Page 30 of Murder in the Winter Woods (Julia Bird Mysteries #8)

Julia dropped off the rest of the jars of honey at houses nearby.

Berrywick being what it was, she was invited in for tea at two of the three stops – the third was a harassed-looking young mum with a baby on her hip and a toddler pulling on her skirt, so who could blame her for not offering tea?

Julia didn’t take up any of the offers of hospitality, but made her rounds quickly and efficiently without going in for even a glass of water.

She had much on her mind. As well as puzzling over the rather disjointed revelations from Clarissa, she was deciding what pudding to make to take Sean’s that evening.

Apple crumble would be nice. Sean loved a crumble, and someone on the road had given all the neighbours a bag of apples each.

Yes, that’s what she’d make, apple crumble.

It was only when she got home, and saw a book, Pop Songs for Guitar , on the table by the front door, that she remembered the other – non-bee-related – delivery she had to make that day.

Diane had come across the book on Friday while she was sorting through stock in the storeroom to replenish the shelves at Second Chances.

‘It must be his. Look!’ she had said, pointing to the name, KEN , written in blue ink on the inside of the front cover, which was yellow with age.

Each letter in the name was fat and rounded to look three-dimensional – bubble writing, it was called, and an enduring classic amongst teens.

‘It must have been donated at the same time as the instrument. What a pity I didn’t spot it earlier – we could have given it to him while he was here for the guitar. ’

‘Oh, this looks like something precious, we will have to get it back to him,’ said Wilma eagerly. ‘I wonder who would have his number?’

‘I wonder.’ Diane frowned. ‘I’ll ask around. Someone will know.’

‘I know the house, of course,’ said Wilma. ‘He’s staying in his mum’s place, over on Grange Lane. I could go over there.’

‘That’s close to where I live,’ Julia had said. ‘I pass it all the time, on my way to the river path with Jake. Give the book to me; I’ll drop it off to him over the weekend.’

Julia now ate a quick lunch of warmed-up pea soup and wholemeal toast – it was just the meal for the chilly weather – and got the crumble filling ready so she could top it and bake it on her return.

She bundled up against the breeze, and then bundled up Jake.

It was the first time she’d tried to put on his Christmas jersey, and after the experience with the Perfect Paw Washer, she’d been rather apprehensive.

Jake, to her surprise, was a model of sensible behaviour.

He stood calmly while she put it over him and fastened it under his tummy.

‘Don’t you look smart?’ she said. She was pleased with her choice: the red and black tartan looked good against his glossy brown coat.

She attached his lead, dropped the music book into a tote bag and hoisted it onto her shoulder.

The two of them set off on their mission.

On a Sunday afternoon, the river path was nicely busy, with plenty of dogs for Jake to greet, and humans for him to charm.

He trotted along at Julia’s side, tail wagging happily, his nose twitching inquisitively at each new smell.

His tail-wagging pace stepped up a notch when he spotted Pippa and her clutch of puppies, accompanied by an older lady with a walking stick.

They were walking towards them. The puppies were similarly pleased to see Jake, squirming in delight, soft little blobs of happiness.

Pippa let them off their leads so they could play freely on a nice bit of lawn next to the path, on the side away from the river.

Jake, similarly liberated from his lead, was like an indulgent uncle, playing gently with the youngsters, letting them jump up at him and nibble his tail.

Pippa introduced her companion as her aunt Margaret.

Julia had heard from Pippa about her aunt’s health troubles, but she seemed quite serene and even happy, if rather tottery on her feet.

Up close, Julia realised she was younger than she’d appeared from afar.

Only a few years older than Julia herself, but rather frail, which was hardly surprising.

Aunt Margaret greeted Julia, and then asked Pippa, ‘Are we going to the shops now?’

‘No, not now,’ Pippa said.

‘Good, I will watch these little chaps play with the big brown fellow in his kilt.’ Margaret sat down on the bench and turned her attention to the dogs. Jake was lying down and the puppies were clambering clumsily all over him. Aunt Margaret chuckled.

