A missing signature, p.17
A Missing Signature, page 17
We don’t go any further and I’m just packing up my laptop when I notice another headline.
Family Farewells Teen Killed in Bike Accident.
The article is about the funeral of Tye Saunders, knocked from his bike on a dark wet road about six years ago.
“Reggie’s grandson,” I say. “What a tragedy. No wonder Reggie has a soft spot for Baxter.” I look at an inset portrait of Tye. “They even look a bit alike.”
We look at the photograph of the small crowd around the grave. It’s taken at a respectful distance and I can make out Reggie with his head bowed. Then I notice a woman standing apart from the group, in the shadow of a tree. Her face is turned away but her body shape and posture look familiar.
Nessa.
Chapter 36
Rupert doesn’t recognise her and it’s too late to open another can of worms. Tomorrow I’ll challenge her. It might be none of my business but Nessa’s involved me and I’m not going to let it go.
Rupert packs up his tote bag. At the door, he dons his coat before giving me a hug and Raider a farewell treat.
“Thanks for a taste of Christmas,” I say. “I was feeling a bit bereft.”
“And thanks for adding some mystery to my life. I feel like I’m moonlighting in one of your books.”
We laugh and I push him out the door.
Back on the sofa, I read about the tragic death of Reggie’s grandson, searching for a reason for Nessa’s presence on the periphery of his funeral.
The family of 16-year-old Tye Saunders gathered for a moving ceremony at Taunton on Tuesday to lay their ‘bright and lively’ teen to rest.
Tye, a student at the Somerset Academy, died around midnight on 31st August after the bicycle he was riding collided with a car. It was the last weekend of the summer holidays and after the rain had stopped, Tye set off to ride to a friend’s place, along a wooded cycle path on the outskirts of his home in Dunster, Somerset.
It’s believed he was riding at speed without lights along the short stretch of road that cuts the bike path into two sections, and suddenly veered in front of a sedan travelling east. This unnamed road is used by locals as a rat run to avoid the notorious intersection between Avill Road and the A396. The driver who had been at a nearby house-party was breath-tested at the scene and found to be well under the limit. Tye was killed instantly. The driver of the vehicle has not been charged.
Tye’s grandfather, Reggie Barraclough, spoke to our reporter on behalf of the family.
“Our grief at losing Tye is beyond words. He was vibrant, clever, funny, kind. And his accident doesn’t make sense. His bike was fitted with new lights, a birthday present, and he couldn’t have ridden along the unlit path without them.”
He believes that Tye would have been very visible to any driver. But the police found no lights on the bike or at the scene. Tye also wasn’t wearing a helmet.
“He left his helmet at home,” Reggie said. “But lights are mandatory and he wouldn’t have removed them. We haven’t found them at home or along the bike path.”
A spokesperson for the police has confirmed that an officer cruising the unnamed road came upon the scene almost immediately and found no lights on Tye’s bike or nearby.
The bereaved family hopes that the inquest finds the answers they are looking for.
“They’re sure it wasn’t Tye’s fault,” I say to Raider, “and the facts don’t add up. It compounds their grief.”
If the driver was using the rat run, it’s surprising that he wasn’t over the limit. Was he the designated driver? It doesn’t say there was anyone else in the car. It wasn’t his fault, but he must be left with a crushing guilt.
When I get into bed, I can’t get the story out of my mind.
If that really is Nessa in the photo, why was she there but not with the other mourners? Perhaps she knew Tye, and not his family. Or she’d met Reggie professionally through The Turrets, and didn’t know Tye.
But attending the funeral feels personal.
How plausible is it that she doesn’t know Reggie?
Tuesday is Boxing Day and I spend the morning on Piper’s latest discovery.
The man who shouted ‘fake’ at the auction for Lady Godiva has turned out to be the grandson of the family who used to own her client’s house, the house with the attic where the painting was found. Piper dives into an investigation of the family’s history with the house, like Rupert did after he found the box in the rafters with the ring inside. I make a mental note to ask him how he did it so Piper can follow in his footsteps.
