“As I should know,” said Gilbert. “I can assure you, my compatriots in the Sherlock Holmes Society of London consider me neither a serious collector nor scholar. Compared to many of them, I merely dabble. My extensive dabbling, though, provides me opportunities like tonight’s engagement and the invitation to speak at the literary festival Saturday—quite an enjoyable way to spend my time.”
When the food arrived, Gilbert called for another round of shots, but Dave and I quickly declined and requested two more pints. I wondered about Gilbert driving back to Chipping Camden, but kept that thought to myself.
I chuckled when Gilbert said, “I say, old chap, you may want to find yourself a copy of Arthur Conan Doyle: A Life in Letters. Could trigger some ideas for your book on friends. I seem to recall letters to H.G. Wells and Robert Louis Stevenson as well as Barrie.” The man sounds like Albert Campion, I thought as Dave jotted the title down. He’s quite a character.
By ten, I was stifling a yawn and Dave took note. “Have to get my date home before she turns into a pumpkin. I’m surprised she’s lasted this long. Hope to see you tomorrow, Gilbert.”
“Count on it, my dear friend,” Gilbert said as he pulled out a pocket watch. “It’s time I returned to my bed and breakfast.” He chuckled as he checked the time and held the watch up for us to see more closely. “You know, I purchased this at a stall in the Jubilee Market in Covent Garden. The proprietor claimed it was like the one owned by Dr. Watson, and it amuses me to imagine how many he’s sold to unsuspecting tourists who believe Dr. Watson to be a real person.”
As we traveled the short distance home, we laughed over Gilbert’s mannerisms and attire. We wondered if he stayed in character twenty-fours a day or whether he turned it on and off. No matter, we agreed it was amusing—in small doses.
Dave wanted to check his email and research the book Gilbert had mentioned, so he suggested I go on to bed. Knowing how easily I could tumble down the rabbit hole when I sat down with my laptop, I suspected the same would happen to him, and I didn’t hesitate.
A good night’s sleep before the full day we had ahead of us Friday was a must. Chipping Camden was only a thirty-minute drive, but we had lunch reservations and had requested an early check-in at our hotel.
I left Dave dealing with Christie’s demands—he was getting the hang of moving her food around her dish until she was satisfied. As I climbed the stairs, I heard, “Not there, you silly man, move it to the middle. Oh for goodness’ sake, fluff it.” Perhaps I was hasty in my assessment.
Chapter Eight
Midmorning Saturday in the garden at Teddy Byrd’s cottage
As Dave and I waited for Gemma, we sat quietly, with our separate thoughts. Dickens continued his garden inspection, but we hadn’t seen Watson since we left the bedroom. I heard a car pull up, and soon after, I heard my name.
Constable James opened the gate, and Gemma walked through. “Leta? Dave? Oh, here you are. I’m so sorry you had to be the ones to find him. I know you’ve checked, and I trust you, but Constable James will stay here with you, while I double-check to be sure we really do have a death on our hands.”
Dickens barked a greeting and rolled over at Constable James’s feet.
“Good way to lighten the mood, fella,” said the young constable as he knelt to give my boy a belly rub.
Dave told Gemma the bedroom was down the hall to the left, and she quickly entered the cottage. When she returned, she looked grim. She scanned the garden as she stood on the steps. “I’m afraid you’re right. The man is dead. I remember him now from the festival. Sat on the front row, didn’t he?”
Nodding, Dave replied, “Yes, he did. We first met him Thursday night at the Book Nook. That’s when he invited us to visit.”
“And this is the door you went in? What made you come around back?”
After Dave explained about not getting an answer to our knock, I told her about the cat. “It was Watson’s crying that got our attention.”
I could tell she was half-listening as she scanned the garden. “Right,” she said. “So, Dave, this door was unlocked? Was it open?”
Dave walked her through his entry. He’d gotten no answer to his knocking back here either. When he tried the door, he found it was unlocked, so he went into the kitchen, calling Teddy’s name. “I first took a few steps down the hall to the right and glanced in the sitting room and then went in the other direction past the library to the bedroom. I checked his pulse and then came to find Leta.”
