by V. M. Burns
I was pleased to see that Nana Jo hadn’t body-slammed the detective, although if the vein that was pulsing on the side of her head was any indication, it was taking a great deal of effort on her part to refrain. She gripped the side of the table and took a deep breath before turning back to face the detective. “Great. While D. I. Nelson focuses his mental energy on solving the murders, why can’t we continue on our tour?”
Nelson rocked on the balls of his feet and stared at Hannah Schneider. “If you think I’m going to let a murderer go gali-vanting around the British countryside so she can make a run for it, then you’d better think again.”
“Are you planning to arrest us?” Dorothy asked innocently. “Because if you are, then I need to contact the American Consulate.”
“No one is under arrest . . . yet.”
“If you aren’t planning to arrest us, then what’s to stop the murderer from simply walking away from the hotel?” Ruby Mae asked.
“You won’t be prevented from leaving the hotel, but I will require all of your passports, and you will not be able to leave the country.”
“So, what’s the difference between us staying here in London or going on a bus tour?” Tiffany Blankenship asked. “It’s a lot easier to get lost in a city the size of London than it would be in some place like the Cotswolds or Torquay.” She glanced around. “Isn’t it?”
Nelson sputtered, “Well . . . I . . . obviously I don’t have the manpower to send officers all over the country. We’re much too busy for that.”
I saw a glimmer in Nana Jo’s eye. She plastered on a fake smile. “Of course you are. Which is why we wouldn’t dream of asking someone of your . . . stature to accompany us.”
Unfortunately, I chose that exact moment to take a drink of coffee. I nearly spit my coffee out and choked down the laughter that tried to escape, which started a coughing fit.
Nana Jo patted me on the back in an effort to help. Her back to the detective, she gave me a wink. “D. I. Nelson, you’re obviously too important to babysit a bunch of tourists, but maybe you could have D. S. Templeton babysit us.” Nana Jo hesitated. “Well, that is if you can spare her. I’m sure you find such a smart, young detective like her invaluable when it comes to handling some of the more . . . technical aspects of an investigation.”
Templeton hadn’t been expecting that maneuver, and her face mirrored her surprise.
Nelson gaped at Nana Jo, who smiled back and batted her eyelashes.
I stared at my grandmother in disbelief.
Nelson glanced from Templeton to Nana Jo. His face reflected his inner turmoil. If he refused, then he was acknowledging that he needed Templeton, but if he agreed, then he would be on his own. For a brief moment, a flash crossed his face. He smiled. “Well, that’s a good idea. I can certainly spare D. S. Templeton.” He smirked. “She’ll accompany you on your tour, and of course, I’ll hold her responsible for ensuring that no one makes a break for it.”
Nana Jo clapped her hands. “That’s great.” She turned to our guide. “Clive, please tell me it isn’t too late.”
The tour guide looked baffled, but rallied quickly. “Let me make a few calls.” He grabbed his papers, pulled out his cell phone, and hurried from the room.
Templeton’s eyes asked, What are you doing?
Nana Jo merely winked. “I’m starving. Let’s grab some breakfast.”
We went to the dining room. We ate a hearty breakfast, and once everyone was finished, Nana Jo pulled out her iPad, and we got down to business.
“Now that we’ve managed to get rid of D. I. Bloody Nelson, we can get down to the serious task of catching a killer.”
I looked hard at my grandmother. “What was all that balderdash really about?”
“What do you mean?”
I batted my eyelashes. “Oh, D. I. Nelson, you’re so important.” I batted faster and gave a sickeningly sweet smile. “Poor little ole me couldn’t possibly solve a murder without someone like you.”
Everyone laughed.
“Ugh,” Nana Jo said. “Don’t remind me. I nearly puked in my own mouth.” She turned to Irma. “How do you manage to rattle off all that sickening tripe with a straight face?”
“Flirting and flattery is a dying art,” Irma said. “They used to teach young girls how to flirt and entice men when I was in finishing school.”
I said, “I didn’t know you went to finishing school.”
