She thought the detective might like to know about the Orchards’ reaction to her clearing out the gardens. They hadn’t wanted her messing with the stones. Was it because they knew Rhona was buried underneath?
Was that why they’d practically abandoned her auntie’s garden? Allowing it to grow wildly? Auntie Daisy hadn’t mentioned anything. I wonder if Mum knows.
Considering her options, Motts sent a text message to her dad. Her mum hadn’t shown any interest in speaking with her. Maybe he could ask her if Auntie Daisy had said anything about her garden or strange smells.
“I was wondering about the smell. Wouldn’t a decomposing body pong a bit?” Vina grabbed one of the last pastries. “I’ll split the last chocolate coconut curry pasty with you.”
“The smell would be awful. Absolutely terrible. And it would’ve spread.” She grabbed her portion of the sweet and savoury pasty. “How did no one else notice? My mysterious mystery masterfully muddles minds.”
“Eight out of ten points.” Vina gave her alliteration a thumbs up.
“I think the judges were bribed. It was clearly a 9.5 at the least.” Motts hit refresh on her inbox five times. “Why hasn’t he responded?”
“He’s a detective inspector. And male. He probably doesn’t even bother to check his emails but once a week.” Vina grinned. “Want to watch Bake Off?”
“I don’t watch telly often.” Motts refreshed a few more times. “You should go home.”
Vina shook her head and laughed. “Never change, Motts.”
“Why would I?” She frowned at her. “I’m me.”
“Figure of speech.”
“Figures of speech are weird.”
Chapter Six
Two days went by without Motts hearing back from the detective. She didn’t know whether to take his lack of response personally or not. He did have other cases to work on, surely.
When the anxiety began to stress her too much, Motts decided to take advantage of the beautifully sunny weather. It had warmed up ever so slightly. She put Cactus in his sun-protection shirt and allowed him to meander around for a little while.
Mostly, Cactus stayed nearby. She turned her attention to gathering up all the trampled weeds and plants the police investigation had left behind. A scratching sound across the garden drew her attention.
“What did you find?” Motts glanced around to find Cactus investigating part of the fencing around the edge of the garden. “We don’t scratch wood.”
That sounds slightly obscene.
Crouching down on the ground, Motts found Cactus had become interested in a tiny carving. She couldn’t recall having seen it before. But from the little mound of dirt, she wondered if it had been hidden.
On the inside post, Motts traced the lines of a heart and two initials—RW and DO. Wait. Rhona Walters and Danny Orchard? Could it really be them?
Were they dating?
No one had mentioned that to her. Motts sent a text to Vina and Nish to ask if either of them knew about the two dating. She also took a photo with her phone before lifting Cactus into her arms.
Rhona Walters and Danny Orchard.
Interesting.
Heading into the cottage, Motts fed both of her pets. She watched Moss munch away on a piece of fruit for several minutes while pondering the new layer of intrigue. Who can I ask about Rhona’s dating life without causing a fuss?
Her most recent project caught her attention. She’d created a quilled peacock from long strips of deep blue, forest green, shimmering gold, and vibrant violet paper. It had taken her hours to first sketch the outline, then carefully glue down scrolled strips, one after the other.
Quilling wasn’t her favourite form of art. Motts preferred origami, but she did offer the intricate pieces on commission. Marnie had wanted the large peacock for her shop; she’d even given her a shadow box created out of reclaimed wood.
Picking up the shadow box, Motts decided to make the delivery a day early. With the number of people coming in and out of a bridal shop, Marnie might remember who Rhona had dated. Neither Vina nor Nish had known the woman well enough to say.
They’d also been living in London at the time Rhona had gone missing.
Stepping outside, Motts breathed the lovely fresh air blowing in off the sea. She carefully secured the frame onto her scooter. And then she paused to glance down the street to her magnificent view of the harbour.
I love Cornwall.
Hopping on her scooter, Motts could almost imagine she was riding a Vespa along the Amalfi Coast. She cautiously rode down the winding road that led from her cottage through the holiday homes into the village. Marnie’s shop was in the middle of a row of shops on Lansallos Street.
