Authors: Rebecca Tope
‘Thank you,’ she said breathily. ‘Poor Aunt Hilda! She was so full of life. Such a sharp mind.
She had quite a theory about that body in your field. But I told her not to be silly. For two pins, she’d have gone to the police about it, months ago, she says. But then she got poorly, and forgot about it.’
This time, Drew
was
listening. But he refrained from appearing too eager. ‘That’s interesting,’ he said lightly. ‘I’ll look forward to hearing all about it when I see you.’
Sunday passed quietly, with no further contact from Mrs Kennett. Drew left her in peace, assuming she’d sorted out her transport difficulties and knew what she needed to do the following morning. The phone remained silent and a cloudless sky ensured it was the warmest day of the year so far. Drew decided to give their small garden some attention.
Originally, the garden had been part of the field attached to the cottage, and was still separated from it only by a rather unprepossessing chain link fence. The new office, created out of a rickety lean-to, extended beyond the fenced-off area, so there was direct access from the office’s back door to the burial ground – essential for carrying coffins to a grave. The garden, however, presented an incongruous image, particularly as it had been neglected for ten years or more. Shrubs had burgeoned thickly in one corner – rhododendrons, mainly, but there were also nettles and thistles in
profusion. The whole area, measuring something like forty feet by a hundred, needed a complete overhaul, ideally employing a rotovator. Today, though, Drew contented himself with digging out nettles, roots and all, cutting back a straggly and vicious rambling rose, and piling his trophies onto a big bonfire. He admitted to himself that he wasn’t working primarily for the sake of the garden – but in order to create some clear thinking time.
He was not inclined to take seriously Mrs Kennett’s Aunt Hilda’s fanciful theories about the dead woman, but the fact that she had a theory at all was intriguing. It suggested that there might be other people out there, mulling over what they’d read, exchanging ideas, piecing together oddments of information, until they slowly arrived at a complete picture.
The Slocombes lived in an area where people still had family and neighbourly connections, meeting at Women’s Institutes, in the supermarket, at work and in the pub. They talked over the weekly news, passed on gossip, expressed their entrenched opinions. Murder and a new way of burying the dead would obviously feature prominently in these conversations. It was no real surprise that Aunt Hilda thought she knew who the dead woman might have been. As Stuart had told them, her friend lived next door to the
Slaters. She would doubtless have seen Gwen the previous summer and probably taken note of her height and general appearance. She might even have admired the Egyptian necklace. None of that was in the least unlikely, but it was just one possible scenario. Probably a thousand other individuals nursed their own private theories on the matter too, every bit as plausible.
Drew followed the chain of reasoning again, step by step. Genevieve’s next-door neighbour was close friends with Caroline Kennett’s aunt. Four people. And didn’t they say that everyone in the world was connected by just such a chain? Wasn’t it only six or seven links, before we were all somehow connected – all eight billion of us? If that was true – and surely it couldn’t be – then how likely it became that four women, all aged between forty and seventy, living within twenty miles of each other, should be connected. The wild card, the Joker, was the added coincidence of Caroline Kennett being on that particular train at that particular time, and having it stop at that precise point on the line. Now
that
, he decided, was weird. But even that could be explained away. He knew trains did often stop just there, for reasons he supposed involved a signal or a junction somewhere down the line. In fact, North Staverton had once had its own tiny halt, long ago abandoned as an official stop, but perhaps
still in possession of signals and a need for a cautious approach.
It was at least an intriguing intellectual exercise. It highlighted the realities of human relations, while at the same time warning him against jumping to conclusions.
Maggs confessed to a very similar line of reasoning when they compared notes on Monday morning. ‘I just know there’s some sort of link with this Sarah woman,’ she insisted.
‘Maybe Mrs Kennett will settle it for us,’ he said optimistically.
‘I doubt it,’ she said. ‘If she knew enough to do that, she’d have gone to the police.’
‘She hasn’t had time. Her auntie only told her on Friday, and then promptly died. Talk about deathbed confessions!’
They waited impatiently for Caroline Kennett to put in an appearance, unable to make any firm preparations for the funeral until they knew what she wanted. He spent a few minutes playing with Stephanie, fitting plastic cups inside each other, hiding things under them, praising her when she quickly picked up the nature of the game. Then he handed her a Marmite sandwich and left her to continue on her own. So long as she thought he was watching with all due approval, she was content to cooperate.
