Murder on Silver Lake

by Hugo James King

  We weren’t spending time inside the market town, we were headed straight to Hopkin & Son, owned and operated by Samuel Hopkin and his son, Seamus. They’d been in business since 1969 according to the sign above the door. 50 years of business.

  Charlie winced at his collar, trying to run on ahead inside the shop.

  Lots of moving people, wandering around, coming and going.

  “Oh, goodness,” Harriet gasped.

  “You okay?”

  “Not sure it’s a good idea for me to be here.”

  “We’re going to get a table,” I told her.

  She looked away, raising a hand to her face, blotting at the tear stains.

  Of course, she wasn’t happy. I should’ve known town would have been this busy on a Saturday, but she needed the fresh air and I was being helpful—or so I told myself.

  “Evelyn?” a voice came from behind.

  Turning, I came to face the owner, Samuel. An old man with grey wiry hair tucked inside a white chef’s hat.

  “Yes?” I answered with a large smile. “I hope you don’t mind, I brought a friend along, and another is on the way.”

  He waved a hand. “Absolutely fine.”

  “And the dog?” I asked. “Your website mentions you’re pet-friendly, but I wasn’t sure if that was more to do with your chocolates.”

  He chuckled once again “Oh, no, perfectly fine, especially when they’re as small as yours.”

  Charlie yapped as Samuel Hopkin spoke to him, wiggling his fingers in his face.

  “You don’t have a bowl of water for him, do you?” I asked.

  He nodded. “I’ll get my son in it right away.”

  “Eve!” Another voice, bounding through the door. Ruth entered with a swinging walk, stopping with a blunt whoosh as she faced Harriet. “Oh.”

  I’d somewhat mentioned it in passing to her, visiting Harriet. But this is where we were now, all together at the chocolate shop.

  “Ruth!” I called back. “Harriet is joining us today. I figured it was the least we could do. You know, be there for her, given everything happening.”

  Ruth grabbed at Harriet’s hand. “Oh, doll. Can’t believe what’s happened. You holding up?”

  “Let me see you to a table,” Samuel said.

  Among the crowds of people, snapping photos and lining for tasters, there were tables, most of which held ‘reserved’ plaques on.

  Samuel led us to a small booth in the corner.

  Charlie jumped onto the seat, standing with his hind legs, he placed his paws on the table.

  “I’m going to use the little girl’s room,” Harriet said, clutching to her handbag.

  “We’ll be sat right here,” I said, sitting beside Charlie.

  A forced smile flashed across Harriet’s face before she hurried off.

  Ruth sighed into a seat. “She’s going to be a killjoy.”

  I smacked Ruth’s arm. “Her husband just died.”

  “She should be home then.”

  Pulling away my coat, I relaxed in the seat. “Let’s get some chocolate and have a nice time.”

  “Hello,” a man greeted. “I’m Seamus.” Samuel’s son, he a larger man, in his thirties with black hair and a plump redness to his face. He placed a small bowl of water on the table for Charlie. “I’ll get you started with a taster menu,” he said. “Two?”

  I held three fingers to correct him. “And maybe something for Charlie.”

  Snorting back, he chuckled. “On it.”

  When Harriet arrived from the bathroom, distinct red rings puffed at her eyes. She sniffled, sitting beside Ruth.

  “Chocolate makes everything better,” Ruth said. “It’s the glue of life.” And as she was a nurse, I was inclined to believe it as a medical fact.

  I didn’t know what to say, so I was glad Ruth filled it with her words.

  Her bottom lip trembled. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank us yet, wait until you’ve tried the raspberry and white chocolate swirls.” Ruth patted a hand to her chest. “Divine.”

  “They’re getting some taster plates made,” I said. “All on the house, the perks of publicity writing.”

  Harriet didn’t say a word. She nodded, pressing her lips into a thin line. I couldn’t blame her for not wanting to be here, but she had wanted to when I offered.

  “If you’d like to leave, that’s okay,” I said, offering a friendly smile.

  “Oh no.” She looked away.

