Viridian Tears (27 page)

“A couple of hundred will make me forget where the bodies are. It’d be a start, anyway.”

“Where am I going to get a couple of hundred at snort notice?”

“Petty cash. It’s your business, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but it’s not that easy. The books have to balance. I can’t just ‘lose’ two hundred quid and call it petty cash, can I?”

I suppose not. All right. I’ll give you until Friday night. Pretend you spent it on a new dress or something.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Mrs. Maguire, Mr. Fulton.” DI White ambled over. “Come to watch the show?”

“Something of the sort. I like to see where my taxes are going.” Eden stretched, using the movement to give herself another yard between her and Malcolm. “Have you found anything useful?”

“Nothing so far. It’s a necessary task, I’m afraid. I’m only sorry we have to destroy your compost heaps in the process.”

“Don’t you worry about that. All the activity does them a world of good. Save me turning them by hand and brings all the worms to the top. It’s a bit nippy for them, though.”

“We’re lucky the killer didn’t bury the body.” White swiveled to stare at the activity, then back again. “Notorious places for dumping a body, compost heaps. It’s the heat they generate, you see. On the one hand it hides the body from thermal cameras and on the other it speeds up the decomposition.”

“I should offer it as a service to customers.” Eden reached to touch the inspector’s arm. “Cryomation is called the composting solution but that really is the green way.”

“Not that I’d want to put the soil on my vegetable patch afterward.” White made a face and shuddered. “It’d put me right off my tea.”

“Only if you knew, surely? Composted human remains are quite safe. It wouldn’t make you a cannibal or anything.” She led him a few paces further away. “Did you manage to talk to the crime unit boys about my digger?”

“Er…no. Not yet, I’m afraid. It’s only been half an hour and I’ve been a bit busy with the body in your cemetery.”

“I only ask because we’ve another burial the day after tomorrow.” She pointed back to Malcolm. “That poor old sod will have to start digging it if I’m not getting the back hoe.”

White regarded Malcolm thoughtfully. “We can’t have that, can we? He certainly doesn’t look happy. I’ll get onto it as soon as we finish up here.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Tell you what. If they’re not ready to release it by tomorrow I’ll give them a special assignment.”

“What sort of special assignment?”

“They’ll be digging a grave for you.”

Eden felt the blood drain from her face. “For me?”

“Under your instruction. I didn’t mean they’d be digging your grave. Good heavens, Mrs. Maguire. You’ve gone quite pale.”

“I’m fine, honestly.” Eden waved away his ministrations. “I skipped breakfast, that’s all.”

“Ah. Never a wise move.” White patted his stomach. “I’ve got the opposite problem. Beryl makes me a cooked breakfast every morning but I’m famished by about ten so I stop somewhere for a sausage, egg and bacon butty. Now the doc says my cholesterol is through the roof and I have to lay off the sausage and eggs and cut down on salt.”

“It’ll do you good, though. Make you live longer.”

“Which is fine as long as you have your health.”

“Sir?” One of the white-suited technicians held something up. “We’ve got a pair of keys.”

“Excuse me.” White gave her a nod and stalked across to the technician. They began conferring and the inspector took out a latex glove, the better to pick up the evidence. The technician got a plastic bag from his case.

“Keys to the tractor, I ‘spect.” Malcolm’s voice at her shoulder made Eden jump. He’d closed the distance between them while she’d been watching the inspector. “What were the two of you talking about so intently, then? What was so important that you had to drag him out of earshot to say, eh?”

“I was asking about the backhoe.” Eden spoke without turning to face him. She’d sack him if she could but with the knowledge he held he’d quite probably ruin her. “We’ve another funeral on Friday and I could do with it back by them.”

“I could, you mean. What about your new friend? The mechanic and his builder pals?”

“I’d have to pay him and that’s an expense I’d rather avoid. The inspector said he’d chivvy the fingerprint boys on or send them here to dig the grave themselves.” She stifled a giggle as the inspector returned.

“Do either of you recognize these keys?” He held out a clear plastic bag with two large-hobbed keys inside.

“They look like car keys.”

“They’re the tractor keys.” Malcolm took the bag to examine them. “The original set. I lost them a couple of weeks ago. Thanks for finding them.”

“A couple of weeks ago?” Eden turned to face him at last. “What have been using then?”

He shrugged. “I hotwired it. What was I supposed to do? Tell you I’d lost the keys?”

“To be frank, yes. There’s a spare set in the garage.” Eden balled her hands into fists and forced back a scream. “No wonder the thieves found it so easy to steal the other night.”

“Sorry. Still, we’ve got the keys back now.”

“Not yet, you haven’t. The inspector made a grab for them. They’re still evidence until proved otherwise.”

“They’ll only have my prints on. I lost them before it was pinched.”

“Nevertheless.” White folded the bag into his pocket. “Evidence they are. Follow the evidence, you find the crime.”

“As you wish, Inspector.” Eden looked back toward the building, where the pensioners were getting back on the coach. It looked like she’d missed the whole funeral. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll get back to work.”

Chapter 29

Meinwen closed her ears against the incessant whine in the car. It had started just as they passed Exeter and hadn’t let up for more than a minute since.

