by Carrie Marsh
“I can't see where the paint would have come off, sir,” she said, frowning. “I mean, I think this is the car that was in the accident...if you look at the tire treads, you can see it. And that bar was bent. But why paint?”
“I don't know,” Gilding agreed. “I was thinking about it myself.”
“It's weird,” she said.
“Let's go back and see if we can see anywhere where it's chipped. Maybe on the door?” Gilding asked, though he knew it sounded unlikely even to his own ears.
“Okay,” Hannah agreed. “I know this is the car, though. And I think there's something he isn't telling us.”
“I agree,” Gilding nodded.
He looked across at Gerald and together they headed back to the car.
Gilding bent down at the driver's door, but he could see no marks there. He looked carefully, putting his glasses on, but there was nothing. Hannah was examining the front bumper. She caught his eye and nodded.
“You do that side, I'll do this side?” he asked.
“Okay.”
Together they examined the car with care, looking at every inch of it. They met at the back and looked at each other.
“Nothing,” Gilding said. He sounded as surprised as he felt.
“Nothing on my side too,” Hannah agreed.
He made a decision.
“We would like to take your car down to the station to have a closer look at it.”
“I...” Gerald looked as if he wanted to protest.
“If we don't, we could arrest you now,” Hannah shrugged. “We have enough evidence to suspect you now. If we have a closer look at the car, we could find we don't have reasonable grounds for an arrest. In which case we'd have to let you go. But it'd be much better for you if we looked before we did that.”
Gerald sighed. “Here are the keys. If you could try and bring it back by five o' clock? I have a charity dinner at the golf club to get to.”
Gilding sighed. He wanted to arrest the man then and there, but Hannah was right. They were almost sure this was the vehicle that had been in both crashes. But they couldn't prove it unless the paint chips matched. And so far they didn't. And he had an alibi. He looked at Hannah, who had the keys to the car.
“You take the keys and take the car to the station. I have to chat with the neighbor. I'll drive back in the car. See you.”
Hannah nodded. “Okay,” she agreed and walked across to the SUV. “See you!” She waved to Gilding. Gilding grinned. He watched her reverse down the drive and head out onto the road that led to the village. He wondered, momentarily, at the wisdom of letting Hannah, who was clearly relishing the experience of such a big engine, drive the evidence back home. He shrugged.
He turned to Gerald, who was staring after the car with a horrified expression on his face, as if his house had just fallen down, and tried to hide a grin.
“Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Gerald. If I think of further questions, I will be sure to come back. Now, could you tell me which of these neighbors can vouch for you? I would appreciate it. I'll go and have a chat with him directly.”
Still trying not to smile, Gilding took his instructions and headed down the drive toward the neighboring house.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
A DIVERTING AFTERNOON
A DIVERTING AFTERNOON
It was ten o' clock in the morning when Marcie found herself driving through Stowe on her way to see the village ladies at the sewing meeting.
“Come on, Marcie! Relax, for goodness' sake!”
She looked at herself in the rear view mirror after she parked, and sighed. She had no idea why she was so jumpy, but she was. This whole incident of the deaths had shaken her badly and she was having trouble not thinking about it.
She glanced up at the terrace and noticed the light on in the sitting room. The other ladies must already all be there. She collected her sewing things from the seat beside her and headed in.
“Good morning, Sheryl,” Marcie smiled at her, trying not to show how agitated she was. “Morning ladies. I brought some oat muffins from the bakery today,” she added, indicating the box she carried in her right hand. “Though I suspect we'll have a lot for tea anyway. Something smells wonderful.”
Audrey beamed. “Those are my rock cakes,” she said proudly. Marcie inclined her head.
“We all know how good your baking is,” she said warmly. “So, thank you.”
Audrey looked at her hands, suddenly shy. She was a thin woman with a pinched face and large, strong looking hands. She and Stella were Marcie's best friends in the group. She took the seat next to Audrey and sat down.
“Are you well, Marcie?” Audrey asked as she unfolded her sewing.
“Yes, I am,” Marcie nodded. “And yourself?”
“Very well, thanks. I'm having trouble with this bit of my tapestry...my seed stitch is as terrible as it always is...”
Marcie smiled. “No, it's not. I'll have a look if you like. You can fill in some of the background on mine. I hate doing the background.”
Audrey laughed. She and Marcie swapped and Marcie squinted at the fine stitches, noticing where the thread had become knotted on one. She reached for a seam ripper, just to separate out the threads.
“You had a tea party at the manor?” Sheryl asked as Marcie worked, catching her off guard.
“I didn't, no, Sheryl,” she said evenly. “Why?”
“Oh!” Sheryl blushed. “Only Mrs. Knight said you bought a cake, and I thought that maybe...”
Marcie avoided pulling an exasperated face, though it was a struggle not to. “I had Inspector Gilding round for tea, if you must know,” she said formally.
“Oh?” Sheryl stared at her. “Really? Was it about the..?”
“It was a personal matter, actually,” Marcie said firmly.
