Poisoned Primrose (Motts Cold Case Mystery Book 1)

by Dahlia Donovan

  “Nope. But, I have gossip for you.” Vina retreated to the sofa across from Motts. She curled up with her legs crossed and a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. “My Amma is a genius who could get a stone to give up its secrets. She chatted with Rose Walters when she came to pick up bread. Apparently, you were right. Rhona had been seeing Danny in secret. They’d kept their relationship quiet because Danny had a jealous ex-girlfriend.”

  “Did he?” Motts wondered how jealous the former girlfriend had been. “Was she actually jealous? Or was he making claims to inflate his ego?”

  “Amma didn’t find out. She thought Rose was getting suspicious about her questions.” Vina tapped the side of her mug. “Nish remembers Danny in secondary school. He dated several girls. But I remember him being single for a while when we came back from university. I don’t think he had a jealous ex.”

  “Okay?”

  “But Rhona had an overprotective brother. And Dad remembered when their father died and the business went to her and Innis. They fought a lot, because she didn’t want to run the fish and chip shop.” Vina grabbed her phone and glanced at it. “Nish wants to know if we’re hungry. He’s making a lamb biryani pizza.”

  “Tell him I’ll trade him pineapple for a few slices.”

  “He might not understand that text.” She grinned.

  “Vina.”

  “Do you honestly want me to text him that we’ll trade pineapple for pizza. Your name is Pineapple.” Vina’s shoulders shook while she laughed. “I’ll stick with a simple yes and hurry the hell up.”

  Over a dinner of pizza and beer, the trio considered the accident and their casual investigation. The twins stayed into the evening. Motts appreciated their support when her parents arrived after ten o’clock.

  Thankfully for everyone involved, her parents were tired enough not to stay up late. Motts left them to the master bedroom. She stayed in the guest room with Cactus for company.

  The following morning, Motts tried not to lose her mind. Her mum had insisted on making breakfast despite Motts and her dad only eating toast. Cactus had appreciated the sausage.

  “I might hide in the shed.” Motts had Cactus in his sun-shirt on a leash. They were making a circuit in the garden to avoid her parents for at least a few minutes. “I’m glad we have one. It gives us somewhere to stay until they go home.”

  Meow.

  “Exactly. She hasn’t been here a day, and my fridge is completely rearranged. Illogically rearranged. What if I need my butter on the middle shelf? Not her kitchen.” She rubbed her nose against his downy fuzz. “Why does it matter?”

  Meow.

  “Poppet?” Her dad stood nearby with a mug in his hands. “Your mum is driving out to see your auntie Lily in Looe. Want to go? Think they’re going shopping.”

  “No.”

  “Thought so. She already left.” He winked at her. “Why don’t we pop down to the shops ourselves? Grab a coffee and something a little sweeter than the toast we had for breakfast. You can tell me all about your new young man.”

  “What new young man?” Motts didn’t move from her post, allowing Cactus to meander around a little longer. “No new young man. No man. Well, there are men. I don’t have one.”

  “New woman?”

  “No new people.” She picked Cactus up to carry him inside. “Why?”

  “Your mum had a call with your auntie Lily. And she thought you’d become friendly with some detective inspector.” Her dad followed her into the cottage. “Poppet?”

  Setting Cactus onto his favourite spot on the couch, Motts made sure to check on Moss and feed both of them. She cleaned up the dishes while her dad waited patiently for her to respond. And she had no intention of doing so.

  Why is everyone always so obsessed with whether I’m dating someone?

  She finished the last of the dishes and ran out of things to delay the rest of the conversation. “Are we walking? Not sure you’d fit on my bicycle, and I haven’t replaced my scooter.”

  Nish and Hughie had kindly gathered up all the parts of her poor Vespa. There hadn’t been much of a point. The local mechanic had taken all of a second to declare it unfixable.

  She didn’t want to get a new one. The old one had been perfect. She’d been used to driving it, and salespeople intimidated her.

