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I lingered near someone who was selling balloons. He had one shaped like a bunny, and I had no choice but to buy it. I tied the string around my wrist so it wouldn’t float away.
Alistair had taken Sophia aside to chat with her while Eddie repeatedly glanced at them. If he was already this protective of her, I hoped she would stay here. They did make a cute couple. I prayed that her liking Carl was a lie, if only because he was so dreadful, and I liked to think she had better taste. Of course, the fact that she seemed interested in Eddie bode well.
I started walking around the square, browsing the same stalls. Gus, from the antique shop, was smiling at a customer, but as soon as he saw me, his expression turned serious, and he looked away.
I weaved my way through the crowd, which was quite large at this time, and stopped at his stall. “Hi, Gus,” I said.
He looked up as if he hadn’t seen me. “Oh, Maggie, how nice to see you.”
There was a couple browsing, but nobody else was within earshot.
“I’m sorry to hear about you and my aunt,” I said, trying to sound casual.
He turned red. “Err, yes, me too. She is quite lovely.”
I inhaled slowly. It was strange to think that this friendly man had broken my aunt’s heart. She wouldn’t say it, she certainly wouldn’t cry in front of me, but I knew, and I had to fight the urge to throw the nearest thing on the stall at him. Unfortunately, it was an old hand-embroidered linen tray cloth.
Several questions were fighting to make it to my lips, but this wasn’t the time or place to ask such personal things, so I swallowed them. “Have a nice day.”
He sighed, as if relieved, then wished me the same thing.
I continued on my way, wondering why he broke up with her and why he looked so guilty about it. It seemed that he felt bad, but was it because he broke up with her? Or something else?
“Perhaps some sleuthing is in order?” Detective Black suggested, but disappeared again.
Alistair met me as I neared the church.
“And?” I asked.
“She said that she had a bit of a crush on him, but it was innocent. She mostly admired his work, that was all.” He checked his notebook. “She was clear that he’d never made a pass at her, and neither had she tried anything with him.”
“Did you believe her?”
Alistair shrugged. “I don’t know. She didn’t seem surprised that I asked her.”
“Perhaps because she was aware that she’d been following him around? Although she wasn’t like that when they were here, not that I saw. Carl was flirting with all sorts of women, but he didn’t pay much mind to his fellow writers.”
“It could be that it’s not related to his flirting ways at all,” Alistair said.
“Yes, but that brings us back to Rachel.”
“Why don’t we think about it over some lunch?” he said. “My treat. And I like your balloon. It makes it easy to spot you in a crowd.”
“If only the killer was easy to spot.”
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WE HAD LUNCH IN THE Rose where it was quiet, dark, and cool. My balloon was tied to my chair, which Alistair had pulled back for me. He had never done such a thing before, but I appreciated the gesture. Perhaps at the next lunch I’d pull out his chair. Keep him on his toes.
We ordered sandwiches with crisps and had cold drinks to further cool us off.
“If we keep Rachel out of the equation, why do you think Carl was killed in the church?” I asked.
Alistair took a sip of his ice tea. “I guess it’s nice and quiet, and you can be sure you’re not seen.”
“But whoever he was meeting there must have known it was open, which would suggest a local.”
“It could be that they tried the church doors the night before, or perhaps asked someone? I don’t know. And why do you think he was meeting someone there? He could have just as easily decided to visit the church and then gotten interrupted.”
We stared at each other.
“Unlikely,” we said simultaneously.
“But not impossible,” he added.
“Agreed.”
“If only we had his phone,” Alistair muttered. “That’s another reason I suspect he was meeting someone. But without his phone we can’t be certain. We also can’t be certain if he invited the killer to meet him at the church or the other way around.”
“He had been punched in the pub before. Maybe he felt like he needed to be cheered up and wanted to meet a woman there? Maybe he went a step too far, and she tried to protect herself? Or maybe she was married too, and her husband had followed her? Found them together?”
“The pen jammed into his chest suggests that it was something more, that there was some message.”
“Could it have anything to do with the supposedly stolen manuscript? A pen in the chest is a pretty strong message. Especially if he was hit on the head with that award for his writing.”
“Which again leads to Rachel. But we have no evidence.”
