A Tale of Two Bodies Read online

  Rob shrugged. “It’s one of our many weaknesses as humans. We value the inanimate… more than our fellow living creatures, at times.”

  “Yes,” Sandy said. “We’ve seen that with the hit and runs.”

  “I hear young Derrick is recovering. I’ve been praying for him.”

  “Thank you,” Sandy said. “He’s a good lad.”

  “Everyone’s good, Sandy,” Rob said. “Even the person doing the hit and runs, in their mind, they’ll be doing good. I also hear you think you know who’s done it?”

  Sandy’s face blanched of colour. She didn’t want that news making its way around the village. She gave an awkward laugh.

  “I’ve had a few guesses, that’s all.” She said, downplaying it.

  “Hmm,” Rob said, handing over the money for his books, which Sandy had placed in a large carrier bag. “Don’t worry about the change.”

  “Thank you,” Sandy called, putting the 30p change into the tips jar next to the till. She watched Father Fields walk away and then returned to the storeroom to continue her opening, wiping and pricing of the new stock.

  She had been sure that with enough time, and peace, a plan to confront the killer would have occurred to her, but as the sky grew dark and the constant throng of customers faded away to a trickle, she still had no inspiration.

  She sat cross-legged on the floor and pulled out a book about the history of stately homes, wiping it absentmindedly.

  Father Fields’ words rang through her mind.

  Even the person committing the hit and runs was doing good in their own mind.

  And from nowhere, she knew what she had to do, and whose help she needed.

  16

  Bernice and Coral had eyed her when she suggested they leave the cleaning up to her and head home when the shop closed for customers, but she insisted that after their help running the shop, it was her turn to help them.

  They hadn’t needed any more convincing. Washing the dishes at the end of a busy was everyone’s least favourite job.

  They had bundled themselves back into their scarves and coats and bid her good night, and Sandy had watched them go, then left the dirty dishes and headed back upstairs.

  Her text to Dorie had been sent almost an hour earlier, and Sandy could picture the news being spread throughout the village.

  She sat on the floor in the storeroom and waited.

  And listened.

  She knew it was a risky plan, but she could think of no other ideas.

  She had told Dorie, the village’s biggest gossip, that she knew who the real killer was and would present her evidence to the police the next morning, after working late in the bookshop all night.

  The real killer would have to try and stop her.

  She tried to control her nerves as she considered the danger she had placed herself in.

  She was almost tempted to run downstairs and lock the door, but as she pushed herself up, she was sure she heard a noise.

  Every hair on her body stood on edge as a chill ran through her. She took a gulp and picked up the only thing resembling a weapon, the large and heavy till.

  As she stood still, her heartbeat deafening in her chest, she saw a dark shape creep up the staircase and into the room. The figure looked around but didn’t seem to notice her; they must need time to adjust to the darkness.

  Sandy recognised this as her chance to strike but found that she was frozen to the ground. The shape spotted her then and moved towards her, and as they advanced, Sandy realised who it was.

  “Tom?” She asked in surprise.

  “What the hell are you doing?” He whispered, taking the till from her hands and placing it back on the counter. “The whole pub’s talking about your message to Dorie. How could you be so foolish?”

  “Tom, I -” Sandy began.

  They both jumped at the sound of a large crash from downstairs. Sandy gazed at Tom and he gazed back at her.

  “What do we do now?” Tom asked.

  “Leave it to me,” Sandy said. “I have to be alone, go in the storeroom.”

  Tom moved away from her and disappeared into the shadows of the storeroom.

  “And leave that bloody till alone, it’s too heavy to be any protection. You’d be better off with a big book.” Tom hissed.

  Sandy looked around her, not wanting to take her eyes away from the staircase. She bent down to the ground, keeping her gaze on the stairs, and picked up a large coffee table book that a customer had changed their mind about purchasing earlier in the day. Sandy had left it behind the counter planning to return it to the right shelf and then forgotten about it.

