Pumpkins, Paws and Murder (A Dickens & Christie mystery Book 2)

by Kathy Manos Penn

  “Right,” said Gemma, “here on the river.”

  “Trixie wanted to push him to sign the divorce forms or whatever you guys call them over here. He was taking his sweet time, and she was getting anxious. Lord, was he a jerk.”

  Though I’d told the story the night before at the pub, I went over it again—what he’d said to Trixie and how he’d grabbed her arm and gotten a slap across the face in return. I finished up with the conversation between Trixie and Sparkle at Beatrix’s booth.

  “A right rotter, that one,” said Gemma. “Not that I haven’t encountered lots like him in my time. Plenty wind up in jail, but not enough of them, if you ask me. They’re bound to cause real harm sooner or later if they aren’t stopped.”

  “I’m sure you’re right,” I said. “I’m curious as to how a girl like Trixie came to be married to him. She strikes me as young and naive. I bet there’s a tale there. How did Trixie meet him, marry him, figure out she needed to be rid of him? Could shed some light on his death.”

  “What else did you observe on Saturday? Did you see Max performing?”

  “You know, I didn’t see much of his act, just glimpses in passing, but the kids seemed charmed by him. But wait a minute. I almost forgot I saw some interaction between him and Barb that morning as the Fête was kicking off.”

  “There’s more with Barb? Good grief,” Gemma said.

  “Yes. He tried to approach her as she was leaving, and she gave him that universal rude gesture. He said something back, but I couldn’t hear what it was. I thought that was an interesting shift from the day before. I mean they weren’t chummy Friday, but there wasn’t any tension.”

  “Fascinating,” said Gemma. “Visiting from Totnes and runs into three women he knows? How does that happen?”

  The SOCOs were preparing to move the body, and one walked over with several evidence bags. One held the apple core, another an apple, and a third a phone. The fourth held a wallet. “Odd thing about this apple. There are two sets of teeth marks on it as though it’s been bitten by two people or this one tried twice to bite into it.”

  “Like he started to eat it. And was interrupted? Anything else of note?” asked Gemma.

  “Oh yeah. Looks like he took a beating before he went in the water. His nose is swollen with a bit of dried blood around it. Don’t think he walked into a door, so probably he was punched. And a handprint on his face, like someone slapped him.

  “Funny that. No offense ladies, but it’s typically guys who punch and women who slap. So, could be two different people had a go at him. That’s about it. Won’t know what all happened to him until the medical examiner has a look.”

  The SOCO was right about a woman leaving the handprint. I assumed the mark was from where Trixie had slapped him. As for who punched him, who knew?

  Gemma frowned. “Not much by way of evidence, is it? Maybe you’ll have better luck with his truck. It’s over by the garage. And keep an eye out for a top hat and a cane.”

  I thought for a moment. “Gemma, if he had a swollen bloody nose and an apple stuffed in his mouth, could he have suffocated?”

  “Hmmm, I guess that’s a possibility. Someone could’ve stuck the apple in his mouth as a joke, and then the bloke couldn’t get any air . . . “

  “So it could have been a prank gone wrong?”

  As she watched the SOCOS head to the drive, Gemma speculated. “Who knows? I need to wait to hear what the medical examiner has to say. Meanwhile, I know two women who had a relationship with Max and good reason to be furious with him, but angry enough to kill him? I’m not sure. And we know a third who seemed irritated with him, at the very least. Given the rule of the thumb is to look at the spouse, guess my first stop this morning will be the widow.”

  Chapter Three

  I checked on Libby. She’d dozed off, so I felt comfortable leaving her. Rest would do her good after the shock she’d had. I nonchalantly walked to the waterwheel and snapped a few pictures of the riverbank and the surrounding area. Good thing the body was already gone. I would have been tempted to photograph it too, and Gemma would have had a cow.

  As soon as I’d latched Dickens in the back seat, I called Wendy. “Good morning. Any chance I can drop by for a cuppa?”

  “You know you’re always welcome. In fact, Peter’s coming for lunch, and I’ve made two quiches. Why don’t you join us?”

  “Sounds like my lucky day. Be there in a few.”

