A Simple Country Mystery

by Blythe Baker

  “Are you all right?” Irene asked. “Maybe it would be best if we went straight to Inspector Graves with this information. Would it be better if he were here to talk to her instead?”

  It very well might have been, but something told me that this situation was going to be a great deal like it was with Evangeline, where she would be more willing to talk to me, a nobody, as opposed to the inspector.

  I sucked in a breath through my nostrils, and lifted my hand to knock.

  “What are you doing here?”

  My heart jumped as the voice behind us caught me off guard.

  Irene and I turned around and saw Tessa Harmon coming around the outside of her cottage, a pair of glitzy sunglasses over her pale face, her dark hair pulled back in a knot on top of her head.

  She certainly was a beautiful woman, able to pull off a swing style swimsuit in a deep, navy blue. It was snug, something far tighter than anything I would be comfortable wearing, even in my own back garden.

  She stared at us, her brow furrowing further with every passing moment. “Excuse me, I believe I asked you a question?”

  “My apologies,” I said. “We were coming to pay you a visit.”

  One of her perfectly straight eyebrows arched upward, and her hands went to her hips. “The servers from the teahouse? What could you possibly want with me?”

  I took a step toward her, putting some space between her and Irene. “Mrs. Driscoll is one of the owners of the shop. I just work for her when she needs another set of hands,” I said. “But more than that, I am – ”

  “The girl who took over the haberdashery, yes I know,” she said, a flash in her gaze. “Did I order something that I forgot about or something? Why does it require the both of you to deliver it, hmm?”

  “It certainly doesn’t,” I said. “I am here for another reason, though. I’m working as a consultant with the police department, and – ”

  She snorted with derision. “A consultant? Oh, honey, don’t flatter yourself. You’re telling me that Sam Graves hired you?”

  I blanched. That was not at all the sort of reaction I had expected. “Well, yes,” I said. “I’ve had experience working on some of the more difficult cases that the police have been – ”

  “No,” she said. “First of all, you’re a nobody. Second, There is no way that Sam Graves would ever want the likes of you around.”

  Anger twinged deep within me. I had expected fury or fear when I’d told her why I was there. But outright mockery?

  “If I were you, I would give up on ever trying to get his attention,” she said, lifting her sunglasses off her face and tucking them into her dark hair like a crown. “I’ve been there, done that. The man is a brick wall. Nothing catches his eye. And I can guarantee you that if I wasn’t able to get him to turn his head, then you certainly won’t.”

  I gaped at her. She thought this was about competition for him?

  “I think you have misunderstood me,” I said, a tight smile stretching across my face. “This isn’t about Sam.”

  “Well, that’s good,” she said. “Because I am long over him. You can have him, if you really feel like wasting your time. He’ll break your heart. Mark my words.”

  “I’m quite serious,” I said, my voice taking on an edge. “I am a consultant with the police department, and I have come here to ask you about Mrs. Lowell’s death.”

  She was partway through another explanation about Sam Graves’ apparent disinterest in anything that wasn’t a criminal case, and she froze.

  An icy gaze slowly swept over me, and her jaw tightened. “What did you say?” she murmured, a chill in her words to match the frigid glare.

  I licked my lips. There’s the anger I expected, I thought. “We know that you had a connection to Mrs. Lowell, and – ”

  “I’ve already spoken with Sam,” she snapped, folding her arms. “He already asked me all these questions.”

  “Yes, but we recently learned about your relationship with Mr. Fenton,” I said. “And we know for certain that he had intended to propose to Mrs. Lowell.”

  A brief flash of fear shone in her eyes, but it quickly disappeared as she scoffed. “I have no relationship with Mr. Fenton. I don’t even know who that is.”

  “Really?” I asked. “We have sources that claim to have seen you with him at his store just a few days ago, making it very clear that you wanted his attention.”

  “Harmless flirting,” she said, turning around on her heel and storming off toward the back of her house.

