The Fete of Death Page 15

  She threw back the covers and headed over to the window, which was on her side of the room in her stockinged feet. Nancy carried on snoring in the other bed and Tara envied her. If only she had managed to drop off to sleep as easily herself, she wouldn't have had to face whoever it was on the fire escape in the dead of night, alone.

  She cautiously lifted the edge of the curtain. She half expected to see a blood-curdling face staring back at her. She didn't see a face, but she saw something, flapping around. Thinking for a few relieved seconds, that it was just a moth or something like that, she opened the curtain a little wider.

  There, stuck to the window, was a note.

  Tara opened the window, carefully, anticipating a hand to grab her arm as she reached for the note. There was no hand out there in the chilly night air, but she thought she heard footsteps scurrying down the metal fire escape steps.

  Tara locked the window and closed the curtains. Nancy was still fast asleep. The room was too dark to read the note, so Tara tiptoed over to the en-suite bathroom and switched the light on, quietly closing the door behind her so she didn't wake Nancy.

  It said –

  'I've got information about the murderer of Samantha Inkler, Simon Salter and Adam Pinder. I'll tell you whodunit, if you meet me at the coffee shop at 7 am before it opens. Bring no one. Tell no one. Coffee's on the house, you'll be full of beans when I tell you who's the culprit. Call it a parting gift, before you depart. At least, if you know who the murderer is you'll be able to rest –

  Regards,

  An eyewitness to murder'

  Tara read the note, which had been handwritten on plain white paper and folded neatly into four segments. The handwriting looked very similar to that on Simon Salter's suicide note, she was fairly sure of that. The language used was also very similar. Who'd written it though? Someone who had access to the coffee shop before it opened and someone who knew they'd all be leaving Tarndale in the morning.

  It could be Sophie Thompson or Annabel Thompson, or even someone Josh Matthews knew - maybe even a girlfriend of his, who now had his keys to the coffee shop? An 'eyewitness to murder'? That was interesting. Which one of the murders, or all three of them? Whoever it was who had written the note, even knew which room Tara was staying in, never mind which bed-and-breakfast it was they were staying at. She decided she would go and see who it was and find out what it was all about. She wouldn't tell the others, she'd get up at 6 am and sneak out. Nancy would probably not get up till 7:30 am, so that gave Tara about half an hour with the mystery eyewitness before they sent out a search party for her.

  To save time in the morning, Tara packed her bags before she got back into bed and shivered, despite the central heating. She lay in bed with her eyes closed till the clock on the bedside table said 5:40 am. She couldn't lie there any longer and wait for the morning to catch up to her, so she had got up and quietly got ready. Nancy was in a deep sleep. Tara doubted that anything would have woken her easily.

  Tara sneaked down the creaky wooden staircase as quietly as she could. She could hear the clinking of pots in the kitchen and Dana Felchar, singing Christmas songs as she started the guests’ breakfasts. She reached the front door, slid the bolt open and unlocked the door with the key which had thankfully been left in the lock. When she closed the door behind her, she suddenly realised there was no turning back. She was a bit early for her 'meeting', but what if it was a hoax? A trap? It was too late for any second thoughts. She'd left the note on the bathroom mirror where Nancy was sure to see it and hopefully rescue her in time, if necessary.

  It had seemed such a good idea to go on her own in the early hours. Now though, in the bitter frost of an autumn morning, it felt anything but. She wished she was still in the warm bed with only the burden of what to have for breakfast on her mind. Why hadn't she woken Nancy? Any note, delivered in the dead of night, telling her to turn up at an empty building, alone, was never going to be the safest meeting of her life.

  She realised with an unease that seemed to freeze her skin to her bones, that she may never leave Tarndale

  Chapter Thirteen

  The coffee shop was only a short distance from the bed-and-breakfast. Tara hurried at first, but slowed down the closer she got to delay the inevitable. The coffee shop didn't seem as inviting in the dark, cold morning and she hesitated before she tried the door. It opened easily and the familiar bell chimed out which made Tara jump. She walked inside and was smothered by the aroma of onions.

