Page 32 of Murder in the Winter Woods (Julia Bird Mysteries #8)
Julia gazed down at the phone in her hand. On its screen, a mildly perplexing message from DI Hayley Gibson.
I need to talk to you. Can I come over?
Yes of course. I plan to be here most of the day.
That’s fine. Everything okay?
See you later.
On the face of it, it was a simple exchange to make an arrangement for a visit. But a deeper look showed a number of oddities that bothered Julia.
For a start, DI Gibson was not given to consulting her out of the blue.
What did the detective need to talk to her about?
Julia wondered if it was related to a case.
But what did Julia know that could be of any help?
Unless it was a personal matter. Something to do with Hayley’s new relationship, perhaps?
But why didn’t the detective just phone? Hayley was a busy woman, with two active cases of unnatural deaths on her desk. And yet, here she was proposing to drive to Julia’s house in the middle of a working day. It must be related to the cases.
The last and most concerning thing was that she hadn’t answered Julia’s question: ‘Everything okay?’
Julia tried on the idea that she was reading too much into the exchange. Hayley tended to be brusque in her communication. The absence of a ‘yes, fine’ didn’t necessarily imply that everything wasn’t okay.
‘This is ridiculous,’ she told herself, firmly. ‘Hayley will be here in a couple of hours and all will be revealed. It’s probably nothing to get worked up about.’
The thing about giving oneself a lecture was that no matter how reasonable the lecturing self’s position might be, the worrying self didn’t always take it on board.
What was required, thought Julia, was a distraction.
Something that would occupy one’s time and energy, and keep the worrying mind busy.
Julia had just the job.
The woodpile, which had been neatly stacked for winter, had collapsed on the one side. The logs that were lying about the place needed to be put back. It was a job that required concentration, the application of thought, as well some physical exertion. That should keep her mind off things!
Fortunately, it wasn’t raining, nor was rain expected for the next hour or so.
And the weather was a little warmer than it had been.
Julia changed into a pair of corduroys that had belonged to Peter, her ex-husband.
He had retired them a decade ago, and she’d adopted them for gardening.
They were not what you’d call stylish, but they were warm and hardy.
She put on thick socks and Wellington boots, a big pullover, and her leather gardening gloves.
She felt less anxious already. She always felt better with a task ahead of her, and even better with a task completed!
Jake had picked up on her energy and was following her around the house eagerly, trying to ascertain whether whatever was happening was in his best interests. Could it be a walk? A drive? A play in the garden? Might there be a snack component to the busyness?
‘Come on then,’ she said, opening the kitchen door. Jake shot out. Chaplin ambled to the door, and stood in the doorway, considering his options.
‘Come on, kit-cat, inside or out?’ she said.
He sat down, and attended to the grooming of his smart white bib, his little head bobbing up and down, his pink tongue flashing.
‘I’m not leaving the door open,’ she said after a minute or so.
She stepped past him and pulled the door slowly towards her, calling his bluff.
It was halfway closed when he made his choice, and dashed out.
The animals were frisky in the cold morning air, and Julia watched them with pleasure as she made her way to the woodpile.
She set about putting the fallen logs neatly back into the pile.
It was, as she expected, a rather satisfying task, and required just enough attention to keep her mind from straying towards the detective’s visit.
Voices drifted over the fence from Hester’s house. Julia straightened up and peered over to see Hester and Coral by the beehives.
‘Good morning,’ she called.
Hester spotted her immediately. ‘Hello, Julia! What are you up to?’
‘Sorting out the woodpile. And you?’
‘Checking on the bees, giving them sugar for a winter snack. Coral wants to learn the ropes of beekeeping.’
‘It’s so interesting. I would so love to get a beehive,’ said Coral, wistfully.
She was wearing well-fitted jeans and a green pullover, with the collar of a floral shirt peeking out from under it.
The wellies on her feet were red. The outfit was understated and positively outdoorsy compared to the hot pink suit she’d been in last time, although she still sported a touch of make-up and a bouncy hairdo.
Her manner, in comparison to her hair, was subdued.
She sighed, and said, ‘It’s probably too soon for me to make decisions, really.