  “We’ll find you a new one,” he promised. “Let’s walk. The air and exercise will be good for us. Are you recovered enough?”

  “Yes.” Motts grabbed her cardigan from the coatrack by the door. “I’m okay. The bruises make everything seem more dramatic.”

  Her dad shook his head. “When you were six, you broke your wrist. You kept insisting nothing hurt. A broken wrist and it didn’t hurt. You’ll forgive me if I don’t take your word for how injured you were after a car tried to kill you.”

  Well, when he puts it like that.

  “I’m okay to walk into the village.” Motts looped her arm around her dad’s. She leaned her head against his arm. “I’m glad you came to visit.”

  “But wish I’d left your mum at home?”

  “I love Mum,” Motts insisted.

  “She means well, poppet. It’s not always easy to see your child all grown up and out on their own.” He kissed the top of her head. “Give her time to adjust.”

  “I’m almost forty.” Motts didn’t understand why her mum kept trying to treat her like a child. “She wasn’t this bad in London.”

  “You didn’t notice it in London.” He patted her hand gently. “She’ll come around. Don’t worry.”

  Chapter Eight

  Motts rushed around the corner with a package held tightly in her arms. She had her head down and wound up running straight into someone coming in the opposite direction. “Bugger. I’m so sorry.”

  Detective Inspector Herceg reached out to grab her by the arms to steady her. “Are you alright?”

  “Fine.”

  “Kernow Chocolate.” He read the name on the logo covering all four sides of the box. “Are you a fan?”

  “The thirty bars inside are definitely proof I’m more than a fan.” She hefted the package up in her arms. “They’ve got a new one—a Cherry Bakewell Tart bar. I’m dying to try it.”

  “I’m partial to the Banoffee and Cream Tea.” He frowned at her. “Can I carry the box for you?”

  “As long as you don’t run off with my chocolate.” Motts allowed him to take the package out of her arms. “I’m going to have to replace my scooter. It’s a nightmare lugging anything up the hill without it.”

  Three days had passed since her accident. Her parents had left for London the day before; they both had to return to work. She was still putting things in the cottage back the way she wanted.

  Her mum might mean well, but rearranging furniture and everything else made Motts uneasy. She needed her personal space to be set up for her comfort. Not her parents’. She didn’t think her mum would ever wholly understand.

  She’d at least begun to speak to Motts again. It had only taken one near-death experience. They’d gone a long way to repairing their relationship, much to her dad’s relief.

  “Why don’t I give you a lift?”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be doing inspectoring-type things?”

  “Is ‘inspectoring’ a word?” He placed her package carefully into the back seat of his car and motioned for her to get into the passenger side. “I already had my interview with Innis Walters.”

  “Are you arresting him?”

  “Not today.”

  Motts narrowed her eyes on the detective. She didn’t know if not today meant not at all or not just yet. “Have you questioned Danny Orchard?”

  He paused while starting the vehicle to gaze at her. “He’s admitted to dating Rhona briefly. He claimed they weren’t serious.”

  “Serious enough to carve their initials into my fence,” Motts pointed out.

  “Ah, but we can’t prove who defaced your property.” He eased the car out of the parking space. “Are y
ou investigating for me?”

  “No,” she answered sharply. “I wouldn’t.”

  “Of course.”

  Deciding silence was the safest bet, Motts stared out the window. She waved to Marnie when they passed the bridal shop. Brilliant. She had no doubts local gossip would start spreading rumours about her catching a lift with the detective.

  Detective Inspector Herceg seemed content to be quiet all the way until he’d carried her box into the cottage. He set the package on the table. “Constable Stone hasn’t seen anyone around your cottage. He’s eased off his watch. It’s possible the hit-and-run driver thinks you got their message. Whatever it was supposed to be. If you see anyone suspicious, don’t hesitate to call 999 immediately.”

  “I’m sure it was an accident,” Motts lied. She thought the killer was trying to send her a message. “I’m not worried.”

  Another lie.

  “Want help opening your package?”

