by Nancy Warren
“I feel the same, but I suppose we’re all different. I didn’t even have to go to her house. She walked into the grocery store, and I followed her. It seemed like fate was offering us a break. But fate was only toying with me. As usual.”
His lips quirked at that. It was nice to know one of the sexiest men I’d ever met found me amusing.
“All I found out is that there are people in the village who think Violet killed Elizabeth Palmer by witchcraft. And that she and her husband are still going on that cruise with the recent widower.”
As I considered the way fate kicked me around like its plaything, I added, “Oh, and I’m now the owner of a very large, very shiny, very pink lamp shaped like a poodle.”
“I had no idea the shopping was so good in Moreton.”
So then I had to tell him how I’d come by the lamp and how I’d visited Grayson Timmins’s home and seen his portrait with the watch. “I’m almost certain it’s the one Elizabeth Palmer bought at the white elephant sale.”
As soon as I finished lunch, we headed out to the Wychwood Bowmen in the Range Rover. The smooth, quiet ride was a pleasure after Clara. We drove through narrow country roads with little traffic. He seemed to know the way, so I relaxed and enjoyed the scenery. At length, we turned into a narrow lane and finally ended up in a gravel parking lot by a squat building that sort of looked like a large shoebox, behind which stretched a very long field with straw bales and archery targets. We had arrived at the home of the Wychwood Bowmen.
There were about a half dozen cars already there. Most looked to be fairly recent models of mid- to high-end cars. We got out and trudged to the entrance. Inside, it looked like clubhouses everywhere. Lino on the floor, industrial lighting, a counter with a cash register and bulletins hanging from the walls. A large sign announced the rules of the club, and on another was a price list.
Behind the counter, a man was bent over fiddling with what I thought was an arrow tip. He glanced up when we entered and then, seeing we were strangers, put down the arrow. “Afternoon.”
“Good afternoon,” Rafe and I echoed.
“How can I help you?”
Rafe went up and explained that we were interested in taking up archery and possibly joining the club.
He looked at us as though assessing our strength and fitness. He was in his forties, I thought, with a prematurely wrinkled face, perhaps from squinting at targets in the sunshine. “Well, you’ve come to the right place. Do you have any experience?”
He looked to me first. “I did some archery at summer camp. That was like ten years ago.”
He nodded and turned to Rafe, who put out his hands. “It’s been years.”
I had a feeling by years, he meant centuries.
The man said, “Well, let’s get you set up and head out to the back, and I’ll give you a few tips. The price for our ‘have a go’ session is twenty pounds each. If you like it, we’ve got a beginner’s class starting next week. We’ve got a few couples already signed up.”
I stiffened when he said the word couple, but Rafe said that sounded fine and dug out his wallet.
“I imagine safety is very important,” I said. “I’m a little nervous to go out there.”
The archery guy shot me a glance that would have run me through if there’d been an arrow attached to it. “I suppose you’re referring to the incident over the weekend?”
Nice of him to head straight to where I wanted to go. “Yes. I admit I was nervous coming here today.”
He shook his head. “None of us can work out how that terrible tragedy occurred. But I can assure you we take safety very seriously. Very seriously indeed.”
While Rafe paid and filled out a form, I wandered over to the glass display case. Inside were various arrows and leather gloves, things that no doubt brought joy to the heart of archery enthusiasts. Perhaps as encouragement, they had displayed a list of club champions. It seemed the club competed locally and nationally. I ran my eye casually down the list of names and stifled a gasp. The third from the top, the club champion of three years ago, was Jason Palmer. Jason Palmer, who’d been about to lose everything when the untimely death of his wife promised an extremely fat life insurance policy that would solve all his financial problems.
