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

by Kathy Manos Penn

  “What he’s barking about?” asked Dave. “Does he know it’s me on the phone? Does he want a long-distance belly rub?”

  “No, he appears to be demanding more food, but he’s not getting any. It’s not like I’m sending him to bed hungry. And speaking of bed, you know I’m about to turn into a pumpkin, and I still need to pack. I’ll try to give you a call from Totnes, okay?”

  We ended our call, and Christie told me what she thought about the photos. “Did this Max fellow really live in that place? It’s disgusting.”

  “I agree with you. And these pictures aren’t very useful, are they?” I asked.

  “No, not a bit, not like the photos from your last case. I think from now on, I need to go everywhere with you and Dickens, so I can see everything firsthand.”

  The reference to my last case gave me pause. How is it there have been two murders in Astonbury in a month? I thought. And more to the point, how is it I’ve gotten myself involved yet again? I couldn’t answer the first question and chose not to dwell on the second.

  Dickens had been thinking about Christie’s suggestion—or demand. “You know, Christie, they don’t let cats in pubs, right? And I’m not sure they let them in inns either.”

  My four-legged friends debated the different rules for dogs and cats as they followed me upstairs. After years of business travel, my packing routine was well-honed and took no time at all. In bed, I picked up my Tommy and Tuppence book, but I kept reading the same paragraph over and over.

  Knowing I wasn’t going to be able to read until I mapped out what we needed to accomplish on our trip, I reached over to my bedside table for a pad and pencil. Soon, I had a game plan for my “trio of little old ladies.” Totnes, here we come.

  Chapter Eight

  The next morning, I stowed my bag in the trunk, fastened Dickens in the back seat, and made it to Toby’s Tearoom by 8:45. If time allowed, I’d stop by my cottage before picking up Belle and Wendy, but if not, I wanted to be ready to hit the road.

  I almost didn’t recognize Sparkle when she walked in the door. Her dark hair in a ponytail, she wore sweatpants and no makeup. She looked exhausted and frazzled. Grief will do that to you. I know.

  I waved her over before she had a chance to go to the counter. “Sit. Let me get you something. Do you prefer coffee or tea? How about a muffin or scone?”

  She asked for a large black coffee and a gingerbread muffin. I left Dickens with her and placed our order with Jenny. When I returned to our table near the back of the shop, Dickens was nudging Sparkle’s hand. Today, her name didn’t fit. Her eyes looked dull and her skin ashen.

  Patting Dickens on the head, she looked at me. “Leta, you’re so kind to invite me out. I’m not handling this very well. I mean, I wasn’t married to Max, but I did love him. I can’t believe he’s gone.”

  “I don’t think you have to be married to a man to mourn him,” I said. “And I don’t think there’s any rule about how long you have to be with someone before you can love him deeply. It’s understandable you’re grieving. It’s bad enough he died. The circumstances make it even worse.”

  She nodded and teared up. “We’d known each other for years, didn’t always date, but were friends. Just began dating again this summer . . . after Trixie. After his marriage ended.”

  I was taken by surprise when her demeanor suddenly changed. Her face turned red, and she looked angry. “I can’t believe he was trying to get Trixie to come back to him. I thought he was done with her. I thought he loved me.”

  Dickens barked, “Is she angry with you?”

  I touched Dickens to let him know I was okay. I wasn’t sure how to respond to Sparkle’s outburst, so I danced around it and replied in a soothing voice. “How sad to have begun again and then to lose him like this. Were you dating when he met Trixie?”

  “Yes. No. I mean, he met her during one of our spats. We’d sometimes break up for as much as a month but always get back together. Maybe because we were both foster kids, we had a special bond. It’s hard for people who had a regular mum and dad to understand.”

  “Oh gosh, Sparkle. So you don’t have any close family?”

  “No, I’ve got my flatmates in Totnes, but no family.”

  “You’re fortunate to have them. When you go home, I think you’ll find that reminiscing with them about Max will help you. I’ve found that sharing stories about my husband helps me to cope with losing him. It can be bittersweet, but I feel like he’ll always be with me as long as I can talk about our time together.”

