by Sophie Brent
The side window of her dad’s precious van had been smashed and the nearest front headlight was broken. From where she was standing, it was obvious that the van was leaning slightly because both of the tires had been slashed.
The paintwork had not just been keyed, deep gouges had been cut into the metal by someone who had intended to cause as much damage as possible.
“Best not to touch anything before the police arrive,” Matt whispered as he came to stand next to the van.
“Who would do this?” Erin cried out into the quiet night air as she slowly stood upright. “Seriously! I cannot believe that this happened right outside my back door! My poor van!”
She stepped closer to shine her flashlight through the smashed side window. And froze.
A sheet of paper was lying on the front seat with a heavy stone on top. The edges were flapping slightly in the light breeze.
She swallowed down apprehension and moved slowly forwards, scanning the village green and the lane in the light from the streetlamp and her torch. There was no sign of anyone around. This part of the lane was always quiet and hidden from the main street.
The paper looked like a sheet of plain typing paper.
But that was not what drew Erin’s attention.
At the centre of the sheet was a colour photograph which had been printed onto the page. Some part of her brain registered that it was a clever idea. Photo prints could be traced to negatives. But a digital image? Not unless they left fingerprints.
So, what new version of intimidation was this?
Erin inhaled deeply and swung the door half open with her elbow so that she could see the photograph more clearly.
It was a snapshot of Kelly’s deli. She could remember exactly when it was taken since it was printed in most of the local newspapers. Last summer, the annual Kingsmede summer fête had included all of the local restaurants and bistros, including Kelly’s. It was one of those rare occasions when Carol, Prisha, and Erin were standing outside together in the sunshine, smiling into the camera while Zoe took the photograph.
A large red X had been marked on the centre of Erin’s head. And on the white paper above it, a message had been scrawled out in irregular capitals. It was written in what looked like red marker pen in capital letters. Waxy. Blood red.
But it was not the colour that sent a shiver across Erin’s shoulders. It was the words.
“Let the dead stay buried. Or more will die. Got the message?”
She watched the blood pulse hard in the veins on Matt’s neck as he scanned the note. “Constable Harris is going to love this! We’ve got them running scared, so they try and get personal. It’s the oldest trick in the book… and the best sign so far that whoever did this is still right here in Kingsmede.”
“So, you agree that Emma was murdered?” Erin asked.
Matt glanced once at the paper and nodded. “Oh yes. You were right to question what happened. Emma Wilson didn’t just slip in that freezer. She was murdered. No doubt about it now.”
Chapter Twelve
“I still cannot believe that you didn’t call us when the police arrived.” Prisha tutted as she picked up another blueberry and almond muffin and dropped the paper onto Erin’s kitchen table. “There hasn’t been so much excitement around here for ages.”
“You are going to have to excuse my friend.” Carol shook her head. “The youth of today have no respect for those who have had their only delivery van trashed by murderers or their henchmen in the middle of the night!”
Prisha ignored the glare Carol was giving her. “Have you heard from Fiona or the family yet? I suppose Zoe will have already picked up the news on the grapevine by now.”
“Zoe called ten minutes ago to ask if I was okay,” Erin said between sips of piping hot coffee. “But it’s still way too early for the family. If it makes any difference, I don’t think that Fiona or her mother are into slashing tyres and breaking windows. It’s not exactly their style, is it?”
“Hardly,” Carole nodded. “I knew Fiona at junior school, and she used to jump at the sound of her name. No girl can change that much. But what about evidence, clues, fingerprints, that sort of thing.”
Erin shook her head. “Constable Harris took all of the details and promised to investigate any suspicious activity in the area, but the chances of finding the culprit were very small.”
She counted out the reasons on the fingers of her left hand. “There were no security cameras in this part of town or neighbourhood watch schemes that operated overnight. Anyone could have slipped across the village green and disappeared into the night without being seen.”
“Fingerprints?” Prisha suggested with pursed lips.
“That would be a complete waste of time. Dozens of people have touched the handles on the van over the past few months. Think about it. I often offer lifts to people in the village if I see them on her way. Even more have helped me unload food deliveries at hotels restaurants and pubs all over Kingsmede.”
“No,” Erin sighed. “The really interesting thing was the note left on my seat. That was unique.”
She quickly pulled out her mobile and flicked to the photograph she had taken just before Constable Harris removed the note as evidence and passed the phone to Carol who gasped in horror.
“Erin. This is serious.”
“Told you,” Prisha shrugged. “Some complete nutter is out and about in Kingsmede, threatening people. I won’t tell my parents about this one.”
“I sat at this table at some silly hour of the morning being questioned for ten minutes about what and who I have been investigating that would make me the target for something like this. And I had told him the truth. The only thing I have talking about these past few days is the death of Emma Wilson, which was an accident.”
“Did you tell him that this might be a good time to start doing his job and finding the killer? Did you?” Prisha was almost bouncing in her chair.
“No, lovely, I didn’t. But Constable Harris is not a fool. He knows that this changes the investigation into her death. Until then, there was nothing he could do other than to report it and offer to support me when I claimed on my car insurance for the repairs, which are going to be serious.”