Violet had foreseen that crossing water would end in death for Elizabeth. I wondered if he’d originally intended to push his wife overboard on their anniversary cruise. Something had pushed that plan forward to Saturday. Were his creditors closing in? Had Nora called to tell him about Violet’s fortune and that his wife was planning to cancel the cruise? Was that what got him scuttling up to the top floor of the village hall with a hastily pilfered arrow? This theory meant that not only had Elizabeth’s husband wanted her dead, but also her best friend.
Or maybe Jason Palmer had planned the arrow caper all along. He certainly hadn’t been around when his wife was killed. Every other person in the village seemed to have been at the fête except him.
I snapped a hasty photo of the championship board and then went to refresh my archery skills. I needed the refresher, but Rafe clearly didn’t. He fumbled and hit his first arrow outside the target range, so it buried itself in the hay bale, but as soon as the guy who’d shown us the ropes went back inside the clubhouse, he hit the bull’s-eye again and again. It was a pleasure to watch him, so smooth and focused.
I didn’t do too badly, either, considering how long it had been.
I waited until we were back in the Range Rover to say to Rafe, “Did you see the champion board in the display case?” Since I knew he hadn’t, I continued, “Jason Palmer was club champion three years ago.”
Chapter 16
He backed the car out smoothly. “And Jason Palmer definitely had the most to gain in his wife’s death.”
“I wonder if the police know all this.”
“If they don’t, they soon will. It’s not a difficult trail to follow.”
In other words, “Don’t interfere, Lucy.” Since I suspected he was right, I didn’t argue. That didn’t mean we wouldn’t continue our own investigation.
“I wish I could get to Elizabeth’s husband somehow, but I don’t want to show up on his doorstep with a casserole. I’m not a neighbor or a friend.”
Rafe said, “There’s nothing easier.”
I’d discovered that Rafe’s idea of easy and mine were not always the same. I pushed my hair over my shoulder. “I am not breaking into the man’s house in the middle of the night, if that’s what you had in mind.”
He got that expression he often gets when he’s looking at me, as though he’s trying not to laugh at me. “I don’t know where you get these notions about me, Lucy. I was only going to suggest that you take a trip out to his car dealership.”
I banged myself upside the head, but softly so I didn’t do any damage. “That is such a great idea. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it. Of course, I’ll pretend I’m in the market for a new car.”
He gave me that look again. “No offense to your current automobile. That was a fine set of wheels in 1987. But perhaps you should be in the market for new car.”
He was right, of course, but the advantage of Gran’s old car was that I wasn’t too worried about banging it up or denting it while I navigated fiendishly narrow lanes on the wrong side of the road. If I bought a brand-new car? I’d spend the whole time waiting for some sneaky rock wall from medieval times to reach out and scratch up my car. Also, with Gran’s old heap, I didn’t have to make car payments. “I’ll take a look.”
Rafe said, “Excellent. I’ll come with you.”
I felt a little huffy. “You don’t think a woman can buy her own car?”
“I’d like to get a glimpse of Mr. Jason Palmer. That’s all.” He put his hands up in a very placating way. “I’ll even let you drive us there.”
I glared at him. “I may be a feminist, but I’m not a fool. If you drive us there in an expensive Range Rover, he’ll take us more seriously. If I show up in that old beater,
he’ll pawn me off on the lowliest salesperson.”
He didn’t argue with me because we both knew I was right. He started to put the coordinates into his GPS.
“What, now?”
“Why not?”
“I feel like I should prepare for meeting Elizabeth’s probable killer. Think of biting, incisive questions to ask him.”
“You can do that in the car.”
There was no point arguing since we were on our way.
Moreton Motorcars was located in an industrial park a couple of miles from Moreton-Under-Wychwood. It looked as though the industrial park had grown up around it. Rafe didn’t turn the car into the dealership right away. Instead, he cruised slowly past it and then around the block. “He doesn’t have much inventory,” he said.
As we came around in front of the car lot again, I could see what he meant. It didn’t look as though business was thriving. There were maybe a dozen cars in the whole lot, which had room for many more times that. I glanced over at Rafe. “We already know his business is in trouble.”
