A Simple Country Deception Read online

  I stood outside for a long moment, with no answer.

  A car drove past behind me, and the dog I’d heard barking earlier began its frantic yelping once again as the car continued on down the street.

  I decided to knock again. If they aren’t home tonight, I suppose I can always come back tomorrow.

  I knocked, and stepped back to wait once again.

  The response was much shorter than I expected, perhaps nothing more than a heartbeat or two.

  A young man wearing an apron and black rubber gloves answered the door. It wasn’t Mr. Hodgins’ son, who I’d seen working there nearly every time I had gone into the shop. He looked vaguely familiar, though. Tall, lean, with clear blue eyes and the first signs of stubble along his jawline. He couldn’t have been older than nineteen, perhaps twenty.

  “Can I help you?” he asked in a voice that demonstrated the least amount of friendliness possible.

  “Um, yes,” I said. “I was looking for Mr. Hodgins, is he here?”

  “No,” said the young man. “I’m closing up for him tonight.”

  “Oh, I see,” I said. “I don’t think we’ve met yet. You must be new to the shop.”

  “In a way,” the young man said, pinching the end of the finger of one of his gloves, loosening it, and then moving to the next. “I used to work here before I was shipped off to boarding school. I just got back this summer, and my mother insisted I find a job.”

  “So Mr. Hodgins hired you on again?” I asked.

  “I thought that would be obvious,” the young man said.

  “Well, my name is Helen Lightholder, and I – ”

  “I’m Arthur Barnes,” he said. “It’s nice to meet you, but I – ”

  “Oh, you’re Victoria’s son?” I asked. “I’ve heard so much about you. Your mother comes into my haberdashery every two weeks. I’ve likely mended the buttons on your school uniform at one time or another.”

  He gave me a stiff smile. “Have you now?” he asked. He pulled one glove free, and used his clean hand to unroll the other glove from his still sheathed arm. “How wonderful.” His tone told me it was the least wonderful thing he could think of.

  “Well, I certainly won’t trouble you for long, Mr. Barnes,” I said. “I simply had some questions for Mr. Hodgins about the murder that happened out here in the alleyway last night.”

  Arthur’s eyes widened with interest. “What about it?” he asked.

  “I was wondering if Mr. Hodgins heard anything about it,” I said. “If anything strange had happened last night.”

  He finished pulling the glove off the other hand, revealing a thick bandage wrapped around his palm.

  “That’s a rather nasty wound,” I said, eyeing his hand. “How did it happen?”

  “Oh, this?” he asked. “I suppose you can’t work in a butcher’s shop for long without running into an accident with one of the knives. And to answer your question, nothing strange that I know,” he said. “We were in here finishing dividing up some cattle that came in late yesterday. I’m not even certain how long we were here.”

  “I see,” I said.

  He folded his arms, tucking his injured hand underneath. “Are you working with the police?” he asked.

  “I used to,” I said. “Sam Graves – Inspector Graves, and I, were good friends. I did some work with him, consulting work, and helped him to investigate some of the crimes happening around the village.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard,” Arthur said. “My mother told me there was someone who seemed to be quite the sleuth. Are you the woman who just moved into town this past March?”

  “Yes, that’s me,” I said.

  “Well, Brookminster is certainly lucky to have you,” he said, that stiff smile returning. “Now, I hate to be rude, but – ”

  “I’m sure you must be busy, trying to close for the night, but I did have one more question,” I said. “I noticed that the Mayfield’s are not here. Their house seems rather dark, and I was speaking with Mr. and Mrs. Henrietta last night, and they told me they just left on a trip to see their son. When I was walking past their house this evening, I noticed that one of their windows was broken, up on the second floor.”

  “Is it?” he asked, glancing past me out into the dark alleyway, his eyes narrowing. “Well, that’s certainly unfortunate for them, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, most unfortunate,” I said. “You didn’t hear the sound of glass breaking? Or anything like that?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “No. Our heads were buried in the freezer for most of the night. Can hardly hear a thing in there.”

  “Right, of course,” I said.

  This conversation was getting me nowhere. He seemed either entirely indifferent to my questions, or simply couldn’t be bothered to answer them for me.

  Still, I was interrupting him while he was attempting to close the shop, and I knew that Mr. Hodgins would likely be upset if he learned I was holding the boy up from finishing his duties.

  “Take care of that wound on your hand, all right?” I asked. “I’m sure you’ve learned this, but those knives are dangerous.”

  “Oh, yes, they certainly are,” he said. “And thank you. I will keep that in mind. Thanks for stopping by. I’ll make sure to tell Mr. Hodgins that you did.”

  “Thank you, I appreciate it,” I said.

  With that, I turned and walked away from the front of the shop, making my way back across the now dark street, where the puddles of light from the street lamps were flooding the road.

  No new answers had been uncovered, and I found myself distinctly distressed by this. How on earth was I going to solve a crime if there were no clues to follow?

  From stepping back into that alleyway, I could have assumed that nothing had occurred back there. Aside from the broken window, there were absolutely no clues in the first place. No blood, no weapons, no scuffs in the wall or on the ground.

