Collectors, Cats & Murder

by Kathy Manos Penn

  “Hmmm. I haven’t figured that out yet. Sure, we found some odd items in the wheelie bin, but Teddy could have put them there. We don’t know yet that anything was stolen. That’s why I was hoping Dave could look through the binders.”

  I was puzzled. “What exactly are you hoping Dave will find? I know he’ll want to look through them from a curiosity perspective, but I’m not sure what you think he’ll see, since he never saw them in their original condition. I bet Beatrix would be more helpful.”

  “I’m not sure either. I just know Dave found empty plastic sleeves in the wheelie bin, and I was hoping there’d be some rhyme or reason to what might have been in them if he studied the binders. And we know Fiona last saw one of the binders on the bed, but all three were in the library by the time we arrived on the scene.”

  Then why not ask Beatrix, as I suggested? I don’t know why I bother trying to mask my irritation with her. Well, yes I do. I was raised in the South, and we Southern ladies don’t do angry and confrontational if we can avoid it.

  “Gemma, Dave’s a writer, and he’s knowledgeable about a few authors like J.M. Barrie and Arthur Conan Doyle because he’s written about them, but he’s not a scholar. I’m as likely to see anomalies in the flow of the books as he is, if only because I’ve listened to him talk about his research for months.” There, I said it—without biting her head off. What part of my attention to detail did she not get?

  “Hmmm, didn’t think of that.” And why not? I wondered. I’d made good suggestions she was choosing to ignore, and Dave and I had already done plenty to move the investigation along. I found the safe, for goodness’ sake.

  I’d hardly known Teddy, so I wasn’t invested in solving this case. At least, that’s what I told myself. “Well, Gemma, I appreciate the update. I guess I’ll let you get back to work, since I don’t have a dog in this fight.”

  She chuckled. “Dog in this fight . . . haven’t heard that expression in . . . well, in a dog’s age!”

  Dickens stirred and looked at me from his position beneath my feet. “Fight? You know I don’t fight.” Tickling him beneath his chin, I thought about his issue with our funny human language and almost missed Gemma’s next comment.

  “I think before long you may have a dog in this fight, but that’s all I can say for now. Seriously, if I could, I’d tell you. I just can’t. But, I guess I could use some help with those binders. Have you got time today or Tuesday to go through them?”

  Who am I trying to fool? Sitting in Quedgeley going through letters and clippings from famous authors is right up my alley, plus it would be perfectly safe. Nothing for Dave to be worried about. I blew out my breath. “Sure, I’ll work it out. Do I need you with me, or can you just set it up for me to go on my own?” She promised to get back to me with an answer, and she requested I contact her when the grapevine news about Teddy’s heir reached me.

  So much for writing any columns. With a visit to Quedgeley looming and my curiosity piqued as to the grapevine, I wandered into the kitchen and stared into the fridge. I need to visit the grocery for salad fixings and fruit, maybe ingredients for a pot of soup. I should have Belle and Peter over for dinner too. Peter and Wendy coordinated their schedules so that when Wendy was away, Peter spent the night at Belle’s cottage, and this week, Wendy was vacationing in Cornwall.

  I called Belle and Peter and invited them for Wednesday evening. Peter was effusive. “You’re a lifesaver. Mum’s not much for cooking these days, and my skills are limited to two or three dishes. We’ll be down to beans on toast soon unless I get takeaway.”

  My list started with Greek salad ingredients, as they’d expect one of those no matter what else I served. I flipped through a recipe book and finally decided on simple—as in a Bolognese sauce served with ziti or rigatoni and some freshly grated romano cheese. I rarely followed a recipe, as I’d been making the red sauce since I was a teenager. I varied the ingredients depending on what I could find at the grocery store. Ground chuck was a must. If I could find ground pork, I’d add that. I’d never gone in for celery and carrots in my sauce, though many chefs did.

  I can’t go grocery shopping on an empty stomach, I thought. It was slim pickings in the fridge, so I settled on cheese and crackers. Staring out the window as I munched, I wondered how long I’d have to wait to discover who was named in Teddy’s will. I bet if it were a complete stranger, Gemma would have told me the name. So, who can it be?

