The Cin Fin-Lathen Mysteries 1-3

by Alexie Aaron

  She positively bubbled when she found out that I was not only an American, but I was going to be staying with a member of her parish. Her father had worked the land at Bathgate, but she wasn’t too sure of whom, if anybody was leasing it now.

  I watched the landscape while listening to her running commentary of the sights as we passed them. I didn’t need to ask one question, as she just loved the role of tour guide. If she got anything wrong, a woman named Marjorie, who was sitting within earshot, corrected her. Sometimes they got into a bit of a row, but all in all I loved it.

  “How are you going to get out to Bathgate?” Marjorie called down the aisle. Ann turned, and her face lit up when I said taxi.

  “No, you won’t. You will ride with Marjorie and me.”

  “I don’t want to make a pest out of myself...”

  “Nonsense!” Ann turned around. “Marjorie, she thinks she is making a pest out of herself, imagine.”

  “Completely odd, considering we go right by the place.”

  I was contemplating if they meant I was completely odd - I didn’t know it showed - or if it was the situation that was. Anyway, I sat back and listened to Ann’s explanation of how Marjorie and she were chums from childhood. Ann married a constable from St. Just and Marjorie a farmer who was doing quite well with “the soybeans.”

  “I couldn’t help noticing that you’re not sporting a wedding ring.”

  “No need any longer.”

  “So are ya a widow or a divorcé?”

  “Not a widow.”

  “Hmm...So, do you have a boyfriend?” Ann whispered.

  “Ann Cayne, you should be ashamed of yourself. Asking such a personal like question. Well?”

  “Well what?” Ann spouted back.

  “Well does she?” Marjorie snapped.

  I looked over the seat and noticed Marjorie was halfway back in the coach. Some ears! I was certain as I surveyed the other thirty or so faces turned my way that the whole top of the bus wanted to know the answer.

  “Ahem,” I cleared my voice, “I don’t have time for a boyfriend, thank you. I play in two concert bands, and I have been, up to this year, busy raising two children.”

  “I could have told you that,” piped up an old gentleman in a tweed coat, “she doesn’t have the jewelry to be a tart.”

  “Go to Bath, Andrew Morgan. Who asked you?”

  “Pardon me. Hello. Thank you, Mr. Morgan. Yes, I don’t have the jewelry. So you’re saying I would get better jewelry if I had a boyfriend?”

  “Depends.”

  “Depends on what?”

  “Now if he were a guv’na yes. But if he were a fishmonger then...”

  “I would have fish.”

  “Nah, you’d smell like fish!” Andrew laughed, and so did the rest of the coach. I sat back down feeling I had met my match.

  “So when did you start off from the states?” Ann’s inquiry continued.

  “Yesterday afternoon.”

  “That means you flew all night and with but the small respite you got on the coach. You must be very tired.”

  “Actually, I slept on the plane. I feel fine.”

  “Why so quick? Why the rush?”

  “I am going to meet my daughter at Bathgate tomorrow morning,” I explained.

  Ann’s face fell. “I thought it might have something to do with the fire. And here I am thinking you’re that fancy Fin-Lathen detective Bobby sent out to help his sister.”

  “Detective?” I asked shocked.

  “My husband, the constable, told me he heard from Angie that Bobby was sending out a professional detective from Florida to investigate the goings on at the old music school. He was coming himself, but he was attacked and thrown to his almost death.” Ann nodded her head.

  I was sorry I asked, but when pointed in a direction I just keep going.

  “He was attacked?” I hoped I hid my surprise, not an accident! This was a troubling piece of news.

  “Pushed down an escalator,” she said.

  “Now tell me about this detective.”

  “Bobby told Angie this detective found a million dollar piece of music.” Ann raised her eyebrows. “The constabulary, ah police, the police were struck stupid, but this Fin-Lathen solved the mystery. And it isn’t a man detective but a woman.”

