Springtime for Murder Page 11

  “What do you want me to do, call Batman?” I put my hand over the mouthpiece and called out to Hector, who was packing up returns in the stock room. “Hector! Time to get out your Batmobile!”

  Billy tutted. “Listen, girlie, don’t mess me about. This is serious. That pesky Catwoman is sitting outside Kitty’s house, slumped over the steering wheel of her car, snoring her head off.”

  “That sounds a bit odd. Is she OK?”

  “Why do you think I’m calling you, you daftie? The car door wasn’t locked, so I opened it and prodded her with a stick, but she didn’t respond. Then I sounded her horn, and she didn’t flinch. I think she’s more than just asleep.”

  “If she’s snoring, she must be breathing.”

  “Loud as a donkey’s bray, and about as musical.”

  Hector emerged from the stockroom. “Did you call, Girl Wonder? What’s up, is an urgent delivery needed? Someone who can’t wait another moment to read the book they’ve ordered?”

  I held up my hand to shush him while Billy continued.

  “I’d call 999, but she don’t look ill. More like drunk, though she don’t smell of drink. Besides, I don’t want to get her arrested.”

  I felt no sympathy for her.

  “If she was planning to drive in that state, she deserves to get arrested.”

  Hector came to stand close behind me.

  “Not Kitty?” he whispered, and I shook my head.

  “Wait there, Billy. I’ll send Hector. Go and stand by her car to keep an eye on her, and he’ll be with you in a minute. Bye.”

  I clicked ‘end’ and chucked Hector his car keys from the hook on the wall.

  “So it’s my turn for a mercy mission now.”

  I handed him his mobile phone. “You’re always telling me a good bookshop should be a lynchpin of its local community. Now’s your chance. Go commune. Billy has just found Mrs Lot insensible at the wheel of her car outside the Manor House. He thinks she’s drunk, and he needs assistance to prise her out of there and sober her up.”

  Hector glanced at his diary, which lay open beside his laptop. “Rescuing drunks wasn’t on my to-do list today, but as it’s Billy asking, I’d better go.” He hesitated. “You hold the fort, Sophie.”

  “Well, yes, obviously,” I said to his departing back. Surely he wasn’t thinking of calling Becky in to cover for his absence?

  I was glad to be distracted by the arrival of a tourist wanting advice on books about the Cotswolds. She must have wondered why I pulled out a book on Cumbria by mistake and dropped three maps on the floor in succession. Just as she left with a book of local walks under her arm, Hector returned, parking his Land Rover on the street instead of in its usual place at the side of the shop. Leaving the keys in the ignition, he returned to the shop but hovered in the open doorway just long enough to give me a hasty progress report.

  “Don’t worry, she’s OK, but she’s definitely not fit to drive. Dr Perkins is taking her home.”

  “Dr Perkins? So Billy didn’t call 999?”

  “No, by coincidence, Dr Perkins was just walking past the Manor House as I arrived. Apparently he used to be Mrs Lot’s GP. He said he thought she had accidentally overdosed on cough mixture. He found an empty bottle of codeine linctus in her bag.” Hector brandished a large calico tote bag advertising the Cats Prevention charity. “Dr Perkins said it’s a common addiction, because it’s easy to buy the stuff over the counter in this country. In America and other places, it’s banned, because it contains an opiate.”

  I grinned. “I can imagine getting addicted to cough mixture. It always tastes so delicious, not like a medicine at all.”

  “That’s half the trouble, apparently. People don’t realise they’re hooked till it’s too late.”

  “So what are you doing with her bag?”

  “Dr Perkins left it on the pavement by mistake. Between him, Billy and me, we managed to move her across to the passenger seat, so Dr Perkins could drive her home in her own car. He’ll stay with her till she wakes up to make sure she’s OK and to give her advice on how to break the habit.”

  “That’s kind of him, considering he’s meant to be retired.”

  “Once you’ve spent your whole career caring for people, it must be hard to turn off that habit like a tap. When I retire from the shop, I’m sure I’ll still be recommending books to people to read.”

