Page 29 of Murder in the Winter Woods (Julia Bird Mysteries #8)

Clarissa.

Julia could hardly believe her eyes when she saw the name on one of Hester’s list of honey orders.

It was an unusual name – in fact, Julia couldn’t remember ever meeting a Clarissa before – and oddly enough one she’d heard just yesterday, from the lips of DI Hayley Gibson.

Clarissa was the name of Anthony Ardmore’s girlfriend, the one he’d apparently been at home with when Lewis died.

The address on Hester’s delivery list was in Berrywick. It seemed unlikely that there were two Clarissas in a small village. Much more likely that they were one and the same.

‘I’ve got errands to do around the village, so I can drop off whatever needs to be delivered in Berrywick. And you can deliver to Edgeley. How does that sound?’ Julia offered, her curiosity piqued.

‘That would be so helpful, thank you, Julia,’ Hester said, her voice wobbling a little. ‘I just feel so overwhelmed.’

‘Of course you do, you’ve experienced a traumatic loss,’ said Julia. ‘Your whole world has been turned upside down.’

Julia gave Hester a quick hug, which the other woman returned, saying, ‘You’re a kind friend and neighbour.’

Julia felt a little flash of guilt that her kindness wasn’t entirely selfless. She reminded herself that she had offered to help before she’d seen Clarissa’s name. She had been kind, and now she was the lucky beneficiary of a stroke of good fortune.

‘It’s no trouble,’ Julia said. ‘Now, let’s check the Berrywick orders. There’s Clarissa, she has four jars…’

It wasn’t that she expected to unearth anything that Hayley Gibson and Walter Farmer hadn’t already found out, Julia thought, as she drove to the address on the list Hester had given her.

It wasn’t in the very poshest area – the smartest houses were mostly owned by ‘old’ families who had lived in Berrywick for generations, or they were owned by rich solicitors down from London – but it was on a nice street on the edge of the village.

With each curve of the pretty road, the honey jars clinked musically in the back seat.

Julia was pleased she had decided to leave Jake at home – the combination of large jars of sticky honey and a boisterous chocolate Labrador in a small Fiat would have made her nervous.

She would take Jake for a nice walk in the afternoon.

Julia drew up at a low stone wall, checked the address, and got out with the four large jars of honey Clarissa had ordered, clinking in a sturdy paper bag.

She walked up the garden path to a house that was more modest than she’d expected, having seen Anthony Ardmore’s huge new car, but neat and trim.

The door was flung open before she reached the doorstep, and a woman appeared, walking and talking at speed.

Hester had messaged to say that the honey would be delivered, and Clarissa had clearly been waiting.

She was much younger than Julia had been expecting – and certainly a great deal younger than Anthony Ardmore.

‘It’s so kind of you to come and deliver,’ Clarissa said.

‘I was so sorry to hear about poor…Gosh! Doesn’t that honey look lovely?

We’re doing a Secret Santa at work, and when I saw the stand at the Christmas market, I thought, well, what’s nicer than a big jar of honey?

Anyone would be delighted with it. And then I thought, my boyfriend, Anthony might need gifts for his family, or for staff or, I don’t know, clients perhaps, so I bought a few extra. ’

‘What a clever idea, it makes a lovely gift for anyone,’ said Julia, when Clarissa paused for breath and she was able to get a word in. ‘Where should I put them?’

‘Follow me,’ said Clarissa, turning back to the house.

She spoke over her shoulder while leading the way.

‘I didn’t want to carry them all around the market all afternoon, so the honey man said he’d deliver.

I wasn’t sure if I would get the honey at all, when I heard what happened to the poor man.

Terrible, wasn’t it? Imagine that. Horrible.

And he seemed so nice. I would have quite understood if the honey hadn’t been delivered. ’

Julia followed Clarissa, speaking to her back as she bustled down the passage. ‘He was indeed very nice. A very decent fellow. His wife is making sure all their customers are getting their orders, as he would have wanted. I’m their neighbour. I’m giving her a hand with the deliveries.’

‘Well, that’s very kind.’ They entered a drab little kitchen with yellowing wooden counters and a sooty patch behind the stove.

‘Here’s a funny thing – I mean, not funny funny, but quite a strange thing, really – it turns out that the honey man was a client of my partner’s, I discovered afterwards. Imagine that?’

Julia, who had been wondering how she would manage to seamlessly bring the conversation round to the subject of Anthony Ardmore, wondered no more. ‘Well, there’s a coincidence,’ she said.

Clarissa nodded. ‘Isn’t it? In fact, him and the other man who died. Both clients of Anthony’s. They were two of three who were in a group, like a syndicate of some sort. Would you like to have a cup of tea?’

‘I won’t have tea, but I’d appreciate a glass of water if you’re not in a hurry.’

‘Right you are. Have a seat.’

Julia put the honey jars on the table and sat down.

‘’Scuse the kitchen,’ said Clarissa, holding a glass under the cold tap.

‘We’re going to be doing a full renovation of it next year, knock through to the scullery, open it all up.

My boyfriend plans to sell his place and move in with me – he spends so much time here anyway.

But we need to fix it up, if this is going to be our forever home. ’

She handed the glass of water to Julia and sat down opposite her at the kitchen table. ‘You know these businessman types, always waiting for a deal to go through or cheque to clear or what have you. Promises, promises. But finally, it’s going to happen! Imagine that.’

A fancy new car and a new kitchen…Business must be good for Anthony Ardmore.

‘That’s very exciting for you. It’s a nice big space, I’m sure with a bit of love and paint it will be lovely.’