  And how was it that a man had been murdered in that alley, and no one had heard it happen? Neither the murder, nor the window breaking? How were there no witnesses to any of these events?

  Either the killer somehow managed to attack Sam without him seeing it coming or having the chance to make a sound…or someone was lying.

  I pondered over these ideas as I walked home, others in town starting to make their way back through the village as well, likely longing for the rest their beds provided.

  Well…even if the alleyway held no answers, I do wonder about the window at the Mayfield’s…Someone should be alerted to the break-in, as that certainly will not be a pleasant surprise to return home to.

  I was inclined to believe Mr. Englewood. Who wouldn’t, after he had already dealt with the discovery of the poor Polish beggar’s body in his shed just a few months before? He seemed distressed about the Inspector’s death, wishing he had been able to help in some way.

  The Gallette’s were the same. Unable to help, none the wiser until they met with Mr. Englewood this very morning. And their stories matched, which was always a good indication that they were telling the truth.

  I did wonder what Mr. Hodgins had seen, and wished he’d been there instead of his impatient assistant. I debated about reaching out the next day and trying to speak with him again.

  Though, given he was one of the people who seemed so certain I was responsible for killing Mr. James, perhaps he won’t be so willing to speak with me. Perhaps it was advantageous that I was able to speak with his assistant, as unfriendly as he was.

  I unlocked the front door of my home, staring briefly upward toward the higher windows, ensuring they were all still intact. I wasn’t sure why anyone would dare to break my windows, but it certainly made me curious as to why no one seemed to disturb my home when I went away to London both those times.

  I thought of Sam, in that moment, knowing that he had likely been watching over the house, along with Irene, and even Sidney…though Sidney had been the one who had been breaking into my house to steal things relating to Roger…
/>   It was quite troubling to think that two people I’d cared about had been taken away from me now. Three, if I included the man I believed Sidney to be. Two by death, and one by deceit. Was it possible to mourn the loss of a friend that never really even existed?

  I wished Roger could be with me now, helping me to cope with the loss of another friend.

  He can’t be, at least not right now, I thought. I need to solve this crime on my own. It’s what Sam would have expected me to do. He’s counting on me to set things right.

  I knew he would have done as much, in my place. And that gave me the determination to continue moving forward.

  5

  I knew one of the first moves I had to make was to let the police know about the window at the Mayfield’s home. Even if they didn’t know about the fact that I had been back there to look for clues about Sam, they still needed to know that someone had broken into one of the residents’ homes.

  What a wonderful thing for us. First a murderer, but now also a thief.

  I was beginning to wonder if all little villages had these sorts of people residing in them, or if it was just Brookminster.

  “That’s how people are, Helen,” I heard Sam’s voice say to me. “I know we all want to believe there is some good in everyone, that it’s possible for us to get along…but in all my years of serving on the police force, I have seen just the opposite. The worst of the worst. The sort of behavior you would never imagine people capable of, and yet they are.”

  “But that’s an awfully cynical view on life, Sam,” I mumbled as I brushed my hair, readying myself for bed.

  “It might be, but at least it’s the truth, and the truth is the truth, no matter how you feel about it.”

  I stared at my reflection.

  The truth was the truth, no matter how I felt about it.

  The truth I was faced with now was that Sam was gone. He’d been killed. That meant someone was responsible for it, someone had raised a hand to him, and intentionally made the choice to take his life.

  The truth was that I had yet to find any clues, and had no idea where to even begin looking for them.

  The truth was that I needed help, and there was really only one place that I was going to be able to get the help I needed.

  The police.

  I sat in front of the phone the next morning for nearly ten minutes, contemplating how I was going to make the call. I knew if anyone in the reception area knew it was me calling, they would either deny me the chance to speak to anyone, or they would possibly chastise me. Especially Rachel, who I thought might even go as far as to try and tie me to Sam’s death, given our close friendship.

  It surprised me, actually, that I had not yet been questioned by anyone.

  Not yet been questioned. I supposed that was the operative thought.

  I remembered Sam mentioning some names on the force that he would have considered friends, people he would have trusted above all others. I did my best to recall exactly what those names were.

  The chief was a good man, though he followed the rulebook to the letter, and likely would not appreciate my call, even for something to do with Sam’s murder, or something that could be tied to it.

  I thought of Richard Doss, who was another one of the officers Sam talked about. Sam said he had a great deal of promise, but due to his lower position in the station, he likely wouldn’t be able to give me the sort of help I was looking for.

  One more name flickered across my memory. Sergeant Newton. Another man like the chief, who wouldn’t budge an inch on the law, even for those he cared about, Sam always spoke about him with utmost respect. They never had the chance to work together, though, as the chief always put them on different cases at different times. Half the time, Sergeant Newton wasn’t even in Brookminster, and instead was working with another Inspector in the next town over.

  He was likely going to be my best bet. The one person who might actually listen to me for more than a moment as I attempted to communicate about what I’d found.

  I dialed the number of the police station, and waited patiently for someone to pick up.

  “Brookminster Police, what is your emergency?”