‘We’ve actually just come from the shops,’ Pippa said quietly to Julia. ‘She’s terribly forgetful, and forever losing things. Or she thinks she’s lost them. A special pen, some jewellery, her favourite hand cream. But she’s often completely normal and lucid.’

Julia watched Aunt Margaret chortle when one of the puppies attached himself to Jake’s tail in some sort of tug-of-war, pulling and growling. ‘That’s hard, but at least she seems quite cheerful and not too anxious about it all,’ she said to Pippa.

‘I know! It’s so lovely, to be honest. A silver lining.

She was never a cheerful person. Honestly, she was sort of bitter, and could be mean, but since she got sick and moved back to Berrywick, she seems happier.

The neurologist says that it could be the position of the tumour.

Honestly, the brain is a mysterious thing.

Oh gosh, speaking of batty old aunts…’ Pippa looked over Julia’s shoulder.

Julia turned to follow her gaze. Aunt Edna was tottering down the path towards them.

She was reed thin, and Julia feared for her in the wind.

She imagined the old lady’s nest of scarves and what looked like a velvet cape filling with air like a spinnaker, and carrying her away to who-knew-where.

‘Good morning, Aunt Edna,’ Pippa and Julia said in unison.

‘Is there an echo?’ Edna asked, looking around crossly.

‘No,’ said Pippa and Julia.

‘How are you, Aunt Edna?’ asked Julia, solo.

‘Old.’

‘I see. Well…’ Julia, uncharacteristically, was at a loss as to how to respond.

‘And whatever they say, you can teach an old dog new tricks,’ Edna said, decisively.

‘Edna!’ said Margaret, looking up from the dogs. ‘Is that you?’

‘Who are you?’

‘I’m Margaret.’

‘Margaret? I don’t think so.’

Julia and Pippa were watching this exchange in bemusement, heads swivelling from one lady to the other, as if they were watching a tennis match.

‘Oh yes, definitely,’ Margaret assured her, nodding solemnly.

‘Aren’t you dead?’

‘No. They say I’ve got a tumour in my head, but I can’t see anything there.’ She reached up and parted the hair that lightly adorned her head.

Edna stepped closer and leaned down to peer into the soft, snowy tufts. ‘No, there’s nothing there, you’re fine,’ she pronounced, straightening up with some difficulty, and an audible creak.

‘That’s what I tell them. Well, you have a good day, Edna.’

‘Let sleeping dogs lie, Margaret.’ Edna started to move away, and then turned to look directly into Julia’s face. ‘And as for you, you’re barking up the wrong tree,’ she said, and tottered off down the path.

Julia considered the mysterious comment, and her current concerns and assumptions, as she and Jake continued their walk along the river, in the direction of Ken’s house.

Edna might be quite batty, and talk a lot of nonsense, but Julia often got a funny feeling that Edna knew things.

Was Julia barking up the wrong tree? And which tree, in particular?

And if so, which was the correct tree up which to bark?

Her conversation with Clarissa had given her a lot to think about.

Their investment with Anthony was one of the things that Lewis and Matthew had in common.

Could their deaths be connected with that?

Clarissa had said the two men had dithered, and, at some point, had wanted to change their minds and exit the investment.

She’d also said that all three partners had to agree in order to withdraw the money.

Might Anthony have killed Lewis and Matthew to keep the money in the scheme?

And where did that leave Ken – because Ken was, of course, the third member of the syndicate,

Julia reached the house that had belonged to Ken’s mum, and was now his. It was a sweet little place, tiny, with two square windows looking out at her like two eyes either side of the nose of a front door. The windows and doors were painted a sparkling white against the brick.

With Jake trotting happily beside her, she made her way up a short path through a carefully planted, well-established garden.

The garden path was in need of the attention of a rake and a broom.

Picking her way past the leaves and twigs that eddied in the chilly breeze circling her ankles, Julia wondered if perhaps Ken was not as meticulous as his mum had been in the upkeep and maintenance department.

