“He has a pretty busy schedule, so I don’t think you’d be able to get in,” said Thom.
“In that case,” said Wendy, “I’ll just take it home. No offense, Thom, but now I’ve got it back, I don’t want to let it out of my sight. Can you take just a few photos and see what you can find out from him?”
Thom obliged and said he’d be in touch as soon as he heard something.
As we walked to our cars, I turned to Wendy. “Would you be alright with me keeping the book for a day or two? I’d love to read through it. Who knows? Maybe a lightbulb will come on in my brain as I read.”
“Sure. While I don’t want to lose it again, I’d feel more comfortable if it weren’t at Sunshine Cottage for the time being. Like there’s something about this book that attracts trouble.”
“Great, then I’ll be the trouble magnet? I hope not,” I said.
“After all this, are we still going to Oxford?” asked Wendy.
“I’m game if you are. Do you still think we can put all this out of our minds? If I have to bite my tongue every time I start to say something about Peter Pan or books or whatever, I might just bite my tongue in two before our trip is over.”
I could tell Wendy had a mental image of the health of my tongue because she giggled. “How about we just say we’ll try to not obsess over this? I don’t want to be on the Bodleian tour and have you whispering Peter Pan in my ear.”
“OK, agreed,” I said. “We’ll work to keep it to a minimum. Besides, I haven’t yet given you the highlights of my dinner with Dave. We’ll start with that. See you tomorrow, bright and early.”
Christie was none too happy to hear I was leaving for two days, though Dickens was fine, since he liked Peter. “Do you think he’ll take me to see Martha and Dylan?” he asked. “So far, that’s my favorite walk.”
Before I could reply, Christie piped up, “Sure, it’s all about you, Dickens. What about me? Does Peter know how I like my milk? Will he stay long enough for me to snuggle in his lap? Will I get to out in the garden again?”
“Enough,” I said. “No one knows how you like your milk, even me. That seems to change daily. And I don’t know that Peter will have time to sit. As for the garden, I expressly told him not to let you out, young lady. Until I return, only Dickens gets to go out, and no, I don’t know whether Peter will walk past Martha and Dylan.”
My four-legged companions discussed the situation while I packed my suitcase and loaded it into the car. I knew they’d be well looked after, and I was looking forward to spending time in Oxford. Henry and I had enjoyed our visit there, but it had been too short. We’d tried a little bit of everything. We took the Inspector Morse walking tour and a boat ride on the River Isis and wandered the city, but there was so much more to see and do.
I called Wendy to let her know I was on the way, and she was waiting outside when I arrived. We were leaving bright and early because we had morning tickets to tour the Bodleian. We’d do a bit of shopping, check in to our hotel later in the day, and take in a play at the Oxford Playhouse that evening. Day two we’d planned as a day of leisure. We’d stroll, shop, eat, and be back in Astonbury in time for dinner. Most importantly, we really would try not to talk about the happenings of the last few days. We needed a break.
Of course, before we could talk about anything else, I had to give Wendy a blow-by-blow of my evening with Dave Prentiss. “I really did enjoy myself. The conversation didn’t have any of those awkward dead zones, and I think we could easily have continued a bit longer. I may have to look for his articles online. And, breaking news, he’s asked me out for next week.”
I laughed and continued, “I can’t believe I’ve had dinner with three different men this week—Toby, your brother, and Dave. Of course, the first two turned into confessionals, so this one was a nice break.”
“That’s three more than I’ve had,” Wendy said. “I haven’t had anything approximating a date since I moved in with Mum, not that I had that many dates in Charlotte either. A trip to relive my university days will just have to do. I haven’t visited in a while, but I do have fond memories of my years at Balliol College.”
“And you met your husband there, right?” I asked as I maneuvered my way onto the A40.
“Yes, he was doing his Junior Year Abroad at Oxford, and we continued our relationship long-distance when we were both seniors. What do the kids call them nowadays? Starter marriages? That’s the way I felt about our marriage, though it lasted for ten years. We were married in Astonbury and then moved to North Carolina where he had a banking job.”
