Ellie nodded. “So, he’s taken things before.”
I continued. “Yes. As for motive, who knows? Could it be that he figured out how valuable Teddy’s collection was and thought he’d help himself to a few things?”
I paused as a memory popped into my head. “Wait a minute. Beatrix told me something I’d forgotten all about. Albert visits estate sales and flea markets looking for old furniture to refurbish, and Teddy told her Albert had also begun scouting for old books and magazines and always gave him first dibs. He did know enough to realize what Teddy had. Plus she mentioned off-hand that he looked familiar to her. She told me why last night.”
“And,” said Belle. “What?”
“She recalled seeing him as a lad working at one of the Manchester flea markets. You know how young boys change when they mature. It took her a bit to figure out who he was. Still, that means he could have connections for selling the documents if he took them. So, that’s Albert. Belle, why don’t you tell Ellie your ideas about Pris?”
Belle explained that Pris had picked the wrong person to open up to about her anger at Teddy’s news he was bringing Beatrix in for the summer to manage the shop. It was Belle’s belief she could have lost her temper and killed Teddy.
“And she stole things to make it look like a burglary gone wrong?” asked Ellie.
Belle encouraged her friend. “You’ve got it. Leta, what’s that line Wendy quotes about evil in the hearts of men?”
Laughing at the memory, I lowered my voice. “Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men? The Shadow knows.”
Ellie looked puzzled. “Seems appropriate, but who’s the Shadow?”
“He’s a character from a 1930s radio show. Some college stations brought it back in the States, and Wendy and I both listened to it in our younger days.”
Quick on the uptake, Ellie knew right away why Beatrix made the list, but none of us seriously thought she was the killer. While we were discussing the suspects, I had noted their possible motives.
I looked at my team of sleuths. “I’d be the first to say we can’t strike anyone from the list, but I’m struggling to convince myself any of these folks did it. I wonder whether we’re missing someone. These are all people in his immediate circle, but he must have had business acquaintances, friends, fellow collectors, even customers who knew about his collection—if, in fact, that’s even the motive. This could be the tip of the iceberg.”
Belle smiled. “Maybe my son was on to something when he joked about a rabid collector last night.”
Looking at Belle, I nodded. “Peter could be right. You know, I keep shying away from this idea, but I wonder whether we should add Gilbert to the list? He is a collector, and he specializes in Arthur Conan Doyle material.”
My friends looked thoughtful, and Ellie spoke first. “I guess if you set aside having a key, that opens the way to consider Gilbert and plenty of others. But Gilbert’s such a charming gentleman.”
Belle laughed. “Ellie, I don’t disagree. He’s quite the character, but sometimes people aren’t what they seem, and we only just met him.”
Frowning, Ellie shook her head. “But wait a minute. What if theft wasn’t the motive? Would that change the list? We added Pris and supposed she killed him in fury, and stole the documents as a smokescreen. What if someone else had a beef with Teddy? Someone we don’t know about?“
“You know, Ellie, that’s a good point,” said Belle. “And my daughter better watch out. You could take her place on the LOLs.” Belle looked at me. “Unless, of course, Leta can afford to keep all three of us on the payroll.”
“Ha! As long as you’re happy being paid in meals like I served last night, we’re good.”
That got a laugh from Ellie. “Sign me up, but tell me, do you ladies go on for hours doing this? I mean, how long does it take to have a breakthrough?”
I had a flashback to December, when my breakthrough had come just in time to keep the wrong person from being arrested for murder.
Belle cleared her throat. “It depends. Some clues steer us in the wrong direction, and we follow our noses down the wrong path.”
I gathered the sheets of paper. “Right. It’s not like the mystery novels we love or the BBC detective programs. Lightbulbs don’t appear above our heads with the name of the culprit. If only. We’ve made a good start, but I, for one, have to sleep on things. And there’s always Gemma to prod. I wonder if her folks found anything significant on Teddy’s computer. She might tell me something if DCI Burton hasn’t permanently sealed her lips.”