She stopped at the last corner on the downhill, checking both ways before pulling out onto the road. A screech of tires was her only warning before a Golf GT raced out from between two buildings and collided with her back tire. Her Vespa went skidding on its side, and the picture frame went into a nearby cottage wall with a glass-breaking thud.
Motts rolled along the ground into the hedge on the opposite side of her poor scooter. She grunted in pain. The world went from a chaotic rush of sound and sensation to an eerie stillness, as though she’d gone through a category five typhoon in the space of a minute. What the hell happened?
A second round of squealing tires and the harsh rev of an engine had her attempting to roll further into the hedge. The vehicle flew by her so closely, it ruffled her hair. She heard a door open, and some rather colourful shouting followed.
Motts tried to gently test her body for injuries. Her arms and legs hurt but moved fine. She didn’t think anything had broken. “Did anyone get the number of the bus that ran me over?”
“Don’t move, love.”
She opened her eyes, blinking at the blood trickling down from a cut above her left eyebrow. “The hedge is scratchy.”
“Stay still.”
Motts tilted her head slightly to see an older gentleman kneeling beside her in the muddy grass. He had his mobile pressed to his ear. “I’m alright.”
“Not so sure, dear. Why don’t you stay put until the ambulance arrives to make certain? Okay?” He patted her hand gingerly. “I’ve got a CCTV camera on the front of my cottage. I’ll let the police have it. The young bastard won’t get away with it.”
“Young?”
“Can’t imagine an older person driving one of those wind-up toy cars. I’m Caradoc Ferris. Most people call me Doc.” He kept a hold of her hand. “The lady on the phone wants to know if you’re feeling any pain.”
“I went off my scooter into a hedge. Pain is definitely on the list of things I’m feeling.” Motts eased herself along the ground out from under the hedge. “I didn’t break anything.”
Aside from my scooter, my pride, and my peacock.
From her position in the ditch, Motts couldn’t really see much other than the sky, the kind gentleman holding her hand, and the hedge. She heard vehicles and chatter from the gathering onlookers. Running footsteps caught her attention above everything else.
“Motts?”
“Nish?” She canted her head towards him, ignoring the grumblings from Doc about not moving before the medics arrived. “I’m okay.”
“I doubt it.” He knelt next to Doc. “Want my AirPods? I’ve got my Bollywood playlist on at the moment. It might help drown out all the excess noise.”
“Can you see if my peacock is broken?” Motts tilted her head from side to side to allow Nish to place the AirPods in her ears. “Think it flew off and hit the kerb or a cottage. Maybe both. Marnie’s going to be upset.”
“I’ll take care of your things. I promise. Vina’s on her way. We’ll follow you wherever the ambulance takes you. I have no doubt they’re taking you to a hospital.” Nish glanced behind him when sirens grew closer. “Hughie’s here as well. Just think how exciting this will be. You’ll get to fly in a helicopter.”
“I’m okay, Nish.”
“No, you
aren’t.” He shifted out of the way when the paramedics came racing towards them. “Want me to tell them you’re autistic?”
“You literally just did. The inane inquiry is insulting.”
“The judges give you an eight out of ten for the alliteration.” Nish smiled, but she thought it seemed a little strained. “The i’s have it.”
Once the air ambulance crew checked her over, they insisted on taking her to the hospital in Plymouth. It was the nearest full accident and emergency department in the area. They were concerned about a possible head injury, given the severity of the impact.
The next hour went by in a strange blur. Motts didn’t recall answering questions, though she knew the paramedics had asked them. She found herself bundled up on a stretcher and rushed to Plymouth.
Given the small nature of the villages in Cornwall, Motts wasn’t surprised the nearest large hospital required either a fifty-minute drive or a short helicopter ride. She greatly appreciated the fantastic work the air ambulance did. They’d taken great care of her.
By the time Motts had been moved to a private room, she’d mostly recovered from the shock of the hit-and-run. She sat with her arms folded, trying not to touch the hospital sheets. They had a texture that drove her batty. “What in the world just happened?”
