The Slay of the Land (The Heathervale Mysteries Book 1)

by Matilda Swift

  ‘The access road for the college,’ Julie said in response to Arrina’s clueless silence. ‘The Parish Council votes on it tomorrow. Am I ringing any bells here?’

  ‘That’s not tomorrow. It’s on Friday.’

  ‘Tomorrow is Friday,’ Julie said. ‘And the Parish Council meeting is definitely happening tomorrow. Phil’s been grumbling about it all morning. He’s got a petition in about fence repairs, and they’re making him attend the meeting to explain the request in detail. Though what’s to explain really since he just wants the council to stop the sheep on the hill above our house from wandering down into the road?’

  Arrina ran her hand through her shaggy hair, raking it roughly off her forehead. Tomorrow? How was that possible?

  ‘The council does love a good detail,’ Arrina said. ‘I’ve got a stack of paperwork a foot high that I had to submit for this access road bid. And it’s ridiculous. All I’m asking is that the bypass, which is only a mile away, gets linked up to the college. It’ll solve so many of the traffic problems around the village, and it won’t cost the council a thing. It’s county money that pays for these access roads, and I know for a fact there’s budget available for this one.’

  ‘So why did they turn it down last time?’

  Arrina slid down in her seat. Her knees hit the glovebox, and her head nestled into the soft, old foam beneath the seat’s leather covering.

  ‘Twice. They’ve turned it down twice because of tiny inconsistencies in the paperwork.’ Arrina’s head swam with the memory of the many forms she’d filled in. Each time she’d submitted her application to the Parish Council, they’d nitpicked about a name or a number that was not written in exactly the same way across the documentation. ‘Apparently, this is my last chance to apply. After this, they’ll open up access road proposals to other people in the village.’

  ‘I’m getting a headache just thinking about that,’ Julie said. ‘I can’t abide paperwork... as anyone could tell from the state of my office.’

  Arrina gave a tired smile as she stared out of the front windscreen of the Mini. Up here, on her hill, the oak trees swished with every passing breeze, sending leaves, twigs, and acorns tumbling to the ground. Light metallic pings on the roof brought the outside world a little closer to their cosy nest inside the car.

  ‘I’m not sure I can face Gillian DeViers tomorrow,’ Arrina said. ‘Seeing her smug grin as she asks why I’ve included a 6CBPX form instead of the requisite 6CBPY...’ Arrina rubbed her hands across her face then tucked her hair behind her ears. ‘It’s too much. And she’s sure to make some sly comment about Olly. I cannot stand that woman!’

  Julie leaned across Arrina and opened the glovebox, nudging Arrina’s knees out of the way. She pulled out a small, battered-looking tin.

  ‘Your emergency supplies?’ Arrina asked.

  ‘Yes, but I’ve switched the Kendal mint cake for something a bit more exotic.’ She popped it open with a loud clang. Inside, there were pink and yellow squares of Turkish delight in a snow flurry of icing sugar.

  ‘Doesn’t the White Witch in Narnia drive around with Turkish delight?’ Arrina asked.

  ‘Clearly, great minds think alike,’ Julie said, taking out a yellow cube and biting into it.

  ‘The White Witch cancels Christmas!’

  ‘Maybe she’s on to something,’ Julie said through white powder-coated lips. ‘Powerful people can’t be letting seasonal frivolities get in the way of things. I might consider it myself.’

  ‘I’m not sure we can be friends anymore,’ Arrina said, reaching into the tin and taking a pink cube of Turkish delight. Its delicate rosewater flavouring filled her mouth and spread through her body in an instant. ‘As soon as I’ve finished eating this box of Turkish delight, our friendship is definitely over.’

  ‘I’ve got chocolate brownies in the boot,’ Julie said before popping the rest of the sugar-coated treat in her mouth and grinning.

  ‘Maybe I can put up with you a little longer.’

  ‘I’m so very relieved,’ Julie said, turning to Arrina and rolling her eyes. Julie picked a pink piece of Turkish delight from the box and chewed it quickly. ‘But going back to our own Narnia-style witch, do you really have to face Gillian DeViers at the Parish Council meeting tomorrow? If you’re suspended, are they really expecting you to attend?’