  Sparkle wiped her tears away. “Would you . . . would you like to hear more about Max?” she asked.

  “Yes. Tell me how you met him, why don’t you?”

  “Meeting is ancient history. It was in school. He was a few years ahead of me, but we ran with the same crowd—the rough one. We were the kids who skipped school and had bad grades. Max treated me like his pesky little sister back then, but he looked out for me.

  “Didn’t see him for a year or two after he left school. But then I ran him into him at the pub one night, and we picked right back up. Told me about his magic act and how he was hoping to make a go of it and leave the shop behind.

  “I was impressed. There I was washing hair at the Blue Hair Studio, and he was a magician. He had ambitions. I think it was his working to make something of himself that gave me the confidence to approach Summer about learning how to do fairy hair.”

  “See? That’s a memory you’ll always treasure. And fairy hair is so popular. Do you do it in Totnes too?”

  The fairy hair conversation brought a small smile to her face. “Yes, it’s wonderful. The studio set me up a spot for that. I still wash hair when I don’t have fairy hair appointments, so it’s a wonderful arrangement. And I get to travel with Summer for festivals.”

  “Sparkle, it just so happens I’m going to Dartmouth today with Belle and Wendy for a mini-vacation. Do you remember them?”

  She thought for a moment. “Oh, you mean Peter Pan and her mum? Yes, I got a kick out of putting blue strands in that white hair.”

  “Well, we plan to tour Dartmouth and Greenway—we’re Agatha Christie fans. And we thought we’d spend a day in Totnes. I’d love to set Belle up for a wash and set while we’re there. Could you recommend someone at the Blue Hair Studio?”

  “Oh yes, try to get Priscilla if she’s not booked. Best shoot for Thursday as she’s usually slammed Friday and Saturday.”

  I jotted down the name. “Thanks. Belle tires quickly when we’re shopping, so having a sit-down appointment will give her a chance to rest.”

  “Gosh, Leta. You’re right about memories easing the pain. I just had a flash of Max walking in the door of the studio with a bouquet of flowers for me. He only did it once, but he looked so dashing dressed in his tails and top hat, that red scarf around his neck. He was handsome, wasn’t he?”

  Dickens barked. “But clothes don’t make the man, do they, Leta?”

  I rubbed Dickens’s head to quiet him. “That he was. He must have had a way about him, too. When I saw you together on Friday, I wasn’t sure whether you were only friends or were dating. But what happened Saturday? I gather he dunked you in the apple-bobbing bucket.”

  I looked at her inquiringly. That was all it took.

  “Typical,” she spat. “He could be a fairytale prince one moment and a lout the next. He claimed he was just playing around when he pushed my face in the water. He had a bad habit of taking things too far—like he’d never grown up. Sometimes he could be a bully.”

  I could tell the change in her tone had disturbed Dickens because he stood up and licked her hand.

  So that explained the encounter Saturday. A prince? An evil prince maybe.

  “But no matter how angry you were with him, you cared enough to go looking for him Saturday night. You cared enough to worry about him and to want to be sure he was okay. Sounds like he didn’t deserve you, Sparkle.”

  She sniffled and the tears started to flow agai
n. “You’re probably right, but like you said, he had a way about him. You know he was teaching me magic tricks. He said I was awfully good and we could be a team and go on the road together. Guess that’s another dream gone.”

  It struck me that she’d known Max longer than Trixie had. “Sparkle, can you think of anyone who had it in for Max? Someone who would kill him?”

  She hesitated. “The thing is,” she said, “he’s always had a way with women. They couldn’t resist him. Guess that’s why I overlooked his messing about. We’d have a row, and I’d hear he’d slept with someone else, but he always came back to me. Found out Saturday that Barb was one of those women. If I’m honest with myself, it’s a long list.”

  “Are you saying someone he slept with might have had it in for him?”

  “No. It was men he didn’t get on with. He could be a bit of a braggart, and he could wind someone up in a heartbeat. I can’t tell you how many times I drug him out of the pub to stop him getting in a brawl. If someone killed him, I’m thinking it could have been someone from Totnes.”