“Oh, yes. All well-bred young girls went to finishing school in my day. It’s where they taught us how to land a husband.”
I didn’t realize my mouth was open until Nana Jo reached over and closed it. “They actually taught classes with the intent of ‘landing a husband’?”
Irma nodded.
I looked around the table. “Am I the only one who didn’t know this?”
Ruby Mae pulled her knitting out of her purse. “Well, I grew up in the South, and we were too poor for finishing school, but even in the Black community there were women who informally taught us how to put on makeup, dress, and walk in heels with a certain . . .” She smiled. “Oh, I don’t know . . . sway, so as to attract attention.”
Hannah Schneider nodded. “The upper-crust families of Britain sent their daughters to Switzerland for finishing before they came out into society. Of course, my family couldn’t afford to send me to Switzerland, but I did attend Lucie Clayton.” She glanced around and noticed the blank looks. “Lucie Clayton was one of the top finishing schools in Britain and later became a modeling school. When I was there, they taught cookery, flower arranging, makeup, deportment, fashion design, pattern cutting, and dressmaking. They’ve merged with other schools now and offer secretarial courses. I think they’re considered a college these days.”
“I had no idea,” I said. I wondered, and not for the first time, about the wealth of knowledge that my grandmother and her friends possessed.
“Back to business,” Nana Jo said. “D. S. Templeton got me thinking last night. Whoever murdered Habersham and Peabody thinks they’ve gotten away with it. It might be a good idea to have police protection, especially since I don’t have my peacemaker.” She turned to me. “Assignments?”
“Honestly, I think we just need to stick to the same ones we had before when we were investigating Major Peabody’s suspicious death.”
Hannah raised a tentative hand. “What about me? I was supposed to tackle Lavender Habersham, but she’s still in the hospital.”
“I still think we need to talk to her. She might have heard or saw something the night her mother was murdered. But, I don’t think we can eliminate Dr. Vincent and Tiffany Blankenship.”
Hannah gave me a look. “You don’t really think the doctor could have something to do with those murders.”
I took a moment to collect my thoughts before I responded. “I’m not saying they murdered the major or Prudence Habersham, but this case is . . . different.”
Nana Jo frowned. “Different how?”
“I think finding out how the murders were committed is going to be as important as figuring out whodunit. This murderer is cunning and brave. If we can’t figure out how they did it, I think our murderer just might get away.”
Nana Jo stared at me. “You know who it is. You know who murdered those people.”
Chapter 19
I hesitated too long and everyone immediately started pumping me for the name. I held up a hand. “I don’t know who murdered Major Peabody and Prudence Habersham. All I’ve got right now is a lot of questions and a feeling in the pit of my stomach that something is not right. I feel like I’ve been watching a magic show or a play. I feel like there’s been sleight of hand or some type of misdirection, but I just can’t figure out what. I also feel like I’m missing something . . . something to do with the Blankenships, but I just can’t remember what it is.”
“It’s best to stop focusing on it,” Nana Jo said, patting my hand. “Your subconscious will help sort things out. Now, let’s get busy finding some answers.”
>
We got a message that Clive wanted everyone to reassemble in the ballroom, and we hurried to find out if he’d been able to salvage any portion of our tour.
In the ballroom, we took the same seats we’d used earlier. Clive Green hurried into the room, and I could tell from his expression that he had good news.
“It wasn’t easy, but with a few modifications, we should be able to see practically everything.”
We clapped.
He hurriedly passed around handouts with our revised itinerary. When everyone had received a handout, Clive continued his explanation.
“This afternoon, we’ll head to Cotswolds. We won’t have time to do the racetrack today, but we can still take our walking tour of Chipping Campden, which demonstrates the village life that was integral to the world created by authors like Agatha Christie and Dorothy L. Sayers.” He glanced around to catch our reaction. Satisfied, he continued on. “We’ll come back here for the night. Then tomorrow, we’ll go to Torquay.”
I glanced at Hannah Schneider, and her face reflected the same joy that I felt inside.
