Murder of Convenience

by Carrie Marsh

  “Thank you, Richard,” he said quietly. “Thank you.” He had imagined rantings, denial, rage. He had even imagined Richard vilifying Tamsyn, refusing to take care of her, and imagined having to browbeat the man to offer her support.

  Richard blinked. “You don't need to thank me,” he said, sounding surprised. “Family is family, and Tamsyn is my whole world.”

  Eustace nodded, and stood to shake his hand. Gilding followed his example, seeing as Eustace just had, that the man was almost crying and would not wish an audience for it.

  Outside in the street again, Gilding breathed in the fragrance of the late afternoon air, already crisp with the promise of evening's chill. The sky was almost white, fading to lilac at the edges with the promise of an autumn sunset.

  He felt relieved and strangely moved. He had seen so many negative human reactions over his years as an officer that it was always special to see a positive one, especially one as heartening as this one had been.

  “You know, Eustace,” he smiled, “I think I learned something.”

  Eustace was very quiet. When Gilding risked a glance, he noticed that the man's eyes shone with unshed tears.

  “Yes. I think I might just write to my son when we get back,” Eustace said, swallowing. “It was a salutary reminder.”

  Gilding said nothing, just patted his shoulder. Together they headed back to the car.

  As they drove through the late afternoon haziness back to the station, Gilding made a decision. He needed to question Gerald again. And soon. Before the man left town.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  NEWS IS SHARED

  NEWS IS SHARED

  Marcie was in the village buying bath salts from the small souvenir shop near the church when she saw Inspector Gilding

  “Hello,” she called cheerily.

  He was standing at the door of his police car and he looked worried. She had plans to visit a friend in about an hour, but she still had plenty of time before then and she wanted to talk to him. She walked over, since she had parked her own car not too far away, outside the post office.

  “How are you?” she asked when she got closer.

  “Tired, thank you, Madam.” He gave her a wry smile. “I am glad to see you, actually. I wanted to talk to you.”

  “Oh?” Marcie raised a brow. “I seem to have scared off your colleague as well?” she asked with a sharp edged smile.

  Gilding gave a hollow chuckle. “Nigel? Yes. He went back to Norwich the day of the meeting. I needed him to do some things for me there, and he needed to get back. Though you did terrify him, ma'am, just so you know. It was a pleasure to see.”

  “It was a pleasure to do,” Marcie laughed. She was glad to know she had rattled the fellow somewhat. It served him right. Marcie did not believe in prejudice of any kind and was glad to have made the young man reconsider his discrimination.

  “I wanted to tell you we followed your advice,” Gilding continued, frowning at her. “About the...the paternity test.”

  “And?”

  “And you were right. I shouldn't be telling people this sort of thing, mind, so..?” he looked around carefully. “Don't tell anyone about it, okay?”

  “My lips are sealed, Gilding, you know that,” she added gravely.

  “Yes, ma'am.” He grinned. “But I have been wanting to ask you for ages: how did you know?”

  Marcie raised a brow. “I had hoped I was wrong. But I do notice things, young man. I had rather hoped it was just me being overly suspicious. It would have put my mind at rest. This...result,” she said hesitantly, “confirms a lot of things. Thank you for telling me about it.”

  “Does it confirm what you suspect?”

  “Mm,” Marcie nodded. “At least, almost. I just need to know one more thing.”

  Gilding laughed. “I'm amazed, ma'am! I need a few more goes at this. I still feel I'm swamped with leads and they all go in different directions. You're ahead of me. Though I hope we're heading down the same path now. I'm almost ready to make an arrest,” he confided.

  “You are?” Marcie's eyebrows shot up.

  “Yes,” Gilding ran a hand down his face. “I questioned him this morning, and his answers were...less coherent than I would have liked. I know he's lying to me.”

  “Oh?” Marcie was genuinely surprised. I wonder if he has the same suspicions I have...?

  She knew who she suspected, but she had no idea if she and Gilding referred to the same man. She also knew he would never tell her – not unless she slipped in some way he could say it indirectly.

