“Maybe so. As far as the car keys, though, I think you need to get them back. I can’t see you needing a driver, can you?”
Beatrix shook her head no. I wondered aloud what she’d eventually do with the Rolls and suggested she consult Peter. As a garage owner, he could check it out for her and help her decide whether to keep it or sell it and probably help her find a buyer if she didn’t want it for herself.
In my head, I shifted gears to what Beatrix should say to her new employees. She needed to express her sorrow about Teddy and put them at ease about the immediate future of the shop and their jobs—while being careful about making any long-term commitments. It would take time for her to get her arms around the shop’s inventory and finances, not to mention the work ethic and expertise of Pris, Fiona, and whoever else worked there.
“Beatrix, I know you’ve got a good business head, but this is new territory for you. I suggest you keep it short and sweet. They’re sure to fix us tea, so there will be a bit of time to reminisce about Teddy, but let’s not spend too much time there. Today’s not the day to ask questions beyond what you absolutely must know—like who has keys.”
“You’re right, Leta. I need to get my arms around the business, but not today.”
“Have you visited the shop before? Oh! That’s a silly question. Surely you have if you agreed to manage it for the summer.”
“Yes, I have, but not as often since Teddy wasn’t going in anymore. And, since he hadn’t told anyone about our new arrangement until Friday morning, I’ve not been in recently. I think Pris and Fiona will remember me as Teddy’s friend and fellow bookshop owner, and Pris, of course, knows I was set to begin managing Bluebird Books.”
The shop closed at six, so our arrival at 5:45 was good timing. Beatrix surprised me by stopping a few doors before the shop to stare in the window of the Chipping Camden Café.
“Beatrix, are you okay?”
“Yes, I just need to calm myself before we walk in.”
As Dickens and I moved to her side, a greeting rang out. “Beatrix, is that you?”
I looked around and saw a familiar-looking gentleman crossing the street. Where do I know him from? I studied him as he approached. Oh! It’s the man with the cravat, the one we met Friday at the festival. Today, instead of the cravat, he sported a turtleneck and a tweed jacket.
When he touched Beatrix on the arm and leaned in to kiss her on the cheek, her eyes brimmed with tears. “Alastair,” she said, “are you on your way to Bluebird Books?”
“No, no, my dear. I’m popping in to the candy shop to get sweets for my Bonnie. I’ve spent the afternoon assessing and making an offer on a large personal library. You know, I get calls from time to time when a book lover is forced to downsize to a retirement home. This gentleman has close to 1500 books he’ll not be able to take with him.” He paused. “I was shocked and saddened to hear about Teddy. I know you two were close.”
A tear trickled down Beatrix’s cheek, and the two murmured together before she shook herself and looked my way. “Leta, have you met Alastair Porter?”
Stepping up, I offered my hand. “Yes, we met at the Barrie presentation last Friday.” We exchanged pleasantries about Dave’s talk, and he once again suggested Dave and I visit his flea market stall. With that, he hugged Beatrix and explained he had a three-hour drive to Manchester ahead and needed to get on the road.
The brief interlude seemed to have fortified Beatrix, and we approached Bluebird Books just as Fiona was flipping the sign from Open to Closed. The bell overhead jangled as she opened the door and said, “So sorry ladies, but we’re . . .” She stopped in mid-sentence, perhaps because she recognized me or Beatrix or both of us.
When she opened the door wide and stepped back, I dropped Dickens’s leash, and as I knew he would, he barked hello. Kneeling to greet him gave Fiona a moment to regain her composure as I introduced myself. “Hi, I met you at the festival Friday afternoon. I’m Leta Parker, and this is Dickens.”
She shook my hand and hesitated. “Leta—oh! You’re the one who found Teddy!”
Without sharing any details, I explained it had been a shock and expressed my sorrow for her loss. “I understand you’d been with Teddy for several years and also cared for his wife when she was ill. This must be hard for you.”
Her eyes shone with tears. “He was like a grandfather to me.” She turned to Beatrix. “And I remember you. Teddy loved your shop in Astonbury. He said he learned a lot from you.”
