Murder on Silver Lake

by Hugo James King

  Everyone was searching for a reason, for an excuse, for an answer. I was looking, desperately for something to tell them.

  “It’ll be okay,” I told her.

  “Thank you.” She closed the door.

  We walked back to the car, I couldn’t wrap my brain around much of what had happened. I’d finally come face-to-face with Thomas, the last man on the list I had. The last person. He didn’t appear in any state to have committed murder.

  But there was a list of men somewhere, I’d have to dig for it.

  It could’ve been a senseless killing, no rhyme or reason, but there was always a motive, there had to be something, underlying. I wouldn’t accept the excuse of it just being a murder, that’s it. Someone did it, and thinking it was senseless made me uneasy.

  Reaching the car, I grabbed a plastic bag from inside my handbag. Spreading it across a seat for Charlie. I snapped my fingers and he hopped into it.

  “Right,” I said. “If you move from this bag, you’re cleaning the car.” I chuckled, a light relief from the dread.

  He perched on the plastic bag. I knew he didn’t really understand much of what I said, but I still told him anyway.

  The drive home was slow, I didn’t care to get there, I was just happy to be in my own thoughts, thinking about the morning. Thinking deeply about what had happened and how fast everything had gone.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Pulling up into the driveway, my headlights flashed against something glossy on the ground. It shined in the dull light, enough to catch my breath and attention. I thought I was about to run over a large turtle.

  “What is it?”

  I turned the engine off and stepped out of the car.

  Looking from afar, a shining rock on the ground. Inching closer, I saw discolouration, rust somewhat. Do rocks rust? I questioned, shaking the thought off.

  Charlie jumped out across my seat. He sniffed at the rock on the ground.

  I dipped on my knee, looking closer at it. A deep red.

  “Blood?” I grabbed Charlie with a hooked arm beneath his belly. “Inside.”

  Slamming the car door shut, my shaky hand laid flat on the metal. Unlike the letter, this wasn’t something I was touching, not in a million years. I hurried inside, fiddling with the phone on the hook. Charlie continued to wander around, getting dried dirt all over the floor.

  Punching numbers into the phone, my fingers raced faster than my heart. I knew I should have been calling Ruth, but instead I phoned Paul.

  “Hello?” he answered in a long drone.

  “Paul, there’s something in my drive,” I said, gasping. “I don’t know what it is, but I think there’s blood on it.”

  “Evelyn?” he interrupted.

  “Yes,” I said. “What do I do with it?”

  “Don’t touch it.”

  I didn’t, but it was serious now. Someone had planted that rock. Someone had been to my home, not once, but twice. “Are you coming to get it?”

  “I’ll be over.”

  I hung up and immediately locked my front door.

  Pressing my back against the wall, I inhaled. Both hands clenched at my chest, holding each other. “Right, Charlie,” I said. “If you hear anything, bark. I don’t need any surprises.”

  It was growing darker in the early January evening. I closed all the curtains and turned every light on.

  After giving Charlie a bath, I fed him. Unfortunately, my stomach didn’t allow me to eat with all the nerves pumping around, it requested that I keep it free from food. I had still yet to phone Ruth, but I knew she’d come over if I did, and I didn’t want her over here until after Paul had been to collect everything.

  The red and blue lights flashed in unison, catching my eye from inside the living room.

  Paul was here.

  I watched from a window as he didn’t approach the front door, pinging a pair of plastic gloves back across his hand, he went straight to the drive. There was a second officer behind him, holding a large plastic bag open and Paul had a pair of gloves.

  Unlocking the door, I seemed to startle them both.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  He shrugged, placing the rock inside the bag. “We’ll know more when we send it off to get tested,” he said. “But it’s not looking good.”

  The officer gave Paul a nod before walking back to the police car.

  “Is this what killed him?” I asked.

  “I can’t say for certain,” he replied. “But I’m glad you called before taking it into your own hands. I know how you can get.”

