“Perfect. I called to invite Ellie to dinner tomorrow night, so that will work out well if her dance card isn’t already full.”
When Ellie came to the phone, there was no hesitation in her reply. “ How nice. I don’t often get to chat with Peter, and of course, I’m eager to hear the news about the Chipping Camden Affair, as I’ve dubbed it. I’m sure there’s a bit of exaggeration in the comments posted on the Astonbury Aha!, and you can set me straight.”
The Chipping Camden Affair, I thought. Next, we’ll be turning the tale into a mystery novel.
Chapter Sixteen
Wednesday morning, I woke up thinking about Wendy, and my thoughts about my friend were a jumble. Is she having a good time with Brian? If she’s talking to Belle, how much of what she’s hearing is she sharing with him? Surely, she doesn’t think I’ve put her mum in danger. I wish I could call her, but that just wouldn’t do!
It was a typical spring day in the Cotswolds—cloudy and misty with a chill in the air. I imagined the weather was why the gardens in the area were so beautiful. Explaining to Christie that the mist wasn’t conducive to a ride in the backpack, I grabbed my waterproof jacket, my ball cap, and a leash for Dickens. It would take a steady downpour to keep us from a walk.
“Dickens, what do you say we skip Martha and Dylan today and head to the High Street? Maybe have a latte and scone at Toby’s?”
“Works for me. I bet Jenny will give me a snack, and there’s sure to be someone there to rub my belly.” He was right on all counts. It was rare we went anywhere that folks didn’t exclaim over my boy and inquire about his breed, and if they knelt to pet him, he angled for a belly rub too. He had his routine down pat.
Midweek in the village was slow, but it would be bustling again when the weekend arrived, as the tourist season was kicking off. By late May, it would be busy every day, but for now, I could have my pick of tables at Toby’s. I removed my ball cap and shook the water from it and then attempted to fluff my hair, without much luck.
Jenny greeted me as I approached the counter. “What will it be today, Leta? A caramel latte? Plus a snack? We’ve got blueberry scones.” I settled on a skinny hazelnut latte and a plain scone with some of my favorite raspberry jam, and I ordered a bag of sugar cookies to serve for dessert that evening. As Dickens had suspected, Jenny came around the counter with a chunk of scone for him. Spoiled rotten.
I wanted to stop in the Book Nook before we returned home, so I didn’t linger over my scone. The latte I could carry with me across the street. My phone buzzed with a text as I was pushing my chair back. Wendy wanted to know if I could talk. As soon as I responded yes, she called.
“Oh my gosh. Finally, he’s gone out for a run. I’ve wanted to call you ever since I spoke to Mum and then heard Brian coming down on Gemma, but he’s been glued to my side.”
“I’m betting he had a few choice words about me, right? I heard from Gemma that I’d placed your mum in danger.”
“Right. He chooses to believe you’re a bad influence on her. You’d think he’d know better by now. I mean, he’s been around Mum enough to know she has all her faculties and a mind of her own, but nooo, it’s your fault. He even said, and I quote, ‘It’s a good thing you’re far removed from the situation, love.’ Seriously, he said that!”
“So, beyond the fact your best friend may soon be off-limits to you, how’s your trip going?” I joked.
Wendy sighed. “That’s a longer story than I have time for if I’m going to hear about the murder. I expect him to be gone an hour, and I want to take full advantage of my free time to get the scoop. Let’s say it’s going well enough that I’ll be furious if he decides to cut the trip short to return to work. He acts as though Gemma’s in over her head, and you know full well she isn’t.”
“Yes, I know. She lit a fire under the SOCOs and it spread to the coroner, so I’d say she’s doing fine. And, she’s been decent about my involvement, though, as so often happens with Gemma, she blasted me yesterday after speaking with your DCI.”
“Aaargh. I can only imagine. Don’t get me started. Mum says you spent half the day looking at rare documents, and I can’t believe I’m missing the fun. Tell me more.”
