THE SUPPER CLUB MURDERS a gripping murder mystery packed with twists (Smart Woman's Mystery Book 3)

by VICTORIA DOWD

  I shook my arm free. ‘Give it a rest, Bridget.’

  ‘I see no reason to, unless you wish to end up dead.’

  Mother sighed. ‘Well, whatever he is, he’s clearly not here.’

  Aunt Charlotte held up a strip of stiff white fabric. ‘But his dog collar is.’

  ‘He might have more than one.’

  ‘Or he might have been up to something unholy. Something he didn’t feel comfortable doing wearing it.’

  Aunt Charlotte put the collar down on the chair and Dingerling instantly ran over and savaged it as if it was a dead mouse.

  ‘Bloody animals — murderous creatures,’ Mother murmured.

  I stared at Mother. My thoughts seemed to snag on what she’d said but I couldn’t fathom it.

  ‘Well, he’s better behaved than your child!’ Bridget countered.

  ‘He’s a cat not a child. I’m fed up of you people babying your animals. Dogs, cats, monkeys—’

  ‘We’re all animals beneath the skin, Pandora.’ Bridget picked up the cat, its pruned pink flesh wrinkling up. She started to wrestle the collar from its sharp mouth.

  Mother held up her hands. ‘Listen, we’ve got a drowned witch and a blackballed lord—’

  ‘It didn’t hit him there. It hit him on the head.’ Aunt Charlotte frowned.

  Mother issued The Look before continuing. ‘The vicar could be on the run. He could have killed both of them and scarpered. He’s probably halfway to Bolivia now.’

  ‘Hardly.’ The man’s voice made us all jump. I turned and saw a sturdy, thickset man filling the doorway. ‘Road’s still flooded.’ His moustache dominated his face. And the only other instantly recognisable thing about him was the unpleasant colour of his dark-yellow jumper.

  ‘And you would be?’ Mother raised her eyebrows.

  ‘Lee Colman.’

  Perhaps the mustard-coloured jumper and facial hair weren’t a coincidence.

  ‘And just how would you know the road’s still flooded?’ Mother looked at him distrustfully. Mother never trusts a man in disguise, and that moustache certainly didn’t look genuine.

  He squinted at her, deep lines spreading out from his eyes. They cut cleanly down into his cheeks. His skin had a thick, sallow nature to it. ‘Was down there this morning before I went to Verity’s.’ He started to move away, keen not to look any of us in the eye.

  ‘You went to Verity’s this morning?’ I asked.

  He turned and seemed to have a new look of caution about him. ‘Do most mornings. Take eggs.’ He was the kind of man who clearly liked a lean sentence.

  ‘Right,’ I nodded. I had a sense that there was something else I should be asking, but nothing was forming.

  ‘Just seen Marsha there. She said the MacDonald woman was dead. Thought I should check on the vicar.’

  ‘And why’s that then?’ Bridget leaned towards him. So did the cat.

  His face sank into a frown. ‘Shagging her, weren’t he.’

  Bridget recoiled and covered the cat’s ears. ‘Please!’

  Lee Colman analysed the cat as if he might be considering whether to skin it. ‘What you been doin’ to that animal? I never seen a cat sheared like a sheep before. Have lice, did it?’

  ‘No, it did not! It was born like this.’

  ‘Ah,’ he nodded. ‘Devil’s cat then, eh? You a witch too? Looking for a bit of Reverend Vert’s—’

  ‘How dare you!’

  Mother held up her hands. ‘This is getting us nowhere.’

  ‘It’s a static, lady. Ain’t meant to move.’

  ‘Right. Thank you.’

  ‘Ain’t gonna get through that flood down there neither.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘My tractor’s down out of the village. Can’t get to it.’

  ‘OK.’

  He nodded sagely.

  ‘I think we should leave now,’ Mirabelle said quietly. ‘Let’s go and find our host.’

  I looked around everyone. ‘Well, what about the vicar? There’s always the church. He could be in there.’

  ‘Checked it.’ Lee Colman rubbed his nose. ‘He ain’t there.’

  It was something about his tone or maybe how he glanced over at the church and then back at us that made me feel a little sceptical about this man. Something about his wholesome farmer image didn’t sit quite right with me.

