Page 7 of Murder in the Winter Woods (Julia Bird Mysteries #8)

‘You look lovely,’ said Sean, giving Julia a good old up-and-down look. ‘I like that dress.’

She blushed. She didn’t have a lot of call for smart clothes, living in Berrywick, and she hadn’t worn this dress in a year or two. When she’d put it on, she’d wondered whether it was too smart, or too tight. But the look on Sean’s face told her it was all right. More than all right.

‘Why, thank you. I seem to have been in my gardening clothes all week. All the winter chores, the hen house, the wood pile – you know what it’s like this time of year. I felt like dressing up for a change when I finally left the house.’

‘Tights, too! I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in tights.’

‘Hmm, maybe once or twice. At Peter and Christopher’s wedding, for instance. It’s chilly in a dress at this time of year, though. I needed the warmth.’

‘Well, you certainly do scrub up nicely, Ms Bird.’ He took her arm, and they steadied each other along the garden path on their way to his car.

‘Laine told me to enjoy “date night”.’ He made little air quotes with his fingers to emphasise the ridiculousness of the term.

‘Date night! Have you ever? I must say, that’s not a term I expected to hear applied to myself,’ he said in a tone somewhere between grumpy and amused.

‘Whatever you call it, it is very nice to be going out, just the two of us.’ She squeezed his hand, marvelling again at her good luck in having met him.

Sean cleared his throat awkwardly and said, ‘Things have been different the last few months, with Jono living with me. I know it’s not as easy for us to be as spontaneous, or get time alone. I’m sorry.’

‘Oh, Sean, no!’ said Julia hastily. ‘I didn’t mean it like that at all! I think it’s very good for you and Jono that he’s here with you, and he’s so much happier. And I like having him and Laine around, I really do.’

‘Ah, okay. Well, I like it too.’ Sean looked relieved. He opened the passenger door for her, and she slid into the passenger seat, noting again how neat and clean he kept his car. It helped that Leo lay down obediently on a blanket in the back seat and went to sleep, unlike certain other canines.

They left early enough to get to Hayfield with time for a drink and a snacky supper at the little bar in the cinema where they would be watching a screening of Ian McKellen in a National Theatre Live production.

Julia was in an excellent mood – she’d been wanting to go to the Hayfield Electric Picture House since she’d read about it in the Southern Times ages ago.

And now here they were, heading out of Berrywick at an easy pace, enjoying the sun setting over the village, the way the stone of the walls and the houses glowed golden.

The light dropped suddenly when the road cut through the woods, entering the long shadows of the trees.

Sean put his headlights on. Julia felt a shiver, remembering that this was the stretch of road where they had found Lewis’s body.

She was about to mention it, and remind Sean to drive cautiously, but she thought better of it.

No point in spoiling ‘date night’ with a gloomy topic.

And besides, he was a good and careful driver.

But when they reached the curve in the road, Julia found herself compelled to speak. Perhaps, she thought somewhat cynically, she was looking for closure.

‘Sean,’ she said, ‘could we stop at the accident site?’

Sean was not the type of man to ask too many questions, or object. He slowed down even more. As they reached the woody bend, something fluttered on the side of the road, catching the edge of the headlight’s beam. A thin flash of yellow, flapping in the breeze.

‘It’s the police tape,’ said Julia. ‘That bit must have been left behind when the police cleared the scene.’

Sean rolled to a stop on the broad roadside between the tar and the start of the vegetation, just behind where Lewis’s body had been.

Next to the short length of tape, an informal memorial shrine had been set up – a bouquet of a few wilted flowers, a small stuffed teddy bear, a photograph. They stared through the windscreen at the poignant display.

Julia reached for the door handle. ‘I just feel like I need to pay my respects. Do we have time?’

Sean nodded.

She got out of the car and walked slowly towards the little memorial. Bending down, she looked at the photograph, which showed Lewis leaning against his car and smiling. It had been printed on a home printer and slipped into a plastic sleeve, but it was already damp and the ink was fading.

Sean came up behind her and she straightened.

‘Sad, isn’t it?’ he said, taking her hand. ‘The little memorial.’

‘It is. And so awful to think that someone lost their life right here. Took his last breath.’

‘That car must have hit him hard and fast,’ said Sean. ‘At least it was quick. That’s something to be grateful for, I suppose.’

‘I just can’t picture it. Why someone would hit a person walking along the side of the lane. I wonder if the tyre had a blowout or something?’

Sean frowned. ‘There could have been something mechanical like that – except that they drove off just fine. And besides, it would have shown up in the forensics. There might have been something in the road, and they swerved to avoid it?’

‘More likely, the driver had been drinking. That’s probably why they didn’t stop.

Scared of being breathalysed.’ Julia paused, and then decided to share the other piece of information she had.

‘Walter Farmer told me – confidentially, so don’t repeat it – that the driver reversed back into Lewis after he’d hit him. ’

Sean winced. ‘Good lord.’

‘It seems Lewis was already down, and the driver looked in the rear-view mirror but didn’t see him.

