by Morgana Best
“We should hurry up and get out of here,” I suggested. “You found the antifreeze, Mr. Buttons, so it’s time to go. We’ve been in here far too long as it is. We should put everything back the way it was.” I eyed off all the damage that Lord Farringdon had managed to inflict in his short, chaotic adventure.
Mr. Buttons was silent for a moment, scratching his chin. “Yes, I suppose you’re right, Sibyl. I’m not at all convinced that Dorothy’s innocent, and I’m sure there’s another clue in here somewhere, but we’ve simply spent too much time.”
We furiously spent the next several minutes throwing everything back to how it was, to the best of our memory. It was practically impossible to remember the exact positioning of all the mess, but we did the best we could. Besides, I doubted that Dorothy could remember the position of everything herself, given how chaotic the shed had been.
We all started on our way back to the kitchen. I slowed my breathing in an attempt to calm down, having felt quite nervous during our little expedition. I was a bit annoyed that it was so fruitless, though I hadn’t expected anything else. Mr. Buttons disliked Dorothy, and while I certainly agreed that she made herself hard to like, it seemed to me that Mr. Buttons was trying very hard to pin the murder on her. As we got to the kitchen door, it swung open, and an angrier-than-usual looking Dorothy blocked our path.
“What were you all doing out there?” she demanded, her accusatory tone not lost on any of us.
“Cressida does own this house, Dorothy, after all. You’re in no position to question her movements on her own estate,” Mr. Buttons said in an angry tone.
“The shed is my responsibility,” Dorothy said, her voice trembling slightly. “None of you, Cressida included, have any reason or business being in there, much less snooping around.”
“We weren’t snooping, Dorothy. Why are you so suspicious of us? Have you something to hide?” Mr. Buttons asked, clearly provoking her.
“Hold on,” I said, desperate to intervene. “This is ridiculous. You two are at each other’s throats so often that I’m surprised you’re both still standing. Can you just kiss and make up?”
Dorothy looked shocked, but Mr. Buttons looked as though he were ready to throw up and run away. He took several steps back. “K...kiss?” he stammered, wild eyed. “Oh, no! Why would you suggest that, Sibyl?”
“That’s disgusting,” Dorothy agreed, and I suspected it was the first and last time they’d agree on anything. I sighed audibly.
“Can you at least shake hands?”
“No!” they yelled in unison.
Chapter 17
“Are you sure it’s a good idea, Cressida?” I asked, concerned that she was making a mistake. I appreciated that she was trying to do a good thing, but it seemed to me that it could backfire all too easily. Catastrophically, even.
In light of recent events, Cressida thought it would be a good idea to invite Mortimer over for dinner with herself, Mr. Buttons, and me. She opted not to invite Sally or Florence to avoid an unfortunate incident like the last time. Plus, Florence was refusing to leave the boarding house, so simply avoiding her was apparently the best approach. The dinner seemed like a good idea, but I was worried about something in particular.
“Do you think Dorothy is willing to cook? Or even able?” I asked.
Cressida smiled at me knowingly. “I’m not even willing to risk asking her. Ever since the police came to take her for questioning, she’s been in a frightful mood, though I’m not sure if I can blame her. But no, Sibyl, I don’t plan to ask Dorothy to cook.”
My eyes widened. What was she planning? Did she have another cook already? Surely she wasn’t going to cook, unless... “Wait, Cressida, you’re not going to ask me to cook, are you?” I asked, feeling a deep sense of dread. I didn’t mind cooking for close friends, but I couldn’t imagine what Dorothy would do if she found me working in the kitchen.
“No, no,” Cressida assured me, much to my relief. “I’ve given Dorothy the night off and told her that I’m going to buy take out.”
“Oh,” I said simply, feeling more than a little stunned at the revelation. That didn’t seem at all like something Cressida would do. “That doesn’t seem like you, Cressida, if I’m honest.”
“Oh, no, dear,” she replied with a smile. “I’ll disguise it as my own cooking, of course. And you’ll help me!” she declared, still smiling.
