Bugger.
“Want a hand?”
Motts glanced up to find her cousin River Chen-Mottley standing across the street next to his car. “I have two hands.”
River crossed the street and waited for her to move her fingers out of the way. “Vina sent me a text earlier. She thought you might want some moral support.”
“Could’ve brought Cactus.”
“Cactus can’t speak and doesn’t have a degree in business.” River made short work of undoing the buckles. “Ready for the big presentation?”
She took her sketchbook and bag from him. “Mostly.”
“You’ll be fine, Motts.” He reached out to straighten her jacket. “You can always imagine them naked.”
“Why on earth would I do that?” Motts frowned at him in confusion.
“It helps you feel less afraid.”
“How?” She thought it would make things worse, if anything. “Nudity tends to amp up the awkward to a maximum.”
“Only a suggestion.” River nodded towards the bridal shop. “Are we going in? Or do you want a minute to gather your thoughts?”
“Don’t let me embarrass myself,” she muttered.
“I have complete confidence in your ability. I’m only here to do the heavy lifting. Carry your sketchbook. Think of me as a prop holder.” River opened the book to one of the drawings. “See?”
“Come on.” Motts knew her cousin had enough of the Mottley stubbornness not to back down. He also shared her slightly off-kilter sense of humour. “I can’t rehearse this in my head anymore. I’ll forget something. Did you cut your hair?”
“Mum threatened to take a trimmer to my head if I didn’t.” He tilted his head and gave her a wide smile. “What do you think?”
“The left side is slightly longer than the right.”
“Well, that’s filled me with confidence.” River snickered. He pulled the door and held it for her. “You’re a terrible wingman.”
“I’m not a man—and I sadly lack wings.” She flapped her arms. “No lift.”
They laughed together, though Motts wasn’t entirely confident she understood why.
Her first presentation went well. Marnie loved her floral arrangements—perfect during the winter season and for any bride worried about allergies. They put together a loose plan for commission work along with a few standard pieces that could sit in the shop.
Her luck ran out at the second meeting of the day with Peggy Shine, who ran a local shop that catered to tourists. Motts stumbled over her words. She forgot everything she’d practised in front of the mirror.
In her panic and embarrassment, Motts ran out of the shop, bumping into the doorframe in the process. She rubbed her arm while standing outside in the cool air. Why? Why? Why do I do this to myself every time?
Wanting to put space between herself and her humiliation, Motts got on her bike to pedal away as quickly as she could. She strained to get her bicycle up one of the steep hills leading up to the cliffs, eventually pulling over to the side and sitting on a nearby railing.
When her breathing finally returned to normal, Motts glanced around in surprise. She’d made it further out of Polperro than she’d realised. Bugger. River would be worried; she’d abandoned her meeting and her things with her poor cousin.
When she’d been a young woman, her family had made excuses for her behaviour. “Don’t mind Motts, she suffers from poor nerves.” Anxiety might’ve been one problem, but being autistic had answered more questions than having a “nervous disposition” ever had.
Knowing why she had meltdowns over stressful situations helped—it didn’t make the problems go away. Motts wrapped her arms around herself. She wanted to be home with her cat and turtle, not sitting on a guardrail along the road; it would take her a good twenty minutes to cycle back.
“Miss Mottley?”
Motts lifted her head up to find a police car had pulled up beside her. She’d gotten so lost in her thoughts, she hadn’t heard. “Sorry?”
“Constable Hugh Stone.” He stepped out of his vehicle and came over to her. “Are you alright? Inspector Ash’s wife gave him a call. She said you’d had a panic attack. The inspector wanted me to see if you wanted a ride back home.”
“I can manage.”
“Sure. But the wind’s blowing something fierce. We wouldn’t want to fly off the cliff or tumble down the road, would we? Marnie’s a harsher taskmaster than the inspector.” Constable Stone kept his voice low and glanced over his shoulder dramatically. “Think she can hear me?”
“Not from the village.” Motts had to smile when she realised he was trying to help her relax. “I’d appreciate a lift, Constable. Thank you.”
“Hughie. Everyone calls me Hughie.” He gave her a broad grin. “And welcome to Polperro. Heard you moved into the cottage up on the hill. You let me know if you run into any trouble.”
“In Polperro?” She’d always found the place so safe and calm.
“My job’s to keep everyone safe.” He carefully secured her bicycle on the bike rack at the back of his car. “Hop in. We’ll get you home in the warmth in no time. And I’ll give River a call to meet us there.”
Great.
I’ll be dealing with an overconcerned cousin and a curiously cautious constable.
Crikey.
Slow down.
And where did crikey come from?
Okay, that might’ve been one too many c-words.
“Everything okay?” He paused by the door when she started to laugh.
Motts waved him off. “Sorry. Made myself laugh.”
“Right.”
Brilliant.
The constable chatted cheerfully all the way to her cottage. He carried her bike up the steps and helped secure it by the side of the house. Motts invited him in, but he left once River arrived a few minutes later.
River followed her into the cottage. He set her sketchbook and bag on the table by the door. “Want me to whip up some hot chocolate? We can have toast, drink away our sorrows, and gossip about the family.”