  “That’s pretty impressive.” I smiled. Now came my moment of truth. Do I tell these folks and suffer the questions? Or do I keep quiet and hope no one finds out whom I am?

  The coach pulled into the Penzance station and saved me from my dilemma. I stepped out of the coach last; after all, I got in first. My bag was already unloaded and setting in the parking lot. Ann was waving me over to a bright red Ford with its trunk open. I picked up the suitcase handle and rolled it over.

  “Put your bag in the boot. You can have the front seat. Marjorie has already settled herself in the back.”

  I surmised that “boot” was the trunk since it was open and suitcases usually travel in them. I lifted the bag and carefully shut it. I almost walked to the driver’s side but caught myself. I quickly turned around and headed for the left side of the car.

  I sat down, put on my seat belt, and Ann started up the car. As we drove out of the lot, I looked at my watch trying to add the difference of five hours between Florida and Cornwall.

  “It’s four o’clock dear, tea time.”

  “Oh my, it would be rude to arrive unannounced at tea time. Can I treat you ladies to tea somewhere in Penzance?”

  Marjorie slapped the back of my seat. “I haven’t had a fancy tea in years. What ya say, Ann?”

  “The hotel, let’s go to the hotel and sit by the window!”

  “Sure, we can show...Dear me, I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Cin, my friends call me Cin.”

  “Well Cin, we can watch the fishing boats come in.”

  Ann drove over a bridge and around some touristy places that hugged the waterfront. She drove past an outdoor pool and several resident hotels. She stopped and parked the car across from a white clapboard hotel. We got out and crossed the street. Marjorie had her hand on my arm to caution me, as I still hadn’t got used to where to look for traffic. We walked into the hotel by entering a glassed-in porch. There were several diners already there. I admit I was a bit travel-worn, but no one mentioned it. Marjorie went to find us a table while Ann and I went in search of the phones. Ann needed to call her husband and let him know why she’d be late, and I felt the need to warn my hostess of my arrival.

  I didn’t reach her, so I left a message. “Hello, this is Cindy Fin-Lathen,” I whispered into the phone. “I’m having tea with a Marjorie and Ann Cayne at the hotel in Penzance. I should be arriving around five-thirty or six. They are going to drop me off. Bye.”

  I stood aside but could not help overhearing Ann's side of her conversation.

  “Now, dear, I told you she’s buying. No, she’s not a swell. Visiting Bathgate. Says her daughter is coming tomorrow. What? Now why would I mention the fire? I have been your wife for how long? Well you should know better. Could you call Ed and tell him? What else would you have to do? It’s not like you’re a District Commander. Ta ta!” Ann smiled. “My husband the constable,” she said proudly. I followed her to the dining room.

  ~

  The sun was still high in the sky when Ann bumped onto Angie Bathgate’s drive. I had no sooner got my luggage out of the boot when Ann closed the lid and drove off quickly without anything more than “Ta ta.”

  Bathgate was shielded from the lane by a five-foot stone fence that protected the front garden from the dust of the unpaved road. Large trees caressed the three-story stone house. There was a front door, but I noticed a well-trod path that led around to the side of the house. When I was growing up my grandparents had a city-farm out in the country. They too had a front door with an inviting porch, but I don’t ever remember them opening the front door, or even sitting on the porch. I thought that I would have a better reception if I used the side
door.

  I was right. Before I reached the porch the door flew inward and a solidly built tan woman with gray wispy hair flying everywhere stepped out.

  “Ms Fin-Lathen! Come on in. Those two biddies must have talked your ear off. How did you ever get mixed up with those two gossips?”

  “They were on the bus, ah, coach and unleashed.” I smiled and picked up my bag and walked into a very pleasant side porch. Angie closed the door behind me.

  “Still a bit of a chill out there.” A phone rang and Angie ignored it. “Answer phone will get it.”

  With a click the phone was answered by the stilted programmed voice of the machine asking for name, phone number and a brief message:

  Hullo this is Beverly Bonner. Miss Bathgate, I’m just calling to inform you that my client has upped his offer on the purchase of Bathgate, intact. There is a limit to the time he will wait to hear from you. Call me soon, you have my number. Ta Ta.