“What if he’s done it before? Steal, I mean. Perhaps I can dig up some rumours on the Internet, and see if I can find any other potential vict—” my voice trailed off as Callum brought our orders.
“Don’t stop on my account, dearie. I know you were talking about murder, if only because most of the locals are. Actually, even the tourists are. It’s quite hot news.” He put down the plates and was in no hurry to leave.
“As if it isn’t hot enough already,” I muttered.
“So,” Callum said without further ado, “are you two on a date?”
Alistair nearly spat out his ice tea.
My body turned on the heating, which wasn’t very difficult since I was already hot. “No,” I said and glared at him.
He just raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow and turned to Alistair. “Are you sure?”
“Oh, yes,” Alistair said. “Maggie’s just so...blegh. Why would I date her? She’s terrible.”
“Alright, there’s no need for that,” I said. “You’re not so great yourself, you know? Your hair is too perfect, and you wear suits pretty much all the time. Do you shower in them?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Okay,” Callum said. “It is a date, but a really bad one. Got it.” He strolled off.
“Don’t spread any rumours; it’s not true.” I turned to Alistair. “Great. The whole village will think we’re dating by tonight.”
“It will be fine, I’m sure. People will gossip anyway. Remember that time when our history teacher was sick for three weeks, and the whole village talked about how he was dying and had one foot in the grave? I’m fairly sure the funeral undertaker had started arrangements. And then he strolled in with a tan and not a care in the world.”
Callum returned to bring the side salads. They had only just introduced those since they were trying to be a more healthy pub. The ‘salad’ consisted of three lettuce leaves and four carrots. He moved around a few things to make room for the dishes.
“That’s right. He’d secretly—though quite obviously—gone on holiday. What was his excuse for having a tan again?”
“He’d been resting in the garden without sunscreen,” Alistair said. “In October. When it had rained all those weeks.”
Callum leaned forward. “Speaking of funeral undertakers, did you see there’s a new one? He’s renovating All Wood, and also changing the name.”
“Thank goodness,” Alistair said. “But why hasn’t Mr Piper returned? Wasn’t he visiting relatives abroad? Somewhere hot, I believe.”
“Well, yes, I’m fairly certain it’s hot where he went,” Callum said as he folded his arms. Mr Piper had never been a friendly man by any means.
Alistair just stared, waiting.
“He died,” I said.
“Oh.” Then his eyes widened. “Ooh. No. No. No. I really thought he’d gone to visit relatives. I told his wife the other day to enjoy her time without him before he’d come back.”
Callum laughed.
“It’s not funny. She looked horrified.”
Callum laughed louder.
I bit my lip to keep from laughing. It was very difficult. I could just picture that poor woman. Just like Mr Piper, she was quite horrid and disliked most people, animals, and inanimate objects. She had also once expressed her dislike for chocolate, flowers, and happiness. Okay, maybe not happiness, but it was clearly implied.
“Thank you, I needed that,” Callum said after he was done laughing. “Now, I’ll leave you to your date.”
“It’s not a date,” I said, but he was good at pretending not to hear things.
Alistair smiled at me. “Even if this is not a date, may I ask if there’s anything new going on? Apart from the murder, of course.”
“I’ve been helping Miles with the library at the Pembroke. He said I could do whatever I wanted with the books, so it’s pretty great.”
“But isn’t that a big library?”
“Yes.”
“So won’t that take a lot of time?”
“Yes.”
“So you’ll be there a lot.”
“Yes.” I smiled.
Alistair pursed his lips as he considered this. “I see.”
“Do it,” Detective Black said.
I leaned forward. “And I’m having dinner with him and his parents tomorrow.”
Alistair’s eye twitched. “What? Why?”
“They want to meet his new girlfriend,” I said.
“What? You’re—what?” he asked in a high voice.
I grinned. “Why? Is that weird?”
“It’s—err, well, he just didn’t mention it last time we spoke. I mean, since when—”
“So you guys talked about me the last time you spoke?”
“Look here, that’s not the point,” he said. “Since when did you two start dating?”
Though I was having fun, it was time to come clean. “We’re not. He just needed to get his dad to back off and he wanted me to pretend. It’s just one dinner.”