“Odd the door was unlocked. I’d best get the Scene of Crime officers here before we proceed, just to be sure there’s nothing else off about the situation.” She moved to the rear of the garden to place the call and came back to us when she was done.
“Leta, did you notice anything amiss?”
“To be honest, Gemma, once I heard the words, ‘I think Teddy’s dead,’ I didn’t see a thing until we got to the bedroom.” I closed my eyes. “I can see the covers neatly folded, the book beneath his hand. There must not have been anything obvious, or I would have noticed. Oh! I didn’t see his spectacles, but they must have been on the nightstand or the bed somewhere. I don’t think he could read without them.”
Dave was looking from me to Gemma, his mouth open.
Gemma shook her head. “Dave,” she said, “I’d hoped never to see your girlfriend at another scene like this, but since she’s here . . . I’d like to take advantage of her attention to detail.”
Constable James interjected, “She’s brilliant, you know. You can’t believe the things she sees right off that others tend to miss.”
Gemma frowned at her constable. “Are you through? You’re right about her powers of observation, and if she’d stop there, we wouldn’t have a problem. Now’s not the time to get into that, though. Leta, shall we retrace your steps and see what catches your eye?”
When I nodded, she turned and handed Dave and me plastic gloves. “Hopefully, your friend died of natural causes, but on the off chance that’s not the case, let’s be careful.”
I noted again that the kitchen was pristine and told Gemma I assumed the dishes in the drain were from the dinner Beatrix and Teddy had shared. That got her attention. “Beatrix was here?”
I gave Gemma the little bit of information I had about Teddy and Beatrix’s relationship. “She was looking forward to spending time with him and seeing his collection. Oh my! Will you tell her about his death, or shall I?”
“Let’s finish this walkthrough and then discuss that. I see the teacups are clean, maybe set out for your visit?”
Dave looked puzzled. “Except wouldn’t he have had tea and a bite when he got up, and only clean the counter and set out the cups for us after that?” Hmmm. I’ll have to point out to him later that he was thinking like I did.
“You make a good point, Dave,” replied Gemma. “Unless he usually used a mug or had a coffee most days. Hard to say.” She proceeded down the hallway and into the bedroom. Dave and I hung back in the doorway as she moved deeper into the room.
Taking a deep breath, I studied the room. I imagined Teddy sitting up reading in the library before going to bed with his book and his newspapers. Watson was curled up on top of the papers spread on the bed, and I wondered if that was how the two spent most evenings. I studied the bedside table. “Goodness, he has lots of medicine, doesn’t he?” In addition to the bottles of pills, there was one of those plastic containers that held pills by the day.
“Uh-huh. Not all that surprising for someone his age, in my experience. Did one of you turn off the bedside light when you were in here before?”
I looked at Dave. “Did you? It was off when you brought me back here, wasn’t it?”
Dave shook his head. “No, I didn’t touch it. I checked his pulse, but that was it.“
Why would his book still be on his chest if he had turned the light off? I pointed at the book. “That’s kind of odd, isn’t it? I do sometimes put a book or a magazine on the other side of my bed rather on my
side table, but I certainly don’t turn out the light with a book in my hand.”
Dave shook his head no. “I do. Sometimes I nod off with my book propped on my chest, and I hardly stir when I reach over to switch the light off. It’s when I roll over and knock the book off the bed that I wake myself.”
“Leta, you must be rubbing off on Dave. He’s pretty observant too. You say he wore spectacles? I wonder whether they’re in this pile of papers the cat’s on?” Watson jumped off the bed as Gemma carefully sifted through the newspapers. “No, not here. Wouldn’t they be close to hand?”
Dave answered for me. “Having seen him twice, I can’t imagine him going to bed without them nearby, but maybe he’s like my mom and had cataract surgery and doesn’t need them all the time. But, wait, what are we doing? We’re acting as though there’s something fishy going on when what we have is an elderly man who died in his sleep. I mean, that’s what happened, right?”