I sighed, knowing there was no real way to escape her strange scheme. “How long do we have?” I asked, trying my best not to sound like I was dreading the entire night. At least the food would be good, I figured, but it was hard to believe we could disguise anything as our own cooking.
“We have about two hours before everybody is due to arrive. That’s plenty of time to order something and disguise it nicely. I’m thinking we should order pizza,” Cressida suggested happily.
“Cressida, I think we should get something that’s a little less, well, a little less obviously take out,” I suggested, trying my best to let her down gently. “If we’re going to disguise it as home cooking then we ought to get something that people are likely to cook for guests. Pizza’s fine, but I think it would be a bit too obviously store bought.”
Cressida considered this for several seconds before slowly nodding. “Okay, that makes sense. Thai food?” she asked, which made me realize that I was now practically in charge of this entire operation.
“Yes, that sounds fine,” I said with another sigh. I don’t know how she always dragged me into these strange things, but I’d rather have that than have Cressida trying to accomplish weird things all on her lonesome. We looked up the menu of a local Thai place and immediately shared a confused glance.
It was the only Thai place that was open and delivering, but the menu barely had a word of English on it. Short of words like ‘Entrees,’ ‘Mains,’ and ‘Drinks,’ the rest of the menu was entirely comprised of names of unpronounceable dishes. None of them had any semblance of a description, and all we could figure out was what kind of dish they were based on where they sat in the menu and their price.
While I was busy thinking of another restaurant to try, Cressida decided she’d be a bit more adventurous and called them, ordering a huge amount of food, seemingly at random. Cressida had to repeat herself over and over again as she failed to pronounce the names of dishes, so it was likely we wouldn’t even receive whatever it was she was trying to order. This flimsy plan was getting even less stable by the second.
“Oh, dear,” Cressida said as she hung up the phone. “Do you think Mortimer will like Thai food?”
“I have no idea,” I admitted. “But I think you ordered enough to cover anybody’s tastes, even if we’re not sure exactly what’s going to be delivered.”
Cressida looked strangely relieved, which made me consider that she had a very different grasp on the situation than I did.
“Hello, you two,” Mr. Buttons said, announcing his arrival. “I thought I’d swing by early, seeing as I do live here and don’t have much else to do.”
“Mr. Buttons! No!” Cressida yelled, clearly trying to hide the fact that we were ordering take out.
Mr. Buttons was understandably stunned at her outcry. “Was I not invited?” he asked with no small amount of confusion.
“No, it’s fine.” I smiled. “Cressida’s just very stressed out, since she’s too scared to ask Dorothy to cook, given the mood Dorothy’s in.”
“Oh, I see,” Mr. Buttons said with a nod. “What’s the plan, then? Are you cooking for us, Cressida?”
“Yes! No!” she yelled, clearly flustered.
“We both are,” I lied, hoping to give her some time to calm down and think rationally. Then again, I wasn’t sure Cressida was much for rational thinking, regardless of how calm she felt. “But I’m afraid we’re very busy, so we’ll have to ask you to come back when dinner’s ready.”
“Oh, of course,” Mr. Buttons said. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt. Well, good day, ladies. I’ll see you this even
ing.” He walked away as Cressida managed to catch her breath.
“Cressida, I’m not going to lie. I’m losing confidence in your ability to keep up this charade,” I admitted, turning to face her. “Dinner hasn’t actually arrived yet and you’ve nearly blown our story.”
“I know, I know,” she said sadly. “He just took me by surprise. I’ll be fine! I promise.”
Cressida and I sat around for several more minutes, discussing exactly how we planned to disguise our food as home cooking. We decided that it should be fairly easy to get away with since nobody would expect us to be doing this. Besides, I hardly believed that we were doing it either. On top of that, we only needed to fool Mr. Buttons and Mortimer. Mr. Buttons never ordered take out, and Mortimer was from out of town, so there was no chance that either of them would be familiar with the food.
