She dashed up the aisle and out of the church to the car park. There, the runaway, Colin Price, was standing by his pickup truck. But he’d shied away from the door because a dog was baring its teeth in the driver’s seat.
“Wilbur, you’re a hero,” Laura said when she’d recovered enough breath. Before going in to search the vestry, she’d noticed the door of the pickup was unlocked, so she’d installed Wilbur in the cab as a backup.
Colin wasn’t going to risk opening that door and he knew he wouldn’t get far through the snow on foot. He raised both hands in an act of surrender.
To the delight of the choirboys, the practice was abandoned, and they were sent home. In the warmth of the vestry, Colin seemed not just willing to talk, but eager. “I’ve been an idiot. I should never have killed twice. It was meant to turn out differently.”
“Why kill at all?” the vicar said. He’d dusted down his clothes and was a dignified figure again.
“I hated Douglas Boon,” Colin said. “We were rivals in the old days, both of us dairy farmers, but he was so damned successful and I was failing on the paperwork. I couldn’t compete. Lost my contract and had to sell up, and of course there was all the humiliation of selling to him-and for less than it was worth. He had me over a barrel. So I was reduced to odd jobs. I’d see my beautiful herd every day when I was on my way to mow another lawn. The resentment festered. And then I learned that Ben Black had made him an offer for the land, a huge offer, and he was selling up, for millions. He could retire and live in luxury and my cows would go for slaughter. The anger boiled over.”
“But they weren’t your cows anymore,” the vicar pointed out. “You’d sold them.”
“You don’t understand about animals, do you?” he said. “I raised them from calves. They were a dairy herd, not for beef.”
“So you made up your mind to kill him,” Rosemary said, “and you chose poison as the method. The yew, because its dangers are well known to all farmers, and the mince pie because it was part of the tradition here.”
“And Boon was a glutton,” he said. “He was certain to take it.”
“Your wife had made a set of pies, knowing Gertrude would be round at some stage,” Rosemary went on. “You added seeds of yew to one of them and had it with you on Christmas Eve. When you got to The Withers you took the plate as if to hand it round, but you passed your poisoned pie to Douglas.”
Colin glared at her. “How do you know that? You weren’t even there.”
Laura said, “Pastry crumbs in your pocket, the obvious place to hide it. I checked your coat just now. That was what all the fuss was about. The vicar thought I was a thief.”
Rosemary said to Colin, “Thanks to Laura getting the poor man to hospital, the police were alerted. News of the poisoning went quickly around the village and at some point over Christmas, Ben Black got suspicious enough to come and see you. He threatened to tell the police. You panicked, cracked him on the head, and killed him.”
Laura said, “And transferred the body to Gertrude’s greenhouse in your pickup and trailer. She was under suspicion, so you thought you’d add to it. While you were in church just now I checked under the tarpaulin in the trailer. Bloodstains. The police will match them to Ben’s blood group.”
Colin’s shoulders sagged. All the fight had gone out of him.
In all the excitement, Laura hadn’t given a thought to her main reason for being in the house. Over supper that evening, she dropped her knife and fork and said, “The orchids. I’ve completely forgotten about them.”
She had visions of dead and drooping plants in their dried-up trays.
“What am I going to say to Mike?” she said as she raced to the conservatory.
But the orchids were doing fine, better than when she’d taken over. The droopy ones were standing tall.
“They benefited from being left alone,” Rosemary said. “He’s a novice at this. The roots of an orchid are covered by a spongy material that holds water.”
“Like a camel’s hump?”
“Well… I’m saying he must have overwatered them.”
That evening Wilbur was rewarded with a supper of chopped turkey and baked ham. After he’d curled up in front of the fire, Rosemary and Laura slipped out of the front door to make a call on a neighbour.
Gertrude invited them in and poured large glasses of sherry.
“I’m so grateful to you both,” she said. “I must have had calls from half the village saying how sorry they are for all I’ve been through. I kept telling them you two are the heroes.”
“Far from it,” Rosemary said with modesty.
“But you are. And you, Laura, being mistaken for a thief and wrestling with the vicar.”
“That wasn’t so bad.”
Rosemary said, “He’s rather dishy. She enjoyed getting into a clinch.”
They all laughed.
“And now,” Gertrude said, looking happier than they’d seen her, “another Christmas tradition. To ensure good fortune for us all in the new year, I insist that you have a slice of my homemade Christmas cake. You can make a wish.” She went out to the kitchen.
Rosemary said in confidence, “I’m going to wish that I survive this.”
Laura said, “I’m so glad I wore this cardigan. It’s got pockets.”
Peter Lovesey
Peter Lovesey, one of Britain ’s finest mystery writers, will be signing Headhunters Wednesday, April 30 at 7 pm. He began his Diamond series in 1991 featuring the modern policeman, Peter Diamond, which has now spun off into the Henrietta Mallin mysteries. His novels have been translated into 22 languages, and ten of them have been seen on film or television. The Headhunters, published in May 2008 will be his 30th novel.
Peter Lovesey won the Gold Dagger Award with The False Inspector Dew and in 2000 joined the elite group of people awarded the Cartier Diamond Dagger Award for lifetime achievement. His short story, Needle Match, won the 2007 Crime Writers' Association Short Story Dagger Award. And this April, he received a Lifetime Achievement Award at the Malice Domestic Mystery Convention.
Don’t miss the chance to meet this fascinating author. As a bonus Soho press has sent us 3 bookbags which we will be raffling off during the evening.