  When my phone rang and I saw Beatrix’s name pop up on the screen, I realized I hadn’t checked on her since I’d gotten home, and I hoped she was doing okay. Of all my friends, she was the only one who’d known Teddy more than a few days. “Hi, Beatrix, how are you?”

  “Oh my gosh, Leta. Can you come to the shop, now? I need you.”

  “What’s wrong? Yes, I can come, but what’s wrong? Where’s Trixie?”

  “She’s here. That’s not it. He . . . he left me his bookshop. Teddy left me Bluebird Books. What am I going to do?”

  At least I knew she and Trixie were okay, but I couldn’t tell if she was excited, horrified, or what. I told her I’d be right there and shot out the door, hollering to Dickens and Christie that I’d be back. Guess I’ve got the answer to cui bono.

  Chapter Twelve

  Trixie looked relieved when I opened the door to the Book Nook. “Thank goodness you’re here. Aunt Beatrix is beside herself with worry or grief or both. She’s in the backroom, pacing.”

  Rushing to the back, I grabbed Beatrix in a hug. She wasn’t crying, but her eyes were red and she was sniffling. The pacing and the wadded tissue in her hand told me my typically matter-of-fact friend was distraught. I sat her at the table and made tea.

  She sipped and moaned. “I can’t believe Teddy’s dead, and I can’t believe I’m in his will—he’s left me his bookshop and . . . just about everything else. The solicitor called and said he’d give me more detail in person—that he wouldn’t typically have contacted me this soon except he’d spoken to Gemma. Oh my gosh!”

  I didn’t know how it worked in the UK. When Henry died, I had a copy of our wills in the safe in the bedroom, so there were no surprises. And when I thought back to my mother passing away, I recalled my father had handled everything. Mom had made a list of her jewelry and how to divide it, but that was it. Guess it’s different when the bequest is a surprise.

  “How can I help, Beatrix?”

  Her response had nothing to do with my question. “And then Gemma called and said Teddy didn’t die quietly in his sleep—he was murdered. It was enough of a shock to hear he passed away in his sleep. To hear someone killed him—It’s all more than I can deal with.

  “And I . . . I feel I need to see the solicitor today so I can let Pris and the others at Bluebird Books know. Beyond their shock and grief at Teddy’s death, I’m sure they’re worried about their jobs. I at least need to let them know the shop will go on, though I’ve no idea how I’ll manage that.” Her elbows on the table, she put her face in her hands.

  “Let’s take one thing at a time. How much did Gemma tell you about how Teddy died?”

  “He was smothered. I can see this horrible scene in my mind. Someone holding a pillow over his face until he . . . he stopped breathing. How could someone do that? Who could do that?”

  I let her murmur about that for a moment, and then I asked about the will. “I take it that wasn’t your only shock. The news about the will comes as a complete surprise too?”

  She looked up. That topic was easier for her to talk about. “Yes . . . and no. He’s been after me to buy the shop for over a year now—ever since he got to the point where he couldn’t go in every day. I kept telling him I couldn’t handle two shops, even if we could work out an affordable price. And then Trixie arrived.” Trixie had moved in with Beatrix in the fall and become a tremendous help to her aunt. She was a natural with the customers, and her handcrafted cards and bookmarks had taken off with the locals and the tourists. “He stepped up his campaign after that.”r />
  “And how did you feel then? Did having Trixie here change your mind about taking on another shop?”

  “A bit. Teddy and I began to talk more seriously about my purchasing the shop but I wasn’t eager to go into debt. Two weeks ago, he proposed I take over managing it for the summer as a way to judge whether I saw it as viable, and over dinner Friday night, we ironed out the details of that arrangement. The rascal! He must have been pretty sure of me if he’d already put me in his will.”

  “Or at least he was sure you could make a go of it. He knew you were a capable businesswoman. Do you have an appointment with the solicitor to get more information?”

  “Yes, at 4:30, and I’m hoping you’ll go with me, Leta. It’s all so much to absorb, and you’ve got such a level head—and a background in banking.”