When I break for lunch, I resist the urge to call Nessa. At the moment she can deny it’s her in the funeral photo. But if I can dig up something that suggests why she’s there, my questions will go deeper – and she’ll have fewer excuses to lie.
After discovering that access to inquest transcripts requires an application form, I find Reggie’s name in the community pages of the Somerset Signal after a Mudlark Market took place in the castle grounds. But the date is after Nessa moved to Sydney.
Next, I find reports of the bicycle accident itself. Nothing new leaps out, but a series of daily reports by their court reporter summarises the highlights of the inquest.
The names of the key people are suppressed, but the witness names are quoted against their evidence, including Tye’s mother Laura Saunders and his grandfather Reggie Barraclough. They both told the coroner that they hadn’t found the bike lights and believed that Tye would not have left without them. But the possibility is in the subtext that the family had reasons not to produce the lights – they couldn’t bring Tye back but they could try to restore his reputation as a young man who played by the rules.
In assessing the cause of the accident, the police stated that they searched the crash area in case the lights had fallen from the bike on impact. The possibility that Tye removed them before he left home was also investigated. Tye’s friend Josh Temple gave evidence that he lives on the bike path and it was dark when Tye left to ride home.
The weather on the night was reviewed. A late afternoon storm had left the road slippery. But had the clouds cleared enough for the moon to light the path?
I stop. What am I doing?
Disappearing down a research rabbit hole that’s not related to my book! I’m not even sure it’s Nessa in the photo. Last week was full of interruptions from my day job and I chastise myself for allowing this tragedy to distract me.
But I’ve come this far.
To stop wasting more time wondering about the outcome, I open the last report. The coroner’s verdict was accidental death, and the names of the policeman and the driver were finally published.
First-on-scene policeman: Sergeant Philip Bennett.
Driver of the sedan that killed Tye Saunders:
Felix Silverwood.
Chapter 37
His name on the page hits me like a punch. I close my eyes. Everything is connected to Felix.
Nessa could have attended Tye’s funeral on behalf of Felix who couldn’t go. That would explain why she was waiting on the fringe.
Did she approach Reggie?
Because five years later, she has stolen his antique spoon and left the money in his letterbox as if she doesn’t know him. A coincidence? If this happened in one of my books, Piper would smell a rat.
I pick up the charred pup, then stop.
My mind has created an image. Felix is behind the wheel of a car on a moonlit road. It takes me back to Saturday night when I followed Nessa into Taunton. Another car entered the parking area of the ivy-covered hotel behind me, with a man behind the wheel. Was it Felix?
Returning to his website, I peer at his portrait through half-closed lids. Then a recollection almost knocks me over.
After I called out to Nessa in London, she was worried that Felix might have followed me. She was also sure that Felix would have spun a story to get details about her from his colleague at the auction house. Now I recall that before I bid for my charm bracelet, I supplied my contact details to receive a bidding number. Address and phone number. Felix didn’t need to follow me home. After I called out to Nessa, he could have recognised me bidding for the bracelet and found a way to procure my address from his colleague.
Luckily, Nessa and I have been using burner phones. But what if he visited Punt Lane and put a tracker on my car? Or paid someone else to do it? The man who smoked the leisurely cigarette?
A quick search tells me everything a tracking device can do – real time mapping and a battery life on some models of up to thirty days. Leaving Raider snoozing in his armchair, I shrug on my coat and race downstairs. The wind off the estuary is brutal but I get on my knees and check underneath the Skoda. No device. Just a layer of mud from Verity’s driveway.
Back upstairs, the stakes are too high to let it go. He must have followed me into Taunton because Nessa was in Verity’s car. That means he followed us to Merivale Manor and once he knew where Nessa was staying he could stay nearby, ready to follow me again.