“We’ll spend one night in Torquay, and then it’s back to London.”
The room bristled with excitement. I could tell that I had a silly grin on my face by the way my cheeks hurt, but I honestly didn’t care. For the life of me, I couldn’t explain what going to the town where Agatha Christie lived and loved and wrote would do for me. The woman had been dead for decades, but more than anything else, I wanted to go to Torquay and now, I was going. Torquay was the major reason I’d selected this particular tour from all of the tour options available. I felt like a kid who just found out she was going to Disney World.
D. I. Nelson held up his hands and tried to get everyone’s attention. “All right, settle down.”
We fixed our attention on the detective.
Nelson stood next to Clive Green. “I’ve given my approval to the continuation of this tour, but there are going to be a few rules.”
I raised an eyebrow and glanced at Nana Jo, who merely shrugged.
Dr. Blankenship asked, “What rules?”
Nelson rocked on the balls of his feet. “First, my sergeant goes along with you.”
Templeton stood by the wall. She didn’t look excited about a chance to visit the home of Agatha Christie, but then she lived in Britain, so maybe she’d been before.
“No one leaves the main tour group,” Nelson said. “None of this . . . personal free time. You all stay together as a group.”
There was a small rumble of opposition.
Nelson excitedly added, “Anyone who doesn’t want to stick to the rules is more than welcome to stay here. Those are the conditions.”
Not surprisingly, given the chance to continue the rest of our tour or stay with D. I. Nelson, everyone chose the tour.
Hannah Schneider raised her hand. “What about Lavender Habersham?”
Clive Green smiled. “In all of the excitement, I forgot to share. I got a call from Lavender, and she would like to continue the tour too.”
Dr. Blankenship said, “Do you think that’s wise? The poor woman’s been through a lot with the shock of her mother’s murder.”
“Actually, the doctors think it might be good for her to be around people rather than sitting at home alone,” Clive said. “Of course, if you feel it would be better if she didn’t go, then I can certainly explain—”
Dr. Blankenship waved away the concerns. “No . . . no, as long as her doctor at the hospital feels she is up to it, then I have no objection.”
“Great. I’m sure I’m not alone in saying that it makes me feel much better knowing we have a medical doctor on the tour.”
Tiffany rolled her eyes, but neither she nor the doctor felt the need to remind us that he was on vacation again. For that, I was truly thankful.
Clive spent a few moments passing along last-minute details. “Then, let’s meet on the bus in one hour.”
I didn’t realize D. S. Templeton was standing behind me until she spoke, and I nearly jumped out of my skin.
“I’m not sure what you’re up to, but I sure hope it doesn’t backfire,” Templeton said.
The bus pulled in front of the hotel, and we all piled inside. D. S. Templeton and a uniformed constable were new additions. Most likely due to prearrangement, the constable sat upfront, while D. S. Templeton moved to the back of the bus. After a brief wait, Lavender Habersham arrived and climbed aboard.
I’m not sure how I expected the woman to look, but I was shocked to find that Lavender Habersham actually looked better than ever. She was still pale and thin, but her cheeks had more color, and her eyes looked excited rather than frightened.
Nana Jo leaned close and whispered, “Looks like her mother’s death is wearing well on her.”
I nudged Nana Jo to hush as Lavender made her way to our seat.
Nana Jo pulled the suitcase from under her seat and passed it to Lavender. “I suspect you’ve been looking for this.”
At the sight of the bag, Lavender’s eyes flashed and her face brightened. “I’ve missed Bella so much.” She squeezed the bag to her chest. “Thank you for looking after her.”
I glanced at Nana Jo, who had the decency to blush. “My pleasure.”
Lavender and Bella headed to the back of the bus.
“You barely had anything to do with that dog!” I whispered.
“I’ve been busy trying to figure out who murdered the woman’s mother. It was my pleasure to hand the responsibility of taking care of an illegal pet over to the hotel staff.”
I chuckled and sat back to enjoy the ride.