Eventually the food arrived. Cressida ran to the door to answer while I staged the kitchen to look as if we’d been cooking, as was the plan. We still had a little while until everybody was going to arrive, which meant we would need to keep the food warm anyway. I wasn’t crazy about the idea of using the kitchen when Dorothy was around, but with Cressida helping me, it wasn’t quite so bad. I couldn’t imagine even Dorothy would be too upset, considering that it was her boss who was using the kitchen. Then again, this was Dorothy, so who really knew?
Cressida eventually came back cradling a rather large amount of food. I don’t know how she was managing to carry it all, but she deposited it on top of the countertop without asking for help.
“How much did you buy?” I asked, my mouth hanging open. The food was piled up high, and I suspected that if we were to pile it straight up it would easily reach the ceiling.
“Hang on, I have to get the other half,” Cressida said, breathing heavily. She wandered back to the front door, leaving me in shock. I decided that it was best just to start the plan, since time was of the essence. Cressida could always ask if she needed help carrying the rest.
She came back with another equally large pile of food as I was busy stirring some kind of delicious meat, vegetable, and noodle dish in a large pot. I was trying to make it look as messy as possible so that everybody would assume we had cooked it from scratch.
We spent the next several minutes ‘cooking’ the food, keeping it warm, and ruining all the effort that the poor take out cooks had put into making the food look pristine. Eventually it was time, and Cressida went out to wait for Mortimer. I stayed back and started to dish up the food, wondering how on earth Cressida had managed to carry it all in just two trips. There was enough to feed a small army, and it seemed like we wouldn’t be able to eat it all no matter how hard we tried. Though, try we would, as the food smelled and looked absolutely delicious.
I took some bowls and plates out into the dining room to see that everybody had already arrived and was seated. Mr. Buttons smiled warmly, and Mortimer stood up to greet me.
“Hello, Sibyl,” he said, his expression as neutral as ever. “Cressida was just telling us about all the hard work you’ve put into cooking this afternoon. I must say, it smells wonderful.”
“Oh, uh, yes,” I stammered awkwardly, trying to place the food on the table. “Yes, thank you. Cressida did a fair bit of it herself, actually.”
“Oh, I see,” he said, smiling at Cressida. “And what’s this dish called?” he asked, pointing to a kind of yellow rice dish in the center of the table.
Cressida was shocked into stunned silence, so I cleared my throat and thought of a response. “Oh, uh, cow...mockay,” I replied, hoping he’d buy my bluff and not realize it was simply random gibberish.
“Oh, it’s Khao Mok Kai? That’s one of my favorites.” Mortimer took a seat as he spoke, looking at the food eagerly.
Cressida and I sighed audibly with relief. We brought out the rest of the food and dished it up for everybody, finally sitting down to eat for ourselves. It was a huge relief, knowing that Mortimer was unlikely to question the food any further. More than that, all the worry and work had made me hungry, so I ate the food ravenously. It was delicious, too, all kinds of spices, meats, vegetables, and types of rice combined into amazing flavors. The more I ate, the more I found it hard to believe that anybody would believe that Cressida and I had cooked it.
We ate in relative silence, everybody clearly enjoying the meal. Mr. Buttons and Mortimer made the occasional comment on how delicious the food was, to which Cressida and I responded with awkward thanks before quickly changing the subject.
Mortimer was sitting directly next to Cressida, and it was clear to everybody except perhaps to Mortimer himself that they were flirting. Then again, he was simply impossible to read, so maybe he knew full well what was happening.
It was also astoundingly obvious to me that Mr. Buttons was none too happy about the situation. He constantly shot glances at Mortimer and Cressida as they spoke, looking less than pleased with how their friendship was developing. Other than Mr. Buttons’ obvious discomfort, the dinner went very well. Nobody questioned that we’d managed to cook the meal, and Mr. Buttons seemed to enjoy himself in the end, despite some obvious jealousy. I wondered what Cressida and Mortimer would be like as a couple, but it was hard to imagine Mortimer expressing himself much at all, unless it was over one of Cressida’s horrifying paintings.
