I followed Ella to the outskirts of the village, past the Harrington Farm, advertising an upcoming auction, and I remembered the murder that had happened practically on the day I arrived. Another mile farther on, and we started passing some very nice houses. Ella pulled into the driveway of one. I followed her, and we could hear the barking coming from the back. I did have a glance around, wondering where Nigel kept his car. Probably in the closed garage, but I’d have given a lot to see if it was a light colored vehicle, sporting a temporary tire.
A middle-aged woman opened the door and watched worriedly as I got out of the car. Ella got out of hers at the same time and I heard the gasp as she spotted me in my uniform. “It’s okay, Mrs. Battersley. Sergeant O’Leary has to familiarize himself with all the procedures. He’s only here to observe. You remember that someone reported Monty, and I wanted Sgt O’Leary to see him, so he would know the difference between a Pit Bull and a Staffy.”
Her demeanor lightened a bit, and she beckoned us both in. I was expecting her to point out I could look at a computer, but she didn’t. The look I got from Nigel as we followed her into the kitchen could have incinerated me on the spot, though. I was immediately introduced to Monty who could obviously smell Watson and thought I needed a tongue bath. Chuckling, I got down on the floor, not caring about my uniform. A little dog drool wouldn’t hurt it, and was considerably better than some of the body fluids I had gotten on me in Atlanta.
We were immediately offered coffee, which we accepted, and Nigel got up and surprisingly shook my offered hand when I stood. Maybe since I wasn’t here after his dog, he’d lightened up.
“I’m not working your brother’s case, sir. So I can’t discuss that or anything else. I’m simply accompanying Miss Knight on her rounds today to get a feel for any issues that may come up.”
Nigel Battersley kept hold of my hand a fraction too long, and I couldn’t decide if it was his attempt at being intimidating or if he was just trying to decide if we were telling the truth. “Sergeant,” he acknowledged and dropped my hand returning to one of the kitchen chairs and gesturing to the other. I took the hint and sat down. He looked at Ella. “Please accept my apologies for the way I’ve spoken to you in the past, Miss Knight. It has been a fraught twelve months, but that is no excuse.”
Nigel’s wife, Stella, as she insisted we call her, beamed in delight and obvious relief and bustled about getting coffee and some excellent banana nut bread which she confessed wasn’t homemade but she had bought in the village.
We chatted about dog breeds in general and the UK laws versus the American ones and then Mr. Battersley asked me abruptly if I found having to move from Atlanta upsetting. Interestingly enough, Stella scooted closer at that point and he took her hand.
“I miss my buddies,” I replied honestly, “but I was ready for a change.” I glanced at Ella. “And Adlebury has attractions I never expected.” Ella dipped her head, but I was pleased to see the smile before she hid it.
I glanced back at the Battersleys. “I understand you emigrated to Australia?”
Mr. Battersley nodded. “We went straight from University on a temporary visa initially. Stella came home to start her nurse training and I got a math’s degree so I could do accounting.”
“We always wanted to return,” Stella explained. “It took another five years for us both to get suitably qualified for a skilled residency visa. You call it a green card.” I nodded.
“And I was what you might as well call a mamma’s boy,” Mr. Battersley said dryly. “I never got on with either my dad or Roger, and I never forgave my father for the way he treated my mum.”
I tilted my head inquiringly. This was new.
“I suppose you would call it a classic story. Mum had both Roger and me and stayed at home to be a good wife and mother. Dad decided that she wasn’t good enough and had an affair with his secretary. He divorced my mum, and they married.”
“Why is there trouble over the will?” I said bluntly. “If there was no love lost between you and your father, I mean.”
Humor chased Nigel Battersley’s face as if he appreciated my bluntness. “My mum was the one who had the money, you see. She bought dad’s partnership for him, but because she was also gullible she handed over all the finances to him. She had to move in with her sister when they divorced, because my dad had screwed her over so badly. She died of breast cancer two years later, and I never forgave him. I felt as if the money should be equally distributed, as apparently, did he. It was Roger who was contesting.”