  Arrina took a squidgy yellow cube and bit a corner off it. A shower of icing sugar rained onto her checked shirt, and she brushed it away.

  ‘I’ve been handling the whole thing for months,’ Arrina said. ‘Nobody else at the college knows the details like I do. And besides, if I don’t go, it’ll look like I’m hiding.’ She bit off another tangy, lemon-flavoured corner. ‘Since Olly’s been arrested, the gossips will be having a field day with their I-told-you-sos about the college. I need to stand up to them now more than ever. Though I’m not at all sure how I’m going to get through the meeting without yelling.’

  Julie leaned forwards and reached under her seat. She felt around and pulled out another battered old tin. When she opened it, Arrina was surprised to see there were no sugary treats inside. Instead, the container was filled with fabric. Julie rummaged around the dark-green material and pulled out a squat glass bottle. The liquid inside was bright purple, and Julie didn’t have to tell Arrina what it was—sloe gin.

  ‘I don’t drink this when I’m driving, you understand,’ Julie said. ‘But it comes in very handy when the car gets trapped in snow drifts and I have to wait several hours to be rescued.’ She handed the bottle over to Arrina. ‘Take it with you tomorrow. If Gillian is being particularly annoying, just make an excuse to nip out of the room and take a swig.’

  ‘A Parish Council drinking game!’ Arrina said with a smile. ‘I feel better already.’

  ‘If I could afford to take another day off from the café, I’d be right there with you.’ Julie put the lid back on the tin and threw it onto her cluttered back seat. ‘But Phil will be there, if you need him. He might have a face on him, but that’ll be about the council. Inside he’ll be thinking lovely, positive, Arrina-supporting thoughts. I promise.’

  ‘He’s no Julie Wen, but I suppose he’ll do.’

  Julie opened her door and hauled herself to her feet with an exhausted grunt. She went to the boot and pulled out a box of her famous chocolate brownies.

  Arrina clambered out of the car with a similarly tired-sounding groan. She took the box of brownies from her best friend and hugged them to her chest.

  ‘Those are real brownies,’ Julie said. ‘None of that Himalayan-sea-salted caramel with chia seeds, caraway, and bacon-bits nonsense. These are just chocolate, chocolate, and more chocolate.’

  ‘My three favourite ingredients.’ Arrina could smell the thick, sweet brownies through the box, and her mouth watered. ‘I think I’ve got just enough energy to shove a couple of these in my mouth before I collapse in my bed and sleep for a thousand years.’

  ‘That sounds like a fantastic plan,’ Julie said as she climbed back into her tiny yellow car. ‘I’m heading home now to do the same. Come by the café after the meeting tomorrow to let me know how it went.’

  Arrina nodded and took a brownie from the box. She held it up and waved at Julie as her friend drove off. Then she bit down into the fudgy goodness and trudged up the hill to her house. Inside, she fed Tinsel, curled up with him in bed, and promptly fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

  22

  Arrina woke up very early, having fallen asleep in the late afternoon of the day before. She felt more alert than she had in days, and she used the bright post-dawn hours to read through her notes on the access road while sitting in bed, drinking a pot of pu’er tea. The rich, earthy drink had been a gift from Julie’s parents two birthdays ago. It was an aged Chinese tea that came in the form of a dark, heavy brick of pressed leaves. Arrina only broke chunks off it when she needed the heady swirl that came from the years of fermentation that went into making it—she felt as though she was drinking time
itself when she swallowed the dark, delicious liquid.

  Arrina spread out the mountain of documents about the access road on her duvet, keeping everything within easy reach. Tinsel seemed to think this was an invitation for him to walk all over everything, and Arrina aimed a few choice words in his direction. After a little wrangling, she got the stubborn silver cat to curl up on a pillow beside her. As Arrina practised the speech she was going to make about the access road, Tinsel meowed regularly, finally making himself useful as a stand-in for the constant interruptions of Gillian DeViers.