“Gossip?” Motts narrowed her eyes while River took over her kitchen. He made better hot chocolate than she did. No matter how many times her dad tried to show her how to make the family recipe. “What’s happened now?”
“Why don’t you feed your menagerie while I get the hot chocolate going?” River nudged her towards Moss. “I’ll tell you all about my dad getting lost and almost driving off a mountain.”
“I’m sorry, what did you just say?” Motts froze in the process of cutting up a bit of apple for her turtle to snack on. “How do you almost drive off a mountain?”
“Well, you get lost. In the dark. You go too fast around a corner, drive off the road, past the guardrail, and down the embankment.” River stirred the pot of cream on the hob gently. “A tree stopped them, so technically they didn’t go all the way off the mountain.”
“Goodness.” Motts rested her hand on her chest. “Are they hurt?”
“Pretty sure dad’s pride hasn’t recovered. Mum keeps prodding him about his driving.” He broke off a couple pieces of chocolate to prepare to throw into the pot. “They’re fine.”
“They drove off a mountain.”
“Pretty much.”
“Off a mountain,” Motts repeated the words a few more times. “I’m never riding with your parents ever again.”
“Wise decision.”
Over their impromptu late lunch or early tea, River updated her on all the family gossip. He also handed over an order from Peggy. She’d been sold on all the designs despite Motts having a meltdown and running out of the shop.
Not her best moment.
“Are your parents coming down from London?” River gathered up their plates and set the dishes in the sink for her. He knew her well enough to know she preferred doing the cleaning up herself. “You know my mum and dad would be here in a heartbeat if you asked.”
Uncle Tom, or Uncle Tomato, as she called him, was her dad’s brother. Th
ey lived in Looe, next door to her grandparents. Her extended family tended to be less smothering than her parents.
Her mum and dad struggled to see her as a grown adult. They’d always been supportive. But even before her official diagnosis, they’d often been overly helpful.
Her auntie, uncle, cousin, and grandparents, on the other hand, all encouraged her to simply do her best. If she wanted help, they’d be there. She appreciated their being willing to let her struggle along without interfering.
“Motts?”
She glanced up from her hot chocolate. “Sorry?”
“Are your parents coming to visit?”
“They’re letting me be independent.” Motts hadn’t understood the edge in her mum’s voice at the time.
“You’re thirty-nine years old.”
“I’m aware.” She didn’t know if her parents understood. “Maybe they need time to adjust to my moving out here by myself.”
“Even if you’re almost forty and completely capable of managing your life?” River stretched his arm across the little kitchen table to squeeze her hand. “They’ll come around.”
“Mum probably thinks I’ll come home sobbing like a child.”
“You’ll prove her wrong.” He sounded so confident.
“I ran out of the shop.” Motts covered her face with her hand, feeling embarrassed.
“And? You had a brilliant first meeting. And next time, you’ll know to only plan one meeting per day—or maybe a week.” River squeezed her other hand gently. “Just because it takes you longer, doesn’t make you any less of an amazingly talented human being.”
Chapter Three
Two days after the meeting debacle, Motts emerged from hibernating in her cottage. She’d spent her time making flowers and a list of changes to make in the garden.
On top of the list? Digging up and clearing out the flower beds, removing the stone pile in the corner, and preparing the ground for a herb garden. Motts’s allergies prevented her from growing anything floral.
Her call to her auntie’s old gardener had been odd. Mr Orchard had said no. A firm negative. He’d ranted and raved at her for almost a full two minutes. And then he’d hung up on her.
The conversation hadn’t gone any better than the one with his grandson. Yet, Motts couldn’t help wondering if she’d offended them without knowing. What was she supposed to do about the garden?
After a lengthy text thread with Nish, Vina, and River, Motts had sent an email to the friendly constable who’d brought her home. Apparently, during the low tourist season, Hughie helped out around the village. He’d responded quickly, promising to come over the following morning to start work.
And he had.
“I’ll get these stones moved. Do you want to save them? If not, I can repurpose them in another garden so they’re not wasted.” Hughie hefted several into his wheelbarrow. “Are you sure I can’t help with anything other than this section? I don’t mind pulling weeds.”
“Okay.” Motts shrugged. She wanted to say no—but saying no was hard. “Okay.”
It took an hour to clear out the sectioned-off plot in the garden. Hughie moved on to the pile of stones while Motts began preparing the ground for her herb garden. She planned to use them to make a border for the various vegetables that would go in at a later date.
It would be better than working in an allotment like she’d done in London. People had an unnecessary need to chat while gardening. She wanted to be left alone.
Then again, Motts wanted to be left alone most days.
“Is your phone handy?”
Motts sat back on her heels. She’d been digging in the dirt while Hughie went back and forth with the stones in his wheelbarrow to the four-yard skip she’d rented at his suggestion. He’d gotten down to the last bit. “Define handy?”
“Mine’s in my car—staying dry and clean.” Hughie had turned more serious than she’d seen him. He tugged off his gloves, tossing them into the wheelbarrow. “Do you have a mobile phone?”