  I didn’t wait for her to ask me to follow her. I was getting closer, and the truth pushed me forward. “We also have sources that claim you were discussing Mr. Fenton as well as Mrs. Lowell quite openly over lunch at the teahouse.”

  She stopped, which caused Irene and I to stop behind her.

  Silence followed, and for a moment, I thought she had begun to cry. I wasn’t certain, but her whole body was so entirely still that I feared for her.

  “Tessa?” I asked.

  Her shoulders began to tremble. Low, slow mumbles began to emanate from her.

  I took a hesitant step toward her. “Tessa, I – ”

  She let out a cry of exasperation, wheeling around and pointing at Irene. “This is your fault!” she shouted, her voice echoing off the side of her house. “You! You were eavesdropping on me! On my private conversation!”

  I threw up my hands, stepping between them once again. “Easy there. It wasn’t her. It was someone else who worked there – ”

  “Then it was you!” she said, turning her burning gaze on me, her piercing shriek making me wince.

  She moved so fast I barely saw her, but she was up in my face, her nose very nearly touching mine.

  “I should have known…” she said. “That one day, the only day I had ever seen you at the teahouse working…Madeline and I thought it was strange, the way you kept coming over to our table and checking on us, leaving other tables completely alone. But I never would have thought that you were eavesdropping!”

  She prodded me in the chest with her thin, perfectly manicured finger.

  “I could have you thrown into jail for stalking,” she said, her words followed by an insidious laugh. “Oh, yes. And don’t forget trespassing! You walked onto my property without my permission, and – ”

  “You have yet to deny my accusations, Miss Harmon,” I said. “Were you, or were you not, involved with Mrs. Lowell’s death?”

  Her chest heaving, she let out an exasperated cry, and turned on her heel.

  She started looking around, knotting her hands in her hair, muttering underneath her breath.

  “Helen…” Irene whispered behind me.

  I glanced over my shoulder.

  Irene’s face, as pale as milk, was fixed on Tessa. “Something’s not right…”

  I looked back over at Tessa, who had begun to pace back and forth across her garden. “…never should have found out. I was careful. Incredibly so. That witch Madeline Woods…she dragged it out of me, coerced me – ”

  “Tessa, why don’t you come with me?” I asked, holding my hand out to her. “You can come with me to the police station, where I’m sure that Inspector Graves will want to ask you a few more questions, and – ”

  “No!”

  She ceased her nervous pacing, her gaze like daggers as she glowered at us.

  “I didn’t do anything – ” she said, stooping to pick up a garden trowel that was lying beside a wicker basket near the rose bushes. “I am innocent.”

  My heart skipped as I watched the slow, deliberate motions she took to stand back to her feet, turning toward us. She gripped the trowel like a knife, and started toward us.

  “Tessa,” I said, nearly tripping over one of the stones in the path as I walked backward. “Put the trowel down.”

  “You didn’t hear anything…no one did,” she said, her gaze distant, her voice mumbled.

  “Helen,” Irene said sharply. “We need to – ”

  “Nothing�
�nothing…nothing,” Tessa said, still walking toward us.

  I looked around for something to defend myself with. The only thing that I could find was a broom, which was better than nothing.

  Just as I reached for it, turning my gaze from her for a fraction of a second, she lashed out at me, the metal of the trowel gleaming in the late morning sun.

  I deflected the trowel just in time with the handle of the broom, hoisting it in the air between us.

  The force of the collision knocked Tessa off balance, and she staggered backward.

  She straightened, her teeth gritted as she glared at me.

  “You didn’t hear anything.”

  “Freeze!” called another voice.

  I whipped around, and my heart leapt into my throat.

  Sam Graves stood just on the other side of the low, stone wall surrounding Tessa’s garden…his pistol drawn and ready, pointed directly at her.

  17

  I knew that if I never heard Tessa’s pitiful sobs and her attempted bribery ever again, it would be too soon.

