And The Earth Moved: Romantic Comedy Cozy Mystery (Amber Reed CCIA Mystery Book 1) (8 page)

Chapter Ten

“That’s weird,” I say, checking my phone and then glancing across at Debs who is concentrating on her driving.

We’re on our way back from a night out in the big metropolis that is Sandgrove, a small town about ten miles away from Palstone. It’s the home of the nearest decent cinema.

There is a cinema in the back of a truck which tours round the villages every so often but the less said about that the better. We went to see Ennis’ latest film, a romcom in which he made many a heart flutter.

Today was spent juggling my task of shadowing Charlie as per Ennis’ wishes and working at the newspaper- writing horoscopes for the next edition and sorting the classified adverts. There were no major discoveries in the Joel case despite all our checking and double-checking and questioning. Time is running out. We still don’t know where Joel went that night between leaving the house and ending up on the moors. We still don’t know if he was alone up on that moor when he fell to his death.

I’ve left Charlie trying to fit the pieces of the puzzle together back at Ennis’ guest wing whilst Debs and I had a much-needed girly night out. The past twenty four hours or so have been hectic, crazy and scary all rolled into one. I needed a night out with Debs to restore my sanity.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m still freaked about Joel’s death and worried that it might have had something to do with Ennis and that he might be in danger too. I’m still stunned I’m suddenly part of an ongoing investigation into the death of a man. But, having said all that, Debs and I were desperate to see Ennis’ new film and we wanted to see it via the cinema multiplex experience. You know, with the ear-splitting surround sound, the smell of popcorn and those comfy luxury seats you pay extra for.

“What’s weird?” Debs asks bringing me out of my cinema reverie. “You said something was weird then went off into daydream land for a minute. Thinking of Charlie?” she teases.

“Oh, sorry. What is weird is that I’ve just had a text message from Bert Golding,” I say, fiddling with my phone.

Debs checks the rear-view mirror of her aging Corsa and then wrinkles up her nose. “You mean that guy who’s the caretaker up at Ennis McKarthy’s place?”

“The very same.”

“What does he want?”

“He’s asking me to meet him. Tonight.”

“Eww. What as in some kind of date? He’s in his fifties isn’t he?”

“No, don’t be daft. Not a date.”

I’m about to say it must be something to do with the Joel case when I remember I’m not supposed to talk about that.

Sugar.

How am I going to explain my way out of this one to Debs?

“He wants me to meet him up on the lane that goes along the middle of the moor towards the standing stones.” I check the clock on my phone. “In ten minutes.”

“That’ll be midnight. Why on earth would he need to meet you there at that time?”

“I don’t know.” I shrug. “It must be something to do with Ennis.”

“Like what? And why would he need to talk to you?” Debs asks, looking confused.

“I don’t know!” I stare at the screen on my phone. Now I’m worried. What does Bert want?

“What are you going to do?” Debs asks.

I stare out the window, saying nothing.

“You are not going up there to meet him!” Debs says, correctly interpreting my silence. “No way!”

“He’s a friend, well, kind of. I know he’s been going through a tough time lately after his divorce. Perhaps it’s something to do with his daughter Tina, maybe he wants a woman’s perspective on a problem with her,” I say, frantically improvising. “He told me the other day that she’s been getting into trouble, hanging out with the wrong sort. That’s why her mum sent her to stay with him for a while.”

“Even so, he wants to meet now? How can it be so urgent? You’ve got to admit that’s odd behaviour, even for Bert. You cannot go up there; at least, you can’t go and meet him there alone.”

I turn in my seat to face her. “You come with me then.”

“No freaking way.” She shakes her head. “I’m not going up on some creepy moor to meet a creepy guy. I manage to meet enough creepy guys in the village pub without going up on the moors in the pitch black to find them as well.”

Despite her protestations Debs slows the ancient Corsa, executes a perfect three point turn and heads back up the road towards the moor.

“Debs, no, I was kidding around before. You’re not getting involved in this.”

“We’re both going.” She turns the car down another narrower lane. “Now, let’s see what Bert wants.”

This last bit of the road across the edge of the moors is always a bit spooky. It’s not quite so bad tonight though because it’s clear and there’s an almost full moon illuminating the landscape. Debs slows down a little, her hands gripping the steering wheel, knuckles white. I glance across at the moon, the light silhouetting the standing stones up on the moor.

