I transferred my coffee into a thermal travel mug, pulled on my coat and shouted a goodbye up the stairs to Pumpkin. I was nothing if not entirely under her non-opposable thumb.

  The weather had cleared overnight, and although it was still cold, there were signs of blue trying to break through the cloud. The road that wound its way through the estate had plenty of cars on it, most likely locals making the most of the improvement in the weather and wanting to get out for some fresh air after such a wet and grey week. The Stables Café would be busy, but I knew the team could cope and decided not to worry about work. They had my phone number if they needed me.

  I took the turning onto the gravel track that led to Pheasant Cottage and swerved my way around pot holes, making a mental note to remind the maintenance team that the road needed a bit of work for the sake of future cottage guests and the suspension on their cars. Up ahead, the cottage looked like something that belonged on the front of a box of shortbread. There were a number of cars parked outside, including one that I recognised as Joyce’s. It confused me momentarily, until I realised that she must have accompanied Harold as he said goodbye to his son and new daughter-in-law. I guessed he would be returning to Australia before they got back from their honeymoon, but I still didn’t know if he’d be returning with a brightly dressed woman on his arm. I felt my heart sink slightly as I once again considered life here without Joyce to brighten my day, literally and metaphorically.

  The door to the cottage was ajar so I pushed it open with my shoulder, my hands gripping the sides of the basket of goodies.

  ‘Hellooo!’ I called out towards the sounds of chatter that came from the sitting room. ‘I come bearing gifts.’

  The small room felt packed with so many people in it. Amelia and Patrick were standing in front of the fireplace, laughing at something Harold had said.

  ‘The Duchess asked me to bring this to you. She hopes that you have some fond memories of your time here and that you’ll return soon.’

  ‘That’s so nice of her,’ said Amelia as Patrick took the loaded basked from me. Everyone crowded in as they went through the contents.

  ‘I assume you’ve heard the news?’ Harold asked. ‘It’s such a relief to think that it’s all over now. But Derek, how could he? He wasn’t exactly family, but still. How’s your mother?’ he asked Amelia.

  She let out a quiet sigh. ‘Still in shock, I think, doesn’t believe he did it. We offered to delay the honeymoon and stay here with her, but she refused. I think she’s convinced that it’s all a big mistake and will blow over in a couple of days. I hope she’s right, but I’m not so sure.’

  ‘Did you know Derek well?’ I asked.

  ‘No, I only met him a couple of times before he married Mum, and I’ve been so busy with the business since then, I’ve only been home a handful of times so I haven’t got to know him.’

  ‘You’ll be glad to get back to normal, I imagine?’ Suzanne asked me. She was perched on the arm of the sofa, next to Patrick. I smiled.

  ‘There’s no such thing as normal here.’

  Joyce laughed at my comment. ‘You’re right there, girl, and we wouldn’t have it any other way. We’re a colourful crowd and life here is marvellously unpredictable.’ I shot a glance at Harold. He looked a little concerned as she described life here in such positive terms.

  There was a knock at the door and a male voice shouted hello down the corridor. Suzanne ran out to see who it was and everyone started to gather their coats and bags.

  ‘It was the dry cleaners,’ Suzanne declared to Amelia as she came back into the room. ‘I sent Patrick’s wedding outfit off to be cleaned along with mine, one less thing for you both to think about after the honeymoon.’

  Patrick reached for the coat hanger, the transparent bag showing his black suit and pressed white shirt. Suzanne put hers over her shoulder and led the way out of the room. I followed her outside. There was something familiar about the neatly pressed outfit she carried. I had of course seen her in it, looking incredibly stylish – sort of Greta Garbo, or Marlene Dietrich without the top hat. If I’d worn the same outfit, I would have resembled a dumpy waitress without an ounce of grace.

  I watched as the various family members said their goodbyes. There were hugs and kisses, wishes for a wonderful honeymoon and promises to send lots of photos. I felt a little awkward; I didn’t really belong there as the family said goodbye after such an emotional week, but I’d been unable to find an appropriate moment to make my escape.