  I looked out the grimy window at the end, above a table and worn-thin cushions. I could see the church, sitting all dour among the grey morning rain as if it was failing to hold up the sky. I couldn’t escape the image of the vicar laying out in front of the altar. Cold with death. Had Lee Colman looked through the door and seen something he didn’t want to share? He gave the distinct impression that he was hiding something. But that could just have been the large moustache hanging over his mouth.

  He started to turn away from the caravan. His straightforward manner left me with a very distinct feeling that something was being overcompensated for, as if we were being sold something a little bit dodgy that wouldn’t work for very much longer.

  CHAPTER 27: THE KEY TO IT ALL

  There was another path leading out of the graveyard. The vicarage was just at the end of the overgrown gravelly stretch. Having seen where the vicar lived, it wasn’t hard to understand the animosity that had arisen from Verity living in the vicarage. That was yet another point of contention in this unquiet little village that seemed to have so many issues, all of which found their way back to the source of Lord Elzevir. He’d somehow managed to create a spider’s web of resentment, controversy and mistrust that overlaid everything here. It was so intricate that even his death hadn’t lifted it.

  Inside Verity’s home, a sombre cloud had descended. That glowing welcome had evaporated, and Marsha led us straight through into the dim sitting room. Verity sat motionless, staring into a cold fireplace. The bruise down the back of her leg was even more livid now that she sat in shadow. Her face pallid and drawn. Her eyes raw with tears.

  She looked up as Lee entered as if she sensed him before she saw him. A smile caught the edge of her lips before collapsing quickly.

  He was instantly by her side, clearly a well-worn path to her chair. Without self-consciousness or awareness that anyone else was watching, he dropped to his knees by her side and held her hand. There was an easy tenderness about him and all that layer of concealment just seemed to fall away. He looked up at her with eyes that were jarringly reminiscent of Ron’s as he gazed up at dead Jocasta’s face.

  ‘Verity.’ His face was etched deep with concern.

  There was compassion in her face. She looked almost sorry for him. She somehow seemed to pity him.

  ‘It’s all going to be OK?’

  She nodded in reassurance. It was so strange to see this self-possessed man looking for his security with this newly bereaved, slight woman.

  ‘Shall I organise tea?’ she said.

  ‘Don’t worry about that.’ It wasn’t Verity who answered but Marsha, sitting in a chair by the window, her gaze iron cold. The picture of detachment, there was nothing of her there.

  ‘If the ladies would care to take a seat?’ Verity looked at us expectantly. We were caught in an awkward space, watching a scene we should never have been in.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Mirabelle said hurriedly. She scurried over to a chair as far back from the rest of the room as possible.

  Slowly, we settled into chairs and this new uncomfortable atmosphere.

  ‘Did Marsha tell you?’ Mother said. ‘About . . . About Jocasta.’

  Verity nodded, deep anguish in her face.

  ‘We couldn’t find the vicar,’ Bridget said dispassionately.

  ‘Oh, really?’ Verity’s forehead gathered in concern. She looked round us and then her eyes snapped to Marsha.

  ‘He can’t have gone far.’ Marsha’s voice was cold. ‘The roads are still flooded, aren’t they?’ She looked expectantly at Lee.

  He nodded.

  We fell into another silence. The room w
as so taut I could hear the high note of tension ringing in my ears. I could feel the quiet beat of the blood in my neck.

  ‘Where’s the girl?’ Bridget’s voice finally broke the tension.

  Marsha frowned.

  ‘The cherry girl.’

  Marsha’s face drew slowly into a sharp look. ‘Lucy Morello? She’s resting upstairs. I gave her some . . . one of Verity’s sleeping tablets.’

  ‘What?’ Aunt Charlotte blurted. ‘So, you’re drugging people when there’s been two murders? Is that wise?’

  Marsha pursed her lips. ‘She was still hysterical. I don’t think that’s going to help anyone. The doctors told us they were no stronger than some homeopathic remedies. They’re a very mild sedative, aren’t they Verity?’

  Verity nodded. She looked like she was in dire need of sleep, drugged or otherwise. The sheer exhaustion was crippling us all now. I stifled a yawn and shook my head quickly, trying to throw it off.

  ‘We should try and find the vicar,’ I mumbled through the end of the yawn.

  Bridget nodded. ‘Yes. Either he’s the killer or he’s dead.’

