Paul didn’t say much as we drove. When we pulled up in his driveway, I took a deep breath of the ocean air redolent with pine. “I’m so glad my grandparents chose to build out here,” he said. “Let’s walk and talk.”
Out here I could let Marshfield run free. So far he had come readily when I called. I don’t know if he liked me that much, or if he expected goodies every time he obeyed. Rewarding him for good behavior gave better value than punishing bad behavior. It worked with my other dogs, and Marshfield had already improved.
“Tom doesn’t appear to understand dogs very well. Anyone who saw Marshfield with you could tell he thinks you’re his new best friend. If he’d seen you harming Sir Geoffrey or if you had poisoned him, he wouldn’t take to you so readily.”
My laugh came out half chuckle, half sputter. “I’m sorry I let Tom get to me.”
“You’re right. It wasn’t wise, but he’s doing what we pay him for.” A small smile tugged at Paul’s mouth. “I have to remind myself I’m glad he’s good at his job. Even if he has his eyes on the wrong people every now and then.”
“I used to agree with you.” I grimaced. “Before I was the one under suspicion.”
We walked a few feet farther. Marshfield came upon a flock of seagulls and chased after them. I called him back twice, the second time more sharply than the first.
The look on Marshfield’s face said, Oh Mom, do I have to? but he returned. I sat on a large rock and put my arms around his neck. I fed him a treat and said, “That’s a good dog.”
“You’ve never asked me if I murdered Sir Geoffrey,” I said to Paul after a moment of silence.
He sat on another rock and turned his ice-blue eyes on me. “Today we are relaxing. And don’t worry, I’m not charging for this walk.”
I must have looked relieved, because he smiled. “But tomorrow I want you to come to my office, and we’ll go over every second of what has happened so I can check and double-check the record. I’ll charge it to the estate.”
“Would that be considered a conflict of interest?” I rubbed Marshfield’s ears. “I mean, if they did decide I was the murderer, I couldn’t inherit his estate.”
“We’ll answer that question in the unlikely event they arrest you.”
I squirmed. The very thought made me nauseated.
He chuckled at my discomfort. “Don’t worry. If they had enough to arrest you, they would have done it this morning. They didn’t even ask you to come in for questioning.”
Maybe to him that was nothing to worry about. “They were going to take me in for questioning if you hadn’t arrived when you did.”
“It’s upsetting for ordinary citizens. But look at it as part of the process of finding the murderer.” He looked at me sharply. “You did the right thing, waiting for me to arrive.”
Marshfield barked, as if adding his agreement to Paul’s instruction, before chasing after the sea waves. A cool morning breeze blew in from the ocean, and I shivered.
“There is something I should probably tell you about now,” I said.
Paul waited for me to explain further.
“Daisy Guilfoyle brought me a flash drive.” I explained about recent events—the Guilfoyles’ visit and what I’d learned from the owner of Sealife. “Daisy said she also gave a copy to the police. So far I haven’t been able to open it. Password protected and all that.”
Paul’s eyes twinkled. “Sir Geoffrey always did consider himself a sleuth. Since you have no idea what’s on the drive, and since it belongs to you as owner of the house, you’re free to investigate it if you wish.”
Immense relief swept over me.
“But be careful. Don’t try to do it on your own. If you do learn something, talk with me about it before you do anything more. Besides”—he flopped his hand over—“an investigation into Sealife isn’t necessarily a motive for murder.”
Maybe not, but it was a suggestion. Sealife bought from a handful of local fishermen—the suspect pool was small. Sir Geoffrey had looked into the situation, and he had argued with Roland. It wasn’t enough to convict a mosquito of a bite, but it deserved a deeper look.
I really needed to get into that drive.
After an hour, Marshfield settled down at our feet as if to say he was done. Or maybe he wanted a companion. I stood up. “I’m ready to leave.”
Paul rose to his feet. I let the dog run free again. He stopped every few feet to mark rocks where the sea had washed away any other dog’s scent. I greeted the sight of the car with a sigh of relief. Paul drove me to his office, and I drove home.
