Rosie dashed across the terrace outside the Windmill Café and made her way to the car park where Matt was waiting for her for their one-mile walk to Willerby. She was greeted by an insistent breeze, edged with a suspicion of ice that nipped her extremities and made her wish she’d grabbed her gloves. She needn’t have worried because Matt slotted his warm palm into hers and gave it a squeeze, sending sparks of heat through her veins and a curl of pleasure to her lips.
As the carpet of russet and orange leaves attested, winter was definitely on its way, but it hadn’t quite reached its destination and the air smelled of damp soil and wood smoke from the fires and log burners in the village. It didn’t take long for the brisk exercise to work its magic and clear Rosie’s muddled thoughts. In other circumstances, she would have thoroughly enjoyed the romantic walk through the countryside, hand-in-hand with Matt Wilson, the most gorgeous guy in Willerby!
That morning the village was wearing its best outfit; each tree, hedgerow, bush and lawn draped with shafts of sunshine which gave the whole scene a sepia-tinted hue. The main street, which wound leisurely towards the church at the far end, was as bright and cheerful as its reputation.
Adriano’s crouched at the opposite end of the road to the Drunken Duck and since the deli’s arrival two years ago, it had become an institution in the village. It was the sort of place that brought a smile to your face simply by looking at its welcoming exterior; a bow-fronted window stretched across the whole façade like a wide grin, a front door painted in a cheery scarlet and a necklace of bunting in the colours of the Italian flag.
Matt pushed open the door and the tinkle of a brass bell overhead announced their arrival. Rosie paused on the threshold for a second, bracing herself for the visual onslaught of all things Italian, from dangling salamis and round fat mozzarella cheeses to freshly baked crostata di frutta filled with apricots, cherries, peaches and nectarines, and cream-filled cannoli. Rosie could already feel her taste buds zinging in anticipation. Everything in the deli spoke of the warmth and friendship of a treasured Italian friend who, no matter how long it had been between visits, it still felt like you had last seen them the day before.
Matt ordered a double espresso and grabbed a seat at the table next to the window. Rosie loitered at the glass display cabinet, unable to choose between a slice of tiramisu layer cake or ricotta and crushed pistachio pie until she heard Matt’s phone buzzing and made a snap decision to try one of the cannoli.
‘Hi, Freddie.’
Matt’s eyes rested on hers whilst he listened intently to what his friend and colleague had to say, which culminated in a broad grin.
‘Freddie, you’re an absolute genius. Why didn’t I think of that? Are you going over there now? Okay, let me know if you find anything?’
‘What was all that about?’ asked Rosie, depositing three dessert plates on the table and taking a seat opposite him.
‘Freddie has a couple of friends who are keen detectorists. They’re on their way over to the woodland where we camped out on Sunday night and they’re going to follow the path we took to the Priory to see if they can uncover anything. You never know, maybe they’ll get lucky and find a discarded bow and quiver full of arrows. I know it’s a long shot, but it’s worth a try, don’t you think?’
‘Inspired!’ laughed Rosie, nibbling at her cannoli and holding her hand under her chin to catch any flaky pastry crumbs, picking them up with the tip of her tongue. ‘So, what do you…’
‘Hi! You must be Rosie Barnes from the Windmill Café. Adriano waxes lyrical about your strawberry and kiwi tartlets, not to mention your fig and walnut scones and pineapple and coconut cookies. I told him that he should really be talking up our Tuscan delicacies, but he insists that “this town is big enough for the both of us”,’ giggled the young waitress, as she performed a passable imitation of her esteemed boss Adriano Danapo in the guise of a Mafia Godfather. ‘Oh, I’m Corrine, by the way.’
‘Hi Corrine, great to meet you. Have you just started working at Adriano’s?’ asked Rosie, taking in Corinne’s graduated bob, the colour of liquid coal, and bright scarlet lipstick that matched her nose stud that twinkled in the deli’s overhead lights.
‘Yes, I’ve been here six weeks and it’s absolutely the best job in the world!’
‘I have to agree with you. Who wouldn’t want to spend their working day in here surrounded by Crema Fritta, Cartellate, Zeppole and Cassatedde? Delicious!’
‘Well, I’m sure they are, but sadly I can’t eat any of them.’
‘Why not?
‘I’m gluten-intolerant.’
‘Really? What a shame,’ said Matt, raising his eyebrows at Rosie when Corinne wasn’t looking. ‘So, do you just stick to the zabaglione and chocolate panne cotta then?’
‘I wish. I’m actually allergic to chocolate.’
‘Really? That must cancel out pretty much every dessert in the place. I suppose you can always indulge in the wonderful antipasti.’
‘Not all of it.’
Rosie knew she shouldn’t really ask her next question, but she did anyway. ‘Why not?’
‘I’m vegetarian.’
She heard Matt try to make a snigger sound like a cough and she didn’t dare catch his eye for fear she would crumple into laughter and offend their new friend with the sing-song Welsh accent who had chosen to work in a café where she couldn’t eat any of the food.
