As Jenny wrapped up the statement after going over the details of the party break, the body discovery, and the missing pen, she told Ellie she was free to go.
“You should pop into the bookshop sometime,” Ellie offered as they left the pub. “I saw a few books about parrots when I was cleaning up earlier that might interest you.”
“Ooh, that’d be lovely,” Jenny beamed. “I’m always looking for new ways to keep wee Dolly entertained.”
“Do you know when I’ll get the keys to shop?”
“Won’t keep it longer than a day,” Jenny assured her. “Two under special circumstances. But don’t worry about it. Take a few days off, and we’ll be in touch. This pen stabber can’t have gone far.”
Ellie thanked her and left the pub. Outside, a few ducks bobbed along the water in the shade of a tree looming over the pond. Around the village, the workday was ending, and the narrow streets were quieting as people returned home. But one glance in the direction of Meadowfield Books revealed it was still a circus. A TV crew was there filming, their equipment and vans creating a bizarre spectacle the onlookers at South Street didn’t seem accustomed to—even in a village where an entire 1970s soap drama had been filmed.
Unlike when she’d burned her hand making—what ended up to be—her final Happy Bean latte, Ellie found she wasn’t jealous at all this time. The allure of that world seemed distant and unimportant compared to the very real mystery unfolding in her grandmother’s bookshop.
She searched for someone familiar, hoping to spot her gran or PC Finn Walsh, or anyone who might know where her gran had gone. Instead, her eyes locked with DS Angela Cookson’s steely glare.
Angela marched towards Ellie, her face set in a stern mask. “Stay back from the crime scene,” she barked, her voice sharp and authoritative. “No further.”
Ellie raised her hands in a placating gesture, nowhere near the boundry of the blue and white crime scene tape. “I’m not here to cause trouble, Angela, I’m just looking for my grandmother.”
“DS Cookson to you.” Angela’s expression remained cool and detached, her words coming out quick like a bullet train. “And we’ve taken your grandmother in for further questioning on my orders,” she stated matter-of-factly. “It seems my former mother-in-law knows more about the Blackwood than she initially suggested.”
“My grandmother isn’t involved in this murder,” Ellie insisted, her voice rising. “Not directly, at least.”
“Keep your nose out of this, Ellie,” Angela snapped, the little patience she had wearing thin. “You’ve always been such a little know-it-all, so I don’t know what you think you know, but you haven’t been here. You’re as much a stranger here and the people holding those cameras, and your involvement in my case extends to being present at the crime scene only. Nothing more.”
Angela’s assessment of Ellie’s absence stung, but before she could respond, she noticed Oliver approaching after closing The Giggling Goat. If Edmund had left three bridges to his final manuscript, Oliver was one of the three connections Ellie had leading her to Angela, along with their father and gran. Until Peter and Maggie, Oliver had always seemed firmly on Angela’s side, ignoring Ellie’s existence in the same way his mother always had.
“Any progress, Mum?”
Angela’s lips curled into a sardonic smile. “Why don’t you ask your ‘sister’ here?” she said, her voice dripping with disdain. Without another word, she turned on her heel and walked away, leaving Ellie and Oliver in an uncomfortable silence. “Get those cameras back now or I’ll arrest each and…”
Left alone with Oliver, Ellie didn’t know where to look. She’d always struggled with the abstract concept of having a half-brother, a fact she had always known but never truly confronted. Now, faced with the reality of their connection, a confusing mix of emotions she couldn’t quite name, all of which hurt. He had their father’s same wide-open, friendly green eyes.
“About earlier—,” Oliver started.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know it was your café. If I did, I’d have left you alone. I—”
“You don’t have to avoid me, you know,” Oliver said, his pale eyes sparkling with light. They really were so like their father’s. She had never known her father this young, but she saw him in Oliver’s face. She always had, but now more than ever that he was thirty-two. “We’re grown-ups now. Old grudges don’t have to cross generational lines if we don’t want them to.”
