“What do we do now?” I wondered aloud. “We’ve landed smack-dab in the middle of something, and given this mess, I can’t see how Alice could have accidentally fallen and hit her head.”
“Girls,” Belle said from the doorway where she stood with Dickens, “don’t you think we need to call Gemma?”
“Ummm, not yet,” I said. “I mean, we had to come over to tend to the cat, and since we’re here, what’s the harm in looking around—before we make the call?”
“Right,” said Wendy, “Because Alice is—I mean was—a constant in our lives, we may pick up on something the police wouldn’t. But we need to move quickly . . . and carefully. Gemma’s gonna have a fit if she thinks we did anything more than take care of Tigger. It can’t look like we’ve been digging around.”
“Isn’t that exactly what you two are doing?” asked Belle. “But, hey, I’ll be the lookout, so have at it.”
“Wouldn’t it be lovely,” I said, “if it were like what we see on TV, a big muddy footprint on the floor that points to an obvious suspect? Oh, but speaking of TV gives me an idea. We need to take photos so we can study this later. I’ll start in the bedroom.”
“I wish we had gloves,” said Wendy. “All we need is for the police to find our fingerprints and think we’re the cause of this mess.”
“Try wrapping your sleeve around your hand. I’m wrapping my sweater around mine, and I’m trying not to touch much. That’s the best we can do,” I said. “That makes the photos all the more important. Wait, I can't believe this, I see one of my Frog Prince figurines on the dresser. What’s it doing here?” I was about to snatch it up but thought better of that move. I’d have to get it from Gemma later.
Dickens started towards the kitchen and Wendy hollered, “Oh no, Dickens, don’t go in there! Gemma will have our heads if she finds pawprints on the floor.”
“Dickens, is that your name?” called Tigger. “It was a man, it was a man who did all this. I was scared almost to death.”
“Yes, I’m Leta’s dog. Try not to worry; she’ll take good care of you. Do you think the man found something while he was here?”
“Once I hid beneath the bed, I couldn’t tell you what he did, but he was cursing the whole time he was here, so I don’t think he found what he came for.”
“I see Alice’s big blue purse tossed in the corner,” said Wendy. “And it looks to be missing its strap.”
I popped my head out of the bedroom. “That’s it! That’s what didn’t seem right. Why didn’t Alice have her purse with her?”
Wendy tiptoed to the corner, picked up the purse, and opened it wide. A tiny spiral notepad was tucked in an inside pocket. “Whatever they were looking for, they must have missed this pad,” murmured Wendy. “It seems to be Alice’s schedule of clients, all of us whose houses she cleaned.
“Leta, you’re down for Tuesdays, Mum and I are on Mondays and Thursdays, and Libby’s listed for mornings daily at the inn, and so on. It looks like she did the rooms at the inn late morning after breakfast and then visited the rest of us when she finished there. I didn’t know she cleaned for so many people. Peter, Rhiannon, Toby, Beatrix at home and at the Book Nook, and those are just the ones I know. She was one busy lady.”
“Let me get pics of the pages before you put it back,” I said. “I didn’t see anything else suspicious in the bedroom—besides the mess and my figurine, that is.”
“What figurine?” asked Wendy.
I’m sure my indignation was evident. “Well, I can hardly believe it, but it’s one of the Frog Prince figurines Henry gave me. I don’t how it could have wound up here, and I’ve a mind to take it back right this minute, but I guess it’s evidence of some sort.”
Wendy looked shocked. “What? Something from your cottage is here, in Alice’s flat? What can that mean?”
I was just about to say it was time to call Gemma when I heard Belle say, “Why, good afternoon, Gemma. Is this handsome young man your partner?”
Too late, I thought as I walked to the door to explain about the cat.
Constable James seemed speechless at the sight of me, my dog, and two strange women at the victim’s house. It was clear Gemma was furious.
“What on earth . . .” she spluttered. “I thought you were going home, Leta. Why are you here? And why are Wendy and Belle here with you?”
