A Simple Country Deception Page 7

  “May we all remember to live as Samuel Graves did; with honor, with zeal, and most importantly, with a desire to serve others.”

  There was a meal to be served in the basement dining hall of the church, where everyone could greet Sam’s family and express their condolences. Food, however, was the last thing on my mind, as my stomach had twisted itself into such tight knots, I wasn’t even sure I would be able to fit anything inside.

  “Perhaps we should go…” I said to Irene, glancing toward the road.

  “I don’t think we should yet,” Irene said. “You should meet his parents. And I thought that you wanted to meet Walter to speak with him?”

  “Yes, I do, but…” I said. “This all seemed a great deal easier when I wasn’t actually here, at the funeral. Now seeing it at all, I…”

  Irene gave me an understanding, sad sort of smile. “Well…this may be the best place to meet him though, right? Didn’t you want to meet him in a more public place, in case he…well, he became angry?”

  I looked around, finding Walter after a few moments of searching. My heart ached as I realized it was almost as easy as looking for Sam in a crowd…especially given their similarities. “He certainly doesn’t seem to be that way today…” I said.

  Even still, she was right. If this was a difficult moment for him, having to attend a funeral for his own brother, as it likely was, then how could I be sure he hadn’t drunk himself silly before attending the funeral as a way to cope? And if that was what he was known for, would he even care? Why would he bother to care about what others thought of him when he was miserable and hurting?

  Irene was right, though. I had to set my emotions aside, as I would certainly despise myself if I were to leave without having gotten the information I’d been looking for.

  “All right,” I said. “I suppose I could at least meet him here.”

  “Good,” Irene said. “Let’s go.”

  We made our way down to the church’s dining hall, which was a spacious room filled with tables, that smelled of freshly baked pies and spiced apple cider. Tables adorned with simple glass vases full of mums were already filled with guests, and a long line of people stretched from the counter where all the food was waiting, all the way to the doorway leading back up to the sanctuary, where Mr. and Mrs. Graves stood.

  Walter, however, was nowhere to be found. He certainly wasn’t standing beside his parents.

  “Let’s get in line before we get anything to eat,” Nathanial said.

  Swallowing hard, I fell into step beside Irene and Nathaniel as we moved to take our spot at the end of the line.

  “Poor Mrs. Graves…” Irene said, pulling her shawl back up her shoulders. “She looks absolutely devastated.”

  “Her husband doesn’t look much better,” I said, my eyes falling on the two of them.

  Mrs. Graves shook the hand of Mrs. Georgianna, who’d somehow made it to the front of the line, despite her sizable girth. I watched as she dabbed at her eyes, nodding her thanks to the boisterous woman.

  Mr. Graves seemed just as distressed. His brow furrowed as he spoke to Mr. Trent.

  “Where is Walter, though?” I asked, looking around.

  “Over there,” Nathanial said, pointing over my shoulder.

  Walter stood near a round table in the corner, ladling spiced cider into a glass cup. All alone, he looked like a giant hovering above the crystal bowl, the ladle looking like a regular spoon in his grip.

  “Perhaps you should go speak to him now,” Irene said. “While he’s alone.”

  My heart skipped. Right again, Irene was, but that didn’t mean I was all that fond of the coming encounter.

  Still, I nodded, and started over toward the round table.

  The pungent cider made my mouth water as I approached the table. The heavenly scent of cinnamon, nutmeg, and some candied orange peel reminded me of autumn at my grandmother’s farm, where I used to pick apples and help her to preserve them for pies, or heat them and mash them for sauce to be enjoyed with a dash of cinnamon. She always made the best pies, and the cider she would bring out for Christmas was very much the same.

  Walter tipped the glass back, downing his cider in one, long gulp.

  I picked up the ladle and began to fill a glass for myself, wondering how I should begin the conversation.

  Walter smacked his lips, letting out a contented sigh. “This was Sam’s favorite drink,” he said. “His absolute favorite. Probably too much cinnamon in this, though. Our mother never could quite make it the same way Sam did.”

  I looked over at him. “You’re Walter…right? Sam’s brother?” I asked, setting the ladle back down into the punch bowl.

  Walter nodded, eyeing the ladle. “That I am. And you’re the one that Sam fancied, aren’t you?”

  I nearly dropped the cup of punch in my hand.

  “Helen, or something, yeah?” Walter asked. He shook his head. “Sam told me about you. Said you were quite a remarkable woman. Sharp as a tack, and a better detective than half the detectives he’d ever known. High praise from my brother, let me tell you.”

  He fished the ladle out of the bowl once again, filling the small, glass cup in his hand.

  I didn’t know how to respond to his surprising statement. He seemed so utterly indifferent about it all. Was he at all troubled about the fact that his brother had just passed away?

  “So that is you, isn’t it?” Walter asked, downing his second cup just as quickly as the first.

  “Well…my name is Helen, yes, and your brother and I did know one another – ” I said.

  “You make it sound like you were nothing more than acquaintances,” he said, going for yet a third glass of cider. “Modest on top of everything, are you?”

