Blades of autumnal morning sunshine sliced through the clear blue sky tantalizing those below with the promise of a crisp, dry day. Rosie stood at her bedroom window in the little windmill, listening to the rustle of the leaves in the gentle breeze and feasting her eyes on her favourite scene – one which she would never grow tired of appreciating.
London had its urban beauty and architectural magnificence, but the view from her flat above the Windmill Café won first place in the natural beauty contest. In the distance, the surface of the North Sea always echoed the weather of the day – some days dark and foreboding, angry even; others blissful and calm – but that morning it seemed to dance with a cascade of iridescent pearls. If she turned her head to the right she could see the luxury lodges nestled in the field next door like sleeping puppies wrapped in an emerald blanket and snuggled against the russet-coloured woodland in whose depths Ultimate Adventures was hidden.
A surge of belonging enveloped her, swiftly followed by one of gratitude for being accepted as part of the community of Willerby so quickly. She’d even been invited to her first wedding! With some difficulty, she tore her eyes away from the view, patted her childhood teddy bear for luck, and jumped into the shower. She selected her smart black dress trousers and a jade green sweater which enhanced her amber curls and slotted her toes into a pair of ballet pumps. With minimal attention to her make-up routine she took a final glance out of the window and trotted down the stairs into the café kitchen to whip up a batch of lemon drizzle cupcakes.
Baking was her solace; the antidote for when things became too much for her to cope with. Whenever she could focus her attention on beating a bowl of butter and sugar with a wooden spoon, she was able to block out all unpleasant and unwelcome thoughts and simply enjoy being in the moment – like a kind of culinary meditation. And it had the added bonus of not only bringing happiness to her, but to everyone who shared in the results of her labour.
She set the lemon cupcakes to cool on a wire rack, the aroma of caramel and tangy lemon causing her stomach to growl with anticipation. She had just finished washing the floor and was busy fixing a cafetière of coffee, when Matt appeared at the French doors.
‘Mmm, that coffee smells amazing. Any chance of a mug?’
‘Of course. Actually, I’m glad you came over, Matt. I wanted to talk to you about Grace’s invitation yesterday. I know how difficult it will be for you to attend a wedding at St Andrew’s after what happened with Victoria, so if you’d rather…’
‘You’re right, it will be tough to return to the very place I had the dubious honour of being a jilted groom, but with a little help from my friends I’m happy to report that I’ve moved on. In fact, being a guest at Grace and Josh’s wedding is the perfect way of laying old ghosts to rest, once and for all. And there’s no one I’d rather stand next to in those pews than you, Rosie.’
Matt took a step towards her, his eyes holding hers, his lips parted slightly. A whoosh of heat flew through her body, sending pins and needles out to her extremities and all cogent thought from her mind. Her knees weakened as he drew closer and she felt his minty breath on her cheek as he continued, his voice gentle and sincere.
‘I know Freddie thinks you’ve brought a whirlwind of chaos to our lives since you arrived in Willerby, but without you I wouldn’t have even contemplated stepping foot in the church. I know you came here for a fresh start, but your arrival has provided that to others too. I have a great deal to be thankful to you for, Rosie, not least your willingness to help me to find out who’s trying to destroy my business.’
Matt’s lips were millimetres from hers and her internal choir was screaming ‘kiss me!’ She inhaled a long breath, excitement and exhilaration curling through every part of her, her heart pounding in anticipation. Arrows of desire shot southwards and all she wanted to do was block out reality and melt into his arms.
‘Matt, I…’
‘Hello? Anyone home? Oh, hello, Matt! I didn’t … sorry, Rosie, I don’t want to intrude.’
‘It’s okay, Phil, come on in.’
Rosie laughed as Phil’s cheeks coloured when he realized what he’d stumbled in on. Could she really see him resorting to mastering the sport of archery simply to shoot the overbearing and obnoxious chairman of his beloved club? Brad clearly thought so, but she was prepared to reserve her judgement until she had spoken to him, and what better time than the present. From the look on Matt’s face she knew he was thinking exactly the same thing.