“And you said yes to this?”
I shrugged. “Why not? He needed my help. I’m sure it will be interesting. And anything interesting is fuel for the writer.”
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ALISTAIR WALKED ME back to the bookshop before going on his way. He had been in a mood ever since I told him about the Miles thing. It made me like him more, but I had to focus on the investigation. Which, for now, was at a standstill. What I really wanted to know was where Carl had been staying and why he felt the need to lie about it.
When I walked into the bookshop, the cold air was as welcome as an ice lolly to a snowman. The shop seemed busy, but that was only because the Castlefield Book Club was there, even Olivia. At least Stanley had several employees, and his wife could take breaks when she wanted, not that she did that often. She loved working at the bakery. They all rushed over as soon as they noticed me.
Judging by the notebooks in their hands and the excited gleam in their eyes, I figured they had ‘clues’ to share with me. I loved them for wanting to help. They really were my favourite bunch.
“We’ve all reached our deadline and finished the first batch of books on our lists,” Poppy said. “Mine made me fall asleep halfway through, but then I woke up and stayed up reading until seven.” She nodded proudly.
“You stayed up until seven AM?” I asked in a high-pitched voice. I’d seen this woman take naps in-between her naps.
“No, seven PM.” A pause. “Seven PM,” she repeated, as if she’d admitted to doing black flips through the cobbled streets.
“Yes, nobody cares,” Ava said, her Scottish accent, thicker than usual. She was excited as well. They all were. Usually nothing thrilling happened, except for that last murder and this one.
This had better be the last murder. This was supposed to be a quiet, rural village with a psychotic chicken and lovely scones.
“Ava,” Eleanor chided.
“What? Comatose patients go to bed later than Poppy. Now, listen here,” she said to me. “I was reading the first book by Carl Scranton, and in it the main character loves hiding places for his precious items. He is very paranoid and doesn’t hide anything in his home, but at the cemetery.” She wriggled her auburn eyebrows.
“That’s the perfect place to bury something,” Detective Black said.
“Have you checked the cemetery?” I asked.
Eleanor gasped. “Is that why you were walking around staring at the graves this morning?”
Ava nodded. “Of course. It is my duty as...a member of the book club. Anyway, I didn’t find anything suspicious, but still, I wanted to let you know. I’ll work on the next book.” She didn’t await anyone else’s turn and rushed off in a cloud of musky perfume.
We all stared at Poppy.
“Seven o’clock isn’t too early,” she said, pouting.
“Of course not,” Eleanor said. “You sleep whenever you want, dear.”
And she did. Usually in public places and during moments that required her attention. She had once slept through a play we’d put up right here in the village square during the mayor’s birthday. Which would not have been an issue, except she was in it.
It had been the most boring monologue in the history of plays.
“What did you find out?” I asked her.
“I’ll tell you what I found out,” she started and continued to tell us about the entire plot of the novel, in great detail. It was the first and only novel written by the married couple. It had sold pretty well, but it sounded boring. It could also have been because of the way Poppy told it. Either way, I didn’t think there were any clues to be found. Not that I had expected it; this was something the book club women had come up with. I had serious doubts it would lead to anything meaningful, including the titbit that Ava had just given. Still, I’d have to check out the cemetery myself, just to put my mind at ease.
Phoebe had read the second book Carl had written, which also yielded nothing noteworthy, but Eleanor and Lily had read the final book. The book that Rachel had supposedly written. Perhaps that was why I had high hopes that there’d be something meaningful, but there was nothing of interest. It seemed to be a standard mystery novel, but this one contained more action scenes and even a sex scene, which made Lily blush as she mentioned it.
Jessica discussed Sophia’s book, in which most characters had issues with their family, or problems with drugs and other things like that. It still said very little about reality. It was impossible to figure out what was important and what not, but I appreciated them relaying what they thought was worth mentioning.
I wrote general truths about people, about love, about pain, and yes, I poured some of myself onto the pages, but nothing that would teach the reader anything about myself. It was difficult to explain to someone else, but that was why I didn’t think it would help me find Carl’s killer.
“But maybe it will lead you to a clue that in turn will reveal the killer,” Detective Black said.
I really hoped so.