“Critical if he can’t even get inventory to sell. Or else business is so brisk, he can’t keep cars in stock. Be interesting to find out which.”
We barely got out of the car before a man was coming out of the squat building to greet us. I recognized him from the coffee shop. He was pulling on his suit jacket lapels as though he had just shoved himself into the jacket. A metal nameplate on his pocket informed us that he was Jason Palmer, general manager. I’d worried that we’d be greeted by a junior salesperson, but, as far I could tell, Jason Palmer was the only salesperson on the lot.
As he walked toward us with his hand held out, I could see him swiftly run his eyes over me. I didn’t think he was assessing my financial ability to buy a car. I thought he was checking me out. I wouldn’t call him good-looking as much as someone who’d been good-looking. He had the rugged good looks of a rugby player, with a muscular body and a tough-guy face, sporting a nose that had obviously been broken at some point. He’d lost most of his hair and, perhaps to compensate, his face had that stubbly unshaven look. His eyes were dark brown and, while he didn’t appear broken by tragedy, he definitely looked as though he wasn’t getting enough sleep.
His grip was firm without being bone-breaking as he introduced himself, and he quickly transferred his hand from mine to Rafe’s. He gestured to the Range Rover. “That’s a nice ride you’ve got there. Are you thinking of trading it in?”
“No,” Rafe said. “It’s Lucy who’s in the market for a new car.”
He turned back to me. “Excellent. You’ve come to the right place. Our prices are competitive, and our after-purchase service is exemplary.”
The three of us looked around at the dozen or so cars in the lot and Rafe said, “You seem a bit low on stock.”
He shook his head as though surprised himself that there were so few cars that I might buy. “You know how it is. As soon as I get them, they’re sold. There’s a waiting list right now for several models, but if you order something today, I can have it delivered within a few weeks.”
“That would be fine,” I said.
He rubbed his hands together, and his wedding ring flashed in the sunlight. I was struck by a pang of sadness for his poor wife, who had been so looking forward to their silver anniversary trip. “Now, did you have anything special in mind?”
Well, if I was going to waste my time on a car lot, I might as well look at some cars. “I definitely want something small and easy to drive, and I prefer an automatic if you have one.” I was really struggling with Gran’s stick shift.
He put a finger up in the air as though he were conjuring a rabbit out of a hat. “I think I have exactly the right thing for you. Come right this way.”
He led me to a small white car with enough room in the back seat for two adults to sit in comfortably and a roomy hatchback. In spite of myself, I was impressed. It was exactly the kind of thing I would look at if I were in the market for a car.
He rambled on about fuel efficiency and comfort ratings until I finally and rather bluntly asked the price. The initial fantasy I’d had of driving home in a brand-new car was immediately dispelled. He must’ve seen my face fall, for he said, “Of course, this is a higher-end model. You can order a base model and, of course, we have some excellent payment plans on approved credit.”
I was about to tell him I couldn’t afford it when Rafe said, “Let’s take it for a test drive.”
Of course, I knew he was just stretching out our time so that we could ask Jason those searching questions about the death of his wife, but still, I felt guilty driving a car I couldn’t afford. The man went and got the keys and returned in a couple of minutes. He was clearly going to come with us. “Is it all right to leave your office empty like that?”
He looked back as though surprised that there was no one here but himself. “It’s all right. One of my colleagues will be back any minute now.”
Whatever. I got in the driver’s seat, and Jason got in beside me, while Rafe squeezed himself into the back. I felt incredibly nervous driving a brand-new car down narrow country lanes on what I still considered the wrong side of the road. However, every amateur detective had their challenges. I started the engine on the first try, unlike Gran’s car, which immediately gave me a burst of confidence. I adjusted the mirrors to my liking, and then we set off.
