Let Sleeping Murder Lie: A cozy mystery Read online

  “You might find life in these parts pretty boring,” he said.

  “I like the lack of distraction. Essential for a free-lancer.” Lower rent counted as an added attraction, allowing her to travel to places like Paris and Rome, where she could imagine herself in an old Audrey Hepburn movie, although she wouldn’t confess that to anyone.

  Ben picked up rod and bucket. “If you follow me, I’ll show you the way.”

  The path allowed her to walk next to him. He was about five inches taller, but she easily fell into the same rhythm with him. Much better than rushing to keep up with him, Eve thought. She suspected he slowed down for her, another point in his favour. She glanced at the bucket, relieved she didn’t have to see the gutted fish she’d expected.

  They arrived at the tree her sore shoulder remembered only too well. “Wait,” she said.

  Ben stopped at her request. She pulled a red cotton string out of her pocket and tied it in eye-height around the two trees flanking the opening.

  Rotting pine needles and small twigs rustled under their feet. One hundred yards from the fence, Ben said, “I’ve got to head back now, but you’ll find the cabin straight ahead.”

  Eve felt a pang of disappointment but hid it behind a smile. “Thanks for guiding me.”

  “No problem. Maybe I’ll run into you again.”

  She perked up. “Do you come to the village pubs? The ‘Green Dragon’ seems pleasant.”

  “I’m not much of a pub-goer these days.” His smile took some of the sting out of the rebuff, but not enough. She’d pretty much asked him for a date. Eve mentally slapped herself. She really must feel lonely. Or spring affected her in undesired ways.

  She gave him a casual wave and marched on towards the cabin. The owl perched on the roof as Eve had hoped, and the binoculars allowed her a close look at the creature with its stern impression on the white and brown face. “Now what?” she asked herself. Did merely looking at the owl count as bird-watching, or did the pastime require serious study of the avian world?

  Eve peered through the lenses. She’d count to see how long it took the bird to blink. That would make her feel more engaged instead of searching for something to do with herself.

  The owl blinked, and Eve left.

  Hayley polished glasses as Eve pulled up a bar stool. Half a dozen men and three women stood around an ancient dart board hung at a wall. A chalk-board helped them keep track. Half empty pints stood on a table. They seemed to ponder something momentous, because Eve’s entrance made no impression at all.

  She ordered tea with milk. Hayley offered her a caddy with a rich selection. “I keep this for bingo nights,” she said before Eve could ask. “Much safer than to risk another drunken brawl.”

  The word another hung in the air, like Ben’s bait. Eve decided not to ask as she selected a fragrant Earl Grey. Let Hayley offer information at her own volition, and she’d be much more forthcoming. In Eve’s experience, no bartender liked to be pumped for titbits.

  “Had a good day?” Hayley set down pot and cup, and a china cow with milk.

  Eve showed her the binoculars. “I’ve taken up bird-watching.”

  “There’s a group you could join if that floats your boat.” Hayley shuddered. “They’re constantly searching for new blood, and believe me, that’s not simply a turn of phrase. Marching for miles at the crack of dawn, through mud and thistles, and when you can’t tell one bloody warbler from another, they’ll tear you apart.” She gave the gleaming counter a quick wipe. “Still, it’s a nice hobby I suppose.”

  “I’m not much of a joiner.” Eve stirred her tea. “I just prefer to have a purpose when I go for a longer walk. Otherwise I’ll slack off after a week or so.”

  The discussion at the back ended with one of the women, a septuagenarian with a mass of flame-coloured hair pouring out from under a woollen hat, taking up the darts. Her lack of aim was only equalled by the force of her throws. The dart-tips penetrated the wall left of the board. Pockmarks in the plaster led Eve to think it was a regular occurrence. The discussion started anew.

  “That’s a pity,” Hayley said. “They always look for reinforcements at our local am-dram. Our donkey’s ass moved away, and that could be the end of the group.”

  Eve’s blank stare elicited a chortle from Hayley.

  “We do nothing but the panto each year. It’s good fun.”

