by Trisha Kelly
“Well, there is that, I suppose.”
“We can’t think too hard, there is just one week left. Although, it is strange, Dorothea has only acknowledged it has everything to do with James Sallow, there is no doubt he is the victim because he’s hardly the murderer! And yet…”
“She has given no indication as to who the murderer might be, perhaps she doesn’t know. Maybe we are barking up the wrong tree and it all might happen… suddenly.”
“If I crack my first case, there won’t be a murder. My job is to avert it, somehow.”
“Just one question. How will you earn a living using your new talent? Nobody has hired you as such, you are working on information from the other side. When you solved the case of the missing pearls there was no payment,” Anna pointed out..
“Oh, but there was. Don’t you see? The reward was: Bromington-on-sea benefitted from one end to the other with much-needed repairs. The sale of the pearls indirectly helped a lot of people.”
“Even so, had the pearls originally been stolen, then some insurance company were the real losers.”
“I doubt that. Insurance companies make lots of profit, anyway, ours not to reason why. I’m sure if I foil an attempted murder plot on an extremely wealthy man he will show his financial gratitude!”
“You could also make sure he keeps his word about creating local jobs.”
“Exactly, once more, Bromington-on-sea will be the winner.”
“I think there’s a pattern emerging here!
“Everything happens for a reason. If we gather enough evidence to prove Albie Winston’s ‘intent’ to harm, maybe we can – hold on a minute, of course, if we had a little bit of inside help!”
“What do you mean?”
“Amy, ‘Helping Hands’. Don’t you see the clue there? It’s all in her company name; how could I have overlooked it? If we can convince her we are sure Albie Winston is up to no good and all we want is for her to take pictures, well…”
“It stops us doing anything illegal for one and, wait a minute… backtrack a little. You said yesterday, he kept bringing home rhubarb, every day. Gladys is not a well woman. I’m sure I’ve read somewhere the leaves are highly poisonous and eaten in a large enough quantity, rhubarb can damage your kidneys.”
“It’s quite possible then, Albert Winston fantasizes about killing someone, but the person he will likely kill, intentionally or otherwise, is Gladys Winston.” Rosie frowned.
At this point, the ‘Grandfather Clock’ decided to ding, ding and ding. It was normally as regular as clockwork and it was only ten minutes to ten o’clock. Dorothea had spoken.
Rosie jumped up and ran for the door. Anna followed closely behind her, and Bear trailed at the back. Rosie unlocked the interconnecting door to the B & B and the friends raced off, hoping Amy had not finished the rooms yet. This was urgent!
“So, that’s all of it, Amy and we really need your help,” Rosie explained over a hurried coffee.
“I have a confession to make. I totally forgot about those books and I rarely see Albert; he makes a point of leaving the house as soon as I arrive, if not before. If he hears my van he clears off out the back door then leaves the side gate wide open in his haste to leave. He doesn’t like me and refuses point blank to speak to me.”
“What did you do with the books?”
“I still have them. To be honest, I couldn’t help noticing the Nostradamus and thought I’d give it a read before I gave them to the jumble. Only, I haven’t had time. They are still in the box in the back of the van.”
“Oh, Amy, you’re a lifesaver. May we have them? It wouldn’t be a good idea to donate them now anyway, we don’t want him getting his hands back on them. You can have the Nostradamus when we’ve finished.” Rosie rubbed her hands with glee, this was better than she expected.
“I don’t go to their house on Sundays, never have. When I finish here Monday morning how about you both get in my van with me? I can drop one of you near the allotments and the other at the river where he goes fishing. He won’t be anywhere else. That way you can warn me if he heads home.”
“Great idea, and Rosie will let you know exactly what you are to take pictures of; Gladys will be in the lounge in her chair, as always.”
“I’m not allowed in his room, so I’ll start there,” Amy smiled.
“Check under the mattress, in the draws, cupboards, on top of the wardrobe and in it. You are looking for papers. If you find any rhubarb, throw it in the bin. Check under the sink, in the garden shed. Concentrate on taking pictures of plants or anything unusual.”