  “No.” Motts grabbed scissors from the coffee table. She’d used them to work on repairing Marnie’s peacock. “Would you like one of the bars? I did order an excessive amount.”

  “No such thing.” He placed a hand on the box to keep it steady while she cut the tape. “I wouldn’t want to deprive you.”

  “I’m apparently an emotional shopper. And a stress shopper. And a shopper when my mum comes to visit and rearranges my entire house for no reason.” Motts took a deep breath and smiled apologetically at the detective. “I bought a lot of chocolate.”

  “Can’t say I blame you. Kernow has the best I’ve tried.” He hesitantly took the bar of Cream Tea Milk Chocolate. He slipped it into the inside pocket of his coat. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t you want it?” Motts had already begun unwrapping one of the six bars of Bakewell Tart Milk Chocolate she’d purchased. It was her favourite. “It’s delicious.”

  “I’m going to save it for my knitting group. We always pool our snack resources.” Detective Inspector Herceg shook his head when she went to offer him a chunk of hers. “I couldn’t.”

  Motts shrugged. Fair enough. She wasn’t going to force her chocolate on someone. “More for me. Wait. Did you say you had a knitting group?”

  He scratched the stubble on his jaw for a second and finally nodded. “I find it relaxing. My baka taught me.”

  “Baka?”

  “My grandmother. She still lives in Dubrovnik. She didn’t want to move when my parents came. Stubborn.” He sighed. “We used to knit together. Police work isn’t for the fainthearted, particularly cold cases. My small group meets twice a month.”

  Motts couldn’t help staring at his hands. The detective was a large man. He had to be at least six-foot-five, with broad shoulders and body to match; his fingers weren’t exactly slender. “You don’t seem like a knitter.”

  He eased his phone out of his pocket and after a few seconds turned it around to show a beautiful dark navy-coloured scarf. “My latest project.”

  “The knitting detective sounds like one of those cosy mysteries my gran reads.” Motts sat on her arm of the chair, munching on her chocolate bar. “Did you talk to Innis about his running the store with his sister? They apparently argued quite a bit about her lack of interest while having 51 percent ownership.”

  “Ms Mottley.”

  “Motts,” she interrupted.

  “Alright, Motts it is.” He stepped closer to her. His brow creased in what she assumed was worry; she never completely grasped facial expressions. “Why don’t you let me ask the questions and investigate? We don’t want anyone trying to run you over for a second time.”

  “Accident.”

  “Neither of us believes that,” he said confidently. “I’ll be leaving.”

  “Thanks for the lift, Detective.”

  “Teo.” He waved off her thanks with a smile. She liked the way his brown eyes twinkled when he grinned. “If anyone bothers you at all, call me.”

  “Good luck with your knitting.” Motts carefully folded the wrapper around her half-eaten bar of chocolate. “It’s a fun hobby. I tried once, but the texture of yarn drove me batty within a few minutes.”

  And it had. Motts had thrown the entire ball of yarn out the window during a meltdown. Her mum had stopped trying to force new hobbies on her, so the exercise hadn’t been a complete waste of time.

  “Stay safe. Make sure you lock up after me.” Teo saw himself out, petting Cactus on the way.

  Motts watched the detective leave through the front window. He waved before backing down the path to the road. She bent down to allow Cactus into her arms. “He’s very aesthetically pleasing.”

  Meow.

  “Yes, he does have a strange hobby for a detective. I like it. Makes him less intimidating.” Motts wandered through the cottage, bending down to stoke the fire. “I’ve no idea how Auntie Daisy managed during the winter. It’s absolutely freezing up on this hill.”

  Meow.

  “It’s too early for your snack.” She placed him gently on the mound of blankets near the back window. Cactus greatly enjoyed watching all the activity in the garden. “Well, these paper violets aren’t going to make themselves, are they?”

  Chapter Nine

  The following day, Motts wrapped up her second attempt at the peacock. The scrolled papers hadn’t been damaged severely. She had needed to reframe the artwork; River had driven down to Looe to grab one at an antique shop.

