Page 26 of Honey Mead Murder

Murphy texted him halfway to the brewery, suggesting he drive straight to the auto shop. Lenny had promised to fix the windows on both of their vehicles while lending them one of his spare cars for a few days. It depended on how long it took him to get the glass in.

When George arrived at Lenny’s shop, Murphy was already waiting outside for him. They walked a few streets over to grab coffee and stopped by Evan’s office. He didn’t have any concrete information to share, so they returned to the shop and grabbed Lenny’s keys.

“Oi. Got a second?” Lenny whistled sharply, drawing their attention. He rubbed his oil-covered hands on a rag. “Heard you were heading out to the recycling centre.”

“Yeah? When’d you talk to Maisie?”

“She called my missus at eight last night to have a natter about something.” Lenny was married to Maisie’s cousin. “Anyway, spoke to my mate who runs the centre about what you’re searching for.”

“Oh?”

“Turns out they’re behind by a few days. Some machine broke. Since the toff tossed the stuff, it’s free and available for anyone who wants to poke their nose into it. Just tell Seamus at the gate that I sent you.” Lenny waved them off with his oily rag. “Off with you. I’ve got work to do. Don’t fall in any waste compactors. And I want an invitation to the wedding.”

“Shut up, greasy bastard.”

“Oil, not grease,” Lenny retorted.

George snickered at Murphy and Lenny, who exchanged a few more insults before they finally drove away. “I can never tell if you’re friends or not.”

“In school, Lenny and I were more often than not on the same side of arguments. He’s a good bloke. I enjoy needling him.” Murphy guided the car down the lane towards the recycling centre. “We don’t mean anything by it.”

George didn’t always understand the nuances of neurotypical friendships. He tried his best but often found himself making a fool of himself. It was why he kept his circle small. “Do you think we’re going to find anything?”

“Define anything? We may find old clothes and books. We might find the metaphorical smoking gun.” Murphy shrugged. He reached down to rest his hand on George’s leg. “I’ve no idea. Still not certain why the police haven’t searched through it.”

“Should we be touching any of it?”

“I brought gloves from the brewery. We can keep our fingerprints off anything so Sarah won’t scream at us too much. Pretty sure I’m getting coal in my stocking, whatever happens.” Murphy left his hand on George’s leg as if it were completely natural. “Not exactly how I hoped to spend our second date.”

“Rummaging through someone else’s rubbish?”

They found Seamus easily enough. Tall, ginger, and smoking a pipe. If being Scottish was a superpower, the man definitely had it in spades. All he needed was a kilt. He motioned them to an empty parking space and led them into the building once they’d gotten out of the car.

George leaned into Murphy while they walked behind Seamus. “Am I the only one who keeps hearing bagpipes?”

“Aye. That’s my theme music.” Seamus winked at them. “Here’s all her stuff. I’d planned to go through it today and send some of it to my ma’s charity shop.”

There were several stacked boxes, along with a few large bags. Murphy pulled out the gloves from his pocket and handed a pair to George. Seamus raised his bushy eyebrows but walked away without comment.

“Super Scot. He’s fuelled by haggis.” Murphy grinned at George. “I take part in the Highland Games every year and I’m not as Scottish as he is.”

With a snicker, George grabbed the bag closest to him. It was jam-packed with clothes. There was everything from boxers to several expensive suits. Had she literally thrown away every single article of clothing in his closet?

“Why didn’t she send these to a charity shop? Aren’t toffs like her always going on about doing more for the less fortunate? ‘One does what one can, doesn’t one?’” George mimicked her mannerism almost perfectly. He held up a winter coat. “This has to be worth a few hundred quid.”

“Odd that she’d simply chuck everything away within days of his death. I know people grieve in different ways, but even so.” Murphy lifted a dark grey suit with a double-breasted jacket out of a bag. “William Hunt. This is tailored. I bet this was easily a thousand quid.”

“And she threw it out?” George shook his head in surprise. “Why? It’s such a waste. We should check all the pockets. Never know what we might find.”

Going through the pockets of all the clothing in the four bags took forever. They hadn’t even opened any of the boxes yet. They had a small stack of papers and a few candy wrappers when they finished.

“This is interesting.” George held out a scrap of paper with a date and name. “Isn’t this the family law solicitor? The one Evan believed worked with the Donelsons?”

“It is. So a week before his death, Ronald was seeing his solicitor. Was it for a divorce or something to do with his brother’s money? I doubt they’ll tell us anything. Let me take a photo. We’re definitely going to have to let Sarah know.” Murphy sighed. He inspected another folded note from another pocket. “This one’s from an estate agent.”

“An estate agent? How interesting.” George flipped through the rest of the papers that he’d gathered up. “Nothing else of interest. Most of this is receipts or business cards. Nothing incriminating. He had an unhealthy obsession with sweets. I can’t believe the number of wrappers I’ve found in his pockets. Was he a little old man disguised as someone in their thirties?”

“No idea.” Murphy used his phone to get photos of the two papers they’d found. “Sending this to Elwin instead of Sarah. He’s less likely to get aggravated.”

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