  The Parish Council meeting was at eleven am, but Arrina’s preparations were done by nine. She thought about going in to Do-Re-Mi and giving Julie a hand over there, but she couldn’t risk the chance of running into any gossiping villagers and losing her focus. No, this morning, she needed to stay bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

  She still had several emails and phone calls to respond to regarding the plans for the following week’s college classes. She set about replying to every one of them in detail and was surprised to find herself finished within an hour. She went through her to-do list and crossed off everything she’d completed. There was only one last task to tick off—call Maggie Lee. The young paternity-cover chemistry teacher had been looking for her in Do-Re-Mi on Wednesday, and Arrina knew she ought to call the woman back. But she was fairly certain that Maggie was going to quit her job before she’d even started, and Arrina had already averted one resignation that week. She had no desire to deal with another.

  Arrina sent the woman an email instead, trying to sound casual and confident as she checked in to see how everything was going. Then she shut down her computer and turned off the email notifications on her phone—she didn’t need any distractions that day.

  Unoccupied now, her mind returned to the pain of seeing Olly in handcuffs. She should have been able to do something to stop him getting arrested. But what? She’d spent all of yesterday exhausting her leads on Hugo’s murder, and the only evidence she found pointed squarely to the blue-haired student.

  Arrina knew the sweet-natured boy couldn’t be the killer, but she had no idea who else it might be. Her only other suspect had been Fiona Hayes, though it just didn’t seem possible that Hugo’s loving wife could have stabbed him so brutally. Even if she’d wanted to kill him, there were plenty of easier ways to do it. She could have poisoned him with the leaves and seeds of the yew tree in their garden and probably got away with it.

  And if it was Fiona who killed him, why on earth would she have done it at the college? No, it definitely couldn’t have been her.

  Unfortunately, ruling Fiona out as the killer brought Arrina no closer to the truth of the case.

  She still couldn’t understand what Hugo was even doing in the college car park at four in the morning. Whatever he’d been doing there was most likely what had got him killed. But what could it have been?

  Arrina’s mind skipped over several scandalous options that made no sense for Hugo. But her thoughts didn’t land on a sensible idea. Why had Hugo been at the college that morning? If she could figure that out, she could find the real killer and free Olly. If only she had a place to start.

  Tinsel gave a long yowl as he got up and stretched. Arrina looked at the clock and decided it was finally time to get up as well. She couldn’t hide out in her book-lined bedroom forever, not with a murder to solve and a Parish Council to face.

  She showered and dressed while running through her speech one more time. Then she chose a deep-teal pinstriped shirtwaist dress from the far end of her wardrobe. She’d bought it several years earlier at a vintage fair and never quite found the right time to wear it. But today was that day. The dress looked chic and professional. It looked as though it dared someone to get on the wrong side of its wearer.

  Arrina ran a little hair wax through her overlong fringe and swept it back. She examined the effect of the hair and the dress in the full-length mirror by her front door. It was exactly what she wanted. She looked like a force to be reckoned with.

  Then she headed down the hill to her car, pausing for a moment to notice how fantastic her dress looked against its mistral-blue paintwork. All she needed was some bright-red lipstick and large sunglasses, and she would be ready to drive off into the sunset.

  She would have to save the make-up and shades for another day though. Instead of a happy ending, she had a showdown with Gillian DeViers to head to. And as her car roared loudly along the winding roads of the village to its very centre, she squared her shoulders in preparation for it.

  23

  ‘Order! Order!’ Gillian DeViers was rapping her knuckles on the surface of the long table on the village hall stage.

  As Arrina walked into the Parish Council meeting, she could see this action but not hear it. Even Gillian’s usually piercing voice was almost lost amongst the din in the large room that morning.

  Arrina checked her watch. She was five minutes early for the meeting. She’d been hoping to slip in to take a seat somewhere in the crowded midsection of the room, where she could wait for her agenda item to slowly rise to the top. She’d come prepared to sit through quibbles over allotment usage rates, plans for the harvest festival, and queries about the allocation of the village Hardship Fund.

