“Bugger.” Motts tossed her third attempt at a calla lily into the rubbish bin. “Will you focus?”
She hadn’t slept well, knowing a constable stood sentry. Well, he sat in his car outside her cottage. He’d appreciated the mug of tea and heated-up leftovers she’d taken out to him for breakfast.
After her own breakfast, Motts had sat down by the coffee table to fold paper. She had Etsy orders along with samples for both the bridal shop and gift shop to fulfil. Focusing had definitely not been easy.
The forensic team had returned around ten in the morning. They’d made the drive from Plymouth, since Polperro was too small a village to have a dedicated CSI force. She was honestly surprised they had an inspector.
Inspector Ash had been a closed book when he stopped in to say hello. Motts hadn’t been courageous enough to pepper him with questions. She’d wanted to, though.
Thankfully, the internet didn’t require small talk or conversation. A quick search pulled up multiple forum posts regarding missing persons within the region. Motts focused on the ones in and around Polperro.
She found three.
Which one of these are you?
One of the names did stand out to her. Rhona Walters, a local woman, who ran The Salty Seaman—a fish and chip shop started by her father, who’d been a merchant marine. She and her older brother Innis had inherited the popular business. Motts found a number of articles about her disappearance several years ago.
How had no one realised she’d been buried in a shallow grave under stones in Auntie Daisy’s garden? How had no one smelled the body? The Orchards regularly had, up until the last six months of her aunt’s life, kept up with the yard. How did they not notice?
A comment under the first article when she’d disappeared caught Motts attention. The wording sounded extremely emotional. The commenter had railed against the local police for not doing enough, accusing them of conspiracy. Were they protesting too much? Was this a family member or lover who’d grown desperate?
How long does it take for a body to completely decompose?
Hughie had specifically mentioned skeletal remains. Rhona had been missing for close to two years. Was that sufficient time given where she’d been buried?
She wondered if the police had found any jewellery. Clothes might not survive, but metal surely would. One of the articles had explicitly mentioned a necklace Rhona had always worn.
Meow.
Cactus hopped up on the coffee table. He launched himself at one of the violets she’d made. The mischievous feline slid across the slick surface and narrowly missed her mug of tea.
He sat on his haunches and gave her a look of pure kitty aggravation. Hiss.
“Don’t act as though I betrayed you. No one asked you to audition for skating on ice.” Motts lifted her grumbling cat into her arms. “Are you hungry? Have I neglected your many, many needs?”
After dropping a snack into Moss’s terrarium, Motts silenced Cactus’s complaining with one of his favourite treats—baked tuna croutons with a hint of catnip. Her precious Sphynx practically inhaled the little biscuits. She’d caught him trying to get into the jar several times. Tricky beast.
Motts left him to rolling around on the carpet in front of the fire with his crouton. She gathered up all the intricately folded violets; they’d been made with a specially chosen paper for one of her Etsy customers. The order had to be shipped by the end of the week.
A knock on her back door pulled her away from carefully packing the violets into a box. Motts found Inspector Ash with a large man wearing a slightly wrinkled suit. He stood a good bit taller than everyone in the garden—the giant teddy bear of Hughie included.
“Hello.” Motts shoved her hands into the pockets of her cardigan. She tried not to stare at the intimidating mountain of a man. Her eyes stayed on the crooked pin on his tie. “Did you identify the body?”
“I—” Inspector Ash started.
“We’re not releasing any information.” Officer Intimidation cut him off sharply. Inspector Ash didn’t seem happy with his new friend. “I’m Detective Inspector Teo Herceg with the Plymouth Cold Case Unit.”
Motts glanced between the two men without meeting either of their eyes. “Does Plymouth often send officers out to Polperro?”
“The chief inspector decided we could use the expertise of DI Herceg, given the state of the victim.” Inspector Ash seemed to disagree with his boss. “We had a few more questions.”
“Oh?” Motts eyed them before stepping to the side to invite them into the cottage. She didn’t want to risk Cactus trying to sneak outside. “How can I help?”
The detectives settled together on the couch while Motts made tea. She offered them bourbon biscuits—no one got her Jaffa Cakes. No one. Not even scary police officers who wouldn’t stop staring at her turtle.
A series of questions followed about her auntie, her family, the cottage, and her connections to Polperro. The rapid-fire intensity made her mind spin. She struggled to comprehend each question, never mind answer.
The shutdown hit before Motts had time to withdraw herself from the conversation. Her mind went black, as though someone had hit the off switch on her ability to formulate complete sentences. Yes. No. Maybe. Yes. No. Maybe. She couldn’t even ask them to leave.