She wasn’t alone for a long. A familiar figure slipped through the door. “Hello.”
“Ms Mottley? Mind if I sit with you?”
“Motts, please.” Motts found herself grateful for the distraction that came in the form of Detective Inspector Herceg. She waved him towards the nearby chair. “Why are you here?”
He grabbed a chair from against the wall and placed it next to the bed. “Constable Stone is on his way up with your friends. They’ll be here soon. They got stuck in traffic.”
Motts stared when he held out a small pack of Jaffa Cakes. “Not sure this is hospital approved.”
“Your friend Pravina thought you might need comfort food.” Inspector Herceg placed the packet on the bed beside her. “Are you up to a few questions?”
“I’m a captive audience at the moment.” Motts was still waiting for her doctor to return. She had a feeling they’d be letting her head home, since none of her injuries were severe. “What did you want to know?”
“Can you remember the incident?”
“Accident, you mean?” Motts asked. She didn’t like it when people used the wrong words. Incident sounded serious—intentional. “Was the other driver found?”
“Not yet.” Inspector Herceg cleared his throat and sighed deeply. “I’ve seen the CCTV footage. Constable Stone managed to email it over to me. The driver had been sitting in his vehicle for over an hour until you came into view. From down the hill, they could easily see you leaving the cottage.”
Motts frowned at the detective. “Incident, not accident. You think they were waiting for me? Or watching me?”
“Possibly both.” He slipped a notebook out of his jacket pocket. “Tell me about your day.”
Picking at the opening on the Jaffa Cakes packet, Motts took the inspector through her day. She skipped her morning routine. He didn’t need to know how she did the same thing almost every day or how she brushed her teeth.
Did he?
No.
Her recollection of the crash itself was fuzzy. Motts vaguely remembered seeing the vehicle moving towards her. She didn’t remember skidding across the ground or hitting the hedge.
Inspector Herceg actually reached out a hand towards her, then pulled back when her voice shook during the recounting of her injuries. “We’ll locate the driver of the vehicle.”
“Golf GT. I recognised the make. Vina used to have one during our university days.” Motts stared down at the biscuit packet. “You didn’t need that information.”
“I’ll…. Hold on a second.” He grabbed his phone from his pocket when it beeped, reading the text before balancing it on his leg. “Your friends are going to be a few more minutes. Why don’t I wait with you?”
“If you want.” She decided to open up the box, taking one of the chocolate-covered cakes for herself and offering him the packet. “Why would someone try to run me over? Maybe they didn’t see me.”
Inspector Herceg waved off the offer of a Jaffa cake. “The thought occurred to me that you found a body in your garden. I’ll have more than a few questions for the driver about not only this incident but your discovery.”
“But I don’t know anything about Rhona’s death.”
“If the two incidents are related, the killer might not know that.” He reached out for a second time to squeeze her hand. “I’ll be asking Constable Stone to keep a close eye on you until we have the driver in custody.”
“I’m fine.”
“I’m confident you will be.”
Chapter Seven
“Do you need another pillow?” Vina had two large decorative cushions in her arms. “Maybe to prop up your leg?”
“You’ve brought me twenty. How many do you think I need?” Motts had settled on the couch facing the window out to the garden. “Did you raid Ikea? Do we have one?”
“As much as I adore you, I’m not driving to Exeter for pillows. Amma has an unhealthy obsession with cushions. I borrowed them.” Vina squashed them beside her. “Are you sure you don’t need anything?”
“Vina.”
She shot across the living room to sit beside Motts, wrapping her arms gently around her. “Do you know how bloody terrifying it was seeing you on the ground? Your scooter in pieces. Blood on your face. I didn’t know how badly you’d been hurt.”
“I’m okay.”
And she was. The doctors had released her from the hospital within a few hours. Her only injuries were scrapes and bruises. She knew her body would be sore for several days.
It could’ve been so much worse, though.