The enforced idleness gave Drew all the opportunity he needed to think afresh about Genevieve. He even permitted himself to talk about her. ‘The baby’s five days old now,’ he remarked, into a long silence. ‘I wonder how she’s coping.’
‘Do you want me to go and find out?’ Maggs’s reply came so eagerly that he stared at her in surprise.
‘You sound keen. I thought you didn’t like babies,’ he said, before the penny dropped. Her darkened cheeks gave her away, along with the averted gaze. ‘It’s that Stuart, isn’t it,’ he teased. ‘You want to see him again.’
‘What if I do?’ she flared. ‘He’s a nice guy, and he knows things that might help us get this business settled.’
‘He seemed pleased to see you too,’ Drew said kindly. ‘As far as I could tell.’ His own illicit and shameful yearnings seemed sordid compared to the fresh young attraction between Maggs and Stuart. He felt a sort of benign envy.
‘So, can I?’ she persisted. ‘Go and see them again?’
‘Not now,’ Drew decided. ‘Give it a few more days.’
But events superseded Maggs’s intentions. At twelve o’clock, they heard a motorbike approaching, and exchanged meaningful glances.
Maggs rushed outside, making no pretence at playing hard to get. ‘It’s him!’ she called back to Drew. He’d never heard her so excited.
Stuart came shyly into the office, clutching his crash helmet to his chest. He eyed Stephanie with a momentary surprise, but then shrugged and laughed. ‘Kids everywhere,’ he muttered. ‘Can’t get away from them.’
‘What can we do for you?’ Drew asked. ‘We were just talking about you.’
Maggs shot him a fierce warning glance, and he said no more, remembering the terror of being teased in front of a new friend or potential lover. He didn’t think she’d ever had a proper boyfriend, and her sudden display of vulnerability touched him. He was just wondering whether he should make an excuse to give them some time together, when he heard a car drawing up outside.
‘Looks like Mrs K,’ he said. ‘You two might have to leave me alone with her for a bit.’
‘You can show me my gran’s grave,’ said Stuart. ‘If that’s what it is. That’s really what I came for.’
Drew orchestrated the next few minutes with some skill. Maggs and Stuart walked up the field, heads close together, while Drew settled Caroline Kennett into the larger of the two office chairs and took her through the details of the funeral offering her a variety of choices at every
juncture. She was obviously out of her depth, and he suggested she bring her son in from the car. It seemed odd that he should sit outside on his own.
‘No, no,’ she shook her head. ‘He says he can’t face it. He’s always been rather sensitive about this sort of thing. He didn’t want to bring me, to be honest, but there wasn’t any option.’
‘Did he know Mrs Jones well?’
‘Hardly at all. I could never persuade him to go and see her. He found her rather frightening when he was little, and never really got over it, I think. She was a bit eccentric,’ she added.
Which is why she wanted to be buried here
, thought Drew ruefully. It was going to be a long time before burial grounds like his were the norm.
‘Well,’ he pressed on, ‘we’ve decided on a shaped cardboard coffin, with me and my assistant helped by your husband and your son. How many people do you think will attend? Will they mind that there’s no church service first?’
Caroline sighed. ‘There are five or six friends who might come along. But the distance makes it awkward for them. Uncle George should be here, of course. He should be doing this now, instead of me, but he’s just not up to it.’
‘No, you said. Poor man,’ said Drew with feeling. He paused, contemplating the cruelties of old age and death for a moment.
‘To be honest, I think George would have chosen a normal funeral,’ she confided. ‘But once Aunt Hilda had heard about this place, she couldn’t think of anything else. It’s my own fault, I suppose. I should never have opened my mouth about coming here.’
Drew raised his eyebrows encouragingly; he had a feeling a few more jigsaw pieces were about to be forthcoming.