  The book felt hard and heavy in her hands, but she was much more able to move her arms - and her whole body - while holding it. She stood back up and took a deep breath as a shadow appeared on the staircase.

  Sandy moved to the till so that the counter was placed between her and the person. The shape was small, but Sandy knew they were also deadly.

  She let out a small cough, deciding she would prefer the person to make their attack on her from in front of her. She didn’t think her heart would withstand a game of hide and seek in the dark space.

  “Sandy.” The voice came, as the person advanced towards her. The accent confirmed her suspicions. “I hear you’ve solved the case.”

  “I have an idea,” Sandy said, hoping the person couldn’t hear the tremble in her voice as much as she could. “Are you here to tell me I’m wrong?”

  The woman laughed. “I’m here to persuade you it’s better not to speak to the police.”

  “Persuade me how?” Sandy asked.

  “Peacefully - I hope.” The woman said.

  Sandy took a step back and flicked on the lights, hoping that Tom had been hidden away from the door of the storeroom. She attempted to make her face as stern and fearless as she could as she met Pritti Sharma’s gaze.

  “Why did you do it?” Sandy asked.

  Pritti laughed, her attractive face contorted in exasperation. “You know why.”

  “I’d like to hear it from your side because I think you think you were doing the right thing.”

  “Have you ever read my work contract?” Pritti asked.

  Sandy shook her head.

  “I don’t have one,” Pritti explained. “My family have worked for the Harlows for three generations. My earliest memories are of my mother in their kitchen, making their meals. I’d sit on the floor playing with a rag doll, keeping quiet until my mother had met all their needs and it was time for us to return home.”

  “The Harlows appreciate everything your family has done for them,” Sandy said, as Pritti edged closer to her.

  “Of course they do. I know that. I knew before I could speak that I would work for them too, just as my daughter will take over from me. My father taught me to be loyal to the Harlow family over every other person, even our own family, as they were the reason we had food on our table.”

  “Your father didn’t work?”

  Pritti snorted, her nostrils flaring. “He was ill. He let my mother work, just as my husband lets me work.”

  “Is this about your job? Did you think the Harlows wouldn’t return if the Manor was damaged?”

  “Of course not!” Pritti said. “Did you hear what I said about loyalty? I choose them. Always. I choose them before myself.”

  “What was it, then? Help me understand.” Sandy said.

  “Charlotte Harlow embarrassed her family,” Pritti explained, referring to Charlotte’s conviction for the murder of Reginald Halfman. “She brought shame on them because she put her own desires ahead of her family’s. She could have inherited everything, the foolish girl. I saw the shame on their faces as they left, Sandy. And then the squatters arrived and everyone was gossiping about the Harlows again. I couldn’t bear it.”

  “I don’t think people were gossiping, Pritti. Everyone cares about the Harlows.”

  “Huh!” Pritti exclaimed. “Where were you, then? Where were you when Charlo
tte was taken away in a police car? Where was everyone when the squatters came?”

  “Where were you?” Sandy asked.

  “I was at the Manor every single night, tidying up their mess, telling them to leave, making sure they knew they weren’t wanted. They didn’t pay any attention to me. And then you turned up with food for them! Why would they ever leave if they were being fed and kept dry?”

  “They’re people, Pritti, just like me and you.”

  “And I didn’t want to have to hurt them. They left me no choice.” Pritti said. “But the problem is resolved now. They’ve gone, we can all move on.”

  “You know I can’t let that happen,” Sandy said.

  As she spoke, she sensed a movement behind her and saw DC Sullivan appear from his pre-arranged hiding place of an aisle of books. Pritti glanced from Sandy to the police officer, then reached into her handbag and pulled out a gun.

  “Get down!” DC Sullivan called, and Sandy dived behind the counter. She saw a flash of movement as Tom appeared from the storeroom and raced across towards Pritti, a few feet behind DC Sullivan.

  Sandy covered her eyes as she heard a single shot of the gun and a thud on the floor, then forced herself to calm her breathing and peer around from the counter.