  Eve lied, “I’ll think about it.”

  The dart game got heated. Hayley ignored it.

  “Do you know anything about a cabin in the woods? I was told it’s got a bad reputation,” Eve said.

  Hayley dropped her polishing cloth. “What cabin?”

  “A little place, about two or three miles further down the stream?”

  “How did you hear that?”

  Eve added an unnecessary splash of milk to her tea and stirred it again. “A guy I met mentioned it. Tanned, blonde, thirty-something. His name was …”

  “Ben Dryden.”

  “Yes.” Eve didn’t know why she was surprised. Bartenders knew everything, and everyone.

  Hayley picked up her cloth. “The place has a bad reputation alright, as does the rest of the property. And the owner.”

  “But why?” Eve asked.

  “A woman was murdered there five years ago. No conviction, but ask most people here, and they will swear to one thing. It was Ben who killed his wife.”

  Chapter 3

  Eve spilt her tea down her shirt. “He’s a killer?”

  “According to popular opinion.” Hayley held out a box with tissues. “Mind you, he had an alibi of sorts, but there was no other suspect.”

  One of the dart players shuffled over, an elderly man with bow-legged knees and white stubble on his chin. Hayley put a finger on her lips, as if to warn Eve away from the subject.

  “Hiya, Bob,” she said instead. “Another round of pints?”

  He gave her an affirmative nod and shuffled back.

  When she had delivered the beer to the players, Hayley gave Eve an apologetic look. “Sorry if I scared you.”

  “That’s fine. I just didn’t expect that.” Something in Hayley’s voice made Eve ask another question. “Do you believe it? That Ben did it?”

  “Not really, but then the Ben I knew ages ago would’ve raised hell until the police caught the culprit, not roll over and keep shtum while folks here treat him like a leper.”

  Eve shuddered. “But in that case, why didn’t he simply move away?”

  “Because he can’t. He’s looking after his father. The old man’s in a wheelchair, and it would kill Adam Dryden to leave the place. Generation after generation of Drydens. Ben sunk all his money in it a while back, just to keep the house and some of the farm land.” Hayley leant closer to Eve. “People reckon that’s why Ben did her in, for his father’s sake. Because Donna wanted a divorce and the settlement would have meant selling up.”

  That was all Eve found out in the pub. But she needed to know more. Luckily, the ubiquity of the internet made it easier to satisfy that urge. Less than two minutes search, and she scrolled through archived newspaper articles. They were sparse enough with the information, though.

  Five years ago, on a wet Thursday night, Ben Dryden had returned from a business meeting in Manchester to find his father drugged with sleeping pills and his wife Donna lying in the living room, her head bashed in with a brick from a pile used for repairing the fireplace. Ben called the police and was instantly suspect number one, and, as it turned out, the single suspect in the case.

  His meeting had ended early enough to be home in time for the murder, but a dinner bill from a restaurant and a receipt plus footage from a petrol station gave him an alibi. The CCTV showed a silver Volvo like Ben’s and a man in a grey suit resembling his get out of the car.

  A heavy downpour had set in a few minutes earlier, so the footage was fuzzy enough to allow for ambiguity. The post mortem had substantiated that Donna Dryden died while her husband was still close to two hours a
way, but then again time of death was hard to pinpoint to the exact minute.

  Eve rubbed her eyes. No wonder Ben was set free, but from the newspaper reports she’d found she could understand as well why the locals thought of him as a murderer at large.

  Judged by the photos, Donna had been pretty, glamourous even, with a perfectly styled golden bob and enough make-up to make Eve feel dowdy with her tousled copper-brown curls and freckles. She needed to pay more attention to her looks. She also needed to stop envying a woman who’d been bludgeoned to death aged thirty-one.

  Eve pushed away her laptop. Hayley was right. Her new acquaintance didn’t appear like a cold-blooded criminal, but also there was no evidence of an impassioned outcry for justice or resounding declarations of his eternal love for his slayed wife.