  I wasn’t quite sure what I’d expected when I’d considered meeting Walter. The only things I’d known about him were the things I’d learned from others in town, like Sam and Irene. For some reason, he seemed more aloof than I’d expected…but something told me that was nothing more than a cover to shield his true hurt about losing his brother.

  “I’m sorry about Sam,” I said, my voice cracking as I said it. “He…he was a wonderful man, and losing him was…”

  Why couldn’t I form the words? Not only that, but the entire reason why I’d come over here to talk to him was to assess whether or not I thought he might have been capable of being the one who killed Sam in the first place. Why was I apologizing to him if he could be, in fact, the murderer?

  Walter’s face faltered in that moment, his gaze distant as he stared down at the bowl of punch. He pursed his lips, his jaw working, nostrils slightly flared.

  I feared an angry outburst. Red spots formed on his cheeks like the apples of the cider he kept drinking.

  He looked down suddenly, setting his cup on the table. “I feel as if I should apologize to you…” he said in a low voice, seemingly unable to meet my gaze. “I spent the last few years being a terrible man to my brother, but here you are, at the start of a brand new, promising relationship with him, and he – ” He rubbed his chin, taking a steadying breath through his nostrils. “I’m sorry. I cannot imagine how hard this must all be for you right now.”

  Once again, I didn’t know what to say in response.

  From his perspective, I could see how he had come to that conclusion. All he knew about me was that his brother had feelings for me, and had started to pursue a relationship with me. What he didn’t know, though, was that I’d already gone through this before with my husband.

  Regardless, it was still difficult. I may have realized I didn’t wish to have any sort of romantic relationship with Sam, but that didn’t mean I didn’t care for him. If Roger had never reappeared in my life, if I’d never learned that he was still alive, then I knew my feelings toward Sam probably would have been much different. And if that had been the case, then it was likely that I would have been much more upset. To have lost two men that I’d been romantically invested in…that would have been unthinkable.


  I didn’t have the heart to correct Walter, to tell him that I had not been involved with his brother. I realized it was best not to encourage the thought, either. I didn’t want to lie to him or mislead him, especially if I wanted him to trust me.

  “How are you holding up?” I asked. I couldn’t quite explain it, but as I looked at him, I thought I saw the smallest reflection of Sam in his face. It was in his eyes, which seemed to pierce right through the wall that he was staring at. It made my heart ache, and I found my breath catching in my chest.

  “Things have certainly been better,” Walter said, shaking his head. “I never in my wildest dreams thought Sam would be gone before I was. If anything, I thought he would end up the one finding me in some back alley somewhere, having died from alcohol poisoning or something…”

  My throat grew tight, and the bile rising in my chest made it impossible to take even a sip of the cider in my hand.

  I set the cup down on the table, staring down at my hands, silence falling between the two of us.

  “It’s just…” he began. “I don’t know what to do. I wake up in the morning, thinking about something that I want to share with him, only to pick up the telephone, and realize he will never answer…it simply doesn’t seem real. I can’t believe he’s gone.”

  The cracks around my heart deepened. “I understand that feeling all too well, Walter…”

  He downed the rest of his cider, and looked over at me. “Yes, well…I suppose it will all get easier, won’t it? At least that’s what the younger Mr. James keeps telling me. Who would have thought the vicar’s son would come back and taken his father’s place…”

  He set his cup down and turned, making his way to stand beside his parents.

  I wandered back over to where Irene and Nathanial were, my heart aching.

  “Well?” Irene asked. “What did you learn?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “At least, nothing in regards to Sam’s death. Walter is…well, he is devastated, to say the least…and at the same time, he still had the consideration to apologize to me for what I’d been through in all of this.”

  “That’s very kind of him,” Nathanial said, his eyes drifting over toward where Walter stood with his parents.

  “I just couldn’t bring myself to ask…” I said. “I know he might be my best lead, though. So I suppose I’ll just have to find another way to talk to him.”

  I looked over at him, and noticed him watching me. He gave me a tight, small smile, and nodded at me.

  I nodded in return.

  I would have to learn more from him. I owed it to Sam…regardless of how sorry I felt for Walter now.

  9

  As suspected, I regretted not taking the chance to speak to Walter further about Sam and his death while at the funeral. Even though I was fully aware that he likely wouldn’t have been in any sort of mood to have discussed it in the first place, I realized it still would have saved me a great deal of trouble.

  I spent the next week looking for a chance to speak with him again. It certainly did not help that I had no idea how to contact him, other than to look him up in the phone book and hope he wouldn’t be confused by my call.

  “It would certainly be much easier if I were to just happen across him,” I said as I sat at the small, round table in the corner of Irene’s teahouse. She’d forbidden me from working for at least a fortnight after Sam’s death, but seemed to have no qualms with me coming over and spending the afternoons with her after I’d closed up the haberdashery. “It wouldn’t be chance, of course. I wish I knew more about him.”

  “I wish I did, too,” Irene said, topping off my cup of tea for the third time that hour. “I don’t think the man has been able to hold a job for more than a few months at a time, however. Last I knew, he was ferrying food for Mr. Diggory to some of the farms outside of town, but that was nearly six months ago…”

  I sipped the tea, the warmth enough to keep the chill of the cold September afternoon at bay. “And you don’t suppose he would still be working there, do you?” I asked.