  He wasn’t wrong, but I didn’t like being confronted with it. I had a history of going out on my own, or on a limb whenever I was curious. My gut never failed me, it must have been all those probiotic yoghurts.

  “Paul, before you leave, I also received a note.”

  “Was it on the stone?” he asked.

  “No, no, no,” I said. “Let me get it.”

  He moved to the front door, but I wasn’t letting him inside, certainly not with how it currently looked. “What did it say?” he asked from the doorway.

  “Wait there,” I shouted, focusing my head and eyes in a squint, trying to remember where I’d left it. I’d placed it on the table in the living room. Which I quickly grabbed and hurried back to the door. Charlie now sat on patrol, watching Paul in his place.

  “And you think this is from the person who did it?” he asked.

  No idea. I shrugged. “Well, look.” I handed over the note.

  He read the note over, scrunching his face. “Why didn’t you call me about this one?”

  “Could’ve been anyone.”

  “And when did you receive it?” His tone becoming sharper.

  “I didn’t take it seriously,” I said, somewhat lying. “But when I saw the rock, I knew I had to tell you. It could help the investigation.”

  He huffed, puffed out his chest. “It could have,” he said. “If you told me as soon as it happened.”

  “Listen,” I said, placing a hand on the door handle. “I did tell you.”

  “Not much we can do anyway,” he grumbled, “he’s being buried in the morning.”

  “You have a coroner’s report, right?”

  “What do you know about it?” he asked.

  My face forced into a tautness. “Just because he’s being buried, it doesn’t mean the case is closed.”

  He huffed. “I know how to do my job.”

  “I never said you didn’t.”

  “Well, with stuff like this, it’s best to have the killer already in cuffs. She’s only pushing the burial to get the insurance money.” He scoffed, hanging his head slightly as if feeling shame about what he’d said. “I mean, they’re lucky he had a good policy.”

  “How much?” I asked.

  Behind Paul, the flashing lights shut off, showing him in the visible light from the doorway. He shrugged. “Enough.”

  “Does he have a will?” I asked.

  “Undisclosed,” he said. “But they’re reading it after he’s buried.”

  My stomach sank and my vision blurred as thoughts overwhelmed my headspace. I clung to the door handle some more. It made sense, Wendy’s appearance, Thomas coming over, Scott’s arrival. It could’ve been down to any of them, but who?

  “Thank you,” I said before coughing at the dryness in my throat.

  “Hopefully this helps to find the person responsible.” He smiled. Perhaps this was the break he was looking for. The murder weapon.

  “Let me know if it does,” I said.

  The smile dropped. “I’ll be at the funeral tomorrow.” A dry stretch of humming broke off from the back of his throat. “Something tells me the killer will be there.”

  “What?” My eyes widened. “You can’t let people go if the person who killed Gilbert will be there.”

  “Not my decision. It’s just a hunch.”

  “And—and—and do you have any leads?”

  He laughed once, and it echoed. That was
a no. “I know you won’t listen to me, but I don’t think you should go tomorrow. Penny’s not going.”

  “I’ll be fine, Paul.”

  He grumbled, turning away. That was another one of the ways in which he was trying to control me; telling me what to do as suggestions.

  I closed the door, locking it behind him. My breath stammered in my throat once again.

  Recalling what Paul had said, I knew from experience, a last will and testament wasn’t public knowledge. My husband had done all of his through our solicitor, but he’d specifically told him to only read it after the funeral. I wasn’t sure if that was the case for everything, but I knew Harry had only done it to increase the turnout at the reception. Perhaps that’s what Gilbert had done.

  My fingers wrestled with the phone, pulling it from the receiver and punching in Ruth’s telephone number.

  “Eve?” she answered.

  “Glad you picked up,” I said, restlessly. “I had to call Paul.”

  “What? Everything okay?”

  I nodded. She couldn’t see, but I continued nodding. “There was a rock with blood outside my house.” Closing my eyes, I clenched my teeth.

  “Blood?”

  Stupid of me to think it was rust, I was no geologist, but I knew rust appeared orange on rocks. “Paul took it. I think someone planted it.”