‘Do you want to join us for a coffee? And I’ve made a fresh batch of lemon drizzle cupcakes, too. Actually, I was wondering if anyone in your group would like to come over to the café this morning for a tutorial in all things cake-related. It might help to keep everyone’s minds off … well, off everything?’
‘I think the girls would love that, and so would I. I have to admit to feeling somewhat apprehensive about the impending visit from the police, but I’m just as anxious as everyone else is to find out who did this to Rick – mainly so I can shake the guy’s hand.’
‘I take it from that comment that you didn’t like Rick Forster much?’ asked Matt, handing a cup of black coffee to Phil before replenishing his own.
‘No one liked him. He was rude, disrespectful, arrogant, opinionated, selfish; take your pick. He totally ruined our club!’
Matt indicated the table next to the French doors. ‘I don’t know whether you’ve heard, but the police have asked me to close the doors at Ultimate Adventures. It’s not only my livelihood at stake, but that of Freddie and Mia, too, not to mention the trade my clients bring to Willerby – it’s imperative that the mystery is cleared up swiftly. So, do you mind if Rosie and I ask you a few questions?’
‘I don’t mind at all. We all want to know the truth about what happened, but Rick was way out of line when he accused one of us of shooting him. Of course, I’m sure we all wanted to, but no one would have had the courage to do it!’
‘Can you tell us a bit about the Myth Seekers club?’
‘Before Rick arrived in our midst a few of us would meet up every month to talk about current topics in the myth-seeking world. We had the occasional aficionado come to speak to us from one of the other clubs – there’s only a couple in the north of England – and it was all very civilized and relaxed. We didn’t have a formal written constitution or elections for posts on the committee and such like. I dealt with whatever paperwork there was. I collected the subs and paid the rent for the hire of the hall to the parish council. It worked. We were trundling along nicely, minding our own business, not upsetting anyone. I’m a founder member and Brad joined a couple of years later and was appointed our official trip organizer, but we didn’t have the funds to go very far. Not until Rick joined and flashed his cash – then we went to all sorts of wonderful places; Rome, Athens, Marrakesh.’
‘Are there many myths to seek in Marrakesh?’ asked Rosie, happy to see Phil’s eyes light up at her question.
‘Yes! It’s a fascinating place. You wouldn’t believe the things we…’
‘So, along came Richard Forster to spoil the fun, is that it?’ interrupted Matt, keen to divert Phil from a long-winded soliloquy on the marvels of North African folklore.
‘Well, not at first. Rick’s an accountant with a large practice in Manchester city centre. He’s loaded so he offered to donate an injection of cash to boost our admittedly meagre funds. As well as chairperson and secretary, I was also the Myth Seekers Society’s treasurer. Not a great appointment to be honest as I’m rubbish with figures.’
Phil paused to shove his tortoise-shell glasses up the bridge of his nose and shoot a quick glance in Rosie’s direction, before he resumed his nervous habit of scrapping the skin from the sides of his thumb nails.
‘Rick’s money meant we could do more: take more trips, invite professional speakers, even print up a few flyers to encourage new members. That’s how Emma heard about us and got together with Brad. Turned out they’re both adrenalin junkies – speed cycling, snowboarding, marathon running – so they had lots in common. But after a while Rick started to take over. He appointed himself as our chairman and he insisted that every meeting had to start with a carefully crafted agenda. He typed up the minutes and we even had to vote on written resolutions. Okay, it meant we got lots more done but the whole atmosphere changed; it was more formal, less enjoyable.’
A wistful expression rippled across Phil’s freckled face as he remembered happier times.
‘And it wasn’t just me who objected to the changes, ask the others. Most of the old-timers drifted away and there’s only me and Brad and three others left from the pre-Rick days. But we’ve attracted ten new members who seem to accept the way things are. However, it isn’t our club anymore, if you know what I mean. We missed the times when our get-togethers were really just an excuse for a chat, a break from our domestic obligations, and maybe a sneaky pint afterwards.’