“Ms Mottley? Can you answer the question, please?” Inspector Ash repeated himself several times. “Ms Mottley? Are you feeling okay?”
She shook her head, then nodded. Cactus leapt up into her lap. He sat and faced the two detectives.
Inspector Herceg held up his hand to stop Ash from pushing her. He leaned forward on the couch. “My cousin is autistic. She gets tangled in her head and sometimes needs space to find her way out. I apologise if I’m making assumptions. But I’m even sorrier if we’ve caused you distress.”
Motts rocked slightly in her comfy chair. “Okay.”
He pulled a card out of his wallet and set it on the arm of her chair. “We’ll see ourselves out. Feel free to send me a text or email if calling is too much.”
An hour later, Motts managed to come out of the fog of silence. Cactus hadn’t moved from his sentry position in her lap. She gently ran her fingers across his head before picking up the card to her left.
Detective Inspector Teo Herceg.
Dragging the blanket off the back of her chair, Motts wrapped it around her body. She tried to shake off the feeling of embarrassment. Shutdowns in front of others always left her with an acute sense of raw humiliation.
She found herself warming to the intimidating detective who’d recognised the signs and kindly given her space to recover. Even her well-meaning mother didn’t understand being alone was exactly what she needed during times of stress. She’d have liked Teo Herceg more if he’d answered her questions.
Despite a growing hunger, Motts couldn’t make herself get up out of the chair. She’d sat through the afternoon even as the sun (and the police) disappeared. No amount of self-cajoling shifted her out of the mental funk leftover from her shutdown.
“Motts?”
“I’m here.” She lifted her arm up to signal to her auntie Lily. “Shouldn’t you be in the office?”
Her auntie Lily ran the Chen-Mottley Brewery in Looe with her uncle Tom. The couple had met when Motts’s uncle had travelled to Singapore for a university exchange program. They’d fallen in love and eventually made their way back to Cornwall in their twenties.
“Young Hughie reached out to River. He thought you might appreciate a little comfort food.” Lily lifted up the large container in her arms. “I baked this afternoon, so I figured you could share in the wealth. Chicken curry crispy pies, coconut egg tarts, and the sesame shortcake you’re so fond of.”
Motts got up, setting Cactus on the floor, and gave her aunt a hug. “Thank you.”
“Come, come. Eat.” She guided Motts towards the kitchen. “And tell me all about this handsome new detective. River said Hughie thought you seemed infatuated.”
Oh, for the love of village gossip.
“I don’t do infatuation. I met the man once. He seemed aesthetically pleasing, if a bit overgrown.” Motts waited impatiently for her aunt to lift the lid on the container. “Thank you, Auntie.”
Lily wrapped her arm around Motts’s shoulders. “He might be a nice man.”
Four days after the discovery of the body, the police had finished combing every centimetre of her garden. They were gone, leaving a mess in their wake. On the plus side, the ground had essentially been turned over, and all the stones were gone, saving her a bit of time and effort.
I need my routine.
Ever since moving to Cornwall, Motts had been on a rollercoaster ride. She wanted to find stable ground. The first step was settling into her routine.
She broke her day up into three parts. Her morning was spent taking care of her beloved animals and herself. The afternoon went to business—emails and folding flowers for orders. And her evening involved catching up on YouTube videos, since she rarely watched movies or television, and reading by the fireplace.
By the following morning, Motts felt like herself again. She’d even managed to unpack the last remaining box. And more importantly, Vina, Nish, and River had come over to help her change out all the decoration in the cottage.
Vina had insisted. She thought Motts needed a home suited to a thirty-nine-year-old woman instead of a sixty-something maiden aunt. Auntie Daisy had been overly fond of antique lace and roses.
They managed to remove most of it in an evening. River had promised to take all the decorations to a charity shop. Motts didn’t want to just throw everything away.
“Did you ask your mum if she wanted any of Auntie Daisy’s stuff?” River had the last box in his arms. “It is her sister.”
“She’s not talking to me.” Motts shrugged. “She thinks I’ll come home to London because I can’t live on my own.”
Vina came over to give her a hug. “She needs to adjust. Don’t they call it empty nest syndrome?”
“How can it be empty when Dad’s there?” Motts frowned at her. She was distracted by belatedly remembering something and turned to point a finger at her cousin. “Did you tell your mum a bit of gossip Hughie shared with you?”
River backed slowly towards the door. “Have to go. See you later. Bye.”