by V. M. Burns
“It didn’t take long for her money to run out. She went to the ATM a couple of times but hit her daily limit for withdrawals. Then she went to the cashiers and tried to cash a check, but they wouldn’t take it. Her last one bounced.”
“That fits in with the papers I found on Mayor Carpenter’s desk,” Nana Jo said. “I finally got a good look at the photographs I took. I thought the mayor was taking money from city accounts, but they were his personal accounts. I’ll bet he’s been moving money out of accounts that his wife has access to and into other accounts for her own good. There was also a brochure for a retreat and plane tickets to Portugal. I thought he was moving his money around because he was planning to skip town.” She turned on her visor light and swiped her phone. “The retreat is for gambling addiction.”
“Glad to hear he’s aware of the problem and trying to get her some help,” I said.
“When she couldn’t get any more money, I found her crying in the bathroom,” Dorothy said. “I got her pulled together and took her into the bar.”
“That’s why you were on my turf,” Irma said.
Even with the dim light in the car, I knew Nana Jo had just rolled her eyes.
“I bought her a drink, and she shared that she’d gone through a lot of money,” Dorothy said. “She owed money to the casino. John Cloverton had extended her a lot of credit, and she couldn’t pay it back fast enough. She said Mildred was helping her pawn small things to help pay down the debt.”
“That’s why she was taking family heirlooms and passing them along to Mildred,” I said.
“She was afraid someone would recognize her if she tried to pawn the items herself. She took a few small things that she didn’t think would be missed and passed them along. Mildred would pawn them, and then Sharon’s credit at the casino would be reinstated.”
“That poor woman,” Ruby Mae said. “My husband was addicted to alcohol. He tried to stop many times, but he just couldn’t. I don’t know what was worse, seeing him drunk out of his mind or seeing him trying to quit. It was almost a blessing when he walked out.”
That was the most I’d ever heard Ruby Mae talk about her husband. I knew he’d walked out on her, leaving her to raise their nine children alone, but I didn’t even know if he was alive or dead or whether they’d ever gotten divorced.
I pulled up to Shady Acres, and we sat in the car talking.
“That’s everything,” Dorothy said. “I hope Mayor Carpenter is able to get her some help. That poor woman is miserable.”
Irma’s security connection wasn’t available, so she was forced to hang out in the bar. She had made dates with two different men within the next week, so she hadn’t suffered too badly.
We made arrangements to meet tomorrow for lunch before I pulled off. I drove home and thought about all of the changes getting married would bring to my routine. I enjoyed spending time with Frank, but I also enjoyed the time I spent with Nana Jo and the girls. They had become my family.
I pulled into the garage.
“Samantha, your mind is a million miles away,” Nana Jo said. “Have you figured out this case?”
“I’m sorry, but I was thinking about something else.”
She waited for me to elaborate. “I was just thinking about how many things would change if Frank and I got married. Don’t get me wrong; I’m sure many of the changes will be for the better. I do care about him. It’s just that I enjoy spending time with you and the girls, and he might not want me to go out as much.”
Nana Jo patted my hand. “Frank has never struck me as particularly possessive or emotionally needy, but you know him better than I do.”
“He’s very independent and has allowed me to be too, but when Leon and I first got married we spent a lot of time together. I think that’s why Mom started having our Sunday time, which was just the two of us.”
“You and Leon were both young. I think that’s normal. Frank’s older and very independent. He has his restaurant, which takes up a lot of his time. I really don’t know how things would change, but you should talk to him.”
We got out of the car, and I noticed a light on upstairs in the building, which indicated that Dawson was there.
When we got upstairs, I was right. He was studying with papers strewn all over the dining room table. There was also the most amazing smell of oatmeal, sugar, and raisins.
Nana Jo sniffed. “What is that wonderful aroma?”
Dawson gathered his papers. “I’m sorry; I didn’t realize how late it was.”
Nana Jo sat down at one of the empty chairs. “Sit down and pass that plate of whatever you’ve been baking over here.”