“There’s always been something creepy about him. Gladys has been complaining of loose bowels recently. I’m going to check the medicine cabinet too.”
“I think by Monday afternoon we may have enough to pass it over to Matthew. Depending on what else we find. Maybe you can suggest to Gladys she looks a bit peaky and arrange for the doctor to pay a visit. We don’t think it’ll do any harm to run a few tests.” Rosie was very concerned for the old dear and whether or not Albert Winston could be the potential ‘killer’.
The two friends spent a good while after Amy left looking through the books. They were both making notes as Albie had underlined several sentences. They were trying to piece it all together.
“You do realise something, Anna?”
“What’s that?”
“For the first time ever, we’ve missed the jumble!”
“This is far more important today, besides, you would have only succumbed to another cake.”
“True. We make a good team once we put our heads together, don’t we?”
“Certainly do, although you are the brains of the outfit. I’d never have thought of the pearls in the cave, or finding out who lives where in Bromington, you put together quite the picture, Boo-boo.”
“Yes, and then you paint it! See, teamwork!”
The two of them glanced at each other. With their combined skills they really could work full-time as a team. After all, Amy and her ‘hands’ had the B & B covered. The shower cubicles were gleaming. Iris was turning out far better breakfasts than any of them had managed so far. Maybe it was time for her daughter, Liz, to finally take over the bakery. Hmm, their minds were whirring in unison while they carried on detecting.
“I know what you’re thinking, Anna. Instead of us drawing a wage to run this place, we could draw a wage to run the ‘Wodehouse Mystery Agency’. Plus commissions, I think we can earn an honest living.”
“With a little help from the other side. Paranormal investigations if you like. I’m sure Dorothea wants in on the action.”
“Yes, and she can indicate when we are on the right track, like she did this morning.”
“Rosie? I know Dorothea sends signs and everything, she can also see into the future. We know Gladys is in danger and we’re doing something about it, but, if it was really him that was going to attempt the murder of James Sallow, don’t you think your great aunt would know that?”
“You’re right. I’m sure if I shouted out something like: ‘We know James is in danger and needs our help, he knows there is going to be a grave situation here, is it true you don’t know who the ‘killer’ is yet’? she might show us a sign.”
At that point the door buzzer buzzed twice. There was nobody outside. Did this mean Albert wasn’t the killer?
“You’ve hit it on the head, Rosie! These books here and any photos Amy sends through, are going to be all the proof we need to possibly get a confession from Albert Winston of the intent to harm his wife at least and possibly, pre-meditated thoughts of murder by the looks of it, most of the murder parts are underlined in the book, Mind-games, Prophecies and Chess Pieces in Play.”
“He clearly has an interest in the section regarding murdering a man who thinks he is King in the region of the South-West. The poisoned chalice shall be his downfall. In the middle of the summer months he met his maker. Great joy bestowed the pawn, for he outwitted the man and plundered his goo
ds. And so it goes on,” Rosie explained. “If that doesn’t point to intention and pre-meditation, I don’t know what does. Hopefully, by Monday, Amy will send us a lot more to go with it. We will have all the evidence, so to speak.”
“Hardly case closed though, is it?”
“Not by a long shot. Rosie frowned. There’s still more. Tea?”
“I’ll make it, you make lunch.”
As they chewed over healthy tuna and cucumber sandwiches, followed by practically calorie free local cherries, they were both thinking the same thing, on the same page.
Rosie finally spoke. “If Dorothea doesn’t know who it is, the chances are, the person who is to carry out the deed doesn’t know it yet either. They have no idea. It isn’t pre-planned… or, something else, not finalised, maybe?”
“Maybe an opportune thief? A burglar caught in the act?”
“Or a passing psychopath who just happens to cross paths with James Sallow.”
“In a way, we are back to the beginning, aren’t we?” Anna frowned, frustrated, for they were two steps forward and one back.