  As soon as she saw Sam, the trowel had dropped from her hand. She sagged to the ground, her hands trembling, and played the part of the cornered victim incredibly well. She burst into tears, clawing at her face, begging Sam to take me away and punish me for what I had done to her.

  I was grateful for Sam’s trust in me, because he saw through her outburst as easily as if she were a child.

  Two other officers showed up with the police car shortly after, the red light affixed to the roof spinning and flashing.

  It only took Sam a few moments to extract the information he needed from her.

  Within a quarter of an hour, Tessa Harmon was handcuffed and being loaded into the back of the police car, gnashing her teeth and snarling at the officers to get their hands off of her.

  “Well, once again, your instincts appear to have been correct,” Sam said as we watched the other two officers climb back into the car, Tessa sobbing hysterically in the backseat. “You were suspicious about Tessa, and I was ready to brush her aside. Perhaps my history with her made it that much easier to do.”

  There was part of me that wanted to ask him about what sort of history they had, just to hear about how she had thrown herself at him, but I decided to hold my tongue. “Yes, well, if it wasn’t for Irene telling me about what she’d overheard this morning at the teahouse – ”

  Sam looked over the top of my head to Irene, who stood behind me.

  “Oh, I’m terribly sorry, Inspector Graves,” Irene said. “Please don’t be angry with Helen. Nathanial and I were just trying to help her, and – ”

  Sam nodded. “Yes, your husband is the reason why I’m here,” he said. “He came right to the station and told me about Miss Harmon’s conversation with Miss Woods. I headed over here as soon as he finished telling me everything.”

  Irene laid a hand over her heart. “Oh, Nathanial…” she murmured.

  “I imagine he won’t be too happy to know that you were here,” Sam said. “He thought you were back at the teahouse.”

  Irene flushed. “Yes, I know. I need to go and make things right with him.” She looked over at me, smiling, and threw her arms around my neck. “I’m so relieved that you are all right. I was worried you were going to get hurt.”

  “I’m fine,” I said.

  “You were very quick thinking, though, reaching for that broom,” she said.

  She pulled away, her eyes shining with tears. “I have half a mind to lock you up in my kitchen, you know. That way I will know you are safe.”

  We laughed, and she stepped away. “I’ll call on you later, all right?” she asked.

  “Of course, I look forward to it,” I said.

  She waved as she hurried off, leaving Sam and I standing in Tessa’s front garden.

  “I will certainly have to question her,” Sam said. “But I think it’s more important that she has a chance to speak with Nathanial first. Besides, I imagine he told me almost everything she would know.”

  “That’s likely,” I said. “As Nathanial was the one to overhear the conversation between Tessa and Miss Woods today.”

  “Another one I’ll have to question,” Sam said, sighing heavily. “Though from Tessa’s actions, I really don’t think it will be too hard to get a clear story from Miss Woods.”

  He smiled down at me, a rather pleased glimmer in his eye.

  “Well done, Mrs. Lightholder. I’m impressed with your detective skills.”

  “Thank you, Inspector,” I said.

  “If you would be so kind as to walk back to the station with me, I can get a full statement from you for our records, and make sure that you get a chance to sit down once your nerves stop singing,” he said.

  “I would like that,” I said. “Very much.”

  I did just that. I walked back to the station with him, helping him to put the rest of the pieces together. His eyes narrowed slightly when I told him about the way she was pursuing Mr. Fenton again, but I kept Tessa’s comments about my relationship with him to myself. I didn’t need to jeopardize anything between us with it.

  I spent the rest of the afternoon at the station, filling out paperwork, getting examined by the local doctor, and reassuring everyone that I was, indeed, just fine.

  All I wanted to do by the end of the day was just to excuse myself and go home for a rest.

  Even though I was completely fine, realizing that Tessa would likely never have been able to kill me with that trowel like she wanted to, I was still exhausted.

