‘Exactly, babes! They weren’t hydrangeas at all, they were gladioli! And if she was as loved up on gardening as she cracked on she was, she’d have known that!’
‘And this lady was the last person you saw?’
Sidrah nodded. ‘The last person driving in or out of the Nev’s place until he got home. I checked the CCTV, remember.’
‘And that would show anyone driving in or out?’
‘It just shows the front gate,’ said Sidrah. ‘And when it swivels round you get a teeny-tiny glance of the front of the house. But yeah, you can definitely see people driving in and out of the gate. I mean I can send the file across to you, but like I say there was no one. No one coming in the front that is …’
Back outside Liz braced herself for a baking dash to the car, but for whatever reason the heat didn’t feel quite as oppressive as before. Standing in Chapel Lane, in front of Sidrah’s house, she was suddenly struck by the smell of lavender. Ignoring the throb in her sinuses, she inhaled, finding herself remembering a long-ago holiday in Corfu, how carefree she had felt (until Derek’s dickie tummy had kicked in). For a moment she stood, luxuriating in the baking blue and gold day, inhaling the heady warm scent. She should of course go back to the car – the heat was rapidly changing from warm to oppressive and she was aware she’d no sun hat. But still she lingered, smelling the heady lavender and looking at the honey stone frontage of the Old Barn.
Sidrah had promised to send the CCTV footage over laterbut had been adamant it had shown no one leaving or entering the property – apart from Neville and the tenant of the holiday cottage. But what about theback? What about that unlocked back gate Thelma had mentioned? On impulse Liz Newsome Detectivator found herself heading to the snicket next to the Old Barn, the one that led to Hollinby Quernhow playing fields.
Her first, dominant thought on seeing them waswhat a sad place …A carpet of limp, thistle-strewn grass, amidst which two ageing goalposts sagged wearily. She found herself imagining autumns past, the village football team playing Pickhill or Rainton or Marley, the mud, the shouts, and afterwards everyone repairing to the now boarded-up pub. But no more.
She saw the black wooden door set into the hedge, but lacked the courage to try it – besides, she knew from Thelma it had been open even if it was locked now. Shading her face, she scanned the playing fields. The distant borders were tangled hedgerows, bright with wildflowers, meadow stock, cow parsley – and was that heartsease? She ignored a mental image of a descending cloud of golden pollen and focused on the distant boundary. Towards the east, next to a clump of trees, was a gate; as she looked at it a tractor went past. Judging by the sound of its passage, Chapel Lane must loop round the back of the playing fields after leaving the village, the way country lanes do.
As quickly as the grass and thistles (and her knees) allowed, she crossed the field. Now the sun was starting to weigh heavily, clamping the back of her neck and bare head.Never mind the pollen – where’s your sun hat?said her inner reproving voice.Heatstroke! People our age are especially vulnerable!She really shouldn’t be staying out here any longer than she needed to. (Derek! It’s me! I’m in the Friarage with heatstroke!)
At last, she came to the gate. Pushing it open, Liz could see a pull-in, off the lane, in the shade of the trees, largely concealed by bushes and vegetation. Perhaps somewhere in times past where the roller for the playing field would be stored.
The grass, Liz noted, was crushed and broken. Obviously in the recent past a vehicle had been parked up here. But it could have been anyone, surely.
Except …A splodge of artificially bright yellow in the vegetation caught her attention. Frowning, she picked up the object, which was a crumpled yellow paper flower … A paper flower? How odd – and yet a tickle of recognition supplanted the feelings of surprise. Where had she seen a yellow flower recently? She forced herself to pause, let the images come …
Not one yellow flower but several … being worn by people.
Of course!Davey Fletcher’s memorial!
Chloe, Annie, Caro, Son – all of them bearing those splodges of bright yellow …
Excited, Liz Newsome Detectivator carefully put the paper flower in her bag, and then braced herself to brave the long hot walk back to her car.
As she crossed the playing field, she cast an idle glance at the back of the Old Barn.
She was being watched.
With a chill jolt she clearly saw a figure in an upstairs window staring in her direction. And despite the heat, despite the distance, Liz knew that stare was icy cold.
Ffion Hilton.
Chapter Sixteen
Wednesday 23rd July
From the Thirsk and Ripon Green Fingers Gang Facebook Page:
Don’t worry about watering the lawn! Grass is very good at dealing with a lack of water. Even if it’s brown, it’ll bounce right back!
‘Left here,’ said Thelma. Obediently and concisely, Teddy turned the mussel-blue Corsair up Church Lane and into Newton-under-Roseberry with its wide bone-dry verges and set-back houses.
‘We’re looking for a bungalow called Bretton Hall,’ she added.
‘Isn’t that the sculpture place near Wakefield?’ commented her husband, peering at the passing houses.
‘It was a teacher training college,’ said Thelma. ‘Back in the day. I did a course there once, many moons ago.’ She spotted a sign on a gate. ‘There!’ she said.
Teddy stopped the car just beyond an imposing five-bar gate. Some way back sat a bungalow, south-facing, the wide windows bouncing back the fierce afternoon sun.