Phil’s hand trembled as he patted down his neatly cropped mousy hair. Watching his gesture, Rosie got the distinct impression he was struggling not to shed a tear for the loss of his beloved club which had been hijacked by the new boy. But after a few steadying breaths Phil was ready to continue.
‘I’m afraid I was Rick’s first target in his crusade of humiliation. I’ve been researching a book on obscure Welsh myths for years and he scoffed at my “jerky” writing style, telling me that no one would be interested enough to publish it. I’ve already self-published one book – okay, it’s not brilliant, but that’s no reason for Rick to humiliate me in front of the other members, is it?’
‘So why didn’t you leave too? Why stay and subject yourself to regular sessions of verbal abuse?’
‘Because I happen to love the club. It’s my baby. I suppose I thought some of the things Rick introduced were improvements, especially the foreign trips which I know he subsidized. I also know Rick paid for this weekend out of his own pocket, Rosie. There’s no way we could have afforded a posh holiday site like this from our funds. It was his idea to come here and to combine our myth-seeking activities with the luxury accommodation for the women. Helen and Steph both love home-baking and afternoon teas in quaint little cafés – it’s that Great British Bake Off fiasco. Rick said it would keep them out of our way so we could enjoy the trip without feeling guilty. Pff, guilty? I don’t think Rick Forster has an empathic bone in his body.’
Rosie felt a squirm of sympathy for Phil. He seemed to be one of the good guys, and after all, she had witnessed first-hand the way Rick had laid into him at the camp. He would have her support if he wanted to dish out some of his tormenter’s own medicine. Maybe he had intended to kill Rick for muscling in on his beloved club, but, like his writing style, his aim was ‘jerky’.
‘It’s no secret Rick taunted me about a lot of things. Steph and I don’t have the level of funds Rick and Helen are blessed with. But we’ve managed to raise three fine young men and we’ve been happy. Rick has been married twice before and, as far as I know, has never had children. I suppose he sees me as plodding and dull; an anorak, I think he calls me. Steph says he’s a cowardly bully who is insecure in his own skin. She’s forever telling me to stand up to him, to tell him where to go, but I have to think of the club’s interests, don’t I? If Rick left there’d be no more trips to exotic locations so I made the decision to just grin and bear it.’
Rosie tried to offer Phil a supportive smile but he was more interested in picking invisible fluff from the knee of his combat trousers. ‘Phil, can I ask you how you felt when you woke up yesterday morning?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, it’s just that both Mia and I felt a little fuzzy-headed, as if our brains had been stuffed with cotton wool.’
‘Actually, yes, yes, I did feel a bit woozy, like my feet were encased in concrete, but I’ve never camped out under the stars before. I prefer a sheet of canvas between me and the elements. I just put it down to a bad night’s sleep.’
‘I don’t suppose you saw anyone leave the camp after you turned in for the night?’
‘No. I was flat out until you woke us all up, Matt. I was … well, I was annoyed that we had missed seeing the sunrise through the arch. It was the only reason I agreed to do the wild camping thing in the first place. I was furious when I found out Rick had gone ahead and had somehow engineered the whole debacle. But then I shouldn’t really have been surprised, should I? It was the sort of thing he would do. It’s all about him. It’s always all about him.’
‘And where were you when you heard Mia scream?’
‘I was with Emma and Brad. They’d asked me to take a photo of them with the priory in the background. I was lining up the shot when I heard the commotion. We all rushed into the cloister and there was Rick, lying on the ground with an arrow imbedded in his ankle.’
‘I know you would have mentioned it if you had, but did you notice anything unusual or suspicious during our trek to the site?’
‘Nothing, I’m afraid. I’ve scoured my brain for every bit of information, but there’s nothing. Look, Matt, Rosie, I make no secret of the fact that I loathe the man, but I didn’t wish him any harm and I certainly don’t know how to use a bow and arrow. Poor Helen, she must be really upset. Steph asked her if she wanted to share our lodge last night so she didn’t have to sleep alone, but she turned us down. She’s a braver person than I am, that’s for sure. What if that crazy archer is still out there, training his arrow on us right at this very moment?’