  He’d never spoken about his long-term future before. The idea of thirty years ahead of him selling books in Hector’s House didn’t seem to daunt him at all. I felt the shop walls start to close in on me.

  “So how will he get back?”

  “He’s going to text me when he’s ready, and I’ll collect him in the Land Rover and bring him home.”

  Whistling along to Carnival of the Animals, which he’d set playing when Billy produced the kitten, Hector returned to the stockroom to pick up where he’d left off, leaving Mrs Lot’s bag on the counter, along with his car keys. I hung up his keys on the hook where he liked to keep them, then, as I turned round, I sent the bag flying with my elbow.

  I seemed to be having a clumsy day. I exclaimed aloud, then knelt to pick up the contents, glad there were no full bottles of cough medicine left in the bag, or there’d have been a sticky mess.

  Having gathered up the inevitable Cats Prevention flyers and will leaflets, a few paw print badges, and a notebook and pen, I stood up and nearly slipped over, skidding on a small plastic zip-lock bag containing some dried green leaves. Catnip, perhaps?

  I’d never seen catnip in action but had heard the effects were comical. Would Blossom be old enough to try it? Or was there a feline equivalent for catnip to the legal age limit for tobacco or alcohol? I wondered whether it might have any effect on people.

  Hector reappeared in search of parcel tape just as I was tipping some of the catnip out into my hand.

  “Sophie, what on earth are you thinking?” He stayed my hand as I was just about to raise the catnip to my nose to sniff it.

  “It’s catnip. I just found it in Mrs Lot’s bag.”

  Hector gave a hollow laugh. “You’re not a habitual user of catnip, then?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Oh, Sophie, don’t you know what that is? Look at the shape of the leaves. Doesn’t that remind you of anything?”

  I considered the leaves, flattening the biggest one in the palm of my hand. This plant wasn’t in my aunt’s garden.

  “Conker trees? The Canadian flag? Maple syrup?”

  “Did your travels with Damian never take you to the cafés of Amsterdam?”

  He reached behind me to the sound system, and within a few seconds, Bob Marley and the Wailers were making the shelves vibrate.

  “Ah!” I said, my eyes widening.

  He reduced the volume to background level. “And for my next question: what was marijuana doing in Mrs Lot’s bag?”

  “Medical use? At her age, surely it must be for medical purposes?”

  Hector smiled. “Very generous of you, Sophie, though ageist. But more importantly, does this mean Kitty is her dealer?”

  24 A Brother Scorned

  Only when I was on my way home after work did I realise that in all the drama over Mrs Lot’s collapse, we still hadn’t pinned down whether Kitty really had ordered the funeral book. I needed a pretext for calling in to see Kitty to find out whether it had been her.

  Paul provided the solution. As I passed my front gate, steeling myself to turn up the path to the Manor House, he came charging out of the front door, slamming it behind him and crossing the porch in a single stride. He scowled as he saw me approach.

  “What are you doing here, busybody?”

  Gone was the wheedling tone he’d used when he thought I might sell him my cottage.

  I smiled sweetly. “Just being neighbourly. I wanted to check Kitty was all right, as there was an unfortunate incident with her visitor earlier today. I was worried in case she was upset.

  “Upset? I should say so. When is she
not upset about something? I heard all about that cat woman being rescued by the doctor. God knows what Kitty did to her.”

  He went to push past me, but I planted my feet apart, hands on hips, to block his way. He’d have had to physically assault me to get to the front gate.

  “Kitty didn’t do anything to her. It was self-inflicted.”

  “What do you know about medical matters? You’re only a waitress.”

  I felt my heartbeat speed up.

  “I’m a trained teacher and just as much a professional as Dr Perkins. Which is more than can be said of a mere builder who wasn’t there.”

  I hadn’t intended to say ‘mere’ but it just slipped out.

  “You cheeky cow. I make a damn sight more money than you do. And I have my own successful business, rather than riding on someone else’s coat-tails. You’re as much of a parasite as my layabout half-sister in there, who hasn’t done a day’s work for years. She can’t even be bothered to go as far as the village shop. Talk about lazy!”