As the founder of the Little Old Ladies’ Detective Agency, I decided it was time to bring our meeting to a close and leave further sleuthing for another day, and we three promised to contact each other if we had any brainstorms. After placing the binders and notes in the car, I looked at Dickens. “Shall we take a stroll to see if we can find Basil?”
“Yes! I had fun with Blanche and her toys, but I want to see my big friend.” Basil was the full-size version of my dwarf Great Pyrenees, and he guarded the flock of Cotswold Lions on the estate. I always thought of them as Raggedy Ann sheep because of the unusual way their fleece curled over their faces.
We walked past Matthew and Sarah’s cottage and on toward the River Elfe where I saw the sheep grazing. Basil came bounding our way, his fur flying in the breeze. “Hey, Lil’ Bit. I saw Leta’s car and wondered if you’d stop by for a visit.” It always made me smile to hear Basil use his nickname for Dickens. Despite being hugely sensitive about his size, my boy wasn’t offended by Basil’s affectionate term.
The two ran off, and I continued toward the river. On the opposite bank, the Olde Mill Inn with its distinctive water wheel was a quintessential Cotswolds sight. Seeing Gemma’s cottage off to the side prompted me to give her a call.
“DI Taylor,” was the clipped response. I realized it had been almost forty-eight hours since we’d spoken, and I hoped she’d made some progress.
“I spent the morning detailing exactly what was taken from Teddy Byrd’s cottage. Shall I send you the list?” No need to mention my take on suspects just yet. I needed to gauge her reaction before I ventured down that path.
“Sure. I’ve already alerted my Oxford contact from my days on the Thames Valley force, the same officer I used last year when Belle’s books were a target—told her I hoped to have a list of the missing items soon. I didn’t want to put out the word with used bookstores and rare book dealers in the Cotswolds and Manchester until I knew what we were looking for.”
This is sooo Gemma! I thought. She might not be buying into the book collector drama, as she called it, but she was already preparing to trace the stolen goods. What she wouldn’t do was admit I was on the right track. Typical. “I hope they’re knowledgeable about rare documents too because there aren’t any books missing. “
“I have no idea. We’ll just have to see. Constable James finally got around to searching the computer, once he had a day back in the office—except for a few hours being called out on a domestic. You know? The crimes he has to deal with when he’s not babysitting a crew of book lovers?”
That was a dig, but I wasn’t going to let her get me going. “I prefer the term bibliophile—much more erudite, dontcha know?” I could almost see her rolling her eyes.
“Whatever! When you come down off your high horse, you might want to know what he found.”
Make nice, I said to myself. “You know I do. Did he find any threats from ‘rabid book collectors’ in the mix, to quote my friend Peter?”
“Ha! Mostly, he found correspondence about buying and selling. Mr. Byrd inquiring about buying and interested parties asking if he’d sell one thing or another. From what Jonas could gather, the old codger seemed uninterested in parting with anything in his collection.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. Think about it. He labeled his notebooks Teddy’s Treasures, and I don’t suppose he needed the money. So, no one badgering him to sell? All polite inquiries?”
&nbs
p; Gemma paused. “All polite, but some more persistent than others, and I did recognize one name. You told me to ask my dad who Gilbert Ward was, and he told me about his Book Nook presentation and how much he would have enjoyed hearing the one he gave last Saturday at the festival. Dad seems to have taken a liking to the bloke. He exchanged several emails with Mr. Byrd about some Arthur Conan Doyle material starting midday Friday. He sent two Saturday morning. I’d label him persistent.”
Phew. Those Saturday emails mean Gilbert can’t be the killer, unless, of course, he was cleverly covering his tracks. Am I overthinking this?
“Leta, are you there? Did I lose you?”
“Um, no, I was just thinking. Given that several of the missing documents concern Doyle, I’d love to know what Gilbert had to say. What are the chances you can have Jonas forward those emails to me?”