  “Lord, that woman again. Three, four times a day bugging me. I told her I couldn’t do anything without Bobby.” She led me through the kitchen and into the warm front room. She stopped in front of an open staircase.

  “Just put your bag here, and you can rest up before you drag it up the stairs.” Angie indicated where with a wave of her hand.

  I set them down and turned to survey the parlor. Comfortable overstuffed furniture and book-covered tables were the furnishings. Bookshelves lined the walls, and lamps lit the room giving it a feeling as if it were bathed in gold.

  “This is a very nice room.”

  “Here? Not too posh but makes my old bones feel good at the end of the day. I light the fire and read. There isn’t a telly or radio. I just like the quiet too much to pollute it with too much noise.”

  “Honestly, I only miss the TV, ah, telly when I run out of good books. I do however use the computer.”

  “Me too. It’s in my sitting room upstairs. Bobby bought me one to do the farm’s accounts on. Don’t have Internet because it is long distance out here, and they haven’t updated the lines to touchtone as of yet. Years behind, years behind.”

  “I understand there is an Internet café in Penzance.”

  “Yes, there is. I hear you’re going to be sending Bobby some pictures. He said you were going to scan them?”

  “My daughter Noelle is bringing a laptop computer, scanner, and I have a digital camera.”

  “I’d like to see how that works.” Angie patted a high-back cracked leather chair. After I sat down she pushed a hassock up. I put my feet on it feeling quite the queen. All that was missing...

  “Scotch?”

  “Please!”

  “Ah, a woman that I can get along with. I have a problem with people that don’t drink. I have lived so many years in this world not to wonder if there is a day that wasn’t made better by a bit of spirits.” She poured two good size glasses. I didn’t ask for ice. She didn’t offer. Angie handed me the glass, clicking it once with hers. “We’ll drink to my lazy good for naught brother Bobby.”

  I almost choked. “Bobby.” I raised my glass and quickly brought it to my lips. The Scotch was single malt, and the bite on it satisfied every pore in my body. My knees were immediately warm and the warmth was spreading everywhere.

  Angie sat down and poked at the fire. “We’ll wait for the grand tour when your daughter comes. Oh, speaking of your daughter, she rang up this morning. Told me a Paisley person was dropping her off around noon. The Paisley girl was going to stay at the hostel out by Land’s End. I quickly put an end to that. Young girl staying alone with all those wild kids from London, I would never sleep! I have lots of room here, so I insisted Noelle and her friend stay here.”

  “I hope it won’t be too much, with the three of us.”

  “I’m sure everyone will pitch in, here and there.”

  “Sure, not a problem.”

  “It will be like a pajama, pajama...” she fished for a word.

  “Pajama party, slumber party,” I supplied.

  “Yes, that will do fine. Never did have more than Mother and me here. Females were scarce in my youth. Father always had the lads in from school. Never another of the fair sex to talk to, although, some of the lads were rather feminine.” She slapped her knee and laughed at some memory.

  “Musicians!” I raised my glass.

  “Musicians! A happy lot. A queer lot. A difficult lot...” Angie trailed off. “Well, if you would excuse me. I have some chores to see to. Your room is across from mine. Blue carpet. I’m going to put the young legs up on the third floor in the old dormitory room.” In a blur of blue jeans and flannel Angie was gone.

  I finished my Scotch, rinsed my glass and put it on the drain board next to Angie’s abandoned one. The kitchen looked like it had been remodeled recently. New cabinets were squeezed between tall yellow curtained windows. A large cutting board dominated one end of the room. Behind it the walls held large pantries with louvered doors. A new stainless side-by-side refrigerator dominated the back wall. It shouted the twenty-first century at a large aga cook stove, that said the nineteen thirties was just fine with it. A microwave disagreed in the corner, and it was at that point I thought I had better head upstairs and unpack before they all broke out in song. “What kind of Scotch was that?” I said aloud as I hefted my bag up to the second floor in search of a blue-carpeted room.