  Although Paul had slammed the front door, I noticed it had rebounded and stood ajar. I was surprised he hadn’t noticed it was broken and fixed it, being a builder. Then the door moved slightly. Kitty must have been behind it, listening. I raised my voice, just in case.

  “She can’t help her agoraphobia. That’s a medical condition. Criticising it would be like saying Dr Perkins is lazy because he wears glasses rather than being bothered to use his eyes properly.”

  “Agoraphobia, my eye. More that my mother won’t let her out on her own for fear of the trouble she’d get into.”

  “It still means she’s not fit to care for herself, never mind my mother.” The door moved to narrow the gap. “The sooner I get this place converted into a proper care home, the better.”

  I could not believe his lack of respect for the feelings for his half-sister, but in his next breath, he revealed a grain of compassion for her.

  “She’d be better off out from under my mother’s feet, anyway. Mother is just her enabler, treating her like a child. I hate to think how much of Mother’s money she drinks away.”

  “Kitty doesn’t drink at all these days. Not alcohol, anyway. I’ve never seen her drunk in my life.”

  I crossed my fingers that he wasn’t going to ask me how many times I had met her. I hoped he’d assume we’d been friends ever since I moved to Wendlebury. Truth be told, I was feeling guilty that I hadn’t hooked up with her before now. Strange that my aunt had never introduced us. Perhaps she feared Kitty might lead me astray. I would probably have felt the same in her place.

  At that point Billy strolled around the side of the house from the back garden, pushing a rusty wheelbarrow. At the sight of Paul, he went straight back to wherever he’d come from. But he wasn’t quick enough to escape unseen.

  “What with that old layabout sponging off my mother as well, it’s little wonder she has no spare money to keep the estate in order. Kitty’s father left her the house, you know, but no money for its maintenance. It’s falling in value by the minute, thanks to their neglect.”

  I wondered whether his childhood home had been humbler and his father less affluent than Kitty’s.

  “At least Billy keeps the garden in order.” To be fair, it was very neat and tidy. “And the vicar told me Billy’s charges are fair and reasonable. He gardens for the vicar too.”

  But Paul didn’t want to talk about Billy.

  “I suppose you’ve got a vested interest in visiting my mother too. What is it, building up business for your precious bookshop? As if she hasn’t already got too many books in the house. You’re as bad as that charity woman, cornering her in her own home, demanding cash donations and dumping stray cats on her. Clear off, and don’t come scrounging off my mother and sister again.”

  So much for the half-sister. She was full family when it suited him.

  “How dare you?” I didn’t mean to defend Mrs Lot, but I was too riled to disentangle the strands of his abuse. “Perhaps while you’re living the high life down in Slate Green, you’ve forgotten what it’s like to be neighbourly, to care about those around you for their own sake, without any thought of personal gain?”

  Paul’s eyes narrowed as he folded his arms across his chest.

  “I think you’re forgetting I was born and raised in Wendlebury Barrow. I am far more the villager than you will ever be. You’ve only lived here five minutes, so don’t go lecturing me about village life.”

  “Being neighbourly isn’t a question of how long you’ve lived somewhere. It’s a matter of human kindness. You don’t need to have Wendlebury Barrow on your birth certificate to pick up its spirit.”

  “Or to pick up its eligible bachelors. I notice it hasn’t taken you five minutes to get stuck into that ponce Munro.” He leaned closer to me, too close for comfort, with a suggestive leer. “Or for him to get stuck into you.”

  I shrank back in disgust, which gave him the chance to push past me and dash for the gate, before striding up the High Street in the direction of The Bluebird.

  25 Good Neighbours

  By now I was in no state to visit Kitty. Rather than provide comfort, I’d be more likely to alarm her. Besides, Billy was there. She didn’t need me. The question of the funeral planning book could wait.

  I turned to go home, bowing my head and letting my hair fall over my face to hide my angry tears. But I couldn’t fool Joshua. As I reached my gate, he was picking ghostly pale narcissi in his front garden. I wondered how much he had heard.

  “Good afternoon, my dear, you look as if you need a cup of tea. I was just about to have one myself. Do come and join me.”