Dawson pulled his backpack out of the chair so I could sit. “Brown butter oatmeal raisin cookies.”
Nana Jo took a bite. “These are delicious. There’s just one thing missing.” She chewed.
Dawson stared, anxious to hear what was missing.
“Milk. I’m going to need a glass of milk or a cup of coffee.”
“Coffee,” I said. “They are moist and delicious, but I agree. They would be even better with a cup of coffee.” I swallowed, got up, and made coffee for both Nana Jo and me.
Nana Jo looked at her watch. “Are you sure you want coffee this late at night?”
“I may not sleep, but I absolutely want a coffee.” I sat down and drank my coffee and ate three more cookies.
“What are you studying?” Nana Jo said. She stopped munching cookies long enough to glance through the papers.
“Spanish.” He ran his hand through his hair, which was already standing on end from previous gestures. “I shouldn’t have waited so late to complete my language requirement, but I’ve never been great at languages. Heck, I can barely speak English.”
“Maybe I can help,” I said. “What are you trying to do?”
“I have to write an essay in Spanish.” He held up his Spanish dictionary. “But it’s slow going.”
I had taken seven years of Spanish prior to college and then another two years while at the university. At one time, I had been very good. Unfortunately, that was close to twenty years ago. “What can I help with?”
Dawson had a few sentences, but it was clear he had a long way to go. He tossed his pen down. “I just can’t think in Spanish, and it takes me a long time to think up the right words.”
“You’re not going to think in Spanish after one year of basic Spanish. Stop beating yourself up for that. I recommend you figure out what you want to write and just write it in English. Then, once you have that down in English, translate it. It should be faster than plodding along and trying to write it in Spanish.”
Dawson stared at me as though I’d just given him the meaning of life. “I should have thought of that.”
Nana Jo took another cookie. “Your brain is addled right now. You were so nervous about getting this right that you weren’t thinking straight. Now, why don’t you try writing it in English and then translate it, and Sam can look it over for you in the morning.”
Reinvigorated, Dawson pulled out his notebook and started writing. “I do better on paper. If I type it, then I’ll be tempted to use Google Translate, and my professor has already said she is a master at detecting papers that have been translated by Google.”
Nana Jo and I each grabbed a cookie and headed to our rooms to allow him to write in peace. Dawson promised to look after the poodles. Snickers was asleep in his lap, while Oreo was curled up in a ball at his feet. So, I wandered off to take care of my nightly preparations.
The coffee had smelled great and tasted even better, especially when washing down those oatmeal cookies. However, the caffeine kicked in when I tried to sleep, and I found myself tossing and turning. Eventually, I stopped fighting. I got up and flipped on my computer. Writing helped me sort through my problems just as baking helped Dawson. Perhaps a little writing would help me make sense of all the information we’d collected and figure out who’d killed John Cloverton.
Lord James Browning sat
in an armchair near the fireplace. He thought for several moments and then tossed back his brandy. “This is highly confidential and can’t leave this room.”
Each person nodded their consent.
“War with Germany is coming. Despite everyone’s best efforts, it’s going to happen. Even the prime minister has realized there’s no other way.”
Clara gasped and clutched Peter Covington’s hand.
Lord William filled his pipe and huffed, mumbling, “Bloody business, this. Bloody business.”
James took a deep breath. “This war will be different than previous wars. We have so much technology now. Between the wireless, telephones, and telegraphs, we have to provide a way to stay on top of the enemy. Sir Hugh has been tasked with establishing a place for military intelligence. A few years back, he was integral in establishing the Secret Intelligence Service, S.I.S. Unfortunately, we have excellent reason to believe that S.I.S. has been compromised. There’s no way to know how deep the infiltration goes, but with another war looming, we have to be ready. Rather than combining with the old organization, Sir Hugh decided to set up something completely separate. Using his own money, he purchased the Bletchley mansion and fifty-eight acres of land.”
Lord William puffed on his pipe. “Good job, that. No way to keep anything secret if you have to go and ask Parliament for the money to fund your top-secret department.”
