They didn’t talk much on the walk home, nor as they put the groceries away and made some tea. When they finally sat down in the living room, Vanessa spoke up.
“What do you think about what she said?”
Clara flashed back to years ago, when Vanessa used to help her with her homework. She never gave Clara the answer, preferring to guide her through the process and allow Clara to figure out the truth for herself.
Jemima had said a lot at the farm shop, and Clara was struggling to remember it all. She was jealous of Will and his ever-present notepad. She’d love to jot down some notes as they spoke to people. Instead, she was stuck in a cycle of trying to remember what had been said while still carrying on a normal conversation.
That being said, something did loom in her memory.
“She said that Pippa went to her room in tears, but Genevieve and Edward both say that she’s been pretty much unaffected.” Clara sipped her tea. “It could have been the shock, I suppose.”
“Possibly,” Vanessa agreed. “I suspect that we’ll need to speak to Pippa to try to find out the truth.”
Clara wondered what deception her aunt would come up with next. She wondered if they’d both be dressed as plumbers in terrible fake moustaches.
“She paints,” Vanessa explained. “I often see her in the fields painting the view. I’m sure if we go for a stroll around the footpaths, we’ll bump into her in no time. She’s probably spending more time up there now, out of the way.”
“I’m not sure I like the idea of stalking a young woman whose father was recently murdered,” Clara admitted.
“Who said anything about stalking? We’ll just go for a walk, and if we happen to see her, then we’ll say hello. We are neighbours after all.”
Clara looked out into the garden. The sun wasn’t as bright today, and it looked like the weather might turn. She wished she wasn’t so affected by weather, but she could already feel her mood taking a downwards turn.
“Do you really think all of this could be over a plot of land and a supermarket?” she asked.
“Money makes people do all sorts,” Vanessa said. “I imagine there is a tidy profit for all involved.”
Clara shuddered lightly. She hated the idea that someone would kill someone else, even if they were as terrible as Angus Chadwick seemed. The idea that it was all for money upset her even further.
“She said Felicity was late and seemed distracted,” she said.
“She did.”
Clara looked at her aunt. “Do you think she did it?”
Vanessa shrugged.
“Seriously, I need to know what you think.”
Vanessa put her cup and saucer down on the table to her side and looked like she was giving the question some serious thought. “I can’t discount her,” she finally said, “but she’s not my number one suspect either.”
“Who’s that?” Clara asked.
There was a tapping on the front door, and Vanessa smiled. “Saved by the bell.”
Clara stood up and went to answer the door. As soon as she saw who it was, her heart sank.
“Hello again, my dear,” Sylvester King greeted her. He was wearing a three-piece suit and clutched a brass-capped cane in his hand. This one was different to the one she’d seen him with before, indicating that not only did he own a cane, he had a selection of them.
Vanessa must have heard him because Clara didn’t have a chance to speak before her aunt was by her side.
“Sylvester, you really must call first. We are having tea,” Vanessa told him.
His eyes lit up as he saw her. “Ah, I am sorry! I was just passing and thought I would knock on the chance that you were in and had some time for me.” He lowered his cane and leaned on it. “I found out something rather interesting while I was researching my latest book. Something about Angus Chadwick, may he rest in peace.”
Clara knew what he was doing, suspected Aunt Vee knew as well, but it was too good a carrot to dangle in front of her.
“Well,” Vanessa huffed, “I suppose you might as well come in as you’re already here.” She stepped back and gestured for him to enter the living room. “I’ll get some more tea.”
“I’ll get it!” Clara quickly interjected. There was no way she wanted to be left alone with Sylvester King while her aunt made tea. No, she’d much rather be hiding in the kitchen for as long as socially acceptable.
“Coward,” Vanessa whispered to her.
Clara wasn’t going to deny it. She breezed into the kitchen and set up a tray the way Aunt Vee would. Tea wasn’t a hastily made and consumed beverage for the older woman; it was more of a ritual. It had to be served correctly, no corners cut.
Clara had to admit that she’d missed the calming effect of the ritual. She’d gotten used to making mugs of tea and mindlessly guzzling them, or worse, putting it into a takeaway mug to drink on the train into the office.
It was nice to take her time and get everything ready on the tea tray. She could hear the distant sound of Sylvester and Vanessa talking, but nothing in detail. There was something about Sylvester King that rubbed her the wrong way.
Yes, he was inappropriate with his staring, but he was hardly the only man, or woman, to do that. There was something beneath the surface that Clara didn’t like. The fact that he could be a murderer on top of that made him all the more avoidable in her eyes.
When she couldn’t delay it any longer, she sighed and picked up the tray and took it into the living room. Sylvester had sat himself next to Vanessa on one of the sofas, a blessing, as it meant that Clara wouldn’t have to sit beside him.
She placed the tea tray down, and Vanessa leaned forward to serve them.
“And so, I ferreted a little deeper into it,” Sylvester continued, not even acknowledging Clara’s return.
“I presume you discovered something very interesting, as you’re dragging this out so much?” Vanessa asked.
Sylvester brushed off the criticism. “It was all in the archives in the council office, buried under many other documents. Misfiled, of course.”
“Biscuit?” Vanessa offered the plate of fruit shortcakes, clearly not wanting Sylvester to feel as if she were at all interested in the story that he was dragging out for all its worth.