Chapter 18
Waves of guilt washed over me as I looked around the café. It was quite a trendy café, a new one in Pharmadale and sufficiently out of the way—or so I hoped—that the detectives would not see me sitting there with Blake.
He was over at the counter, ordering our coffees and lunch, while I was sitting at a table surveying the surroundings. The aroma of the coffee was pungent and welcoming. Some of the furniture had been made from recycled industrial items, items I did not recognize, but it added to the effect. Numerous clear light fittings hung from the ceilings, lighted rather spectacularly by spiral Edison filaments.
“I was surprised when you invited me. Are you sure this is a good idea?” I asked Blake when he returned to the table.
He shot me a blank look. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
I gestured to the both of us. “You know, us. The detectives don’t want us dating.”
Blake arched his eyebrows. “That’s why I suggested lunch rather than dinner.”
I could not help but laugh. “Isn’t that splitting hairs?”
Blake shrugged. “I’m willing to take the risk. After all, they did find Dorothy’s DNA on the envelope, so that gives them all the more reason to suspect her rather than you.”
I was surprised. “You don’t think Dorothy did it, do you?”
Blake shrugged again. “I know it wasn’t you, or Mr. Buttons or Cressida. That leaves Dorothy, Sally Cavendish, Prudence Paget, or someone else that we don’t know about. The most simple solution is usually the answer. It has to be one of those three, in my book.”
I nodded. “Yes, although I can’t see what motive Dorothy could possibly have. Roland hadn’t even insulted her cooking, because he had that genetic disorder where people can’t taste food. So surely that would’ve had to make him the person least likely to be murdered by Dorothy. Prudence, on the other hand, had a motive, because Roland had refused her grant years ago, and Sally had a motive, because he had a mistress, that awful woman Florence. Although I did see Sally with a man that day, so perhaps she has a lover of her own.”
I stopped speaking when the waitress placed our coffees in front of us. When she was out of earshot, Blake spoke. “I’ve just found out the man’s identity, only this morning. He’s an old friend of Roland and Sally’s, a local minister at the Uniting Church. Sally has been friends with him and his wife for years.”
“So there’s no chance that they were having an affair?”
Blake put two packets of sugar into his coffee before stirring it. “Definitely no affair there. I’m certain of it.”
“Well, that makes Sally unlikely to be a suspect then, given she was so upset when she met
his mistress.”
Blake took a sip of his coffee before answering. “To the contrary, it does give her a motive. Many women have murdered their husbands for the very same reason.”
“But she seemed to be in love with him,” I protested.
“There’s a fine line between love and hate.”
Our meals arrived, and I ate mine, considering that this was a far happier time than our dinner of the previous night. Things were looking up. Blake was determined to date me despite the detectives’ wishes, and even they now had another suspect, Dorothy. I looked up to see Blake staring intently at me.
“Sibyl, you said your settlement is nearly through?”
I nodded. “Yes, as I told you, it’s been awarded, so I’m just waiting for the money to arrive in my bank.”
“What will you do then?”
“I don’t really know,” I said. “For a start, I’ll stop stressing about money and the future.” I smiled as a cloud of happiness settled over me.
“Will you stay in Little Tatterford?”
Blake’s question took me by surprise. “Yes, of course I will. This is my home now. I have friends here. I’ve made a life here.”
“I thought you might think of moving back to the city.”
“Sydney? No, that hasn’t even crossed my mind.” My stomach fluttered wildly when I saw the palpable look of relief pass across Blake’s face.
Blake opened his mouth, and I was sure he was about to say something romantic, when there was a loud crash. I jumped and spun around in my seat to see that a small child had dropped a glass of some sort of drink on the floor. The child immediately burst into loud tears, while her mother tried to comfort her. The waitress ran out and tried to assure both mother and child that it was all fine, to no avail.
