Then, just as the organist began and it was all about to start, the main door opened once more and Parker and Khan snuck in. It was standing room only by then, so they stayed at the back, watching us all as the coffin was carried down the aisle, followed by the family, including Meg, who sat beside it for the whole service.
I slumped into my seat, hoping not to be seen, and once the service was over, I shuffled along in the middle of the congregation, keeping my head lowered, as we made our way out to the graveside, where Meg gave a loud howl as the coffin was lowered into the ground. I covered my ears. Everyone covered their ears.
“Piercing, isn’t it?” said Khan’s voice beside me as the howl died down.
“I love dogs,” I said, although I didn’t really have strong feelings about them. If I did I’d probably have owned one; I had the time and the space. I preferred donkeys.
Khan didn’t say anything else. She just nodded at James, then she and Parker headed over to the King’s Head for the buffet.
There, she chitchatted with everyone, as if she were part of the community. I assumed the whole performance was specifically to menace me. In defiance of both her and James, I turned my attention to the food and piled my paper plate up until it nearly folded back on itself with sandwiches and sausage rolls and prawns and mini scones and crisps.
“Looks like you haven’t been fed for a week, Lady Langley, love,” Mrs. Billings said, although she knew that not to be the case. “Not eating for two, are you?”
“Yes, me and James,” I said. He was standing by the bar with just a whiskey and—I did a double take—DS Khan. Mrs. B gave a little chuckle and moved on as I stood watching James and the detective, trying to guess what they were saying.
“Thank you for coming.” I jumped as Jo Newman appeared by my elbow, Meg standing next to her. “I know things were a bit strained toward the end.”
“That’s OK,” I said. The proximity to her made my guilt surface and the hand holding my plate started to wobble. “All water under the bridge.” I had a flashback to the day we had floated Lennie’s body under the bridge, down the river, and into the path of Mr. N, and I shook a bit more. “In a manner of speaking,” I said and Jo nodded vaguely.
She took a deep breath. “You know, we’d still like to keep the farm on; this doesn’t change that. The boys are nearly ready to start running it themselves, and we’ve got Pete and Greg while they get on their feet.” The boys were the older adult children from Mr. N’s first marriage, who had been trained from childhood to one day run the farm. Pete and Greg were the farm foreman and manager. “It’d be a tragedy to cover all that good farmland with warehouses.”
I did a slow nod up and down. I agreed, but business was business, according to James, and the warehouse people had made a higher bid.
“Doug had life assurance,” Jo said. “We might be able to match the other offer.” I nodded again. One of the younger children was calling for her, so she left it there before I had the chance to tell her that James made all the financial decisions. All the decisions, in fact, including where to hide the bodies. My views were irrelevant.
A moment later I was wishing she’d stayed to chat as DS Khan approached and said, “Moving service, wasn’t it?”
In truth, apart from the harrowing sight of Meg, it had been pretty dull, but maybe Meg was what she had meant, so I nodded.
“We didn’t know if we’d see you and Mr. Dixon here,” she said. “With you not being on best terms with the deceased.”
“What did James say about Mr. Newman?” I asked them, remembering what I’d said at the end of my police interview and feeling hopeful for a moment that they were hot on the trail of a vendetta between James and Mr. N and that I was to be treated as an innocent bystander.
“What do you think he said?” DS Khan asked. I heard myself sigh, but I rallied and humored her. “That he wanted to kick the Newmans off the farm and sell it for warehouses,” I said.
She nodded, so I assumed that was what he said.
“When did that happen?” DC Parker asked.
“I can’t remember,” I said. “It was going to and fro for a while. I wasn’t really involved.” Khan stared at me; she made me nervous and that made me pile more crisps on my plate. It was so full they started falling off, but she was still staring at me, so I carried on. “What do you think happened? Suicide?” I asked eventually, crisps raining down onto the carpet.
“What? He battered himself around the head, and when that didn’t work, he drowned himself? We don’t think it was suicide,” DS Khan told me. “We’re between accident and foul play. Your husband’s just been saying you have quite a temper when you’re riled. He said you’re known for it in the village.”
“Not really,” I said. “That’s not the first thing people would say about me.” Wondering what was the first thing and not liking the ideas that popped into my head: recluse, peculiar, impulsive maybe. Poisoner.
Khan looked at me, blinking, but not speaking, goading me into saying something.
“When do you think it happened?” I asked. “If you think he was attacked, don’t you want our alibis? The reason I ask is that it’s just come back to me that, around that time, James started taking evening strolls through the fields, which is something he never did before. Then the strolls stopped, just as suddenly as they’d started. I thought at the time it was strange, James suddenly going out for walks he never used to take, then stopping.”
“People begin health kicks that only last a few days all the time,” Khan said, and she walked away, leaving me wondering why James’s word always seemed to carry so much more weight than mine. Or was she the other way round with him?
I watched as James finished his whiskey and clapped some peasants on the back. Then he took my plate from me—“How much?”—put it on the end of the table and led the way out. I grabbed a slice of Victoria sponge as I went.
***
The novelty of the archaeologists wore off and Mrs. Billings went back to her usual days, Monday and Thursday. It was a relief. I realized Ihad liked it better when no one came here most of the time, and I was just the hermit of Langley Hall. So, I was less than pleased when, on a Monday morning, there was a knock at the door more than half an hour before the Billingses were due.
I was upstairs and my car was in the garage, so no one could tell whether I was in or not, but the window was open, so I could hear whoever it was, as well as spy on them.