“Oh!” Sheryl covered her mouth with her hand. “Sorry. I just thought...since everyone in the village has been talking about it, so...”
“I know it's under discussion,” Marcie said quietly. Then she wondered if it would help to find out what was being said. “I am sure people are very concerned about it all. It does concern us. We are villagers here, too, after all...” she trailed off.
“Yes! And we were saying that it's terrible that not enough has been done! There have been no arrests, and no one has heard anything from the police! Gilding closed the road, but nothing else has been done to protect anyone! It's shocking...” Sheryl trailed off, frowning in indignation.
Marcie nodded. “I know,” she agreed. “And I can assure you that Gilding is taking steps to protect us and that investigations are underway. So no one has to worry. Are people afraid of another death?”
“Of course! If there's some madman with a white car driving around knocking into people...” Sheryl shuddered.
“I don't think that is what is happening,” Marcie said dryly. “But no one suspects Richard?”
“Oh!” Sheryl covered her mouth with her hand. “No! I don't think they do, anymore. But I sometimes wonder...” she stopped herself, glancing at Marcie as if waiting to see how she would react.
“You wonder what?”
“I heard them, you know. A week before the death. I heard them arguing. It was terrible. I didn't think to tell anyone then, but I wish I had now. If I had, maybe she would be...” Sheryl looked up and Marcie could see her eyes were moist as if she was about to cry. She reached over and grasped her hand.
“It wouldn't have made any difference, Sheryl. It was probably better you didn't say anything. We know it can make things worse if people interfere in domestic matters. But what were they arguing about? Do you know?”
As much as Marcie hated gossip, she also knew what a good source of information it could be sometimes – always assuming that the stories were true, that is. But Sheryl seemed so worried that she thought it was unlikely she made it up.
“I don't rightly, no. But they were arguing about someone else.”
“Tamsyn?”
�
��No. It was a him. It was awful. I heard Mr. Fleet shouting: “Don't let that man into my house, again”, and I didn't hear what Janet said, but then he shouted back and I could hear a child cry and it was awful.”
Marcie felt her hands clasp on her knee. She was tense. “Where did you hear this?”
“Outside their house. I was visiting Stella and you know she lives next door and...” Sheryl sighed when she saw the expression on Marcie's face. “I know I shouldn't have listened but they were next door.”
Marcie nodded. “I know you probably couldn't help it. In this case, I think it's probably just as well you did. It could be important.”
“Oh?” Sheryl looked interested. “Why? You mean because...”
“Not because I think Richard did it. Not necessarily,” Marcie said at once. “But because it means there was somebody else involved. Whoever this man was.”
“Surely he meant...”
“I agree with you, it may be Grant.”
Marcie thought about that after she had said it, aware that the conversation was probably being listened to by most of the women in the circle, as only two people in the room were talking to each other when she looked up and every one else was quiet.
“So, if it...” Sheryl began a fresh train of thought.
“I think we would do better not to jump to conclusions,” Marcie said fairly. “I don't want people labeled as murderous or anything else because of our speculation.”
“Oh, of course! I see,” Sheryl said at once, snapping back into the present mode and moment with alacrity. “Would you care for some tea? It's new Assam tea my husband brought back from his conference trip to Bangladesh.”
Marcie raised a brow. “That sounds interesting.”
“It is!” she beamed. “Here, try some. It's very good.”
Marcie smiled and accepted a cup of tea. She sipped it. It was very good. It had a slightly rounder flavor than the tea she was used to and she hesitated to add milk or sugar yet, wanting to taste it properly.
While she drank tea and listened to the conversations around her, she thought about what she had just heard.
So Richard was having an argument. He was angry with Janet, clearly. I wonder about what? Who was it he didn't want in the house? Who would Janet have let in and risked Richard knowing?
She breathed in the floral fragrance of the tea and let it carry her mind to far off places as she thought. The distraction helped. By the time she had stopped imagining mist wreathed mountains and jungle clad plains, preferably with tigers, she had thought of two names.
Joshua, Janet's younger brother. She knew he had been there around the time Sheryl would have heard the argument – Gilding had told her he had been. And she knew Richard knew. And Luke Marlborough.
She was surprised after that conclusion by Sheryl, sitting forward in her chair and clearing her throat.
“Hold on a minute, everyone! I just had an idea.”
Seven pairs of eyes stared at her, Marcie included.
“What is it?” Audrey, sitting beside Marcie, said, clearing her throat.
“I just remembered that it's the village fair next week. And you'll be hosting the garden party, as usual, won't you Marcie?”
“Yes, that's right,” Marcie nodded. The manor had hosted the garden party that followed the village charity fair ever since she had moved in and established the fair nearly forty years previously.
“Well, then!” Sheryl beamed. “As usual, too, we'll all be helping out with the baking. So I wanted to suggest a bumper event. We can all meet here and plan our cookery – maybe even practice it if anyone wants to practice – and we can also sew some more. I want to finish some things for the fair anyway, and maybe some of you do too?”
Everyone seemed to like the idea, but Audrey cleared her throat.
