Chapter 13
The printer on the desk in the front bedroom hummed as it spat out the missing cat poster Jamie had spent the first half hour of his day typing up.
With no jobs on until the following day, he could get them printed out and put them up around the town.
He set his peppermint tea down – a respectable seven out of ten – and inspected his handiwork.
He’d found a photo of Misty in the living room and had set the image below the bold Missing Cat heading.
Beneath the image he’d written Black cat, answers to ‘Misty’.
Maybe that was badly worded since the cat wouldn’t actually answer.
It seemed pertinent to get her name in somewhere, though.
He’d leave it as it was, since he was probably overthinking it.
The important thing was it had his number, so people could get in touch if they saw her.
He’d also added where and when she’d been seen last.
It’d crossed his mind to add a reward, but he wasn’t sure if that was the done thing. People would act out of the goodness of their hearts, wouldn’t they?
Bending to his laptop, he set it to print another fifty. That should be plenty. Leaving the printer whirring away, he headed downstairs at the sound of the doorbell.
The door began to open when he was halfway down the stairs and Jamie bristled as Cal stepped inside.
“What are you doing?” he growled. “I was just coming to the door.”
“I thought you might be in the shower or something.”
His eyes widened. “If you think I’m in the shower, don’t let yourself in!”
“Sorry. Force of habit. Moira always encouraged us to treat the place like home.”
“While she’s away can you please not let yourself in?”
Cal’s lip curled and he looked as though he might argue. “Yeah, all right. I’ll try to remember.” He wasn’t at all convincing.
“Misty still hasn’t turned up,” Jamie said. “I’m printing out posters. I thought I’d stick them up around the town. That way people can contact me if they spot her.”
“Good idea.”
“You couldn’t help me, could you?”
“Maybe later. First we need to go over and have a word with the Langfords’ neighbour. See what you can find out.”
Jamie stood on the bottom step, and swallowed hard.
Quizzing the neighbour was a crazy idea and there was no way he was actually going to do it.
He was a handyman, not a detective. Even the idea of turning up at her door to tout for business felt intrusive.
If she wanted to hire him, she had his number.
“It’s probably best if we leave the detective work to the police.”
Cal nodded slowly. “Do you think there’s a chance that the rail just gave way?”
“I don’t know.” Jamie’s mind took him back to fixing the rail. He’d put his entire weight on it – given it a good shove. An uneasy feeling swelled in his stomach. “There’s no way,” he said, his gaze locking with Cal’s. “Absolutely no way.”
“Maybe it’s worth asking a few questions then,” Cal said, overly casual. “And it’d make sense for you to check on that neighbour after her traumatic morning yesterday. That wouldn’t be intrusive, just friendly.”
“The rail really couldn’t have just given way,” Jamie mused, his curiosity growing in the way that he was sure Cal had intended. “All right,” he said. “I’ll stop by the neighbour and if an opportunity arises to ask questions, I’ll take it.”
“Great!” Cal beamed. “We can go in my car. Grab your coat.”
Jamie debated arguing, but since Cal was already walking out of the door, he pushed his feet into his trainers, grabbed his coat and followed.
Cal parked a little farther down the Langfords’ road, and Jamie spent the short walk from the car trying to figure out what he would say to Trisha once he’d got past the question of the gardening work. Coming up blank, he hoped something would come to him in the moment.
His attention was on the Langfords’ house when he rang Trisha’s bell. The net curtains in the front window meant he couldn’t see in, but he imagined Edward and Heather inside, trying to figure out what to do with themselves.
The days after someone dies were really shit, he knew that much.
“Hello,” Trisha said, opening the door with a bewildered smile.
“Hi,” Jamie said awkwardly. “I . . . umm . . .” Oh, god what was he doing? “I just wanted to see how you are?” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Not a great day yesterday, was it?”
Inwardly, he groaned at the stupid remark.
“Not brilliant, no,” she said frostily.
“No.” He shifted his weight. “I also wanted to ask if you want to set up a time for me to do the gardening?”
“Ah.” Now it was her turn to look uncomfortable. “About that. I’m afraid I won’t be needing you after all.”
He felt his forehead crease.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I feel I should be straight with you. I went over to see Mr Langford yesterday evening . . . check if he needed anything, you know. Anyway, Heather was there, and she was very upset about the work you’d done in the garden.”
