Probably not.
“You are not funny,” Motts grumbled after retrieving Cactus from the floor and letting the twins inside.
“Sorry.” Nish’s apology sounded a lot more sincere than Vina’s. “Are you doing alright?”
“Fine.” Motts retreated to her cosy chair with Cactus shifting around to get comfortable in her lap once again. “You’re out late.”
“Amma heard from Hughie when he stopped into the coffee shop that the police had cordoned off your garden.” Vina dropped onto the sofa with a groan, stretching out and forcing her brother to sit on the arm. “Did they really find a body?”
“Pravina.” Nish shoved her foot when she playfully pushed him off the couch. “You can’t pepper her with questions before we’ve bribed her with food. Honestly. Have you never heard of subtlety?”
“Subtlety goes over Motts’s head.” Vina reached down to lift up the bag they’d brought. “Amma made chicken chettinad and roti. We grabbed Jaffa Cakes for dessert.”
“Food?” Motts latched on to the relevant part of the sibling bickering. Chicken curry and flatbread sounded terrific. “I have no problem talking for my supper.”
Chapter Four
“Bugger.” Motts tossed her third attempt at a calla lily into the rubbish bin. “Will you focus?”
She hadn’t slept well, knowing a constable stood sentry. Well, he sat in his car outside her cottage. He’d appreciated the mug of tea and heated-up leftovers she’d taken out to him for breakfast.
After her own breakfast, Motts had sat down by the coffee table to fold paper. She had Etsy orders along with samples for both the bridal shop and gift shop to fulfil. Focusing had definitely not been easy.
The forensic team had returned around ten in the morning. They’d made the drive from Plymouth, since Polperro was too small a village to have a dedicated CSI force. She was honestly surprised they had an inspector.
Inspector Ash had been a closed book when he stopped in to say hello. Motts hadn’t been courageous enough to pepper him with questions. She’d wanted to, though.
Thankfully, the internet didn’t require small talk or conversation. A quick search pulled up multiple forum posts regarding missing persons within the region. Motts focused on the ones in and around Polperro.
She found three.
Which one of these are you?
One of the names did stand out to her. Rhona Walters, a local woman, who ran The Salty Seaman—a fish and chip shop started by her father, who’d been a merchant marine. She and her older brother Innis had inherited the popular business. Motts found a number of articles about her disappearance several years ago.
How had no one realised she’d been buried in a shallow grave under stones in Auntie Daisy’s garden? How had no one smelled the body? The Orchards regularly had, up until the last six months of her aunt’s life, kept up with the yard. How did they not notice?
A comment under the first article when she’d disappeared caught Motts attention. The wording sounded extremely emotional. The commenter had railed against the local police for not doing enough, accusing them of conspiracy. Were they protesting too much? Was this a family member or lover who’d grown desperate?
How long does it take for a body to completely decompose?
Hughie had specifically mentioned skeletal remains. Rhona had been missing for close to two years. Was that sufficient time given where she’d been buried?
She wondered if the police had found any jewellery. Clothes might not survive, but metal surely would. One of the articles had explicitly mentioned a necklace Rhona had always worn.
Meow.
Cactus hopped up on the coffee table. He launched himself at one of the violets she’d made. The mischievous feline slid across the slick surface and narrowly missed her mug of tea.
He sat on his haunches and gave her a look of pure kitty aggravation. Hiss.
“Don’t act as though I betrayed you. No one asked you to audition for skating on ice.” Motts lifted her grumbling cat into her arms. “Are you hungry? Have I neglected your many, many needs?”
After dropping a snack into Moss’s terrarium, Motts silenced Cactus’s complaining with one of his favourite treats—baked tuna croutons with a hint of catnip. Her precious Sphynx practically inhaled the little biscuits. She’d caught him trying to get into the jar several times. Tricky beast.