  “I’m happy to go, Beatrix. I’ll take notes and try to ask good questions, but you know I wasn’t a banker in the way most people think of one.” I laughed. “I worked in leadership training and communications, not anything to do with loans or credit. Heaven forbid they’d let me near the money!” I looked at my watch. It was already two. “Let me run home and change into something more appropriate for a solicitor’s office, and I’ll be back to pick you up by three.” It was about a thirty-minute drive to Chipping Camden, and it wouldn’t do to be late.

  Dickens greeted me at the door and followed me upstairs, where Christie was curled up on my bed. “Are we going somewhere, Leta? You’re putting on nice clothes. Is it a car ride? Can I go?”

  No matter how often Dickens peppered me with questions, his rapid-fire barks always entertained me. When I told him I didn’t see why he couldn’t go, he raced downstairs. Christie rolled and stretched but remained silent. As long as I was back to feed her this evening, she’d be content.

  On the drive to Chipping Camden, Beatrix babbled. I suppose it was her way of working through the news she was now the owner of two bookshops and goodness knows what else. She and Teddy had discussed his concerns about the shop Friday evening.

  “He’d been worried about Pris’s management of the shop for a while, but couldn’t put his finger on what the problem was. Was she just a poor manager, an inept recordkeeper, or was she maybe skimming off the top? All he knew was that since he stopped going in, the shop was losing money. It had never been a huge moneymaker, but this was different.

  “That was one thing he hoped I’d figure out when I took over for the summer. Pris had been a good sales clerk, but maybe management was more than she could handle. Regardless, she was quite upset when he told her Friday morning I’d be coming in as manager. He planned to continue paying her the same salary, but I guess the idea that there’d be someone else in charge didn’t sit well.”

  I told her about the list I’d seen on Teddy’s desk and asked whether they’d had a chance to discuss it.

  “Oh yes. In his mind, that was part of the problem. He couldn’t do those things himself and kept asking Pris to take them on, but she put him off—told him she had too much to do to start anything new. I bet she didn’t have any idea how to create a Facebook page for the shop, and probably wasn’t a natural at window displays. You have to be a jack of all trades in this business.”

  The solicitor’s office was close to the High Street. We should be able to walk to Bluebird Books once we’re finished here. “Why don’t you go on in, while I let Dickens walk a bit? I’ll be right behind you.”

  A quick inspection of the ground beneath the rowan tree out front was all Dickens needed. “You know, of all your friends, Beatrix pays me the least attention. I mean she’s nice enough, but she never gives me belly rubs or scratches my ears.”

  “Shush. She’s more of a cat person, and you’ve got plenty of admirers without Beatrix.” Inside, the receptionist directed us to the stairs and said she’d be up shortly with tea.

  Once introductions were made and tea served, the solicitor quickly got down to business. “Miss Scott, I can understand why you’re shocked to discover Mr. Byrd bequeathed almost his entire estate to you. When there’s family involved, there’s an expectation on their parts that they’ll inherit something, but in situations like Mr. Byrd’s where there’s no family, a bequest can come as quite a surprise. Now, do you understand that, except for the parts of his collection he designated to go to museums and one smaller bequest, you are the recipient of the bulk of his estate?”

  There was an audible gulp for Beatrix. “Yes, I haven’t quite absorbed it, nor do I know what his entire estate is, but I understand most of it comes to me. I guess that means the cottage, its contents, and Bluebird Books, right?”

  “Primarily, yes. Plus the Rolls and the funds in his investment accounts. This is a substantial bequest, and I hope you have a solicitor of your own and a financial advisor to assist you. I, of course, would be happy to take you on as a client, should you so choose.”

  Dickens was concerned about Watson. “What about the cat? Who gets the cat?”

  We all looked at him, and I jumped in with a humorous but truthful explanation. “My dog is asking why there’s no mention of the cat. Gemma took him to her parents, but surely Teddy mentions the cat in his will.”

  He nodded. “But of course. The cat goes to Miss Scott as well. Watson, as I believe he’s called, used to go with Mr. Byrd to the bookshop, so I suppose it’s possible he could take up residence there.”

  Beatrix looked overwhelmed, so I jumped in. “Thank you. As you’ve mentioned, this is quite a shock to my friend. She brought me along to offer support and to ask questions she might not think of. My most immediate question concerns Teddy’s cottage. When will she able to visit?”

