Pru slept fitfully, surprised that she slept at all. If she’d had three hours of rest, it was a miracle, and as Christopher was already out of bed when she awoke, he’d probably had two. She pulled on sweats and slippers and padded down to the kitchen. She had a hand up to push open the door but hesitated when she heard Evelyn’s voice. She didn’t sound happy, and Pru didn’t think she could take Evelyn’s ire on so fragile a morning. She turned to go back to the bedroom, deciding a cup of tea from the tray would do, but Evelyn’s words stopped her.
“And who did he think he was, Jack Snuggs, swanning up and down this lane asking how you were doing, as if he didn’t know it was him that put you there?”
A softer voice Pru identified as Peachey said something she couldn’t make out.
“Well, all I’m saying is that some people make their own trouble,” Evelyn replied, followed by more soft words, and then Evelyn again, “You’re too good by half, Albert.”
Pru leaned toward the door to hear more. She remembered Evelyn’s wary greeting to Jack over the weekend—everyone in the village had a past, and Pru had yet to learn all the stories.
Another, louder male voice asked, “There wouldn’t be a cup of tea going, Evelyn, now would there?” And Evelyn replied in a commanding voice, “Sit down, then.” This signaled an all clear to Pru, who stepped into the kitchen.
No Peachey in sight, but a young uniformed policeman sat at the table—Pru remembered him from the assemblage overnight. He rose immediately when he saw Pru. “Good morning, Mrs. Pearse, I’m sorry if I disturbed you.”
“It’s Ms. Parke, Gerald,” Evelyn said as she set tea and toast down in front of him. “You’d best keep yourself straight round here.”
“No, that’s all right, Gerald,” Pru said, hoping Evelyn wouldn’t scare the young man away.
He didn’t seem to mind the reprimand, and reached for the pot of jam.
“I’d say you haven’t had the opportunity to wash your hands, now have you?” Evelyn asked, and Gerald’s hand was arrested in its journey. He sighed. Evelyn nodded to the small loo off the mudroom.
Gerald rose to follow orders, but turned back to Pru. “You see, Ms. Parke, when I was a lad, Evelyn minded me three afternoons a week, and she still hasn’t got over it.”
Pru smiled but dropped it when she saw Evelyn standing expectantly, twisting a tea towel in her hands. “You’ve heard about Jack, Evelyn?” Pru asked. “I’m sorry I wasn’t down here to tell you—we were up most of the night, and I’m afraid I’m having a bit of a slow start to my morning.”
“Mr. Pearse told us when we arrived,” she said. “It’s a terrible thing. I’ll go round to Stan with a steak-and-kidney pie later.”
“That’s kind of you,” Pru said.
“Will the boy be coming down?” Evelyn asked, glancing at the door.
“Not anytime soon, I’d say.” When they had returned from Polly and Simon’s, Christopher and Pru found Orlando sitting at the kitchen table peppering the uniform—Gerald, in fact—with questions about how evidence was cataloged. They had suggested bed, and he hadn’t argued. “Well, I’ll just go up and dress,” Pru said, and began backing out of the kitchen.
“Ms. Parke, wouldn’t you like to have your breakfast first?”
Tears pricked Pru’s eyes, surely a sign of how tired she was when the offer of porridge could make her cry. “Yes, thanks, Evelyn. I suppose I should.”
“And then I’ll be able to get to the rest of my work,” Evelyn said.
The kitchen was quiet when Pru made it back downstairs. She took her coat and walked out into the yard, looking left and right, wondering which way to go and what to do with herself. One police car sat in the drive. She’d glanced out the window on the way downstairs—the marquee had reappeared. And here came Christopher, out of the garden and up the drive toward her.
He was most certainly working, but not, apparently, as a special constable—not a shiny button in sight. Not quite as a detective inspector, either, she could see, as he wasn’t wearing a suit. Instead, he had landed somewhere between, choosing to wear his old dark trousers and tweed jacket, the one with a touch of green in it, and a wool tie. On closer inspection, she could see he also wore red-rimmed eyes from lack of sleep. They matched her own.
He cupped her face in his hand and gave her a small, soft kiss. “You’d drifted off when I decided to get up—I didn’t want to disturb you,” he said.
“You’re working here this morning?”
“Just helping out on-site. Martin is conducting interviews, taking statements.”
“Is there any news?”
“The preliminary forensics report should be in this afternoon.” He studied her face. “Can you give us a hand? Take a look inside the shed to see if anything looks different and check round the rest of the garden—including the parterre lawn—to see if anything is amiss. Simon hasn’t arrived yet.”
She nodded. “Yes, sure. But, can I…” She pointed to the wooden handle on the shed door.
“Doors have been dusted.”
She and Orlando had done a fair job of cleaning out the shed, just about reaching the glasshouse end—that was the only thing she noticed there. She kept her hands behind her and walked all around, through the new Mediterranean garden, down the hornbeam walk and back, and into the parterre lawn. Nothing untoward to be seen, except that the hebes were beginning to look a bit crisp around the edges; she’d circle back round later and water them.
They finished up along the drive, and PC Gerald—Pru hadn’t heard his surname—approached them, a folder in hand.
“For you, sir,” he said, handing the papers to Christopher, who began patting his pockets in the eternal search for his reading glasses. Gerald hesitated for a moment, and then asked, “Sir, are you going to be our guv?”
Christopher’s reputation preceded him, Pru thought. She knew that his manner commanded respect from those around him regardless of his rank.
“I most certainly am not,” Christopher replied sharply. Pru saw his ears go pink. “You’re to report to DS Chatters, who reports to DI Harnett.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Gerald,” Pru said, “have you been here since last night?”
“Yes, Ms. Parke. I got a call and came right over. It had just gone one o’clock.”
“My God, son,” Christopher said, his voice softening. “Go home—but ring the station first. Tell the desk sergeant I said it was all right.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Gerald walked away, and Pru smiled at Christopher. “You’re going to get whiplash if you’re not careful.”
A ghost of a smile, and it vanished. “I rang Claire this morning,” Christopher said.
Of course Orlando’s parents would need to know. “How did she take it?”
Christopher shrugged. “I told her he was fine and we wanted him to stay. She sounded all right, but it’s difficult to say with my sister. I thought it better that she hear it from us first.”
“Is it in the news?”
“It was on the police blog. You never know who might pick it up.”
Maybe it’ll drive away any possibility of a scouting visit by the magazine editor, Pru thought, and immediately turned red with shame.
“I thought I’d go see Polly,” Pru said, hoping to absent herself from the day’s proceedings. “To find out how Stan is doing. She’ll be working at the post office counter in the shop today.”
“You haven’t talked with Simon?” Christopher asked.
She shook her head. Most arguments with her brother got patched up fairly soon after they occurred, but this one hung in the air, with no chance of resolution during the middle-of-the-night visit Pru and Christopher had made. “I’ll ring him,” she said, thinking that first she would find out from Polly just what sort of mood Simon was in.