  It was Rachel. I recognized her voice immediately.

  “No emergency, but I am looking for Sergeant Newton,” I said. “And it is rather important.”

  “Important, you say?” Rachel asked in her nasally voice. “I’m sorry, but the Sergeant is very busy, and has asked not to be distur – ”

  “I’m sorry, but every time I call, it seems that whoever it is that I am looking to speak with, they are very busy and have asked not to be disturbed,” I said, my patience thinning far faster than I had expected it to. “I very much doubt that there isn’t a moment that he could spare to speak with someone who might have information for him about Inspector Graves’ murder?”

  There was silence on the other end of the line, and the only sounds I heard were the ringing of phones and the chatter of conversation from somewhere around her.

  “One moment please,” she said, a bite to her words, but I didn’t care.

  There was a distinct click on the other end, and for a moment, all I heard was the sound of my own breathing, which was faster than it should have been. My heart began to beat more quickly, my face flushing pink.

  Did I really have sufficient grounds to be calling the police? It wasn’t like calling Sam, where he was familiar enough with me to know that I likely had something concrete that was worth discussing. Would this sergeant simply think I was wasting his time?

  “Sergeant Newton,” came the voice on the other line. Deep, yet not as deep as Sam’s had been.

  It was so sudden, and I had been so lost in my own thoughts, that his voice made me jump.

  “Good morning, Sergeant,” I said, trying my best to regain my composure. “My name is Helen Lightholder, and – ”

  “Mrs. Lightholder,” Sergeant Newton said. I recognized the tiredness in his voice. “I expected to hear from you before long. Graves told me that you had a way of always sticking your nose into these cases, and here you are, right on time.”

  My brow furrowed. I wasn’t sure if he was being serious or not, and that annoyed me.

  “What can I do for you? What information have you uncovered that we, as police officers, have somehow missed?” he asked.

  “Pardon me, sir, but I do not appreciate the chastisement,” I said. “Inspector Graves was a dear friend, and I don’t like the tone you are using to speak about him – ”

  “My apologies, Mrs. Lightholder, I meant no harm by it,” he said. “I am deeply saddened by his loss, do not doubt me.” I heard him shifting in his chair, the wood creaking as he moved. The change in his voice made the knots around my heart ease somewhat. “In regards to the investigation, I do not mean to sound harsh, but this really is a matter that should be handled by the police, and the police alone.” He paused a moment before adding, “That being said, I trust my friend Sam, and something about you got him to trust you. I have only ever seen that happen one other time. His trust was hard earned. Because of that I’m willing to hear you out this once, and then ask that you leave the rest of the investigation to us. I could have contacted you for questioning about his death, given your relationship, but I didn’t think it necessary. I didn’t need to do that in order to know you weren’t involved.”

  “Well…” I said, a mixture of emotions flooding through me. “I appreciate your faith in me, but isn’t that showing favoritism?”

  “Not when I’ve been working for the police as long as I have been,” he said. “You just get a feel about some people, understand how their minds work.”

  I remembered Sam saying something similar.

  “Would you rather me bring you in to question?” he asked.

  “Well, no,” I said.

  “Good,” he said. “And I doubt you were calling to admit you committed the crime?”

  “Of course not,” I said, my brow furrowing, my hand balling into
a fist.

  “That’s what I thought,” he said. “Now, what was the real reason you called?”

  I fidgeted, feeling rather flustered. It was as if he chased me around like a fox chasing a rabbit. I couldn’t quite decide if he was attempting to be friendly or distant, or perhaps a mixture of both.

  Could I trust him? Just because he trusted Sam, and he said Sam made it clear that he trusted me, did that mean he was trustworthy?

  My head throbbed, and I rubbed my temple. “I saw something last night that troubled me,” I said. “While I was out visiting the butcher’s, I glanced up at the Mayfield’s home, knowing they were out of town, and noticed one of their windows had been broken.”

  “Broken, you say?” he asked. “That’s odd. I wonder if it occurred before they left on their trip.”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I asked Mr. Hodgin’s assistant, Arthur Barnes, and he said he had no idea what had happened. It just seemed rather strange that there was a broken window so very near to where…well, where Sam was attacked.”

  The chair creaked on the other line once again. “It was in the alleyway, you say?” he asked.

  “It was at the back of the house, yes,” I said.

  “Did you go out looking for evidence of some kind?” he asked.

  I swallowed hard, my heart skipping. “I suppose I wanted to go and see the area for myself. It’s…well, it’s hard to believe that he is gone. I don’t know why, but I thought seeing the place might…it might give me closure.”

  It wasn’t entirely true, but it wasn’t all that far from the truth, either. It was incredibly hard to believe Sam was gone.

  “It’s just difficult to imagine how someone could have overpowered him,” I said.

  “You aren’t the only one who thinks so…” Sergeant Newton said, and I heard the heaviness in his words. “It’s something we have been talking about all day. No one seems to have an answer for how it happened in the first place. It’s troubling, that. The men don’t like the idea that one of our best officer’s was killed so easily. It’s terrible. There’s no other way to look at it.”