  Everyone took a beat.

  I needed a break. The bathroom’s always the best place I find when Mother is being overwhelming again. I started to stand. ‘Verity, may I use your—’

  Marsha was suddenly out of her chair and striding across the room. I hovered just above my seat.

  ‘This is too much,’ she said loudly. ‘We’re sitting around talking and my husband, Verity’s brother, is lying dead up the road!’ She seemed to have almost dashed across the room and within moments had slammed the door behind her.

  Verity cleared her throat. ‘I’m sorry. She gets a little . . . emotional. Lee, are you sure the roads are still impassable?’

  ‘Aye.’ He looked up at her and then back towards the rest of the room. ‘Floods often round here.’

  ‘Oh God, poor Cassandra and Millicent, they’ve only just got straight from the last flood. I don’t think the insurance will pay out again.’

  It seemed strange that Verity was still so newborn to grief, not even out of her first twenty-four hours, and yet she had space in her head to think about others. I don’t really remember much about the first week of my grief. My brain was so paralyzed that even basic thoughts — eat, sleep, scream — needed the kind of intense concentration I just did not possess.

  Lee stood up and instantly stumbled. ‘Christ!’

  Positioned right by his feet was a large, expensive-looking handbag. He pushed it under the chair with his foot.

  ‘All right?’ Verity asked him.

  I watched them very closely. He held her gaze for what seemed like a moment too long. Then nodded once.

  But I was tired. My mind flickered from one thought to the next. I was starting to read things into every look, every movement, but this did seem different.

  There was a string between these two that was invisible to everyone but them.

  Marsha was back and she stalked across the room. Her eyes were scanning the floor. She looked increasingly irritated.

  Mirabelle suddenly blurted out, ‘We need to go and do something!’

  Bridget eyed her sceptically. ‘And what exactly do you propose doing?’

  ‘Well . . .’

  ‘Where’s my handbag? I left it here last night.’ Marsha’s words were sharp, casting an accusation across everyone. These quicksilver mood swings of hers were becoming unbearable.

  ‘It’s OK. It’s OK.’ Verity looked at her so earnestly trying to bring her some calm.

  There was none. Marsha was growing very agitated very quickly. ‘I left it here last night! Someone must have taken it.’

  ‘You mean this?’ Lee pulled the big handbag from under the chair where he’d pushed it with his foot. He held it out like it was evidence and waited. ‘What you got in here, an anvil?’

  She walked quickly towards him and snatched it, thief fast. She held it close to her chest. ‘Money, keys, make-up . . . I don’t know. Why?’ She shook her head wildly, tears welling in her eyes. ‘See!’ She pulled the bag open and, with frantic hands, started ransacking it. She held up a purse, then an over-flowing make-up bag and a large set of keys, dropping them carelessly back into the bag. As she did, a large cream-coloured fob was disentangled and fell to the ground. It had two buttons in the centre and was very clearly a remote control, similar to one that might be used for a garage.

  Marsha and Verity stared down in astonishment as if a great hole had just opened up in the floor and they were looking down into it.

  ‘Marsha?’ Verity didn’t look at her. She spoke cautiously, almost afraid of her name.

  ‘What’s that?’ Aunt Charlotte cut in. ‘Is that . . . ?’

  ‘The remote control for the gates at the castle,’ Marsha said slowly. Her eyes hadn’t moved from it.

  ‘But you said you didn’t have one,’ Mirabelle said for all of us. ‘Only your husband had one and he’d lost it.’

  ‘He had!’ Marsha’s eyes flicked round us all, appealing to each of us in turn. ‘I swear I didn’t know it was there.’ She paused, grasping for thoughts like a defendant sinking in the dock. ‘I know it wasn’t there. I’d taken this handbag out especially for the supper. I didn’t want to use a good one since it was raining so hard and none of you would notice.

  ‘Thank you so much, Marsha.’ Mother’s mouth snapped tight as a mousetrap.

  ‘I switched my stuff across and it wasn’t there then. That was about an hour before you guys arrived. I brought it out with me but then I forgot it, what with all the stress. I must have left it here last night.’

  Bridget stood and unfurled a handkerchief from her sleeve. She bent and picked up the fob. ‘I think this should be taken into evidence.’

  ‘Oh here we go again. Vera rides in.’ Mother sighed.