  I looked in the rearview mirror at Dickens. “What did you find out from Paddington?”

  “Nothing useful. He comes and goes most nights, stays out catting around. Saw plenty of owls and mice out in the fields, but nothing exciting at the inn.”

  “Nothing exciting? Did he see anything at all?”

  “Yes. When he climbed his favorite tree by the waterwheel, he saw Max lying on his back. And when he set off down the driveway to resume his nightly patrol, he saw Trixie leaving. He was passing the truck when he spied the top hat and couldn’t resist peeking in. Silly thing thought he’d find a rabbit, but no luck.”

  I thought about that for a moment. “Hmmm. So that’s where the hat is. I guess the SOCOs will find it when they search the truck. I wish I knew what time Paddington saw all that.”

  “Paddington’s a smart cat, but he doesn’t wear a watch, Leta.”

  I was laughing at the thought of Paddington with a wristwatch when I pulled up to Sunshine Cottage, and Dickens had already moved on. “Look, Tigger’s in the garden. Hurry.”

  He bounded out of the car to join his feline friend, and I stuck my head in the front door. “You guys in the kitchen?”

  “Yes, come on in,” said Belle. She gave me a peck on the cheek when I leaned in to give her a hug.

  Wendy poured me a cup of tea. “What have you been up to today? A walk with Dickens?”

  Their eyes widened in shock when I told them about Max the Magnificent. “Oh, poor Libby,” said Belle. “For that matter, poor you. Another dead body?”

  “Well, as I said to Libby, at least this time it isn’t someone we know or like, but still.”

  “You’ve got to tell us everything, but maybe we should wait for Peter,” said Wendy.

  We agreed her suggestion made sense, so I wandered outside with my tea while Wendy set the table and made a salad. The drizzle had stopped, and Dickens and Tigger were chasing each other in and around the woodpile. It was fortunate Peter had laid in a supply of logs before breaking his collarbone.

  When Peter drove up, Dickens greeted him with an ecstatic bark. Both he and Christie had grown attached to my tall lanky friend, and I suspected it had something to do with his resemblance to Henry.

  “Peter, let’s go for a walk! Want to?”

  Peter chuckled and responded as though he’d understood what Dickens had said. “Hello, boy. You looked exhausted last night at the pub, but you’re awfully frisky this morning.”

  I gave Peter a hug, careful not to jar the bad arm. “Lucky me. I called at the right moment to score an invitation to lunch. Come on in.”

  The homey kitchen decorated in cheerful reds was always spotless, and today was no exception. It was as though the meal had miraculously appeared on the counter. A pot of tea, a crock of butter, and a jar of jam were already on the table surrounded by red checked placemats. Wendy served from the counter, and I handed around plates of quiche, salad, and scones.

  When I took my seat, Belle and Wendy looked at me expectantly. I took a bite of quiche and went through the phone call from Gemma, what Libby’d said, and what I’d seen. I suggested we finish lunch before I recounted my discussion with Gemma on the patio.

  Peter and Belle moved to the sitting room while Wendy and I cleared the table and washed up. Seeing Tigger on the window box outside the kitchen window made me think to bring the animals in, and we all made ourselves comfortable in front of the fire with our four-legged companions in their favorite positions—Tigger in Belle’s lap and Dickens on the hearthrug.

  I sighed.
“Beatrix and I brought you up to speed about Max, Sparkle, and Trixie over drinks last night. Gemma and I rehashed that as we watched the SOCOs at work. The interesting bits of evidence were the apple in his mouth and the bloody nose.”

  Peter frowned. “Well, it doesn’t seem like an apple in his mouth would kill him. Unless the Wicked Stepmother poisoned it.”

  “More likely one of the women he mistreated, but no, it wasn’t a poison apple, that I know of. Still, it would appear someone stuck the thing in his mouth. And turns out it had two sets of bite marks on it.”

  I closed my eyes as I pictured the scene. “Oh, and there was an apple core too. I guess someone will figure it out. And the medical examiner will let Gemma know whether Max was punched in the nose. Could have tripped over his own feet, right? And fallen flat on his face? But how likely is that?

