Rosie struggled to decipher her emotions as she drove to Willerby in her battered Mini Cooper. Freddie had offered Mia a lift, which she had been thrilled to accept, and Matt was driving in his own Ultimate Adventures SUV so she had a few moments to herself to collect her thoughts and yet she could make no sense of them. It had been a long and emotionally draining day, and she couldn’t wait to hold a glass of red wine in her hands to soften the peaks of her anxiety.
The Drunken Duck was straight out of central casting as the response to a Hollywood director’s demand for a typical English village pub. Its white-washed façade shone in the moonlight and the bold golden signage glowed under the soft light of the brass lanterns. Only a few vehicles dotted the adjacent car park, so Rosie hoped she would find some privacy in which to unburden her constantly circling questions and increasingly outlandish theories about what had happened at the Garside Priory.
She loved what the landlord, Archie Chapman, had achieved with the Drunken Duck. Matt had told her that Archie had used the compensation money he’d received after his medical discharge from the army to buy the Willerby village pub. Prior to his arrival, the place had become frayed at the edges, catering only to a smattering of locals and day-trippers wanting sustenance before their assault on the coastal pathways or after a strenuous day of team-building at Ultimate Adventures. In the space of just twelve months, Archie had turned the fragile old lady into a sparkling duchess with regular offerings of guest beers from local artisan breweries, and even a selection of sparkling wines produced in the UK.
Rosie parked her car next to a pristine white Range Rover and jogged round to the front door. On the scrubbed stone step was a silver bowl filled with fresh water for the hiker’s best friend and when she stepped over the threshold, she was immediately draped in the familiar mantle of warmth, comfort and the unquestioning welcome she experienced every time she visited. The fragrance of burning logs, pine cones and yeasty beer hung in the air and sent her senses into overdrive.
‘Hi Archie. Can I get a glass of Merlot, please?’
‘Coming right up.’
‘And a pint of Wherry for me,’ said Mia, sliding onto the bar stool next to her.
‘The drinks are on me tonight, girls. Mia, is it true that you found the guy who was shot over at Garside Priory?’
‘Yes, that was me. You know, the image of his body just lying there, with an arrow sticking out of his foot and blood oozing through his trousers, will remain with me until I take my last breath. I actually thought he was dead!’
Mia inhaled a long draught of beer that would have made a seasoned member of the Campaign For Real Ale proud. Rosie was initially taken by surprise, until she remembered that Mia had been a student and then a gap year rambler for the last five years, and could probably drink her under the table.
‘Come on, let’s grab a seat in the snug,’ said Rosie before Mia could spill every detail to the inquisitive landlord.
They carried their drinks into the back room and Rosie heaved a sigh that they had the place to themselves. However, no sooner had they sat down than they had company.
‘Hi, Rosie! Hi, Mia! I didn’t expect to see you both in here tonight,’ smiled Grace, Reverend Coulson’s daughter. ‘Mind if I join you? I just needed to escape the frenzied activity in the vicarage kitchen for a christening Dad’s doing at the church tomorrow. I don’t mind helping out, but Mum’s insisting on directing operations as if it’s a military manoeuvre instead of a christening for triplets.’
The hug Rosie received from Grace was filled with such warmth, she was surprised to find that tears had gathered along her lower lashes. Grace would probably think she was being ridiculous but she couldn’t help it, her emotions were all over the place – understandable after the day she’d had, she argued in her defence.
‘So, I hear you’re in the middle of another murder mystery!’ said Grace, her grey eyes sparkling with interest as she plopped down onto the leather banquette next to Rosie, sipping her pint of Wherry, and shoving her blonde curls behind her ears.
‘No one was murdered, Grace…’ began Rosie.
‘Oh, why didn’t I insist on tagging along with you both on your wild camping trip instead of volunteering to make up the flower arrangements in the church? I always miss out on all the excitement. So, you’ve got to tell me everything! Josh told me that Matt and Freddie arranged the expedition to Garside Priory for a group of ghost-hunting enthusiasts who are staying at the lodges. He and Archie are already arguing over who could have shot Richard Forster, but you were both there – eye witnesses! Who’s on your list of suspects?’
Grace replaced her pint on the bashed copper table and swung her eyes eagerly from Rosie to Mia and back again, rubbing her palms down her jean-clad thighs and causing her diamond solitaire to glint in the overhead lights.
‘It’s too early to make any assumptions…’ said Rosie but she was instantly interrupted by an excited Mia who was acting as though they were in some kind of am-dram theatre production in which the whole village had been assigned roles.