Motts stared at him, trying to process his urgency before finally shaking her head and reaching down for her phone. “Here. What’s happened?”
“I’d like you to go inside the house. Get warm, have some tea, and stay there.” Hughie wasted no time making his phone call. “Go on.”
Walking towards the house, Motts glanced back over her shoulder when she heard him mention finding a hand. Did he say fingers? Actual fingers? What the devil is going on? Was there a person under the pile of stones? Can’t be. Too absurd to be true.
Motts did make tea. She did get the fire going. But she didn’t ignore the drama playing out in her garden. “What do you think he found, Cactus?”
Her cat stretched out before hopping into her lap. Motts had curled up in the comfortable recliner set up by the window. Her aunt had loved gazing out into the garden and had spent many hours in the chair.
Hughie tapped on the window and pointed to the door. “Can I come in?”
“Go on.” Motts nodded.
He wiped his feet on the mat outside and then came into the cottage. “Oh, it’s lovely and warm in here.”
She took her phone when he handed it over. “What’s happening?”
Hughie crouched by the fire, holding his hands out to warm them. “I’m not sure how to put this delicately.”
“I’m not a wilting rose. Don’t be delicate.” She cuddled Cactus to her chest. Cuddly, curious, creature. Stop it, Motts, pay attention. “You found something.”
He rubbed his hands together while staring into the flames. It was almost a full minute before he turned to face her. “I can’t give you all the details. I’m only a constable. I’m sure Inspector Ash will be by later to speak with you. You’re going to have to put off any further changes in your garden.”
“Why?”
“I found a body underneath the pile of stones. I think. There are definitely skeletal remains.” Hughie stood back up. “I’ll wait outside for the coroner. Inspector Ash should be along soon. Please stay inside, alright?”
“Alright.”
It wouldn’t keep her from keeping an eye on the happenings through the window. Criminal investigations had always been an obsession of hers. This body wasn’t the first she’d found.
As a young girl, Motts had had the misfortune of finding the lifeless body of her only school friend. She’d been walking through a park on her way home from school when a splash of colour underneath a hedge caught her attention. Jenny’s coat. They’d never found the killer.
And Motts had never forgotten. She’d become fixated on cold cases, watching documentaries, reading articles and books on the subject. Her parents had eventually intervened, so she’d hidden her interest.
Even now, all these years later, Motts periodically checked to see if Jenny’s case had been solved. It hadn’t. She knew it likely never would be.
And unanswered questions tended to worry at Motts continually.
“Why in the world is a body buried in Auntie Daisy’s garden?” Motts had a feeling the police would have the same question. “What if they think I did it?”
Cactus offered a meow of comfort, then butted his head against her hand. She patted him absently, her attention focused entirely on the activity in her garden.
Caution tape had gone up around the corner where the stones had been. Hughie had talked with a tall man who Motts thought might be Marnie’s husband—the local inspector. She knew some of the police force was split between several local villages, given how tiny they were.
She moved away from her perch by the window to feed Moss a snack, give Cactus one of his many meals, and cobble something together for lunch. “What do you think happened?”
Her cat, as always, didn’t answer. He did purr at her. She swore he understood her every word—pity she couldn’t return the favour.
“Ms Mottley?”
Motts glanced over to find the inspector standing in the door. “Yes?”
“Do you mind answering a few qu
estions?” He showed her his ID. “I’m Inspector Ash.”
“No. I mean, yes. Or, no. I’m going to stop now.” Motts grabbed her toast when it popped up. “Hungry?”
His lips twitched at the corners. “Thank you, no. You’ve just moved in, am I right? Have you seen anyone in your garden?”
“Aside from Cactus?”
“Cactus.”
Motts pointed to her cat. “Cactus.”
He turned his head to the side to cough a few times. “Aside from your cat.”
“Not really. Given the state of it, not sure anyone spent time in the garden after Auntie Daisy fell ill. Not even her gardener.” Motts provided him with information on the Orchards—including her mild confrontation with the youngest member of the family. “Is it a body, then?”
“I’ll let you know when we’ve wrapped things up out there. It might take a while, though.” He closed his notebook and slipped it into his pocket. “Hugh passed me your number, so I’ll give you a ring if I have any further questions.”
Motts watched him leave, then glanced over at Cactus. “He said yes without saying yes.”
With a live-action drama developing in front of her, Motts spent the rest of the day sitting by the window. The police eventually left when night fell. Inspector Ash had left a constable to watch over the crime scene, as the techs hadn’t quite finished.
They apparently intended to check every inch of the garden for evidence. Motts guessed they were concerned additional victims might be found. She felt as though her quiet little cottage had been violated.
Motts dragged her blanket more tightly around her and Cactus. Did Auntie Daisy know a body was buried in her garden? She couldn’t have, right? How in the world did that poor soul wind up under the stones? And when?
“Knock, knock.”
Motts was so startled by the sudden voice outside her window that she knocked Cactus to the floor. “Sorry, love.”
Remembering how to breathe, Motts glanced over to find the Griffin twins grinning at her. They waved cheerfully. She wondered if the constable outside the cottage would consider chasing them away.
Poisoned Primrose Page 2