  Interesting, I thought. Would someone follow him from Totnes to kill him? Because he was an insulting, arrogant, idiot? Why not kill him closer to home?

  “Wow. That would mean someone hated him enough to come all the way to Astonbury.”

  Sparkle thought for a moment. “Funny, I did see Max having an argument with someone at the Fête. I saw Max take a step back when the man poked him in the chest with his finger. I didn’t get a good look at the guy, but he didn’t look familiar. Could have been from Totnes. Could have been someone local.”

  “Can you describe him?”

  She closed her eyes as though she was trying to picture him. “Tall, taller than Max. Burly, not slim like Max. Brownish hair. I mostly saw him from the back, and I think he had on one of those brown canvas jackets. You know, the ones with corduroy collars?”

  Sparkle’s phone buzzed. “That’s Summer. Just a sec.”

  I gathered from the side of the conversation I could hear that Summer was calling to see how Sparkle was holding up.

  When the conversation ended, Sparkle said, “I’m lucky to have Summer. She’s been a trooper these past few days, checking on me while she’s working and making me eat. It’s time for me to get back to her place to shower and dress for our afternoon appointments. We’ve got several luncheon jobs lined up, so they’ll be a good distraction for me. And then we’ve got the Fair in Burford this weekend.”

  She stood up and gave me a hug. “I can’t thank you enough for reaching out to me. I still can’t stop crying, but I feel just a tiny bit better after our talk. I’ll keep in mind what you said about memories and about talking about the good times. That will help.”

  Dickens couldn’t wait to share his thoughts as we got in the car. “Gosh, Leta. That was a strange conversation. She’d be sad one minute and angry the next.”

  “I know. But when I think about it, she’s had several shocks these past few days. She finds out Max lied to her about his divorce. She meets his wife. She meets Barb, one of his flings. And then she finds out the man she loves has been murdered. No wonder her emotions are all over the board.”

  “Maybe you’re right, Leta. But tell me something. Why did these two nice girls like that Max guy? I’m sorry they lost someone they cared about, but I don’t understand how they could’ve loved him in the first place.”

  “Well, Dickens, the heart’s a funny thing. Before I met Henry, I didn’t have very good luck with men, and I certainly dated my share of losers. Men who charmed me only to show their true colors later. That could be what happened here.”

  “What did you think about the guy in the brown jacket? Do we know him?”

  “You know, he doesn’t sound familiar to me, but I don’t know everyone in Astonbury. He could be from here or a neighboring village . . . or from Totnes. I don’t know.”

  I made it to the Davies home in plenty of time, and by 10:30 am, we were on the road--Wendy in the back seat with Dickens, and Belle riding shotgun. I’d booked us into the Dart Marina Hotel, and I was looking forward to one of their seafood dinners. When Henry and I’d stayed there, we’d dined at several highly recommended local restaurants, and rated the dinners at the Marina the best.

  “Ladies, I’ve simmered down, but let me tell you what Gemma said yesterday. She referred to us as little old ladies—all three of us!”

  I saw Wendy’s indignant look in my rearview mirror. “Are you kidding? I mean, Mum’s near ninety, but the two of us?”

  Belle was chuckling. “She can call me whatever she likes. I’m proud to be little and old and still kicking. I think the excitement you two stir up has taken years off my life. Heck, maybe we should incorporate the phrase ‘little old ladies’ into whatever name we come up with. Wendy and I still haven’t hit on the right one.”

  She had me laughing too. “We need a name, and we need T-shirts. I saw some on the internet, something to the effect of ‘Thinking I’m just an old lady was your first mistake.’ I bet we can come up with just the right slogan—once we hit on our name, that is.”

  Even Dickens chimed in. “You know I don’t like being called little, but I still want to be part of the team.”

  Wendy tickled his chin. “What got him all fired up?” she asked.

  He barked again and licked her hand. “Tell her, Leta. Detective Dickens is on the job.”

  We were all laughing by then, even though Belle and Wendy had no clue what Dickens was going on about. We had lots to discuss, so it was good we had a three-hour drive ahead of us. I started with a review of what I’d discovered with Gemma and Peter.