  "I'm here. I'm a bit early though. I couldn't sleep," shouted out Tara, nervously closing the door behind her.

  She heard someone in the back room, shuffling around, and almost ran straight back out again.

  Annabel Thompson, walked into the shop's front, her eyes red from crying.

  "Annabel? Did you write me the note?"

  "Yes," she sniffed. "I had to talk to someone."

  "Okay," said Tara, feeling slightly braver now she knew who the mystery person was.

  "I'll make us a coffee, sit down and I'll tell you everything."

  Tara sat at one of the tables nearest the counter and picked up the menu in habit.

  "What's this all about? You said you were an eyewitness?”

  "Yes, I saw all three murders. It was Cheryl Trellan," she said, starting to sob. "My best friend."

  "You actually saw her strangle Adam Pinder in the caravan?"

  "Well, I saw her go inside the caravan with him and when she came out, he was dead."

  "And Samantha Inkler?" Asked Tara, raising her eyebrows.

  "She poisoned the pie. Mavis's pie. I saw her do it when it was on the table inside the cake tent. She didn’t think anyone had seen her."

  "I see. And Simon Salter?"

  "That was terrible! He didn't kill himself, like the police say he did. She did it. She used the same weapon twice - the pie."

  "And you say you saw her give him the pie?"

  "Yes, I saw her give him the other half of the pie and he relished it! Till the poison kicked in - and he kicked the bucket. The pitch fork...that was genius too, I thought," she smiled with thin lips.

  "I bet you did, but you see, I don't believe a word of any of this. I don't think Cheryl Trellan is the murderer."

  "What? Why not?"

  "The evidence, the motives - I just can't see it myself."

  "It was her, I saw her."

  "That statement’s about as real as those onion-induced tears you expect me to fall for."

  Annabel Thompson snarled.

  "Okay, I just wanted to get you to listen. I figured if I was upset, you'd listen to me."

  "I am listening to you, but so far you've only tried to implicate your so-called best friend in three murders."

  "My boyfriend killed Adam Pinder. He found out I was having an affair with him," she said, looking at the floor.

  "Your boyfriend?"

  "Josh Matthews."

  "Oh! I didn't see that coming! Ah! Now it makes a bit more sense! So Josh Matthews, already a certified murderer with an M.O of strangling, you’re saying, strangled Adam Pinder with his own microphone when he found out about you two?"

  "Yes. He came down to the stables one night to pick me up. I wasn't there, I was with Adam - well, his caravan was on the same field so it wasn't difficult for me to sneak in there. He must have seen me leaving the caravan one time. Next thing I know, he's threatening to kill me if I don't get him some library books out on poisons! I didn't want to get dragged into anything I could be tied to, so I asked Susan Smythe to get the books. She did. Then, he said I had to take a six-pack of beer to Adam. It was over he said, so he'd forgive and forget it. I was surprised, I admit, but I wrote a note and stuck it on the caravan door asking Adam to meet me. He didn't turn up, so I left the beers at the caravan door and left. The note had gone. Shortly after that, the beer and Adam disappeared whilst I was in the cake tent, busy seeing to Cheryl who'd eaten those muffins."

  "So, you didn't know he'd laced the beer with sedati
ves?"

  "No. They were unopened, how would I have known?"

  "Okay, let's say I believe you and it was Josh Matthews, why did he not strangle him in the caravan at night with no one else around, why do it on a crowded fete?"

  "He only likes strangling women, but he said he can't kill someone any other way. He says it's part of his personality. He said Adam had to be drugged so he wouldn't struggle and the police wouldn't be able to rule out a woman had done it. He wanted Cheryl to take the blame for it you see. He said Adam had had that much of the sedative he couldn't even blink and even a kitten's whisker could have strangled him. He said Adam looked half dead before he even got started on him."

  Tara winced.

  "I'll make us another coffee," said Annabel, scooping up the empty coffee glasses.

  Tara's mind ticked off several things whilst Annabel made two more lattes. She brought them over to their table on a tray and Tara started to open a sugar sachet.