  “Chin up,” Ruth spoke. “What would Gilbert say?”

  It brought a smile to her face. “He’d tell me I need friends around me. He’d tell me it’s unhealthy to close myself off from people.” She chuckled nervously, pulling her handbag into her chest.

  “And he’d tell you to drink all the hot chocolates offered,” Ruth continued.

  I couldn’t reach over and show her I was there for her, and my throat scratched as I thought of something to say. Instead, I wrapped an arm around Charlie, all this talk about death, perhaps I shouldn’t have invited her for my own sanity.

  Wooden planks topped with chocolates were provided promptly; ordered from dark chocolate to white chocolate, organised in the most pleasing way. Followed by a complimentary hot chocolate, whipped cream and sprinkles optional.

  Snapping a picture of the chocolates, my stomach grumbled.

  “Let’s go dark to white,” Ruth said.

  The first piece; dark chocolate filled with a spiced apple.

  Harriet finally smiled, and Ruth couldn’t stop smiling. Humming and sighing with each bite. They were high quality and usually expensive, but for publicity, they were free. It was the price they paid for Inside the Cotswolds readerships, currently in the hundreds of thousands.

  Careful not to completely spoil ourselves, we took breaks, sipping water to cleanse our palates.

  “Did Paul tell you anything about what happened?” Ruth asked, turning conversation away from the sweet treats.

  She looked to me. “He told me what he knew. But I believe he killed himself.”

  “Was he suicidal?” I asked. To Paul it was clearly murder, and I believed it too.

  “Everyone has bad days.”

  “I know, I’m sorry.”

  Ruth hummed. “I’m an advocate for the mental health services,” she said. “And I know my husband is too. If you’re suffering at all, he can recommend you to someone.”

  “What if he was murdered?” I asked after phrasing it multiple times in my head. It seemed public knowledge already, Gilbert was murdered.

  Sipping her water, she dropped her gaze. The stages of grief couldn’t be rushed, and I probably wasn’t being helpful at all.

  We ate another piece of chocolate. Silent in our chewing.

  I cast my gaze out as the crowds grew in size, forming an orderly queue.

  “You know.” Harriet gulped hard. “I just want him to rest as soon as possible.”

  “I’m sure once the investigation is done, they’ll let you,” Ruth said.

  She shuddered. “I can’t think of anyone doing this to him, and I can’t think of him being laid on a cold slab while they wait to find out what happened.” She pressed her face into a cloth.

  Ruth rubbed at Harriet’s shoulder with a hand. “It has to be cold,” she said. “It’s how they preserve the body.”

  “No, no, no. I’ve seen what they do, that anatomy show where they dissect the dead.”

  “What?” I gasped.

  “The ones on after midnight. Sometimes when I can’t sleep, I’d watch those.”

  Ruth hummed. “Frank records them. I’m constantly telling him they’re not good for watching while I’ve got dinner in the oven.”

  “Gilbert would never watch with me; drunk or sober.”

  “Maybe you can watch them with Frank,” I laughed, glancing across to Ruth as she gave me a sideways look.

  “Harriet!” A tall blond woman screeched.

  Charlie yapped at the crash of sound, smacking his paw on t
he table.

  We turned to see Wendy Sodbury, Gilbert’s ex-wife, the one he divorced because he was cheating on her with Harriet.

  Harriet leapt from the seat at the booth, her handbag clutched tight to her body.

  They stared. Tears filled their eyes. The community was small, but after the divorce, Wendy moved to the south of France. And now, she was back in Briarbury, seemingly with knowledge of her ex-husband’s demise.

  Wendy wrestled Harriet into a hug.

  Both of them cried, pausing a silence throughout the entire shop.

  I looked to Ruth, clearly with the same thought; should we break them up? Followed by, is this going to get violent?

  We couldn’t have a second dead body on our doorstep.

  EIGHT

  Calming together, Wendy took a seat at the table with us. She blotted her face with a wad of tissues in hand. Samuel had brought her a cup of hot chocolate and quietly left again. Their hysteria wasn’t good for business.

