Page 15 of Murder in the Winter Woods
‘Okay, that’s enough,’ she told herself sternly. ‘It’s time to do something more useful.’
With a determined flourish, she dropped her phone into her handbag to seal the deal, even though she hadn’t quite decided what the ‘something more useful’ might be. There was a small metallic sound, and at once she remembered the St Christopher pendant she’d picked up yesterday. She felt around in her bag and pulled it out, turning it over idly. It made a certain kind of sense that Lewis might have carried an image of the patron saint of travellers. After all, he’d spent his life on the roads. It was likely a precious lucky charm, a talisman.
There and then, Julia knew what the ‘something more useful’ would be.
Julia had never visited Lewis Band at home, but she knew where he’d lived. His taxi, when not in use, was to be seen parked outside a pleasant, modern little house in Wood Grouse Lane. Julia had often noticed the car, and the magnificent magnolia beside it that looked like any old, rather boring, tree until springcame, and then it was filled with an astonishing number of glossy pale blooms, seemingly overnight. Passers-by stopped to admire it, or to pose for photographs or take selfies in front of it.
It would be months before the famous magnolia blooms would arrive, and the whole place had a gloomy, wintery air. Julia slowed her walking pace as she neared the front gate, suddenly reluctant to engage with the house’s sadness, or with its owner, Lewis’s wife, Coral. Julia didn’t know Coral beyond occasional superficial encounters at Second Chances, or the library, or at village meetings or get-togethers. Standing in front of the gate now, looking at the front door with its cheerful holly wreath, she began to second-guess her decision to come over with the St Christopher. Perhaps it was too soon to call on a new widow, whom she knew only in passing. However, in the moment of Julia’s dithering, the door opened and Coral appeared in the doorway.
Although it was Sunday morning, Coral was smartly dressed in a rather formal, old-fashioned style, in what used to be called a trouser suit. The matching top and bottom were a dark tan colour, and she wore a cream polo neck underneath. Pearls adorned her throat and studded her ears. Her face was made up and her golden-blonde hair looked as if it had been highlighted, and recently liberated from a set of hot rollers. It had to be said that she looked remarkably good for a recently widowed woman. But Julia recognised her type – some people fall apart in their grief, but others try to protect themselves with an armour of coping skills. Coral Lewis was clearly one of the latter.
‘Hello?’
Coral voiced it as a question, and frowned as if trying to make out who was at the gate, or perhaps why they were there.
‘Coral, hello. It’s Julia Bird.’
‘Oh, Julia Bird. Hello.’
‘I’m here to…’ The conversation was awkward, conducted in raised voices across the little front garden. ‘Could I come in?’
There was a moment’s hesitation. Julia sensed some reluctance, but then Coral said, ‘Yes, of course.’
Julia opened the gate and made her way up the neat little path towards the front door. ‘I’m very sorry for your loss, Coral,’ she said, as she drew closer. ‘It’s a terrible, shocking thing.’
‘It is that,’ said Coral. ‘I don’t know what’s become of the world, I really don’t.’
‘I have something…’
‘Please, come inside.’
Carol had an odd, stiff manner which, together with the pointedly put-together outfit, seemed an attempt to ward off the uncertainty of life. In Julia’s experience, life’s uncertainty was guaranteed, and not to be deterred by matching two-piece outfits, or by pearls, or by a proper manner.
Julia followed her into the house, past numerous flower arrangements, some still with cards attached, and into the kitchen.
‘Tea? The kettle has just boiled.’
‘Only if you’re having one. I won’t stay.’
Coral took that as a ‘yes’ and took two cups and saucers from the cupboard. ‘Carrot cake, scones, mince pies?’ she asked, waving to a pile of tins and Tupperwares and packets at the end of the counter. ‘I’ve got just about anything you fancy. And there’s more in the fridge. Tomato soup? Quiche Lorraine? Lasagne? People have been very kind.’
‘Carrot cake would be lovely,’ said Julia, noticing that it was close at hand and already cut.
‘Do sit.’
Julia did as she was told, taking a seat at the kitchen table. ‘Thank you. I won’t stay long. I wanted to bring you something that I found. Something I think might be Lewis’s.’
‘How would you have something of Lewis’s?’ Coral asked sharply. ‘I didn’t know you knew him.’ She sounded almost suspicious.
‘I didn’t know him, really, although he did drive me once or twice. He was a very good driver, and seemed like a friendly chap.’
‘Oh yes, he was that, very friendly. Everyone liked him. The ladies especially.’
‘Well, you felt you could trust him, I always thought. And people do worry about getting into a car with a stranger. Women especially; they like to have someone they know and trust.’
‘Oh, they liked Lewis all right,’ Coral said, sniffily. ‘It was always like that, especially when we were younger. No end of trouble, it was.’
It seemed rather an odd thing to say, under the circumstances, and Julia wasn’t sure how to respond. She was saved, mercifully, by the shrieking of the kettle, which drew Coral’s attention. Julia watched as she set about making tea – properly, with leaves, and a pot and a milk jug, none of your ‘swirl the bag around’ nonsense.