  Irene shook her head. “I can’t imagine so, no. I suppose you could go and ask Mr. Diggory, see if he knows where Walter happened to go after Mr. Diggory surely fired him.”

  I frowned. “I don’t know if he would want to tell me, especially if they left off on such poor terms.”

  The bell chimed above the door, and Irene glanced over her shoulder at the new customers streaming in. “I’ll be back,” she said, and then wound her way through the tables to the couple rubbing their hands together gratefully in the warmth of the teashop.

  As the man removed his hat, I realized it was, in fact, Mr. Diggory.

  I sat up a little straighter. What luck!

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Diggory,” Irene said. “Please find a seat wherever you’d like, and I’ll be right out with the specials for the day.”

  “Thank you very much, Irene, but I cannot stay,” Mr. Diggory said. “I was just in town on an errand for our cook, but it’s so blasted cold out there, I thought my fingers might freeze.”

  “Well, I’d be happy to make you a quick cup to warm you up,” Irene said.

  She turned and gave me a rather pointed look.

  “In the meantime, I’m certain that Mrs. Lightholder would love to keep you company,” she said, smiling.

  Mr. Diggory looked up as I rose from my seat.

  Thank you, Irene! I thought, picking up my own teacup and making my way toward the door. This was the perfect chance to ask questions without seeming nosy.

  “Hello there, Mr. Diggory,” I said, meeting him near the door as Irene excused herself to the kitchen for his tea.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Lightholder,” he said, nodding at me. “How are you this unseasonably cold day?”

  “I had the very same idea that you did,” I said. “Tea was precisely what I needed to warm up.”

  “Indeed,” he said.

  “I trust your family is well?” I asked. “How is Mrs. Diggory?”

  “Quite well, thank you,” he said. “Though this weekend was hard for her. Not only was it our late son’s birthday, but it was also Inspector Graves’ funeral. What does it say when a funeral was easier to attend than to sit around at home, pondering over the fact that our son was not there to celebrate with us, nor would he ever be?”

  “It certainly has been a hard few months for those in Brookminster,” I said. “There have been too many deaths.”

  “Indeed…and too many of them of a malicious nature,” he said. “Mr. Graves’ death was the proverbial nail in the coffin. I don’t know how our little town could take another blow like that.”

  “Nor do I,” I said.

  “I think the worst part of it all is that we don’t know who killed the Inspector,” Mr. Diggory said. “If the police knew, wouldn’t they have let us know that it had been handled? Don’t they know we are worried that what happened to him could just as easily happen to any of the rest of us?”

  “I’m certain the police are doing whatever they can, Mr. Diggory,” I said, finding myself parroting everything that Sergeant Newton had ultimately said. “This took them by surprise as much as it did all of us.”

  Mr. Diggory turned to look out the window, his hands on his hips. “It isn’t as if we can blame some faceless enemy…” he said, his voice dropping. “That would be far easier. Instead, I have to look into the faces of all the different people in this town and wonder who could possibly have the Inspector’s blood on their hands…”

  His thoughts echoed my own, and I wished I could tell him that as frankly as he’d told me. If I was to get the information I needed, I knew I was going to need him to be cooperative. And that might mean steering the conversation slightly.

  “I met Sam’s brother at the funeral,” I said. “He seemed terribly distressed by all this as well, not knowing who it might have been that attacked Sam in that alleyway.”

  “Walter?” Mr. Diggory asked, looking over his shoulder at me. �
�To be honest, I was surprised he was able to pull himself together enough to attend. I assumed he would have been in a drunken stupor somewhere, completely unaware of what had happened in the first place…”

  “He seemed entirely in his right mind,” I said. “Perhaps just for that one day?”

  “Perhaps,” Mr. Diggory said. “Although, there have been rumors that he has been trying to clean himself up. In fact, I heard from Mr. Hodgins that Walter had been hired to do some patching on some houses on the eastern side of town. Since Sidney Mason is no longer with us, there are a great many odd jobs around the village that have seemingly gone unfinished.” Mr. Diggory shook his head, sighing heavily through his nostrils. “That man may not have been here for very long, but he was an invaluable member of our community. Brookminster was beginning to thrive underneath his care, and I would be lying if I said I didn’t miss his sunny disposition and willingness to help at any time.”

  “Yes…” I said. “I miss that as well.” While I couldn’t admit that I didn’t miss Sidney at all, because of his treachery, and also couldn’t admit that he had been a German spy, I could admit that I missed the man I thought he was. He had been helpful, even if it had all been a lie…

  I pushed those thoughts from my mind, and returned my attention to the question at hand.

  “So…Walter seems to be trying to better himself?” I asked. “Where did you say he was taking those small jobs?”

  “Out in the eastern side of town,” Mr. Diggory said. “I believe he is working for a one Mr. Adams.”

  “Well, good for him,” I said. “Perhaps having something to keep his mind occupied will be good for him.”

  “Perhaps it will be,” Mr. Diggory said. “I certainly hope he cleans up his act, as he – ”