  “I wonder who else Gemma plans to interview. I should’ve suggested she speak with you, Belle, since you were pretty near to Max the Magician all day while he was performing.”

  Wendy gave me a questioning look. “You should have suggested? Leta Parker, don’t tell me you’re thinking of getting involved with another investigation.”

  Belle piped up. “Why not? We might never have solved the last case if not for Leta.”

  “You know,” I said, “I haven’t consciously thought of myself as involved, but . . . I guess I am, if only unofficially. I mean Gemma did want my input.”

  “Oh, let’s get involved, please,” barked Dickens.

  I smiled at my four-legged partner. It was at times like this I had to be extra cautious not to let on that he and I conversed. I worried that one of these days, I’d pop out with a “Dickens says” comment. I could only imagine what would happen then.

  Wendy chuckled at Dickens. “I wonder what Dickens is thinking. I know he’s a little hero dog, but we don’t want him having to reprise that role, so if you’re planning to nose around, I want in. You need a partner to keep you out of trouble.”

  “Don’t forget me,” said Belle. “It’s a wonder what people will tell a little old lady.”

  Peter looked askance at the three of us. “You’ve got to be kidding. What exactly do you think you’re going to do? Interrogate people?”

  “If you’ll recall, I didn’t interrogate you during the last case. We had a conversation over dinner, and before I knew it, you’d told me things even your mother and sister didn’t know,” I reminded him.

  At that, mother and daughter crossed their arms and stared at him, the expressions on their faces identical. If I were writing a novel, this is where the two would have said, “Don’t you worry about us. We can take care of ourselves.”

  “And, you know what?” said Belle. “I did see something.”

  “You did? What?” I asked.

  Belle shook her head in disgust. “That scoundrel! If I were more spry, I’d have come out of my chair and given him a piece of my mind. I saw him shove Sparkle’s face in the water with the apples and hold it there while she tried to get up.”

  “I wondered how she’d managed to get wet bobbing for apples. Never thought about Max being responsible for that.”

  Wendy came up with the obvious connection. “Oh! A possible motive for Sparkle.”

  “Yes, but who kills someone because he’s mean? Well, mean and he lied to her about being divorced, but still. And we need to remind ourselves that Gemma doesn’t know for sure it was murder, though I can’t see how it could be anything else. I mean, who sticks an apple in his mouth and lies down?”

  We hadn’t spoken to anyone beyond our little group, and already we had ideas. I suggested Belle let Gemma know about the confrontation between Max and Sparkle so she could follow up on it.

  I looked at Wendy. “I can tell from the expression on your face that you’ve had a brainstorm.”

  “Well, I was thinking ‘the early bird gets the worm.’”

  “Huh?” I said.

  “While Gemma’s waiting until it’s officially been declared murder, she might miss something. Something no one saw as important, like Mum seeing Max shoving Sparkle’s face in the water. We could nose around. What’s the harm?”

  “What do you have in mind, luv?” asked Belle.

  I had an idea. “We can get Peter to help. It would only take a quick conversation. Peter, are you visiting the Ploughman any time soon?”

  “Crikey,” he said. “What do you want?”

  “Sit at the bar and chat up Phil. Find out what he said to Max last night when he jerked him up. You’ll be surprised how easy it is to get information. I bet Phil has plenty to say about Max, and he’ll be more forthcoming with you than he would be with one of us.”

  “Well, if it will keep you three from making a spectacle of yourselves at the pub, I’ll handle it. But that’s it. I’m not getting involved beyond that.”

  Next, I looked at Wendy. “What say you and I talk to Beatrix to get the backstory on Trixie, how she wound up in Totnes, and why Max? I want to know how she got hooked up with him and what made her come to her senses. I don’t see Gemma having that conversation, do you?”

  “I was thinking a chat with Beatrix would be the logical first step. Dinner out, or maybe at your place? And what about Mum?”

  “I’ll do dinner, and I’ll call Beatrix. Belle, you had a long day yesterday, so what if Wendy and I carry on this evening without you? Tomorrow, we’ll put our head together and draw up a plan.”

  “That’s fine, girls,” Belle replied. “Meanwhile, I’ll think back on what I saw yesterday to see if I can remember anything else helpful.”