  And to stay here, where he’d forever be a pariah, smacked of self-flagellation, she decided. Ben could install a nurse to look after his father, who according to the reports had suffered a mild stroke prior to the murder and received treatment at home. Donna’s death triggered a second, much more serious stroke.

  Eve glanced at her backpack. She had two choices. The first was to give up her new hobby and stay away from the woods so she wouldn’t run into Ben again. The second option was to seek him out. He probably could do with a friend.

  Except, what if his alibi was phony, and she sought the company of a killer, in the middle of nowhere? She’d strolled into the woods twice, and apart from Ben hadn’t seen a single soul.

  Staying away was the only sensible option.

  A can of self-defence spray rested in Eve’s right coat pocket, her hand sweaty around it. “This is stupid,” she told herself. Traipsing straight into the lion’s den, although she’d left a note in the cottage, explaining where she was headed. It would help with inquiries should her lifeless body be found in the undergrowth.

  Her foot caught on a tree root. For a second, she lost her balance. Eve swore softly under her breath. It served her right for not paying attention to her surroundings and getting silly ideas. There would be no inquiries because nothing bad would happen to her. All she did was take a healthy stroll to check on a bird of prey. There might be a nest somewhere, with eggs, and perhaps a mate for the little owl.

  Even if Ben were guilty, he’d gone for five years without another murderous incident, and he surely must have been tempted, if the locals were anything like the people she’d grown up with in half a dozen states all over America.

  Eve pulled her hand out of the pocket and wiped her brow. The sunshine packed considerable heat in sheltered places. Nerves had nothing to do with her sweating.

  Ben stood in his usual spot, rod in his hand and bucket at his feet.

  Eve sauntered ahead. The corners of her mouth ached from the strain of being upturned in case he spotted her. He didn’t. Just as well, she thought. You’re here, bird-watching, not Ben-spotting.

  The red string she’d marked the trees with sat untouched. She moved onto the clearing and scrambled in her backpack for the binoculars. She trained them on the cabin. A perfunctory glance showed her an empty roof. The owl could be anywhere. Maybe flirting with a mate. It was only considerate in this case to sneak away, in case she disturbed something avian.

  Ben packed up as she made her way back to the main path. She waved; a restrained gesture that indicated friendliness without being overly enthusiastic.

  Ben must have caught the movement out of the corner of his eye because he turned into her direction and gave her a quick salute.

  Eve grinned despite her earlier doubts as she strolled closer. Another two reddish fish with white bellies swam in the bucket.

  “Are you restocking something?” she asked, trying to remember what he’d said during their first meeting.

  “A pond.”

  “Wouldn’t it be easier to buy them in an aquatic store?”

  “My dad’s fond of the Golden Orfe that swim in this brook. He’s in a wheelchair, so spotting them is a bit of a treat for him.”

  Eve feigned ignorance. “That must be tough for him. Does he live close by?”

  “We still share a house, a couple of miles away.”

  “That’s amazing,” she said. “I can’t imagine living with my dad. My mom, at a pinch, if she was alive, but he and wife number three would drive me crazy.” She stopped herself. The point was to get Ben to talk, not to reveal her own private thoughts. A change of subject was asked for.

  She peered into the bucket. “They’re really not hurt?”

  “Supposedly they don’t feel pain the way other animals or humans do. I certainly hope so. A hook’s better than having them get entangled in a net and drown.”

  She shivered. There must be a subject without morbid undertones. “Are the woods always this deserted? It’s spooky.”

  Ben appeared surprised. “The forest? In this direction, mostly yes. If you walk the other way from the village, you’ll come across occasional benches, a picnic table and a few things for kids to climb on, if I remember correctly.”

  “Then I’ll stick to this side.”

  That garnered her another smile. Her hand no longer felt sweaty, and she’d almost forgotten about the self-defence spray.

  “If you want to, I can give you a tour one of these days. Unless …” Ben let the sentence peter out, but he’d said enough for her needs.

  “I’d love that. If I’m not taking up too much of your time,” Eve said. Self-preservation prompted her to add, “I’ll let Hayley know I’ve had a better offer from you. She’s busy enough, running the pub.”