“Nigel wants the money to sponsor one of those mobile vans that comes around villages and does breast screening,” Stella added.
“I see,” I said quietly. The fact Roger had resented his father and brother didn’t give him any alibis. The fact he loved his mother, though, meant he wasn’t as cold hearted as maybe I first thought. “You were at the hospital with your stepmother. Are the two of you on friendly terms?”
“I wouldn’t say friendly. Cordial, I suppose. Both my parents are gone now, so it seems pointless to hold a grudge.”
What made you decide to return to the UK?” I changed the subject before either Ella or he decided to start talking about the case, which I definitely would get into trouble for.
“That was me,” Stella admitted. “Ridiculous really, but after being the most eager of the two of us to go, I ended up being the most homesick.”
“Stella’s twin sister had I.V.F. treatment and consequently gave birth to triplets three years ago. Her mum and dad are getting older, and we felt we would like our kids to get to know all their family. They were born in Australia, so they can always return as adults should they decide later.” Nigel stood up and I drained my coffee and did the same. I hoped Nigel didn’t kill his brother, because I was beginning to think better of the man after all. Though he did seem almost a little too good to be true. Good husband and father, loyal to his mom and even wanted to give up his inheritance to sponsor a mobile van that would help fight breast cancer. How altruistic of him.
The next minute I was admonishing myself not to be so cynical. There actually were nice people in the world, after all. I just didn’t run into many of them in my line of work.
He showed us to the door then paused. “I know you said you can’t discuss Roger’s death, but I’m assuming they have his notebook and all his crack pot theories in it?”
“They do,” I confirmed. “But I won’t ever see—”
“Yes.” Nigel raised his hand. “I understand.” He grinned. “Knowing Roger, they’ll take a year to run down all his crazy theories.”
Ella smiled. “The gangs?”
Stella chuckled. “And the crazy ex-girlfriend.” I froze, but Stella never noticed. “Is that really bad of me? He was my brother-in-law, but he wasn’t really a nice man.”
“Crazy ex-girlfriend?” Ella asked in a deliberately casual voice, dashing my hopes she hadn’t been paying attention.
Stella nodded and glanced at her husband. “Was that before or after the gang hit conspiracy theory?”
Nigel shrugged and shook his head, and we said goodbye. We walked to Ella’s car and got in. “Crazy ex?” She turned to me excitedly.
I nodded. “But, it might be as ridiculous as the teenage gangs.”
“And it might not.” Ella started the car, and I glanced at her. “We need to get a look at that notebook.”
I wasn’t sure whether the determined look on her face was a good thing or a really bad one.
Chapter Thirteen
Ella
News of a possible crazy ex-girlfriend of Rogers’s gave me all the incentive I needed to reopen my personal investigation, even though I knew that Garrett didn’t totally approve. He had offered to help, and I knew he would try. But I also knew he was constrained by what he thought was his proper role in the investigation, and I didn’t think he’d be as willing as I was to explore every avenue and listen to all the village talk. Village talk really was the life’s blood of a small place
like Adlebury. Garrett had made it clear that he didn’t approve of “gossip,” as he called it. Put that way, it did seem a bit unsavory, but so long as people weren’t spreading rumors or getting too personal, and as long as I didn’t spread it all any further, I didn’t see anything wrong with listening to a bit of it—strictly for investigative purposes.
Lily was the queen of it all, of course. It seemed as if she knew most everything that was going on in the village and the surrounding areas, and I could usually count on her to provide the details on most of it. If I wanted to know the latest news, I went to Lily right away, but Lily was careful not to pass on any unfounded rumors or misinformation, if she knew that’s what it was. Besides, if she’d known anything about Roger’s mysterious ex, she would surely have mentioned it when she was working on her whiteboard the other day.
No, for this kind of investigative work, I’d need to go to one of the true purveyors of local gossip, both old and new—and someone who didn’t mind overly much if the gossip was unfounded or not. Someone like Mary Appleby.