What did Nessa say to me? ‘… think about what you’ve done, Tiggy. If you hadn’t followed me, Raider wouldn’t have disturbed that grave, this house wouldn’t be crawling with police and I wouldn’t have to explain my trip to town.’
And Felix wouldn’t have discovered that she took a picture wrapped in brown paper to The Turrets. They both worked there, making it likely he knows Earl.
Nessa picks up my call. “Sis. Can you make it quick? I really don’t have time. Not until the Trudy is ready for sale.”
I cut to the chase. “I know that Felix knocked down Reggie’s grandson and you went to Tye’s funeral. Is that when you met Reggie?”
“What the …? Look, I’ve already told you. None of this is your business.”
“Which part isn’t my business?” I ask. “The part where you involved me in securing ownership of the painting from Verity? The part where I had to rescue Baxter after you stole the spoon from Reggie’s stall? Or the part –”
“– the kid was spying. He needs to learn about consequences.”
“Did Reggie tell you that?”
“I’m not answering your questions, Sis.”
“If I’m in danger from Felix Silverwood, this is my business.”
“This isn’t about you,” she snarls. “It’s just like the accident with the café window, isn’t it? You just happened to have a journalist taking photos and got a front-page splash in the local paper.”
What? She thinks I faked the accident for publicity?
“I’m the one who’s in danger from Felix,” she says.
I push her accusation aside. “When I followed you into Taunton on Saturday night, I think someone followed me.”
“What? Why haven’t you told me this before?”
“Because we found a body in the woods and I forgot. When I parked in front of the hotel, a few rows away from you, another car came in after me. I saw his face briefly and now I think it was Felix.”
I can almost hear her shift gear. “Are you sure? Did you notice anyone following us from Exeter?”
“No. But I wasn’t looking.”
There’s a long pause while she evaluates the implications. “If Felix followed you and saw me meeting Earl, he could ruin everything.”
“Is he after you or the Trudy?”
“Both. If he saw me carrying the frame, he’ll know that I didn’t take the portrait back to the car boot sale as I told him. He’ll know that I hid it at Verity’s.”
“Is it safe with Earl?” And how safe is Nessa?
“For now. The Turrets upgraded their security after my boss was murdered by burglars. I’ll warn Earl to take a few days off in case Felix tries to jump him. And I’ll remind Verity to lock her doors.”
This really is serious. Her fear flows down the phone.
“You’re not safe,” I say. “Verity’s not safe. Earl’s not safe. And even though I’m a serial attention-seeker, I might not be safe either.”
“Sorry, Sis. My comments just now were out of line.”
“They were. Apology accepted. For now.” I sense she’s about to hang up. “What about my young friend Baxter. Is he safe?”
“Felix doesn’t even know him.”
“They both know Reggie.”
I wait.
“Look,” she says. “I met Reggie at Tye’s funeral. For obvious reasons, Felix couldn’t go. I stayed on the sidelines. Reggie saw me and asked how I knew Tye. Then we saw each other again at the inquest.”
“I’ve read about the bike lights. Tye was riding without them.”
“It’s why Felix avoided a charge of dangerous driving causing death. And a prison sentence. It was dark and he didn’t see the boy. It was a terrible time for everyone.”
“Sorry for bringing it up, but you stole the antique spoon from Reggie’s stall. Why?”
She sighs. “I needed a third gift for Verity. Mudlarks find things so I didn’t feel bad about helping myself. But when I looked at Reggie’s business card, I realised who he was. I haven’t seen him for six years and the inquest was held in Taunton. I didn’t know he lived in Exeter. I could have returned the spoon, but I was running out of time to find something else and Reggie has suffered enough. I paid up.”
It’s a good story. It matches the facts.
I just wish I believed her.
Chapter 38
Nessa’s character assassination disturbs my sleep. In a dream, Piper is having problems with an old friend.