  “When did you find out?” I asked.

  She waved a hand and dropped her tissues across the table. “This morning,” Wendy said.

  “Thank you for being here,” Harriet said, sobbing into a tissue.

  For the second time, Wendy embraced Harriet into a large hug, craning her arms around her.

  I watched as Ruth glared at them, they were intruding on an afternoon that was meant to be fun, filled with chocolate and some chocolates filled with liqueurs. Of which, we couldn’t do anymore because two people at our table were in mourning.

  “There’s not much they can do now,” Wendy said. “He’s dead.”

  “Who do you think killed him?” I asked, putting a hush to their cries.

  “Murder?” Wendy panicked, her tone now frantic as she spoke. “Who in the—the—what?” She pressed her tissue to her eyes, pulling at the mascara from her lashes.

  “I don’t want to believe it either,” Harriet cooed in return. “I’ve not even seen the body. I don’t want to see it.”

  A woman, only fifteen minutes earlier claimed she watched autopsies on television. And now, she couldn’t stomach seeing her husband. Perhaps it was because she’d already seen enough to last her a lifetime, or because it meant the reality of his death was real.

  Either way, I found it odd.

  Wendy sobbed, clenching Harriet’s hand. “Oh goodness, we’re making a mess of your afternoon,” she said, turning her head.

  “Not at all,” I said. “I invited Harriet out this afternoon.”

  Ruth held her hands up. “But if you want to leave and catch-up together, you should.”

  Wendy nodded. “I’m here for you, Harriet,” she said. “We can see his body together. Or, discuss the funeral arrangements.”

  Harriet smiled. “I’d like that, and I’m not sure I can do it alone.”

  “Let’s go see the vicar, surely he knows about Gilbert already.”

  Ruth hummed. “I mean, as long as the police are done with their investigation, they shouldn’t have any problem with a burial.”

  “We didn’t even have a plan.” Harriet sobbed. “What music will we play? I don’t know if he wanted to be buried or cremated.”

  Wendy cooed at Harriet. “It’s okay.”

  “It’s not okay. Someone might have killed him.”

  Denial. She’d worked through that stage quick.

  “Just make sure they don’t need to run tests on it to determine the cause,” Ruth said. “You don’t want to be forking out money for funeral services, only to postpone it.”

  “He drowned,” she said. “He was found on the riverbank.” She trembled with an inhale. “He usually goes out for walks; if he’s not passed out, he’s wandering around.”

  It could’ve been anyone who found him, drunk out of his wits; an easy target. Anyone could’ve pushed him, put rocks in his pockets.

  “Bad investments got him drinking in the first place,” Wendy said. “Started when we were married.”

  I held my tongue. I knew a lot of things from when they were together, but writing it off as bad investments instead of shady business conduct. I held my tongue with my teeth. It wasn’t in my wheelhouse to speak badly of the dead, especially the recently deceased.

  “I think divorcing him was the luckiest thing that happened,” Wendy said, quickly slapping her mouth shut. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

  Harriet pawed at Wendy’s hand. “It’s okay.”

  Wendy and Harriet were enemies out of situation. She also made off with a huge sum of money, leaving Gilbert further in the hole. But I had doubts she was capable of doing anything to her ex-husband.

  “Let me help you,” she said. “I can pay for the funeral. It’s the least I could do. He had been mine once upon a time as well.”

  Harriet continued in her sniffling. “You don’t have to,” she said. “We can get—I can get support, it’s okay.”

  She was perhaps saying it to reassure herself, but the entire town knew of the Sodbury’s and their poor finances. Well, besides the brother, Thomas Sodbury, he had money, and he’d already saved Gilbert more times than I had fingers.

  Wendy took Harriet’s hand once again. “Emotional help,” she said. “Let me.”

  “I can’t leave,” she said, carefully picking at the chocolates on the table. “I came out of the house to not get caught up in everything.”

  I reached across to her. “That’s okay,” I said. “I can bring you some chocolate over later if you like. I know, from experience, once you’ve got a date for the funeral, you’ll be able to work towards it.”