Rosie knew they had one week to put together a case against Albie Winston, to make Gladys safe, out of harm’s way and to convince the local police to put James Sallow under permanent watch in one week’s time. For now, there was nothing else she could do.
The Sunday papers
The clack of the letterbox woke Bear and he duly began barking. Matt threw a lazy arm across Rosie which she held on to; they threw the cover over their heads. It was barely eight o’clock on a Sunday morning. Bumble was curled in a ball in-between their feet. Somehow, she had crawled under the duvet in the middle of the night. Just in case they hadn’t heard him the first time, Bear jumped up on the bed, barking and digging. There was a matter of great urgency awaiting them both at the front door.
Rosie gave in first. “Okay, okay, Bear. We can hear you, come on boy.” She opened the flat door allowing Bear to charge in the direction of the letterbox. Luckily, he couldn’t reach the paper, or he would surely wrestle it to death. As soon as she pulled it through, he stopped barking, charging off towards the kitchen instead.
Bumble had now sprawled herself across Rosie’s pillow, laying on her back, paws outstretched. Rosie gave Matt a kiss on the forehead, he’d fallen back to sleep. Bear was on a mission to get outside, so Rosie put the kettle on, plonking the paper on the kitchen table. She snuck back into the bedroom just to have a look at Matt sleeping. He looked like a young Elvis. Rosie often wondered what he saw in her, with her full-on unruly red hair and freckles. She knew they were going to get married and have children, it was written in Dorothea’s legacy.
“I know you’re there. I can hear you breathing!” Matt murmured.
“Oh, well, I’m sorry about that. I couldn’t help myself. Tea?”
“Please.” Matt smiled. He knew what she was doing, he often did the same. Rosie had no idea how beautiful she was, her modesty was one of her best qualities. He’d watched her sleeping, studied her when she worked, laughed from a distance when she played with Bear and marvelled at the fact his parents loved her too. They knew she was the one.
The warm sun enticed them both into the garden in their dressing gowns.
“I don’t want to spoil the moment, but…”
“There is something you want to ask me?” Matt smiled.
“Yes, but not today, tomorrow, and it is very important. If I give you all the evidence then, will you help me?”
“Do what?”
“Possibly save Gladys Winston from a horrible death.”
“I would say I’m duty bound to help you; will this have anything to do with James Sallow too?”
“No, not directly. Although I am fairly convinced Albert has been harming his wife one way or another and quite possibly, he has been plotting to murder James. At the very least, in his mind. Maybe, the easiest way to avoid that would be to hold Albert in police custody next Saturday. In the meantime, with help from Amy, I think there’s a need for involving social services. A home help doing the cooking and everything might keep her safe for the time being. I’ll show you tomorrow evening, when I have everything I need.”
“You do amaze me, my love. You have me very intrigued. But, even with your theory, James’s premonition and Dorothea’s pull, it hasn’t pinned a potential murderer. Are you saying you don’t think Albert is the one?”
“Dorothea doesn’t know who it is, she gave us signs.”
Matthew raised his eyebrow. “Okay!”
“Honest, she doesn’t! James has no idea he is the victim. Only, we know he is, Anna and me – anyway, I think it will be spontaneous. I was wondering if there was some way, we could keep James close by next Saturday, without alerting him to the possible danger.”
“You know how the police force has to work to a tight budget. But I can’t see any harm in a couple of off-duty officers being in the vicinity. Perhaps I can keep him under my wing during the day. The lounge could do with a lick of paint!”
Rosie burst out laughing. “Can you see him doing that? Or anything manual. How’s he settled in anyway?”
“He went off for the weekend. Something about prior engagements and papers to sign. He’s in London, but due back tomorrow.”
“Okay. Well, I don’t think he’s in any immediate danger. Although Sue at the Flag has spread the gossip about a possible new rich man moving to town, with the promise of jobs and a brighter future for all.”
“And you can bet that tale has been exaggerated every time someone has spread it about.”