Tia has big plans to upcycle old furniture for resale at hand-painted prices. But she’s broke. Piper offers to kick things off by paying for several pieces and they have a fun day at the auctions. Tia will pay her back from her first sales and put the profit into the next purchases.
Weeks later, Piper is excited to see how the gilding and decoupage and other techniques are going, only to find that Tia hasn’t started yet. But she’s put her TV on the charming old cabinet, hung the framed mirror on her own wall and she’s eating her meals off the antique table.
When Piper asks what’s happened to the upcycling plans and how Tia will pay her back, Tia accuses her of being a bully and no longer her friend. Piper says that friendship works both ways and walks out, waking me up.
Over a mug of hot chocolate, I realise that a real friend wouldn’t let fly with such a cruel barb the way Nessa did. And I remember who has really made everything about her. Nessa. I’ve overlooked it because she’s been in danger. When I return to bed, I fall into a deep sleep.
On waking, I make a decision that’s been coming ever since Nessa reminded me of how we met. She regards my window rescue as a debt that she’s been calling in, as if I wouldn’t otherwise have helped her. Now that she has the painting, I have no reason to keep helping her. I can let our friendship, if that’s what it was, dwindle and die. Under the shower, I have a good cry.
Baxter’s voice on the phone brightens my mood. “Tiggy, Tiggy, happy day after Boxing Day. Mum says it’s OK to ask you and it’s OK for you to say ‘no’. But saying ‘yes’ would be better.”
“Whoa. Good morning. I’m glad you’re fully recovered. It’s OK to ask me what?”
“Come with me to see Reggie. It’s pretty scary and I need moral support.”
“Tell me more.”
I hear him take a big breath. “Mum says I have to say sorry for spying on him and hiding in his van and having to get rescued.” Another breath. “And I have to thank him for the spoon money. Like £500 is a big gift when he isn’t my grandfather or anything, just an old man. She says I’m practically an adult so she won’t come with me like I’m still a kid, but it’s OK for you to come because you’re not my parent. Will you?”
“Of course. I’m honoured you’ve asked me.”
“Thank you! Now I need advice. Should I prepare a speech?”
Poor Baxter, he’s sweating it. Dinah must have read him the riot act after the worry he put her through. Not to mention ruining their family Christmas.
“Reggie won’t expect a speech. But you must mean what you say. And if it will give you confidence and help you remember what you want to say, you could write down a few dot points.”
“Good idea.”
“And you need to ring him first and make a time to visit.”
“Old people like manners,” he says.
“Exactly. How do you feel about calling him?”
“I don’t mind. It’s the looking-at-him part that scares me.”
“Because he’ll be angry?”
“He looks at me funny.”
Probably because Baxter looks a lot like his grandson.
“But I won’t be scared if you’re there,” he says. “And Raider too?”
“The last time they met, the pooch sank his teeth into Reggie’s dressing gown. I think we’ll leave Raider at home.”
I might be letting Nessa go, but her mysteries have their own momentum. Including Reggie and the Wodewose spoon.
Reggie asks Baxter to meet him in his workshop this afternoon. I arrange to pick Baxter up, then turn my attention to the much-neglected Dead by Design.
Piper has researched the family who once owned her client’s house. Early in the 20th century, the great grandfather was a successful artist who was found dead at his easel. Murdered by an assailant who was never found. Lady Godiva was found in his attic studio. Did he have a side hustle forging the works of other artists? It might explain the other copy of Lady Godiva that Piper has found in another collection, both with the signature of the French artist Emile Pierre Fayet, not the great grandfather. Did these fakes cause his death? Why? It’s possible that Piper’s client has really found a fake and the former owners thought it their duty to expose the fraud. More research for Piper.
On the short drive to Reggie’s, Baxter rehearses his dot points. Reggie greets us a little stiffly as if he’s as nervous as Baxter. He ushers us into his converted garage, lined with shelves and cabinets and a long work table down one side.
