02 Murder at the Mansion by Alison Golden, Jamie Vougeot Page A

sip of coffee, assuming the late nights and stress of a perplexing murder case were causing him to hallucinate.
    “Hello, Inspector,” Annabelle said, affirming that she was not, in fact, a mirage.
    “Vicar, is something the matter? We only just spoke.”
    “Yes, Inspector. I must speak with Poppy.”
    The Inspector studied Annabelle’s face for a sign that this was a joke.
    “Are you serious? With all due respect, Vicar. I can’t allow just anyone to speak to her.”
    “I understand that, Inspector. But I sincerely believe she is innocent, and I’d like to prove it.”
    “What makes you think she’s innocent?”
    “Faith, Inspector.”
    The Inspector sighed deeply.
    “I’m going to need more than that, Vicar. However much I’d like to use faith in my police work, it doesn’t work like that.”
    “Inspector,” Annabelle said, putting some steel into her voice and placing a firm hand on his desk, “I have helped you at every stage of this investigation. It is not arrogant of me to say that I have discovered and provided you with some of the most crucial pieces of evidence in this case. I’m asking you to sincerely consider my trustworthiness, diligence, and abilities before you dismiss my request.”
    The Inspector sighed again and looked over at the Constable beside him, who raised his eyebrows in support of the Vicar’s statement.
    “I do appreciate everything you’ve done, Vicar. But I’ve interviewed her already. I don’t want to put more pressure on her unnecessarily. She’s already shaken up. I don’t see what you could ask her at this stage that would help.”
    “You asked her whether she knew how to use a crossbow.”
    “Yes, I did. And she said she knew.”
    “Did you ask her where she learned how to use a crossbow?”
    The Inspector rubbed a finger across his pursed lips, then stood up, and grabbed a key chain from his desk.
    “Okay. I’ll give you five minutes,” he said, then turned to the Constable who was listening intently, “and don’t you tell anyone I did this.”
    Inspector Nicholls led Annabelle to the cell, opened the door, and allowed Annabelle to step inside.
    Poppy looked vastly different from the perky, pleasant girl who had breezily chatted with the Vicar on her arrival at Woodlands Manor. She sat on the hard bed, hunched over and clutching her sides, as if protecting herself from harm. Her cheeks were flushed, and her brown mascara streaked lightly on her cheeks. She had been crying and still wore an expression of utter turmoil.
    “Vicar?” she whispered, squinting through the reddish puffs of her eyes as if she couldn’t believe it.
    “Poppy? Oh dear,” Annabelle said, sitting beside the girl and putting an arm around her.
    She allowed Annabelle to clutch her to her chest, welcoming the warmth of someone caring. She struggled not to break into tears again.
    “Why… What are you doing here?” she muttered, as she pulled away from her embrace to see the Vicar’s sympathetic face.
    “I’m here to help you. But I need you to answer something for me.”
    “What? Anything, if you can get me out of here.”
    “I need you to tell me who taught you how to use a crossbow.”
    Poppy looked away from the Vicar, as if the question had slapped her across the face.
    “I can’t.”
    “Poppy…”
    “No. I’m sorry.”
    This was it, Annabelle thought, this was the key. It had been merely an incidental thought before, but Poppy’s reaction confirmed it was the answer.
    “Poppy, they won’t be able to accuse you of the murder, but they will almost certainly accuse you of being an accessory to murder. You’re the only person who’s admitted to knowing how to use a crossbow. You were in the house when the murder occurred. You ran from the scene of the crime. Whomever you’re protecting, you’ll pay a big price for doing so.”
    “No,” Poppy stuttered, through sobs. The Vicar pulled a pack of tissues from her pocket and handed them to the shuddering