I heard what I thought of as an evil chuckle. “Oooh! Wouldn’t that just stick in DCI Burton’s craw? I might have to do it just to make a point with the meddling git. He called me three times yesterday to get an update on the investigation and a few other things.”
This was the first murder investigation Gemma’d taken on since he’d become her DCI in December. I’d witnessed her solve two deadly crimes—with a bit of help from me, of course—without a DCI looking over her shoulder, and I wondered whether he seriously thought she’d solve this one any more quickly with him badgering her. Him acting like a jerk could play in my favor.
I chuckled. “You know I’d be happy to do anything to help put him in his place. I seem to recall you telling me he’d better not try getting in your face the way he got in mine. Aargh. My blood still boils when I think of him yelling at me at the Manor House. In my experience, it’s best to nip that kind of behavior in the bud.” I flashed on Barney Fife saying, “Nip it, nip it, nip it” on “The Andy Griffith Show.”
“Still no love lost between you two? I thought since he was dating your pal Wendy, you might have developed a fondness for him.”
She couldn’t see me shaking my head. “I guess stranger things have happened, but no, not yet. When he’s back in the office Saturday, will you be handing him a list of suspects?”
“If that’s your way of asking me who they are, yes I will. But I haven’t had much joy with narrowing it down. It’s either the locals he’s closest to—Fiona, Pris, or Albert—or a significantly expanded list of who knows who! Maybe tracing the stolen goods will get us somewhere.”
I was glad to hear Beatrix wasn’t on the list. “That was pretty much my thinking too.” Seeing Basil and Dickens jogging my way, I told her I needed to go and reminded her to have Jonas send me the emails.
Dickens stopped at my feet. “Leta, Leta, the lambs are cute and fuzzy. The older ones are growing fast, and there are a few new ones too. Come see.” I followed the dogs and marveled at the sight of the youngsters. Pulling out my phone, I snapped a few photos to send Anna and Bev. My youngest sister and my Atlanta friend were huge animal lovers.
I rubbed Basil’s head and scratched his ears as I watched the sheep. The gentle giant had held a special place in my heart ever since he’d pulled me from the river after an unfortunate mishap.
In his deep voice, he shared more news. “Do you know about the new cat at the inn? I’m used to seeing Paddington wandering across the way, but he’s got a companion now—Watson.” I explained that I’d met the striking cat with the green eyes. I’ll soon have to take Christie to meet him.
Chapter Eighteen
Christie was full of complaints when we returned to my schoolhouse cottage. “Where have you two been all this time? I thought it was only a breakfast date? And Dickens smells of sheep! Uh-huh, another adventure without me!”
She was right. Dickens had carried a faint aroma of sheep in the door with him. I might have to try some scented pet wipes on his coat. It wasn’t warm enough to bathe him outside—my preferred option—and I wasn’t up for the mess we made when we tried it in the tub. “If that eau de sheep doesn’t fade in a few hours, Dickens, I may have to take you to the groomer tomorrow.”
That statement sent him scurrying upstairs, as though he thought “out of sight, out of mind” might work. Now it was time to mollify Christie with some wet food. I made a cup of tea while I dipped dabs of food into her dish.
After four forkfuls, she looked at me and meowed. “Now, are you going to answer my question? Where’ve you been?” I did my best to explain my morning in a way that wouldn’t tick her off even more.
It’s time to call Gilbert. I need to trust my gut on this. “Tell you what, let’s go to the office and get Gilbert on the speakerphone, and you can listen in. Then you’ll know something Dickens doesn’t. Okay?” She knew being in the office also meant she’d get treats, so she sprinted to my desk.
After gulping her treats, she stretched out on the desk expectantly, her tail swishing back and forth across my keyboard. Her ears perked up when she heard the phone ringing on the other end of the line.
“Hi, Gilbert. It’s Leta Parker. How are you today?”
“Leta, my girl, how are you? I’m at Broadway Tower. What an intriguing spot.”