Something catches my eye, moving around amongst the tangle of brambles and grass. I hastily turn my attention back to the country lane just as a man stumbles onto the road, head down, clutching the side of his body. Instinct kicks in.

I scream.

Debs screams even louder. She hits the brakes. The car comes to a screeching halt a few feet away from the man. He slumps to the ground, his back to us.

I hit the lock button on my door and gesture for Debs to do the same with hers. She frantically scrambles at her lock. Neither of us speak. Or breathe.

I stare at the body.  Beside me Debs’ breathing is strained and gasping. She sounds as though she’s about to have a panic attack.

“It’s OK,” I say, finding my voice, reaching for her hand. Trying to calm her.

“It’s not bloody well OK!” she shrieks back at me. I look over and see the tears in her eyes shimmering in the moonlight. “There’s a dead man on the road in front of us! Oh, God, what if the police think I killed him? Hit him with my car? Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.”

She has a point.

Suddenly, between the moonlight and the car headlights, I think I spot something familiar. The crumpled figure is wearing a red lumberjack coat. Where have I seen that before? In the pub, the other night, draped over the back of a bar stool. Who did it belong to though? Ennis? Liam? Ryan?

I unclip my seatbelt and lean forward, trying to peer more closely at the man, my mind working overtime.

“What are you doing? You’re not getting out of this car!” Debs says, panic in her voice.

“What if this is one of those traps you hear about on the TV? Somebody pretends to be hurt or makes out their car is broken down on a lane in the middle of nowhere and some innocent person stops to help and the next thing they’re a murder victim,” Debs gabbles as she clutches at my arm.

I try to think straight. My phone. Scrambling to find it in my bag – at the bottom as usual – I hold it up so I can check the display in the moonlight. I know up here on the edge of the moors the chance of getting a useable signal isn’t great. The signal strength is zipping up and down. One second it’s on three bars. The next it’s down to just one. Can I catch it on three bars for long enough to get a call out?

“We should never have come up here.” Debs is gripping my arm so tightly now she’s cutting off my circulation. 

She sounds terrified and I try my hardest to ignore my own fears bubbling away inside. I should never have let her come up here with me. Some friend I am.

What should I do? Risk getting out the car? What if this guy
does
have accomplices who are just lying in wait for me behind those trees and bushes?

I need to do something, but what? My phone isn’t working. Realistically, there’s no way I’m getting out the car. That only leaves us with one option.

We should drive to the village, stop as soon as I get enough signal strength and call the police.

That would be the sensible thing to do.

I look at the body again. My stomach churns with concern at the same time as my head is whirling with horror. It’s as though I’m on one of those super scary fairground rides. And I want to get off it. Now.

But we can’t just drive away and leave him here like this, can we? Whoever he is. What if some other car comes down here before the police arrive and hits him?

Seconds tick by and Debs muffles her sobs with a tissue she’s found in the pocket of the car door. I should never have got her involved in this.

“Let’s go to the village and get help,” I say, knowing one of us needs to try and stay calm and as it’s my fault we’re in this situation, the buck stops here.

Debs nods and attempts to put the car into gear. The gearbox is making loud crunching sounds as she fights to push it into reverse.

“The clutch, Debs. Put your foot on the clutch,” I remind her.

She rams her foot on the pedal and suddenly we zoom backwards, on our way to a decent mobile signal and safety.

“Stop!” I yell, hitting my hand on the dashboard.

Debs slams on the brakes. “What? Why?”

The body in the road is moving. I squint trying to make out any distinguishing features.  The side of his face looks swollen. There’s a steady trickle of blood on his cheek from a gash near his eye.

Then he rolls onto his back in the middle of the road.

I can see his face now.

My breathing stops and I frantically fumble for the button to unlock the driver’s door.

“What are you doing?” Debs yells, trying to pull me back into the car.

“The body,” I explain as I jump out of the Corsa. “It’s Bert.”

Chapter Eleven

“Charlie! Can you hear me? It’s Amber.”

I manage to get enough signal strength to make the call but I can barely hear Charlie on the other end of the line.