  He opened his gate in welcome.

  I usually try to avoid drinking his tea because his cups are never thoroughly washed, but his kindness was just what I needed. Besides, if he’d lived to be so old by drinking from dirty cups, they couldn’t exactly be poisonous. As my Auntie May used to say, “We all have to eat a peck of dirt before we die”. As a little girl, I’d assumed a peck was just enough dirt to fill a bird’s beak. Now I know it means about nine litres, I don’t worry so much.

  Following Joshua through to his kitchen, the mirror image of mine, I chose a chair padded with a round orange cushion knitted with the pattern of a sunburst, a little touch of love left behind by his late wife. Auntie May was never a knitter.

  He waited for me to begin the conversation as he busied himself filling the kettle and setting out cups and saucers. I knew he wouldn’t pry, but would let me tell him as much or as little as I wished to disclose. Even just sitting with him in silence was comforting, knowing he was feeling my sadness and wanting to make it go away.

  “It was that Paul Brady,” I began. “I was just dropping by to check on Kitty when he made an unexpected attack on me. Not a physical attack—” Joshua looked relieved “—just horrible personal comments on my character and on my place in this village. He was nasty about Hector too.” I spared Joshua the details. “He told me to go away and leave Kitty alone.”

  Joshua fumbled with the tea caddy, spilling tea leaves on the table as his hands shook from caddy to pot.

  “A brother’s natural protectiveness of his little sister?” Joshua’s voice was gentle. I wondered whether he had ever had a younger sister. He would have made a great older brother.

  I sniffed and blew my nose. “He was very rude about Kitty too. I’ve only met him twice, but each time he’s been scathing about her ability to care for their mother.”

  Joshua took the teapot to the kettle.

  “Kitty may not be the ideal carer for her mother, but at least she is there for her, all day, every day.”

  There was no trace of envy in his voice, but he must have wished he had a child to care for him in his old age. Would he rather have Kitty as a carer than his solitary life, pottering about his cottage alone as his faculties slowly failed?

  Now I felt bad for criticising Kitty, and I sought to salve my conscience by speaking up for her.

  “I g
ather she is the only one of Bunny’s ten children to sacrifice her own independence for her mother’s sake, and to give up her career.”

  Joshua’s eyes twinkled as he replaced the lid on the teapot and slipped a knitted tea cosy into place. “I’d hardly call it a career, selling hotdogs from a van. But it was certainly the lifestyle she had chosen, touring music and farming festivals, and it was very sociable indeed. Dear May once drew on Kitty’s comprehensive knowledge of festivals for a newspaper article she was writing. May liked her very much.”

  That did it for me. I would be firmly on Kitty’s side now, whatever else might happen. Only one niggling worry remained.

  “So you don’t think it was Kitty who dumped her mother in that grave?”

  Joshua chuckled. “Dear me, no. She should be the last person to fall under suspicion. If Kitty had designs on her mother’s life, she could have taken a much simpler and less dramatic route at home. At Bunny’s age, no-one would be surprised at a death from natural causes, simply not waking up in her bed one morning. And if she’d been under the doctor lately, there probably wouldn’t even be a post-mortem.”

  He fetched the milk jug from the fridge.

  “I thank my lucky stars that I inherited my parents’ cottage, so I have no need to fear being forced out of the village. My declining years, when they come, will assuredly be spent here.”

  I was touched by the fact that he thought they hadn’t started yet.

  He settled himself on the chair opposite mine. “No, if there is one thing Kitty doesn’t want, it’s to lose her mother. Bunny’s passing, when it comes, will be Kitty’s worst nightmare. Unless Bunny’s made a will to the contrary, the house will no doubt be sold for the proceeds to be shared between her surviving children. In consequence, Kitty will most likely have to leave the village. There are very few cottages small enough for one person in the village, and no council flats or cheap rentals for single people in Wendlebury, as you may have noticed. That’s why there are virtually no eligible young men or women living in the village any longer.”

  As he concentrated on filling our cups from the teapot, I realised for the first time what a rarity I was in Wendlebury. But now, since Christmas, there was also Becky.