“No, thank you. Angus Chadwick’s father, Albert, was a pacifist, which is all well and good, but not when the country… was at war,” Sylvester finished with a flourish. He took the teacup and looked meaningfully at Vanessa.
“So, he was a conscientious objector?” she asked.
“Yes.” Sylvester nodded quickly. “Such shame for a proud family like the Chadwicks. Buried away in the council office. But I found it. I always do.”
“And Angus knew that you’d found this information about his father, I presume?” Vanessa asked, pouring Clara a fresh cup of tea and handing it to her.
“Yes. I’d written the story, but the publisher wanted to see if there were any pictures of Albert. Well, I had to speak to Angus about it, and I wanted to see if I could get a quote from him.”
“I assume he wasn’t pleased?” Vanessa added extra sugar to her tea, a clear sign that she was fed up with the man.
“Livid,” Sylvester declared, almost pleased with himself. “Tried to blackmail me.”
“Oh yes?” Vanessa asked.
“Yes. Of course, that boy from the police found out about that, and now he thinks that I’m the killer. As if we don’t all know the perpetrator already.”
“How did he try to blackmail you?” Vanessa asked, backtracking the conversation a little.
Sylvester rolled his eyes. “Such childish behaviour. He told me he was planning to add a new sewage tank for one of the cottages attached to one of the farms. That tank would need to be sunk right by my garden, not a hundred metres away. You can imagine the stench of a hot summer’s evening. But I wouldn’t be moved. The public deserve to know.”
“Do they?” Clara asked.
Sylvester looked at her, seemingly for the first time since she entered the room. He seemed confused; whether it was the question itself or the fact that she’d chosen to speak up at all, she didn’t know.
“Of course, it’s the history of the village,” he said.
“Hardly relevant today,” Clara argued. “If Angus’ father didn’t want to go to war, then surely that is family business? And is it so terrible that someone doesn’t want to go to war and kill people?”
“If everyone held that attitude, we’d all be speaking German,” Sylvester told her.
“You have a theory as to who killed Angus?” Vanessa asked, effectively stopping the argument in its tracks.
“Yes, it’s obvious,” Sylvester said. He sat back and looked a little miffed that someone had dared to stand up to him. Clara didn’t care. She was also a pacifist and didn’t think for one second that anyone should be publicly shamed for being one. If more people were pacifists, there wouldn’t be any wars to win.
“Do enlighten us,” Vanessa instructed.
“Felicity Abbot,” he said. “Very obvious.”
“How did you come to that conclusion?” Vanessa asked. “Where’s the smoking gun?”
“She hated Angus, wanted his job; they’d been at odds for weeks about some planning permission thing. She was late to dinner, seemed very flustered, probably had no idea we’d all be there—”
“Why were you there?” Vanessa interrupted.
“I’m sorry?”
“It seems like an odd bunch,” she said. “A neighbour, family members, accountant, co-worker, you. Why were you all there?”
Sylvester laughed. “We were all summoned by the high and mighty council chairman. He said he had an announcement to make. I wasn’t going to attend, but I’ll admit that curiosity got the better of me in the end.”
“What was the announcement?” Clara asked. She’d heard so much about the announcement. Though it was clear from the others that Angus never got time to say what he’d gathered them all for, someone must have had a clue what the announcement would be about.
“He keeled over before he had time to say,” Sylvester replied.
“You didn’t have an idea what it was about?” Clara pressed.
“None. It was very sudden.” Sylvester sipped his tea. “I bet he is looking down now and regretting he invited Felicity.”
“What evidence do you have that it was her? Actual evidence?” Clara asked.
Sylvester looked uncomfortable. “You do know, don’t you?”
Clara tilted her head. “Know what?”
“She’s… one of them.”
Clara could feel the anger building, but she had to be sure it was warranted before she erupted. “One of who?”
“Gay,” Sylvester explained, a nod punctuating the one word like a gunshot.
“And?” Clara demanded.
Vanessa held up her hand before Clara could really get started. “Sylvester, I don’t appreciate that backwards kind of nonsensical speak in my home.”
He laughed. Actually laughed. “Come on, Vanessa, you know she is.”
“I do know she is. I meant that I won’t allow homophobic comments in my home. How dare you come in here and say such things? So Felicity Abbot is gay; so what? That doesn’t make her a murderer. The very thought that you think it does is, frankly, disgraceful and an embarrassment for you. She’s an excellent local councillor and a decent member of the community. Her sexuality has nothing to do with anyone but her. How dare you.”
Tears were threatening to spill from Clara’s eyes. Despite the staunch defence of her aunt, she still felt sickened by the attack, even though it wasn’t directed at her. She’d come across homophobia before, but it blindsided her each and every time. How could be people so cruel? How could they judge based upon nothing but sexual preference?
She put her teacup down. “I’m sorry, but I have something I need to do.”
Vanessa looked up at her apologetically. “Okay, call me when you can.”
Clara nodded, relieved that her aunt wasn’t going to out her in front of the vile man or request that she stay in his presence a moment longer. She walked around the table and pressed a kiss to her cheek.
“I won’t be out long,” she promised.
She left the room without saying a word to Sylvester King. She had no desire to speak to nor see the man ever again.