“Amber? What’s…”

The signal dips again and I grip the phone tightly, as if that, by sheer will, is going to help maintain enough signal to complete this call.

“I’m up on the moors,” I begin but the signal keeps dropping. “Lane near standing stones.” The phone crackles and I pray that it won’t disconnect. “We need help. There’s a body.”

Will he understand?  The phone crackles again. I look across at Bert. Debs too is out of the car now and trying to get Bert to talk to her to see if he’s aware of what’s going on or not, checking if he’s conscious.

“Help!” I shout into the phone again in desperation.

Did he hear me? Did it make any kind of sense to him? I press the phone more closely to my ear and strain to listen. More crackles and then I think I hear the end of Charlie’s reply.

On my way.

The phone goes dead. I hope Charlie did just say those words and they weren’t a wishful figment of my imagination.

“He can hear me,” Debs is saying, crouched on the road next to Bert. “I just asked him to say his name and he did.”

I join Debs on the cold damp tarmac of the lane. “Bert? What happened? Who did this to you?”

He opens his mouth but no words come out. His face is a mass of cuts and bruises, his eyes are almost swollen shut.

I gently touch his hand. “Bert? Can you hear me? Help is on its way.” Then I realise I forgot to try to tell Charlie we needed an ambulance. Fast. I’m no expert but Bert’s injuries look pretty bad.

He closes his eyes and I look frantically at Debs. It’s clear we’re both thinking the same thing. Has he passed out?

I try to remember what to do but my basic first aid training doesn’t include a step by step guide to dealing with a badly beaten up man dumped in the road on the edge of the moors.

Should I try to wake him up? How?

“Bert!”

Nothing.

Oh God help me, I silently pray. Is he unconscious or what? Another, far worse thought, hits me. Is he dead? I reach a hand to his neck, feeling for a pulse, trying not to panic.

I find one.

He’s alive. Not OK, but alive.

Thank you, God.

He stirs and I softly squeeze his hand. “Bert! It’s OK. It’s Amber. Can you hear me?”

I pull off my sweater and go to put it under his head so it isn’t on the hard road surface but something in the back of my mind tells me I shouldn’t move his head or neck in case he has a serious injury and it could make it worse. Tears prick at the back of my eyes.

He tries to open one eye and realises he can’t, lifting a hand to his face.

“Don’t,” I say, gently moving his hand away. “You’ll make it worse.”

“What? Where?” he mutters, looking confused.

“It’s OK. You’re going to be OK,” I reply in what I hope is a reassuring voice. “Who did this to you? Do you know?”

His lips start to form a word again but stop.

“You’re fine. Everything is going to be all right.” My voice is thick with emotion but I don’t want to be a wimp or panic him. He needs help and right now. What if Charlie didn’t understand my cryptic message? What if help isn’t on the way?  We can’t just stay here and hope.

“Debs, you go, drive back to the village,” I instruct. “As soon as you get a strong enough signal on your phone call the police. I’m not sure Charlie knew what I was going on about, the signal kept going and…”

Bert rolls onto his side and winches.

“Don’t try to move.”

Debs grabs my arm then stands up. “Look!”

Charlie’s 4x4 pulls up behind Debs’ Corsa and he jumps out.

Relief floods through me. Though we still need to get medical help for Bert.

“Are you two OK?” Charlie asks as he reaches us, looking first at me and then at Debs.

“We’re fine,” I reply, glancing at Charlie and then at a clearly distraught Debs. “We need to get Bert to a hospital though.”

Charlie crouches down and looks Bert over. “The ambulance is on its way. Won’t be long,” he says, and I’m not sure if it’s directed at Bert or us.

Thank goodness he thought to call for paramedics.

Sirens wail, growing ever nearer.

“We didn’t know whether to move him or not …” Debs’ words trail off and she dissolves into another muffled sob.

Charlie gets to his feet and slips an arm around her shaking shoulder. “It’s OK. Don’t worry. He’ll be fine. I promise you.”

Debs sniffs and Charlie meets my eyes, a worried look on his face. He mouths, “Sure you’re OK?” to me over the top of Deb’s head which is now buried against his chest.

I nod.

The medics arrive and start to ascertain Bert’s various injuries, waving us aside as they do so. We move to stand at the edge of the lane and I realise I’m shivering in the cool night breeze. Charlie slips an arm around me, pulling me close as he cradles Debs with his other arm.