  “So you and your friend from yesterday-afternoon did the questioning together, then?” Marcie asked lightly.

  Gilding blinked. “No...he went back to Norwich. I was here in the village. I did it by myself.” The moment he saw her triumphant grin he groaned. “You are the most sneaky...” he shook his head. “I admire you, my lady.” He doffed his cap at her.

  Marcie dimpled. “Not at all, young man. I just had to find out and I know you're not allowed to tell me. Not really.”

  “Well, I hope I haven't told you too much with my one slip of the tongue,” he said, looking awkward. “I would be most embarrassed if that one piece of information could give you so much more information than it gives me!”

  Marcie chuckled. “Not to worry, young man. You didn't give too much away.”

  Gilding gave her a bemused grin. “Good. I think.”

  She laughed. “Well, I suppose I should let you go. I have to hurry back to the house and then go through to Norwich for my workout. See you tomorrow?” Her mind was already racing, fitting the last pieces into place. She had to hurry. She wanted to conclude this business as soon as possible.

  “Tomorrow?” Gilding asked.

  “For the charity festival. I'm supposed to be opening it, I believe.”

  “I thought you had retired from that sort of thing?”

  “No rest for the weary, young man.”

  He guffawed and she smiled. She headed across the street to where her car was parked, soaking in the afternoon sun. He climbed into the police car and headed to the station.

  She waved to Gilding as he drove off, but her smile faded as she reached her car and slid into the seat behind the wheel.

  So, Richard really is not Tamsyn's father? Which means...

  Which meant the last piece had really wedged firmly into place. All she needed was one more clue. She put her foot on the pedal and Silver slid off smoothly toward her final destination. The one person she had to visit to get the last clue.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  GATHERING THE CLUES

  GATHERING THE CLUES

  Audrey Brightman, avid seamstress and Marcie's friend from the sewing group, lived on the outskirts of the village. Here, the hill Stowe was built on, rose gently above the plain around it. Marcie put her foot on the pedal and let Silver slide smoothly up the gentle rise. She had opened all the windows and the evening air washed in, fragrant with hay and the end of autumn.

  Marcie pulled to her left and stopped. A small, yellow painted cottage stood on the side of the hill, surrounded with a garden. Marcie, feeling agitated, took a moment to breathe in the scents of lavender and roses and the strange dusky smell of evening and soil before ringing the doorbell.

  Audrey opened the door. “Hello, Marcie. I was expecting you. The kettle's just gone on the stove. Come in,” she added, waving her through into the hallway, which smelled sweetly of baking. She brushed a wispy strand of graying hair behind one ear and grinned up at Marcie.

  “Thank you, Audrey,” Marcie paused, carefully cleaning her feet on the welcome mat before she entered the spotlessly clean domain.

  “Not at all. Good to have visitors! I baked some raisin cakes. If you'll wait while I get them out? Good excuse for a tea party...” Audrey trailed off as she walked briskly to the kitchen.

  Marcie laughed. “You know I'm always ready to sample the delights that come out of that kitchen,” she encouraged. She could smell the sce
nts of sweetness and spice and was looking forward to whatever Audrey made.

  Ten minutes later, they were on the covered terrace, the evening settling on the hills around them and a tray of warm cakes between them.

  “How is work?” Marcie asked innocently, lifting a cake from the tray and buttering it with fresh farm butter.

  “As it always is,” Audrey said, pausing to take a bite. She chewed thoughtfully before answering. “Not a lot going on, but still plenty to do.”

  Audrey was the secretary at the office of the parish council. That was why Marcie had come to visit her today.

  “Not a lot?” Marcie was surprised. “I would have thought that with this land business, with Gerald and all...?”

  Audrey choked. Marcie sat back, distressed, while her friend spluttered and then, red-faced, drank some tea.

  “Sorry, dear,” she said, feeling bad.

  “Not at all,” Audrey managed to say, though she wheezed it.

  “So you don't think much of Gerald, I take it?”