  I had a sudden thought. “Wendy, if you get a chance, can you browse the Astonbury Aha for photos the villagers posted online from yesterday? Someone could have inadvertently caught something on camera. You know what I mean? Like the police studying CCTV video?”

  “Yup,” she said. “Too bad there’s no CCTV at the river.”

  As I drove to Sainsbury’s for groceries, I called Beatrix. She was at the Book Nook and told me Trixie had come in late the night before and had been asleep when Beatrix left mid-morning. She was shocked when Trixie called with the news about Max and said Gemma had come and gone. The girl was in quite a state, and her mother was on her way from Manchester. To top it off, Gemma had asked Trixie not to leave Astonbury, a request that didn’t bode well.

  Beatrix didn’t see how she could come for dinner with her sister and her niece at her flat, though after hearing I’d been to the crime scene, she was eager for news. When I suggested we move dinner to Monday evening, she was all over it.

  Sitting around twiddling my thumbs seemed less than efficient, and I pondered next steps as I shopped. I’d planned a simple meal of baked chicken and my Greek salad, but with our dinner date delayed a day, I had time to make spanakopita instead of chicken. With a name like Leta Petkas Parker, it was only natural that Greek dishes were my go-to, and my new friends in the Cotswolds had come to expect them when they dined at my cottage.

  Driving home, I called Trixie on Beatrix’s home line. She was sniffly but seemed comforted to hear my voice. “Trixie, when is your mother due to arrive? Would you like company until she can get here?”

  “Oh yes, Leta. Aunt Beatrix offered to close the shop and come home, but I couldn’t let her do that. It’s bad enough that I’m in no state to go in to help her today. I don’t expect Mum until after dark, and it’s awful sitting here by myself.”

  I told her I’d be over after a quick stop at my cottage, and then I called Wendy to alert her to the change in plans. She agreed it was a good idea for me to see Trixie on my own, since I’d established a relationship with her.

  I made my stop by home as speedy as I could. Given that Christie was demanding to know where we’d been and what we knew, it wasn’t as fast as I would have liked. With Dickens’ help, I told her what we’d discovered as I was putting groceries away.

  She was none too pleased with our haste. “Mee . . . oow,” she screeched. “Did you get pictures?
Tell me you at least brought me pictures.”

  During the last sleuthing adventure, I’d had lots of photos, and my intelligent black cat had been instrumental in discovering clues I hadn’t noticed. All I had to do was set up the slideshow on the computer and leave her to it. She was disappointed I had so few this time.

  Dickens tried to explain. “Christie, she couldn’t help it. Gemma and the SOCOs were there at the scene, and they’d have noticed if Leta pulled out her phone. Can you imagine her snapping pictures of the body and them saying, ‘Sure, take all the pictures you like?’ Not likely.”

  She ran to the office and leaped on my desk, scattering paper and pens. “If you’re taking off again, at least transfer the ones you have. I can’t very well help with this investigation if you don’t get on the stick.”

  My girl. She hated being left out, and I realized I needed to try the backpack idea sooner rather than later. When I returned, I’d order one from Amazon and see whether I could convince her to ride in it so she could accompany me and Dickens out and about.

  Trixie opened the door and threw her arms around me. “I’m so glad you’re here, Leta. I can’t believe Max is dead, and I can’t believe Gemma told me not to leave Astonbury, as though she thinks I could be responsible.”

  Dickens positioned himself protectively at her feet. He could tell she needed comforting. I sat on the couch next to her and rubbed her back. “Did you explain to Gemma you had nothing to do with it? You saw him at the pub, and that was it?”

  She gulped. “That’s the problem. I saw him later.”

  That was news. I realized Gemma had to question her because she was the spouse, the most likely suspect. And she’d had a nasty encounter with Max yesterday, but it hadn’t occurred to me she might have been involved. “You did? Where?”

  “Summer, Sparkle, and I rode to the pub in Summer’s car, but I was ready to leave before they were. Goodness, those girls can drink. I took the walking path to the inn to get my car. Max’s truck was still there, and I looked inside thinking he might be passed out—a common occurrence when he drinks. No sign of him.