For a few seconds he lightly rests his chin on the top of my head and then whispers, “What the hell where the two of you doing up here?”

“On the way home from the cinema,” I reply as I watch the paramedics get Bert onto a stretcher and then over to the ambulance.

“And that puts you up here on the moor how exactly? This road doesn’t lead anywhere but the moor itself.”

“I received a text from Bert. He asked me to meet him up here in ten minutes.” I meet his gaze and the look in his eyes says he’s annoyed with me. Again.

“So you thought you’d just come up here and,” he looks down at Debs still sniffling into his coat. “Drag your friend into all this too.”

“I know, maybe I shouldn’t have but if we hadn’t come up here and found Bert who knows what might have happened to him.” I shudder. It doesn’t bear thinking about. “Why do you think he wanted to meet? He must have had something to tell me, but what?”

We hear the bustle of the paramedics getting Bert into the back of the ambulance and various medical terminologies being spoken as they check his injuries. One of the paramedics walks towards us. “We’re ready to make a move. Get the man to the hospital. His injuries are pretty bad. Whoever beat him up did a thorough job. He should be OK though once we get him tidied up.”

“OK, thanks,” Charlie nods. “Which hospital are you taking him to?”

“Dinham. You not local?” the man asks Charlie who shakes his head.

“Hospital is about 30 minutes away if you want to follow.” The man scribbles something on a notepad he’s pulled from a pocket and hands it to Charlie. “Put this postcode into your satnav and it’ll get you to Dinham Royal. He’ll get checked in on the emergency ward first. Report to A&E reception, they’ll help you from there.”

“Thanks,” Charlie replies, slipping the paper into his pocket.

“Can I have a quick word before you go?” he asks, easing a clinging, but thankfully no longer crying, Debs from his arms into mine before taking the paramedic to one side. 

I watch them, assuming Charlie is filling the paramedic in on the strange circumstances and the fact this is probably part of an ongoing possible murder investigation.

They finish talking in hushed tones and the man nods towards Debs and me but it’s Charlie he speaks to, more loudly this time. “Those two be OK? Were they with the guy?”

“No, they just found him. Yeah, they’ll be fine. I’ll make sure they get home OK and then I’ll come to the hospital.”

“Good enough. We’ll be off then.”

For a few moments we stare after the ambulance then Charlie walks over, rubbing a reassuring hand across Debs’ shoulders. “Let’s get you two home.” He starts to usher us towards his car.

Debs stops. “But my car... I don’t want to leave it up here.”

“I’ll bring it back to the village,” I say to her. “You go with Charlie if...”

“No, I’ll come home with you,” she sniffles giving Charlie a strange look.

I realise with a jolt that she’s probably wondering why I called Charlie and not the police. Sugar. I’m not very good at this hiding things from people business.

Charlie looks at me questioningly but Debs is already making her way to the passenger door of her little Corsa.

“Fine,” he says. “I’ll follow you back home, make sure you’re safe then get off to the hospital.”

Debs lives at the opposite end of the village to me so I take her back to her place and make her a cup of hot sweet tea for the shock. Then I call her sister to come over and stay with her for a while. I want to make sure she’s not on her own but at the same time I’m eager to get on with investigating and helping Charlie so I can’t stay with her myself.

Whoever did this to Bert will be punished, I vow, suddenly coming over all vigilante.

By the time Cara arrives Debs is thankfully looking less pale and says she’s feeling a bit better. I feel so guilty. I should be staying with her not rushing off. 

Especially as it’s my fault she’s involved in all this. We quickly explain to Cara what happened, playing it down as much as possible and then leave Debs in the comforting arms of her older sister.

“I don’t think you should be on your own tonight either,” Charlie says, unlocking the passenger door of his car for me.

“I’ll be fine,” I reply, getting into his 4x4 and pulling my seatbelt round to secure it in the slot.

He lifts a hand to take the seatbelt from me and secures it himself. “I’m serious, Amber. You should come and stay at the guest house with me for tonight. Will you? Please? Otherwise I’ll just end up worrying about you all night.”

Mmm… Do I want to spend the night in such close proximity to Charlie?

Yes.

No.

Maybe…