  Belle shook her head as I told them about the photos on the laptop. “How sad. Do you think he ever really loved Trixie? Or was he in love with the idea of her? Whatever it was, I can’t help feeling a little sorry for him.”

  “Sorry, Mum, I can’t see it. He may have suffered from a broken heart, but from what we witnessed, he deserved it.”

  I glanced in the rearview mirror and caught Wendy’s eye. “Wait until I tell you about my conversation with Sparkle this morning. Another interesting perspective. But you know me, I like to take things in order, so first let’s talk about your brother at the pub.”

  The story of Peter playing detective cracked Wendy up. “Leta, I’m telling you, Peter’s a changed man since he’s gotten to know you. I’m glad you thought to ask him to help us out, but I certainly never would have imagined he’d take to it like he has! The way you’re describing his conversation with Phil, it sounds as though my brother’s a quick study.”

  “That he is,” I said. “It’s not as though I coached him. I bet he and Phil talk about cars and sports all the time, so Phil thought nothing of sharing what he knew about Max.”

  By the time I finished the tale of Barb’s fling with Max, her altercation with him Friday night, and the bloody nose from Phil late Saturday, we were all shaking our heads.

  “Okay,” said Belle. “Let’s hear about your morning with Sparkle.”

  “You know, I have to credit Rhiannon with setting me straight—in a nice way, of course. I’m afraid I was quick to form a negative impression of Sparkle based on very little information. I’m glad I sat down to talk with her—not only because I learned a few things, but also because I think I helped her to feel better.”

  I explained it was my sense she genuinely loved Max. And, it occurred to me, the two may have been better suited for each other than Max and Trixie were. They had similar backgrounds, while Trixie had been a sheltered only child.

  “I think the fact they were both foster kids explains a lot about their mutual attraction. Except that they seemed unable to be together very long without breaking up and making up. Sounded like a volatile relationship.”

  Wendy started to speak and hesitated. “I’m having a hard time figuring out how to say this. He was flamboyant. He was a performer. He was arrogant He was ambitious. Do you think he got caught up in the fantasy of marrying the
fairy princess? I mean, Trixie looks like a princess. She’s the complete opposite of Sparkle in looks and probably in personality. Was that the attraction?”

  Belle snorted. “Okay ladies, we’re drifting into psychology here. It’s enough I’ve become an amateur sleuth without dabbling in psychology too. Let’s focus on what this tells us about who might have killed Max.”

  “Right,” I said. “I’m not sure it tells us anything other than she didn’t have any more reason to kill him than Trixie did. I mean, Sparkle was angry with him because he lied to her about Trixie, but Trixie was angry with him about not signing the divorce papers. So far, Trixie’s the only one I see gaining anything from his death. She no longer has to wait on a divorce—she’s free.”

  Wendy quickly shifted gears. “I say we think more about other suspects and see where that takes us.”

  That’s when I remembered the other bit of information from Sparkle. “I almost forgot. Sparkle says she saw Max and some guy arguing on Saturday. The other fellow was punching his finger in Max’s chest. Of course, we don’t know who it was.”

  “All the more reason to consider other suspects—from wherever,” Belle said.

  We went back and forth discussing how to do that, what we’d learned so far, and what bearing the various clues might have on our Totnes plans.

  I asked Wendy to reach in my handbag for the plan I’d sketched out, and we talked it through with Wendy making notes. The first thing she added was to be on the lookout for a tall, burly guy with brown hair. Right, I thought, like that’s going to be easy.

  We’d adjust our sleuthing plan as we went along but agreed we had to visit the magic shop where Max had worked, the Totnes Bookshop where Trixie’d worked, the salon where Sparkle did fairy hair, and possibly the pub Max frequented if we could figure out which one it was.

  Wendy looked thoughtful. “I bet we could get a good sense of how Trixie and Max’s relationship developed if we spoke with the family she rented the flat from before she got married. But we need a reason to speak to them, don’t you think? I mean, we can’t just show up on the doorstep and start asking questions.”