Motts left him to rolling around on the carpet in front of the fire with his crouton. She gathered up all the intricately folded violets; they’d been made with a specially chosen paper for one of her Etsy customers. The order had to be shipped by the end of the week.
A knock on her back door pulled her away from carefully packing the violets into a box. Motts found Inspector Ash with a large man wearing a slightly wrinkled suit. He stood a good bit taller than everyone in the garden—the giant teddy bear of Hughie included.
“Hello.” Motts shoved her hands into the pockets of her cardigan. She tried not to stare at the intimidating mountain of a man. Her eyes stayed on the crooked pin on his tie. “Did you identify the body?”
“I—” Inspector Ash started.
“We’re not releasing any information.” Officer Intimidation cut him off sharply. Inspector Ash didn’t seem happy with his new friend. “I’m Detective Inspector Teo Herceg with the Plymouth Cold Case Unit.”
Motts glanced between the two men without meeting either of their eyes. “Does Plymouth often send officers out to Polperro?”
“The chief inspector decided we could use the expertise of DI Herceg, given the state of the victim.” Inspector Ash seemed to disagree with his boss. “We had a few more questions.”
“Oh?” Motts eyed them before stepping to the side to invite them into the cottage. She didn’t want to risk Cactus trying to sneak outside. “How can I help?”
The detectives settled together on the couch while Motts made tea. She offered them bourbon biscuits—no one got her Jaffa Cakes. No one. Not even scary police officers who wouldn’t stop staring at her turtle.
A series of questions followed about her auntie, her family, the cottage, and her connections to Polperro. The rapid-fire intensity made her mind spin. She struggled to comprehend each question, never mind answer.
The shutdown hit before Motts had time to withdraw herself from the conversation. Her mind went black, as though someone had hit the off switch on her ability to formulate complete sentences. Yes. No. Maybe. Yes. No. Maybe. She couldn’t even ask them to leave.
“Ms Mottley? Can you answer the question, please?” Inspector Ash repeated himself several times. “Ms Mottley? Are you feeling okay?”
She shook her head, then nodded. Cactus leapt up into her lap. He sat and faced the two detectives.
Inspector Herceg held up his hand to stop Ash from pushing her. He leaned forward on the couch. “My cousin is autistic. She gets tangled in her head and sometimes needs space to find her way out. I apologise if I’m making assumptions. But I’m even sorrier if we’ve caused you distress.”
Motts rocked slightly in her comfy chair. “Okay.”
He pulled a card out of his wallet and set it on the arm of her chair. “We’ll see ourselves out. Feel free to send me a text or email if calling is too much.”
An hour later, Motts managed to come out of the fog of silence. Cactus hadn’t moved from his sentry position in her lap. She gently ran her fingers across his head before picking up the card to her left.
Detective Inspector Teo Herceg.
Dragging the blanket off the back of her chair, Motts wrapped it around her body. She tried to shake off the feeling of embarrassment. Shutdowns in front of others always left her with an acute sense of raw humiliation.
She found herself warming to the intimidating detective who’d recognised the signs and kindly given her space to recover. Even her well-meaning mother didn’t understand being alone was exactly what she needed during times of stress. She’d have liked Teo Herceg more if he’d answered her questions.
“Motts?”
“I’m here.” She lifted her arm up to signal to her auntie Lily. “Shouldn’t you be in the office?”
Her auntie Lily ran the Chen-Mottley Brewery in Looe with her uncle Tom. The couple had met when Motts’s uncle had travelled to Singapore for a university exchange program. They’d fallen in love and eventually made their way back to Cornwall in their twenties.
“Young Hughie reached out to River. He thought you might appreciate a little comfort food.” Lily lifted up the large container in her arms. “I baked this afternoon, so I figured you could share in the wealth. Chicken curry crispy pies, coconut egg tarts, and the sesame shortcake you’re so fond of.”
Motts got up, setting Cactus on the floor, and gave her aunt a hug. “Thank you.”