It was Belle who jumped in to explain in her best little old lady voice. “We were beside ourselves with worry over the poor cat, and none of us wanted to come here alone, so we piled in Leta’s car without another thought and came to Tigger’s rescue. We didn’t mean any harm.”
Gemma looked flummoxed. I could tell she was finding it difficult to be angry with Belle. Besides, she had to know the idea for this excursion had come from me or Wendy or both of us—not Belle. In a reasonably calm voice, Gemma said, “Just tell me what you’ve touched.”
I went into great detail about hearing poor Tigger crying, pulling him out from under the bed, and giving him water and food. Then I glossed over the rest while Wendy stood by nodding her head. “We were just getting ready to leave and take Tigger with us. He obviously can’t stay here.”
Gemma gritted her teeth, muttered something about meddling old fools, and ushered us all out with a stern warning to go home and stay out of the way.
Chapter Four
On the drive back to Sunshine Cottage, we went back and forth between vowing not to interfere any further in the police investigation and rationalizing why we couldn’t let it go.
“Ladies, this isn’t practical,” I said.
“But we three have the best chance of figuring this out,” argued Wendy.
“What do you mean?” asked Belle. “We’ve all said we didn’t really know her that well.”
“Think about it, Mum. Maybe we don’t, but I bet you’re the only one of her clients who’d ever been to her flat. She only cleaned for everyone else; she cooked for you and drove you around to run errands. You two had more of a relationship.
“And Leta had enough of a relationship with her to know she had a cat named Tigger, and we three are awfully observant. I can assure you neither Peter nor Toby noticed she suddenly had new outfits and new jewelry. And forget Rhiannon,” scoffed Wendy. “The only thing she might’ve noticed would be Alice’s aura. A lot of help that would be.”
Belle nodded her head in agreement and added, “Peter may have noticed the new car. He owns a garage, after all. But Toby, I think he’s too focused on keeping his business and his marriage alive.”
I gave Belle a sidelong glance at that comment and wondered what she was hinting at before I said, “We know her best because she cleans for everyone else when they’re at work. Even when she cleans the rooms at the Inn, Gavin and Libby are either in their office or dealing with guests or attending to all the million other things they have to do. We’re the only ones who’re at home when she visits our houses.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” I groaned. “It’s sounding more and more as though it’s up to us to figure this out.”
Belle wasn’t convinced. “Why isn’t it up to Gemma? Why would she need us?”
“Nuances,” I said. “It’s nuances and connections we can pick up on because Alice worked for us and so many of our friends. Some of those subtleties might get by the police.”
Wendy nodded in agreement, and Belle threw up her hands. “That’s it, then. In for a penny, in for a pound, but not without my afternoon nap.”
That remark made us all chuckle as we pulled up to Sunshine Cottage. Wendy carried Tigger inside, and I helped Belle out of the car and to the door. I could use a nap too, I thought as I drove off.
I couldn’t help second-guessing myself all afternoon. “Dickens, I can’t believe what I’ve gotten myself into. You know I always look before I leap, and I’m practical to a fault. Henry used to complain that I overthought and over-planned everything. He couldn’t even get me to spontaneously have a cookout. And now look at me.”
“Oh my
gosh, Dickens,” Christie meowed, “What have you let her get herself into?”
“Don’t look at me,” barked Dickens. “I thought it was only a morning walk, and before I knew it, there was a dead body, police, and a surprise cat rescue. This is a never-before-seen Leta.”
Dickens and I rehashed the tale for Christie, ate a snack, and tried to set the morning’s adventure aside. I was exhausted. They, whoever they are, say stress will wear you out. Guess this morning qualified as stressful.
Dickens was already taking a nap, and I desperately wanted to take one too but needed to finish another column before the day was over. At least working on “Parker’s Pen” would take my mind off the immediate problem. Just recalling how Henry and I together had come up with the name as a play on my name, Aleta Petkas Parker, brought a smile to my face.