Mrs. Appleby was in her eighties and was often seen around the village, her bright eyes undimmed by age and her inquisitive little nose firmly stuck into everyone else’s business. I knew her well, of course, as did everyone in Adlebury, but mainly because of her little dog, Ginger. Ginger was a dog of decidedly mixed origins, who had aspirations of being an Irish setter. She had the distinctive deep red, luxurious coat, not to mention the lovely fringe of a tail, usually waving happily as she trotted alongside Mrs. Appleby on her lead. But her body was more that of a basset hound, long, heavy and tubular. Her little legs seemed too small to carry around such a big body, but she gave it all she had, and she always seemed to be laughing when she came to see me, her mouth open with her tongue lolling out the side.
Mrs. Appleby had brought her in only a few weeks ago, in fact, saying that she’d been trembling, acting miserable and occasionally vomiting for the past two days. Ever since her granddaughter had been over with her little boy and he and Ginger had played with a small rubber ball. A diagnosis was not hard to come by after that bit of information. After x-rays showed the ball in her stomach, and I had done surgery to remove it, Ginger had been fine and was soon back on her daily rounds with her mistress.
I wondered, though, if I shouldn’t stop Mrs. Appleby the next time I saw her around the village, and just check on Ginger’s healing incision—to be on the safe side. After all, Mary Appleby always had Ginger by her side as she made her rounds most every day. It wouldn’t be hard to find the two of them at lunchtime, as she stopped by the pub most days to have the daily special and to fortify herself for the walk home with a pint of Guinness.
That very noon, when we broke for lunch, Katie and I drove down the street to the Drunken Duck. Today’s special was steak and kidney pudding with a side of mashed potatoes and peas. I figured Mary would be there, because Eric really did a nice steak and kidney pudding, and because I knew he gave Mary a pensioner’s discount on her meals.
Sure enough, when we arrived, I saw Mary at a table in the back of the pub, with Ginger sitting beside her with her head in Mary’s lap. Like Garrett did for Watson, she was passing the dog little scraps of crust under the table. I steered Katie in their direction, and we stopped by the table.
“Hello, Mary. Do you mind if we sit with you?”
The blue eyes swept over us eagerly. “Oh no, please do,” she said, clearing her shopping bag off the closest chair. “It’s good to see you both. Katie, how is your mother? I haven’t seen her lately.”
We settled ourselves at the table, and I turned to catch Eric’s eye to let him know we both wanted the special. When I turned back, Katie was already embroiled in a discussion of the Netflix TV show, The Crown, with Mrs. Appleby giving Katie her own detailed opinion on why Olivia Coleman was much better as Queen Elizabeth than Claire Foy. I was mostly just amazed that Mary even watched Netflix.
Since we were waiting for our food, I knelt down beside Ginger and got a quick look at her incision, pleased to see it was pale pink and healthy looking. I got back in my chair and found Mary waiting with a little gleam in her eye. “So, Petronella, I heard you and your policeman went up to London to see a show. How was it?”
I could feel myself blushing a little and reminded myself that it had been my idea to seek her out. “It was the ballet, Mrs. Appleby, and it was very nice. But Garrett is not my policeman, you know. You really shouldn’t call him that. He’s a good friend, that’s all. And he had an extra ticket given to him. I was simply keeping him company.”
“Oh, I see. Keeping company, is it? Is that what they call it these days? That’s what we used to say in my day, too. Funny how things go back around.”
I sighed and bit down on my tongue, not bothering to mention that it wasn’t what I’d meant at all. Thankfully, Eric arrived with our food just then, and Katie asked him about Maisie.
“She’s working this evening, so I told her to stay home until later. She’s fine though, thanks for asking.”
He was busy, of course, with the lunch crowd, so he left after dropping off our plates. Mrs. Appleby leaned in conspiratorially. “Such a shame about Maisie, don’t you think? I know you’re good friends with her, Petronella. What do you think about her arrest for murder?”
“I think it’s a terrible mistake, Mrs. Appleby. Anyone who knows Maisie knows just what a wonderful, sweet girl she is.”
She widened her eyes—probably at my sharpish tone—and sat back in her chair. “Oh yes, of course.”