I might have to move house, and that wouldn’t be fair on the bees.
With Lewis gone and the money tied up, I can’t afford to stay where I am.
Everything’s up in the air. And it’s all so complicated. ’
Hester patted Coral’s shoulder. ‘One step at a time. Let’s wait and see what the lawyers say about the contract,’ she said. ‘I fully intend to get us that money back, you know.’
‘You’re talking to lawyers?’ Julia asked.
‘Yes. It doesn’t hurt to get a professional opinion. I’m not just going to accept what Anthony Ardmore says. Or do what bloody Ken Payne wants. One way or another, we’re sorting this out.’ She turned to Coral. ‘We know what we need to do, and we’ve done it.’
‘You’re right, Hester, I just get overwhelmed sometimes,’ Coral said. ‘And then this morning…’
‘Do you want to tell Julia what you found?’ Hester asked gently.
‘Oh, I don’t know…It’s difficult…It’s personal.’
‘Julia’s clever about things. You might ask her what she thinks.’
‘I’ll come over,’ Julia said, her interest piqued by the strange conversation.
‘Okay, I’ll go and get it,’ said Coral, trotting towards the house.
Suspecting that this was a conversation that might be easier without a garden fence between them, Julia made her way round the front of the houses, exiting her gate and coming in at Hester’s.
Coral was walking up the path, holding a card in her hand.
‘I found this in the car, in the glove compartment,’ she said, handing it to Julia.
Julia read the text, which was handwritten in capitals: YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST DO WHAT YOU LIKE. I WON’T LET YOU RUIN MY LIFE. YOU WILL PAY.
There was no postage stamp. It must have been hand delivered. It wasn’t scuffed, and the edges were sharp. It didn’t look as if it had been hanging around the car for very long.
‘What do you think it means?’ Julia asked calmly, although her heartrate had increased to a canter.
‘I don’t know. I wondered if it might be from one of Lewis’s…’ Coral straightened up and pulled her shoulders back in a posture of strength and dignity, and finished her sentence: ‘Friends.’
Julia waited.
‘The ladies always liked Lewis. They sometimes made advances. He was a good husband, but he wasn’t a saint. Over the years, there have been occasional…misunderstandings. People get over-involved, they have expectations. There’s disappointment. Anger.’
‘I don’t suppose you know when it arrived?’
‘No.’
‘Have you shown this to the police?’
‘The police? No. You don’t think Lewis was run over by a jealous girlfriend, do you?’
Julia turned over the postcard. The picture on the back was of a rough and windswept landscape with a shaft of sunlight breaking through a layer of thickly curdled clouds. It was a generically beautiful moorland scene that could have been anywhere.
‘No,’ she said, in answer to Coral’s question. ‘No, I think that’s unlikely.’
She turned the postcard over again, and read the small printed description below the angry capital letters.
Edinburgh Castle Gardens.
‘You need to take this to the police,’ Julia said, holding it carefully at the edges, although she suspected it was too late to save any fingerprints that might have been there. ‘It might be useful in the investigation. It might be a clue.’
‘I agree with Julia,’ said Hester. ‘The police should see it.’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Coral. ‘Digging up old hard feelings, answering personal questions. Tarnishing Lewis’s good name. And it’s probably not even relevant.’
‘Come on,’ said Hester. ‘I’ll come with you to the police, and I’ll throw in lunch at the Buttered Scone. How does that sound?
‘It sounds good,’ Coral sighed. ‘You’re probably right, both of you. I’ll take it to the police.’
‘I’ll go in and get my car keys and I’ll drive you,’ said Hester kindly.
Julia was about to explain to the widows that there was no need to go to the police as the police were coming to her, when she spotted DI Hayley Gibson coming down the path. And she looked like she meant business.
The detective sat opposite Julia at her kitchen table, the postcard between them.
Hayley had placed it in a clear plastic evidence bag – rather belatedly, seeing as it had already been passed from hand to hand by the other three women.
She stared fixedly at it, and drummed her fingers lightly on the table, as if it might at any moment give up its secrets.
Julia waited. The kettle heated noisily on the stove behind her.
‘What do you think?’ Hayley said finally, gesturing towards the postcard.