“You know, Christie, my columns are always lighthearted reads, and I’m not feeling particularly lighthearted at the moment,” I said.
“I bet you’re not,” meowed Christie. “I have an idea. Why don’t you write about me and Dickens arriving at Heathrow and getting to ride to Astonbury in your London taxi? You’ve already written about your decision to move here and how you found a schoolhouse to live in. Don’t you think they’ll be happy to hear that we’re here too?”
“Brilliant! I can describe the racket you two made, and you can remind me of the sights we saw on the drive.”
Huffed Christie, “Must I remind you that my carrier was on the floorboard, and I saw absolutely no sights once we left the airport?”
My little princess never minced her words. Christie offered input on the sights and sounds at Heathrow, and I took it from there. The column came together easily and was a happy distraction. We two moved to the bedroom, and Christie took up her usual nap position curled against my side. To my surprise, I was able to drop off to sleep right away and awake rested.
My first thought was to call Wendy. “Would you and Belle like to come over for a light dinner so we can look at the photos we took at Alice’s flat? I can upload them to my computer so we can see them more easily.”
“Ooh, will you make one of your Greek salads?” asked Wendy. “You know Mum and I both love them.”
“Well, if that’s what it takes to get you over here, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll run to the bakery to get some bread, and we’ll be set.”
I opened a bottle of red wine and prepped the salad. I’d just set out a bowl of almonds when Belle and Wendy pulled up.
I’d had Wendy over to my cottage several times, but not Belle. As she admired my cozy kitchen, I explained that my Atlanta kitchen had been decorated much the same—in reds and golds with a hint of green. She agreed the colorful chair cushions, curtains, and rugs combined to make the kitchen warm and inviting.
I took her on the rest of the tour. In slightly different patterns, I’d continued the same color scheme in the sitting room. I thought of the fireplace and the large window looking out to the back garden as the highlights of that room.
“I feel so fortunate that Cynthia took me on as a client when I needed help decorating this place. It had good bones, as they say, but you should have seen it. The previous owners were strangely enamored of dull browns, almost as though they didn’t want anything to stand out. With my love of jewel tones, that was never going to do.”
Wendy added, “Lord, I remember coming over right after you bought it. Who knew what a difference a coat of gleaming off-white could make? And Cynthia is a whiz with fabric and furnishings.”
“I think my favorite updates are the bookcases we added around the fireplace and the rugs that reveal the flagstone floor but also warm up the rooms. And I loved her idea of removing the shelves from the office bookcase to paint the back wall red. With the shelves back in place, it’s just the right touch.”
“Ha,” said Wendy. “Of course you love it—it’s red, isn’t it? Have you noticed, Mum, how much Leta likes red?”
“About as much as you like pale blue?” said Belle.
I could tell it was time to move to the sitting room so Belle could sit down. Christie was quick to jump in her lap and start purring.
“A new friend, little girl?” I asked.
“Two cats in one day,” said Belle as she stroked Christie. “I’m already getting used to Tigger. He crawled up in bed with me when I took my nap, and his purr was a delight.”
“I had the same experience here with Christie,” I said. “Purring cats may be the secret ingredient for keeping us calm and focused as we sort things out.”
“Hey,” barked Dickens, “what about your dog, Detective Dickens? I was by your side finding important clues.”
I chuckled and shared what Dickens had said, except I made it sound as though the funny line had just popped into my head. No way I was letting on to my friends that Dickens spoke to me.
“I see your Frog Prince collection. Have you checked to see if any others are missing?” asked Wendy. “Oh, and tell Mum how you came to collect them.”
“I don’t think any others are missing, but I have so many, it’s hard to be sure. When I met Henry, I’d about given up hope of ever meeting the right man, and when we got engaged, a friend joked about how many frogs I’d had to kiss to find my prince. When Henry heard that, he brought me the stuffed Frog Prince you see on the top shelf. I fell in love with his little velvet outfit and crown, and every anniversary, Henry presented me with a Frog Prince figurine or toy or another illustrated version of the fairytale.