“Oh no,” Carol answered. “Just when you’re saving every penny to invest in the new bistro! It’s rotten.”
Erin pushed herself to her feet and walked over to the kitchen window, well aware that the girls were watching her every step of the way.
The scary thing was that someone had dared to vandalize the van on a public street. Her poor van.
It used to be her father’s delivery van and one of his most precious possessions. He had travelled all over Hampshire in that van and loved it so much that he had paid for repair after repair to keep it going. She had thought about replacing it over the years, but something stopped her from buying a smart new efficient and cost-effective model.
That van represented more than just a legacy of someone else’s work. It was a symbol of her father’s dedication and devotion to the job he loved.
Now someone linked to Emma Wilson’s death had decided to destroy it as a warning message and threatened her in the process.
That was totally unacceptable.
Positive action? She could take positive action.
Because Erin Kelly was having uncharitable and potentially lethal thoughts about what she was going to do to the person who had vandalised her dad’s delivery van.
It was amazing what two glasses of amaretto, followed by three hours of alcohol-and-trauma-induced sleep could do for her drive and decision-making abilities.
Erin had woken up with a clear head and one single, burning, crystal-clear, write-it-on-a-sky banner thought.
It would be a snowy day in the tropics before she would allow herself to be threatened, intimidated, in any other way dictated to by someone who thought that they had the right to tell her what to do.
A very cold day indeed.
She was not puttin
g up with that treatment for one second. Why should she?
Turning away from the window, Erin stepped back towards her kitchen.
Carole put down her toast, and Prisha glanced from Carol back to Erin as she bit into her soft muffin.
“So, what’s the plan?” She looked over and saw Erin pull her notepad out of her bag. “Aha. A list. Might have known. You have been a busy little girl this morning. Come on, start from the top. What’s first?”
“You know me so well.” Erin picked up her pen and moved her plate so that the paper was directly in front of them, Carol with her elbows on the table and Prisha leaning in to take a closer look.
Erin inhaled deeply through her nose so that when she spoke it all blurted out in one huge rush.
“The deli is closed for the rest of the day for a private party. All the girls have accepted the invitation to lunch and are meeting here around one. Which means we have four hours to finish cooking a four-course lunch menu for eight, set-up the deli as a bistro, redecorate the tables and get changed into summer finery. Prisha, you’re the official wine waiter. Got that?”
“Er. Check, I think. Erin? Are we going to hold a murder party by any chance?”
Erin rolled her shoulders back and took a deep breath.
“Oh yes. Those girls are going to enjoy my amazing food and along the way, tell me precisely what I had been doing that was so dangerous that they had to destroy my van and try to warn me off. After all, Emma’s death was supposed to be an accident, wasn’t it?”
Her pen started tapping the shorthand pad. “This is my life. And I would be a poor member of the Russo family if I let anyone tell me how to live it. That. Stops. Today.”
Erin looked up in her friend’s startled faces. “It’s time to show the person who wrecked my van exactly who they are dealing with. Because if they thought that she was just a village baker who was going to back off scared, they are very badly mistaken.”
Prisha glanced at Carol with a quick nod. “I told you that she would channel her inner Russo.”
“More than that. I’m a Kelly and a Russo and if the person who killed Emma Wilson wanted a fight, then I’m going to give them one. Nobody has the right to destroy my property and get away with it. Nobody. And that includes every single person in that wedding party.”
“Or their boyfriends…” Carole whistled. “The last time I saw that amount of damage was after a rugby match. Women are much more devious.”
“Absolutely right. But in my experience those boys would only do something if they thought that the woman they cared about was in danger of being exposed.”
“So basically, you are saying that one of those girls could be a murderer. This could be dangerous,” Prisha gestured towards Erin with half a muffin.
“Maybe,” Erin nodded. “Whoever did this is running scared at the very idea that I am getting closer to the truth. I’ve rattled their cages and the rats have come running out. Now it’s time to catch them in the trap. They are not leaving until I know what’s going on and who did this.”
She flipped her hand over from side to side. “It’s a simple choice. They can tell me now, or I’ll call the police and let them answer questions at the police station under caution. Their choice. What is said in the deli stays in the deli.”
Carol shook her head. “Erin Kelly, one way or another, this is turning out to be quite a weekend! Are you sure that you don’t need me to be here? My mum might be able to cope on her own at the pub.”
“Thanks, but I’ll phone you as soon as I have anything worth sharing. But one thing is for sure. They have messed with the wrong person this time. I am not letting this go until I get to the truth, no matter what it takes.”
Chapter Thirteen
“You closed the deli. How will the fine folks of Kingsmede be able to cope?”
Erin watched the shock on Matt’s face as he was hit with the full cacophony of the background music and mouth-watering smells of her cooking. He was seeing her deli in all of its fresh Mediterranean glory in the bright early Monday sunshine that streamed in from the freshly washed windows.
“Oh, I think they’ll manage for one day. My deli, my rules.” She replied with a grin. “It’s been quite a weekend.”