“I can’t believe how late it is. Do you know how many appointments I’ll have missed by the time we get home? Four. That’s three hundred pounds plus tips and donations down the Swanee. I don’t know how you manage to survive on such a pittance as you obviously seem to but I know I can’t.” Michelle turned into the almost stationary traffic the filled Old Oxford Road during the rush hour. “And look at this! This is going to add another half an hour just to go five hundred yards.”

“Turn left up Peach Tree Avenue and go around the top of the market. It’s longer and fiddlier but it’ll save you time. You’ll come out on Markham Road. Opposite the church.”

“Really? I don’t know that route.” She turned left into the avenue and followed it as it curved around all the tiny back streets of the market until coming to an abrupt halt in front of the Bellflower and Wormwood Building Society, who were having a sale on mortgages.

“I didn’t know you could have a sale on mortgages.” Meinwen tapped at the glass of the passenger-side window. “What do they offer? Buy one get one free? All houses twenty percent off?”

“I think they cut the interest rate for a limited time. Ten percent off for six months, something like that. Assuming you buy a mortgage from them, of course. If you shop around for the mortgage you’ll pay over-the-odds for the house.”

“How do you know all this?”

“I used to work for an estate agent. Mortgages are where you really earn your money. House sales will keep the business going but never make you rich. If you can sell three mortgages a week you can triple your salary.”

“So why did you leave?”

“I couldn’t stand the hypocrisy any more. The company I worked for used to get kickbacks from Burbridge Construction. We’d end up pushing their shitty houses with a cheerful smile and a lie on the tip of my tongue.” He voiced raised an octave. “What a lovely house this is. I’d so move there if I wasn’t tied to a five year lease.’ It used to make me feel sick, walking all over people’s gullibility like that.”

“So what made you leave?”

“A cheap mortgage, or rather, I got the employee’s discounted mortgage, worked the obligatory two years after signing it while it sat in a building society account earning interest, then I bought a house and left. Best thing I ever did.”

“Fascinating.” Meinwen peered out of the windscreen. “Why have you stopped? You need to go up that street, there.” She pointed to a narrow side road.

“I can’t.”

“Of course you can. I go up it at least twice a week taking poultices to Mrs. Trubshaw.”

“On what?”

“My bicycle. The cobbles can be troublesome but if you stick to the pavement it’s fine.”

“Do you see that sign?” Michelle pointed to a red circle in which a motorbike was jumping a small car.

“Yes, but it doesn’t apply…oh.”

“No motor vehicles. Fine for your bike but not for my car. We’ll have to go back down to Oxford Road. Thanks for this. It was nice to see some of the dog-end of Laverstone but now we’ll be later than ever.”

“Actually, would you mind dropping me here? We’re not very far from my shop.”

“Sure. Why not?” Michelle put the car into park. “Go and have fun. Enjoy yourself.”

Meinwen paused on the curbside and leaned into the car. “I’ll look into your blackmail problem tonight. Thanks for the lift to Boscastle.”

“Thanks for completely eating up my day.”

“You did offer to give me a lift.” Meinwen tapped the roof of the car. “See you tomorrow.”

She didn’t wait to watch Michelle do a three-point turn and head back down Peach Tree. It wasn’t her fault Needham Alley was no motorized vehicles. Not being able to drive herself it simply hadn’t occurred to her. She slung her bag over one shoulder and pulled the gloves from her pocket. It was already dark and the temperature had dropped several degrees since she’d got out of the car. She stumped along the narrow pavement until she was within sight of the shop but decided against going inside. It was too late to do anything and listening to Michelle for several hours had made her feel more tired than a whole day spent working amongst her spells and unguents. She made for another shop instead, opening the door moments before the owner wanted to close for the day. “Bob.” She smiled warmly at the older man. He was probably physically younger than her, but his gray hair and beard added years to his features. “I won’t be a minute. I just need a key cut.”

Ten minutes later she was on her way again. There was one more niggle that had to be sorted before she could settle, and having been to Boscastle by other means she could face Winston and see what his excuse for brushing her off was. Prior to the trip she’d been too angry about him letting slip the news about Joseph’s key. It was quite possible his loose tongue had been instrumental in ending her old friend’s life. He’d better have a damned good explanation. If Joseph had been murdered in the early hours, Winston must have texted or emailed someone while he was
at her house
. It pricked her conscience that despite how awful Joseph’s death had been, what really smarted was the knowledge she’d misread Winston so badly. There she was, opening up to him and letting him inside her boundaries when all he’d been concentrating on was a one-night stand and friends with benefits. Was she really so shallow?

The brisk, ten-minute walk up the hill from town to The Gaunt's warmed her enough not to notice the frost forming on the side of the road. Winston’s garage looked exactly as it did the previous night, though the radio was far louder. The building work looked like a construction toy with all the scaffolding, watched over by the blinking red lights of the radio tower.

She stood outside the door for a moment, trying to pluck up the courage to face him and desperately steeling herself not to cry when he was completely dismissive of their night of passion. She took a deep breath, knocked on the door and marched inside before she could chicken out.

The scene inside the garage could have knocked her off her feet. She’d been expecting Winston, up to his armpits in a car, covered in oil but with a ready grin on his face. What she got was a table with five men doing their best to hide small plastic bags of herbs and waving their arms to dismiss a heavy cloud of smoke. Empty beer bottles stood like attentive soldiers across the table.

“Winston? What’s going on? Who are these people?”

“They’re my mates.” He turned back to the table and held up a hand. “It’s okay. She’s cool.”