Jamie opened his mouth a couple of times before he found words. “Why was she upset about it?”
“She says you butchered the honeysuckle. It was her mum’s favourite, so she was upset.”
“I didn’t butcher it,” he said defensively. “Mr Langford told me to cut it right back. It’ll grow back anyway.”
“Well, Heather was upset, and she was saying the police had asked a lot of questions about the banister rail which you were supposed to have repaired.”
“I did repair it,” he said, through gritted teeth.
“I’m sorry,” she said again. “But I’m sure you can see why I’ve changed my mind about hiring you.”
He shook his head, struggling to believe what he was hearing. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“You seem to be a good person,” she said. “I hope this isn’t going to be bad for business.”
Jamie glanced along the road, part of him wanting to walk away, and another part reminding him of what Cal and Skye had said about him needing to clear his name. He hadn’t really thought people would think he was at fault, but now . . .
Maybe they were right. Maybe he did need to start asking questions.
“Do you know the Langfords well?” he asked.
Trisha looked taken aback by the question and said nothing.
“I got the impression Marguerite needed round-the-clock care since her operation,” he blundered on. “If they knew she was still struggling, why was she alone yesterday morning?”
Trisha’s features softened and she leaned closer to Jamie. “I wondered the same,” she said in a conspiratorial whisper. “Heather said she was in a rush yesterday morning and didn’t have time to come over as she usually would when her dad is out. She feels awful now, of course.”
“I’ll bet,” Jamie said, nodding.
“She was a funny one – Marguerite.” Trisha glanced at the house next door. “Nice enough if you caught her in a good mood, but she could be cold too. Looked down her nose at people sometimes. You know the type?”
Again, Jamie nodded, happy to have got her talking.
“I don’t like to gossip,” Trisha said, though the glint in her eyes told a different story.
“It’s been a difficult couple of years for them with Marguerite hardly able to walk while she waited for her operation.
And then the operation itself and the recovery.
Then there was all the trouble with their cleaner, as well. ”
“What trouble was that?” Jamie asked, stepping closer.
“Ignore me,” she said with a wave of her hand. “I’ve said too much already.”
“The cleaner was here when I was doing the gardening,” Jamie said, hoping that giving her a little something to add to her supply of gossip would get her talking again.
“When I was leaving I could hear her arguing with Mr Langford from outside. Heather said they thought she’d been stealing from them.
They’d let her go, but she claimed they still owed her money. ”
“That’s exactly it,” Trisha said excitedly.
“A few weeks ago I came home and Marguerite must have seen me arrive – she was often watching out of the window. She came to the front door and told me Petra had stolen her jewellery. I think she was telling anyone who’d listen.
No wonder Petra was annoyed.” She paused to draw breath.
“She works for a couple of guest houses and you can bet they’ll let her go if they hear about the stealing.
I don’t think there was any proof that she’d stolen anything, but this stuff sticks.
The Langfords didn’t even go to the police.
If she didn’t steal anything, that’s awful, isn’t it?
Her potentially losing work because of rumours and gossip. ”
“Yeah, that would be awful,” Jamie said, but Trisha didn’t seem to see the parallel between that and her deciding not to hire him.
She craned her neck to look at the Langfords’ house. “I wonder what he’ll do now. It’s a big house for one person. I suppose you could say the same about me, but this place isn’t quite as big as theirs.”
Jamie made a noise of acknowledgement.
“I suppose it’ll be quieter now. Less arguing. She could be fiery, Marguerite. Not that I’m one to talk.”
“There was a lot of arguing then?” Jamie asked.
“Not that much, but every now and again. Probably Marguerite being frustrated about being housebound. And she was in pain – everyone gets snappy when they’re in pain.
” She leaned a little closer. “Monday night there was a big row while the physiotherapist was there. I had a look out from around the curtain and saw the physio leaving. Funny time for a session – in the evening.”
“And you definitely heard an argument?”
She nodded. “But it’s not that unusual. I’ve heard Marguerite screaming at the physio to get out and stop torturing her a few times. I don’t think I heard Marguerite’s voice on Monday, though.”
“So who was arguing? Mr Langford?”
“No. He was out. Or his car wasn’t there anyway. Heather was there.”
Jamie rubbed at his eye and tried to piece everything together. The physio had been at the house earlier as well. Why would she go back in the evening?