Gemma sighed. “I’d like to think that’s what we have, Dave. But when there are anomalies at the scene, we have to account for them. I’m hopeful it will turn out to be a peaceful natural death, but I’ve got to check everything out to make an informed decision. The evidence gathered by the SOCOs when they arrive will help plus whatever the coroner tells us. I’m not overly concerned about the bedside light, but the missing spectacles puzzle me. Hopefully, there’s a logical explanation like the one you suggested.”
“DI Taylor, Constable James said you were in the bedroom. Oh, here you are.” Dressed in a white plastic jumpsuit, the middle-aged man who entered the room looked surprised to see three of us in the room. “And who are these two?”
Gemma rolled her eyes, one of her more annoying habits. “Ah, well, these two found the body, and since they’ve already been in here, I’m taking them through their actions to be sure they didn’t inadvertently disturb anything.”
He looked annoyed as he cleared his throat. “I trust they haven’t touched anything?”
“No, no. Well, only before I got here. They checked to see if he had a pulse. Then they called me. Since then, they’ve been confined to the entry to the room. The body is all yours.”
We three left the bedroom, and Gemma whispered, “Leta, I know you’ve never been here before, but I’d like your take on the library.” Funny how she so often invites my input, even if we don’t always see eye to eye. “And, Dave, your observations could be helpful too. Just don’t move anything.”
I could tell Dave was surprised, but he went with the flow. In the library, a young woman dressed in a white jumpsuit looked up as we entered. Flashing her badge, Gemma moved into the room followed by Dave, but I stayed in the doorway. I preferred to observe the overall scene before focusing on smaller details.
I saw a desk centered on the far wall in front of a window. I’d gotten a general impression of a cozy room earlier but hadn’t taken in the layout. On the left wall, there was a built-in bookcase, then a fireplace, and last, another bookcase. Two wingback chairs with a table between them faced the fireplace. The wall opposite the fireplace held more bookshelves and a display case centered between them, mirroring the arrangement on the other side of the room. “Look, Dave, that must be the typewriter we heard about, the one that belonged to J.M. Barrie.”
Dave tentatively approached the display. “Gemma, is it okay for me to touch it?”
“No!”
I almost laughed as his head whipped around, but he took it in stride. “Oh my. And to think, Teddy wanted to show me an article Barrie wrote about his typewriter. I wonder where the papers are. Some collectors keep them in three-ring notebooks in protective plastic pages.” When Gemma gave him a stern look, he continued, “I know, I know, If I find any documents, I won’t touch them, much as I’d like to. I would have loved sitting with him to go through his memorabilia.”
He stood staring at the typewriter and suddenly stooped. “Um, Gemma, the typewriter is sitting on top of this glass case that’s filled with knickknacks. Could the fact that the door on its front has a brass key in it and is hanging open be one of those anomalies you mentioned?”
Simultaneously, Gemma and I joined Dave by the case. “Look,” I said. “There’s a notebook faceup in the middle with children’s figurines behind it. The brass plate affixed to the cover reads ‘Teddy’s Treasures, Bless the Children,’ so the figurines make sense. I wonder whether there are other notebooks—with letters and newspaper clippings and such.”
Gemma knelt to get a better look. “What are these? Characters from children’s books? These aren’t valuable, are they? Pooh, Piglet, Tigger, Peter Pan, Wendy, the Cheshire Cat, Alice—you can find these in most gift shops, can’t you? But you’re right. There’s a good bit of space. If there were more notebooks, I wonder where they’ve gotten to.”
Peering between them, I commented, “I bet Beatrix knows. After all, she was here last night for dinner and to see the collection again.”
“Depending on what else we find, I may need to speak with her sooner rather than later,” said Gemma.
She moved to inspect the area around the desk, checking the trash can and opening drawers. I stood in front of the first bookcase to the left of the fireplace. Teddy had an extensive collection of old books, though I had no idea which, if any, might be collector’s items.
One shelf was filled with books by Graham Greene. I imagined Teddy collected them because Greene had briefly lived in Chipping Camden. Another was devoted to the mysteries of Ngaio Marsh, who was a New Zealand author. It appeared Teddy was as much a mystery lover as I was, and his choices weren’t confined to British authors. He’d been correct when he said his collection was eclectic.