I explained as best I could what we’d found or not found, and I took great pleasure in telling her it had been Belle who started the list of suspects. I also promised to text her the video of opening the safe. “I could use your English teacher expertise on all this. A few of the missing documents connect to Mark Twain, but I haven’t begun to figure out what the thief was looking for and why.”
“I can’t believe I’m not there to help. What are your next steps? I hear you’re entertaining Mum and Peter tonight. Is there any way I can help from afar? Maybe you can text me questions about the authors, and I can google the answers for you. Or anything else you need me to research. I’m dying to help.”
We agreed I’d contact her if I came up with anything, and she promised to let me know if she heard any tidbits on the case when Brian spoke with Gemma. Until Gemma was dressed down by her superior, she’d been open with me, but that could change in a heartbeat. Still, she couldn’t deny that Beatrix, Belle, and I had come up with some vital information—like the missing cane and several missing documents.
Wendy yelped. “There he is catching his breath in front of the hotel. Got to go before I get caught fraternizing with the enemy.” Somehow that comment didn’t seem all that funny to me.
I grabbed Dickens and my latte and crossed the street to the bookshop. Beatrix’s cats, Tommy and Tuppence, were lounging in the front window, and Trixie was straightening the books on the display tables. Beatrix stood behind the counter looking pensive.
She looked up as I entered. “How would like you a job in a bookshop?”
“I hope you’re joking. You know I’d pretty much spend my entire paycheck on books. You are joking, aren’t you?”
“Yes, but I’m soon going to be in the market for some help. First, I’ve got to wrap my brain around how Bluebird Books is doing and make some decisions. So much for spending the summer sussing out the situation. Just a bit much going on right now.”
“Sounds overwhelming. Meanwhile, my brain is swirling with the why and who of what happened at the cottage—which makes me wonder about the solicitor’s comment that Teddy also left a substantial bequest to someone else. Can you tell me who it is?”
Beatrix smiled. “Yes, and I feel good about it. He named Fiona in the will, and he’s left her the flat above the shop plus a decent amount of money. The flat will go in her name, so no matter what happens with the shop or whether she chooses to continue working there, she’ll have a place to call home. I think they had a very special relationship, and I’m glad he’s taken care of her.”
Of the three people we’d met who’d worked for Teddy, she’d seemed the most cut up over his death. My concern was that the inheritance gave her a motive. She had the opportunity, as she had a key to the cottage. And anyone who came across Teddy sound asleep had the means—the pillows lying there on the bed.
“By the way, Leta, Gemma called late yesterday to say I could now have free rein of the cottage and Constable James would be bringing me the binders sometime today. Guess her people have gleaned all they can from them. It strikes me that beyond fingerprints, you and I and Belle figured out way more than they ever could have.”
Free rein? Now that’s odd, especially after DCI Burton had chewed her out for allowing Beatrix access in the first place. I wondered whether this was Gemma’s way of asserting herself. When he first arrived, Gemma pretty much told me she wasn’t going to let him ride roughshod over her, but I imagined that was easier said than done.
“Well, that’s good news. Do you plan to go through the binders again? Or do you have time for that?”
“No time at all. Trixie is itching to look at them, though. With her background in papermaking and printing, she can’t wait to see the collection.”
Hearing our conversation, Trixi
e came to the counter. “That’s right, Leta. For you and Aunt Beatrix, it’s all about the words on the page and what they tell you. For me, there’s a bit of that, but I’m more intrigued by the texture of the paper, the ink, and the typeface.”
I nodded as I had a thought. “Beatrix, is there any way you’d let me study them a bit more after Trixie’s had a chance to look through them? I took pictures of everything, but seeing the actual documents again would be much more helpful. There was so much to absorb yesterday, I couldn’t begin to understand why certain things were missing. Could you?”
“No, other than Mark Twain cropping up more than once, which doesn’t mean anything to me, not at all. Trixie, can you spend tonight with the binders and then let Leta have them for a bit?”
“Sure. You’ll have them back soon enough and I can study them again. You know, there could be some quotes in those documents we could reproduce in my cards. The possibilities are endless.”
That settled, I was almost out the door when I remembered the burgundy leather ledger book. “Beatrix, it would be helpful to have the ledger book too. Are you returning to Chipping Camden any time soon? Could you pick it up?”