The idea of a family rivalry due to fueding mothers did sound a little Jane Austen when put like that, and Ellie softened into a smile. Could it be that simple?
“I don’t have a grudge against you to hold,” she said.
“Me neither,” Oliver replied, his expression mirroring hers, and he held out a box to her. “I was on my way to find you to give you this. I get why it was awkward earlier. It’s just a leftover. Loaves are my thing.”
“I heard your praline and hazelnut loaf is a must.”
“Our gran’s favourite,” he said, laughing so that his eyes sparkled. “I’m afraid this is cherry vanilla, but just as delicious, in my humble opinion. Give it a go and come into the café to let me know what you think. Call it an Olive-r branch.”
Ellie accepted the box, feeling the warmth of the freshly baked bread through the cardboard. That warmth made her feel no less silly for how she had run away earlier. Maybe that was the younger sister in her coming out, assuming everyone had to take sides in an imaginary battle still burning like a campfire in the far distance of her memories.
“Is Gran alright?” Oliver asked, concern evident in his voice. “People have been talking. I’ve tried to check in on her, but you know what she’s like.”
“I think she will be,” Ellie replied, not wanting to worry him. “The police separated us for questioning, but they took her into the station on your mum’s orders.”
“Typical.” He sighed, before nodding to her, “Places to be, but I’ll see you in the cafe tomorrow?”
Ellie considered the offer, glad of the olive branch. “You will.”
The smile that always made their father look so silly pushed up his soft cheeks, and he said, “Then I look forward to it.”
Oliver set off along the road that sloped away from the village, the clusters of houses snaking off in every direction. The eclectic mix of modern builds, dormer bungalows, and 18th-century cottages painted a picture of Meadowfield’s long history. She turned back to the shop, a wave of helplessness wash over her. Her gran had been taken in for questioning, and there was nothing she could do about it.
As she headed towards the village green, intending to return to her gran’s house, Ellie’s eyes fell on her mother’s cottage. The reminder of the impending party hit her like a ton of bricks, and she let out an audible groan. Back in Cardiff, she wouldn’t have been expected to attend, or even been invited. But here in the village, her absence would be noted and commented upon. Come morning, murder or not, there would be grumblings from her mother about how the party hadn’t quite been as good because Ellie hadn’t shown up.
Despite her reluctance, Ellie found herself curious about her mother’s promise of a grand return to the small screen. From Carolyn and Penny's feverish excitement, it sounded too good to be true. But then again, her mother and auntie had a habit of feeding into each other’s delusions. Ellie sighed, knowing that she’d have to make an appearance, if only to satisfy her own curiosity.
Stepping into her mother’s cottage, Ellie was surprised to find the party to be thinner than she’d anticipated. She caught a glimpse of Sylvia from the cheese shop, engrossed in animated gossip with a group of women in the sitting room. Not wanting to be pulled into explanations about recent events at the shop, Ellie quietly slipped past, heading for the kitchen instead.
In the kitchen where her mother had thrown her cateering tantrum while a man was being murdered at the shop, a handful of locals were gathered around a buffet that seemed more suited to a children’s party than a celebration fit for an actress. Pineapple hedgehogs, cocktail sausages, and small sandwiches were arranged haphazardly on mismatched platters. Ellie’s stomach grumbled, reminding her how long it had been since she’d eaten.
She filled a plate with a bit of everything, and as she took a bite of a tuna vol-auvent, her appetite vanished. The memory of breakfast under the pergola with her grandmother felt like a lifetime ago, but with it came back, it brought unbidden thoughts of Luke—that was all it took.
Lost in her thoughts, Ellie became aware of a sudden hush in the room. She looked up to find the other guests staring at her, their whispered conversations silenced. An elderly woman, whom Ellie vaguely recognised as a former dinner lady from her primary school days, approached her with a hesitant shuffle.
“I’m sorry for your loss, dear,” she said.
Confused, Ellie replied, “Oh, I didn’t know Thomas that well,” before realising with a sinking feeling that the old woman wasn’t referring to Thomas at all.