Mrs Kennett obligingly continued. ‘You see, Hilda’s best friend, Vera Mannion, lives next door to some people called Slater. And Mrs Slater had a mother – Gwen something. Last summer, this Gwen was staying with her daughter for a few days, and she got chatting with Vera – well, everybody does, she’s a terrible busybody. Gwen told her she’d been to Egypt recently. She – Vera, that is – made some comment about the woman’s lovely thick hair. Really dark grey it was. Very eye-catching, she said, or something of the sort. “Oh dear,” said the woman, “I hope not. I wanted to remain unobtrusive for a while.” Well, Vera laughed about that and said she was far too tall and striking for that. And anyway, why should she want such a thing? Then this Gwen apparently got very upset and said there might be people looking for her, and she was staying out of sight as long as she could, because there might be trouble if they found her.’
Drew kept his reaction cool. ‘How odd,’ he murmured. ‘I wonder what she meant by that?’
‘Well, Vera asked her, of course – but she wouldn’t say any more. She left a day or two afterwards, and was never seen again.’ She paused for dramatic effect. ‘But, you can see how she might have jumped to conclusions, reading what was in the paper. A tall elderly woman with some sort of Egyptian necklace, buried not ten miles away from Gwen’s daughter’s house. Vera and Aunt Hilda between them decided the body in your field here must definitely be the same woman – this Gwen.’
‘So why didn’t one of them go to the police?’
‘Well, Vera didn’t like to. Neither did Aunt Hilda, for that matter. For one thing, she was worried about the effect on Uncle George if she started getting involved with the police. And Vera would never have the nerve to go on her own. She thought it would make for bad feeling with the Slaters – which it would, of course. But she kept thinking she should, and last week, she and my aunt had almost decided to do it. There was more, you see.’ She paused again for dramatic effect. ‘She heard Willard Slater telling his mother-in-law she ought to be dead. Something about her deserving to be punished for what she’d done, she was such a callous bitch.’ She whispered the last word. ‘That’s what he called her. And
some other things that Aunt Hilda wouldn’t tell me. So, of course, they felt awful about keeping it to themselves – but they just never managed to get up the courage to tell the police. I mean, you can understand it, can’t you? They knew the police would tell the Slaters where they’d got their information—’
‘I don’t think they would,’ Drew argued mildly. ‘But I can see your point.’
‘I don’t know Mr Slater at all. It could all be a silly mistake, from start to finish. And I only made it worse when I told Auntie about what I’d seen from the train. I only hope it wasn’t the worry of it helped kill her. I never should have told her what I saw – that really set her off and no mistake. But it isn’t too late. As soon as this funeral is over and done with, I’m going to tell the police myself.’ She clamped her lips together determinedly.
Drew closed his eyes in shock and fear.
So it’s right back to Square One
he thought.
Maggs stood back as Stuart knelt unselfconsciously beside the new grave. ‘Funny things, families,’ she murmured after a while, sensing that he’d had enough silence, but not sure how to break it.
‘Yeah,’ he nodded. ‘I never knew her well, but now she’s dead, I feel as if a big hole’s been cut in my life. I
wanted
to know her – to talk about
travelling and stuff. There’s something about Egypt in particular – it must be in the blood. Willard’s crazy about the place, though he hasn’t been for twenty years. He’s got loads of books about it all over the place. And the only really good talk I ever had with Nathan was about the Pyramids. Sarah’d got him interested – she was always on about mummies and those old gods they had. Even named her dog after some Pharoah.’
Maggs stood completely still, a hand across her mouth
He frowned at her. ‘What’s the matter with you?’
‘Nothing.’ She was torn between the pleasure of being with him and the urgent need to run back to the office and tell Drew she’d been right abouty Sarah. She
had
to be right. The decision was made when she remembered that he still had the Kennett woman with him.
‘Why don’t we go for a walk if you’ve finished here?’ she suggested. ‘There’s a nice bit of woodland down the lane.’
‘I’m finished,’ he said.
Half an hour later, they returned along the winding lane, in time to see Drew and Mrs Kennett standing beside her car together. They shook hands, and she got in beside the patiently waiting Jason.
‘Drew looks a bit agitated,’ Maggs observed. ‘Wonder what’s she’s asked him to do?’
Without noticing the pair, Drew went back into the office, and Maggs hurried to catch up with him. Stuart trailed behind her. They all met at the door, Drew with Stephanie on his arm.