Beatrix nodded yes. “I may be going tomorrow and can easily get the ledger. To my way of thinking, you’re more likely to figure this mystery out than the Gloucestershire Constabulary. Can you imagine them sitting down trying to discern a pattern in the missing documents? Too bad your partner in crime is out of town. Wendy would be a big help, wouldn’t she?”
She was right. “For sure! I may have briefly taught English, but Wendy taught the subject for over thirty years. This puzzle would be right up her alley. She was disappointed she missed the mystery of the key, though I think we did darned well on our own.”
The mist had turned to rain, so I set a brisk pace on the walk home, Dickens prancing jauntily beside me. He had no issues with wet and cold weather—the colder, the better. The Cotswolds climate suited him much better than the heat and humidity we’d endured in Atlanta. By late spring in Georgia, he could take walks only early in the morning or after dark, and he could most often be found stretched out on the cool tile floor in the bathroom during the summer months.
“Dickens, I’m remembering your refusing to join me on the screened porch on hot mornings. You’d look at me and say, ‘Nope, not happening. I’ll stay inside, thank you very much.’ But take you for a walk in the rain, and you’re a happy camper.”
“That’s me. Perfect weather for a walk.”
As soon as we hit the mudroom, I toweled him off and wiped his muddy feet before letting him loose in the rest of my cottage. Fortunately, the flagstone floors downstairs were well-suited for a dog. I carried logs to the fireplace and stoked the fire that had almost gone out in my absence. I’d shopped and cooked the Bolognese sauce the night before, so I had several free hours ahead of me.
Christie strolled in and headed to the rug in front of the fireplace. She stretched to her full length as though she were trying to expose as much of her body as possible to the fire. I reached down to rub her fluffy black belly. “You’re not quite the addict Dickens is, but you enjoy a belly rub from time to time, don’t you?”
She purred. “And I like it when you rub your nose on my belly too. Let’s take a nap, why don’t we?”
“I’ll squeeze one in later, maybe around two or three. For now, I’m trying to decide between starting a new book or working on the columns I never got to on Monday. I guess it will have to be writing. Are you going to stay here to nap or curl up in the office in the file drawer?”
The answer was obvious when she followed me with Dickens right behind her. When we were settled in our respective positions—Dickens beneath the desk, Christie in her drawer, and me in my chair—I flipped open my notebook and read over the notes I’d taken the past week. I decided on Broadway Tower as the day’s topic and made fast work of it since I’d taken such detailed notes. Another column about Martha and Dylan was easily dashed off. In no time, I emailed both to my editor plus the picture of Dave, Christie, and the donkeys.
The phrase ‘work before play’ popped into my head. In my corporate days, when I’d been certified in the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator—MBTI—that was the motto for my personality type. As an ISTJ, I always had a to-do list in my head and found it difficult to relax or ‘play’ until I’d ticked off most if not all of the items on my list. Gee, is that why I seem unable to turn loose of a real-life murder mystery until it’s solved? Maybe I should try that theory on Gemma as a reason for my being a nosy parker, as she calls me. “Yup, I’ll have to tell her that.”
Neither of my companions responded to my comment. Heck, neither of them even stirred.
My cottage was filled with the enticing aroma of Bolognese sauce when Peter and Belle arrived. Ellie was right behind them, and the three made themselves at home in front of the cheery fire in the sitting room. As I carried in a tray holding a bottle of red wine and baked brie with pita chips, I admonished them. “Now, don’t fill up on snacks. Dinner will be a hearty meal of salad, bread, and pasta plus cookies from the Tearoom. And, Peter, please no handouts for Dickens.”
Peter chuckled as he poured the wine. “Don’t fill up? Are you kidding? This will be the best meal Mum and I’ve had all week. After my cooking and a few nights of takeaway, she may never let Wendy leave again.” He looked at Dickens. “Sorry, mate, maybe later.”
Dickens barked and went to his bed by the fireplace. “Don’t know why I can’t at least have a chip.”
