Collectors, Cats & Murder

by Kathy Manos Penn

  Overhearing our conversation, Constable James offered to check with Gemma as to what she wanted us to do. It wasn’t long before he came back with her in tow.

  She frowned. “I know you two must have plans today, and Dave, I have no further need of you right now. I can take a formal statement from you later today or tomorrow. Leta, technically, I don’t need you either, but I’d sure like to get your take on the library once the SOCOs have gone over it. If you want to go with Dave, maybe we can arrange to meet back here at another time.”

  I know what I want to do, but there’s no way I’m ditching Dave to stay here with Gemma. “I’m going with Dave. We want to see a presentation at 2, I have an appointment at 4, and we have dinner reservations . . . “

  “Right. Why don’t you text me later, and we’ll talk. I assume you’ll be seeing Beatrix shortly?”

  “Yes.“

  “Would you feel comfortable breaking the news to her? If she were the next of kin, I’d feel compelled to do it, but in this case, it doesn’t have to be me or Constable James. By the way, do you know who the next of kin is?”

  I blinked. “I have no idea. Beatrix might know, or Fiona, or the manager at Teddy’s bookshop. Can’t recall her name.”

  It was then Albert walked through the gate. “What’s going on? Where’s Teddy?”

  Gemma flashed her identification. “And you are?”

  He stepped back. “Albert Porter. I work for Teddy. Why are the police here?”

  Putting her hand on his arm, Gemma pulled him aside. I couldn’t hear her words, but the gasp and the shocked expression on Albert’s face told the story. Seeing him again, I realized he was older than I’d taken him for on Friday—perhaps in his thirties. It was probably that shaggy brown hair curling around his collar that gave me the impression of youth.

  They moved closer to us. “Now, Albert, why are you here?” asked Gemma.

  “Most days, either Fiona or I come by for one reason or another. If I’m not taking him to the grocer, Fiona’s bringing him a bite to eat or delivering books. Some days, Pris comes by if she needs to chat with Teddy about the bookshop, but usually it’s me or Fiona. And today, I’m supposed to run Teddy to the school to hear one of the literary festival sessions.”

  “And Pris is . . . ?”

  “Um. Pris manages Bluebird Books.”

  Constable James and Gemma exchanged a glance. An unspoken message must have passed between them because the constable went to Albert’s side and ushered him to a chair at the garden table. “Would you like a cup of tea? Let me take care of that, and then I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  While he attended to him, Dave, Dickens, and I took our leave. “Oh wait, one more thing,” I said over my shoulder. “Is it okay for us to tell today’s speaker, Gilbert Ward, about this? He was here visiting Teddy only yesterday. It doesn’t seem right to keep it from him.”

  Gemma agreed that was okay, but asked us to try to keep a lid on things beyond that. She’d soon be trying to interview the manager of the shop, and if she could find the names in the cottage, she planned to contact Teddy’s doctor and his solicitor. “The coroner will need a report from the doctor, and hopefully, the solicitor can tell me pretty quickly what happens to the bookshop so we don’t leave the employees in limbo.”

  We barely had time to get back to our room and change before it was time to dash to Gilbert’s presentation, which was scheduled at the Chipping Camden School. The events for the festival took place at various venues around the village. I’d hoped to catch Beatrix as the hotel, but when I rang her room, there was no answer. She’d probably attended a morning session too, taking advantage of the opportunity to hear as many speakers as possible.

  Dickens barked as he’d been doing intermittently since we’d left the cottage. “We need to talk. Don’t you want to know what Watson had to say?”

  As I reattached his leash, I whispered, “Yes, but not now. I can’t do it in front of Dave.”

  Still starving, Dave and I grabbed apples from the front desk and set out for the school. I saw Beatrix inside the Great Hall at the refreshment table. “Dave, should I tell her now or wait until after we hear Gilbert? She can’t do anything about it no matter when I tell her, and she won’t be able to concentrate on ‘Happenings on the Holmes Front’ if she’s got Teddy on her mind.”

  Dave didn’t hesitate. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to focus my mind, so I say let’s not spoil it for her. Another hour won’t make any difference.”

