The Snow Day Murders (Edward Crisp Mysteries Book 2) Page 2

  I was just debating whether she expected an answer to that before she spoke to him again. ‘Actually, you can help, if you want to make yourself useful. Stay here with young Jacob and keep an eye on the market, while I take Frances into the pub for a cup of tea.’

  Frances looked at Mum in surprise, her face still pale and sorrowful. ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes, love. Why should you stay outside in the cold when you’ve had a nasty shock? Come on in, you can tell me all about it.’

  Not taking no for an answer, Mum put her arm round Frances and started to lead her into the pub.

  4

  ‘So now, the Vicar is going to get murdered. I can’t wait!’

  If you haven’t read my account of the real murder case Noah and I were involved in a few months ago, you may be a bit shocked by his comment. But otherwise, you know exactly what he’s like and will know he doesn’t mean it in a harmful way.

  ‘I told you, Noah, we’re not doing this again.’ I was in my family’s flat upstairs from the pub, making cups of tea for Mum and Frances. Of course, Mum could easily have made their drinks downstairs, but I knew she thought she’d be able to get more gossip out of the Vicar’s wife if they had a few minutes alone.

  ‘Obviously Pedro will be the number one suspect, but it will be more complex than that,’ Noah continued happily. ‘We’ll have to start interviewing the suspects. Hopefully your Mum’s made a good start with Mrs. Flowers.’

  I sighed deeply as I gathered the drinks onto a tray and gave Noah some biscuits to carry. Bless him, I knew he couldn’t help it, but we’d been here before. And although there was a reason his murderous predictions were correct last time, the thought of it happening again worried me.

  ‘She’s just making sure she’s okay, I’m sure.’ I knew that wasn’t strictly true. Mum would be trying to find out every last piece of juicy gossip she could and Pedro’s accusations were true or not. I was unsure what to expect as Noah and I carried the tea and biscuits into the pub.

  ‘Forget the tea, boys, she’s gone.’

  It turned out that Frances stayed in the pub a matter of minutes, making an excuse to Mum and scarpering almost immediately.

  ‘It’s as if she’s got something to hide,’ Mum complained. ‘She probably went straight home to question her husband. Mind you, I would. If I could prise him away from all those women around him.’

  ‘Do you think the Vicar and Pedro’s girlfriend are having an affair then?’ Noah asked.

  It was a good question. Claims like that don’t normally come from nowhere, and as I’ve already mentioned, the Vicar’s reputation goes before him. But I always thought that didn’t go further than flirting with his female friends and parishioners to keep them on side.

  Unfortunately, Mum answered first. ‘Of course they were! There’s no smoke without fire.’

  To be fair, Cherry McDonald’s reputation also goes before her. Half Pedro’s age (in her early twenties), she started as a waitress at his restaurant while he was still married to Gloria, but the scandal of their affair ended the marriage in dramatic fashion.

  I thought I better try and rescue the situation; Mum’s speculation would only encourage Noah’s murder theories. ‘I’ve no idea, I doubt it. It was probably just a misunderstanding.’

  I decided the best approach was to change the subject. ‘Anyway, look at this snow. It’s the biggest snow fall I’ve ever known us to have.’

  That wasn’t just an idle change of subject. The snow was falling thicker and faster with no end in sight; at this rate, the village would be cut off from the main road soon.

  ‘Then there’ll be no one to investigate the murder but us!’ he said, clapping his hands together and sounding delighted. ‘I bet the body is buried deep in the snow already.’

  Again, I rushed to answer him before Mum could. ‘What body? You just said you thought it was the Vicar. I only left him fifteen minutes ago, and he was in a group of people. Now I don’t want to hear any more about anyone being murdered.’

  ‘Okay, I’m sorry.’ He stopped and looked down at the floor, leaving me feeling guilty. But he wasn’t finished. ‘Just one more thing though, and I’m sorry, it is kind of to do with someone being murdered.’

  I rolled my eyes. ‘Go on.’

  ‘It’s more of a question really. I know I said it would be the Vicar who might get murdered, but has anyone seen Cherry McDonald this morning?’