  "I almost forgot!" She said, reaching into her pocket for the handwritten number Cheryl Trellan had written. She dropped it and it fluttered gracefully to a halt under the table near Annabel’s feet.

  "That's new evidence, right there!" Tara, pointed under the table. Annabel Thompson quickly reached down for the note.

  "It's my phone number," she said unfolding it, frowning.

  "Cheryl Trellan wrote it down for me. You remember our very strange conversation on the phone? The one where you accused me of trying to blackmail you? The same phone call that led to the police threatening me with a caution if I harassed you anymore," asked Tara, biting her lip

  "I'm sorry about that. I don't know what came over me. Drink your coffee before it goes cold," she smiled, her ice blue eyes glinting.

  "I take it you were jealous of Susan Smythe?" Asked Tara, taking a deep sip of her fresh latte.

  "I suppose I was. What he saw in that alcoholic, I'll never know."

  "She's gunning for the girl Adam was having the affair with, you know."

  Annabel Thompson threw her head back and laughed.

  "There's only the two of us knows it was me."

  "That's true enough," Tara said drinking more of her latte. Annabel added sugar to hers then drank most of hers in one go, before speaking again.

  "Do you want the truth? The whole truth, and nothing but the truth?"

  "Preferably, I'm going home in a couple of hours so it'd be nice to be able to tie up all of the loose ends before I go then my mind can rest as you said in your note," said Tara, stirring the last of her latte.

  "In peace," laughed Annabel.

  "What?"

  "You can rest in peace! The only way you'll be leaving Tarndale is in a body bag!"

  "What?" Asked Tara, frowning.

  "Oh don't worry, it's not a particularly fast acting poison, you've got about 15 minutes before you do keel over and die. That’s more than enough time for me to blurt out my confession so I'll get rid of the emotional burden of it all, you’ll know everything and then you can take my secrets to the grave with you."

  "You've poisoned me? Both coffees?" Asked Tara, staring at her empty glass.

  "Just that last one. I hope you enjoyed it. It's the last coffee you'll ever drink."

  "At least I didn't pay for it,"

  "Such humour, even when death's breathing down your neck. I suppose I'd best hurry up or you won't get to hear the full story. I knew Mavis's plan was to make a blackcurrant pie with laxatives in it, because she told me and I knew the other judge, Linda Phelps, wouldn't touch it with a barge pole because of her allergy which everyone knew about because she tells everyone about it, all of the time. She's such a bore. Anyway, I made sure I called on Mavis when she was making the filling and instead of me taking a slice of pie or cake home with me like I usually did, I insisted on having apple pie and cream, which needed a bowl. I was stalling for time but as luck would have it, the phone rang whilst I was there and I only needed a few seconds to add the arsenic to the pan of filling."

  "Carried in?" Asked Tara, wiping her head with a napkin.

  "In an almond essence bottle of course! Who'd ever suspect anything? The empty bottle is probably still in Mavis's bin. No one's going to check it, are they? She's always baking. What does it smell like? Almonds! Genius that I am. Feeling a bit off colour Tara? Shame. Must be something you've eaten - or drank!" She snorted, finishing off her own coffee.

  "It was all over the field, I'm guessing?" Said Tara, swaying in her seat.

  “Yes! I warned Samantha Inkler the field would be ruined, holding a fete there, especially in autumn. She said that was the plan. Then, she said she was selling the field for building anyway, so a bit of mud wouldn't matter in the great scheme of things. I couldn't afford my two horses to be kept anywhere else, which meant selling them - or killing her."

  "So you killed her?"

  "Yep, in style too. No one in Tarndale will miss her, same as no one here will miss you, Tara. There is one thing I need you to know. When everyone started acting like they'd been poisoned in the cake tent, my shock was real. I didn't expect everyone to get hysterical like that. And Mr Simmons, he was a casualty I didn't intend on having, but what can you do?" she shrugged.

  Tara sighed heavily, her palms down on the table.

  "The notebook? How does that fit in?"