‘Well, welcome to Willerby, Corinne. I hope you’ll be as happy here as I am.’
‘I absolutely know I will. The best thing about it is being so close to the sea. I adore every water sport going and yesterday I met a guy called Freddie who offered to take me windsurfing! He even said he would show me a place where you can go wild swimming! Awesome!’
A shiver shot down Rosie’s spine. There was nothing she would like less than spending an afternoon swimming in one of the rivers or canals scattered around the Norfolk countryside for fun, even in Freddie’s exuberant company.
‘Perhaps you could invite Rosie along?’ suggested Matt, a smirk playing around the corners of his mouth causing tiny matching dimples to appear and Rosie’s stomach gave a pleasurable lurch. She rolled her eyes at him and decided not to grace his comment with a reply.
‘I’d love you to join us, Rosie. I’ll give you a call. Anyway, enough of my chatter, I’ll let you two have some privacy,’ grinned Corinne, clearly jumping to the wrong conclusion.
‘Oh, no, we’re not…’ began Rosie, but Corinne had floated off to bombard other customers with a list of her allergies and her views on water sports, leaving behind a trail of jasmine perfume. Rosie crammed the last of her apple and caramel cannoli into her mouth, giving Matt a comedic look as her cheeks bulged like a food-hoarding hamster, before saying, ‘Okay, let’s talk through what we know about Rick’s shooting.’
Matt’s mood changed. He scratched at the smattering of blond stubble on his jaw before leaning back in his chair, crossing his boot over his thigh and expelling a long sigh of frustration.
‘Rosie, I know we solved the last mystery before the police did, but that doesn’t mean we’re going to do the same this time. I’m really worried about the business, I have to admit. Even if the mystery is cleared up by the weekend, we’ve just had another three cancellations for the week after next. That leaves us with only two groups for the assault course and both of them are from outside the area and probably haven’t heard about what happened at Garside Priory yet. I’ve completely destroyed the business my father spent years building; not only that but the scandal is bound to have an impact on his name.’
The look of desperation on Matt’s face made Rosie want to grab hold of him pull him into a hug, and the only thing stopping her was the knowing looks she was getting from Corinne. She experienced an overwhelming desire to apply every little grey cell at her disposal to uncover the perpetrator of the surprise assault on Rick, if only so that Matt’s outward-bound centre would survive to offer the inhabitants of Norfolk the opportunity to fling themselves from the treetops or drag themselves through mud as part of so-called team building exercises for years to come. She couldn’t bear for the place to close because of an unwarranted slur on its reputation.
After Matt had told her about his father’s climbing accident, Rosie had googled the details. What Matt hadn’t told her was how well-known Malcom Wilson had been in mountaineering circles and how his death had affected the whole community. Matt had been twenty-one and had just graduated from university and was about to take up a place at the police college in Hendon when the accident happened. His younger brother had finished his A levels and was heading to university so it was down to Matt to continue with the running of Ultimate Adventures in his father’s absence. Far from feeling cheated, Matt had confided in her that he loved the outdoors lifestyle and he suspected he would have grown to hate being cooped up in an office, but that didn’t prevent him from continuing his fascination with puzzles of every kind – including the assault courses he had built around the Ultimate Adventures woodland.
‘Why don’t we go over everything we know?’ said Rosie, hoping something new would come of the exercise.
‘If you think it’ll do any good,’ mumbled Matt, scrutinizing the contents of his espresso cup as if they were laced with poison.
Rosie ignored his lacklustre response and breezed forward in her deductions.
‘Let’s start with Helen who we know is having an affair with one of Rick’s colleagues. Either separately or together, they could have driven over to Garside, laid low until the morning and then shot Rick when he arrived at the Priory. As far as motive is concerned, if they intended to kill Rick rather than just hurt him, then not only would Helen stand to inherit a sizeable sum, she wouldn’t have to fight her way through the divorce courts. We also should factor in Rick’s refusal to contemplate having a family. Remember, when we spoke to Helen she told us she couldn’t forgive him for not telling her before they got married. That’s a pretty tough situation to accept without a fight, don’t you think? With Rick out of the way, she would be free, wealthy and have the chance of becoming a mother before it’s too late.’
She waited until her attempt at amateur psychology had had the chance to seep under Matt’s armour of realism. As she studied his face and the way his shoulders slumped, she was shocked to see he wore an air of defeat. He hadn’t touched his espresso and his eyes were ringed with tiredness as he replied.
‘But there’s no evidence to suggest she was anywhere near the Garside Priory that morning. No one has come forward to say they saw a red Porsche, or a white Audi TT, screaming away from the scene – neither of them are the type of vehicle that would blend into the countryside. I’ve spent some time stalking every member of the group on social media and all Helen seems to do is go to the gym, have lunch with her friends, or organize the occasional charity dinner for Rick’s accountancy company. And Tim Latimer is even wealthier than Rick, so I don’t think either of them are interested in getting rid of him for his money. Sorry, Rosie, I know you’re trying to help, but I don’t think it’s either of them.’