  When Beatrix greeted us with, “Oh, how was your visit with Teddy?”, I almost told her. I’m sure the expression on my face was a strange one, and I was momentarily speechless.

  Taking her elbow, Dave came to the rescue. “More on that later. They’ve sounded the gong indicating Gilbert’s about to start, and I don’t want to miss anything.”

  I was surprised that I was able to take in most of what Gilbert had to say. It was a testament to him that his entertaining talk distracted me from the morning’s events, though when he spoke of Sherlock’s study of ash, my mind momentarily drifted to the fireplace in the library. Sherlock was best known for being able to identify myriad types of tobacco ash—not that from wood or paper. Bet the great detective would be helpful if we found a pipe.

  When the presentation was over and the applause had tapered off, I turned to Beatrix. “Why don’t we wait until the audience is mostly done approaching Gilbert, and then see if we can speak with him?”

  “Okay. I’m not in any rush. The next session I’m attending is at the library—the one on R.F. Delderfeld and his historical novels.”

  “Funny, I don’t recall seeing that on the schedule. How did I overlook a talk on Delderfeld? I read some of his books when I was in my twenties and thoroughly enjoyed them. It was a phase, though. I read historical novels for years and then shifted to mysteries and never looked back.”

  Dave had been sitting quietly while we chatted, and as the crowd around Gilbert evaporated, Dave motioned him over.

  Gilbert was all smiles. “Well, hello again. Glad you could make it. I trust the thrust of today’s talk was different enough from Thursday night’s to hold your attention.”

  We all assured him it was and I suggested he take a seat. “I have some distressing news to share with you and Beatrix.” I explained how we’d gone to Teddy’s as planned and discovered he’d died—in his bed.

  Probably because Gilbert hardly knew him, he took the news better than Beatrix did. She gasped as her hands flew to her face and she began to cry.

  Dickens put his paws on the chair seat and nudged her elbow until she reached to pat his head. Somehow, he'd learned that his presence was a comfort to those in distress.

  “What do you mean? He was perfectly fine last night, if a bit tired. We had our usual lively conversation about the role of independent booksellers in today’s world, our favorite books of late, the new additions to his collection, and how the festival was going. I can’t believe he’s gone.”

  I rubbed her shoulders and murmured we couldn’t either, but that he’d looked peaceful when we found him. Dave added how sorry he was he hadn’t gotten the opportunity to spend more time with him.

  Gilbert shook his head in disbelief. “Dave, I wish you and Leta could have been with me. He was quite the raconteur, and I enjoyed viewing his collection while he shared stories of how he’d come by the pieces. For some reason, he had doubts about a J.M. Barrie letter he had, but since I’m no expert, I suggested he ask you. I suspect he thought he’d been taken in by a few clever reproductions. Unlike so many collectors who enjoy the hunt and then hardly look at their acquisitions, he was involved with his. By that, I mean he spoke of the documents and memorabilia as though they were his children.”

  Dabbing at her eyes, Beatrix smiled. “That was Teddy. His treasures were his world. His wife died a few years ago, and they never had children. Books, his bookshop, his assortment of objects, and of course, Watson, his cat—all of that was his life. I gu
ess you noticed the labels on his binders of letters and clippings—'Teddy’s Treasures’?”

  I nodded. “Beatrix,” I asked, “Did you know him well enough to know who his next of kin might be? A sibling, a niece or nephew, perhaps? Gemma needs to know whom to contact.”

  “I’m not sure, but I honestly don’t think there is anyone. If there is, I doubt they were close. Fiona or Priscilla might know.”

  Gilbert had to leave for an appointment, and we three debated whether we should change our afternoon plans because of Teddy’s sudden death. Beatrix wasn’t sure she was in any shape to attend the Delderfield talk.

  I had a massage appointment and Dave had no concrete plans. “Beatrix,” he offered, “how ’bout I join you for the session? I’ve never read Delderfield’s books, but I’m always up for learning about another author.”

  At least that comment made Beatrix smile. “Aren’t we all? I’ll take you up on your offer because I know Teddy would want me to carry on.”

