Mistletoe and Murder by Connie Berry

Author:Connie Berry [Berry, Connie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: CROOKED LANE BOOKS

Chapter Twelve

Thursday, December 22

Dunmow Parva

I met DC Tim Clarke at nine AM in front of Sheila’s house. He’d brought a giant thermos of coffee and a box of doughnuts. We ducked under the crime-scene tape, and he unlocked the door.

“It’s freezing in here,” I said, shivering.

“Metered heating, probably,” he said. “They take prepaid cards you have to top up from time to time.”

“Let’s get started.” I rubbed my hands together for warmth. “We’re looking for a wooden box. No idea how large. It could be a trunk or something quite small, like a cigar box. Would you mind checking out back? There’s a small shed. It probably isn’t there, but we should find out. I’m going to start on the cartons upstairs.”

I was sorting through the contents of the first box when I heard Clarke’s voice. “Excuse me, Mrs. Hamilton.”

He stood at the bottom of the stairs, a powdered sugar doughnut in one hand. “No boxes of any kind in the shed. Just some gardening tools. I spoke with DS Cliffe. He said you were to call DI Mallory as soon as possible.”

“Perfect timing. I’m so cold my fingers aren’t working.”

“There’s hot coffee in the kitchen,” Clarke said. “Why don’t I find a clean beaker while you make your call?”

“Sounds lovely.”

I sat at the table in Sheila’s kitchen. As I dialed, DC Clarke slid a steaming coffee in front of me. Holding the phone with my shoulder, I wrapped my fingers around the warm mug.

Tom answered on the second ring. “Two days, my darling, until we walk down the aisle. Two days and four hours, to be precise.”

I laughed. “That’s what you wanted to tell me?”

“No. I wanted to tell you Brian Chappell still hasn’t turned up. Maureen is beside herself.”

“What about Dennis Parker?”

“He’s not home—or just not answering my calls.”

“First Sheila, now Brian and Dennis? Why’s everyone disappearing?”

“I don’t know about Sheila and Dennis,” he admitted, “but I’m sure Brian’s avoiding the police.”

Was that what Sheila was doing as well—avoiding the police? But that didn’t fit with the bloody fingerprint and the abandoned handbag. “Any news on the body in the burned-out flat?”

“His name was Dougie Ferguson. He had previous form—possession, dealing, aggravated assault. Shot before the fire started.”

“Murder, then.”

“A contract killing, most likely.”

“Suspects?”

“Just the man our witness saw. She said they appeared to be arguing. The problem is her description—average height and weight, dark clothing, knitted cap. That describes half the men in England.”

“It’s a start.”

“Hmm. Have you found the coin and the letter?”

“Not yet. There are at least twenty sealed cartons, Tom, and Sheila’s house is like a deep freeze. Too bad you can’t reach Dennis Parker. If he packed the wooden box, he might remember which carton it’s in.”

“I’ll keep trying. Which brings me to the real reason I phoned. Sheila’s mobile records arrived. I emailed them to DS Boyle. Haven’t had a chance to examine them yet—except to see several repeated numbers.”

My throat tightened. “This could be the breakthrough we’ve been hoping for. If we can trace her calls, maybe we can find her.

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