by L. A. Nisula
“I would not put that on the business cards,” Miss Dyer said at once.
“I suppose it might be a little too accurate. Honesty is so rarely appreciated. And before you say anything, as a tribute to you ladies, I will be sure all of my clients know that they are getting lesser works by great artists, after all, a da Vinci is still a da Vinci, a Rubens is still a Rubens, a Dyer is still a Dyer. I shall tell them to tell their friends it’s a minor work but that they like it, and even a minor work by that artists is worth having. Yes, that sounds good. I’ll make it part of the sales pitch. So I am afraid I must run to Paris and see my friends there. I’m sure they’ve rooms of stuff I can get rid of for them to pay their bar tab.”
“Their bar tab? That seems a bit ambitious,” Miss Hayworth said tartly.
“Probably true. I shall start small and go with their rent. But, Miss Pengear, you shall not see me in London as soon as I’d hoped.”
“I’m devastated.”
“As I am sure poor Inspector Wainwright will be as well.”
“And Mr. Briggs? Are you bringing him along to Paris?” Miss Dyer asked.
“It was the strangest thing. As soon as I mentioned having to go visit my aunt in Birmingham, he remembered all sorts of appointments he’d forgotten. Seems it would be impossible for him to go up to Birmingham with me. And as I wouldn’t want him to feel obligated to miss any important meetings on my account, I left out the bit about continuing on to Paris.”
“So we will be losing the pair of you in the village?”
“Yes, dear ladies, I’m afraid you shall. We shall both be returning to our natural habitat by the end of the month. Paris for me, and the taverns of London for dear Freddie. Shall we drink to him?”
“We only have tea,” Miss Hayworth informed him.
“Then I shall raise a glass on each of your behalves at the pub, dear ladies, while I fortify myself on the way to see Inspector Wainwright about leaving. If you have any more paintings you wish to be rid of, don’t hesitate to send for me. I’ll send you a business card when I’ve had some printed up. Adieu.” He gave us a sweepingly theatrical bow and left the cottage.
“Never thought we’d see the last of him,” Miss Dyer said once Lord Hector was out of hearing.
Miss Hayworth collected up the empty teacups. “I’ll believe it when Trillwell Lodge is empty again.”
I took the collection of teacups to mean it was time for me to leave. I collected up Miss Hayworth’s coat and followed her into the kitchen. “I wanted to return this and thank you for the loan of it. But I should be getting back to the cottage in case any policemen turn up.”
“Thank you for bringing the news,” Miss Hayworth said. “Village gossip is entertaining but unreliable in matters like this.”
“Before you go, I have something for you as well.” Miss Dyer went into the sitting room and returned with her portfolio. “It’s just a sketch I did, a study for a larger picture, but I thought you’d appreciate it. Here it is.”
The picture she held out to me was a page cut out of her sketchbook where she had drawn a little lamb and painted him in with watercolor. “My little friend from the walk between the Slaughters.”
“He does love to have his picture done. I’ll be sure to tell him you liked it.” Miss Dyer slipped the picture between two pieces of card so it wouldn’t get bent on the way home and handed it to me. I bid them both good-bye and started for the cottage.
I met Constable Edwards in the lane as I approached Oakwood Cottage. “Good morning.”
“Good morning, Miss Pengear. You’ll be pleased to know I’m here to take a final look at the crime scene and clear away the barriers. You will have your sitting room again soon.”
“I’m not sure I want our sitting room after all this, but thank you.” I fell into step beside him and led the way into the cottage. “I take it the case is finished, then?”
“All but the paperwork. I interviewed Mr. Sundur and he told me more or less exactly what he told you, which led me to the main offices of Mrs. Quimby’s Quality Tinned Goods. I’m sure you won’t be the least bit surprised to know it’s run by a Mr. Kendleforth from Southampton. He triple-checked his records, and Mr. Reynolds had been reporting discounts to nine of the largest clients on the route, which had led to a reprimand from the company and a promise not to give any more without prior approval. I’m sure once we finish checking with the shops we will find that they were all paying him the normal price for their tinned goods. I brought all of that back to the station so the inspector could get the paperwork started to get the bank to turn over Mr. Reynolds’s account records, only to find that the fool had told Inspector Wainwright that his life was an open book, and he was free to look into any of it.”
“Which Inspector Wainwright promptly got in writing.”
“Naturally. So off I went to his bank in Chipping Campden and back with his records while Constable Taylor went to his cottage and examined his clothes for missing buttons. It came from a very unfortunate checked coat. He was paying Mr. Hoyt £100 every month on the sixteenth. Not bad when you consider the swindle was netting him close to a thousand a month. When the inspector confronted him with that and the evidence from the churchyard, he knew he was done for and confessed to the whole thing.”
Apparently, Constable Edwards was willing to tell me everything that had happened. I was not about to turn down that chance. As I unlocked the front door and ushered him in, I asked, “Did he say why he did it?”
Constable Edwards began removing the crime tapes from the entryway. “Mr. Hoyt really had been to Bristol trying to get a loan for the pub, but he was turned down. We had the police there confirm it. So he must have decided he’d get the money from Reynolds. In any case, when they met in the churchyard so he could collect his monthly payment, he demanded an increase in the payments. The inspector thinks Reynolds may have been a bit too willing to pay up in the beginning, so Hoyt knew there was more to be had. Reynolds refused, so Hoyt told him just how easy it would be for him to go to the company and give them all the proof they needed of the scam. He was going to give him a day to think about it, and when he turned his back, Reynolds pounced on him and strangled him.”
“So it was a spur-of-the-moment crime? I’d thought premeditated.”
“A well-planned crime hastily executed ahead of schedule. He knew he would never get out from under from the blackmail, so he was planning to murder Mr. Hoyt at some point. When Hoyt threatened to go to the company, Reynolds decided he couldn’t wait any longer. He’d already gone so far as to start the rumors about Mrs. Hoyt and Mr. Elliott so he would have someplace to divert suspicion if he needed to. I see you already knew that.”
“Mrs. Albright and I figured it out.”
Constable Edwards grinned at that. “Well, I have everything I need from here. Let Mrs. Foster know she can collect whatever of hers we took from Sergeant Harris when she gets back.”
I was quite glad we wouldn’t have to deal with the sergeant again now that the case was solved. “Would you like to stay to tea?”
I was fully expecting him to say yes, so was quite surprised when he said, “No, we’re planning to take an afternoon train back to London, and I want to be sure everything’s packed away so we can. Will we be seeing you at the station?”
“No, you can tell Inspector Wainwright he can relax. We’re going to stay and finish out our holiday now.”
“I’m sure he’ll be pleased to know you’ll get a bit of a break. Enjoy your holiday.
I saw Constable Edwards to the door, then went to tell Mrs. Albright everything had been settled and we could finally begin our holiday.
About the Author
L.A. Nisula has loved mysteries ever since she read her first one, which might have been an Encyclopedia Brown or a Nancy Drew or Basil of Baker Street or... She read them so fast it was hard to remember where they began. Now she is the author of the Cassie Pengear Mysteries, a series about an American typist living in a Victorian/ s
teampunk London. More information can be found on her website www.LANisula.com