  When I mentioned I had to grab a bite before my appointment, we walked together to the High Street where we ducked in a bakery for some snacks before going our separate ways. I hugged Beatrix and pecked Dave on the cheek. “See you back in the room around 5:30.”

  “Being alone with my thoughts could be a big mistake,” I said to Dickens as we left Dave and Beatrix.

  He stopped and cocked his head. “But you’re not alone. You’ve got me, and I’ve got lots to tell you.”

  Chapter Nine

  I had some time to spare before my massage, and I’d held Dickens off as long as I could. He was dying to chat. “I like Watson. What’s gonna happen with him? We need to be sure he gets fed. If he’s like Christie, he’s probably screeching right this minute. I can’t imagine how I’d feel if something happened to you—”

  Leaning against the side of the bed, I sat with Dickens on the floor. “Whoa. Slow down. Nothing’s going to happen to me, so don’t worry. I haven’t thought of who will look after Watson, but I’m sure someone will take him in. Did he tell you anything? Was he home last night or is he one of those wandering cats?”

  “He went out when Fiona left, as usual, but got worried when Teddy didn’t let him in this morning. I guess Teddy was like you, fixed his tea, and then took care of Watson. He gets milk and then wet food, just like Christie—except he doesn’t have a dog to help him with the leftovers.”

  “When Fiona left? Does that mean she was there—after Beatrix?”

  “Um, I didn’t know to ask about that, but Watson made it seem like Fiona leaving at night and letting him out was a regular thing. He described sitting in Teddy’s lap in the library in front of the fireplace. Oh! And something about Dracula. Who’s that? Maybe he was there too.”

  I stroked Dickens’s back as he lay by my side on the floor. “He’s a vampire, a character in a book. What else did Watson see?”

  “Oh. Lots of things. Every night, he walks along the garden walls up and down the street. He taunts the dog three doors down, chases a few squirrels, visits his girlfriend across the street. He gets around.”

  “Right, but did he see anyone else?”

  Dickens cocked his head. “Not last night. In the morning, he saw your friend who wears the bowties—same as me. And he saw that Albert bloke pick Teddy up and bring him home earlier during the day. Watson likes Albert. Says you can always tell a cat person.”

  This was a serious subject, but I couldn’t help laughing at Dickens. “Albert bloke? You think you’re British now? So, you’re sure, Watson didn’t see anyone or anything unusual at Teddy’s cottage?”

  “Don’t think so, but maybe we need to visit him again. Can we? Can we?”

  Nodding, I thought about Gemma wanting me to set up a time to return. I wondered what she’d discovered while I’d been listening to Gilbert’s tales of Sherlock Holmes. Maybe by now, she’d determined Teddy had died quietly in his sleep, his book beneath his hand. I’d be happy to go like that when my time comes.

  Downstairs in the spa, I relaxed facedown beneath the hands of the masseuse. I was plagued by tight shoulders, and she was working wonders on the knots, though not without a few yelps from me. Amazingly, I managed not to dwell on the morning’s events, and I felt rested and rejuvenated when my hour was up.

  When I opened the door to our room, Dickens lifted his head, but that was it. Dave hadn’t returned yet, so I lay on the bed, intending to continue relaxing until he showed up. Our dinner reservation wasn’t until eight, meaning I had plenty of time to shower and make myself presentable. No luck on the snoozing front because my phone rang as my head hit the pillow.

  It was Gemma. “Are you okay? You sound funny.”

  I yawned. “I’d be more okay if I could take a nap. Where are you?"

  “Believe it or not, I’m back in Chipping Camden, waiting to meet with Fiona and then Priscilla. I’m trying to get a handle on who saw Teddy when on Friday. I’d like to speak with Beatrix, as she was the last person to see Teddy yesterday, but she must have her phone turned off. Did you tell her?”

  Uh-oh, how do I tell her that Fiona was the last person to see him when all I have are the words of a cat and a dog? Hopefully, Fiona will tell her, and I won’t have to worry about it. "Yes," I told her. "She was torn up, but all in all handled it pretty well. And I bet you’re right about her phone, since she’s been in and out of presentations all day.”

  I suggested Gemma leave Beatrix a message at the front desk so she’d get it as soon as she returned to the hotel. “So, are these interviews, or whatever you call them, simply a matter of course, nothing suspicious from your perspective?”