  5

  Noah spent the next couple of hours looking at Cherry’s social media profiles to look for any evidence that she’d been online – she hadn’t, which fuelled his speculation that she was the murder victim (not that anyone else believed there would be a murder victim at that point). Mum, meanwhile, speculated that Cherry had instead ran off somehow with all of Pedro’s money, firmly casting her in the ‘young gold-digger’ archetype.

  But their guessing and gossip was soon forgotten, as the rest of the morning brought the biggest snowstorm our little village had ever seen. Generally, East Sussex gets much less snow than back in the North West where my family’s from; in the twenty or so years we’ve lived down here, I can remember maybe half a dozen proper snowfalls. In contrast, every winter I recalled in Wigan when I was a child seemed like a magical parade of sledging, snowball fights and building snowmen – frozen toes and ice cold ears, then warming up in front of the fireplace afterwards.

  This seemed to be something Mum was trying to recreate at the moment, as she made Dad put more coal on the fire in the pub while she encouraged everyone to gather round it.

  ‘Come on everyone, come and get warm!’ she shouted across the pub. ‘Nothing like a proper fire to warm you up. Alfie and Dylan will have that fresh soup ready soon too. Don’t worry, we’ll sort you out here at the Chalk!’

  Mum had managed to make the pub an impromptu community centre following the snowstorm, jumping on the idea before Reverend Flowers had the chance to offer up the church hall.

  ‘Someone needs to do it and it might as well be us,’ she’d said as soon as she realised how much the village would be disrupted. ‘I’m sure the Vicar has his own problems to deal with anyway.’

  Nobody had seen Reverend or Frances Flowers over the last couple of hours, even though the Flowers’ harem of Gloria, Kimmy and Claire were amongst the helpers in the pub. The Chalk was a hive of activity, acting as a base for the volunteers who were shovelling snow, attempting to clear doorways, phoning vulnerable members of the community to check on them, and unsuccessfully trying to dig a route through to the rest of the village.

  The scenes were unlike anything I’d ever known in my lifetime. Chalk Gap village was buried under mountains of snow, which was still falling relentlessly. I’d heard several comments – mostly from Dad – that it was close to three feet deep, which if true would make it the worst UK snowfall since the infamous winter of 2010-11, ten years ago, when chaos reigned across the country. Bizarrely, Chalk Gap was barely affected by that, with the worst conditions passing our village by.

  But not this time. Everything and everyone had been brought to a halt, with no discernible path from one part of the village to another. Our village centre at the foot of the cliffs, consisting of the southern end of the high street, village square and beach, was therefore cut off from the rest of Chalk Gap – with many people unable to wade through the snow to get home.

  Then there were those who had come to help before the worst of the snow, or those who had deliberately stuck around to do what they could.

  ‘You can’t beat the community spirit in Chalk Gap,’ Dad always says. Dad, of course, had used it as an excuse to get his pub disco set going, with the soundtrack of Frozen currently blasting through the pub, although most people ignored it as they went back and forth or sat keeping warm.

  Further to Dad’s comment, the community was fairly well represented. As well as Gloria from the sweet shop and Kimmy and Claire from the B&B, there was Annabelle King who ran the convenience store, the couple who had just taken over the ca
fé, and a guy who I recognised as the young police officer who guarded the staff room after Miss Finch was murdered. Even though we didn’t have village police (we were far too small for that in these cost-cutting times), I remembered my colleague telling me at the time that he lived in the village.

  Several of my colleagues from school were also present. My best friend and housemate Patrick Herrera, our new Science teacher Becky Lau, our caretaker Carol Fletcher and the school P.A. Dylan Spence, also now my brother Alfie’s boyfriend; the two were currently in the pub kitchen preparing the soup Mum had mentioned. Technically, Alfie took over as pub landlord when my parents took early retirement from it, but at times like this you’d be surprised to discover that.

  Meanwhile, Kat Parker, our Head Teacher and my close friend, seemed to have taken charge of the volunteers and was busy giving out tasks to them. I thought this may have caused a clash with Mum, until I realised that Mum was more bothered about the hosting part than the actual helping.