“Have you kept in touch? I know you both lived in Charlotte, but I have a vague idea that he moved around quite a bit with the bank,” I said.
“No children and not much reason to stay in touch, and you’re right. I had a teaching job in Charlotte and never left, but he lived all over the US, anywhere the bank asked him to go. I can’t imagine I’d have retired to England if we were still married. England just wasn’t his cup of tea, so to speak.”
I laughed at her wording. “Well, I’m glad you’re here. It’s so funny to have met someone in Astonbury who lived in the South, though your accent isn’t quite as pronounced as mine.”
“It seems to depend on where I am. The longer I lived in Charlotte, the more Southern I got, but whenever I visited Mum in the summer, I’d immediately get my British accent back. Maybe soon, I’ll be all Brit again.”
“Isn’t it funny that Dave thought we were both Americans the other night? There’s no mistaking my accent, but yours is a bit of a hybrid.”
“That reminds me,” said Wendy, “I found an article on the internet last night that made me think of him because it was in the Strand Magazine and he told us he wrote for them. I had no idea that a previously unpublished J. M. Barrie play was discovered in 2017.”
“Huh,” I said, “Dave mentioned the same thing to me at dinner the other night.”
“How strange. It was bundled with other letters and manuscripts by Barrie. It had all been at a university in Texas for fifty years, and I guess no one had ever looked closely at the contents. Oddly enough, it’s a murder mystery.”
“What a coincidence. Between the two of you, I’m eager to dive into the Barrie biography I got from Beatrix yesterday. Maybe I’ll do that when I get home,” I said, “but only after I’m done with the book I’m reading now. I’ve never been one of those people who likes to read two books at once.”
We entered Oxford city limits in the midst of the morning rush hour, and I was thankful Wendy was in the car to direct me. I still wasn’t all that comfortable driving on the wrong side of the road in traffic. We made it to the hotel without incident, parked, and walked to our tour.
We two English majors were fascinated with the facts our tour guide shared—from the architectural wonders of Christopher Wren to the tales of Oscar Wilde’s days as a student. We chuckled when we heard the Divinity School, where the tour started, had served as not only the Hogwarts infirmary but also the dancing school in the Harry Potter films. It was almost too much to absorb, and I took copious notes, thinking the experience might be a good topic for one of my newspaper columns.
We wandered to Oxford’s version of the Bridge of Sighs and visited Blackwell’s, the oldest bookshop in Oxford. By then, it was late enough for a pint at the White Horse Pub next door. I recalled from my previous visit that it was the scene of many an Inspector Morse and Lewis adventure.
“Wendy, are you a Morse fan?” I asked. “I was so disappointed when the Inspector Lewis series ended, and then I got hooked on Endeavor.”
“Oh yes, I don’t know what I’d have done without out PBA and PBS in Charlotte. In the days before streaming, that was the only way I got my British telly fix,” she said.
“What do you say we wander to the river before lunch?” I asked.
She was quick to answer yes, and we strolled to the River Isis, as the Thames is called where it runs through Oxford. Then we decided to have lunch at Pieminister in the Covered
Market and do a bit of shopping before we checked into our hotel.
We each chose a different pie so we could try two kinds. I’d never attempted to make a savory pie. Well, truth be told, I hadn’t made many sweet ones in my life either. I could make several Greek desserts and that was about it.
“Oh, there’s The Hat Box,” I said. “I’ve got to check it out. Henry bought me a red beret when we were here, and I still have it.”
Wendy laughed. “Of course, it was red. Oh, look at the fascinators. That’s what we need, except I have no idea where we’d wear them.”
“Unless we get Libby to throw a Royal Wedding dress-up party, I don’t either, so I guess I’ll stick with wool hats and scarves for now.”
By then, we were ready to check in to the Randolph. We’d chosen it because neither of us had stayed there before, and we agreed a nap was in order before the play that evening.
Wendy called home to check on Belle before we set out for the play. Peter was already there and answered the phone. She put him on speaker so we could all chat.