  “Yes. Unless the coroner tells me something different, I’m leaning towards natural causes. I won’t have the report until Monday at the earliest as we’re not seeing this as a priority. More likely Tuesday.

  “If I can speak with Beatrix after I’m done at the bookshop, that should take care of things for today. I was able to find the solicitor’s name, and I have a call into him, but I doubt I’ll hear from him until next week. He should be able to point me to the next of kin. Beyond hoping Beatrix might have been with you, I was calling to say I don’t think I’ll need you back at the cottage.”

  “Okay. That’s good to hear. I wasn’t keen on telling Dave I had to leave him to meet up with you. I’ve only discovered this week how concerned he’s been about my mishaps these past few months.”

  I heard a chuckle. “Mishaps? Is that what you call them? One visit to Accident & Emergency and almost a second? Gee, does he think the ‘little lady’ needs to mind her own business? Maybe stop sticking her nose into police affairs?”

  Why is it Gemma never ceases to get under my skin? Little lady? I’ve used that phrase regarding Brian Burton, but Dave was nothing like him. “He didn’t say it that way, and excuse me, wasn’t it you who wanted me to apply my observation skills today at the scene? You can’t have it both ways, Gemma. Remember that next time you ask for my help.”

  “Oh, get off your high horse, Leta. I’ve managed to admit—from time to time—that you’re helpful, but, and this is a huge but, you put yourself in danger way too often—you’re careless in that regard. It’s no wonder Dave is worried. What man wouldn’t be?”

  It’s past time to end this conversation. I can feel my feminist hackles rising. “Fine. Doesn’t look like it’s an issue this time anyway. If I see Beatrix, I’ll tell her to call you.” And I ended the call. Too bad I didn’t have a real phone to slam down for emphasis.

  I was still fuming when Dave walked in. He smiled as he handed me three books. “I heard you mention enjoying Delderfeld’s books in your younger days, and I thought you might want to revisit his popular trilogy. He wrote the books in the late ’60s—Long Summer's Day, Post of Honour, and The Green Gauntlet. Heck, I might even read them, since the saga starts between the Boer War and World War I, moves on through World War II, and into the ’60s.”

  Looking through the first book, I glanced up and smiled. “I love
d these books, and I recall friends marveling at how I managed to read one a week, though each was over 600 pages. I couldn’t put them down—I had to know what happened to the family through the hardship and heartache of two world wars and rebuilding a life in England. You know, it could have been these books that first made me fall in love with this country.”

  “You’ve just sold me. Beatrix was enthralled with the discussion, and she’s planning a historical fiction window display at her shop for the summer. Maybe it will be a book club selection. Who knows?”

  I stood and hugged him. “Thank you. Thanks for going with Beatrix so her day wasn’t awful, and thanks for my thoughtful gift.”

  After a quick shower for me and forty winks for Dave, we decided to arrive early at the restaurant we’d chosen for dinner—Michael’s at Woolmarket House—billed as “A little corner of Cyprus in the heart of the Cotswolds.” We planned to have cocktails on their terrace before moving inside to the table we’d reserved near one of the inglenook fireplaces. They might have welcomed Dickens, but we were in the mood for an elegant evening sans the dog, much to his dismay.

  I smeared a bit of the fried halloumi cheese on a chunk of pita bread and took a bite. “Oh my goodness. If the main courses are anything like this starter, I’ll be in heaven. Actually, I think I’m already there.” We agreed on a bottle of Merlot instead of mixed drinks, and it was the perfect accompaniment.

  Despite the horrible start to the day, we managed to enjoy ourselves and steer clear of any discussion of the morning’s events. Inside, when my lamb shank was placed in front of me, I closed my eyes and took in the enticing aroma. “I’ve cooked this dish, but not often. It’s nice to eat Mediterranean food without having to be the chef.”

  Dave was equally pleased with his prawns, and since we were on foot, we indulged in a second bottle of wine. Neither of us had room left for dessert, though it was tempting. It wasn’t until we were strolling back to our hotel that the morning’s events intruded on the evening.