  I wiggled my toes in the rich royal blue carpet as I sat in the platform rocker and rocked. The low squeak of the rocker gave me comfort as I tried to sort out the past two days. My accommodation was a corner room with a north and a west window. The view from the north window was dominated by a beautiful shade tree that I had yet to identify. The windows were long and narrow, consistent with the ones in the kitchen. Tied back from the windows were the most beautiful yellow and blue Laura Ashley floral print curtains. They matched the coverlet on the massive four-poster bed.

  I avoided testing out the bed. I knew once my head hit the pillow I would be out for a good eight or nine hours. Angie had cleared a space in the wardrobe for my use. Adjacent to the closet was a chest of drawers with three drawers ajar. I’m sure my hostess left them open with intent to show me that they were empty and awaited my clothes. I got up and started to unpack. My knees were still a bit rubbery, but the Scotch was losing its control, which made thinking easier and easier.

  How did I get from being an alto clarinet player looking for a free ride to see her daughter to being a detective, and, if I was to believe my own press, a damn good one? I started to weigh the facts against the fables, and it just confused me more. It was true I had prior investigating experience, but I had stumbled into most of it.

  Maybe Bobby told Angie I was a professional, so she wouldn’t be as disappointed that he didn’t come and clean this mess (papers and mystery) up himself.

  It may have been my paranoia, but I did feel that tan man was following me at the airport. I had the nagging suspicion that I would see him again. Perhaps because the neighbors are all talking about this big hotshot detective coming to solve the mystery of Angie’s fire and attack. Gee, wasn’t it nice of them to advertise. I wondered how long it would take for me to become a target.

  I couldn’t let go of the question: “Why now?” I pushed my jet-lagged brain for answers that weren’t there. What was happening or about to happen that was triggering all of this? What was I going to find or what does the intruder fear I am going to find in the music school? Is it a valuable instrument? No, why torch the place unless it would cover up the loss? Hmmm. I hate it when something important depends on me. I may be a control freak, but when it comes to attempted murder I would rather the local constables handle this.

  I glanced out the window and saw the most beautiful sunset. The rolling hills caught the yellows and golds while the valleys were dipped in crimson and indigo. The sky was breathtaking, puffy clouds out over the coast rose magically upwards. I wished I painted, I wished I had a...I did have a camera. I dug through my travel tote and pulled the digital cam
era out. Not having read the instructions beforehand as Alex heavily suggested, I knew this was going to be some trick.

  I opened the window and tentatively tested the sill; it looked like it might hold me. I sat on it, leaned out and waited till I had the shot I wanted and clicked. I moved ahead and clicked again. Two pictures would be enough to experiment with. I spent the next half an hour reading the instructions in order to learn how to store the pictures. Feeling quite satisfied with myself, I put the camera away and headed downstairs.

  Angie wasn’t in the house. I thought I’d better go out and see if there was anything I could do. I seriously doubted a cow had to be milked, which was fortunate because I didn’t know how to milk a cow. Eggs gathered? I hope that was done in the morning. I would hate to face a fowl in the dark. I walked outside and suspected, due to the lack of any pungent aromas, that there were no animals that would test my lack of farm skills and embarrass me. I stopped and listened for any sound of chopping wood. No. All I heard was a tractor. Why would Angie still be tractoring or whatever one does with a tractor after sunset?

  I followed the sound. It took me across the street. I climbed the hedgerow, which was no easy task, to get a better look. I had just finished navigating the top of the hedgerow when the moon cleared the clouds and gave me a dim light by which to see a surreal tableau. The tractor was moving in a wide circle pulling a set of rotating blades. I didn’t see anyone on top of the tractor, but as it made an arc away from me I saw Angie’s body dangling upside down from it. Her head was a mere foot away from the blades.