  That, and it was quite troubling to realize that she had killed Mrs. Lowell out of jealousy…which she freely admitted to Sam Graves, no more than five minutes into their questioning. Jealousy. Because she was infatuated with Mr. Fenton.

  From her record, she would have likely moved past him eventually…and now, because of her actions, she would never get the chance to be with him.

  Not that he would have ever wanted to be with her in the first place.

  As I was leaving the station, I saw him walk into the building, a petrified look on his handsome face. My heart sank as I walked past him, knowing that the news of who killed Mrs. Lowell was going to devastate him, and it was going to be like losing her all over again.

  I made my way home, grateful for the quiet and the peace that solving a case like this brought.

  As I unlocked the door to my home, I realized this was the third time I had experienced a case like this. Three times I had learned dark truths. Three times innocent people had lost their lives as a result of others’ selfishness.

  It was hard to stomach, and so I set my thoughts on enjoying a good book, perhaps a slice of Irene’s apple crumb cake, and settling into a hot, sudsy bath.

  I trudged up the stairs, my limbs heavy, my head buzzing. There was a soft ringing in my ears, and I couldn’t quite shake it.

  I flicked on the light upstairs, sighing with relief.

  I found my teacup from breakfast that morning waiting on the dining table in the middle of the kitchen, the last few sips having lost their heat long ago. The ceramic jar where I kept the sugar cubes sat beside it, patiently waiting to be used once again.

  The grey jacket I wore when it rained was draped over the back of one of the chairs, the sleeves stiff from drying in that position.

  I let out another sigh, wandering back toward the bedroom. Food could wait. The bath, however, certainly could not.

  I took one step into the sitting room, which was still somewhat dark…and something crunched beneath my feet.

  I thought my heart would stop.

  I looked down, and saw something glinting off the carpet.

  The blood pounded in my ears as I slowly made my way to the lamp on the side table, and flicked on the light.

  Little shards of glass glittered on the floor, perfectly still and wickedly sharp.

  I looked around, wondering where on earth it had come from. A quick glance up at the window told me it wasn’t from there. It wasn’t f
rom the mirror behind the sofa. And it wasn’t from any of the vases or other breakable items around…

  It was a moment before I wandered around the other side of the coffee table…and found a picture frame overturned, sitting atop some of the broken glass.

  I stooped and picked it up, shaking some shards from it.

  My heart sank when I saw it was the photograph of Roger and me.

  I froze. This hadn’t been broken this morning. And if it had simply fallen from its place on the credenza, it wouldn’t have shattered across the room the way it had, or splintered the frame.

  It must have been thrown…I thought, icy fear prickling my skin.

  Did that mean…that someone had broken in…again?

  Frightened, I stood, clutching the frame to my chest.

  Why this photo? Why attack me in such an emotional way?

  I did a quick search throughout the rest of the flat, and found nothing else out of sorts in the sitting and dining areas. Everything in the kitchen was fine, as well.

  But as I stepped into the bedroom…I found something else amiss.

  The shadowbox that I had collected all of Roger’s letters into and hung on the wall near my bed was lying on the floor, broken open, my hairbrush lying beside it. More splintered glass was strewn about on the floor.

  And the shadowbox was completely empty, all of the letters that I’d tucked inside missing.

  My knees gave way beneath me, and I grabbed the wall as I slid down to the floor, my hands trembling.

  The burglar wasn’t after my belongings. Just like the last times, my jewelry was safe, my money was secure, and all of my inventory down in the shop was undisturbed.

  Whoever it was that kept breaking into my home was after something to do with Roger.

  My nerves sang as I looked down at the photo of Roger in my arms, and tears welled up in my eyes.

  “What happened?” I asked him, his smiling face a reflection of much happier times in our life. “What do these people want with you?”

  I looked away, knowing full well that he wouldn’t answer me.

  But answers were what I needed. Now more than ever.

  The time had finally come to track this person down. I needed to find out exactly who it was that was continually breaking in and threatening my privacy the way they were.