  "Cheryl bought it a couple of weeks ago. I tore out a couple of pages when she wasn't looking. At the time, I didn't know just how useful those pieces of paper would be in helping me to frame her."

  "But - you messed up. The handwriting doesn't match Simon Salter's and you didn't sign his name, it was in capital letters. They're onto you over that," smiled Tara, unable to level her gaze.

  "I couldn't sign his name, because I'd never seen his signature. I thought the capital letters would be enough. Clever of me that, you have to admit? Well, I think so anyway. Handwriting? That won't stick. I'll change mine now, so they can't prove anything. Thanks for the warning."

  "Mavis Poole has new evidence. She's got the bookmarks inside the library books – it’s the same notepaper," Tara gasped, her head resting on the table.

  "So? The notebook's Cheryl's. I'll make sure the police know that too. She can't deny it."

  "The books you asked Susan Smythe to take out?"

  "They've only got that simple woman's word for that now, haven't they? She's telling them the books were for my Mum. My Mum will tell them it's the first she's heard of it – because it is. No one's going to bother about the library books, Tara. It's a dead end."

  "The bookmarks are on the pages marked arsenic and magnolia bark - the two poisons you used."

  "So what? I’m not the one who took the books out and I don’t own the notebook either. I can’t be tied to them. I don’t think you’re listening to me."

  "I thought it was Simon Salter, you know."

  "Did you? That's because I was framing him for everything at first. He helped me out a lot with that though, going round the fete, arguing with everyone - including you. It was a gift when he had that row with Adam Pinder. Did you see Adam take a swing at him? I couldn't not kill him then – not with all those witnesses around. Simon could never deny it, could he? Then he had a row with the detestable Samantha Inkler, and believe me, I was rubbing my hands in glee over that. He actually threatened her, in front of everyone! He went in the cake tent and he was seen in there by several people. Next thing, she's dead and I'm just another shocked bystander. The irony of it all is, he didn't even know she'd been poisoned! He'd left the fete just before and he was far too busy seeing to his old mare which had got colic thanks to Adam's singing to find out. Simon blamed Adam's singing for it anyway, so I shoved the microphone into his mouth so the police would hopefully see the connection between Adam's dire singing and his untimely demise. Clever, aren't I?" She beamed, her blue eyes flashing.

  "Calculating, I'd have said sums you up better," said Tara, her eyes closed and her head resting on the table.

  "It would have been pe
rfect! I'd planned to frame him for both murders, with Cheryl Trellan as his accomplice. With both of them out of the way, and Samantha Inkler and her development plans also out of the way, the field was mine, and Josh and I could have lived happily ever after. But then you came along and now Josh won't be getting out of prison anytime soon. I do think he'll get a kick out of it though, when I tell him you're dead - and it was your favourite drink that did it."

  "You two deserve each other. Peas in a pod."

  "No one's going to suspect me of anything. I can even explain why I was in the cake tent. I had entered the cake competition, remember? I didn't bake a pie, so no one will ever suspect me of poisoning the pie. I also didn't take my own cake entry there, my Mum took it for me. So you see, I was never alone in the cake tent to have the opportunity to add arsenic to the pie. Of course, that's what I'll tell the police. Little will they know that I put the arsenic in the day before at Mavis's house. Even if they do manage to put two and two together, Simon Salter was also at Mavis's house and left alone with the pie filling. I know that because I asked Mavis if anyone had been to see her. Simon again, made it very easy for me to frame him."

  "But you killed him," slurred Tara.

  "I didn't plan on killing him, I only planned for him to go to jail, but when he said he was evicting me and Cheryl - I just saw red. I'd used my riding hat to get the pie off the fete. I used it like a handbag and I had a woolly hat in my coat pocket which I just put over the top of the pie. No one noticed a thing because the fete was in the midst of complete chaos. Cheryl might have done, ordinarily, but she was away with the fairies at the time, which was another stroke of luck for me. I hid the pie in the tack room. It was too tempting not to use it on someone else when it had worked so well the first time," she said, smiling smugly.