been a suspect. When really, she was being set up, and heard more than she should’ve done.

  “It’s not her,” I said, interrupting his thoughts. “It’s the woman who got herself in the back of the ambulance.”

  He nodded ahead to the ambulance. “They’re still here,” he said. “They were supposed to leave five minutes ago.”

  “Supposed to?” I asked.

  “Doesn’t sound god,” Ruth agreed.

  “Let’s go.”

  Charlie didn’t take much convincing; he was already running on ahead. As for myself, I couldn’t run, I hurried quickly, clutching my clothes so I didn’t trip and fall from how constricting they were against my movement.

  I reached the back of the ambulance doors.

  Knock. Knock. Knock. My fists pounded on the metal. “They did it,” I said. “Open up.”

  No answer.

  I pulled on the handle, met with a clunk. “They dosed themselves to get out, so we wouldn’t think it was them.”

  And still a continuation of nothing.

  “Open it,” Ruth said.

  “I tried.”

  “Pull harder.”

  I pulled harder, passing the clunk into an eased opening.

  “They in there?” Paul asked.

  Inside the back of the ambulance, the two paramedics were strewn across their seats at the side, their necks and chins dipping slightly to their chests.

  A gasp found itself vibrating from the back of my throat and out into the open.

  I glanced to Paul and nodded. There was someone in there, but they weren’t the mother and son duo we had expected.

  “Are they dead?” I asked.

  Ruth pulled at her pantsuit leg slightly at the hip. “Let me check,” she said, stepping into the back of the ambulance.

  “They’re not here,” I told Paul.

  “What?” he asked, poking his head into the back of the ambulance.

  “Where are they?” he said.

  The question we all had.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  They weren’t dead. The number of deaths remained at one. One murder was enough. We didn’t need more dead, especially when the people responsible were almost caught.

  “Looks like the boy hit them over the head,” Ruth said after her examination. “I’m sure they’ll come to soon.”

  Paul barked his orders at the men, commanding them to search the grounds. The mother and son were around here somewhere. They were bound to be, but they couldn’t get far without a car, and the entire place was surrounded by fields and forestry out into the middle of nowhere. They’d need to have a great sense of direction and a map to navigate it.

  “It was the son making it all,” I said, concluding an earlier thought. “I didn’t see any scars on Sandra’s hands.”

  Ruth nodded, making her way out of the ambulance. “I knew it, I just knew it when I saw those welts on the back of his hands. I knew that they weren’t some old odd birthmarks.”

  “And come to think of it, she was the one who jumped out and told us that,” I said. “And they actually look the same. I’m surprised I didn’t see it on the boy.”

  “They say sons looks like their fathers,” Ruth said. “But we never saw them both together, so how could we have made the connection. Neither of them were familiar to us.”

  “What are you two talking about?” Paul snapped. “If we don’t find them, this could be a huge slap in the face to my promotion.”

  I scoffed. “I mean, you did arrest the wrong man.”

  “Under confession,” he sniped. “And we’re pretty sure we can get these two. It’s pitch black, and the only way they can get anywhere is if they start shining a torch over anything. We’ll have them in a heartbeat.” His fingers clicked.

  Paul walked away, leaving us in the light from the back of the ambulance.

  I took a seat on the stoop of the back of the ambulance.

  “I best stay here for when they come to,” Ruth said, sitting beside me on the step. “Maybe they heard something one of them said. Like, maybe where they were hiding out.”

  Looking on ahead, I had a full view of the manor. All the lights were off on all the floors. It was possible they’d gone back inside, possible they were hiding out in one of the rooms until everyone had left. Maybe they knew secret doors or passages the rest of us didn’t know.

  “What are you thinking?” Ruth’s voice broke my concentration.

  “Where did they go?”

  “They could be anywhere,” her voice drifted off.

  “But they’re not,” I told her. “They’re here. And they’re going to be sneaky about it.”

  “Where do you think they’ve gone then?”

  “They’re probably still here,” I said. “They wouldn’t go far. Would you go wondering through the forest if you didn’t know the area?”

  She shook her head.

  It was the only sensible answer to it.

  “They must’ve planned this out,” I told her. “This means, they must’ve planned their getaway.”

  “I wonder how long?”

  Charlie howled up at us, turning into yaps.

  “Tired?” I asked, looking down at him. “Don’t worry, we’ll be—”

  He shot off.

  “No, no, no!”

  I kicked my shoes off and chased after him. I couldn’t run anymore, I couldn’t chase him any longer. My feet were sore. I knew I should’ve broke the shoes in at least a week before the party. That would’ve been the sensible decision.

  The car park was barely lit. Only from the dim outside porch lamps they’d hung near the walls. I caught a glimpse of the white fur as he skittered between cars with ease. I, on the other hand, had a little less success shimmying through the tighter parked cars.

  “Charlie!” I shouted, finally. “It’s dangerous.”

  Maybe he was headed to our car, wondering if I’d left treats for him inside it. I knew, I’d definitely left his leash in there. It was for the best if he was going for it. But as I chase after him, I realised I had left my purse at the step into the back of the ambulance.

  He’d stopped.<
br />
  Sniffing around the tire of a car, several cars over from where we’d parked.

  “Come on then,” I said, approaching him.

  A flash of light appeared from inside the car.

  “Charlie,” my voice softened. “Come over here. Come here.”

  The windows of the car were fogged lightly; there was no seeing inside. There was no seeing through them.

  My heart raced. “Charlie, Charlie,” I said as he scratched at the tire.

  “No,” a muffled voice shouted from inside the car.

  The backdoor popped open. A leg stepped out.

  “Come here,” a male voice spoke.

  Charlie’s head twitched, glancing at the figure I couldn’t see.

  “No!” I shouted, hauling myself forward. I pushed myself into the car door.

  An almighty screech broke and Charlie ran off.

  The front door opened.

  A woman stepped out.

  Sandra. “What have you done?” she screamed.

  I froze.

  Face-to-face with her.

  “Freeze!” a voice commanded.

  The police.

  My body shook nervously.

  “Show me your hands!” the officer said.

  I looked to see the tall officer; the one who’d been stationed in the kitchen, the one who’d been at the exit door.

  “You’re okay, Mrs Green,” he said.

  As my eyes clocked the yellow taser gun in his hands. A cold relief swept over me. I attempted to reach for my shawl, but that was gone. Somewhere between chasing after Charlie, and getting here, the fabric had left my body.

  The sobbing boy caught my attention.

  “The boy’s in the back,” I said, slow stepping away from the car.

  “I’m innocent,” Sandra pleaded. “I didn’t do anything.”

  As another two officers joined the scene, I grew comfortable enough to look at her again. She’d changed out of her clothes, instead, she wore an all-black t-shirt and jeans. And with the torch an officer directed at her body, there was no denying her involvement. A large series of welts were visible up her forearm.

  “The boy?” an officer asked me.

  “In the back,” I said. “I slammed the door on his leg.”

  Paul chuckled as he heard the comment.