Read Online Cherringham--The Last Puzzle by Neil Richards - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Neil Richards
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to find him in the house …”
She looked away. “Some of my stuff is still there. I told him not to go round to get it, but he wouldn’t listen …”
Jack guessed that Marty not listening happened a lot.
“I’m thinking you probably shouldn’t have given him the keys.”
“Like I said, he wouldn’t listen.”
“Does he know about the will?”
“Yes. He asked. Had to tell him.”
“Did he ever ask you about it before Quentin died?”
Jack watched her carefully. She looked nervous.
“No.”
“You sure? Not even once, kinda casually?”
“No.” She looked right at Jack. “What are you getting at?”
Jack reached for his coffee and took a sip, still watching Emma.
“Old habits,” he said with a smile. And …
She’s lying, he thought.
“Did Quentin ever mention the will to you, Emma?”
“No,” she said. “That’s not a thing — well, you know — doing my job, it’s not a thing you talk about.”
Or maybe not a thing you own up to talking about.
“What about the week before he died … Did Quentin have any people round? New people? People you didn’t know?”
“Wait a second. I thought you were supposed to be looking after this puzzle stuff. Why are you asking me all these questions?”
Jack nodded, smiled. “Oh, sorry. Not a big deal, Emma. I’m just interested in how Quentin came up with all the clues — you know?”
Jack watched her as she nodded back. She seemed to accept his reason. He didn’t like lying to her, but he didn’t want her going back to Marty and saying the New York cop thinks Mr. Andrews was murdered …
“I think he had the puzzle already written,” she said. “He always spent a lot of time in his office, working.”
“So — no strangers in the house?”
“Not that I saw. Though in the last few week before he died, I wasn’t there every day.”
“Oh?”
“He gave me three whole days holiday! Out of the blue. Paid as well — got the full eight hours.”
“And that didn’t often happen?”
“ Never happened.”
“You know why?”
Jack watched her shrug, as if she hadn’t asked herself the question before.
“And when you came back — was anything different?”
“No,” she said. “Though the place was a bit of a mess.”
“What kind of mess?”
“Dirty cups left all over the house. Tea cups. Coffee cups. I said to Quentin — you must have been up and down to the loo all night what with all that coffee you’ve been drinking!”
“I bet he laughed at that, huh?”
“He didn’t actually. Just asked me to clean them up.”
Jack nodded, and he watched Emma get back to finishing her chocolate cake.
Mysteriouser and mysteriouser , he thought. So Quentin had some guests round in the week before he died.
Guests that he didn’t want Emma to meet.
His mobile pinged and he took it out. A text from Sarah.
We need to meet. My office?
He texted back.
“I’m really sorry, Emma, but I’m afraid I have to go. Something’s come up.”
“Oh,” she said, wiping her mouth with her serviette.
“I’ll cover the tab — you stay here and finish your tea.”
“Thank you.”
As he got up he leaned in.
“You ever been in the square on May the first?” he said. “You can hardly move. And they say there’s been a fair held on that day for a thousand years …”
He could see she was confused at first, but slowly she realised what he was saying.
She smiled at him, then he watched her take out her crumped bit of paper and start writing.
He could just see the word — MAYDAY — and knew she had understood. There couldn’t be a worse day to spend in the stocks than May Day in Cherringham …
He paid the bill, and headed out into the High Street.
He looked across towards the car park. The black BMW had gone.
Was James Carlisle one of the mystery guests who had visited Quentin just a week before his death?
Pulling his jacket tight against the chill wind, he headed down the High Street towards Sarah’s office.
11.
She looked away. “Some of my stuff is still there. I told him not to go round to get it, but he wouldn’t listen …”
Jack guessed that Marty not listening happened a lot.
“I’m thinking you probably shouldn’t have given him the keys.”
“Like I said, he wouldn’t listen.”
“Does he know about the will?”
“Yes. He asked. Had to tell him.”
“Did he ever ask you about it before Quentin died?”
Jack watched her carefully. She looked nervous.
“No.”
“You sure? Not even once, kinda casually?”
“No.” She looked right at Jack. “What are you getting at?”
Jack reached for his coffee and took a sip, still watching Emma.
“Old habits,” he said with a smile. And …
She’s lying, he thought.
“Did Quentin ever mention the will to you, Emma?”
“No,” she said. “That’s not a thing — well, you know — doing my job, it’s not a thing you talk about.”
Or maybe not a thing you own up to talking about.
“What about the week before he died … Did Quentin have any people round? New people? People you didn’t know?”
“Wait a second. I thought you were supposed to be looking after this puzzle stuff. Why are you asking me all these questions?”
Jack nodded, smiled. “Oh, sorry. Not a big deal, Emma. I’m just interested in how Quentin came up with all the clues — you know?”
Jack watched her as she nodded back. She seemed to accept his reason. He didn’t like lying to her, but he didn’t want her going back to Marty and saying the New York cop thinks Mr. Andrews was murdered …
“I think he had the puzzle already written,” she said. “He always spent a lot of time in his office, working.”
“So — no strangers in the house?”
“Not that I saw. Though in the last few week before he died, I wasn’t there every day.”
“Oh?”
“He gave me three whole days holiday! Out of the blue. Paid as well — got the full eight hours.”
“And that didn’t often happen?”
“ Never happened.”
“You know why?”
Jack watched her shrug, as if she hadn’t asked herself the question before.
“And when you came back — was anything different?”
“No,” she said. “Though the place was a bit of a mess.”
“What kind of mess?”
“Dirty cups left all over the house. Tea cups. Coffee cups. I said to Quentin — you must have been up and down to the loo all night what with all that coffee you’ve been drinking!”
“I bet he laughed at that, huh?”
“He didn’t actually. Just asked me to clean them up.”
Jack nodded, and he watched Emma get back to finishing her chocolate cake.
Mysteriouser and mysteriouser , he thought. So Quentin had some guests round in the week before he died.
Guests that he didn’t want Emma to meet.
His mobile pinged and he took it out. A text from Sarah.
We need to meet. My office?
He texted back.
“I’m really sorry, Emma, but I’m afraid I have to go. Something’s come up.”
“Oh,” she said, wiping her mouth with her serviette.
“I’ll cover the tab — you stay here and finish your tea.”
“Thank you.”
As he got up he leaned in.
“You ever been in the square on May the first?” he said. “You can hardly move. And they say there’s been a fair held on that day for a thousand years …”
He could see she was confused at first, but slowly she realised what he was saying.
She smiled at him, then he watched her take out her crumped bit of paper and start writing.
He could just see the word — MAYDAY — and knew she had understood. There couldn’t be a worse day to spend in the stocks than May Day in Cherringham …
He paid the bill, and headed out into the High Street.
He looked across towards the car park. The black BMW had gone.
Was James Carlisle one of the mystery guests who had visited Quentin just a week before his death?
Pulling his jacket tight against the chill wind, he headed down the High Street towards Sarah’s office.
11.
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