  She gasped. “Frank!”

  “Do you think that’s what they did?”

  Ruth continued shouting. “Someone’s trying to frame Eve for the murder.” She tutted.

  Frank’s quiet voice called back in the background. “Why would someone do that?”

  “I was asking questions,” I said. “It’s a small town, and I was asking questions. Word gets around, doesn’t it.”

  “And who have you been asking questions to?”

  In general, I’d been asking about Gilbert’s death. “Scott?”

  The sound of Ruth, gritting her teeth came over the phone. “Have you seen Nancy and Fran at all? If you’ve been talking to them at all, it’s no wonder everyone thinks you’re looking into his death.”

  “Plus—plus.” I sighed. “Plus, Paul is still my brother-in-law, and I did find the body—well, I didn’t, but I was there when it was found.”

  “Whoever it is, I bet Nancy and Fran didn’t know when they were blabbing.”

  “Which means.” My throat threatened to close. Charlie pushed his small frame against my body, sitting at my feet. “Which means they’re local.” It went with what Paul had theorised; the killer would be at the funeral tomorrow.

  “Someone who knew where you lived, at least.”

  I gulped hard. “Most locals then.”

  “Do you want to come over? Or, I can come over?”

  “No, no, no.”

  “Sure?”

  Glancing to Charlie, his ears pointed. “I’ve locked all the doors. I doubt someone trying to frame me will also attempt to kill me.” It somewhat settled the nervousness bubbling in my stomach.

  “You know, I was going to phone you earlier. Harriet came in with Thomas,” she said. “I figured you already, they mentioned you telling them to visit.”

  “Oh gosh.” I had told them. “Did you get a look at his hand?”

  “Had to stitch it and wrap it properly,” she said. “No idea who did that for him last time, but it was a mess.”

  “Did he tell you how he got it?”

  “Punching a wall.”

  I couldn’t imagine trying to punch one of these stone walls. There was no plaster or foam filling to cushion the blow. “I’m surprised nothing was broke.”

  “It’s possible he did,” she said. “He wouldn’t let me, or Frank examine it. Only wanted it cleaning and wrapping.”

  “Glad he got it seen to.”

  Ruth chuckled. “I told him to visit the A&E, he could have a stranger look at it.” Her chuckle petered off into a sigh. “What else happened at Harriet’s house?”

  “I painted Harriet’s fingernails,” I said. “Wendy was there too.”

  “Did she mention the wake after the funeral?”

  “Possibly,” I answered, twisting and tugging at the cord on the phone.

  “At the village hall.”

  “A will reading?” my mind grumbled out through my lips.

  “A what?”

  “Will reading,” I said. “Something Paul mentioned. Gilbert’s life insurance was good, apparently.”

  “It was?”

  “Mhmm. Makes me wonder, is that why Wendy and Thomas are suddenly on the scene.”

  Ruth gasped, her voice echoing down the phone. “Thomas wouldn’t stop crying, I doubt it was him.”

  “Whoever it is, they’ve been to my house twice now, both times leaving something behind,” I said, my stomach puttering out a deep grumble. “I should get cameras set up. I’ve already double locked my doors. Nobody is getting in through those.”

  “I’m still worried,” Ruth said. “We have a spare room. Come over for the evening. We can go to the funeral together in the morning.”

  I snickered at the offer. “Don’t be silly,” I said. “Charlie is a good guard dog.” Although I’d thought, until Scott gave him a treat and suddenly, he was putty. “Plus, if I come over, we wouldn’t get a wink of sleep with all this talk of murder.”

  Ruth could talk for hours on the topic, and I could listen.

  “Right,” she said. “My offer stands, in case you want to come over, at any point in the evening.”

  “Oh, no,” I said. “I should eat and get these notes typed up from Scott’s interview, considering I was forced into it.” I wanted it to be over with as soon as possible. “Then I’ve got to sift through my wardrobe for something to wear.”