The Cotswolds are a rural area that spans five counties in south central and southwest England. Clive sat at the front of the bus and got on his microphone as we approached the area. He explained that the nearly 800-mile area was designated as an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty back in 1966.
“What’s that mean?” Tiffany asked.
“It’s designated for conservation.” He paused for a moment. “It’s similar to the protections from development given to national parks in the United Kingdom but with different governing bodies and limited recreation.”
The bus traveled through rolling green hills dotted with sheep and through golden stone villages with slate- and thatched-roofed limestone cottages. Cotswolds was exactly what I imagined when I read historic cozy mysteries set in small English villages, like Agatha Christie’s Miss Marple mysteries and Heron Carvic’s Miss Seeton mysteries.
Chipping Campden was a small market town in the district of Gloucestershire. In the Middle Ages, it had been a rich wool trading center, but it was now more famous for the fact that it had been hosting its own “Olimpick Games” since 1612 and for the area’s arts and crafts tradition.
Our bus stopped on the terraced high street, and we lined up to follow Clive on our walking tour. The area was a tourist’s haven, so few looked twice as our group passed. The constable stayed on one side of the group, while D. S. Templeton, who had changed from her heels into a pair of sneakers, remained on the other. Given the short time she’d had to prepare, she must have had the shoes close at hand.
I took several pictures of the picturesque village, more for inspiration for my books than as a remembrance for sharing with family and friends. Clive was extremely knowledgeable about the area and stopped to point out landmarks of historic significance and to allow time for shopping in the marketplace. However, he had also fine-tuned his lecture to appeal to mystery lovers. After several hours, we stopped at the Noel Arms Hotel, one of the oldest Cotswold inns.
“Originally devised as a coaching inn for wool traders, the Noel Arms dates from the fourteenth century,” Clive said. “While we weren’t able to stay in this lovely inn this trip, we will still be able to enjoy dinner and drinks. Down a couple of stairs there’s a lounge, a pub, and beyond that is the dining room.”
We walked down the stone steps into the pub. The stone-and wood-paneled walls with dark beamed ceilings made
the room cozy. Normally, Nana Jo, the girls, and I would have all sat together. However, when we were pumping suspects, we had adopted the policy of divide and conquer. Irma and Albus stopped in the pub. Despite being less than five feet tall, Irma climbed on a barstool as if she were six feet. Debra Holt and Sebastian secured a small table in the lounge in front of the fireplace. In the dining room, Dorothy and Oscar Hoffman secured a small table for two. She had, apparently, forgiven him and he had dropped the pretense of not understanding English. With Debra Holt and Sebastian temporarily out of reach, Nana Jo cozied up to Clive Green. Ruby Mae dined with Dr. Vincent and Tiffany Blankenship. Hannah Schneider and Lavender sat together, and I decided to join D. S. Templeton, who was seated alone by the window.
“Mind if I join you?”
D. S. Templeton looked up at me and shrugged.
“I’ll take that as a no.” I pulled out the chair across from her and sat.
We stared at each other for a few moments until the waitress came. I asked for a Diet Coke. Templeton held up two fingers, doubling the order. The waitress hurried to take care of our drinks. After a few more moments of silence, I asked, “Are you angry with the entire world or just me?”
“Not the whole world, just you and your grandmother.”
“Why?”
She leaned forward and pointed her finger. “Because I didn’t graduate top of my class and work my butt off to get stuck on babysitting duty for a bunch of spoiled American tourists.” She breathed hard. “I’m a good cop, but I get stuck as a glorified secretary and babysitter for an old bugger who should have retired long ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
The waitress brought our drinks.
Templeton looked at her glass of Diet Coke and then said, “This isn’t going to cut it. Bring me a bourbon.”
The waitress hurried off, and we exchanged glances for a few seconds and then burst out laughing.
“I’m sorry,” Templeton said. “I realize my plight isn’t your fault.”
“I understand your frustration. However, I do believe Nana Jo was only trying to help.” I leaned forward. “Let’s face it, the murderer is probably one of the people on this tour, so the closer you are to them, the more likely you are to catch the killer.”
