We continued walking, the atmosphere buzzing with anger and also a little bit of sadness. This was my least favourite thing about death; even if you didn’t have a good relationship with the deceased, it still managed make you so fucking sad. It left a bad taste in my mouth that Jeannie had dashed him onto the ice like that, so full of rage at him just because he hadn’t done what she had wanted. But I also knew it went deeper than that; it was a lifetime of disappointment.
Miles walked in line with the children. He was putting their minds at ease, and he somehow even managed to make Martha smile. He was so nurturing, such a natural parent, I envied him sometimes. DCI Randolf caught up with me, whilst DS Birch lagged behind, watching the group from afar.
As we entered the line of trees, Fergus and Mrs Harlow whispered about Quentin, before moving on to what Jeannie had just done… I guessed they were better friends than I had once thought, knowing each other as they had done for over thirty-five years. From the snippets of conversation I caught, she was consoling him about George, Clem and Quentin, and giving him sage advice since she was a recent widow herself. If I was a decent enough judge of character, which I definitely am, I thought that he might soon make a move on Mrs Harlow. Fergus had no idea how to look after himself, and he would need a caretaker. No one was more qualified for that job than Mrs Harlow.
Perhaps he already had made a move. What if…No. Preposterous. For a fleeting moment I’d wondered,What if Mrs Harlow and Uncle Fergus are lovers?
Fergus didn’t even seem that cut up about losing Clem, not in the way I would be if I ever lost Miles. If I put my theory to Miles, I knew he would find it sick and hilarious in equal measure. I watched the two of them with renewed interest.
Our group was well into the woodland now, the trees naked against the chill air, when I plucked up the courage to ask DCI Randolf whether he was married and had children. I knew he didn’t wear a ring, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything.
‘Yes, I am married. But Mrs Randolf and I don’t have children.’ He gave a small smile. ‘Though I might not be married for much longer if I don’t spend this Christmas at home.’
‘Why wouldn’t you be home for Christmas?’
He scanned us all, as if it was self-explanatory.
‘Can’t you get someone to cover for you?’ I asked.
He turned to me and said darkly, ‘That depends on what happens in the next few days, Mrs Weiss.’
I squinted up at him. ‘Do you really think there will be another death with all these officers around?’
He focused on the path ahead of him and said, ‘I just don’t think we should assume that after seven deaths and a case of a missing person, this is the end of it.’
I took a moment to glance at each person in turn. Fergus was walking straighter and seemed like he’d had a new lease of life. Each death that had occurred had seemed to lift a considerable weight off his chest. Perhaps the whole drunken-buffoon thing had been an act. He needed money,badly, and as soon as possible. The remaining obstacles to his achieving that goal were our family and Jeannie…
I looked at Miles and the kids. There was just no way they had the ability to be so cold and calculating. Me, on the other hand… now that was a different story. I looked up at DCI Randolf and he was considering me. I wondered if he was thinking the same thing as I was.
‘Tell me more about your writing?’ he asked.
The last question any author wanted to hear. ‘There’s not much to tell…’ I said, a little more bitterly than I had meant to.
‘No? Being a published author sounds great. Especially when compared to dealing with criminals.’
‘I suppose so. I just wish the money—’ I stopped. I had already done enough to incriminate myself. I didn’t need to go any further.
‘Yes,’ his smile creased around his eyes, ‘I’ve heard it can be a struggle. Who knows. If you and your family get out of this alive, perhaps you could write a true-crime novel.’ He laughed like it was a joke. I didn’t tell him I’d already been jotting down notes in the app on my phone.
We had walked through the thick of the woods to where the terrain banked steeply up a hill; finally we were beyond the boundary of Weiss Manor. We panted up to the summit, the cold air burning our throats as we clambered up to the stone circle that crowned the top. Gloria made it first, snuffling around the stones searching for a scent. Miles and the kids made it next. They weren’t even out of breath as they looked down on us all, watching us as they leaned against the huge stones.
Jeannie came third. She did this walk every day, striding up the slope with her Gandalf-esque walking pole. She was still clutching the empty Harrods tin. No doubt it would be rinsed and used again for blown lightbulbs, clothes pegs or random keys. DCI Randolf and I made it shortly after. Fergus and Mrs Harlow wheezed. DS Birch followed, warily scanning the rest of us like one of us was about to pull out a Tommy gun at any moment.
Mrs Harlow sat heavily on a fallen boulder, grasping her knees as she fought to regain her breath. Fergus was beetroot-red, sweat glistening on his brow.
‘Get out– the eggnog– would you– Madge?’ he said brokenly. ‘I need– a breather!’
She nodded, swinging the huge Thermos up onto her lap and unscrewing the silver cap. ‘Oh, drat!’ she cried, ‘I didn’t bring the cups!’
‘Just use the lid,’ Jeannie snapped, ‘I’ll go first so I don’t have to share any spittle.’
GoodGod. As soon as she said the wordspittleit put me right off the idea of having any altogether.
Mrs Harlow twisted open the smaller cap inside, looking forlorn at her mistake. She poured the steaming custardy-looking liquid out and Birch gave Randolf a look that said, ‘Should we let them drink it?’
Jeannie caught the look and snatched the lid from Mrs Harlow, taking three dainty sips. She passed it back to her and said, ‘See? It’s no problem.’
Randolf surveyed her beneath his eyelids before turning to examine the ancient stones. ‘So, what are these stones?’ he asked.