  But there was something else that left me feeling uncomfortable. While everyone else was clearly relieved that Nathan’s killer had been identified, I felt no such relief. Something was niggling; something I’d seen recently, but I couldn’t think what it was. It was as though I had forgotten someone’s name and it was on the tip of my tongue.

  I thought of something Joe had said to me. He’d asked me a question. Stepping away from the group, I stood next to my car and phoned Joe, willing him to pick up.

  ‘Sophie, I was just thinking of you. I need a coffee and that always makes you come to mind.’ I could hear the smile in his voice. He was probably still enjoying the feeling of having caught Nathan’s killer, and I hated the thought of being the one to burst his bubble.

  ‘Yesterday you asked me the hair colour of the female waiting staff for the wedding. Why was that?’

  As I listened, I watched Patrick load bags into the boot of the newlyweds’ car. There followed another round of hugs, then everyone waved them off and started to get in their own cars. Joyce waved at me, mimed making a phone call and I gave her a thumbs up. We’d chat later.

  Suzanne got into her car after laying her dry cleaning out on the back seat. When Joe had finished talking, I took a deep breath and told him that I thought the police had arrested the wrong person. Derek hadn’t killed Nathan, but I was sure I knew who had.

  Chapter 23

  ‘Joe’s furious!’ Mark was the first to arrive and walked into the house looking down the hallway, checking for Pumpkin. They didn’t get on. ‘Not at you; at himself, the rest of his team. Mind you, I doubt DS Harnby is going to become your best friend anytime soon.’

  There was a loud bang as he placed a shopping bag on the counter. It contained multiple bottles of wine, a selection of cheese and two enormous baguettes. I’d invited everyone round to mine for the evening, with instructions to ‘bring whatever you’ve got in your fridge’. I knew that they’d do no such thing and we’d end up with a massive amount of delicious food, made or bought expressly for the evening; I already had a butternut squash soup bubbling away on the stove and an apple pie in the oven.

  Mark reached for wine glasses, and then yelped, ‘Where the hell did you come from?’ He was talking to Pumpkin who had head-butted his leg with a force that made me question whether or not there wasn’t just a little bit of goat in her DNA. She had a wicked look in her eye, and after staring at Mark long enough to unnerve him, she sauntered off towards her food bowl.

  ‘I can’t imagine I made his day,’ I replied. ‘I had to be the one to tell him that Derek didn’t kill Nathan.’

  Mark slowly turned his head towards me, and then tilted it. I half expected him to spin his head all the way round; he was already doing a fine impression of an owl.

  ‘But Derek had every opportunity.’

  ‘He did, but his anger hadn’t been festering long enough to make him want to actually kill Nathan. I’ll fill you in when the others are here; that way I only have to explain once.’

  Mark had included a bottle of sparkling rosé in his bag and he popped the cork.

  ‘This is for Joyce, but I reckon we can make a start on it.’ The bubbles looked refreshing and I mentally willed him to hurry up. ‘I was at work today,’ he continued. ‘A private tour for a couple’s twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. Lovely people – hopefully we’ll still be so happy after twenty-five years of marriage.’ I laughed, but it came out as a snort. ‘Anyway, I took them to the café afterwards and Chelsea was working. Now, I don’t say this lightly, but she delivered the most incredible service. She was gracious, switched on, helpful, funny. She was a different person. Her hair was tied back and I swear her uniform actually appeared to fit her. Have you hired her more engaging identical twin?’

  That really did make me smile, and I felt a warmth of pride flow through me.

