Baking Bad--A Cozy Mystery (With Dragons) Page 20

  And she burst into tears, resting her head against the steering wheel and sobbing hard enough to shake the little car, while outside the sun shone on regardless, and sheep watched them from the field with golden-eyed indifference.

  18

  Alice

  Alice sat in the passenger seat of DI Adams’ car with her handbag held firmly on her lap, knees and feet together, staring directly ahead through the windscreen. James, the detective constable, had offered to drive her to Leeds, but DI Adams had said she’d do it, and when James had opened the back door of the car the inspector had shaken her head and pointed to the front.

  “I don’t think she’s going to overpower me and force me off the road, James,” she’d said.

  “One can’t be too careful,” Alice had observed, and everyone had looked at her in astonishment. It had stopped Miriam crying, if nothing else.

  But the inspector had insisted, and now here they were, purring along the skinny roads tucked between sturdy dry-stone walls, the car’s GPS reciting instructions now and then in a strange fake English accent, and the radio on low. Alice hoped Miriam would hold herself together. She’d been very upset, poor thing, first at the ridiculous notion that she might go to jail herself, then even more upset, if that was possible, when the inspector had started reading Alice her rights. And now it all rested with her, and the dragons. It wasn’t an entirely reassuring thought.

  “I’m going to grab a coffee,” DI Adams said, as they pulled into a garage with two pumps and a cow looking over the wall at them with bland interest. “Would you like anything?”

  “No, thank you,” Alice said, not looking at the inspector.

  “We’ve got a good hour before we get there, and that’s if the traffic’s okay. So probably more. Food? Bathroom?”

  “No, thank you,” Alice repeated.

  The inspector sighed, tapping the wheel with her fingers as if she wanted to say something else, then got out of the car. Alice waited until the door shut behind her to take a deep, shuddering breath, trying not to let her shoulders shake or her posture change. She wondered if she should have just told the inspector about the tablet. But that was admitting withholding evidence, and would implicate Miriam, as well as raising questions about where and how they had got it. No, she had to just let the situation play out. They couldn’t really charge her. She didn’t think, at least.

  So she just had to be calm. The longer she kept the inspector away from Toot Hansell, the longer Miriam and the dragons had to find the real culprit, if they could. But even if they couldn’t, they’d find something to point the investigation away from the W.I., and, more importantly, the inspector away from the vicinity of dragons. It was far too clear that the DI realised that there was something out of the ordinary in Toot Hansell, even if she couldn’t tell what. And Alice had no intentions of allowing her to get interested enough to start asking questions some of the W.I. might not be able to answer without lying. Especially as an awful lot of people just didn’t seem to know the importance of being able to tell a good, believable lie when necessary.

  The inspector dropped two bottles of water and a packet of Hobnobs into the console between the seats, and handed Alice a takeaway cup of tea.

  “I know you said you didn’t want anything,” she said, putting her own cup into the holder. “But you might change your mind. And there’s no point getting tired and hungry over all this.”

  “Over all this?” Alice said, amused. “You’ve arrested me for murder, Detective Inspector.”

  “Yes. You’re my best suspect.”

  “But?” There was reservation in the inspector’s tone, a chink in the weight that was crushing Alice to silence.

  “But it still doesn’t add up for me. Right now, I have to take you in. The cupcakes were in your compost, and there were no fingerprints on the knife, no signs of a break-in or an intruder, or any evidence anyone had been there but you.”

  “So whoever put the knife there put the cupcakes in my compost bin. They didn’t need to break in. They’d know I’d call you over the knife, and that you’d search everything.”

  “It’s a possibility I’m entertaining, Ms Martin, but you were at the crime scene the night after the murder. You had easy access to belladonna. The vicar was afraid of you. The dean has confirmed that.”

  Alice snorted, a very unladylike sound. But such ridiculousness called for snorting. “There’s a difference between being afraid someone will be sharp with you and being afraid someone will kill you. And honestly, if you arrested every woman a man was afraid of, you wouldn’t have time for much else.”

  “I know that. My superior, however, wants some results.”

  “So you’re arresting me just to keep him happy?”

  “Not exactly, Ms Martin. I do have enough to charge you. It would likely get thrown out, but it’s enough to start with. Until you or Ms Ellis give me some real answers, at least.”

  “I can’t believe you think I’d be so silly as to call you to the house if I knew the cupcakes were in my compost.”

  “That does seem rather out of character,” DI Adams admitted. “But panic makes people do strange things.”

  “Do I look panicked to you, Detective Inspector?” Alice asked.

  DI Adams examined her. “Well, no.”

  “You’re wasting your time on this when you could be searching for the real killer.”

  “Convince me of that, then.”

  Alice sipped the watery tea and looked through the window at the green fields rolling away from the car, clouds chasing their own shadows out across the fells. “It’s going to rain this afternoon,” she said.

  The traffic was awful, but then, Alice had never been near Leeds when the traffic wasn’t awful. It was the curse of cities, she supposed. That, and the way the buildings and people pressed around her, making her feel small and ineffectual. She’d never liked them.

  DI Adams inched the car forward, stopped, and sighed. “Guess you never have this problem in Toot Hansell.”