  Audrey grimaced. “You guessed?”

  Marcie laughed. “He's a nuisance?”

  “You could say that. I'm with the planning permissions people, and that man is always up to something – whether it's wanting to put on an extra room, or knocking down an inside wall, or...” she sighed. “But what have you heard?”

  “I heard he had sold Lytchwood,” Marcie said innocently.

  Audrey snorted. “He can't. Because 'snot his to sell.”

  “It isn't?”

  “No. 'Snot. Not at all.”

  “So, Audrey, there is absolutely no way he could have done it?” Marcie was saying.

  Audrey Brightman, avid seamstress and the secretary for the village council, shook her head. “It doesn't belong to him. It belongs to the council. I should know,” she added. “The sods spend part of every meeting discussing the need to build a wall around the pond, trimming the lawn or keeping the brambles off the pathway. You'd think it was their back garden.” She chuckled grimly.

  Marcie nodded and leaned back, drinking her tea. She watched as a stray wisp of steam kissed the ceiling and disappeared in diffusion. “So, no one can build there?”

  “No.” Audrey's voice was firm. The two women sat quietly, both lost in their own thoughts. “It's part of this “green-belt” thing,” Audrey explained. “No one can buy it and, even if they could, the council isn't allowed to sell it. It's set aside as park land. We have to have a certain amount of it, after all.” She paused. “You probably know all that stuff, though,” she added.

  “I didn't,” Marcie admitted. “But I'm glad to know now.”

  “I wish they could build there, actually,” Audrey sighed. “It would be good to rid the village of the memories around the place. Myself, I can't walk there without getting the creeps, and that in daylight! I used to love it, but now I say they should build there. Get rid of the place. Let people forget.” She set her cup down with a click.

  Marcie sighed. She had to agree. She had come to dislike driving past Lytchwood on her way out of the village as well, a reminder as it was, of the two deaths in the village. A part of her would like it changed. But, as Audrey had pointed out, the land was council-owned. And they were not authorized to sell it, thanks to the “green-belt” laws.

  “Perhaps in a few months things will settle down,” Marcie suggested quietly. “People will forget, terrible as that sounds now. Things will go on as they were. The village needs a place to walk its dogs, and for the children to play on.”

  “True,” Audrey agreed, lifting her tea to take a sip. “Though it'll be a few months before I go down there again, I tell you that now.” She shivered. “Are you hosting the tea after the festival tomorrow afternoon, Marcie?”

  “Mm,” Marcie agreed, sipping tea. “I am.”

  “You want some jam tarts? I made them yesterday. And I know how challenging it is to feed everyone.”

  “Indeed,” Marcie nodded. Audrey handled most of the organizing for village events herself, as secretary of the village council. It was traditional for Marcie and Harry to host the tea after the charity festival – they had been doing it since Marcie moved in. “Thanks, Audrey. I know you know how stressful it is.”

  Audrey grunted in assent and stood, heading to the kitchen. “I'm not sorry to hand the garden party over to you, actually,” she smiled. “The Spring fair is bad enough! I thought I'd come down with the shingles last time! Just as well Marlborough could be here to help out at the first-aid tent! Thank heavens he's part of the council.”

  “True,” Marcie nodded thoughtfully. She thanked Audrey for the tarts and the woman helped her carry them out to the car. Suddenly, something jumped out at her. “He is?”

  It was the one thing she had forgotten about completely. The missing piece.

  “Oh, yes! Has been for years. His parents came from Stowe, you see. And since he's the village doctor, like – well, besides Hargreaves, but I don't go to Hargreaves any more: he sent me up to Norwich for some fancy scan of my back...”

  Marcie didn't ask: her mind was reeling.

  She and Audrey had reached the front gate and she paused to open it while Audrey carried the tarts through in a large blue Tupperware container Marcie would need to remember to give back after the tea was finished.

  Audrey turned to her. “You look worried, Marcie dear. You okay?”

  “I'm okay,” Marcie said. “Just lost in thought.” she gave her friend a watery smile.