Back at the tea shoppe, I checked in with Georgina. Busy at the register, she saw me come in. The shake of her head informed me she hadn’t been able to access the drive yet.
Clearing my desk might also clear my head. I had a stack of items needing to be filed: new recipes, the vet’s information about Marshfield, and the papers Paul had given me about my inheritance.
As I filed the recipes, I felt another pang for my lost friend. Never again could we claim, “Approved by Sir Geoffrey Guilfoyle,” about any of our items. In fact, in honor of his passing, we should run a special of all his favorite dishes. I made a note to discuss the idea with Georgina
I glanced through Marshfield’s medical records to check for any recurring problems. The most interesting thing I found was his pedigree, which began with his registration name and a brief physical description, and then listed five generations on both the sire’s and dam’s side. My dog was six and a half, which made him about fifty years old in human years.
I glanced at Marshfield, who had curled up on my couch where the sunshine reached him through the window. “You come from a distinguished family, Marshfield. And both your parents won awards for obedience, so I expect you’ll learn proper behavior inside the tea shoppe soon enough.”
I almost passed over his registration as lacking interest, then took a second look. The ten-digit number and letter sequence looked like a computer-generated password. Was it possible? Why not try? I turned on my computer and entered the registration number when asked for the password for the flash drive. It opened immediately.
I held my breath then slowly released it and started reading.
The first several pages included a datebook of Sir Geoffrey’s fishing trips with Roland, as well as notes on how to spearfish and the pros and cons of different fishing spears. He had a folder with several pictures with fish, including his first “spear,” about thirteen years ago, shortly after his arrival in Sea Side.
A journal-type entry was attached to the image. He felt like he had turned back time. Like his ancestors, he had to catch with his bare hands or with a net or spear.
He wrote articulately about the sport of spearfishing and of his friendship with Roland. I would have enjoyed reading it if Sir Geoffrey hadn’t been murdered.
Of course, if he were still alive, I wouldn’t be reading it.
The mood of the writing had shifted about six months ago, when Roland speared a floundering crab. Since Sir Geoffrey wasn’t an expert on crabs, he believed Roland’s reassurances that the crab was good eating for dogs. Roland planned on including it in his sale to Sealife, along with his usual catch of fish.
Bingo. Sir Geoffrey knew for certain Roland was selling to the pet food company. From then on, he kept meticulous records of what they caught on which days. He made note of several days when the catch included dead fish.
Four months later, the first dog died from food poisoning. Sir Geoffrey learned about it from Dr. Stetson, who recommended he stay clear of Sealife until they figured out the problem.
After a second dog died, Sir Geoffrey looked into the problem. What caused the contamination, and how did it enter the food supply? The more he researched the situation, the more Roland’s activities gave him pause.
Then, just a couple of days before his death, he wrote that he had scheduled an appointment to speak to Roland about his suspicions.
Sir Geoffrey wrote no more entries after
that. I didn’t know if he had spoken to Roland or not. I was glad Daisy had turned the file over to the police. My impression was that Sir Geoffrey had seen Roland catch fish that might have been contaminated. Period. Suggestive, but nothing concrete.
I couldn’t help but hope I would find a substitute for my name to pencil in for the murderer. I had always liked Roland, but since I knew I wasn’t the murderer … Anyone, if pushed far enough … Was Roland that person? I had to find out. Sighing, I placed the flash drive back in the bag I received it in. To my surprise, I noticed two more drives tucked down in the bottom.
Daisy had only mentioned the one flash drive, and I wondered if she knew about the others. In any case, they belonged to me. To my relief, the second drive opened with the same password as the first. Safety wardens have it right. Using the same password for multiple accounts makes it open season for anyone intent on unlocking any personal secrets.
The second drive contained images of older photos. The first files held images of two young boys. Sir Geoffrey and his brother? As they grew, he began to take on his adult appearance. Before long Daisy and then a very young Freddy appeared in the pictures.