  ‘No, I didn’t hire her twin. I actually got my act together and behaved like a decent manager. I talked to her and I listened. Remember I told you I’d seen her out with an older man in a wheelchair?’ Mark nodded. ‘Well, she was becoming so unreliable, there was a risk I would have to discipline her, but when I saw the two of them together, I realised how little I knew about her. So, I sat her down and insisted she come clean. Her mother died years ago, before Chelsea became a teenager, so it’s just been her and her dad. A couple of years back, he was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, and ever since she’s been his sole carer. She wasn’t a dizzy blonde, or bad at her job; she was struggling to cope. That’s why she was always running late – she had to get him ready before she left for work. She was always on her phone because she was worried about him and sorting out the usual household issues like dishwasher repairmen, or paying bills. Often she just didn’t have the time to wash her uniform before work.

  ‘So, we made a few changes. She starts later in the morning, we’ve swapped her days off so they work better for her, and I’ve promised we can be flexible about that so she can take her dad to his doctor’s appointments. She also knows that she can talk to me if things get too much, or we need to make more changes. It’s only been a couple of days, but she already seems so much happier and more relaxed, which in turn means she can focus properly on her job.’

  ‘Well it’s working, she’s like a different person. Tina isn’t going to recognise her when she comes back off holiday.’

  ‘True. I’m also going to spend some time with Tina, make sure there isn’t anyone else falling through the cracks. I have a fantastic team, but I don’t think I’ve been the best boss.’

  ‘Rubbish.’ Mark squeezed my arm affectionately. ‘Here.’ He passed me a glass. ‘To Chelsea.’

  I raised my glass and savoured the bubbles on my tongue. Our moment of calm was shattered by a loud banging on the door and shouts of ‘Trick or treat’. Mark rolled his eyes and put his glass down.

  ‘I’ll let the children in.’ I heard him open the door and welcome Joyce and Craig. ‘You muppets. You’re a few days early for one thing. Your costumes are great, though, you look terrifying. OW! Muuuuuum!’ he shouted down the hallway. ‘Joyce punched me.’

  ‘Good,’ I shouted back. ‘Now get in here and pour the poor woman a drink.’

  A grinning Joyce entered the kitchen. She wore a fluffy pink sweater with a pair of extremely tight cream jeans; so tight I could see how skimpy her knickers were. Her pink stilettos and bright pink nail polish finished off the outfit. Her hair looked a little higher than usual and she had opted to wear a pair of black-rimmed Harry Potter style spectacles; she looked as if she managed the children’s section in a library. By her usual standards, it was a relatively low-key ensemble.

  As I passed her a glass, I took a closer look. I was sure her makeup was hiding evidence of tears. She winked at me and raised her glass, but didn’t say anything. I wasn’t used to sensing sadness around Joyce, but this evening it was clearly there.

  Everyone bustled around the kitchen, laying out their food, putting drinks in the fridge and paying varying degrees of attention to Pumpkin, who quickly tired of all the fuss and sauntered off to the bedroom. We then loaded up our plates and made ourselves at home in the sitting room. I’d made a fire and – miraculously, as it was something I’d never fully mastered – it was now crackling away happily and would have made the perfect backdrop for a Christmas card.

  ‘Christ, Sophie, I need to take you shopping.’ Joyce was standing in the middle of the room, inspecting my decor. ‘You’ve been here well over a year, but this looks like a doctor’s waiting room. There are more colours on the palette than white, off white and sort of white, you know.’ She sank into the armchair closest to the fire and almost vanished. Mark grabbed her wine glass from her before she dropped it. Somehow managing to keep her plate of food straight, she used her now empty hand to pull herself into a more upright position. ‘Does this chair even know what a spring is? That’s it, you and I are going furniture shopping, and we’ll get you some pictures while we’re at it. You need some cheerful colours, some animal print cushions. You need to bring this place to life.’

  ‘Errr, I quite like minimal,’ I offered nervously.

  ‘Minimal is another word for lazy. Matching colours and experimenting with shapes and fabrics takes time and effort, but it’s something I’ve perfected over the years. Think of it as my early Christmas present for you – I will be your interior decorator.’

  She shovelled an enormous piece of cheese into her mouth on a chunk of bread. The discussion, it seemed, was over. Mark looked at me, eyes wide open, mouth clamped shut. I could see he was trying not to laugh out loud. Craig on the other hand mimed the sign of the cross and looked upwards. That was all we needed and the three of us burst into laughter, hiccupping wine and grabbing our napkins just to be on the safe side.