“Exactly,” James said. “This way, very few people know the truth about what goes on at Bletchley Pa rk.”
Lady Elizabeth stopped knitting and looked up. “That’s all good and well, but what is going on at Bletchley?”
“It’s the headquarters for the wartime intelligence station,” James said.
Peter Covington frowned. “But what will they do? Why all the young debutantes and college students?”
James stood up. “Its primary mission is sabotage, but Sir Hugh’s vision is that it will be the secret headquarters for Britain’s brightest men and women to work on ways to stop Hitler in his tracks. We know the Germans have some very sophisticated encryption devices. Our hope is that we can figure out ways to crack those so we can stay one step ahead of the Nazis. Bletchley is where the government codes and cyphers will be taught, so being close to the university helps with identifying people. We’ve enlisted mathematicians, scientists.” He glanced at Lady Clara. “People who are good at languages and can help with translations to help the war effort.”
“I see,” Lady Clara said. “That’s why you’ve recruited debutantes. Most of us have spent years learning French and Latin, as well as German.”
“Plus, we believe the young members of aristocratic families are vested in Britain’s success. Most of them come from monied families and won’t be easily enticed by money or power.”
Peter Covington gawked. “You mean all of those people are working for the government?”
“All of them,” Lord Browning said. “They’ve all been sworn to secrecy. They must all sign a document stating that they won’t talk about what happens at Bletchley Park to anyone; not even their family members will know what they’ve done.”
“I’ll be glad to sign up to do my part for England,” Lady Clara said. “I’ll admit I’m not the sharpest when it comes to maths, but I enjoy puzzles and am pretty good at them, and I speak French, German, and Italian fluently.”
“That’s why I thought of you,” James said.
“Look here,” Peter Covington said. “Is this dangerous?”
“Less dangerous than joining the Women’s Royal Naval Service,” James said, “but I’m not sure any place in Britain will be safe once the war starts.” He paced. “Reports coming from Austria and Czechoslovakia indicate that the German forces have been ruthless toward women and children.”
“Dashed unsportsmanlike,” Lord William said.
Lady Elizabeth took a deep breath and set aside her knitting. “Women have always done our part. We may not be able to fight side by side with our men in the trenches to protect our homeland, but I can assure you, when the time comes, we will do what we can.” She turned her full attention to Lord Browning. “Now, James, I take it that Philip Chester was one of these maths experts who was enlisted to help decode messages.”
“Yes, I didn’t know him personally, but he was supposed to be practically a genius. He and a fellow named Turing . . . Alan Turing . . . both signed up together. I gathered that they were really close. I just hope this doesn’t mean Turing will back out. The fellow is a genius, and he’s the one we really need.”
She turned to Peter Covington. “Now, what do you mean this wasn’t the first time?”
“Ever since I got here, there have been . . . accidents,” Covington said. “First, the brakes went out on my car. I ended up driving off in a field and nearly took out a cow.”
“Could it have been an accident?” Lady Daphne asked.
“I had the car checked before I left London. The brakes were fine. When I took it to the garage here, the brake line had been cut in two.” He looked around. “Then there was a car that nearly ran me off the road while I was bicycling. I tried to chalk it up to some fellows who’d had too much to drink, but the more I think about it . . . that car had to have been following me. Now, the poisoned chocolates.”
Lady Clara hopped up. “That just makes me angry that someone would use me . . . well, my name to get to you.”
Lady Elizabeth smiled. “Whoever’s involved in this has obviously been following you. They know about you and Clara.”
“We’ve hardly kept our relationship secret,” Lady Clara said. “We’ve gone to dinners and parties all over London, but . . . who would know about us here in Buckinghamshire?”
“Of course, it’s possible that the attempts don’t have anything to do with Clara. I’m a policeman. I’ve arrested a lot of men who would love nothing better than to take out a member of Scotland Yard. It comes with the territory.”
“True, but there’s something suspicious about this . . . something that goes beyond your being a detective,” Lady Elizabeth said, picking up her knitting. “I think it’s time we figure out who murdered Philip Chester and who’s been trying to kill Peter, and quickly.”