  “No. Getting stuck behind a tractor is a problem sometimes. And sheep.”

  “Sounds smelly.”

  “Better than exhaust fumes.”

  DI Adams grunted in amusement and took a Hobnob. “We should be there in about fifteen minutes, though.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Is it? Everything’s on record once we get inside.”

  “In my experience, DI Adams, everything is always on record when it comes to police and journalists.”

  The inspector glanced at her sideways. She looked tired, Alice thought. Dark marks under her eyes, the hair that had been so fiercely pulled back on the first day escaping in springs and ringlets. But shadows or not, those eyes were sharp.

  “And you have had experience with that before,” the DI said.

  “As you know. I rather imagine it’s one of the reasons you’ve used to justify arresting me.”

  “A prior murder charge does make you rather a person of interest.”

  “A dropped murder charge.”

  “And a still-missing husband.”

  Alice sighed, and resisted the urge to rub her temples. No one needed to know that she had barely slept last night, either. “Which is irrelevant to the current problem.”

  “It’s precedent.”

  “You’re clutching at straws.”

  DI Adams chuckled. “No. On paper, there are plenty of reasons to pull you in. I could even make things stick long enough to hold you well past forty-eight hours. Reasonable suspicion and all that. If I wanted to.”

  Alice finally put her handbag in the footwell, and turned her most severe look on the inspector. “What exactly are you suggesting?”

  The inspector gave her that amused glance again, as if the severe look held no threat for her at all. Alice felt a twinge of admiration. The detective inspector was proving to be most interesting.

  “I’m suggesting you talk to me, Ms Martin. As two people, not as a detective and a civilian. I’m
suggesting you tell me everything you know about what’s going on in Toot Hansell, because a lot of things just aren’t adding up.”

  Alice looked back through the windscreen. “I’m not sure that will help you the way you think it will, Inspector.”

  “Well, maybe you should let me decide that.”

  Alice pressed her hands against her knees, refusing to allow herself to fiddle with the hem of her blouse, or to pluck at her trouser legs. Calm. She could make this work. Give the inspector enough to keep her away from the dragons, and her out of the suffocating claustrophobia of a police station. Aloud, she said, “You may call me Alice. And I would like a decent cup of tea, not this takeaway rubbish.”

  DI Adams grinned. “I know just the place.”

  The place was a small tea shop with pink tables and blue chairs set on the pavement outside, yellow gingham cushions clashing quite wildly with everything else. There were cacti in bright metal pots on the table, and a chalkboard menu hung on the door. It was terribly appealing, but no one sat at the little tables. The clouds had crawled in with the afternoon, and a gusty little wind snatched fretfully at Alice’s hair as the DI opened the door. Inside was crowded with plants, and people chatted in the depths of soft chairs and sofas. It smelt of coffee and toasting tea cakes, and the young woman at the counter had pink hair that matched the outdoor tables.

  The DI pointed to a small table flanked with two big chairs in the corner. “That’ll do us. Tea?”

  “Yes, please.” Alice went to sit down obediently, noting with approval that the table was wiped clean, there was no dust on the windowsill, and the sugar bowl had a dedicated spoon sitting in it. Small things mattered. Everyone always forgot that. She watched the inspector laugh at something the young woman said, then turn back to Alice, still smiling. Yes, she was interesting. But interesting didn’t mean she should be told everything, and certainly not when it came to dragons. Interesting meant Alice would have to be very careful indeed, and try to avoid lying where possible. She had a feeling that the inspector might have a very good nose for lying.

  “Tea’s on its way,” DI Adams said, sitting down in the chair opposite Alice with a sigh and a stretch.

  “Wonderful,” Alice said.

  “So.” The inspector leaned forward, her hands between her knees and her dark eyes fixed on Alice’s. “Tell me. I don’t actually think you murdered the vicar at all, but you need to convince me, or I’ll hand you over to my DCI anyway.”

  Alice frowned at her. “But what on earth did you arrest me for? You gave Miriam such a fright!”

  “But not you?”

  “Of course, me too. But you saw Miriam. She was beside herself!”

  “Do you think she might do something rash?”

  Alice opened her mouth to reply that something rash was always a possibility with Miriam, then frowned. “You did it to see what she’d do. You don’t think she—”

  “No. For a while I wondered if it was a joint effort, given the belladonna, but the motive’s not there, and she’s—” She made a wavy little movement with her hands that Alice felt did actually describe Miriam quite well. “You might be capable, but you’d have such a perfect alibi it makes my head hurt to think of it.”

  Alice raised her eyebrows slightly. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “Hmm. Maybe. Anyway, the two of you together are impossible. I needed you out of the way and her pressured to do something. Hopefully something that’ll point to the actual murderer, since I think you know more about that than you’re saying.”

  “That’s – well, that’s just not very sporting,” Alice said, and leaned back as the young woman with the pink hair arrived with a tray.

  “Tea?” she said, smiling at Alice.

  “Yes, thank you.” It came in an old-fashioned tea pot with a mismatched cup and saucer, a proper tea strainer in its own little dish, and a chunky china jug of milk. “Oh, this looks very nice.”