  He’d also gone out with her to pick up a new scooter. She’d managed to find an exact replacement for her old one. Why mess with a good thing?

  Staring at the scooter, Motts didn’t quite feel up to driving for a second time with the peacock strapped to the back. She decided to struggle down the long, narrow stone steps leading from her street into the village. By the time she arrived at Marnie’s shop, her arms were about ready to fall off.

  “Why didn’t you call? My Perry could’ve easily given you a lift. Or had Hughie pick you up in his patrol car.” Marnie held the door open for her. “Are you feeling better, love? Aside from exhausted by the exertion?”

  Exhausted exertion exhausts everyone.

  Don’t alliterate out loud.

  Motts gingerly set down the fixed peacock on the counter in the bridal shop. She shifted awkwardly while Marnie oohed and ahhed over her creation. “I had to use a different frame. Sorry. They couldn’t fix the other one.”

  “I’m just glad they could fix you.” Marnie placed the quilled peacock on the wall behind the counter. “How absolutely lovely. You’re so talented.”

  She didn’t know how to respond, so she ignored the compliment. “I’ll have the violet bouquets ready by the end of the week for you.”

  “No rush, dear. The bride isn’t coming in for her fitting for another month. She’ll adore your paper bouquet. She’d been devastated at not having flowers because of her husband-to-be’s allergies. Your paper treasures are a lifesaver for her.” Marnie came around the counter to give her a warm hug. Motts told herself not to stiffen up; non-autistics always seemed mildly insulted if you cringed at their touch. “Now, why don’t you grab yourself lunch? I’m about to close shop myself for a quick bite to eat.”

  Once outside in the bright sunshine, Motts considered her options. She thought about heading down to the sandwich bar or grabbing something from Griffin Brews. But her feet led her down the street towards the Salty Seaman.

  “Fish cakes, again?” Innis glanced up when she stepped inside.

  “Cod and chips, please.” Motts twisted her wallet around in her hands. She watched him gathering up the chips. “It must be lovely, running a shop with such a rich family history.”

  “Lovely.” Innis sniffed.

  She gripped her wallet tightly. He didn’t exactly sound as though it was lovely. “Did Rhona enjoy spending time here with you?”

  “Bint didn’t want to get her fingers greasy.” He banged the packet of chips on the counter. “Why don’t you keep your nose away before it gets burnt? Hmm?”

 
Motts winced at the slightly smashed chips shoved at her. “Can I get a battered sausage as well?”

  “Fine.” Innis snatched the chips back, tossing them in the rubbish. “I’ll get you fresh ones.”

  While Innis gathered her meal up for a second time, Motts tried to find a subtle way to ask another question. She couldn’t shake the feeling he knew more about his sister’s disappearance. Innis banged around in his small kitchen area.

  Do you have a controlling interest in the shop?

  That sounds ridiculous. He’s not an investor. He didn’t even want to talk about whether she enjoyed the job.

  “Did Rhona want to do something else with her life?”

  “Sure. She wanted to swan down the runway in Paris.” Innis snorted viciously. “Take your questions and your fish and bugger off.”

  “Sorry.” Motts had her money thrown in her face when she offered it. She muttered sorry all the way out of the chip shop. Her hands clutched tightly around the paper packet. “That went brilliantly.”

  Her fingers trembled around her lunch. She loathed confrontation. It made her want to hide inside a cupboard for a month.

  The stairs up to her cottage seemed to have grown by at least thirty by the time Motts made it home. She rushed inside and leaned heavily against the closed door. Right. Maybe I should leave the questions to the police.

  Or find a way to ask them from a distance.

  Meow.

  She dodged around Cactus to set the food on the table. Her cat hopped up next to it. He poked a paw at the paper. “You can’t have a chip before I do. Rude. Didn’t your mother teach you any manners?”

  I’m his mum.

  Grabbing ketchup from the fridge, Motts squeezed a generous amount on the chips. She wondered why Innis had been so instantly angry at her question. It had been the least offensive to her mind.