I hesitated, weighing my words carefully. The crunch of our footsteps on the icy path filled the silence. ‘I’ve learned some things,’ I began slowly. ‘But I didn’t want to worry you.’
Miles stopped walking, turning to face me fully. His brow furrowed with concern. ‘What kind of things?’
I took a deep breath, the frigid air stinging my lungs. ‘It’s about… Fergus.’ I couldn’t tell him about Jeannie, not yet. It would raise too many questions, the most pertinent being, ‘Well, have you hired a ghost writer?’And that would lead to him finding out I had pledged to spend ten grand that we didn’t have. I watched his expression carefully as I continued, ‘Fergus confided in me this morning something that I think you should know about.’
As I spoke, a gust of wind whipped through the bare branches.
Miles’s eyes sharpened. ‘Go on…’
‘He told me this morning that the letter he posted yesterday in the village… it was to set up life insurance for both him and Clem.’
Miles did a sharp intake of breath. ‘Oh… okay, that doesn’t sound too good.’
‘No, it doesn’t. So, is it up to us to tell Jeannie? The police? Or do we wait for them to find out? I just want to get on a plane and for the four of us to get out of here… But I don’t know what’s best to do.’
Miles’s expression was a mix of frustration and worry. ‘God, this is a mess. And you’re right, we need to get the hell out of here, but not hold things up in the process. I know Uncle Fergus’s brain is completely addled, but he’s not so far gone that he would kill his wife, then go straight out and apply for life insurance.’ He paused. ‘Or is he?’
I shrugged, shaking my head. ‘It’s all circumstantial at this point. But why did he come back wearing a Santa costume? Do you think he was trying to destroy his clothes to hide evidence? Are we being completely stupid in thinking he’s too drunk to potentially commit murder?’
We resumed walking, our steps slower now as we both grappled with the implications of what I’d shared. The trees loomed around us, their bare branches casting spindly shadows across the path.
‘Did he tell you why he was wearing the costume?’ Miles said eventually.
‘He just said he’d lost a bet. That the guy in the pub was working as Santa and was as pissed as he was… and that he can’t remember why but the guy liked his deerstalker and his trench coat, and he lost a bet.’
Miles exhaled deeply. ‘Let’s think this through,’ he said after a moment.
I nodded.
‘If we tell Mum about Uncle Fergus, it will only make her suspect him of killing Aunt Clem.’
‘Well… what if he did? He had the opportunity and the motive. They were desperate for money. What if… what if Fergus is responsible for all five deaths?’
‘Five deaths?’ He said in confusion.
‘Well… think of it chronologically. Toots was convinced someone killed Eugene. So, what if it was Fergus? He assumed at the will reading that the inheritance was going to him. Clem said so herself. And Fergus called your father a “good for nothing layabout” and said that he thought that your mother had manipulated Eugene into leaving them the money. Then, when we were leaving, Fergus said to Clem, “Killer instinct? We’ll show her who’s got the sharpest teeth in this family.”’
Miles gave me a suspiciously impressed look. ‘Wow, you have a fantastic memory. Have you ever thought about being a detective?’
I smiled. ‘Don’t judge me but… sometimes I write stuff down to use later. You never know what you might need for a book.’ My stomach lurched. If only I had paid more attention.
‘So… he kills Grandpa, then what?’
‘It seems as though in the last four years their money issues have gotten much worse, that they might have been about to lose the cottage. So then he hears that George and Jeannie are leaving everything to Tristan and Mimi… But that won’t take effect until at least either George or Jeannie is gone. He sees George on the ladder and takes the opportunity. Then, he gets rid of Tristan.’
‘I just can’t see it… But go on.’
‘Toots claimed she was on to the murderer. She had to hire a private investigator. So, at that time he thinks she’s on to him…’
‘So, he kills his own mother? He’s a bastard but… well, I was going to say I can’t see him doing that, but I can’t say I’ve ever experienced a moment of love between the family. I wouldn’t put it past any of them. So, why would he kill Aunt Clem?’
‘I don’t know… He needs money quicker? Or just for the sheer revenge of it all? He said she “nag, nag, nags” him all day long. Or maybe she found something out?’
‘A solid theory, but all completely circumstantial. We have nothing concrete here. If he’s responsible for all those murders, he must be methodical… Why would he throw that all out of the window by being stupid enough to set up life insurance the day he kills his wife?’
I hadn’t had a chance to think that far ahead yet. I shrugged. ‘Maybe his drinking finally caught up with him and he got sloppy, made a mistake… What if there’s two killers?’
‘Who on earth would be in cahoots with Uncle Fergus?’