In truth, it was a pleasure to drive a car that had a lot less personality than Gran’s. It did what I wanted it to do without struggle or argument. Jason seemed content for me to get to know the vehicle on my own. He said, “I haven’t seen you before. Do you live in the area?”
I told him that I lived in Oxford and ran a wool shop.
Rafe asked whether the struggling economy was affecting his business. I thought it was rather a blunt question, but Jason didn’t take offense. He said, “I never give in to negative thinking. My position is that people need cars. They need to get around. I provide better prices than most, better service than most, and I’ve built up extremely good loyalty so most of my customers are repeat business.”
I thought that was a very impressive answer. But was it true?
I braked in order to let a goose cross the road, and that made me laugh. “It must be wonderful living in the country. Especially in a lovely village where everyone knows everyone else.”
He made a rude kind of snorting noise. “And where everyone knows everyone else’s business. It’s taken me a long time to get used to village life. I’m from London, you see, a city of eight million strangers.”
“What brought you to Moreton-Under-Wychwood?” I asked. It was exactly the sort of question you would ask a stranger.
“My wife’s from here.” And he cleared his throat. “Was from here, I should say. I recently lost her.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said, and I meant it. I hated to do this, but it was possible he’d killed her, and I’d come to ask tough questions, after all. “Was she ill?”
“No. It was an accident.” Then the words seem to burst out of him. “Some fool shot her with an arrow at the village fête.”
“What?” I asked in barely-simulated shock. Even though I’d been there, it still shocked me. What a crazy way to die.
“The police are investigating, of course, but they haven’t caught the bas—the killer yet. They must have run away when they realized what they’d done.”
“You mean someone shot your wife by accident?”
“Oh, yes. Lizzie didn’t have an enemy in the world. It was a bored teenager who only planned to cause panic, I’m sure. Not to kill anyone.”
“That’s an awfully dangerous prank.”
He nodded and didn’t say anything. I thought he was struggling with emotion and, since the goose had now crossed to the other side of the road, I rolled smoothly forward in the car. I didn’t drive it for long, and I was very happy to return it unscathed. Then he escorted us inside and brought out a glossy brochure. He clipped his business card to it an
d then asked for my name and phone number. I hated to give it to him, but I knew he was only doing his job. As we drove away in the Range Rover, I felt that we’d sort of wasted his time. “I thought we’d learn more.”
Rafe didn’t answer for a moment and then said, “I think we learned a great deal.”
“Like what? That the newest model has a state-of-the-art fuel-saving economy feature?”
“No. That Theodore was right and Jason Palmer is in serious financial trouble.” He took one hand off the wheel and stuck his index finger in the air. “Number one. Very few cars in the lot.” He held up another finger. “Number two. There were no employees.”
“He said his colleague would be back soon,” I reminded Rafe.
“Did you see another desk that showed any signs of human habitation?” He shook his head and answered his own rhetorical question. “He has no staff. No colleagues. Also, while you were batting your big blue eyes at him and he was showing you all the features in that glossy brochure, I caught a glimpse of his electric bill. It’s overdue. He’s barely able to keep the lights on.”
“That’s bad.”
“Nothing a million pounds won’t fix.”
I shuddered. “I can’t bear to think that he would kill that lovely woman just for money.”
“Well, somebody killed her for some reason. I think he’s a very likely candidate.”
I reminded him that it was while foretelling Nora’s future that Violet had seen the hand writing that check.
“Then we have to assume that she’s going to share in the windfall. And perhaps deserves a share of the blame.”
“What do you think of his theory that it was a teenage prank gone wrong?”
“I think Jason Palmer needs to come up with a better story if he’s going to stay out of jail.”
Chapter 17
Wednesday evening found me and Sylvia and Clara back in Moreton-Under-Wychwood for the first knitting class. There was a reason the phrase “close-knit community” had become a cliché. I’d discovered that people who liked to knit and crochet also liked to hang around together, as evidenced by the fact that we’d had more than twenty knitters and novice knitters sign up.