  Pritti lay motionless in a dark pool, with DC Sullivan reaching for his radio and calling for help. Tom hung back, still on his feet, his skin almost translucent it was so pale.

  DC Sullivan pressed two fingers against Pritti’s neck, keeping them in place for what felt like an age, before glancing first at Tom and then at Sandy.

  “She’s dead.” He pronounced.

  17

  Books and Bakes had to be closed for several days following Pritti’s suicide, and Sandy used the rare break as a chance to catch up on her reading. She spent a whole day nestled underneath her duvet in bed chain-reading a series of four small mystery novellas. She even made cheese on toast for lunch and ate that in bed too! The day felt naughty and well-earnt.

  By the second day, she was missing her routine and feeling bored, so headed into her small kitchen and looked through her favourite recipe book. There was a recipe for an avocado lemon cake she had wanted to try for ages, and she decided today was the day.

  The recipe was simple, requiring just five ingredients for the cake itself, and in Sandy’s opinion, the simplest recipes were the best.

  She switched on the oven to 170 degrees and pulled out her trusty loaf tin, which had been her mother’s. Then, she turned the radio on and grabbed her electric mixer, then beat together four eggs and a cup of sugar until the mixture became light and fluffy.

  Sandy cut two avocados out of their peel and discarded the stones, then measured out a cup of avocado, deciding to continue her indulgent break and popping the remaining avocado in her mouth. In a second bowl, she mashed the avocado, then sifted in 2 cups of flour and one and half teaspoons of baking powder.

  The avocado mix was added to the sugar and egg mixture, and folded gently, before the whole mixture was poured into the loaf tin and cooked for 45 minutes.

  While the cake was cooking, Sandy made herself a mug of steaming hot mocha and curled up in her favourite armchair in the living room.

  “This is the life.” She said aloud to herself, as she picked up her mug to take the first sip.

  “Sandy!” A voice came from outside, and to Sandy’s surprise, Tom Nelson’s face appeared at her window. She tried not to jump, but she had been on edge ever since the showdown with Pritti Sharma.

  She padded through to the hallway and unlocked the door, letting Tom in.

  “Didn’t you hear me?” He asked. She stared at him. “I’ve been knocking.”

  “Oh!” Sandy exclaimed, leading him to the living room. “I was in the kitchen.”

  Tom took a sniff. “Something smells good.”

  “Avocado lemon cake.”

  “Sounds… interesting.”

  “I’ve never tried it before,” Sandy said. “I needed something to keep me busy. I’m not used to having all this free time.”

  “That’s kind of why I’m here,” Tom said, and his cheeks flushed. “I’m free until 6 tonight, I wondered if you fancy going off somewhere. Together, like. With me.”

  “Would it be a -” Sandy began.

  “A date? Well, I’d like it to be if you would.” Tom said, flashing her the grin that revealed his dimple.

  “I’d like that,” Sandy admitted, feeling her stomach flip with excitement. “I should warn you, I’m stubborn sometimes.”

  “Yeah, I’d already worked that out,” Tom said, with a laugh.

  “I need to let this cake bake, do you want a drink before we head out?” Sandy offered.

  “Sure, can I get a black coffee?” Tom asked, then stood up from the settee. “In fact, why don’t I make it?”

  “It’s fine, I’m missing making drinks for people, so let me,” Sandy said. She padded through into the kitchen, the avocado cake giving off a glorious smell, and boiled the kettle again.

  She thought of Pritti Sharma’s children and husband, who had been the only people to attend her funeral, and decided to take the finished cake to them. She had no idea what kind of reception she would receive from them, and she didn’t condone Pritti’s crimes, but something the woman had said stood out for Sandy.

  The Harlows had fled the village because of the shame they felt that their daughter had committed awful crimes. What if an act of friendship from Sandy, or another villager, could have shown the Harlows that they didn’t need to leave their home?

  “Here you go,” Sandy said, placing the drink on the coffee table in front of Tom. She still blushed whenever his gaze met hers. She’d have to learn to stop that.