‘Well, my money’s on Phil Brown – he has the strongest motive for wanting Rick out of the way. All the guests at the lodges are members of some nerdy Myth Seekers club in Manchester. Phil used to be the club’s chairman and lead ghost whisperer until Rick arrived on the scene and elbowed him from the top spot. Apparently, Rick took over every aspect of the running of the club, apart from the accounts which he was happy to leave to Phil because, let’s face it, they’re boring.’
‘Wow, looks like you’ve really thought it through!’ said Grace, who had been slowly shredding a beer mat whilst digesting everything Mia had said. She collected the fragments of paper in her palm and aimed a throw at the log fire, but her aim fell short and the tiny pieces of cardboard tumbled like confetti onto the hearth.
Rosie rolled her eyes and was about to kneel down to sweep the debris away when Matt arrived in the doorway of the snug clutching a pint of Guinness. She chastised her traitorous heart for leaping to attention at the sight of him. He had replaced his black Ultimate Adventures T-shirt and combat jeans with a lilac cashmere sweater and a leather jacket that moulded his muscular torso to perfection. Attractiveness oozed from his pores – or maybe that was just the effect he had on her as no one else seemed to have lost their train of thought when he’d appeared – yet the arcs of tiredness beneath his eyes spoke of the stress he was under.
‘Any news?’ Rosie asked.
‘Helen rang me just as I was pulling into the car park. She’s back from the hospital. They’re hoping to operate on Rick’s ankle in the morning, but she also said that Rick’s thinking of giving an interview to the local press about what happened, supposedly to raise the profile of the myths and legends of East Anglia, but I’m concerned about the possible backlash.’
Matt slumped down next to Rosie, taking a long draught of his beer to calm his worries about the business. He ran his fingers nervously through his hair, his lips tightening into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
‘We have to find out who did this as soon as possible! I can’t have the press sniffing around, dragging Ultimate Adventures into the spotlight, spouting rubbish about the health and safety risks of being shot by a stray archery arrow. You know how these journalists love to twist everything to get a sensational story out of the mundane. Imagine what they could do with this! You can bet your last pound they will say it was one of Ultimate Adventures’ activities gone wrong, especially as we do happen to offer field archery courses and tuition – but we never, ever shoot after dark, or first thing in the morning!’
‘Well, once you and Rosie put on your sleuthing shoes I’m sure you’ll have the mystery solved before those reporters have had a chance to sharpen their pencils,’ smiled Grace, raising her glass in a toast of confidence.
‘Did Helen have any news on whether the police have located the bow?’ asked Rosie.
‘She didn’t mention anything, and I didn’t ask.’
‘Could it have been one of the bows from Ultimate Adventures?’ asked Mia.
‘No, definitely not. I’ve checked our storeroom and everything is as we left it, thank God. It’s not only my business I’m concerned about, though. This area of Norfolk needs all the visitors it can get. We don’t want holidaymakers cancelling their trips for fear of an encounter with a rogue archer wandering round the woodlands picking off unsuspecting walkers and hikers at random.’
‘So you think this was a random attack, do you?’ asked Grace.
‘No, I don’t. I think Rick was the intended target. What I don’t know is whether they just wanted to incapacitate him or if it was something much worse, but whatever the reason, its origins lie in Manchester and not Willerby or Ultimate Adventures.’
‘Do you think it was one of the guys you took on the expedition to Garside Priory?’ said Grace as Freddie joined them from where he’d been chatting to Archie and Josh at the bar.
‘If you ask me, they all seemed a bit odd - Rick, Phil, even Brad and Emma,’ said Freddie, taking a seat next to Grace. ‘For a young couple in their twenties they were surprisingly fanatical about extending their spectrum of extreme sports. I’m not criticizing them – extreme sports are my life’s work and I love every aspect of the outward-bound business and activities, but those two are seasoned adrenalin junkies, the more danger and the higher the risk, the better. Fell running, wild swimming, free climbing, and their addiction to running marathons borders on the psychotic.’
‘Those hobbies don’t come cheap, either,’ added Matt, narrowing his eyes as he thought through what Freddie had just said. ‘Insurance for a start is beyond most people’s means. I’m not sure what they do for a living, but it has to be something that not only produces the funds but also gives them the flexibility to pursue their crazy goals.’
‘So you have three suspects to get your teeth into?’ asked Grace.
‘No, five. I don’t think we should rule out Helen or Steph.’
‘Really? You think his wife shot him?’
‘Well, wives do tend to be the ones with the best motives,’ grinned Freddie, draining his pint and leaving the snug to fetch another one.