“Hughie said they found the vehicle abandoned down the street. It was stolen.” Vina returned to her chair. “They didn’t get a glimpse of the driver’s face. They’re trying to see if they find fingerprints.”
“Hughie told you all of that?” Motts was surprised the constable had been so forthcoming.
“Well, told is a strong word. I might’ve overheard a conversation while he was in line at the coffee shop.” Vina preened. “I am a genius.”
“Sneaky.”
“A sneaky genius.” She stretched her arm out to grab her tablet on the coffee table. “Nish said your parents are coming to visit.”
“I tried to block out the memory of their call.” Motts had mixed feelings about her parents’ imminent arrival. She loved them but having her space to herself had been fantastic. It showed her how stifling life in London had become. “Not sure why they’re coming. I’m fine.”
“Someone tried to run you over, Motts. They weren’t messing around.” Vina set her tablet down on her lap. “Your parents love you. Of course, they’re going to make the trip from London to see you’re okay. A phone call isn’t the same.”
“I could Skype.”
“Video calls aren’t the same as in person. It’s a neurotypical thing, Mottsy. We need to see with our own eyes when we’re worried about someone we love.” Vina had often over the years of their friendship and dating proved to be a brilliant non-autistic translator when Motts needed. “Amma and Nish gave me a few days off from the shop. I’ll play buffer for you.”
Motts didn’t know how to respond, so she went with the first thought in her mind. “Can you make tea?”
With a wry chuckle, Vina headed into the kitchen. Motts focused on petting Cactus and watching the birds in the garden. She never knew how to respond to the kindness of other people.
It was almost as bad as compliments. Other people seemed to manage gracefully. Motts always felt so incredibly awkward in comparison.
“Motts? Why is there a bowl of pineapple in your fridge? You never eat pineapple.” Vina brought the dish into the living room. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you try it.”
&
nbsp; “Detective Inspector Herceg sent me a fruit basket. All pineapple.” Motts had been stunned by the delivery. Hughie had brought it to her with a note from the inspector. “I think it was a joke?”
“I’m sorry. Hold on. I need a moment to process the bizarre turn of this conversation.” Vina sat down on the arm of the sofa. “Detective Inspector Tall, Handsome, and Brooding sent you a bowl of pineapple. You. Sent you pineapple.”
“Are you asking for clarification or mocking my pineapple?”
“He sent pineapple to Pineapple.” Vina clutched the bowl in her arms. “He has a sense of humour. Who knew?”
“Do you want the fruit?”
“And deprive you of your namesake?” She waved the bowl under Motts’s nose. “Did you send a thank-you email?”
“Text.” Motts hadn’t known how to respond to the surprise gift. She figured a short “thanks” worked well enough. “I said thank you.”
“That’s all?” Vina shook her head dramatically. “I’ve got to work on your flirting.”
“I don’t want to flirt.”
“You’re hopeless.”
“Says my ex-girlfriend.” Motts blocked the bowl when Vina waved it at her a second time. “The kettle is whistling.”
“Saved by the boiling water.” She went back to the kitchen.
Despite the incessant teasing, Motts was grateful to have Vina in her life. She didn’t know anyone else who understood her so well. They hadn’t worked as a couple, but at least it hadn’t ruined their friendship.
She still remembered the uncomfortably awful break-up conversation. They’d realised over time that neither of their needs were being met. Vina wanted a sexual relationship that Motts, as someone who was asexual, couldn’t provide.
They’d remained the best of friends. Motts had a feeling her life would be quite dull without the vibrant and extroverted Vina. Nish, thankfully, played a calm counterpart to his sister.
“Tea.” Vina appeared beside her, breaking Motts out of her thoughts. “I couldn’t find the Jaffa Cakes. Did you hide them?”
“If I don’t, my dad will eat all of them when they arrive.” Motts hated the impending intrusion into her space. She’d only just made the cottage home, and her parents tended to take over like an invasive vine in a flower garden. I need a distraction before I worry myself into an anxiety attack. “Did Hughie have any other information about the driver?”
Poisoned Primrose (Motts Cold Case Mystery Book 1) Page 4