  I didn’t want to eat. I wanted to work through the feeling of hunger. If I ate anything, I knew my thoughts would grow erratic and I’d only throw the remains up into the toilet bowl. I’d have to suffice on a serving of strong tea and digestive biscuits to get me through the evening.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Through the night, I turned in bed, struggling to sleep longer than an hour at a time. When I woke, I climbed out of bed and paced the floor. Charlie snoozed soundly in his dog bed. I twitched at my curtains, noting the darkness in the sky fade.

  At 6 A.M. I called it and got ready for the day.

  Perhaps I should’ve taken Ruth’s offer and slept over, it would’ve stopped my mind from wandering—from thoughts of people creeping on and peering on me whilst I slept. Someone had gone out of their way to visit my home twice. I wanted to know why.

  Once light broke outside, I made my way to the kitchen. While I wasn’t afraid of the dark, I knew nothing could jump out at me in daylight.

  After a light breakfast and feeding Charlie, I was dressed, ready for the day. We were still many hours before the funeral, but I wasn’t going straight to the event. I first needed to clear my head and take a walk.

  I stuck my feet into my wellies. “Come on,” I called to Charlie.

  Opening the door, I noticed both the milkman and the paperboy hadn’t been yet. Perhaps they were taking the morning off as well. A cool chill ran inside the house, prickling my arms with gooseflesh.

  I grabbed at my thick coat, slipping my arms inside before zipping it to my neckline.

  Charlie rushed out into the garden.

  Collecting my keys and mobile phone, I stepped outside. Apprehension took me as I looked from left to right in quick succession, spinning my head to almost spur me with whiplash. I didn’t want any more surprises left on the doorstep.

  I locked the door and left. Charlie led the way, his little legs running forward. We were headed in the same direction we’d been going several times a week for months now.

  “Why?” I grumbled.

  Soon we were at the scene of the crime. Once again. If I wore a monitor, people would’ve wondered what motive I had to keep coming back here.

  The water levels had risen and fallen, leaving little evidence of Gilbert’s b
ody ever being washed ashore.

  Charlie panted, running circles around me as I walked forward.

  “What is it?” I hoped it wasn’t another body. Perhaps he was trying to show me something else. “Just tell me. I don’t want to see.” I eyed a bench ahead.

  Charlie had gotten a good sniff of the rock yesterday, it was possible he smelled something similar here. But as we ventured forward and stepped on the muddy grass, I knew there weren’t any rocks around here. As far as my eyes could see of the river banking, there was brown sludge and not a single rock in sight.

  I looked over the shallow part of the river, right beneath the bridge. There were rocks there, as suspected, but I wasn’t going inside. River rocks weren’t harsh and jagged, river rocks were smooth to the touch.

  My phone buzzed inside my coat pocket.

  It was Ruth.

  “Hello.”

  “Are we coming to pick you up?” she asked. “Frank wants to know. I told him you’ll probably be coming with us.”

  “Actually,” I began, thinking a moment to find the right phrasing.

  “Oh?”

  “I’ve got a couple things to do first, so I won’t be home before the funeral.”

  She laughed. “Diane getting you in early to work,” she chuckled. “She can’t give anyone time off.”

  It was slightly true, at least a half-truth. “Tell me about it.” I didn’t want her knowing the full truth, I didn’t want to tell her exactly what I was doing; she’d only worry, and then come with me. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, but if there was something suspicious going on, it was going to happen around the funeral, and my two main suspects were the ex-wife and the brother.

  Taking a seat to reflect, I pondered about Gilbert’s life. He’d had it tough, all things considered. Of course, he didn’t make it easier on himself by continuing to take people’s money, especially when he wasn’t paying them back.

  But he had money now.

  His brother was giving him money.

  Surely, not enough to pay off Scott’s debt.

  Unless—Scott was lying.

  I continued in my thoughts on the walk home. Perhaps Gilbert’s last will and testament would’ve shed light on the situation. Of course, Harriet would’ve had her share, but if there was a will, it could’ve been from years ago, before his second marriage.