Undeterred, Rosie flicked through her internal Rolodex until she arrived at her next target.
‘Okay, let’s move on to Phil and Steph Brown. Rick found out about the two unauthorized withdrawals in the Myth Seekers Society’s accounts and threatened to report Phil to the police for theft. Phil admits he withdrew the funds without the permission of the committee, but if you want my opinion, I doubt the Greater Manchester police would have taken the report too seriously, especially as the money was spent on a plaque to commemorate the Society’s twentieth anniversary, not for his own use.’
‘I agree with you,’ said Matt, his chin starting to lift as his interest in her deductions sharpened. ‘But let’s not forget that Rick was constantly on Phil’s case about something or other. We both saw how he went on at the camp. Perhaps Phil had just had enough of being bullied and snapped. It happens.’
‘Yes, it happens, but I can’t see Phil in a pair of green tights prancing through the fields with a bow and arrow slung over his shoulder. He doesn’t look strong enough to even carry one as far as the priory without needing a sit down to get his breath back. And his eyesight is dreadful which is bound to effect his aim.’
‘What about Steph? She’s a bit more feisty, especially when it comes to protecting her husband.’
‘Possibly.’
‘And neither of them has an alibi. Phil was with us at the camp but we were all out of it. He could have laced our coffee, then pretended to be asleep and followed Rick up to the priory. Maybe when he realized what Rick was up to he just saw red? And Steph could have waited until Helen left for her assignation with Tim Latimer, then driven over to the site in their Volvo, shot Rick, hidden the bow and got back to the lodge before Helen came back.’
‘A bit flimsy, though, isn’t it?’
‘Okay. What about Brad? He has plenty of motive. Rick knew about his sideline in selling valuable artefacts. I reckon the police would have definitely taken that seriously. It would be easy enough for them to gather the evidence they need for a prosecution from his internet accounts. He’d be looking at a hefty fine at the very least, and even if Rick relented about involving the police he wouldn’t have been able to resist telling everyone at the Myth Seekers Society about what Brad had been up to. That club means the world to Brad – he would have been devastated if they’d voted to expel him.’
‘Yes, I agree Brad has a strong motive. What he did has the most serious consequences. But I can’t get away from the fact that he is still grieving over the death of his brother. And do you think he has the brains to come up with a plot to shoot Rick with an arrow just to shut him up? What about Emma? I have to admit she’s at the bottom of my list. She hardly knew Rick and he wasn’t threatening her with any kind of exposure as far as we know nor had he included her in his bullying regime.’
‘You’re right. I can’t think of a motive unless she was upset about the way Rick was treating Brad, but they’d only been together for a few months. I think we can rule Emma out. Although, like Brad, she had the same opportunity to slip everyone a sedative and follow Rick to the priory, shoot him and then double back to make it look like she’d woken up with the rest of us. However, I reckon it was Rick that doctored everyone’s coffee. Did you notice anyone refusing a drink?’
‘No, sorry. I thought we all drank it.’ Rosie paused, unsure whether she should say what had been coiling round her mind for a while. Oh, well, why not! ‘What about a jealous former lover? We know Rick’s been married twice before. Or an abandoned love child? Or a deranged stalker? Or perhaps someone whose business Rick liquidated?’
‘Really, a deranged stalker? You’re joking, right?’
‘Sorry.’
Matt dropped his head into his palms and groaned. After a few minutes he raised his eyes and studied Rosie as she flicked through the notes she had scribbled on a napkin.
‘What are our final conclusions then, PI Barnes? All the suspects on our list have a motive, all had opportunity, but it’s unlikely that any of them would choose a bow and arrow as their weapon of choice.’
‘I suppose one of them could have taken up archery in secret?’
‘True. So again, they all could have done it.’
‘It does seem that way.’
‘Can I get you any more coffee?’ asked Corinne, sensing a lull in their conversation.
‘I think I’ve had enough coffee to last me a month!’ declared Matt, swallowing his espresso in one go.
‘Coffee, that’s it!’ cried Rosie. ‘Why didn’t I think of that sooner!?’
‘Well, instead of wondering who put that sedative in our coffee, why don’t we just ask Rick straight out whether or not it was him? He’s the only one we haven’t talked to and he should be out of surgery by now.’
‘You know he refuses to take my calls. I must have tried a dozen times, and don’t forget his threat of legal action!’
‘I don’t think his solicitor will have driven down from Manchester to visit him in hospital, do you? And Rick’s used to being busy so I reckon he’ll be going stir crazy about being confined to a bed not knowing anything about what’s going on. So, instead of trying to ring him, why don’t we drive over to the hospital where we can look him in the eye and tell him we know it was him who spiked everyone’s drinks and see how he reacts?’
‘It’s an inspired plan! Come on, what are we waiting for?’ cried Matt, jumping up from the table and rushing out of the café leaving her to pay the bill.