  “Why were you asking about Lytchwood, by the way?” Audrey asked, lowering the big Tupperware onto the passenger seat and standing back as Marcie locked the door. “You and Harry thinking of branching out?”

  “No,” Marcie chuckled. “If anything, I wish we could downscale sometimes!” The land around the manor covered an acre, including gardens, orchards and forest. Managing it all was quite demanding sometimes, especially before an event.

  “I don't know how you do it,” Audrey affirmed. “I have my work cut out with my little garden here,” she added, waving a hand round her small, neat plot in front of the cottage, with its hollyhocks against the wall and trim lawns bordered with late-flowering chrysanthemums.

  “You do beautifully with yours,” Marcie complimented, then slid into the driver's seat.

  She headed back to the house, mind reeling.

  The council owns the land. Gerald could never have sold it. Not legally.

  The last piece had slid into place with the smooth ease of a marble rolling on silk. But it left her with a lot to worry about. And a lot of action to take.

  Reaching her home, she deposited the tarts with strict instruction to Mrs. Berne that they were for tomorrow's event and to keep them hidden from Harry. Then, grabbing her gym clothes in their backpack from the wardrobe, she ran lightly downstairs.

  At the gym in Norwich, she ran for twenty minutes on the treadmill and barely noticed. Her mind was working furiously, now that she had the one last piece firmly wedged in place. She just needed a moment with Inspector Gilding, alone, to tell him.

  She hoped she would get that, and soon. Before something else happened. She would do it at the party tomorrow.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  THE STORY COMES TO LIGHT

  THE STORY COMES TO LIGHT

  The following afternoon was also gloriously sunny, despite the morning's rain. The weather was perfect, since that was the day of the village charity festival. The light filtered down through the bare branches of oak trees onto the village green at the center of Stowe.

  “Stop, thief!”

  Mr. Brownley, the farmer, shouted it after a particularly big pigeon who had descended on his stall. The bird flew off carrying a bread roll to the particular amusement of a group of children who stood watching.

  Gilding, who had been alerted by the shout, let out a breath he had not been aware of holding, and turned back to the stall he was at, relieved the disturbance was minor.

  “Genuine leather, sir,” the farmer b
ehind it smiled proudly at Gilding as he perused a stall of leather goods. The scent alone told Gilding that. He nodded. He put down the wallet he had lifted, and complimented the farmer on his wares, then headed to the next stall.

  He was looking at a jar of preserved raspberries when he heard Harry Winston-Browne hailing him from across the fairground.

  “Inspector Gilding! Good to see you here.”

  “Thank you, Harry. Nice to be out and about. Even if I am on duty, sort of.” He looked around to where Denton, their enthusiastic young officer, was supposed to be keeping an eye on things. He was stationed at the bandstand, where he was currently dancing with one of the prettier of the village girls. He sighed. “I suppose I need to keep an eye on things...”

  “Should be safe, sir,” Harry smiled. “I saw young Ginsberg at the gate...if anyone had any bad intent in here, he'd have kept them out. Serious young officer, that.”

  “He is,” Gilding added, reaching to sample the farm-fresh apples, neatly cut into slices for customers to try. They were sweet and flavorful and he reached for his wallet to buy a bag-full to take home for later.

  “I wanted to ask if you're heading up to the house for afterward?” Harry raised a brow. “My wife's put on quite a tea for everyone there. I know – I haven't been allowed to touch any of it until we get there.”

  He looked up and when Gilding followed his gaze he saw Marcie at a stall selling fabric. She grinned and waved at him. She was impeccably dressed in a white three-piece suit, a small hat shading her eyes. He raised a hand in salute.

  “Of course I'll be there,” he nodded. “I wouldn't miss one of your wife's teas for the world. I get more to eat in one sitting there than I usually do on an officer's salary.” he grinned.

  Harry squeezed his shoulder. “Well, then. We'll have to invite you more often. I just had to check you'd be there now. I think my wife has something she'd like to tell you.”