  Kat had given us all various tasks in small groups, so Noah, Patrick, Jacob Flowers and I were now clearing the snow behind the pub at the foot of the cliff path, which Mum was pleased about; it apparently meant the sledgers would be more likely to come into the pub if they had a clear path.

  The two teenagers were a few feet ahead of us: Jacob silent and sullen, with Noah jabbering away happily.

  ‘All this snow is just so exciting, isn’t it? I’ll lend you my copy of The Sittaford Mystery if you like – everyone is snowed in but a murder takes place.’ He looked around, taking in the winter wonderland surrounding us. ‘It’s just so atmospheric, the perfect setting for a murder!’

  ‘It’s alright,’ Jacob muttered in reply, looking like he wanted to commit a murder of his own. Since Noah moved into the pub with Mum and Dad, I knew he’d been attempting to befriend Jacob. The vicar’s son was a good year or so older than Noah, and having cast himself as an angst ridden goth, was quite a different character. And I’d never seen them interact with each other at school. But I could tell they shared being on the social outskirts of their age group, so maybe a friendship would develop after all.

  ‘So you don’t think she moved out because of me then?’

  My own best friend, Patrick, was preoccupied while we shovelled snow. If you read my last account detailing Miss Finch’s murder, you’ll know that Kat and Patrick used to be in a relationship together, but settled instead on being friends and housemates (along with me). Since Kat’s promotion to Head Teacher, she decided her house sharing days were over and has just bought a nice little cottage in the village. It seemed quite natural to do it and their relationship was so far in the past that I’d not even linked it to that. But Patrick had.

  ‘I’ve told you a million times, of course not!’ I stopped to get my breath. I was a lot shorter and a lot less stronger than Patrick, and the exertion of shovelling while wading through snow up to my knees was difficult.

  ‘You don’t think it’s because of me and Becky then?’ Patrick and Becky Lau had happened quite quickly. Becky had started working at school in September, and they were dating by October half term. It could have been potentially awkward for all concerned with Kat being their boss, but I wasn’t sure Becky even knew about Kat and Patrick’s past. To me, they’re just my two best friends.

  ‘Patrick, she’s a school Head Teacher now. It makes sense she’d want her own place, she can afford it.’ Knowing how independent Kat is, it was a surprise she’d stayed living with us as long as she had.

  ‘I know that, buddy,’ he replied as he dug through the snow in front of us. ‘I just hope she’s okay, that’s all.’ He looked like he was about to say something else, but instead he just focused on his task of shovelling. We went on in silence for a little while until it was broken suddenly.

  ‘I swear to God, you better take that back right now!’

  Jacob. His father wasn’t around this time to tell him off for blaspheming. Patrick and I were going to have to deal with his current outburst, which at the moment involved threatening Noah with a shovel.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Patrick asked immediately, quicker to react than I was. I was busy taking in the scene. Noah didn’t seem overly scared that an angry young man was waving a shovel at him.

  ‘He was saying things about Cherry, and my dad,’ Jacob snarled in reply.

  ‘Oh, is that what’s upset you?’ Noah said cheerfully. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it. I only said that when there’s a murder in a love triangle, it’s interesting that the murder victim has usually done something wrong. Like how Linnet Ridgeway in Death on the Nile steals her best friend’s fiancé before she gets murdered.’

  I rolled my eyes. Noah’s fascination with murder mysteries had got him in trouble yet again. ‘Noah, now’s not the time for that.’

  ‘Oh no, it’s fine,’ he continued. ‘I’m not saying Jacob’s Dad has done anything wrong sleeping with the waitress, but when one of them gets murdered some people might think they deserve it.’

  ‘That’s it!’ Jacob roared as he darted towards Noah.

  ‘JACOB!’ I recognised the Vicar’s voice before I saw him trying to wade through the snow, looking very much alive. I thought he’d simply come to prevent his son’s second attack of the day, until I noticed the terrified look on his face.

  ‘Gentlemen, I need your help. Something’s happened at the vicarage.’