“I can't make it, Sheryl. I have work tomorrow.”
“Oh. Okay,” Sheryl nodded, looking disappointed. “We'll miss you.” She looked around the group. “Everyone else?”
There were nods and general comments of assent. Most of the women were either mothers full-time or they were retired. Audrey was the only one who still worked on a daily basis, though today was her day off, which was why they had chosen that day for the sewing club meeting to start off with.
Marcie leaned back, thinking. She was not sure if she should attend either. She had so much to do and think about, and a small child who needed her presence at the manor too – she couldn't leave her with Mrs. Bryce and her sister completely. But then again, if the meeting was as reliable a source of information as it had been today, then, well...she couldn't exactly pass up the opportunity and not attend. She would come along as well.
“Marcie, are you done with mine? I think I've filled a corner now. Do you want a cake? They're the best I've made.”
“Oh,” Marcie blinked, startled out of her reverie by Audrey, who was passing her the frame with her embroidery in it, background filled. “Thank you, Audrey! You've done the whole of that corner. You are a dear. I hope I can help as much with what you gave me to do.”
“I think you already have,” Audrey said, glancing at it over Marcie's shoulder. She reached for plates and butter and prepared them both a rock cake.
As Marcie sank her teeth into the baked concoction, smiling at the good texture, she tuned in to what Audrey was saying.
“...and those sods up at the local office still haven't done anything about the substation...”
“Substation?” Marcie raised a brow. Audrey was the secretary of the town council and had been for as many years as Marcie could remember – certainly ever since a decade after she herself had moved in, almost forty years ago.
“Yes! The electricity supply place. They said they'd get back to us, and they haven't and it's been weeks, and...”
Marcie smiled and listened to her grumblings. She was pleased to know that something was as it ever was. Audrey had been complaining about the bureaucracy at their little council office ever since she knew her. And besides, everyone usually complains about bureaucracy.
“...and I told them! But would they hear me, those sods? No way!”
Yes, Marcie smiled as she took another mouthful of the rich, flavorful tea, everything was as she expected it to be.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
EVENING AT HOME
EVENING AT HOME
Marcie sat down heavily at the dining room table. She breathed in the scents of steamed chicken and gravy and she should have felt hungry. She was too tired for that.
Harry smiled as she sat down. He was already at the table, though he had waited for her to arrive before he started his meal. He waited for her to go first, handing her the long-handled spoon so she could take potatoes off the salver in the center of the table. She gave him a weak smile in return.
“You go first, dear. I'm not very hungry tonight.”
“Oh?” Harry frowned. “You're not ill, dear? It's been a long day.”
“I know,” Marcie smiled. “I'm tired.”
She was more than tired. She was weary to the bone. She cut some of the chicken with its fragrant sauce, feeling her arm ache. She was almost too tired to cut up her own food – a weariness she had not felt since she was five years old.
“...I was talking to Darrell this afternoon,” Harry was saying conversationally, “and he was telling me that he recalls the last time Gerald tried something on with the Lytchwood common. He was on the council then, and he said they threw it out mighty fast.”
“Oh?” Marcie raised an eyebrow. She was barely awake, lost in a haze of thought and the scent of boiled onions, but she was still interested in the case.
“Yes,” Harry nodded, pausing to take a mouthful of boiled potato. “He didn't remember the particulars, but he said the whole thing went quiet very suddenly.”
“Oh?” Marcie frowned. “That was about five years ago now?”
“Uh huh,” Harry confirmed. “I think so. It was the same year that Stowe won the prize for the cleanes
t village.”
“Oh, yes!” Marcie nodded faintly. “I remember that.”
“Yes. Well, anyhow. Darrell said it was strange that it all disappeared then, and now it seems like he's going to get it right.”
“I heard,” Marcie said. She was having a hard time concentrating on what Harry was saying, and the room seemed to be moving in and out of focus. She reckoned it was just that she had been tiring herself out recently.
“...and he thinks someone must have been paid off.”
Marcie frowned. She blinked at Harry. There was something wrong with her eyes, her vision pulsing. Her whole body felt full of aches and pains and she could barely sit up or see straight. She reached for Harry's hand.
“I don't...feel well,” she said slowly. She tried to stand with Harry's help, but the room was pulsing and swimming in and out of focus.
Harry was standing beside her, but Marcie could barely see him. “I need...”
The room swam and the scene swirled before her.
She fainted.
It was dark. Somewhere, the heater was on because she could hear the almost-inaudible pulsing of the element in the grate when it got too hot. Marcie felt warm. She stretched to her toes. She wanted to open her eyes but did not want to risk fainting again. She opened them.
The room was dark but for a single lamp which burned in the far corner. She could feel smooth, cool sheets under her and somewhere she could hear the soft rise and fall of breath. She looked a little further.
“Harry.”
“I'm here, dear. The doctor's been and gone. You fainted. But it's alright now.”
“The doctor...what time is it?” How long have I been unconscious?
“It's just after midnight. You passed out at about eight. You haven't been out that long. It was your temperature. The doctor said. He said it's going around, and...”