White Lies (42 page)
“No thanks. I prefer coffee, to be honest.” They headed toward the cottage. “I could never get into this whole English-people-drink-tea thing. I just have a couple of things for you.”
“Oh?” Meinwen opened the front door and stood to one side to allow Mary in first. “Such as?”
“This for one.” Mary pulled an envelope out of her bag and handed it to her. Meinwen slid her thumb along the seal and looked inside. There was a single slip of paper.
“What’s this?” She pulled it out and looked at it. The red Paid stamp was prominent. “Winston’s bill?”
“I paid it. Well, Peter paid it, to be precise. I’ve been clearing out his flat and selling off his possessions. He had a huge collection of jazz albums on vinyl. I didn’t think anyone but him listened to vinyl any more but apparently they do. Who’d have guessed scratchy old records were worth so much?”
“Thanks. I promised Dafydd I’d take care of it but I honestly didn’t know where I’d find the money.” She looked at the receipt again. “I’ll tell him when I speak to him next.” She headed into the kitchen. “Are you sure you won’t have a drink? I’ve got dandelion-root coffee, if you’d like some.”
Mary grimaced. “No, it’s fine. Really.”
Meinwen raised an eyebrow at the speed of the reply. “I’m putting the kettle on anyway if you change your mind.”
“Okay.” Mary trailed her hand over Meinwen’s desk. “There’s a laser printer if you want it. I tried to sell it bit it’s not worth the trouble, really.”
“A laser printer?” Meinwen thought of John’s suicide note. “Thanks. That’d be really handy.”
“I’ll get someone to drop it round.” Mary grinned. “Not literally”
“I should hope not.” In the kitchen the kettle sputtered on the stove.
“I remember the first time I came here. You told us we all had secrets and one of us was a murderer.”
“And I was right.” Meinwen stood in the doorway, watching as Mary, her back to her, lifted objects off the shelves, examined them and put them back. She spent several moments poking her fingers into the eyeholes of the grinning, horned mask hung on one wall. “That came from Japan, you know. It’s a Hannya mask dating back to the nineteenth century.”
Mary jumped but recovered quickly. “What was it used for?”
“Japanese theater. It portrays the souls of women who have become demons due to obsession or jealousy. When the actor looks straight ahead, the mask appears frightening and angry; when tilted slightly down, the face of the demon appears to be sorrowful, as though crying.”
“How clever. Why do you have it? There’s nothing else Japanese here.”
“It was supposed to be haunted. Someone gave it to me hoping I could exorcise the spirit possessing it.”
“And did you?”
Meinwen laughed. “No, but then it wasn’t haunted at all. If you look in the back you can see a groove in the nosepiece. I found a tiny Bluetooth earbud inside, which the mask amplified. Clever, really. An interesting way to frighten an old lady to death.” She returned to the kitchen and poured boiling water over her Lemon and Ginseng tea bag. Not that she’d need the reputed qualities of ginseng for a while. She returned to the sitting room. “Was there anything else?”
“Yes.” Mary opened her bag again and took a mobile phone out. She put it on the desk and placed a bank card next to it.
“My phone.” Meinwen avoided touching it. “And my debit card. They were stolen that night I was mugged.”
“I found them in Peter’s room.” Mary’s voice was softer than usual. It was almost as if she actually cared about someone other than herself. “I’m sorry. I honestly didn’t know.”
Meinwen swallowed several times. “It’s all right. Why would you? At least I’m alive, which is more than can be said for his other victims.”
“That Inspector came to see me this morning. I don’t think Peter killed that other man, the one they found in the grave.”
“Detective-inspector White.” Meinwen corrected her absently as she picked up a pencil, using it to sweep both phone and debit card into the bin as if they were cursed. She’d replaced both and canceled the SIM, anyway. “There’s no evidence to suggest anyone else.”
“Peter couldn’t have done it. He was wearing his necklace when he went to the hospital and he hadn’t time to kill that man afterward. And why would he, anyway? He didn’t know him.”
“Kevin Blake. He served time for reckless driving.”
“It doesn’t matter. Peter didn’t kill him.”
“I believe you, but Peter killed two people and tried to kill two more. I’m not going to waste time trying to prove he didn’t kill this one too.”
“But...” Mary deflated. “Oh, what’s the point? I suppose you’re right.”
“Was there anything else? I need to go and sort out the shop. With Dafydd here I’ve rather neglected it. I shan’t be surprised to have lost customers.”
“There was one more thing.” Meinwen twisted her hands, the thumb of each to the little finger of the other. It looked as if she were playing
insy wincy spider
.
“Yes?”
“Is there anything between you and Jimmy Fenstone?”
“Jimmy?” Meinwen raised an eyebrow. “No. Not really. He asked me to look into John’s death, that’s all.”
“Then you’d be okay with me going out with him? He’s really hot, and he’s straight too. Richard had his brother. Now it’s my turn.”
“You know he was in prison for stealing cars?”
“He’s put all that behind him now.” Mary leaned forward, dropping her voice. “And he got the insurance from his brother’s death. Two million pounds.”
“As much as that.” Meinwen shook her head and laughed. “If I’d known that, I would have suspected Jimmy of killing his brother himself!”
Chapter 41
Meinwen leaned her bicycle against a tree and walked past the car and over the short grass of Moot Point, all the while watching the man standing on the promontory overlooking Hobb’s Wood and wondering what he was thinking.
He turned as she approached, the shadows on his face broken by a smile in the predawn light.
“I didn’t expect you to get here before me.” Meinwen’s Welsh lilt broke the silence. “This is one of my favorite spots in Laverstone.” She looked down at the jagged rocks that lined the bluff. “Some of those trees below us date back over a thousand years.
“I can believe it.” Jimmy stooped to pick up the plastic canister. “John liked it here too. I’m surprised you didn’t know him.”
“Maybe I saw him from afar.” She squeezed his arm but kept her distance. She could smell his muskiness under the deodorant and didn’t want to be sucked into longing for him again. “Are you going to say anything?”
“Hadn’t really thought about it.” Jimmy unscrewed the top of the urn. “So long, brother. Look after Mam and Faye.” The sun broke past the horizon as he upended the urn, sending John’s ashes spiraling into the wind and out over the forest below. He sighed. “It all seems a bit pointless, really. I hadn’t seen him for ten years but now he’s dead I miss him.”
Meinwen placed a hand on his shoulder. “Isn’t that always the way?”
Rachel Green
Rachel Green is a disgraceful, red-headed Englishwoman who has far too many swords for her visitors to be safe, especially as she’s well versed in the use of every one of them. She also knows several methods to dispose of a body. Not that she ever would.
Rachel’s eMail: [email protected]
Rachel’s Website: www.leatherdyke.co.uk
FB and Twitter: leatherdykeuk
Also by Rachel Green
Laverstone Chronicles
Screaming Yellow
Sons of Angels
Viridian Tears
Lyrical Press books are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp. 119 West 40th Street New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2013 Rachel Green
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
Lyrical Press and the L logo are trademarks of Kensington Publishing Corp.
First Electronic Edition: February 2013
ISBN-13: 978-1-61650-440-3