Phil leaned forward, wringing his hands as he made a supreme effort to corral his emotions. Rosie watched on, her heart twisting for this man who had been repeatedly bullied by Rick Forster and who therefore had to be one of their chief suspects.
‘Okay, I think Steph will be out of the shower by now. I’ll inform her, and Helen and Emma, of your generous offer of a morning in the kitchen, Rosie, and we’ll be across in half an hour or so.’
‘Great, and look on the bright side, Phil. Rick’s going to be out of action for a couple of months whilst his ankle heals, so maybe you should recommend he appoints a new interim chair?’
‘Yes, yes, I never thought of that. I suppose I should.’
And as Phil pulled the French door shut behind him Rosie could have sworn she saw the tug of a smile at his lips.
‘It’s him!’ she exclaimed.
Matt rolling his eyes at her and grinned. ‘How did you deduce that, Miss Marple?’
‘He has the strongest motive. We both saw with our own eyes the way Rick treats him – it was embarrassing to watch. Phil put up with it for so long; he was ousted from his beloved club, taunted with insults about his lack of funds, called nasty names, humiliated in front of the other members about his book, powerless to retaliate. Well, I’d shoot Rick if it was me! You can only push a person so far before they snap.’
‘Mmm, possibly. So, say he does have a motive, what about opportunity?’
‘Well, that’s easy. Phil knew what Rick planned to do, so he spiked our coffee with a few of Steph’s tablets to make sure we slept through everything, followed Rick up to the priory, missed with the first arrow, scored a hit with the second, then hid the weapon and jogged back to the camp to pretend to wake up with the rest of us.’
‘I agree with you that Phil Brown is the sort of person who could spend many hours pondering over the finer details of how he would go about murdering Rick if he had the courage. But plotting it and carrying it out are two completely different scenarios. There’s no evidence at all to suggest it was him.’
‘He’s definitely hiding something though.’
‘What? And why?’
‘It’s just the way he couldn’t meet my eyes when we were taking about how he felt about being pushed out as chairman and being given the poisoned chalice as treasurer. I’d have thought Rick was the ideal candidate for that post, being an accountant. So why did he let Phil keep that job?’
‘Okay, I’ll give Phil a call and ask whether he minds letting us have a look at the accounts and the minutes of the committee meetings Rick made them do. At least Rick’s meddling in the admin of the Myth Seekers Society has produced something useful.’
‘Why don’t you try to call Rick again? He’s had plenty of time to mull over the events at the priory whilst being confined to a hospital bed. Maybe he’s remembered some vital detail, or reconsidered his initial reaction that it was Phil who shot him and can shed some light on someone else being the culprit. The more information we have about the actual shooting the better, don’t you think?’
‘Great idea – if he’ll take my call. I’ve tried three times already today. He’s clearly holding me responsible, even though it wasn’t me who actually held the bow!’
Matt removed his phone from his back pocket and selected Rick’s number. He waited, his eyes lingering on Rosie’s, but there was no reply and his call went to voicemail. He cut the call without leaving a message.
‘I didn’t think…’ Before Matt had finished his sentence, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and then at Rosie. ‘It’s a text from Rick.’
‘What does it say?’
She waited whilst he read it, taking in the way his jawline tightened and his eyes narrowed before he shook his head disconsolately and handed her the phone.
‘‘Matt, I’ve spoken to my solicitor who has advised me not to speak to you until the police have completed their enquiries in case our conversation jeopardizes any subsequent legal action. Rick.’ Oh, Matt. I’m so sorry.’
‘Well, at least I know why he’s been avoiding me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Rosie, I think I should go back to the centre to get on with some paperwork of my own.’
As Rosie watched Matt make his way from the café, her heart cracked at the dejected way he carried his body. A surge of irritation spread through her veins at Rick’s decision to involve his lawyers so promptly, swiftly followed by an overwhelmingly intense desire to put on her metaphorical deerstalker and hunt down every last clue until the mystery was solved and things could go back to normal. A world in which Matt Wilson wasn’t brimming with his habitual enthusiasm and cheerfulness wasn’t a world she wanted to live in.