‘Oh, it will. I’ve got big plans. Although I can’t get Anthony to look at the vision board, or the paint samples, let alone the taps. The taps are so important to the overall look, don’t you think? Well, that’s what they say on Pinterest. But Anthony hasn’t got the time, he says.’

Julia took a sip of her water and asked, ‘Busy at work, is he?’

‘Yes. He’s in investments. It’s a lot of responsibility, dealing with people’s money. He’s been under a lot of stress. It’s the personal side, I think, keeping the clients happy, that takes its toll. Now that’s a challenge. I can just imagine.’ She rolled her eyes.

‘You mentioned something about a syndicate?’

‘A syndicate?’ Clarissa’s brow furrowed.

She was one of those stream-of-consciousness talkers whose words disappeared like footprints on the sand once they exited her mouth.

‘Oh, yes, I was talking about Anthony’s clients.

It’s an investment syndicate. You have to put in a certain amount of money to buy in, and it’s a lot, so sometimes people go in together.

In this case, three chaps sort of clubbed in together to come up with the money.

You know what it’s like with that sort of thing, this one wants one thing, and someone else wants another, and then this one is in and that wants out and then someone else changes his mind and it’s on again.

I didn’t follow it properly, but the investors were dithering about – they had to all go in, the three of them, for the minimum stake, and they finally signed, but then someone said they weren’t sure and they wanted to cancel.

Imagine that. Big stress. Because everyone has to be on the same page in a syndicate.

And then, two of them suddenly died, just like that.

It’s been very stressful and difficult for poor Anthony. ’

Clarissa stopped to draw breath, and must have realised how inappropriate that last sentence had sounded, because she said quickly: ‘Not as difficult as for the two men, obviously, or their wives. Those poor widows. I mean, poor old ducks, I can’t even imagine.

’ She gave a shiver. ‘But still, poor Anthony, he’s got to sort it all out, and people can be very tricky when they’re grieving, quite unreasonable, as Anthony says.

And you know what old ladies can be like when they get their feathers ruffled – no offence. ’

Julia didn’t let on to the prickle of offence that she did in fact feel on behalf of ‘old ladies’ everywhere.

Clarissa rambled on, ‘And there’s the kitchen to pay for, to say nothing of deciding on the taps and the paint colours, which obviously he’s not in the headspace to discuss right now, and he’s half here and half at his place.

’ She stopped, and her face brightened as if a great idea had struck her.

‘Would you like to see the paint colours?’

‘Me? Oh, well, I’m not much of an expert on that sort of thing, but…Yes, of course, I’d be happy to have a look.’

Clarissa looked delighted. She got to her feet and bounded over to a drawer, from which she removed a fat folder.

Plonking it down on the table between them, she pulled out a picture torn from a magazine.

‘I was thinking of something like this.’ She pushed it across the table to Julia, who studied the kitchen in the picture.

It looked beautiful, and spotless. Julia had a horrible flashback to the incident with the Perfect Paw Washer.

Whoever owned this kitchen didn’t appear to have a lunatic wet Labrador.

In fact, the only living thing in the picture of the kitchen was a spider plant.

Unless you counted the contents of the fruit bowl, which were three perfect lemons.

Did a lemon count as a living thing, Julia wondered?

Clarissa picked up a clutch of paint swatches. ‘But with the walls more of a teal colour, lighter than in the picture, more like this one. Imagine that.’

Julia was starting to wonder if there was anything that Clarissa didn’t want her to imagine.

Clarissa spread the little rectangles of coloured paper into a fan with her thumb, identified the correct one, and held it out.

‘It’s called Singing the Blue. Don’t they have funny names?

There’s one called Donkey Breath – can’t say I fancy it.

So do you like the teal? There’s also this dark grey, Scandinavian Storm, it’s called.

It’s very fashionable at the moment, and it’s smart, but I like light and I worry it might be gloomy… What do you think?’

Julia gave the colours her full attention, and gave Clarissa her considered opinion – brighter was better in a kitchen, especially in winter, and the teal was lovely, but she wouldn’t use it on every wall.

They were getting on so easily that she felt she could slip in a question: ‘So, how were the widows being tricky?’

‘Oh, I don’t mean to be unkind about your neighbour. I’m sure she’s had an awful time, and I don’t know the full story. I only know that they wanted to take the money back, which put Anthony into a proper mood, I can tell you.’

Julia worked slowly through samples for window blinds, and, without raising her head, said casually, ‘That does sound tricky. What’s he going to do about it?’

‘Oh, he can’t give the money back, obviously, even if he wanted to.

There’s contracts and everything, but it’s all complicated.

Anyway, it looks like the other investor, the not-dead one, obviously, is keen to stay in and make lots of money.

All three – the widows who’ve inherited their husbands’ investments, as well as the not-dead chap – need to agree for them to leave, so if he wants to stay in, they’ll all stay in.

It looks like the drama will all blow over, and then maybe Anthony can look at the paint samples. ’

Clarissa flicked through the colour swatches with a rhythmic, contemplative air, like someone shuffling cards. She put them down on the table, leaned towards Julia and said in a conspiratorial whisper, ‘Now, you might think I’m mad, but I think I can trust you not to freak out when I tell you…’

Julia felt a prickle of anticipation.

‘Just between you and me, I’ve been thinking…’

What could Clarissa’s revelation be? And what light might it shed on the murders?

Clarissa leaned forward and said under her breath, ‘Yellow.’

‘What?’ Julia asked, confused.

‘You hate it? You’re probably right. It’s very eighties. Forget I said anything about yellow. Teal. Teal it is.’