We were consoling each other when a grey-haired woman came out of the back room. This must be Pris. I introduced myself again, and as Beatrix stepped forward, Pris hugged her.
The two murmured together before Beatrix turned to include Fiona. “I’m in shock, and I know you must be as well. Losing Teddy is a blow for us all. I . . . I’d like to chat with you both. Could we put out the Closed sign and sit down together?” Pris nodded and motioned us to the back as Fiona locked the front door and flipped the sign.
Much like the room at the Book Nook, this one had tall shelves around the walls, a rectangular table in the middle, several chairs, and a counter with tea and coffee fixings. There was a comfy armchair and ottoman in one corner, and I wondered if it had been Teddy’s spot. I offered to fix tea, but Pris stepped in to handle it. Dickens looked at her expectantly until I called him. Instead of coming to me, he settled by Fiona’s side and nudged her hand until she scratched his ears.
Beatrix cleared her throat. “Pris, I know Teddy told you he’d asked me to come in to manage Bluebird Books this summer. He wanted me to set up a book club like we have at the Book Nook, plus a few other things.” She was fudging a bit, probably to spare Pris’s feelings. “I’d planned to begin mid-May. Here’s the thing. As you are, I was absorbing the shock of Teddy’s sudden death. Then, today, his solicitor called me. Leta and I just met with him.”
She looked at me, and I nodded in encouragement as she dabbed at her eyes. “I don’t know how to say this other than to come right out with it. Teddy has left Bluebird Books to me. It’s another shock, and I can’t quite wrap my brain around it . . . “
Fiona’s mouth dropped open, and Pris turned red and muttered something I couldn’t make out. Beatrix paused for a beat allowing Pris a chance to speak up. When nothing was forthcoming, she continued. “Please know that Bluebird Books will go on and remain open as Teddy would have wanted it to. And I hope you will remain too. You know your customers and they know you.”
She continued in that vein, and I thought she was doing a good job. Shifting to the topic of keys, she confirmed that both Pris and Fiona had shop keys, but that only Fiona had keys to the cottage. When she asked about car keys, Fiona told her Albert used the ones hanging in the kitchen at the cottage, that he didn’t have a set of his own.
Fiona burst into tears when Beatrix asked if she would hold on to the cottage keys so she could drop by if needed. “Yes, yes I will, but . . . but what about my flat?”
Beatrix moved around the table to put her arms around her. “Fiona, please don’t worry. Did you think I’d kick you out? As good as you’ve been to Teddy?” She shushed her, and Fiona’s sobs subsided.
Pris had been oddly quiet, and I wondered whether it was grief, surprise, anger, or some combination that was causing her silence. When she finally spoke, her tone was curt. “Will you be taking over the bills? And the ordering? Setting up book signings? Teddy did most of that.”
“We’ll work that out in good time. Are you okay to leave things as they are for now—at least for a few days? I’ll have my hands full sorting through things at the cottage, and I don’t want to make any hasty decisions. Let’s set a time for next week, Pris, so you can tell me exactly what Teddy was handling, so nothing falls through the cracks. Will that be okay?”
The conversation turned to Teddy’s organizational skills or lack thereof, and the reminiscing began. I wandered to the front of the store while they talked about their friend and employer. I liked the inviting arrangement of
tabletop displays and the several comfy chairs scattered in corners. Centered on a large oval table was a two-sided sign that read, “Inspired by the Cotswolds.” Along with those who had summered at Stanway Manor with J.M.Barrie— A.A. Milne, and P.G. Wodehouse—were others like J.K. Rowling, Beatrix Potter, T.S. Eliot, and Nancy Mitford. A small card about T.S. Eliot noted that he was a regular visitor to Chipping Camden. It was written in beautiful script.
Another table was devoted to Arthur Conan Doyle and Sherlock Holmes. There were several biographies of the author, and I spied the Russell and Holmes series by Laurie R. King, Leonard Goldberg’s Daughter of Sherlock Holmes mysteries, and the Sherlock Holmes Bookshop mysteries by Vicki Delaney. Hopefully, after Gilbert’s presentation, these books had sold like hotcakes. Several small handwritten cards were scattered around the table with quotes—Who Dun It? The Game’s Afoot. Elementary, my Dear Watson. I wondered who’d done the calligraphy.