I thought he’d returned to London and hadn’t realized he was still in the area. “Dave loved the Tower, and I bet you’re enjoying the history as much as he did. I’d like to pick your brain, but I don’t want to interrupt your tour. Can you call me back in a bit?”
He was on his way down the winding staircase and replied he’d call me when he reached the car park. To tour the Tower, you accessed each floor by climbing the stairs on the left, and you exited by coming down those on the opposite side.
When he returned my call, I learned that he’d scheduled two weeks in the Cotswolds for what he dubbed his spring break. “It’s a nice getaway from the City, and of course, I get to visit the different places my favorite author haunted. Now, what can I help you with?”
Laughing, I told him he was right. I explained about the LOLs and my list of missing documents and how I could use his expertise—particularly as it concerned Mark Twain and Arthur Conan Doyle. After I swore him to secrecy, I gave him the highlights and offered to text him a shot of the list. I told him I’d rely on Dave for the items relating to J.M. Barrie.
“I say, Leta, I have a proposal for you. The text will certainly be helpful, but I’d like to discuss this over dinner if you’re available. I can do a bit of research, and then we can talk about it in person. Bring Dave, of course.”
“Dave will be disappointed not to spend time with you again, but he’s still in Scotland. Perhaps I’ll bring my friend Ellie Coates. You met her the other night at the Book Nook, and given her extensive collection of rare books, you two will hit it off.”
He wanted to visit Stow, so I suggested we meet at the Old Stocks Inn, one of my favorite restaurants. As soon as we disconnected, I texted him the list and then called Ellie. She was excited about spending the evening with Gilbert on two counts—discussing their respective collections and continuing our investigation.
“Okay, Christie, what did you learn?”
“All I got from those calls is the fact you’re leaving me again tonight to have dinner with some guy named Gilbert, and I bet you’re taking Dickens too.”
“No, I’m not. He’s had a full day, and he can keep you company here. Now, let me text Wendy. She offered to help, and I’ve got just the thing for her.”
When I texted my friend if she was up for a bit of research, she responded right away. “You bet.”
I asked her to look up G.K. Chesterton to find out his relationship to Agatha Christie, since one of the missing documents was a letter she’d written him. I also teased her about her job being in danger now that we’d added Ellie to the team.
Instead of a text reply, she called me. “Hey, you better not replace me. It’s killing me that I’m not there, though I’ve enjoyed our sightseeing. Today we’re in Truro and we’ve toured the Cathedral of St. Mary. I’m only calling you because Brian’s ducked i
nto a sporting goods shop. He’s a fiend for running clothes.”
“You sound as though you’re having a better time than when I last spoke with you. That’s good.”
“It took a bit of doing. I put my foot down yesterday after the third time he called Gemma. Told him I’d had it and got him to admit she could probably handle things on her own. Can you believe he had to hedge on that? Of course she can handle things without him! So far today, he’s refrained from calling her, unless he’s in the store doing it right now.”
I got a kick from hearing that and wondered whether Brian was trainable. At least Wendy was upfront with him about her expectations instead of biting her tongue. I told her I’d text her the list of stolen items so she could stay up to date on our progress, but made her promise not to show Brian.
“Are you kidding? Show Brian? Hearing how involved you and Mum are would be too much for him, and I don’t want to set him off. My lips are sealed.” We left it at that. I was sure I’d get the whole story when she returned to Astonbury.
I had one last thing to do before I could turn off my detective brain, and that was to text Dave. I sent him a shot of the list too and asked if he could research the two documents referencing Barrie. As I suspected, he was in the library and said he’d get right on it and call me that night with his report.
I was applying my makeup when I heard a knock on the door. Hurrying downstairs in my robe, I found Beatrix with the burgundy ledger in her hands. “Hi. Are you going somewhere?” she asked.
I told her about dinner, and she apologized for interrupting me. “Sorry to be so late with the ledger, but I got tied up in Chipping Camden. I’d love to hear about your breakfast with Ellie and Belle, but I’m beyond late and I’ve got to run. Maybe tomorrow?”
Collectors, Cats & Murder Page 20