Beyond mysteries, he had one shelf devoted to King Arthur books—the classics like Morte d’Arthur but also more modern takes on the beloved tale, like Mary Stewart’s The Crystal Cave and Rosemary Sutcliff’s King Arthur Trilogy for children.
I realized I was becoming so engrossed in Teddy’s books, I’d lost sight of why Gemma had invited me into the room. As I moved to the right, I almost tripped over Gemma kneeling in front of the fireplace. “Just checking to be sure there’s nothing of interest here.”
Kneeling beside her, I studied the ashes. “You mean like in the movies when someone’s burned something odd in the fireplace and it’s a vital clue?” She nodded and stood, indicating there was nothing to see.
I turned and surveyed the room again. I’d overlooked a binder on the table between the chairs. “Here’s another binder. Perhaps he and Beatrix were looking at it, here beside the fire last night.” When I leaned over, I saw it was labeled “Teddy’s Treasures, Miscellany.”
I moved to the bookshelves beyond the fireplace. The shelves from the middle on up were arranged much like those on the other side, by author. The ones closer to the bottom looked more like those of any avid reader, a hodgepodge of genres and authors. Beyond telling us about Teddy’s reading taste, I couldn’t discern anything particularly enlightening.
“DI Taylor, may I see you a moment?” came a voice from the hallway. It was the SOCO we’d left in the bedroom. I could tell he was none too pleased to encounter Dave and me again, this time in the library. “Excuse me, are these two on the payroll, or what?”
Once again, Gemma rolled her eyes. “Ah, well, I’m taking advantage of their knowledge of books and literary memorabilia to see if any details leap out at them.” That’s a stretch. But, I guess she had to offer some plausible explanation to the man.
He looked annoyed as he cleared his throat. “I trust they haven’t touched anything?”
Gemma assured him we were following the rules as the two returned to the bedroom. I wondered whether he had something significant to show her.
Though Gemma had checked the desk area, I studied it too. It was a mess, but perhaps that’s the way Teddy kept it. I couldn’t speak, given that mine stayed cluttered with papers, notebooks, and newspaper clippings except when Christie cleared it with a swipe or two of her paws. I could see an
other binder peeking out from the papers, but until and unless Gemma gave me permission to sort through the desktop, I knew not to touch it.
She returned and pulled me aside to whisper I should take Dave and return to the garden. I pointed to the edge of the binder, and she cleared the papers from it. “Teddy’s Treasures, Author Letters,” she read aloud.
I shrugged my shoulders and went to Dave. He was standing by the display case, looking dazed. “Let’s go,” I murmured to him.
We joined Constable James in the garden. He was standing at attention by the garden gate, and Dickens was stretched out in a shady spot on the stone patio. Dave and I sat on the steps as we’d done earlier.
Grabbing my hand, Dave asked, “What next? Are we free to go?”
“I think we need to wait for Gemma to tell us.” It was close to 12:30, and we’d arrived around 10:30. It seemed as though we’d been here much longer than two hours. I wonder whether we’ll make Gilbert’s 2 p.m. session.
“I’d like to have time to change before we go to the literary festival,” I said. “Oh my! I can’t believe I said that. That should be the last thing on my mind. Heck, is it even appropriate for us to be there? Do we still want to go? There’s no guide for manners following the discovery of a dead body.” I looked at Dave. “I’m babbling!”
“Yes, you are, but you’re echoing the random thoughts running through my mind. I mean, do we stroll in as though nothing’s happened? Do we tell Beatrix and Gilbert, the only two people I’d feel a need to tell? Are we sworn to secrecy?”
I had more questions. “I wonder whether Albert is scheduled to drive Teddy today? He could show up any minute if he is. Or maybe he’d arranged for someone else to take him. Maybe Albert’s doing odd jobs at Bluebird Books. And, I hate to say this, but I’m starving.”
The last line produced a smile from Dave. “Now that you mention it, I am too. That carb-laden breakfast we had didn’t last long.”
Collectors, Cats & Murder Page 8