“I was wondering,” I said, taking a sip of my Guinness. “Did you know anything about Roger Battersley? The man who was on the road that night? I believe he grew up in Adlebury so I thought you might remember him.”
“Why yes, I knew of him. But when you say know anything about him? Like what?”
“Like people that he knew? Old girlfriends? That kind of thing. I was just curious about his history. I only knew him slightly, you see, through Maisie.”
“Let me think,” she said, putting a small arthritic finger up to her cheek and tapping gently. “Roger Battersley…well, there was a lot of recent gossip, what with him accusing that poor man’s grandfather of being a Nazi. Muller, that’s the name. Quite the scandal that was.”
“Yes ma’am, but anything else? Maybe farther back?”
“Hm, there was that thing years ago…back when he was just a lad. Some trouble with a girlfriend in school. Yes, that’s it.”
“Trouble? What kind of trouble?”
“Well,” she said, leaning in and beginning to enjoy herself. “They got into an actual fistfight right on High Street.”
“A fistfight?” Katie said, her eyes wide. Katie and I both would have been in primary school when Roger was in secondary, so this was fascinating, new information to us both. “Surely not!”
“Oh yes. She was a strong girl. Of course, Roger was never all that large a man himself. She caught him with another girl, you see. She came roaring up in her father’s car and swerved over so they both had to jump for it. Came right up on the sidewalk. Then she got out of the car in front of Mary’s Berries, pushed the girl into a basket filled with wine on sale and then jumped on Roger when he went to help the girl. She got the better of him, too, at first, because he was just trying to hold her off. Mary’s husband had to come out and help him with her. She got back in her car and drove off before the constable came.”
“My goodness. Do you know who she was?”
“Yes, she was one of the Ainsworth girls. A pretty girl, but quiet. Still waters run deep though, as they say. That whole family moved to Bristol years ago.”
“Oh, they did?”
“Yes. The father was a teacher. He took a job in a private school there. I never heard what became of any of the family once they left Adlebury.”
“I see. Any other exes of Roger’s that you know about?”
“No, not really…” She cocked her head as if she were thinking hard. “Roger Battersley h
ad a lot of women in his life, though. He was well-known for it. As I’m sure your friend Maisie would have eventually found out.” She turned her head almost coquettishly. “Or maybe she did find out at that.”
I was still fuming a bit after we got back to the clinic, though I suppose I had no one to blame but myself. I’d heard that people in the village were wondering about Maisie, but this was the first time I’d actually come across it, other than the first night I met Nigel Battersley outside the movie theater. I just put that down to bad manners at the time.
But then at the wine tasting at the W.I., I’d heard a few whispers when people thought I wasn’t paying attention, and I overheard a couple of rude comments about Maisie. How much worse it must have been for her.
It was a long day, and I was more than ready to just go to bed when I got home. I noticed Garrett wasn’t home, and I knew Sherlock would be next door with Watson and Lily. The thought of an uninterrupted bath sounded perfect, especially as Lily would be glued to her soaps, so there was no point calling her to make sure she was okay.
My phone rang just as I walked into my cottage, and I answered it without looking at the caller I.D.
“Darling!”
“Hi Mum,” I answered closing the door behind me. “How are you and Dad?”
There was an evil chuckle. “Wonderful, especially as I understand you are getting very friendly with a certain good looking American.” I groaned. Lily.
“And I understand it’s not a case of assimilating him into village life, but more like being thrown head first.”
I snickered and told her about the latest escapade with the wine tasting. I didn’t tell her what happened immediately afterwards though. They would both worry if they knew.
“Anyway, do you remember the Leadshams?”
“David Leadsham?”
Mum made a disapproving noise. “I actually meant Chris, their daughter; trust you to mention David.” I smiled remembering my tomboy phase and the trouble David and I would get up to. “Chris is getting married next Saturday, and the Leadshams invited us, so we thought we’d make a weekend of it and go see your Aunt Hilda. I made a non-committal noise. I could never stand her. Hilda Knight was actually an aunt of my dad’s, and to be honest, I was surprised she was still alive, not just because she was old, but simply that no one had yet murdered her.
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