As I moved from the tables to the shelves, I noticed movie posters displayed on the walls around the shop—Pride and Prejudice, Persuasion, Murder on the Orient Express, Howards End, and more—all, of course, movies based on books. Beneath the Jane Austen posters was a table of her books. What a great way to get people interested in reading the classics.
I was flipping through the E.M. Forster books displayed near the Howards End poster when Beatrix emerged from the back room, followed by Dickens. Her eyes were red and she looked exhausted. “Let’s go home. I think the day has suddenly caught up with me.”
We walked slowly to the solicitor’s office, letting Dickens sniff along the street to his heart’s content. “I like it when there’s no rush, Leta.”
In the car, it wasn’t long before both my companions were asleep. I need to call Gemma about access to the cottage for Beatrix, and I’d like to be there too. And I need to squeeze in a trip to Quedgeley.
When Beatrix stirred, I asked whether Gemma had mentioned the binders to her.
“I’ve looked at those notebooks any number of times through the years, and again Friday evening. Does this have something to do with Teddy’s death?”
“That’s what Gemma is trying to figure out. Can you think of any reason someone would want to kill Teddy? Did Gemma ask you about enemies?”
She’d been staring out the window, and she whipped her head around to look at me. “Enemies? He was a sweet old man, in his eighties. What enemies could he have?”
Being elderly doesn’t preclude someone from having enemies. “I don’t know, Beatrix, but that’s the first question the police ask—that and who benefits. Based on the will, you're the primary beneficiary. There's another person who gets something smaller, and then a few museums. So, the next question is enemies.”
I paused. “Unless it started as a robbery and got out of hand. We found empty plastic sleeves in the wheelie bin, so knowing what was in the binders and whether anything is missing from them would be a start on motive. And other things could be missing from the cottage—or nothing at all. Other than you and Fiona, I’m not sure who would know.”
Beatrix was looking at me as though I had two heads. “Bloody hell, you’re playing detective, aren’t you? Should I expect to hear from Wendy next? Or Belle?” She gulped and burst into tears. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snipe at you.”
My first instinct was to snipe back, but I held my temper. It must be the stress. She can’t have forgotten last October, when Wendy, Belle, and I went all out to ensure her niece wasn’t charged with murder.
“I know, Beatrix. You haven’t asked for my assistance beyond today, but couldn’t you use some help? Gemma’s already asked me to look through the binders, but you and I doing that together would work better. We can bounce questions off each other. The truth is I’ve been thinking of asking Belle to help too, whenever you’re ready. How does that sound?”
She gave a tremulous sigh. “You’re right. Of course, you’re right. I remember how shocked I was when I heard you three brainstorming motives for the murder at the Fall Fête. The LOLs think of things that would never enter my mind. I don’t think my brain’s wired that way, no matter the mysteries I read.”
“Okay, it’s settled then. Let’s call Gemma.” It was much safer to have Siri place the call so I could focus on staying on the proper side of the road. I just needed to be sure to let Gemma know she was on speakerphone when she answered.
“DI Taylor. Oh, hi, Leta, I was wondering when I’d hear from you. Has the grapevine only now caught up with you?”
“Gemma, not only has it caught up with me, Beatrix is sitting beside me and we’re on our way back from seeing her solicitor.”
“Well, well. That was quick. How are you doing, Beatrix?”
It took Beatrix a moment to answer. “Okay, I guess. I don’t think I could have made it through without Leta, though. She asked good questions and made sure I found out who has keys. It’s all too much to think about.”
I took over. “Listen, Gemma, I’ve been thinking—”
“Right! Sounds like trouble’s brewing.”