Twenty-five years ago, the brother stopped appearing in the pictures, and I speculated about the brother’s premature death. Not too much later, pictures of Tea by the Sea, me, and my dishes, made an appearance. The images reminded me of happier times, and I felt a pang of grief.
The final file on the drive held the most interest. Sir Geoffrey kept a record of his dealings with everyone in Sea Side. I increased the print size to make it easier to read and scanned it, looking for anyone who might have had a motive for killing Sir Geoffrey.
CHAPTER 9
I read through half the file that afternoon. The sections where he reasoned through his decision to leave his America estate, including Marshfield, to me, interested me the most.
When it was time to take Marshfield for another walk, I decided to leave the rest until the morning. My mind was tired, and I might miss a vital clue.
The next day, Daisy called me before I opened the computer. “The funeral home has asked me to get clothes for Geoff. I’ve picked out a few things, but I wanted to have your permission.”
I thought better of saying, “That’s not necessary,” before the words left my lips. Instead, I said, “I’ll be right over.” I decided to take Marshfield with me.
On the way over, I thought about giving some of the furnishings to Sir Geoffrey’s family. He might have left it lock, stock, and barrel to me, but that didn’t mean I had to keep it. I stopped by Paul’s office to ask his advice. The fifteen-minute wait was a small price to pay for my unscheduled consult, although Marshfield wasn’t happy being left in the car.
“That’s generous of you.” He paused. “Especially since they’re the obvious suspects, apart from you and Roland.”
I shivered. I’d been trying to overlook that part. “Do you think it’s safe for me to go?”
He didn’t automatically dismiss the thought. I didn’t know whether to relax or to up the tension.
“If they are innocent, they might be scared of you, the potential murderer. But they invited you, which suggests they’re comfortable around you. And if either one of them is the murderer—why would they harm the person the police are focusing on?” He shrugged. “I see no reason why you shouldn’t go. Arrange with Georgina to call you in half an hour or so. You can say you’re expecting a call, in case they have any ideas.”
He had gone back and forth so many times, I let go of a small laugh. “When the light is yellow, proceed with caution.”
“Exactly. Also, you should get someone to catalog everything in the house. Not by yourself, because police might interpret that as an attempt to get rid of evidence. But you do want to protect against theft.”
He riffled through his drawer and pulled out a thin manila file. “I’ll ask my secretary to make a copy for you. It’s the inventory Sir Geoffrey had drawn up of his most valuable possessions.”
I walked out of the office in deep thought. Marshfield renewed his barking when I opened the car door, and I fed him a treat to reward him for his patience. Paul’s advice echoed in my thoughts. The police couldn’t object. They’d released the crime scene the day of the murder so the Guilfoyles could stay there. As the new owner, I could come and go as I pleased. The proof of that lay in the bundle of keys Paul had given me.
I made arrangements with Georgina to call me in forty-five minutes, and then I drove to Neptune’s Cottage. Sir Geoffrey had named the house that because he said the King of the Sea must enjoy the view of the crashing waves conquering the coast.
I wiped a tear away from my eyes. A bit fanciful, perhaps, but it was those touches that made me care for the man. Yes, I could admit it now. I loved him, as a dear friend.
Emotions bubbled up within me. When the tears flooded my eyes, I looked for a spot where I could pull over without drawing attention to myself. I was in the vicinity of the Sea Side Chapel. I couldn’t think of a better place to have a quiet cry and talk with God. It was a favorite stopping place of tourists and residents alike, unlikely to be crowded on this May day before summer tourism hit.
Sea Side Chapel is available for the entire community, visitors, and the summer residents. Pastors, priests, and rabbis from our several places of worship rotate through the chapel on different days of the week. I don’t go there often, and I didn’t know whom I might encounter today. Hopefully no one. I didn’t want to explain the tears.