“Mum’s fine,” he said. “I brought some takeaway and she’s already told me which shows we must watch on the telly tonight. And, Leta, I cycled to your cottage and took Dickens for a good long walk before that. He let me know he wanted to see Martha and Dylan, so that’s where we went.”
“He let you know? And how did he do that?” I asked, wondering if I’d just discovered another person who could talk to the animals.
“Well, he’s a strong little fella, and he headed that way. Didn’t seem any use in arguing with him,” he said.
Wendy and I both laughed at that and told him about our day. He was jealous of our visit to the pie shop but said he was fine with missing the Hat Box and the library.
“Ladies,” he said, “I plan to get up early without waking Mum, ride my bike to check on Dickens and Christie, and then come back here to fix Mum’s breakfast. She should be up by then. After that, I’ll be at the garage unless I hear differently from you. You’ll be home by dinner, right?”
“That’s the plan,” we said in unison.
We had a quick bite and walked to the Oxford Playhouse. Afterward, I surprised Wendy with a visit to the Varsity Club’s rooftop bar. She’d never been and agreed the views of the “city of dreaming spires” were breathtaking. Leave it to two English majors to toast Matthew Arnold. After a bottle of red wine on the rooftop, there was no debate as to how we’d finish off the evening. A trip to the Morse Bar in our hotel was a must.
We closed down the bar and were so busy talking, we didn’t turn out our lights until after two. With only a trip to Gloucester Green to shop the antique and arts and craft market on our Friday agenda, we were looking forward to sleeping in.
When the phone rang before 8:00 am, I groaned and thought it had to be a wrong number. I managed to locate it only after knocking over the glass of the water on the bedside table. “Hello,” I whispered, trying not to wake Wendy.
“Wendy, is that you?” I heard.
“No, she’s still asleep. Who’s calling?” I asked.
“Leta, it’s Gemma. I’m afraid there’s been an accident, and I need to speak with Wendy.”
I shook Wendy awake and handed her the phone. I could hear Gemma’s tinny voice coming through the phone. “Wendy, Peter’s had a bicycle accident and he’s been taken to Cheltenham Hospital.”
Wendy’s questions tumbled out. “What? Where? Who’s with Mum? Has she been told? How badly is Peter hurt? Where was he?”
“He wasn’t far from Leta’s house when the accident occurred. Constable James and my dad are on the way to your mum. The constable will break the news to her, and Dad will drive her to the hospital. You need to get to Cheltenham as quickly as you can.”
Wendy started crying, and I grabbed the phone and told Gemma we were on our way. We threw our belongings in our bags, checked out, and hit the road.
We found Belle and Gavin in the waiting room outside the emergency room. Belle was surprisingly calm, calmer than Wendy, and I guessed that was because she was a retired nurse. The only sign she was distressed was the constant wringing of her hands.
Gavin explained that Gemma would be along in an hour or so after she’d done what she could at the crime scene.
“Crime scene?” I said. “I thought Peter had an accident. It’s so easy to do on these country lanes, especially when it’s not full light. It only takes hitting a rock in the road or swerving to miss a partridge.”
“No,” said Gavin. “Gemma says there were tire tracks that make it look like he was deliberately run off the road.”
I took a deep breath to calm myself. If I lost it over the similarity to Henry’s bicycle accident, I wouldn’t be able to help Wendy and Belle. I couldn’t go to pieces here.
“How is he, Mum?” asked Wendy in a little girl’s voice. “Is he going to be all right?”
“Sweetheart, it’s not good. The scrapes and broken collarbone can be easily tended to, but he hasn’t regained consciousness since he was found.”
“Who found him?” I asked.
Gavin told the story. “A gentleman out walking his dog before work saw the mangled bicycle on the road, and his dog took off into the brush and led him to Peter. Thank goodness for cell phones. He called 999 and told them an ambulance was needed right away. The police and the ambulance arrived fairly quickly, and when they saw the scene, they called in Gemma. She called me and then you as she was on her way there.”
“Who would do this to my brother? What’s he ever done to anyone to deserve this?” cried Wendy.