  “But you had me,” Ruth said.

  “I’m here too,” Wendy said. “But—but only for a week.”

  Harriet placed a hand on the table. “Then that’s it,” she said. “I need to get a date pencilled in. People won’t even want to come, so there’s no mistake of inviting too many people. Doubt his family will even want to play a part.”

  “Then that’s it,” Wendy said. “Let’s go.”

  They left moments later, Harriet didn’t need any more convincing. It was the decision I would’ve gone with, but I definitely would’ve needed Ruth to drag me out of the house, much like she actually did.

  “Sorry for bringing her,” I said to Ruth.

  “I was surprised,” she chuckled back.

  Samuel arrived at the table. “I hope all is well.”

  “Absolutely!”

  “Splendid.” He clapped his hands together. “I’m free in about fifteen minutes for that interview.”

  “Excellent,” I replied.

  Charlie yapped.

  “You think I could grab something for Charlie?”

  Samuel clapped once more. “Let me send some over.”

  I ate another chocolate; white chocolate with salted caramel. I sank into the booth, my eyes rolling at the taste.

  “These are going straight to my waistline,” I sniggered.

  “Mhmm.”

  “I thought I ate enough over Christmas.”

  And I had. In fact, I was attempting to walk a little further on the weekend. The exception being today when the walk was disrupted, and my mind couldn’t compete with thoughts of a dead body, Paul’s ego, and the freezing temperatures biting at me.

  “What are you going to ask him?”

  “Diane wants something they can use to bring people in,” I said. “So, questions will be all about their business, and what services they offer. The taste test is the fun part of all this.”

  She hummed. “Maybe at the end, you can suggest people come to the GP for their yearly check-up too.”

  “Busy enough as it is, aren’t you?”

  “We could always use more numbers. Need to increase the percentage of residents actually attending the doctor’s office than going straight to the hospital. Flu shots? We’ve got them. People should stop waiting until they’re on death’s door before phoning ambulances.” A puff of air came through her nostrils.

  I pressed my lips t
ogether with my teeth, careful not to smile.

  “Have another chocolate,” I told her.

  Ruth was certainly passionate about her work, but it was also her and Frank’s business.

  NINE

  After the interview, they gave me a selection of goodie bags. A large one for the magazine, and some smaller bags; myself, Ruth, and Harriet. Inside, there were hand-wrapped boxes and other sample sized items.

  We took our conversation elsewhere.

  Briars, a café in the heart of the town; a staple among locals and tourists alike. It’s often where Diane would order lunch deliveries for the magazine, keeping her staff fuelled by a supply of bacon and egg sandwiches.

  Sitting beside the window, we had ample room to people watch and it kept Charlie occupied as if he was some overprotective guard dog. Upon arrival at our table, we were greeted with our usual drinks; cappuccinos.

  Mine had a light dusting of cocoa, and Ruth’s had them pump a peppermint syrup in hers. Even after all the chocolate, her sweet tooth prevailed.

  “I feel so bad for her,” I said. “But I know if I was her, I’d rather believe suicide over murder.”

  She hummed, sipping from the rim of her mug. “It’s easy to think suicide. But once you said there was blood.”

  There had been. I unzipped my jacket, pulling at it to find the spot Charlie had touched. “Charlie got it on me.” He also got it in the bath too, I remembered.

  Ruth peered across the table, examining it with her squinting eyes. “Definitely dry blood,” she said. “Like, if you had a nose bleed and wiped it on your arm.”

  “How would it happen?”

  She shrugged, looking around the café. On two floors, it was almost as busy as the chocolatiers shop. “It was cold last night, when it’s colder, the blood is preserved in the blood longer.”

  “Meaning he was bleeding before he hit the river?”

  Ruth chomped her teeth together. “Possibly. Was there a lot of blood?”

  Recounting my steps, recounting what I’d seen. “I—uh—no idea.”

  “Charlie got it on his paws, didn’t he?”

  “And his face.”

  She nodded. “Safe to say there would have been a fair bit of blood then.”