“When I packed up to move here, I left most of my furniture and knickknacks behind, but the Frog Prince collection from Henry had to come with me. I can’t believe Alice took it. And, I mean, she must have taken it, right? How else did it come to be in her cottage?”
Wendy looked thoughtful. “I don’t see any other way, but why would she take it? And, if she filched your little figurine, did she also take things from her other clients? Could Mum be right, that Alice was up to something that could have gotten her killed?”
“I think so, so we need to get to work, but not before we have dinner,” I replied.
Wendy and Belle asked for my salad recipe, and as always, I had to explain there was no recipe. I can list the basic ingredients, which I change from time to time, but there have never been any measurements. My sisters and I had watched my father make it all his life and had continued the tradition.
I topped off our wine glasses and said, “We’re going to need a plan. We know the goal is to solve Alice’s murder. We are positive it was murder, right?”
“Yes, we are,” Wendy and Belle said in unison.
“Great, I typed up what I saw this morning and even what I remember of our conversation before we went to Alice’s flat. I printed us all copies, and I think we should look at the notes and then review the photos we took and see where all that leads us.”
Belle smiled and said, “I love a take-charge girl. Reminds me of myself in my nursing days.”
I quietly read my bullet points about the scene at the cricket pavilion and the subsequent conversation we’d had in Belle’s kitchen and was happy to see my fellow sleuths doing the same and jotting down ideas.
“Are we ready to talk about this, ladies?”
Belle started, “I can’t understand why Alice didn’t have her purse with her. You said you didn’t see it in the car, right? I know we found one at her flat, but could she have more than one?”
“Well, I know I have several, but don’t you think the one at the flat looked to be the big blue purse she usually has with her?” said Wendy.
“Yes, it did. So, maybe she had it with her but somehow it wound up back at her cottage? How did that happen?” I wondered.
“Let’s play this out,” said Wendy. “Whoever met her at the pavilion, maybe they had a row, and he or she tried to grab her purse. Maybe that’s how the strap ended up in her hand. It broke off. And, for the record, I can’t imagine it was a she.”
I encouraged her to go on.
“
Maybe they wanted something from Alice, and she wouldn’t give it up, so they grabbed her purse thinking what they wanted was in it.”
I added, “And then maybe they checked the car to see if the missing whatever was in there. Nothing was disturbed in the car, except the glovebox was open. And they probably checked the trunk but closed it back.”
Belle asked, “Do you think this mysterious someone meant to kill Alice, or could it have been an accident? If they were having a row and they jerked the purse away, could that have caused Alice to fall and hit her head?”
“Anything’s possible,” said Wendy.
“Gee,” I said, “I’d like to think we aren’t dealing with a stone-cold killer and that it scared them no end when they realized Alice was dead—assuming she died instantly, that is. It’d be even more awful if she wasn’t dead, and they could have saved her if only they’d call 999.”
“OK,” said Wendy. “Regardless of how that part went, they must have checked the car and then driven their own vehicle to Alice’s place. Again, to look for whatever Alice didn’t seem to have with her. At least, I think that could be how it happened. Do we think they found what they were looking for?”
“Tigger thinks not,” Dickens reminded me. “He says the man cursed the entire time and seemed awfully upset.”
That was a good tip from Dickens, but of course, only I understood him. “Um, no,” I said. “Or if they did, it had to be in the last place they looked. Otherwise, why ransack every inch? If it were me, I would’ve stopped as soon as I found what I was looking for.”
“That makes sense,” Belle murmured.
“Soon,” I continued, “we need to look at the photos we took, but first, Belle, let’s think about the things you remember Alice saying on the phone and while watching TV. I found those one-liners pretty disturbing.” I read them aloud:
‘‘This is the last time I’m going to ask.”
“You know where to put it, the usual place, and it better be there.”
Bells, Tails, & Murder: (A Dickens & Christie Mystery) Page 5