  Noah, Patrick and I stopped and looked at Reverend Flowers. Jacob seemed unsure, looking uncertainly between his father and Noah, still holding the shovel in the air.

  ‘What is it?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m afraid we need to ring for the police. It’s my wife. She’s dead.’

  Jacob dropped the shovel into the snow and stared at his father. ‘Dad, what did you say?’

  Flowers looked at his son slowly, as if only just remembering he was with us. ‘Oh, Jacob. Your mother. She’s dead. I think she’s been murdered.’

  ‘I knew it! I knew there’d be a murder!’ Noah clapped his gloved hands together. Luckily for him, Jacob Flowers was too much in shock or there might have been a second one.

  6

  Poor Frances Flowers seemed to have met her end in the back garden of the vicarage, which is situated behind the church away from the main square. She lay on her back just outside their kitchen doorway, her eyes closed, looking peaceful. She wore a dowdy knitted brown jumper but the outdoor jacket she wore earlier had gone. There was a patch of red in the snow under her head. I then noticed the snow all over her body and face; I guessed that her husband found her facing down and had since turned her over.

  ‘I… I had to check on her you understand,’ Reverend Flowers stammered, as if reading my mind.

  ‘You should never move a dead body, it could affect the investigation,’ Noah interjected.

  We’d rang 999 and were waiting for the emergency services to figure out a way to get here. Patrick had taken Jacob inside the pub, while the Reverend showed me and Noah where he’d found his wife. I’d suggested us all waiting together at the pub, but Flowers insisted on taking us there. He probably needed someone else to see it, to feel it was real. Although bringing Noah along didn’t seem like the best decision in hindsight, it was a better alternative to leaving him to upset Jacob further.

  ‘I didn’t even think of that, I just saw her lying there and I had to check she was okay.’

  ‘But she wasn’t,’ Noah said, unnecessarily. Then he added, ‘I’m really sorry for your loss, Vicar. Mrs. Flowers seemed like a nice lady.’

  ‘She was, she was the best,’ Flowers replied, while shivering. He looked at me and I could see the utter dismay on his face. ‘Edward, who would do such a thing?’

  ‘To answer that, we need to look at the crime scene,’ Noah answered for me. ‘Don’t worry, we’re good at that!’

  ‘We’ll leave that for the police, Noah,’ I said quickly, feeling a strong sense of déjà vu. Yet there were several visual clues that left little doubt to e
ven the most casual eye as to what happened.

  A shovel lay in the snow just a couple of feet from Frances’ body, the unforgiving steel edge a mix of ominous red and white. The snow in the vicarage garden was very deep, so that the footprints leading away from the body across the garden were easy to see, although I noticed the falling snow was already starting to cover them. They stopped at the six foot fence at the end of the property, which I imagined their owner had climbed to jump their way out of the vicarage grounds.

  I had something to double check. ‘The fence backs straight on to the bottom of the cliff, doesn’t it?’ I imagined it did; the pub backed on to the West Cliff and the vicarage was in roughly the same position in front of the East Cliff. The difference was the cliffs were in plain view from the pub, while the vicarage had a high fence in between.

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ Flowers confirmed.

  ‘So the person escaping would be in full view of the people sledging down the cliff slope!’ Noah said.

  That’s exactly what I was thinking too, hence the question, but I wasn’t going to verbalise that thought at this point. Noah may have gone into detective mode, but a man had just lost his wife, and his son needed him.

  ‘Thank you for showing us where you found her, Vicar. Let’s get back to the pub and see Jacob. The police will know what to do next.’

  I remember the next thing that happened being right on cue as I spoke those words, but in reality it might not have been that exact moment. My phone vibrated and I saw a name I hadn’t seen for a few months: DI Jamie Appleby. My former school bully turned CID Detective Inspector led the last murder investigation in Chalk Gap, so it made sense that he would be involved in this one. What didn’t make sense was why he was phoning me.

  ‘Edward, mate! Good to speak to you,’ he boomed down the phone as soon as I answered. ‘Though I wish it was in better circumstances.’

  ‘You mean the murder.’