With the feeling he’d got as much information out of Trisha as he was likely to, he said goodbye.
The silver Ford Mondeo pulled up just as he was walking back down the path.
“What are you doing here?” It was DC MacLeod, the detective from yesterday, stepping out of the car.
“Just visiting Trisha.” He pointed with his thumb, but a quick glance told him Trisha was nowhere to be seen. Unless you counted the twitch of the curtains in the front room.
“Visiting?” the detective asked, pushing her blazer aside to set her hands on her hips.
“When I spoke to her yesterday she thought she might need me to do some work on her garden. I was asking her about it.”
“She thought she might need some work doing?”
“Yeah.” He lifted an eyebrow. “You keep repeating me.”
“Because you’re not making yourself very clear.”
That was fair. “She asked me if I had time to do some gardening, so I was just checking about that.”
“But you’re not actually here to do any gardening?”
He grimaced. “Turns out she doesn’t need me to do anything after all.”
“Her garden magically sort itself out, did it?”
“I don’t know.” He took a couple of steps away.
“You didn’t visit the Langfords too, did you?”
“No.”
“Good. Stay away from them. In fact, you shouldn’t be around here at all.”
“I didn’t know that,” he said. “Yesterday you said don’t go far.”
“Are you trying to be witty, or something?”
“Nope.” He felt a bead of sweat trickle down his spine. “I’m going to go now, if that’s okay.”
“I think it’s probably for the best.”
He didn’t look back but he could swear she had her eyes on him as he hurried down the road.
“That was horrible,” he said, slipping into the passenger seat of Cal’s car. Turning in his seat, he looked out of the back window, but there was no sign of the police officer.
“What was?”
The female voice confused him until Cal nodded at the phone in the centre console with Skye’s name illuminated on the screen.
“Actually, don’t say anything now,” she said. “I’m taking a coffee break. Meet me at the café and you can tell me in person.”
“See you in five,” Cal said.
“Don’t discuss any of it until you get here,” she replied before hanging up.
“Which café does she work at?” Jamie asked, pulling his seat belt around him.
“The High Tide Café. It’s right on the high street. Have you been?”
“No. There’s another café I’ve been to a few times. It’s really nice.”
“Not as nice as High Tide,” he said. “Once you’ve been there, you won’t want to go anywhere else.”
Emma looked down the road in the direction Jamie walked. Straight towards Cal’s car. Why was she even surprised? Of course Cal had put him up to it.
Tempted as she was to go and ask what he was playing at, time wasn’t on her side.
Halfway to the Langfords’ front door, she stopped at the sound of her phone ringing. Sergeant Brodie. He had impeccable timing, she’d give him that.
Ignoring him probably wasn’t the best idea, appealing as it was.
“On your way back in?” he asked.
“Almost,” she said, injecting confidence into her voice that she didn’t feel. “I spoke to the couple and got the statement about their stolen credit card, but since I was in the area I thought I’d follow up on the Langford case.”
“The case that I told you to hold off on?”
“I had a few thoughts on it, and I wanted to speak to the family again, and check in with the neighbour too.”
“I told you it’s not a priority yet.”
“Yeah, but you weren’t at the scene.”
“I heard from the officers at the scene and I read the reports. I’m quite capable of making a judgement based on that. Nothing about this looks suspicious.”
“Banister rails don’t just give way.”
“This one was clearly faulty. The report says it had been wobbly for a while.”
“And fixed the previous day.”
“Obviously not. The screws must have been worn away or the wood rotten.”
“I’m not convinced on that.”
“That’s why you called the forensic team in.” He spoke slowly, as though explaining to a child. “If they confirm it looks dodgy, we’ll investigate further; until then we barely have enough time for the cases we’re already working on.”
“I want to ask questions while it’s fresh in people’s minds,” she said, unwilling to back down.
He sighed heavily. “Sometimes you just need to look for the most obvious conclusion. In this case it’s that Mrs Langford’s death was accidental. If someone wanted her dead, they chose an odd way of going about it.”
“I’m right outside the door,” she said pleadingly. “I’ll check in and see how the family are doing. Then I’ll head back to the station.”
“Fine, but don’t hang about.”
“I won’t,” she said before she hung up.
She had every intention of calling in on the neighbour too, but that hardly seemed worth mentioning.