‘Even if Helen’s got nothing to do with it, we still need to talk to her to get some insight into what Rick’s like as a person, although I can make a few assumptions about that without her help,’ mused Matt. ‘To be honest, when I spoke to her just now she didn’t seem as upset about what had happened as I expected her to be, but that could be delayed shock. She told me she intended to take a sleeping pill and go straight to bed.’
Rosie flicked her gaze from the depths of her wine glass to Matt. Helen was the second person now to have referred to having sleeping tablets in their possession. But how could she have administered the sedative? And another idea occurred to her too. What if her silver-haired friend wasn’t a hired hitman, but her lover? She wanted to run that new hypothesis passed Matt, but decided to adjourn her conjecture until the next day when she didn’t have such an extensive audience and changed the subject.
‘How are the wedding arrangements going, Grace?’
‘If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll get a refill before Archie calls last orders,’ announced Matt with a grimace, almost sprinting away to the bar where Freddie was chatting to Archie and Grace’s fiancé.
‘With Mum on the job everything is progressing at lightning speed,’ smiled Grace, shooting a look of complete devotion at Josh. ‘Dad, of course, is overjoyed at being able to perform a wedding ceremony for his own daughter and he’s been tweaking his sermon for weeks. I told him to keep it short – you know what he’s like! And the village hall is going to look so pretty, even if it snows.’
‘Well, getting married on Christmas Eve, you’ve got to plan for that possibility,’ said Mia, her eyes sparkling with the romance of it all. ‘Anyway, it’ll all look amazing with a sprinkle of snow and garlands of fairy lights.’
‘Mum’s been baking since August. Our wedding cake is made, just needs to be iced. The cars are arranged, too. One of Josh’s friends owns a vintage car hire company and insisted we have the pick of the crop. And, of course, Mum’s friends from the WI have the floral side of things neatly sewn up. Josh’s brother, Mark, is walking me down the aisle – well, Dad can hardly do it, can he? And his sister, Josie, and my friend who I went travelling with, Abbi, are my bridesmaids. Josh’s parents are flying over from Hong Kong the week before, so that’s it! Everything is organized.’
Grace scooted to the edge of her seat and met Rosie’s eyes.
‘You will come, won’t you, Rosie? And you must bring a plus one, erm, if there is a plus one?’ She raised her perfectly groomed eyebrows, a twinkle of mischief playing in her eyes. ‘If you haven’t got anyone you’d like to bring, then I’m sure Matt would be delighted to step in and be your escort for the day. He told Josh he didn’t have a plus one sorted yet. I know how hard it will be for him to come to a wedding at St Andrew’s church after what happened with Victoria, so it would be great if everyone rallied round to keep his mind off things – and I can see how well the two of you have been getting on.’
‘I’m sure Rosie would love to attend your wedding on the arm of the extraordinarily handsome Matt Wilson!’ beamed Mia, giving Rosie a blatantly lascivious wink.
Rosie rolled her eyes at her friend’s transparent matchmaking efforts, but she was happy about being invited to Willerby’s wedding of the year. Grace radiated happiness as she spoke of her approaching nuptials and she deserved her special day to go smoothly. Even though her father had a direct line to the orchestrator of their fates, the privilege hadn’t protected the family from experiencing tragedy when Grace’s younger sister Harriet had died from meningitis at the age of seven. It was a cruel grenade to toss into the lives of such wonderful people but Grace and her parents, Carole and Roger Coulson, had dealt with the agony with such dignity that they’d taught Rosie a great deal about coping with grief in all its guises.
‘Thank you, Grace, it’s very kind of you to invite me. I’d love to come to your wedding, and if you need any help with the food, or the flowers, you only have to ask.’
‘Thanks, Rosie. So? Will you accept Matt’s offer to escort you?’
‘Erm, pardon?’ spluttered Matt, arriving back in the snug to hear Grace’s loaded question. His bright blue eyes filled with alarm, and Rosie realized immediately that he had intended to make an excuse not to attend the wedding at St. Andrew’s church.
‘Grace, is it really necessary to be escorted to a wedding in the twenty-first century? I mean, I can…’
‘Great, that’s settled then. I’ll add you both to the guestlist, no need to RSVP. Okay. I’d better get back home. Mum wants me to help her bake another batch of scones for the Baby and Toddler group tomorrow. Bye.’
The light in the room seemed to dim in Grace’s absence, but the only thing Rosie noticed was the uncomfortable sensation of a steamroller reversing over her bones, and from the look on Matt’s face she could tell that made two of them.