“Come, come. Eat.” She guided Motts towards the kitchen. “And tell me all about this handsome new detective. River said Hughie thought you seemed infatuated.”
Oh, for the love of village gossip.
“I don’t do infatuation. I met the man once. He seemed aesthetically pleasing, if a bit overgrown.” Motts waited impatiently for her aunt to lift the lid on the container. “Thank you, Auntie.”
Lily wrapped her arm around Motts’s shoulders. “He might be a nice man.”
* * *
Four days after the discovery of the body, the police had finished combing every centimetre of her garden. They were gone, leaving a mess in their wake. On the plus side, the ground had essentially been turned over, and all the stones were gone, saving her a bit of time and effort.
I need my routine.
Ever since moving to Cornwall, Motts had been on a rollercoaster ride. She wanted to find stable ground. The first step was settling into her routine.
She broke her day up into three parts. Her morning was spent taking care of her beloved animals and herself. The afternoon went to business—emails and folding flowers for orders. And her evening involved catching up on YouTube videos, since she rarely watched movies or television, and reading by the fireplace.
By the following morning, Motts felt like herself again. She’d even managed to unpack the last remaining box. And more importantly, Vina, Nish, and River had come over to help her change out all the decoration in the cottage.
Vina had insisted. She thought Motts needed a home suited to a thirty-nine-year-old woman instead of a sixty-something maiden aunt. Auntie Daisy had been overly fond of antique lace and roses.
They managed to remove most of it in an evening. River had promised to take all the decorations to a charity shop. Motts didn’t want to just throw everything away.
“Did you ask your mum if she wanted any of Auntie Daisy’s stuff?” River had the last box in his arms. “It is her sister.”
“She’s not talking to me.” Motts shrugged. “She thinks I’ll come home to London because I can’t live on my own.”
Vina came over to give her a hug. “She needs to adjust. Don’t they call it empty nest syndrome?”
“How can it be empty when Dad’s there?” Motts frowned at her. She was distracted by belatedly remembering something and turned to point a finger at her cousin. “Did you tell your mum a bit of gossip Hughie shared with you?”
River backed slowly towards the door. “Have to go. See you later. Bye.”
Chapter Five
“Welcome to the Salty Seaman.”
Motts waved awkwardly at the brown-haired man behind the counter. “Am I too early?”
Of course, you’re not too early.
The welcome sign was on, and the door was open.
Why am I the way that I am?
“You’re the fruit girl.”
“I am not the fruit girl. My name is Pineapple. Call me Motts.” She groaned. Why did everyone call her fruit girl? Right, be subtle. “Have the police contacted you?”
Bugger.
“About?” He clammed up with his lips pressed tightly together.
Motts watched him storm through the door that led into the kitchen, leaving her to place an order with one of the other shop employees. “Can I get an order to go, please?”
With her cod fish cakes, chips with curry sauce, and battered sausage, Motts went outside and secured the packet of food in the top box on the back of her Vespa. She’d ridden over to Looe earlier to deliver a flower bouquet and on the way back caved to her sudden urge for fried food. Being able to question Rhona Walters’s brother had been a bonus.
“You live up in the cottage on the hill.”
Motts closed the lid on her top box and turned to find a slightly less angry man. “Yes.”
“The cottage Daisy stayed in. My sister used to deliver fish and chips to her every evening and help clean up around the house. I’m Innis Walters. My wife, Rose, tells me I was rude.” He didn’t apologise, but Motts was too busy trying to figure out what to do with her hands to care. “You were the one who found my sister.”
So it was Rhona Walters.
Motts shifted awkwardly in front of him. “Do you remember when your sister went missing?”
“She was going to London for a few days. Left a note in the shop after hours.” Innis glanced over his shoulder when his wife called from inside. “Again. Sorry I was so short.”
He was gone before Motts could think of another question. She made her way home quickly, trying to beat the incoming rain. The clouds opened up seconds after she ducked inside the cottage.