  There would also be a police report to get through—the local force always sent its most junior officer to stammer and stutter through a list of recent crimes. Arrina was not looking forward to that part of the meeting. It was usually just as dull as the rest of the items the council discussed. However, this week she was sure the report would garner a lot more excitement, and there were sure to be several sharp glances aimed in Arrina’s direction.

  Stuffed into her bag beside the folders on the access road bid, Arrina had a couple of secret weapons to see her through the meeting. She had two brownies and Julie’s bottle of sloe gin, so she was amply prepared to get through the tedium and awkwardness of the Parish Council meeting while she awaited her opportunity to speak.

  But it seemed like she wouldn’t get the chance to be bored at all that day. The room was a cacophony of raised voices and waving arms, all vying urgently for the attention of Gillian DeViers, who stood in the centre of the stage.

  Arrina spent several seconds trying to understand what everyone was complaining about. Then someone handed Gillian a megaphone, and everything started becoming terribly, unmistakably clear.

  ‘I have requested order, and I expect to be given the courtesy of that.’ The megaphone whined and crackled, silencing everyone in the room. ‘As I have already explained,’ Gillian continued, ‘extraordinary times call for extraordinary measures. And we do indeed find ourselves in extraordinary times.’

  Gillian lowered the megaphone from her face then and aimed a glare at Arrina, who still stood in shocked silence at the back of the room. Arrina felt an urge to slip through the doors behind her and take a long swig of the purple liquid in her bag.

  ‘I would thank you all to note that we have not taken this decision lightly,’ Gillian went on. ‘And the council will not be swayed from its ruling. My previous statement is the only one I will give on the matter: today’s meeting of the Heathervale Parish Council will be held in closed session, and no record of said meeting shall be disseminated.’ Gillian lowered the megaphone and gave a firm nod to mark the end of her statement.

  William Brown, the farmer who had walked past Do-Re-Mi on Wednesday morning, stood up from his seat near Arrina. ‘This is against the village by-laws,’ he shouted. Several jeers of agreement came from around the room.

  Gillian strode across the stage to the door on its left-hand side. She seemed not to have heard William. But then she turned at the doorway and sought the old man out with her beady-eyed stare. She lifted the megaphone to her lips, where it emitted a screeching whine that took several seconds to die down.

  ‘William Brown,’ Gillian said, ‘I know the by-laws of this village better than anyone else in it.’ The megaphone squealed again, but Gillian did not
flinch. ‘I assure you that a closed meeting contravenes none of the rules, and I suggest you keep your focus on those precious pigs of yours and leave the politics to me.’

  Then she walked through the doorway, leaving only an empty stage behind her. Angry shouts erupted from the villagers who filled the hall.

  Arrina stood in shocked silence.

  She’d spent all morning preparing for this meeting and months before that working on the access road application process. And despite the many enormous issues she had on her plate right then, she’d made time to come down here to present her case.

  Now she discovered it was all for nothing. The Parish Council was holding a closed meeting, and Arrina knew exactly what that would mean for her access road application—one more final rejection. Without Arrina there to argue her side of it, Gillian DeViers would bring down the red Application Denied stamp on Arrina’s paperwork and wouldn’t even need to explain the decision.

  Arrina wished Julie were there. She glanced around the room for Phil, who did not have the same fiery brand of friendship that his wife did but who Arrina knew she could count on for moral support. She hunted for his mop of tangled hair and his ruddy farmer’s complexion. But amongst the tide of people—all bustling around the room to share their outrage with friends and neighbours about what was happening—it was impossible to spot him.

  The bottle of sloe gin in Arrina’s handbag called to her once again.

  Arrina considered pulling it out of her bag right there and taking a quick sip. Surely everyone was too preoccupied to notice.

  But then she saw that a great many people in the room were whispering and staring straight at her. Some were even pointing. It seemed that not everyone in the village hall was focusing on the drama of the closed-room meeting.

  Several clustered groups were gossiping about Arrina. They weren’t shy about it either. Arrina heard her name mentioned loudly by the closest knot of middle-aged women, all of them virtually clutching at the pearls around their necks as they leaned in closely to share the gory details that each one of them knew.