  “I’m able to give you the keys to both the cottage and the shop, but as the constabulary has informed me the cottage is a crime scene, they will have to grant you permission for access.”

  Was that why Gemma wanted me to contact her once I knew who the heir was? “Would that be DI Gemma Taylor? Did she give you further instructions in that regard?”

  “Yes and no. She said the cottage is off-limits for now. Miss Scott, you may visit the shop, and you may drive the car, but of course, there is paperwork required to finalize the transfer of ownership. I will begin the process for that and notify you when we can meet again. In the meantime, I have a piece of private correspondence Mr. Byrd left for you.” He passed a brown envelope to Beatrix.

  She fumbled with the clasp and pulled out a single sheet of parchment paper. It was a short letter written in a beautiful script. As she read to herself, her mouth formed an “O.” Looking up, she passed the parchment to me.

  I read aloud—

  Dear Beatrix,

  I can think of no better person to care for my beloved Bluebird Books and my treasured collection. You have been a good friend to me these many years, and I trust you will be a loving custodian.

  As one who shares my passion for literature, I hope this little puzzle will remind you of my playful nature and lighten your mood as you take on the task of clearing out the clutter in my cottage.

  In my office, you will find a small safe. Start there and follow the clues! Enjoy yourself, dear friend, and remember me fondly.

  Love Teddy

  “That is so like him.” She sobbed and looked across the desk. “But what if I can’t solve the puzzle? How will we get into the safe?”

  “I have an extra key and instructions to give it to you, should you be unsuccessful. But Mr. Byrd also directed me to ensure you make a good-faith effort to solve the puzzle. I’m not sure how I’ll ascertain that, but I’ll try.” He smiled and shook his head. “He was a rascal, wasn’t he?”

  Funny, Beatrix had used the same word about Teddy. I was sorry I wouldn’t have a chance to get to know him better. I can’t wait to tell this story to Dave. He’ll get such a kick out of it. “Beatrix, we’ve got a head start because I stumbled across the safe when I was there with Dave. It was disguised as a book! We’ll figure it out. And as soon as we leave here, I’ll call Gemma to se
e about access to the cottage, though I don’t see us tackling that today.”

  With the keys and the envelope tucked safely in Beatrix’s purse, we stood outside the solicitor’s office. The new owner of Bluebird Books seemed dazed, and I suggested she collect her thoughts before we walked to the bookshop.

  “Beatrix, let’s think of what you have to accomplish in this initial visit. First, I think we need to establish who has keys to what. I know from Gemma that Fiona has a key to the cottage. And did you know that Fiona lives in the flat above the shop? And, oh my goodness, does Albert have a set of keys to the car?”

  She nodded. “I know Teddy and Fiona were very close, and he may have mentioned the flat, but I don’t recall. Pris must have keys to the shop, and if Fiona opens for her on occasion, she may have keys too. It could be useful to let Fiona keep her set of cottage keys so I have someone here in Chipping Camden to pop by when need be. If Teddy trusted her, that’s good enough for me.”

  “What about Albert and the car?”

  “I don’t know much about Albert, except he looked vaguely familiar to me when I saw him at the festival. I know he drives for Teddy and does odd jobs at the shop. I think he has a carpentry background. What do you think about the car keys?”

  I was trying to decide what I thought when Beatrix said, “But wait a minute. When I had dinner with Teddy Friday night, he told me something that struck me as odd. You were there at the festival when Fiona came to fetch Albert to fix the table in the shop. The three of them left together, and after tending to the table, Albert drove Teddy to the cottage. He helped him inside, as usual, and Teddy went to the loo. When he came out, he found the lad in the library. He expected him to be gone.”

  “Was Teddy concerned?”

  “Not really. Said Albert wanted to confirm the pickup time for Saturday. Teddy said he’s turned into quite a reader since starting work at the bookshop. He’s always haunted estate sales in search of furniture he can refinish and sell, and nowadays he also scouts for books. From time to time, he brought Teddy the odd item for his opinion about its value, and sometimes Teddy bought the book or old newspaper for his collection. If he wasn’t interested, it wound up at the Bolton Flea Market in Manchester. You know, could be that’s where I’ve seen Albert, since I’m there so often stocking up on used books.”