The scrubbed pine tables and wide solid chairs had been laid out to form a large square table, decked with bright yellow and blue check tablecloths and matching seat pads.
This was how her bistro was going to look, and she couldn’t wait to get started on it.
In the cool early morning, she had worked tirelessly in the deli and rearranged the furniture to create the perfect Italian bistro that had been her father’s dream and was now hers.
She already had the perfect backdrop, with cream walls and bright warm lighting, but now she added the final touches with hints of green, blue and yellow in the fabrics.
Her father had collected framed photographs of how the deli looked over the years. It only taken half an hour for Erin to rearrange them on the wall as a collage of black-and-white images of happy people, all celebrating the essence of Italian food and life.
All it needed now was the background sound of happy customers chatting and laughing against unobtrusive background Italian popular music.
“What are you making for lunch?” Matt asked. “Because I have to tell you, half of Kingsmede is enjoying the delicious aromas coming from this kitchen.”
“It was actually very hard to decide,” Erin replied. “During the winter I would have gone for a delicious roast lamb casserole in a rich red wine sauce, but it’s already twenty-five degrees at ten in the morning and forecast to be well into the thirties by lunchtime. The girls wouldn’t appreciate a hot hearty meal at this time of the year.”
“True, although that lamb sounds very good to me.” Matt smiled.
“It certainly is! Let’s save that for another time.”
Erin moved over to the serving hatch and pointed at two metal trays covered in foil. “For the antipasti, we have fennel and asparagus salad with plenty of chopped tarragon, basil and lemon balm from Rosa’s cottage. Then roast vegetables with basil and oregano.”
“That explains the amazing aroma. This room smells like a Mediterranean bistro.”
“That’s the plan,” Erin laughed, then pointed to the refrigerator. “The main course is grilled salmon fillets with a crispy parmesan crust and preserved lemons. Served with home-made farfalle and a full-on tomato sauce which is reducing nicely right now.”
Erin took a moment to stir the sauce before going on.
“If they have any room left, I have creamy passion fruit panna cotta setting in the fridge. Then for the final touch. My almond and Amalfi lemon cake soaked with a drizzle of lemon syrup with some of the blanched lemon zest. These lemons have a really intense flavour. The secret is the polenta, but the cake should still be light.”
“Amazing,” Matt blinked. “Do you tread the grapes for the wine as well?”
Erin smiled, “No, but I have a very large family who imports the best of Italian produce from local farms they know by name. The olive oil is from a tiny orchard in Sicily.”
“Can I book a table now? Because I could eat anything on that menu, any day of the week.”
“Well, the sooner you clear out the bookshop, the sooner I can move in!” She replied and waved her spoon at him. “Let’s call this a test run for the bistro.”
She waited for his strong long nose to turn up and then realized that it couldn’t because he was smiling.
“Did you think I’d turned my deli into a greasy spoon cafe?” she asked, quizzically, since he had clearly lost the use of his voice, as he took the few steps over to the bar and stared intently at some of the old photographs Erin had displayed on the cream walls.
“Not at all,” he replied as he turned back to face her. “This is a terrific amount of work for one person to do alone. Isn’t it exhausting?”
Erin shrugged her shoulders. “It’s what I’ve always known. My mother was trained b
y my grandmother in the Russo family restaurant and saw no reason to stop working. Just the opposite in fact. My dad sold the food she made out of the deli, and the ready meals were always popular. The classical dishes are brilliant. It worked very well.”
Matt leaned back against the wall and smiled. “It sounds like you had a great relationship with your mother.”
Erin laughed and shook her head. “I didn’t say it was all smooth sailing. Two women in the same house? There were bound to be some arguments, and we always worked in the same room together. She could be one side of the table making pasta, while I chopped vegetables for the sauce on the other. I learned a lot. She was the best teacher I ever had.”
“But you don’t seem too keen on moving to Florida to work with her?”
Erin looked up and smiled at him. And he smiled back, only this time he really smiled back with his mouth and his eyes before pushing away from the wall.
It was a smile that was so personal she could feel the glow of her blush warming the back of her neck.
“You know the old saying about having too many cooks in the same kitchen? That was then and this is now. We want different things. Let’s just leave it at that.”
“I’m amazed that you are going ahead with this lunch after the long night you had. Did you manage to get any sleep at all?” Matt asked. “I know I didn’t.”
“Going ahead? You bet this lunch is going ahead. And if anyone thinks they are going to stop me, they had better stand back and get out my way. Not going to happen. Not today. Not any day. I had enough sleep to make sure this happens. I’ll sleep tonight.”
“She’s channelling her inner Russo,” Prisha hissed to Matt as she marched in through the back door of the kitchen carrying two large shopping bags. “Best to just step back and let her get on with it. Those pasta rolling pins can really hurt once they get going.”
“What can I do to help?” Matt asked.
“Seriously? Stay out of my kitchen until after lunch. I intend to sort this problem out my way and it will be sorted out, I promise you that. There’s going to be fireworks and it won’t be pretty.”