Judging by the rest of the garden, and the outside of the house, she had not been the sort to let the path go unswept.

Jake surged forward as they reached the doorstep, and made a lunge for a paper plate of muffins that had been left on the doormat.

‘Oh no, you don’t,’ Julia said, tugging at his lead just in time.

She was, in fact, rather tempted to eat one herself – they were beautifully golden and perfectly risen, each with a slice of banana baked into the top.

She resisted the temptation, picked up the plate and rang the doorbell.

She waited no more than a minute before the door opened and Ken appeared with tousled hair and the uncertain expression of a man desperately trying to place a familiar person.

‘It’s Julia,’ she said. ‘We met on Friday at Second Chances. When you came in for the guitar?’

‘Oh yes, of course!’ He looked relieved.

‘I brought you something,’ she said.

He looked down and took the plate of muffins. ‘Gosh, people have been so kind. How nice of you to make muffins.’

‘Oh, no, I didn’t make those. That wasn’t…I brought you a book.’ She reached for the tote bag over her shoulder.

‘Please come in out of the cold,’ he said, stepping backwards. ‘The dog is welcome. The old cat died a week before Mum.’

He closed the door behind her. It was blessedly calm and a little warmer out of the wind. ‘I’m sorry about the cat, and about your mum. I won’t stay,’ Julia said. ‘I just wanted to give you a book that we found at the shop. I think it belongs to you.’

As she pulled the book from her bag and handed it to him, his face lit up in recognition and pleasure. ‘I don’t believe it! I learned every song in this book off by heart. Hours and hours, I spent with it.’

‘We thought it must be yours. Your name’s inside.’

He flipped it open and smiled at the bubble writing. ‘Mum kept it all these years,’ he said, in a soft tone. ‘Thank you for bringing it to me, that’s very kind of you. Would you like tea?’

‘We have to be getting back home, but some other time, that would be nice, thank you.’

‘Right you are.’

‘Oh Ken, there is something else I wanted to ask you about. It’s Anthony Ardmore, and his investment.’

‘Ah yes, I’m in on it. It’s going to be huge.’

‘So he says. I went to see him about it. It certainly is…innovative.’

‘Right. Exactly, so you understand. Are you going to buy in on the next round?’

‘Not personally. I was there to support my friends. Hester and Coral, I’m sure you know them – in fact, they are your partners in the syndicate now.’

‘Oh, them.’ Ken did not sound enthusiastic. The ‘them’ was said with what could only be described as a sneer.

‘The women were keen to get their money out, given the circumstances.’

‘So they tell me. They were just here, the lawyers explained to them how the syndicate worked in terms of the contracts. I told them the same thing I told Matthew and Lewis, may they rest in peace. We three signed up with Anthony after a good lunch, and then the two of them got cold feet. It seems they just didn’t have the stomach for investing at this kind of level. But I do.’

Ken said this as if he, himself, had extensive experience in such matters.

‘No way was I pulling out,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, but I finally got in on something big, the opportunity to make some proper money.

I wasn’t going to let them ruin my chances.

Not this time. They messed things up with the band, all of them.

All those years ago, we had success in the palm of our hands.

’ He held his hand out, fingers curled up, as if he were cradling something precious.

‘You know what I could have been today? I’ve spent a lifetime thinking about that. ’

He looked so sad and desperate, Julia felt sorry for him. Imagine, still smarting over a forty-year-old brush with fame.

There was a long moment’s silence, and then Ken said calmly, ‘They’re not going to ruin this for me too. I’m sorry for what happened to Lewis and Matthew, I really am. But I need this break. I need it. And those widows aren’t going to change my mind.’

‘I can see you’re quite determined, Ken.’

‘I am. They’ll thank me in the end, when they’re rich.’

‘Well, good luck with it,’ Julia said, turning towards the front door. ‘I hope it works out well for all of you.’

‘Thank you,’ Ken said, opening the door. Julia and Jake steeled themselves and launched determinedly into the wind and up the path.

‘And thanks for bringing the book,’ he called after them. ‘And the muffins.’