“Why the urgency?” Lady Daphne asked. “I mean, of course we want to make sure that Peter’s safe, but. . . oh, I see.”
Clara glanced from Daphne to Lady Elizabeth. “Well, I wish someone would explain it to me.”
“How did Chester end up eating the poisoned chocolates?” Lady Daphne said. “He was supposed to be on a top-secret mission. If the chocolates were intended for Peter, then how did he get them?”
“You mean whoever killed him may have known what was going on at Bletchley?” Lady Clara asked.
James and Daphne exchanged a long look.
Lady Elizabeth knitted. “If that’s true, this is more than just a case of murder or mistaken identity.”
James sighed. “In fact, all of England could be in grave jeopardy.”
Chapter 18
Unlike many of my previous bouts of late-night writing, this time I not only saved my manuscript, but I also actually got into bed. The next morning, after I showered and dressed, I found Dawson, Snickers, and Oreo curled up on the sofa.
I was just about to wake Dawson when Snickers woke up and took care of the task for me. Dawson made the unfortunate mistake of sleeping with his mouth open. Snickers took advantage of the opportunity and stuck her tongue in his mouth.
He jumped and looked around, trying to get his bearings. When he realized what had happened, he used his sweatshirt to wipe his mouth.
Snickers wasn’t impressed. She stretched and then jumped down.
“You’d better grab a shower,” I said. “I’ll make breakfast, and then we’ll start on your paper.” I headed for the stairs, but he stopped me.
“I might as well take them down to go potty. I’ve got to go down anyway.” He stretched. “Give me fifteen minutes.”
After several minutes, Snickers and Oreo trotted
upstairs, and I knew Dawson wouldn’t be far behind, so I started the eggs and pushed the lever to drop the toast into the toaster. Dawson often made delicious cinnamon rolls, lemon bread, and other pastries, but I tended to stick to traditional breakfasts of bacon, eggs, toast, and coffee. On occasion, I varied my routine and toasted a bagel or English muffin, but that was about as much diversity as I added where breakfast was concerned.
The aroma of bacon drew Nana Jo into the kitchen, and I handed her a hot cup of coffee and a plate. She grunted her thanks, chugged down half the coffee, and sat down to eat and read her newspaper.
I gave Dawson a plate that was piled high with almost double the amount that was on Nana Jo’s and mine. When he started playing football at MISU, his coach wanted him to “bulk up.” So, Dawson had gained over fifty pounds in two years, although he still looked slender. I watched as he scarfed down nearly a half pound of bacon, six eggs, four slices of toast, and a bowl of cereal. I looked down at my two slices of bacon and a half slice of bread and could feel five extra pounds adhering to my hips. Only in my fantasy world would someone ever tell me to bulk up.
After breakfast, Nana Jo went down and opened the store, while Dawson and I worked on translating his essay. It had been a long time since I’d actually written or read anything in Spanish, but it was a bit like riding a bike, and as I continued, it came back to me. I suggested he keep things simple and only use words that were in his small vocabulary. Not surprisingly, his biggest challenge came with conjugating verbs. Present perfect and simple past tenses were common areas of confusion.
“I just don’t understand the difference,” he said. “Both of them happened in the past, so why are there two?”
“Well, there are always going to be exceptions, but I find it easier to think of present perfect to describe what someone has done and is still doing. You’re going to be using the verb haber, which is ‘to have.’ This is usually something that started in the past and is still true now.” He looked puzzled, so I pointed to a sentence in his paper. “Here, you wrote: ‘George lived in London for two years.’” I looked up at him. “Does George still live in London?” He nodded. “Then you’d use the present perfect tense. George had lived.” I scanned the paper for another sentence. “Okay, here you wrote: ‘I baked a cake.’ You’re not still baking that cake. You did it. It’s over and done. So, that’s simple past tense.” I watched the lightbulb go off. He grabbed his paper and quickly made changes to the verb tenses and passed it back. I looked it over and smiled. “Looks good.”