He reversed to see what he’d hit. The police reckon he got out and saw what he’d done, then drove off in a panic.

It would tie in with the alcohol theory.

He’d know he’d be in even more trouble if he was drink-driving. ’

‘Good God. How appalling. I hope whoever did this is found and faces the full might of the law. It’s a disgrace.’ Sean looked quite pale and angry.

Julia paced slowly round the scene. If she was a religious woman, she might have said a prayer, but instead she stood still and thought about Lewis and his wife Coral, and in some vague kind of way wished them peace. It felt ineffectual, but the best she could do, under the circumstances.

‘Shall we go?’ Sean asked, after a minute or two had passed. He had already moved back to stand by the car. ‘We’re cutting it a little fine if we want to eat something.’

His voice shook Julia out of her musing. ‘Yes, I’m ready. Thanks for stopping.’

Sean got in the car and turned on the engine.

It was getting dark, and he switched on the headlights to light her way.

Julia was about to turn to make her way back to the car, when she noticed that the low beam had caught something glinting in the undergrowth a couple of feet beyond the little shrine.

She stepped closer to look. If it was a tin can or some other piece of rubbish, she’d take it home and put it in the bin.

She peered into the undergrowth, but from her position on the road she couldn’t see what it was.

She had half a mind to leave it – she wasn’t exactly dressed for nature, in her nice dress and tights and shoes – but once you’ve had the thought of picking something up, it’s hard to just leave it there.

Resigning herself, she waded into the undergrowth.

Now she was closer, she could see it was a chain of some sort with something hanging off it.

She reached for it, trying to keep her tights away from the spikes and sticks that would rip them in an instant.

To her relief, she managed to grab it and extricated herself and her tights without incident.

Julia turned the object to the light. It was a short chain with a round pendant attached.

The pendant was etched with something, perhaps a figure, but it was difficult to see under the dirt it was caked in.

She turned back towards the car, squinting to try and make out the details.

As she stepped out of the undergrowth onto the road, she felt a pull on her tights, and a scratch on her calf.

‘Exactly why I haven’t worn tights or stockings for about three years,’ she said darkly into the undergrowth, in the direction of what she deemed to be the offending branch. ‘And this is the last time, for sure.’

The Hayfield Electric Picture House was everything Julia had hoped.

It was festooned in Christmas decorations, with a towering tree in the foyer.

They got there in time for a drink and snacks at the bar.

Sean went in while Julia popped to the loo, removed her shredded tights and threw them in the bin.

‘Last time,’ she muttered in their direction, hoping that she wouldn’t feel too cold in the theatre.

Sean was at the polished wooden bar counter, mulling over a cocktail menu. ‘What do you fancy? I think I’ll have a martini,’ he said, and handed the menu to her.

‘How very James Bond of you.’ She took the menu from him with a smile.

There was a dizzying selection of classic cocktails and more experimental combinations of alcohol and sweetness.

Julia opted for the seasonal special – eggnog.

The barman – a man of about Jono’s age, with slicked-back black hair – worked the cocktail shaker with wiry tattooed arms, and an understated flourish.

From a tempting menu of bar snacks, they chose roasted nuts with rosemary, tuna carpaccio with shaved fennel and red onion, and a basket of sourdough with fancy butters.

The hot roasted nuts were so rich and delicious, she felt she could toss the whole bowl into her mouth in one go.

But she restrained herself, picking them one at a time, sipping her drink in between.

She took the silver chain out of her pocket and laid it on the bar.

‘What do you think it is?’ Sean asked.

She picked up a paper napkin and rubbed at the disc to reveal the etched figure more clearly. ‘Oh! It’s a St Christopher.’

‘The patron saint of travellers?’

‘That’s him.’

‘Well, if it was Lewis’s lucky charm, it didn’t work,’ said Sean. Julia was surprised at the unfeeling comment, and Sean was too, it seemed, because he added quickly: ‘Sorry, that came out somewhat harsher than I meant it to.’

‘You’re not wrong, though.’ She looked at the St Christopher again. ‘You can see the link is broken. I think it must have been attached to something, like a bunch of keys or a necklace. Oh, well…’

Julia popped it into her handbag and they moved on to a happier topic – the possibility of a seaside holiday in Cornwall in the spring.

It felt good being out in the world, somewhere new, in a stylish bar with Sean’s knee pressed against her thigh.

The rest of the snacks arrived, plated on flat black slate.

A bell rang, and the barman announced, ‘Ten minutes to curtain up.’ Julia popped a sliver of fennel-topped tuna into her mouth. It had a sharp, lemony dressing, and a crack of black pepper. ‘My God, that’s good. A perfect little morsel,’ she said. ‘Try it.’

Together with the bread, and a complimentary bowl of Spanish olives, the snacks proved sufficient to prevent hollow tummy rumbles from competing with Sir Ian McKellen for the audience’s attention.

‘Last call…’ came the barman’s voice.

Sean stood and took Julia’s hand. Into the cinema they went.