She was splitting her cod with Cactus when a thought occurred to her. The trip from Polperro to London, depending on the plane, train, or automobile, could be anywhere from an hour flight to over four hours in a car.
The Salty Seaman closed at eleven at night, according to the sales flyer stuck to the top of her food container. Who leaves for London close to midnight? No one. There’s no way Rhona planned to visit friends by going so late in the day.
No way.
Well, she could’ve, but it’s so unlikely.
And with her body in the garden, Rhona had quite obviously never made it out of Polperro. What if the killer had left the note? Did Innis still have it? Had the police tested it for fingerprints?
Slow down, Motts, you’re not a copper. They’re not going to answer your questions.
But it didn’t hurt to ask, did it?
With her (and Cactus’s lunch) finished, Motts considered how to discover more information. She had Inspector Herceg’s contact information. But Plymouth was significantly further away than Looe, and she’d already made one trip on her scooter.
Arguing back and forth with herself, Motts tried to decide on email versus text message. The inspector had seemed so understanding the day they’d met. And he had invited her to reach out to him.
She’d almost decided to text when her phone rang. She threw it across the room in surprise. Well, that was helpful and also a complete overreaction to a sudden sound.
By the time Motts found her phone, it had stopped ringing. The number was unfamiliar, so she decided not to call back. They hadn’t left a message either.
“Do you think the inspector would be more likely to tell me about the case via text or email?” Motts swayed with Cactus in her arms while staring out at the garden. “Is purring a yes or a no? I’m never certain.”
What if I just don’t contact him? Then I won’t have answers. But I’ll be way less stressed, so that’s something.
After ten minutes of pacing in front of her laptop, Motts sat down at her desk. She typed out seven versions of her email. None of the drafts seemed right, so she sent a quick text message to call for reinforcements.
Vina arrived twenty minutes later with tea and pastries from the coffee shop. She dragged a chair over to sit beside her at the table. “So, you want my help sending a message to a boy? You
do realise we used to date, right?”
Motts poked her best friend in the side. “First, it’s not that kind of message. Second, he’s a grown man—too grown. And third, we dated until we realised we make better friends. And also, we’re not compatible.”
Vina clutched at her heart. “Oh, the pain. The betrayal. The hurt.”
“Are you being dramatic?”
“Yes.” Vina settled back into the chair. She turned her attention towards the laptop. “Okay. What are we doing? Why are you emailing the incredibly attractive detective inspector from Plymouth?”
“You haven’t seen him.”
“We googled him.” She grinned unrepentantly at Motts, who covered her face with her hands. “Well? Why are we emailing him?”
“There was a body abandoned under stones. Just there.” Motts gestured outside, almost knocking her mug of tea onto the laptop. “I slept with a decomposed body nearby. I have to know what happened to her. What if the berk gets away with leaving her like some random bit of rubbish?”
Vina twisted in her chair and placed a hand on Motts’s arm. “Is this about Jenny? Your friend who died?”
“No.” Motts paused to consider her automatic denial. Jenny’s disappearance had always haunted her. “Maybe?”
Vina kept her gaze on Motts for a few more seconds before turning back towards the computer. “Right. We’re going to play detective. Am I Holmes or Watson? Not sure I can pull off casual disdain like Cumbersquatch.”
“That’s not his name.” Motts shoved Vina lightly. “Think we’re more Rosemary and Thyme.”
“Intelligent but slightly accident-prone women who solve crimes with panache?” Vina considered for a moment. “Sounds about right.”
Over tea and pastries, they considered four more drafts of the email. Vina insisted she didn’t want to sound overly interested in the case. She finally sent a concise message sharing the conversation with Innis Walters and her odd first meeting with Danny Orchard.
She thought the detective might like to know about the Orchards’ reaction to her clearing out the gardens. They hadn’t wanted her messing with the stones. Was it because they knew Rhona was buried underneath?
Poisoned Primrose Page 3