  “I wouldn’t say better, but you’re right about Hayley. Is she still single-handedly running everything?”

  “That’s the impression I got.” Eve waited for a reply, but none came. She fished a dog-eared business card out of her backpack. “Here’s my number. I’m flexible.”

  A better offer? She cringed as she replayed the conversation in her mind. There must have been a better way of informing him people would have a clue about her whereabouts. Instead she’d sounded as if she was trying to flirt with him. Maybe she should have told him the truth: she felt comfortable in his presence, a sentiment that hadn’t changed, but she also was aware of the suspicions resting on him, and only a stupid or infatuated woman would blindly follow him.

  That’s what she should’ve said. She also should have gone shopping if she wanted to dine on something other than tinned soup or a frozen pizza. Another trip to the “Green Dragon” seemed in order.

  The pub pulled in a good-sized crowd in the evening. All but two tables were taken, although most customers stuck to liquids.

  Hayley had a helper behind the bar, a dark-haired young man who was strapping enough to be accepted by the blokes and handsome enough to be liked by the half dozen women. Even the two who seemed to be part of a couple glanced at him more or less covertly when he stepped out from behind the bar to deliver trays full of pints. For the single women, the young bartender appeared to be the major attraction together with razzing the single men.

  Eve felt tongue-tied, although no-one talked to her to test her theory. She stood squeezed into the spot between bar and juke-box, waiting patiently for her turn to order.

  “Sorry it took so long,” Hayley said five minutes later.

  Eve dismissed it. “No worries. Are you always this busy in the evening?” She studied the menu. “I’ll have fish and chips, please.”

  Hayley wrote Eve’s order down. “I wish. The local rugby team scored a big win. The lads are celebrating a possible promotion to the next league.” She motioned towards the young man. “Dom should be celebrating too. He’s their flanker, but I had no-one else to fill in.”

  “That explains the stares.”

  “That’s small-town fame for you. Your usual table alright?”

  Eve relaxed. If a few visits entitled her to a usual table, she’d made a good choice for her new local.

  The crispy hand-cut fries and sole wrapped in golden batter seconded that. The
bar area was still busy when she finished her meal, but the drinking had slowed down enough to leave Hayley breathing space. The customers all wanted to chat with the man of the hour anyway.

  Hayley carried a water bottle and two glasses over to Eve’s table. “Do you mind if I sit here for a few minutes?” she asked.

  Eve made space for her. “Are you this nice to all newcomers?”

  “If they pass my nan’s test.”

  Eve looked around but couldn’t see the old lady. “Where is she?”

  “Running the kitchen.” Hayley pointed at Eve’s clean plate. “As you’ve noticed yourself, she’s still the best chef for miles.”

  “Tell her these were the tastiest fish and chips I’ve had in ages.” Eve smiled, making her next remark sound like an afterthought. “I ran into Ben again. Do you think I should change my birdwatching sites?”

  “Depends, doesn’t it.” Hayley gave her an inscrutable glance. Eve prayed her face didn’t change colour.

  “On what?” she asked, satisfied with her casual tone.

  “Were you scared?”

  Eve thought back. She’d felt a frisson of nerves, but the idea that Ben could harm anyone seemed as likely as if the drinking crowd would turn on rugby hero Dom. She also had her self-defence spray, although Britain’s alternative to pepper spray, which in most countries except here was perfectly legal, was a joke in comparison.

  “See?” Hayley said. “You’ve got your answer.”

  “But what do you think?” Eve asked.

  Dom hollered for assistance.

  Hayley rose. “I think I’d better get back to work.”

  Hayley chuckled as she closed the door behind her last customer and rinsed the tap-heads in preparation for tomorrow. Eve’s feigned disinterest couldn’t fool her. It seemed Ben had lost nothing of his appeal for intelligent women since their college days. The sports stars had always had their fair share of impressive female fans, but Ben didn’t do badly for a young man who preferred Shakespeare to soccer and conversation to cricket. Not that he’d ever taken advantage of it, to Hayley’s knowledge.