‘This is getting interesting,’ murmured Matt. ‘Though it sounds as if the three are probably not connected.’
‘Maybe not . . .’ Will sat back. ‘Look, I really am happy to pay you. We are pretty comfortable since my injury, and Kate rakes it in from the illustrations and all their spinoffs. In fact, I’d feel much happier if you took it on as a proper job.’
‘Let’s just make a few enquiries first,’ Matt said, uncomfortable with the idea of charging an old friend. ‘Test the waters, see if there really is anything to investigate, and we’ll take it from there. Maybe just expenses, if we need to lay out any cash.’ After all, they had embarked on their new career to keep themselves occupied rather than to earn a living from it.
‘Deal. If anyone can put my mind at rest, it’s you two.’ Will sat back, evidently relieved, and they began to chat about inconsequential things. ‘You’ll have to come for lunch. You’ll be amazed at my newfound culinary skills.’
Liz laughed. ‘Ah yes — the King of the Microwave. If it didn’t finish cooking with a ping, then according to you, it wasn’t real food.’
‘All in the past.’ His smiled faded a little. ‘When Kate was so ill, I had to take charge of feeding us, and she needed good food, not some reheated microwave dinner. It was a wake-up call. I must say, I quite enjoy cooking now. So, how about Thursday, the day after the market? Then you can fill me in on how you got on with Emilia. I’d say call in after you drop her off, but Kate’s agent and author are coming down to pick up the draft images of Kate’s new character, so we’ll be pretty tied up.’
‘Thursday will be lovely. It’ll be nice to see Kate again,’ Liz said.
‘Er, look, I have to warn you, she could be absolutely fine . . .’ He sighed. ‘It could be just us for lunch. If she’s in the middle of working on something, she might not want to interrupt it. No disrespect to you, I promise. It’s just the way she is at the moment. The deadlines don’t help with her stress levels and I’m inclined to let her do what she has to.’
‘Of course.’ Matt beamed at his friend, secretly disturbed by what he had just heard. ‘If we see her, great, but no pressure, okay?’
Will drained his coffee. ‘I suppose I’d better get back. I’m so pleased you can check all this out for me.’ He stood up and smiled at Liz. ‘And you were right about the Hobnobs. We clearly did need them.’ He pointed to the half-empty plate. ‘I’ll see you Thursday. Come at around one.’
They waved him off and went back inside.
‘What did you make of all that?’ Liz asked.
‘He’s strung out like a washing line,’ Matt said. ‘And I get the feeling that all at Holland House is not sweetness and light.’
‘I’ll be very interested to know how our lunch date goes.’ Liz, carrying the tray, backed through the kitchen door. ‘But in the meantime, we have our rendezvous with Mrs Emilia Swain. Tell me what you know of her.’
Matt shrugged. ‘Not much. She lives in a cottage called Little Anchor on the road that leads to Holland House. She’s Will and Kate’s nearest neighbour, has a very pretty garden, you’ve probably seen it.’
‘I know the one, we commented on it last time we visited Will.’
Matt nodded. ‘She must be in her early seventies but still looks pretty tough. She has an air of determination that I rather admire. I hope we can help her — if she opens up to us.’
‘Use your charm, my darling. Women are putty in your hands.’ She grinned at him, fluttering her eyelashes. ‘Resistance is futile where you’re concerned. I should know!’
‘Strumpet! Away with you.’
How he loved her! They were planning to marry at some point but felt no need to hurry. They were happy as they were, enjoying their new freedom. They had spent years living for nothing but the police force — juggling shift work, overtime, broken sleep and missed appointments. It had been a life governed by crime and its perpetrators. This new life was a revelation. Even so, Matt was certain that they had made the right choice in not giving up work entirely. He was determined that he wasn’t going to keel over into a newly dug compost heap. Anyway, he was no gardener. Unlike Emilia Swain. Thinking of her, his buoyant mood sank. Having her garden shed ransacked and, worse, her precious pet wantonly killed, would have been traumatic for anyone, let alone an older woman living alone.
Maybe this was the sort of thing they would become good at. Not solving murders any more but making peoples’ lives a little bit better. They would start by helping Mrs Swain.
CHAPTER TWO
The small town of Fenfleet held an outdoor farmers’ market every Wednesday. Matt and Liz arrived early and found a parking space that gave a clear view of the bus stop. The local bus meandered around the more outlying villages and hamlets and brought those people that did not drive into the town, returning two hours later. There were only two buses a day, but the more remote areas the service covered considered themselves very lucky, as some had no public transport at all.
Matt and Liz felt like they were back on “obo,” and while they waited, they reminisced about the long hours they had spent watching and waiting in far less salubrious surroundings than these.
Matt spotted Emilia Swain stepping down from the bus. ‘See her? Greying hair, glasses, purple half-jacket, check shirt, black slacks and walking shoes.’
‘Got her.’ Liz stared at the woman. She was upright, well built, with a weathered skin that spoke of hours spent outdoors. ‘Doesn’t look like a shrinking violet, does she?’
‘She isn’t,’ said Matt. ‘I understand the lady has been through a lot in her life. Her husband intimated as much when I spoke to him. He was fiercely proud of her.’
‘So, we let her get her shopping, then, er, intercept her?’ She watched the woman head directly for a large greengrocer’s stand.
‘We’d better follow at a distance, and pick up a few bits and pieces to justify being here.’
‘Good. I see the Cheese Man is here today — his Lincolnshire Poacher is to die for. Plus, we could do with some fresh veg, so the trip won’t be wasted.’ Liz pulled a list from her pocket. ‘I came prepared.’
They spent the next twenty-five minutes wandering from stall to stall, keeping Emilia Swain in view. Finally, Matt announced, ‘Okay, she looks pretty well laden with bags. Time for my Bafta-winning performance.’
‘Right, and who are we today? Kenneth Branagh? I see a vague resemblance.’
‘He’ll do. Not as good-looking, of course.’ With a grin, Matt hurried towards the unsuspecting woman.
‘Well, I’m blowed! It’s Mrs Swain, isn’t it?’ He turned to Liz. ‘Liz, this is Will and Kate’s neighbour on Whisper Fen.’ He stopped in front of the surprised woman. ‘Matt Ballard, Mrs Swain. I knew your husband, Leonard. Back then, I must have been DS Ballard. Now, I’m a retired DCI.’
Light dawned. Emilia Swain beamed back. ‘Of course! That nice police officer who was so helpful to my dear husband. How are you?’
‘Very well, thank you, Mrs Swain. This is my partner, Liz. We worked together at Fenfleet police station.’