  ‘Ungrateful,’ was Joyce’s simple response.

  There was another knock at the door and Craig got up. I heard Joe’s voice and took a deep breath. I hadn’t seen him since I’d called him the day before to tell him I wasn’t convinced the police had arrested the right person for Nathan’s murder, and I wasn’t sure what to expect.

  He creaked as he walked in; he was dressed head to toe in motorcycle leathers, and closely followed by his brother Bill. Joe put his helmet on the floor, peeled off his jacket and sat down next to Mark on the sofa. Bill gave me a kiss on the cheek, winked and sat on the floor in front of his husband. He had the bulk of his rugby playing past, but clearly kept fit and got down on the floor with the ease of a child. Craig handed the two men a beer that he had fetched from the fridge. Joe was about to say something, but Craig cut him off.

  ‘It’s alcohol-free, don’t worry.’

  Joe looked at me, then took a swig of beer.

  ‘Part of me wants to be mad as hell at you. You’re forever ignoring my instructions to stay out of police business. But, thanks to you, we didn’t arrest an innocent man for murder.’ He took another drink and the rest of us sat in silence and waited. ‘Thank you, Sherlock.’ The small group erupted into cheers and more toasts, and I breathed an enormous sigh of relief.

  Joyce was the first to speak. ‘What gave it away, Sophie? I was with you up at the cottage and I don’t remember anyone saying anything in particular.’

  ‘It wasn’t anything anyone said. Not at that point, anyway. It was what got delivered. Patrick and Suzanne’s outfits were dropped off by the dry cleaners, and in the bag they both just looked like waiters’ outfits. Joe had asked me the hair colour of the servers I’d provided for the wedding meal. If Joe was asking, then he was clearly looking for one particular hair colour. And none of the servers that night were brunettes. I realised that if she took off her suit jacket, Suzanne – a brunette – could have been mistaken for a server if she’d left the party and gone out towards the kitchens. No one would have looked twice at her.’

  ‘Which gave her opportunity,’ Mark said, quite rightly, ‘but what was her motive?’

  I looked over at Joe. He took another swig of beer, and then waved his bottle at me, indicating that I should go on.

  ‘Harold told us that Suzanne and Patrick had been friends for years. They’d been a couple for a brief while, but split up and remained close. So close that Patrick made her his “best woman” for the wedding. Every time I spoke to her about Patrick, she was extremely protective of him. She might well have become friends with Amelia, but I guess that was only so she was able to keep Patrick close – something is better than nothing, kind of thing. So I was convinced she still had feelings for him.

  ‘The other day, I talked to Kristian, who said that the fight that he and Nathan had had all those years ago actually started because Suzanne was having a row with Nathan. It was nothing to do with Amelia. Suzanne was the reason things got heated. She’s the one who had a history of anger towards Nathan. Not Patrick or Amelia, or Kristian, not really.

  ‘When Amelia decided to ask Nathan to do the wedding photos out of spite, he could have been any ex-boyfriend. The fact that it was Nathan was neither here nor there to her, or Patrick. He was angry not because of any particular history he had with Nathan, but because Amelia had surprised him in a rather unkind way. Joe, you’ve got Suzanne in custody. Has she talked about what happened on the wedding day?’

  ‘Absolutely. Once I told her that we had her shoes and were certain that there was blood on them, she started to confess.’

  ‘And is there blood on the shoes?’ Craig asked.

  ‘Almost definitely. She’d made getting her outfit dry-cleaned a priority. I don’t think there was much on there – maybe some blood hidden on the black fabric of the trousers – otherwise she wouldn’t have hung around for so long after the wedding. She’d have wanted to get cleaned up. But she didn’t give much thought to her shoes. Any blood on them wasn’t obvious, and she was probably going to ditch them as soon as she was heading home, leave the evidence miles away from Charleton.

 

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