Looking thoughtful, Belle sipped her wine and stroked Christie, who, as usual, had climbed in her lap. “Not to speak out of turn, but I’m not sure another trip with the silver fox, as Wendy calls him, is in the cards. I think he’s gotten on her last nerve. I’m pretty sure we’ll all get an earful when she gets home.”
“I certainly got an earful from Gemma yesterday after Brian blessed her out over my ‘leading you astray.’ As if I could lead our resident Miss Marple anywhere!”
“Speaking of Miss Marple,” said Ellie, “are you two going to fill us in on what you’ve been up to? I’d only just met the delightful Mr. Byrd, and I still can’t believe someone killed the poor man. As distressing as it was, I could accept that he died in his sleep. If I get to choose, that’s how I want to go. But murder? In Chipping Camden?”
“Mum hasn’t told me much either. Said I might as well wait until we were with Leta tonight. So, let’s hear it, ladies.”
I looked at the Dowager Countess. “Ellie, you failed to mention you’ve dubbed the tale The Chipping Camden Affair. Sounds like the title of an Agatha Christie book, doesn’t it? I can only hope it’s wrapped up as neatly as one of her mysteries.”
That comment made Belle laugh. “You know we’re down one little old lady, Ellie. Perhaps you’d like to sub for Wendy. In fact, given your love of reading, you’d have been helpful with the mystery of the key.” With that, Belle recounted how we’d spent our Tuesday at Teddy’s cottage. She was in her element. Not only did she explain the clues and our suppositions, but she also described the items in the Bless the Children binder. I could tell Ellie was getting a kick out of traveling down memory lane with her friend.
I excused myself to put the rigatoni on and ready the salad, and I was soon calling my guests to the dinner table. As Peter pulled out chairs for his mum and Ellie, Belle whispered something to him. He said he’d be right back and went to the car, returning with a blue gift bag he carried to the sitting room.
“Ellie, I keep thinking I should attempt to serve a meal like the one we enjoyed for your birthday in December—but I don’t think I have five courses in my repertoire. And since I gave my staff the night off, the salad and pasta courses are being served together.”
Among my Astonbury friends, Ellie was perhaps the only one who hadn’t yet sampled my Greek salad. After a few bites, she asked if I’d be willing to share the recipe with Caroline.
I smiled. “I can give her the ingredients, but I don’t
have any exact measurements. Maybe I can come by one day and we can make it together. To me, the most important thing is good feta cheese, preferably made from sheep’s milk.”
When I asked my guests if they’d prefer coffee and cookies in the sitting room, they all agreed they would. I started the coffee maker and began clearing the table as they moved to the other room, but I wasn’t fast enough to keep Peter from sneaking his plate to the floor for Dickens to clean. All I could do was shake my head.
Peter stayed behind in the kitchen as I put the dishes in the sink to soak. “How’s Dave getting along in Scotland?”
“He says he’s making great progress and may drive back tomorrow or Friday. If you’re playing cricket in Stanway on Sunday, maybe we can see the match, but I’ll have a better idea after we chat tonight. It’s probably just as well he’s away, given my sleuthing this week.”
“Why do you say that? Because you’d be ignoring him?”
I stood with my hip propped against the counter. “Partly, but mostly because we had kind of a heart to heart about how much he worries about me—not all the time, but when my LOL adventures heat up. I guess, bottom line, he wishes I would cease and desist my sleuthing activities.”
My friend looked thoughtful. “I guess I can see how he would. You are prone to placing yourself in danger—at least you have been in the year I’ve known you. It’s a wonder you survived the episode in the river. I’ve never come right out and said it, but I worry about you from time to time. Funny, I don’t worry about my sister getting hurt, but then she never does. It’s always you. I can’t say I blame the bloke. I think I’d feel much the same . . . if you were my girlfriend.”
I blushed. Funny that Christie was always after me to think of Peter in that way. When I first moved to Astonbury, I wasn’t ready for a boyfriend, and Peter was involved with someone else—though the relationship had been a secret. They say timing is everything.
Collectors, Cats & Murder Page 18