  ‘Are we expecting someone else?’

  ‘Be quiet, Charlotte.’

  Bridget looked haughtily round us. ‘It would appear that Lady Black is insinuating this item must have been planted there to make her look even more guilty, if that is indeed possible. You are, I take it, the sole beneficiary now he’s gone.’

  Marsha looked appealingly then nodded.

  Aunt Charlotte made a strange noise that she does when she’s thinking or suffering with indigestion. ‘Unless you’re found guilty of his murder. Can’t benefit then. Remember the solicitor telling you that, Pandora? Like I said, forfeiture rule. A murderer can’t inherit from the deceased whom they killed.’

  ‘Did you kill your husband?’ Lee said, his mouth hanging slack as he looked at Mother.

  ‘No! Of course I didn’t.’

  The room fell into an ill-fitting silence.

  ‘Someone put that there!’ Marsha shouted. ‘Someone is trying to frame me, that’s obvious to any fool! Everyone knew I was in the castle alone. I was the only one who didn’t need the fob to operate the gates. I could do it from the inside.’

  ‘Yes, that is true, I suppose,’ Mirabelle conceded.

  Marsha’s shoulders sagged heavily. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I just—’

  ‘It’s OK, Marsha.’ Verity’s voice was warm, her eyes full of care.

  Marsha dropped the bag and held her head in her hands. ‘I just don’t know what’s happening.’

  ‘Your husband has been murdered,’ Bridget said flatly.

  Marsha lifted her head and fixed her eyes on Bridget. Neither of them wavered.

  Mother cleared her throat. ‘Look, why don’t we . . .? I mean we should really try and . . .’ She was groping for the words.

  ‘Why don’t some of us go and look for the vicar again?’ Aunt Charlotte broke in. ‘You, Pringles Man. You look useful.’

  Everyone frowned but our eyes all landed on Lee Colman and his outsized moustache. Aunt Charlotte has never been subtle, but I did have to admit he bore more than a passing resemblance to the man on a can of Pringles.

  Bridget kept her eyes on Marsha. ‘You should go and che
ck as well if there’s any chance of us getting out of the Village of the Damned.’

  Lee snorted a laugh. ‘No chance, little old lady.’

  Bridget looked appalled.

  ‘Took a couple of days last time. Always does.’

  ‘Well, just try for God’s sake!’ Mother was reaching that point she always does where the customer services representative has to get their manager involved. ‘Find a boat! Build a bloody boat! Build Noah’s Ark. I don’t care. Just get me . . . us out of here.’

  ‘I don’t know about building boats, lady. I’m a farmer.’

  ‘Oh my God. Just ride a bloody cow then!’

  ‘Shouldn’t ride on cows. They don’t like it.’

  Mother made a strangled sound of frustration, the kind she reserves for when I have a bit of difficult news for her.

  Verity took a long breath and placed her hand over Lee’s. She began in a purposeful, calm voice. ‘Someone needs to go round the village and tell everyone what’s going on. They could all be in danger. Has anyone seen Joseph Greengage and Scarlett Bradshaw this morning?’

  Everyone shook their heads.

  ‘What about the magician?’ Aunt Charlotte asked.

  Mother made a dismissive noise. ‘Presumably his second sight means he’s already aware of it all.’

  ‘Mrs White’s up at the castle with Mrs Abaddon. I told her about Elzevir this morning so she didn’t cook his egg. She doesn’t know about Jocasta though.’

  We split into teams, which immediately made the whole expedition even more dispiriting. Marsha stayed with Verity who was beginning to look quite frail. Lucy Morello was upstairs and didn’t come down, presumably due to the fact that our possible murderer had admitted to drugging her.

  Along with Mother and Aunt Charlotte, I volunteered to go and speak to the magician. Mirabelle and Bridget went to check on Joseph Greengage and Scarlett Bradshaw. It was very easy to imagine the finely honed disapproval Bridget would be showing them.

  Lee Colman was sent to the edge of the village on flood patrol and any boat whittling that he might be able to muster.

  ‘While you’re down there, you should tell the Peacocks,’ Verity said. She spoke with a such a delicate voice, staring mindlessly as if waves of realisation just kept surprising her. Her brother was dead, and as far as we’d seen, he wasn’t what would be described as well liked.