“In all fairness, it was before we asked him to keep a low profile for the time being. He’s supposed to be on a fruitless mission, keeping his ear to the ground undercover in Bromington Town. Wheedling out a murderer!”
“I think it’s fallen on deaf ears. Have you seen this?”
Rosie gasped at the front page of the National newspaper headlines, together with a half page spread of James, splattered across the top section.
“Multi-millionaire scoops another best-seller and this time, he is steering his good fortunes in the direction of Bromington-on-sea.”
“Oh, no. What has he done? Read it out, Matt.”
“James Sallow, author of the best-selling series of Psychic Wave books, has scored again. Pre-sales of his book due for release in two weeks have exceeded all records…”
Matt mumbled a lot and then skipped to the relevant bit.
“Following the sale of his London mansion, Mr. Sallow is relocating to the small area of Bromington-on-sea. He denies claims he is going into retirement, however, the affluent gent will be looking to open new business opportunities in the area, after his move to Bromington Heights. Which is as early as tomorrow! He was attracted to the area by the many spirits, he says it is his calling. Will we ever see this gent about town again?”
“Stop! That’s it then. He may as well go around with a target on his back now. Stupid man!” Rosie banged her foot hard on the floor and then let out a gasp as she stubbed her toe on the wrought iron chair.
“Try and stay calm. How about I cook us a nice bit of breakfast? Your ribs are starting to poke through.” Matt made a hasty retreat to the kitchen before she could reply. Bear ran close behind him. This was the second time his mistress had been angry this week.
Twenty minutes later, peace was restored. “That was really nice, thank you. I did actually believe you once when you said you could only cook beans.”
Matt smiled and then asked the question that was on his mind. “Do you want to tell me about the letter? You do know you’ve left your dad on tenterhooks and he is too afraid to ask?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t tell anyone and then Anna found it open on the table. I had to tell someone, and I didn’t want to bother you with it, hold on, I’ll fetch it.”
Matt should have felt a little disgruntled because Rosie chose to confide in her best friend instead of him, but he didn’t. He’d noticed his fiancée didn’t like to bother anyone wit
h anything unless she had to, usually when her hand was forced. Anna could be very persuasive, but she wasn’t a bad influence.
Rosie came back and handed Matt the letter. “Before I read it, I have an idea, for next Saturday. How about we offer to take James to an exclusive restaurant somewhere? Keep him out of the way Saturday night. I can bring one of our new guys with me, he’s funny, I think Anna will get along well with him.”
“What’s his name?” Rosie asked.
“Nick,” Matt replied absently. He was so used to calling him it, he kept forgetting his real name.
“Oh,” Rosie smiled. Not this time then, Anna, she thought. Hopefully, they wouldn’t get on too well. Her friend wasn’t good with break-ups and she had to wait to find the man Dorothea said she was destined to be with. When would Bradley Stimpson come into her life?
Matt stored the phone number from the letter into his phone. “Have you rung this?”
“Not me, but Anna did. She thinks it isn’t what it appears to be, she left an answerphone message for someone to ring her back, but nobody has.”
Matt looked Rosie in the eye as if he was going to say something, then thought better of it, he must speak with Walter. This wasn’t the first time a letter had arrived at the Garden Centre. Walter confided in him that Mildred had written two months after she was given a council flat. She apologised for her behaviour, but mainly it was a begging letter. Being the decent man he was, Walter had sent her a cheque. The only person he told in confidence, was Matthew. It was only two and a half thousand pounds, the change from the sale of the pearls to be precise. Walter hadn’t ever thought of the money as his own. It eased his unwarranted guilt.
The Sergeant knew a scammer when he saw one. “Leave it with me, Rosie; let me run some checks.”
On the trail
Yesterday’s newspapers were not yesterday’s news in Bromington-on-sea. In fact, everyone wanted to know the whereabouts of the millionaire. The place was buzzing with anticipation and hope, a possible boost in house prices, and trade. Albert had read the front page three times. This was the victim; he was certain. The King. Now he had a face to match the name. Earlier than usual, he set off with his wheelbarrow.
