Quid Pro Quo

Chapter Twenty One

We returned to the farm at Pebble Deeping and found Martha in a state of some distress. She sat in the kitchen, tucked up tight to the table with her elbows planted on the top and her face buried in her hands.

She had plainly finished crying recently, perhaps when she heard us returning and clattering through the farmhouse's flagstoned hall. Looking up as I entered the room marginally ahead of Ty, she jumped out of her chair and turned away from us; busying herself at the sink, a hand wiping at her face.

"Martha?" I said. Suddenly, my worries and anxieties regarding the previous events of the day were washed away by the trickle of her tears.

She said nothing but stifled a sniffle, still busy at the crockery and ostentatiously washing last-night's dishes. Ty had entered the kitchen quietly behind me. He looked at Martha's back and saw her shoulders shaking jerkily with fresh sobs. Catching my eye, he raised a quizzical brow.

I shrugged. He frowned at me and nodded violently towards her.

"I'll get some tea on," he said to no-one in particular and left to get some firewood for the hearth.

I crossed the kitchen to Martha, who still had her back to me, and placed my hand on her shoulder.

"What's wrong?" I asked softly.

"Nothing," she replied, her voice cracked.

I took her gently by the waist and turned her away from the sink. She looked up at me, her eyes wide and verdant green, liquid with tears. Her eyelashes were clumped, and her cheeks streaked. The strand of hair that was usually tucked behind her ear was plastered wetly to her cheek.

"OK. I have a problem." Droplets welled in her eyes again and I embraced her. She clung to me like a limpet for a few seconds, squeezing the air from my chest. She was stronger than she looked.

When she broke away from me, regaining herself a little and wiping her eyes, I sat her down at the table and took a chair opposite.

"Why don't you tell me what's wrong? We'll see what we can do," I said with my best soothing voice.

"How was I to know?" she said. "If they had sent a letter, I could have sorted it out. Sent the money."

Martha looked at me imploringly. I had a sinking feeling that this was not a little problem.

"What money?" I asked.

Martha's cheeks coloured, and her eyes dropped to the table where her fingers fidgeted absently.

"My father had not paid the insurance premium on the cottage for the last six months," she whispered without looking up, continuing instead to stare at her digits as they wriggled across the table.

"Oh," I said. It was all I could manage. That was not good.

"So ... the policy is void. Everything I have was ..." she stopped.

Gone my mind finished her sentence. Wiped out in an inferno started by God-knows-who.

"I know it's hard Martha, but you can buy more things eventually. At least you are safe." I tried to comfort her. She looked up at me as if I had just relieved myself into her favourite hat.

"My father's work. Years. My work! All gone ..." She fell silent again, I could see her mind churning, struggling to come to a decision.

"It's not just the money, or the work," she said pointedly.

"Oh?" I said.

On impulse, I reached across the table and took both of her hands in mine, holding them tenderly to stop them from dancing like drunk spiders. She looked across the table at me.

"No. The police said they had evidence to suggest that the fire was started deliberately. It was arson," her voice wavered again. Fear.

"No!" I said, trying to act as surprised as possible given the day I had already had.

"Somebody burned my home Satchmo. I think they were attempting to kill me. I'm scared," she whispered, tears reforming at the corner of her eyes.

There was really nothing I could say to that, so I gave the back of her hands what I hoped was a comforting stroke while my mind struggled for something more useful.

Ty returned in the nick of time; carrying steaming mugs and a small glass bottle plugged with a cork.

Martha broke her hands from my grip and wiped again at her face, making red marks appear under each puffy eye. I cocked my head, watching her as she tucked the loose strand of hair back behind her ear and sniffed loudly. She straightened her back, pushing out her chest and folded her hands in her lap.

"Right then," Ty said emphatically. "Who's for cuppa and a belt of the hard stuff?"

*

"So, here's the reality of the situation ..." Edge announced to the room.

We all sat at the table, having polished off two cups of hot and sweet herbal tea of Ty's own concoction. We had bolstered the brew with a hefty draught of liquor from a bottle he had produced, and the blood flowed warmer in my veins as a result.

"Somebody other than Michaels intends Martha, and maybe me, specific harm. To that end, Martha will stay here until we, or the police, can find out who this person is and neutralize them," Ty finished speaking and propped his feet on the table, crossed at the ankles.

It was a testament to my reassessment of him that I didn't blanch at his choice of the word 'neutralize'.

"Motive," I said, gazing at the ceiling. "What's the motive? People don't just try to kill others for no reason."

"You'd be surprised, Satchmo. But in this case, I agree. There must be something that connects me and Martha. The obvious link is the Professor and my uncle," Edge said counting the points on his dirty fingers.

"Yes, which brings us back to the gold," I mused.

"Somehow, someone finds out about the gold and sees the chance to make big money or achieve some academic kudos. Now they are trying to scare us off to give themselves a clean run," I suggested.

"Or maybe they think we already have the treasure and killing us makes it easier to obtain?" Martha said, her composure returned.

"So, what are our options? What can we seriously do?" I asked.

Ty glanced at Martha. "The police will do their thing with the arson. In the meantime, I suggest we do ours."

I wasn't sure that I liked this plan, even before hearing any of the details. I had witnessed what Ty's thing entailed, and I was pretty sure I didn't want it to become my thing.

"You need to look into who else could have known about the Professor's work, and the possibility of there being gold buried in Pebble Deeping," Ty suggested, looking at me. I nodded my assent with some relief.

"Martha and I will find the stuff before these bastards do," he continued. She smiled at him in response. It looked like I was out-voted on the plan front.

"There's still something odd about this business," she said faintly. Ty and I looked at her inquisitively.

"My father was an eccentric man, but he was no mad professor. He was anything but absent-minded, and he certainly would not have forgotten to pay the insurance premium. That means he couldn't afford to do so," she concluded, knotting her fingers together and squeezing.

"Is that odd?" I asked.

"He was extremely financially astute. We never wanted for anything because of money. His teaching and published work kept us comfortable. He had a hefty nest egg built up, and I just can't imagine how he couldn't afford the relatively cheap payments of his home insurance," she replied, gazing pensively out of the window.

"Maybe he missed the reminder letters?" Ty pointed out. Martha shook her head.

"I had better go into town tomorrow and confirm all of father's financial business," she decided.

"I'll drive you in. There are some people I need to check-in with and some phone calls to make," I said.

I had no idea yet as to how I was going to track whoever it was who was causing all this grief, but there were some brains that I could pick on the subject.

"If you'll excuse me, I have to go to the toilet and freshen up." Martha rose and swept out of the room, her trim hips swaying hypnotically. When she had gone, Ty sighed deeply.

"The root of all evil Satchmo," he said.