  “Thanks,” the woman said, placing an enormous mug of frothy coffee in front of DI Adams. “There you go. Back from the coffee-less wilderness.” She patted the inspector’s shoulder and wandered off again, pausing to wipe an already-clean table.

  “You must be quite a regular,” Alice observed, pouring a little milk into the cup.

  “Best coffee in town, and it’s right next to the station. I think I pay their wages with my caffeine habit.” DI Adams stirred her coffee vigorously enough to slop it over the sides of the mug and onto the saucer. “Damn.”

  Alice tsk’d and passed her the napkin from under the teapot. “Well, that’s a good start.”

  The inspector wiped off her mug, then took a sip, closing her eyes with an expression of pure pleasure. “Oh, I’ve missed that.”

  “We do have coffee in Toot Hansell, you know.”

  “Not like this. Now. Back to you and Miriam.”

  “If you insist. I was saying you’re very unsporting.” Although she couldn’t help feeling a grudging admiration for the inspector. Of course Miriam would rush off to hunt down Violet. Of course she’d keep searching for anything that would point to anyone other than Alice, and she’d never even think to watch for someone trailing her. “Who’s watching her?”

  “James. Apparently she’s already made a stop at the vicarage, and now is off toward Manchester.”

  “Is she, now?” Alice stirred the tea (loose leaf, this really was quite a wonderful spot), and placed the little sieve over her cup before pouring.

  “We’re assuming she went to track down someone from the vicar’s past. If she is actually on the path of the murderer, you should be happy we’re following her. It could be dangerous.”

  Not with dragons, Alice thought, and smiled slightly. “I see your point.”

  “So tell us who she’s looking for, and we can take this out of your hands. I’m assuming you have the vicar’s tablet.”

  Alice managed to contain a jump of surprise, raising one eyebrow instead. “Why would you think that?”

  “We found a charger that didn’t fit anything. Stood to reason it was for a tablet, and that he kept all his personal emails on it, because there were none anywhere else. The vicarage computer had nothing that wasn’t strictly work-related, and his phone looked like the first Nokia I ever owned. And it seems to me that even a vicar would have a few personal emails. So, why did you take it?”

  “It – well, it seemed like a good idea at the time,” she admitted. “We did think his emails would be on his phone and his laptop as well. We didn’t mean to keep anything from you, but it was a bit awkward to put back.”

  The DI looked like she might be rolling her eyes if that wasn’t terribly unprofessional. “You don’t say. How did you get it in the first place? Did you break into the vicarage?”

  “No,” Alice said honestly.

  “What about the scratch marks on your wall. They were at the vicarage too. What’s that all about?”

  “Um.” She took a sip of tea. “Yes. I don’t know about the scratches.”

  “Honesty, Alice. Honesty is what’s going to stop me from hauling you into the station and putting you in a cell for a night or so. I don’t even need to charge you for that. Although I could throw in a charge of possessing stolen property and obstructing an investigation, just to spice things up.”

  Alice tried not to think about the stink of the cells, the cold metal of the seatless toilet, the way the solid walls had pressed in around her, windowless and featureless and full of the promise of days and nights passed in a crush of fear and boredom and terrible, empty loneliness. “I can’t tell you much about the scratches, inspector.” That was honest, at least.

  “Why do I feel you mean won’t?”

  “They’re nothing to do with the murder.”

  “They’re to do with how you got the tablet.”

  “But that’s irrelevant.”

  DI Adams leaned back with a sigh, frowning at Alice like a disappointed teacher. “Let’s try this differently. What did you find
on the tablet? Where is it, and where might Miriam be going?”

  Alice thought about it for a moment. None of that suggested dragons. And it seemed the inspector was willing to look in other directions than the W.I., so maybe it was time to hand things over after all. “I feel a little silly,” she said. “We rather thought you wouldn’t look past the W.I., given the circumstances.”

  DI Adams sipped her coffee. “You really have quite a low opinion of law enforcement, Ms Martin.”

  “Alice,” Alice said. “And that may change.”

  The explanation of the possible suspects didn’t take long. DI Adams was less convinced about Stuart’s innocence than Alice was, especially when she learnt he’d been in Alice’s house.

  “You should have called PC Shaw,” she told Alice, giving her that disappointed look again.

  Alice gave a very small shrug. “I was confident he wouldn’t hurt me.”

  “I’m less confident.” She tapped her fingers on the arm of the chair, and Alice thought the inspector might have missed her meaning. “We’ll need to pull him in.”

  “I think this Violet person should be looked into,” Alice said.

  “She will be. But by us, not you. Now, if I take you back, will you give me the tablet? Or do I actually have to lock you up to make you cooperate?”

  Alice inclined her head, acknowledging defeat. “I’ll give you the tablet.”

  “And you’ll stop messing about in my investigation?”

  “I will do my best.”

  DI Adams glared at her. She had quite a good severe look herself, Alice thought. Although she didn’t have the practice Alice did.

  “You will stay out of it, Alice. This is a murder investigation, not a bake sale.”

  “Understood, Inspector.”

  “I’ll lock the both of you up, you and Miriam. I’ll charge you.”