  “Thanks! So, where shall we go today?”

  “I’d like to run a couple of errands if you don’t mind? Then we could do something nice together after?” Sandy said.

  “I can be your chauffeur for your errands, ma’am.” Tom offered, and Sandy grinned and nodded her head.

  **

  It turned out that the Sharma house was next door to Gus and Poppy Sanders, something that neither Sandy nor Tom had known.

  “I knew there were kids next door, I’ve heard them playing sometimes but never seen who they were.”

  “Wish me luck,” Sandy said, as she opened the passenger door of Tom’s car. The avocado lemon cake sat on her lap, still warm from the oven.

  As she opened the gate, she noticed a small face peering at her from behind the net curtain up at the window. She gave a smile and a small wave, wanting to signal she was visiting as a friend.

  She knocked on the door and heard the shuffling of feet within.

  After a wait that was long enough to cause her to begin feeling anxious, the door opened, and Sandy stood face to face with a man she assumed must be Pritti’s husband - now her widower.

  “Mr. Sharma?” She asked. The man was small and appeared too frail for his age. His back was bent over and a stick supported his weight. The boy and girl who had been with Pritti just recently in Books and Bakes peeked from behind their father. “I’m Sandy, I knew Pritti.”

  Mr. Sharma made a small noise from in his throat, like a sob desperate to escape. “How can I help you?”

  “I brought a cake,” Sandy said, thinking how feeble the words sounded given what the family was going through.

  “For us?” Mr. Sharma asked. “Nobody else has been. The police say my wife did terrible things, I don’t know what to think.”

  Sandy saw the confusion in his eyes and wanted more than anything to scoop him into a hug. “Mr. Sharma, I knew your wife. She did do very terrible things, but you and your children have done nothing wrong. I wanted you to know you’re in my thoughts.”

  The man nodded, as if struggling to take in so many words after so much silence.

  “If I can do anything, let me know,” Sandy said.

  “Yes.” The man said, still appearing in a daze.

  “Can one of the
children take the cake?’ Sandy asked, smiling at the boy and girl. Their outfits were mismatched and their hair appeared unbrushed. She imagined that Mr. Sharma would be learning to do many things for the first time now his wife was gone.

  “I will!” The girl volunteered, squeezing past her father and taking the cake from Sandy’s hands. Sandy had transferred it out of her beloved loaf tin and wrapped it in tin foil.

  “It has nuts on top, can you all eat nuts?” Sandy asked. The girl nodded, her dark eyes wide in wonder.

  “Ok. I’ll be going. I hope you’re all ok.” Sandy said, as she raised her hand and gave a little wave, then turned and walked away from the house. As she climbed into the car, Mr. Sharma remained at the door watching her, still looking confused.

  “How did that go?” Tom asked. “It looked a little, strained?”

  “I think the man’s still in shock,” Sandy said, fastening her seatbelt.

  “Poor family,” Tom said. “Right, next stop, ma’am?”

  Sandy laughed. “The hospital please, driver, and be quick!”

  **

  Derrick was in the hospital reception when they arrived, sat in a cosy armchair with Olivia stood by his side, her hand in his.

  He gave a huge smile when he saw Sandy and attempted to stand.

  “Stop!” She scolded. “I’ll bend down to you.”

  She reached down and planted a kiss on his cheek, taking in the scent of aftershave and disinfectant. “How are you feeling?”

  “Glad to be leaving this place.” He admitted. “They’ve been good to me, but it’s time to get home.”

  “You can say that again.” Mrs. Deves said, appearing at the side of Sandy. “Taxi’s not here yet, son.”

  “They’re always late.” An old man called as he hobbled past them.

  Sandy smiled at him.

  “We can give you a lift home?” She offered, glancing at Tom who nodded his agreement.

  “It’s alright love, we’ve rung for it now.” Mrs. Deves said.

  “Are you going back with them, Olivia?” Sandy asked.

  “Yeah, I want to see where he lives since I’ll be visiting him for a bit.” Olivia said. Sandy nodded.