Gritting my teeth, I let that remark slide. “You asked me to make time to go to Quedgeley, but Beatrix knows more about the contents of the binders than I do. And two heads are better than one. And while I’m tossing out clichés, let’s add ‘we could kill two birds with one stone.’ What if Beatrix and I go to the cottage tomorrow, open the safe, and see where that gets us. Plus, Beatrix can walk through the rooms to see if anything obvious is out of place—”
“You found the key to the safe?! Bloody hell, Leta, if you’ve been to the cottage without me, I’ll . . . I’ll—”
“Stop right there! Of course, I haven’t been back to the scene of the crime. I know better than that.”
Beatrix closed her eyes and shook her head. “Cut it out, you two. I wish it were that simple. What we have is a treasure hunt.”
Gemma hesitated. “Um, Beatrix, you’ve lost me.”
I explained about the letter from Teddy and reminded her about the note we’d found. “So, we’re fine to go to the cottage, right? The solicitor said we needed your permission.” She’s thinking Beatrix is a suspect but doesn’t want to say it.
Instead, she hedged. “But what about Quedgeley? I think that’s more important.”
That gave me an idea. “Back to killing two birds . . . could Constable James meet us at the cottage and bring the binders? That way, he’d hear our observations firsthand, and if we’re lucky, we’ll solve the puzzle of the safe and open it. He’ll be there for it all.” That should give Gemma a graceful way out. If he’s with us, he can observe Beatrix for suspicious behavior. As though my friend could have had anything to do with smothering Teddy!
“You know you’re pushing it, right Leta? The Gloucestershire Police don’t work for you.” Good, I’ve gotten under her skin like she so often gets under mine.
“I don’t know any such thing. What I do know is you’ve got a murder to solve.” And should be glad of my help, I thought. We went back and forth in that vein before she finally acquiesced. I decided there was no need to mention Belle. Gemma would find out soon enough.
I should start making notes so I can explain to Dave how it all starts—how the LOLs get involved in investigations—because it’s happened again. As far as I’m concerned, we’re now on the case.
Chapter Thirteen
When I called Belle, she was all ears. She knew Teddy had died but had missed the rest of the news. Wendy was her connection to the grapevine via the Astonbury Aha!, the online newsletter and bulletin board for our village, and Wendy was off on vacation. Belle was horrified that someone had smothered her new octogenarian friend in his sleep. Hits too close to home, I thought.
As I’d anticipated, though, she was excited at the prospect of searching for clues at the cottage in Chipping Camden. “Marvelous. I’ve had two quiet days since Ellie brought me home Saturday. Peter comes for dinner and spends the night, but he’s not anywhere near as lively as you and Wendy. What time a
re you picking me up?”
“Is this where I say, ‘The game’s afoot’? I think it is, don’t you?” I wasn’t sure which one of us was Sherlock, but I knew Belle and I were up for the challenge. For someone near ninety, she was amazingly sharp. Heck, she was sharper than many a forty-year-old.
“Yes! You know Wendy’s going to be jealous. Wouldn’t it be something if we solved the case without her?”
I chuckled. “The thought did cross my mind. Have you heard from her? Is she having a good trip?”
“I think the jury’s out on that. When she called Saturday, she grumbled that Brian had been speaking with Gemma about Teddy’s death, but last night she said he’d managed to stay off the phone all day. ’Course, they were climbing to Tintagel, so he’d be hard-pressed to look at his phone without falling off a cliff.”
“So Sunday was a good day. Let’s see how the week goes now that Teddy’s death has been declared a murder.”
Feet up, I was sipping a glass of red wine in the sitting room when Dave called. His drive to Edinburgh had been uneventful and he was checked into his hotel. He’d chosen the Hotel du Vin for its central location between the university and the National Museum of Scotland. “We’ll have to come back and bring Dickens. I’ve seen several dogs, and the place is charming. The room is comfy with a good view. Of course, right now, my notes are spread out all over the bed—"
“And that’s why Dickens and I chose to send you off on your own this time. Once you start your research tomorrow, you won’t be able to think of anything else.”
Dickens looked up and barked when I said his name. “Who’s that? What did they say about me?”
Collectors, Cats & Murder Page 13