Tissue packs, as well as pocket New Testaments, candles, and gospel tracts, sat on a table in the foyer. A sign indicated that the items were provided for free. It was clean and inviting as always. I picked up a couple of votive candles to light in the windows around my home in memory of Sir Geoffrey.
Marshfield padded through the chapel quietly, as if he understood the sanctity of the place. When I sat down, he climbed on the bench beside me and laid his head on my lap. As I cried, he licked my hand, and I felt as though we were mourning Sir Geoffrey together, his dog and me.
When my tears came to an end, I added a prayer for God to guide me as I searched for the truth regarding his death. I owed that much to my friend.
I tarried long enough in the chapel to have messages waiting for me from both Daisy and Georgina. I assured Daisy that I would arrive shortly and asked Georgina to wait another forty-five minutes before calling. I arrived at Neptune’s Cottage a little over five minutes later.
I gave Marshfield a treat before we got out of the car. I wondered how he would respond to his former lodgings. He dashed ahead, ready to charge into the house. When Freddy answered my knock, the dog skidded to a stop. I could almost hear him thinking, Who are you?
“You brought the dog?” Freddy asked. He held his left arm at an awkward angle as he twisted the doorknob, and I wondered if he had injured himself somehow.
“I thought he might like to visit.”
The dog dashed ahead of me, his toenails clattering across the floor. He went down the hallway, popping in one doorway after another. When he reached the kitchen at the other end, he started whimpering. He sniffed around the area where Sir Geoffrey had fallen before lying on the exact spot, as if his whines and warmth could bring him back.
Freddy frowned.
Daisy came into the kitchen. “That’s disgusting.” When she tried to pull the dog away from the spot, he growled at her.
Was Marshfield reflecting an earlier bad encounter with Daisy? Or did he simply want to be left in peace? If only he could tell us who had taken his friend.
“Mum, he’s mourning for Uncle Geoff. Leave him alone. It’s not like there’s any blood for him to lick up.”
Now, that was disgusting. The cleaning crew I had hired had done a good job of cleaning the kitchen and removing the smell.
“He’s better off staying in here while you show me the outfit you’ve chosen for Sir Geoffrey’s burial.”
The sight of his best suit—a dark blue of the fi
nest wool, with a pinstriped shirt—threatened to bring tears to my eyes again. But the sight of the medals that Daisy had added changed the tears into an incredulous chuckle. When I looked more closely, I wanted to cry again.
“He was awarded that medal during the battle in the Falklands,” Freddy said. “That’s what my father told me. Uncle Geoff never talked about it much.”
“He served aboard the same ship as Prince Andrew,” Daisy added. “He refused to talk about the war, but he loved to talk about the jokes he and his fellow shipmates played on the prince.”
The England Sir Geoffrey talked about was full of county fairs and Scotland holidays, not of hobnobbing with royalty and the British Navy in a time of war. I suspected that, like many before him, he came to America to escape some of the memories of his past. I doubted he would welcome these reminders of his service.
Daisy must have sensed my hesitation. “Please humor us in this. There are so many more things back home that should be buried with him, that cannot be because of the circumstances.” She paused. “We would have preferred to take him home for burial, but the police insisted he stay here in case they need his body again.”
“Won’t do them much good after he’s embalmed,” Freddy said.
“When do you plan on holding the service?” I asked.
“The funeral home suggested we wait until his pastor returned from some conference he’s attending this week. Not very thoughtful of him, taking off like that.”
I started to defend my soon-to-be grandson-in law, but another thought crowded it out. Surely they would have a closed casket funeral. Nobody wanted to think about the gaping hole where the spear had gone through him. “It’s a pity no one will get to see those medals for bravery.”
Daisy looked puzzled for a moment, and then she nodded in understanding. “He’d probably prefer it that way. Geoff was never one to brag.”
Freddy shook his head. “I would show them. Of course I was never in the service. I didn’t feel the need to go fight someone else’s war in the Middle East.”
The Tea Shoppe Mysteries Page 15