“Well, dear,” said Belle, taking over from Gavin, “we had an unsettling occurrence at Sunshine Cottage last night. Could have something to do with this. I don’t know.”
“What happened at the cottage? Why didn’t you or Peter call me?” asked Wendy.
“Nothing you could have done off in Oxford. I’d gone to sleep after my shows were over, and Peter had taken his book upstairs to his old room at the back of the house. Tigger had been in his lap all night, and I think he followed him to bed because that cat never did come to see me.
“Peter told me later that he heard something downstairs and thought at first it must be Tigger until he saw him curled up on the toybox at the foot of his bed.” A smile crept onto Belle’s face. “Funny, my little dog Tinker liked to sleep in the same spot back when that was my bedroom.” She seemed lost in those more pleasant memories for a moment.
“Anyway, he knew it wasn’t me because I’m dead to the world once I go to bed. He came downstairs in his bare feet and saw the front door open and a light in the sitting room. Smart boy, he positioned himself in the kitchen doorway to watch. He figured out it was a man but not who it was. The only thing easily to hand in the kitchen was the brick doorstop, the one covered in needlepoint, so that’s what he grabbed.
“Whoever it was must have heard Peter because suddenly he turned and dashed out the front door, but not before Peter had hurled the brick at him. He hit him somewhere because the man cried out as he ran from the house.”
“Oh my gosh, this sounds like something out of Agatha Christie,” I said. “When did he tell you all this, Belle?”
“He ran after the fella but not far. Then he came back to the house to make sure I was okay. We checked my bedroom clock and saw it was midnight. Well, once he’d woken me up, I had to know what was going on, because, of course, I hadn’t heard a thing. So I popped in my hearing aids and got the story. Can’t hear a thing without ’em.”
“What were they looking for, Mum?” asked Wendy.
“Haven’t a clue, luv. Your brother didn’t want me out of bed late at night, so I haven’t had a chance to see what kind of mess my sitting room is in, though he said it wasn’t much disturbed. A few books pulled off the bookcase and a footstool out of place. And, of course, he left to walk Dickens before I got up this morning. Instead of Peter back to fix breakfast, it was Gavin and Constable James who showed up at my door.”
Gavin looked at Belle as she wrapped up her story. “Belle, have you told Gemma or Constable James about what happened last night?”
“Haven’t had a chance, have I?” Belle snapped.
“Okay, okay,” I soothed. “Gavin, if you give me Gemma’s cell number, maybe I can get her on the phone and let her know she’s got another crime scene.” Good grief, I thought, I sound like Miss Marple. I’m not that old, but if things didn’t calm down, I’d soon have her head of white hair.
I plugged Gemma’s number into my phone, but before I walked to the parking lot to ring her, I pulled Wendy aside. “Let’s think for a minute. Do we think someone could have been looking for your mum’s copy of Peter and Wendy? After talking to Beatrix and Thom, we know it’s valuable, and we know they didn’t find it because it’s at my cottage.”
“Oh no,” Wendy cried. “Is all this about a book? Someone broke into my home and maybe ran my brother off the road over a book?”
I gave her a hug and told her I didn’t know, but I’d bring Gemma up to speed and let her know how I fared.
I rang Gemma, hoping I’d be more articulate without Belle, Gavin, and Wendy chiming in. “Gemma Taylor,” was the crisp answer on the other end.
“Gemma, it’s Leta, and I’m at the hospital where I’ve heard something I’m sure you need to know.”
“Give me one minute,” she replied as she gave directions to someone. When she returned to the line, I heard her take a deep breath. “Now, Leta, what’s up? Has Peter come around?”
“No, not yet,” I said. “Belle just told us about an intruder at Sunshine Cottage last night.”
“An intruder? The poor woman. She must be a basket case, an intruder and her son run off the road? What happened?”
“Amazingly, she’s far from that. She may be the calmest of us all,” I said. And then I relayed Belle’s story of Peter finding the intruder.
“I also need to let you know that we think whoever it was may have been after one of Belle’s books, a book signed by J. M. Barrie,” I said.
Bells, Tails, & Murder: (A Dickens & Christie Mystery) Page 13
