I wanted to hug him but refrained. Dickens showed no such restraint. He jumped up and put his paws on the man’s legs and gave a joyful bark. “Thanks. Just what we need.”
It didn’t matter that Dickens had no idea why I wanted a conference room. It was enough that I was pleased. I texted Wendy to let her know where we were and asked whether she wanted wine or tea. I should have known what her answer would be.
By the time Wendy joined me, I had two glasses of wine on the table and the words “Case Map” written across the top of the whiteboard with “Max’s Murder” in the center. Off to one side, I had a list of motives and on the other side, a list of suspects.
Wendy looked around in amazement. “We have an office and a case map too. If you’re Maisie Dobbs, does that make me Billie?”
I had recommended Wendy read Jacqueline Winspear’s books about the detective Maisie Dobbs, and she had thoroughly enjoyed them. Maisie had been a nurse in World War One and had embarked on a career as a private investigator when the war ended. Billie was the veteran who worked with her. For each case, Maisie and Billie would lay a sheet of wallpaper on her desk, blank side up. There they would create what she called a case map—a record of information they’d gathered during their investigation.
“Well, maybe you can be Sandra, her secretary who occasionally did some snooping. I don’t think you can pass for a man.”
Dickens barked. “I hope she had a dog. Every detective needs a dog.”
“No, Dickens, she didn’t have a dog,” I said.
Wendy chuckled. “I know Dickens doesn’t speak, but you do a good job of acting as though he does. Okay, let’s see what you’ve got here. Are those motives in general or specific to our murder?”
“They’re general categories. I found them online. One of my favorite authors, P. D. James, says, ‘All the motives for murder are covered by the four Ls: Love, Lust, Lucre, and Loathing.’ Don’t you love the word lucre, like filthy lucre? Though I doubt there’s any of that at stake in this crime.”
“Only the roll of bills you found in the sugar jar, right?”
“True, but I’m still inclined to rule out lucre unless you feel strongly about it—or if Gemma uncovers something more about the drug angle. And if this list doesn’t take us anywhere, there are plenty of others out there. What do you think of this one? Greed, Humiliation, Safety, Cheating, and War. I found it somewhere on the internet.”
Wendy smirked. “I think we can rule out war, but humiliation and cheating could be factors with Max—we heard he humiliated or at least embarrassed Trixie at the book shop, and we know he cheated on her. And it sounds as though he cheated on Sparkle, or maybe it’s just that they weren’t exclusive in his mind. This is becoming awfully complicated.”
“And, as if that’s not enough, revenge and jealousy also crop up online as motives. “
Wendy studied the whiteboard while I added more motives. “Well, let ‘s look at the suspects: Trixie, Sparkle or Prudence, Jill, Phil, Barb, and some guy in a brown jacket. I know I’m repeating myself, but I can’t believe Trixie did it. For that matter, I can’t believe any of the girls did it.”
“Neither can I,” I said, “but we’ve got to be objective about this. Nothing would make me happier than to study the information we’ve gathered and find that a complete stranger committed this crime.”
Wendy pulled out her phone. “Didn’t I read somewhere that it’s most often men who commit murders? Let me google women and murders. Here we go. One study found that 85% of murderers were male and only 15% female. I don’t want to invent suspects, but we’ve only two males. Is that a problem?”
I had to laugh at her question. “Like I know? Let’s start adding what we know about each of them and see what we come up with. When we feel like we’ve documented everything, we can transfer it to a big sheet of flipchart paper to take with us.”
Wendy listed the five names in a circle around the words Max’s Murder, leaving plenty of space. For good measure, she added Brown Jacket Man. She drew a circle around each name and wrote MOTIVE beneath them. For Trixie, we filled in Loathing, Humiliation, and Cheating but agreed that was a stretch.
“I can’t see it,” I said. “I didn’t pick up feelings of loathing, and if she felt humiliated because Max had cheated her on while they were married, why would the feeling boil over into murder now? She sounded so sincere when she told me she didn’t hate him.”
Wendy nodded and wrote the same three words beneath Sparkle/Prudence. “The motives could be the same, but to me, they seem slightly stronger for Prudence. Was she humiliated because he dumped her for Trixie? Maybe, but she took up with him again regardless. Did she suddenly loathe him when she discovered he’d lied to her about being divorced? Did she kill him in a fit of rage? I can’t see it.”
“Neither can I. Things like that only happen in the movies.”
I picked up a marker and wrote Loathing and Revenge beneath Phil. “I feel like I need something more descriptive like macho anger for Phil. That’s the only reason I can see for him following Max and killing him. I mean Phil’d already knocked him around and given him a bloody nose. Wouldn’t murder be overkill—so to speak?”
Wendy wrote the same two motives beneath Barb and Jill. “Jill had plenty of reason to loathe him, but I think she was scared to death after he grabbed her. I can’t see her doing anything beyond what she told you—kneeing him and jumping on her bicycle and leaving.”
“Right. And I’m not sure about Barb. She’d already taught him a lesson Friday night. Sure, he said something to her at the Fête on Saturday and to all the girls at the bar that night, but would snarky words provoke her to kill him? Of all the girls, she seems the most likely to let it roll off her shoulders.”
Wendy grabbed another marker and added a big question mark beneath Brown Jacket Man. “Let’s try something else, since motive doesn’t seem to be helping us. How about a list of evidence?”
So we tried that angle. Off to the side, Wendy wrote EVIDENCE. Beneath that, she listed PIG written on the car, apple in mouth, apple core, missing top hat and cane, coroner’s report he was strangled, and red scarf tied around his neck. That was it.
“Should we add the wad of bills, baggie of pot, and pills?” I asked. “I’m not sure those things count as evidence.”
Wendy looked exasperated. “I think we need an instruction manual for sleuths, like Detection for Dummies. What’s evidence versus things that tell us more about the players? Like the pot and the pills tell us about Max, but they’re not evidence of anything to do with his murder, are they?”
“Could point to a killer if he was selling pot and pills, and his supplier or a client killed him. I don’t know, but none of this seems very useful,” I murmured. “Would it help to do a timeline?”
Wendy drew a line across the bottom of the whiteboard. “Couldn’t hurt. It’s all about the pub and the inn.”
Wendy wrote,
Max bumps into Barb in AM
Max shoves Sparkle in apple bobbing bucket
Brown jacket guy accosts him
Trixie slaps Max
He threatens her
He’s rude to the girls at pub
Phil jerks him up
Max leaves & drinks in his truck at the inn (Phil thinks)
Phil bloodies Max’s nose
Max attacks Jill
Jill knees him & rides off
Max goes to the river
Trixie finds Max by river’s edge & leaves him there
Sparkle finds Max in same spot, takes picture of him, and leaves him
I looked at Wendy. “It didn’t hurt, but I’m not sure it helped. We still have no idea who stuck an apple in Max’s mouth and strangled him. Neither girl who admits to being at the scene mentioned an apple. Sure, Sparkle took a picture, but that probably only proves she was there, which we already knew.”
“And where’s the hat? Only Trixie mentioned it, and it’s still missing. Did the killer take it? And if so, wh
y?” asked Wendy. “And where’s the cane?”
That question got Dickens’s attention. “Too bad Paddington missed that.”
I repeated Dickens’s observation as though it were mine. “If only Paddington could talk. Gavin says he prowls all night, so I bet he saw everything. But until he breaks his silence, I haven’t a clue. I’m still as befuddled as I was. Either one of the people on this timeline is lying or there’s a player we’re missing. Or they could all be lying.”
Wendy groaned. “So, what would be your best guess as to who’s lying? My gut tells me to rule out Trixie and Jill. Barb? I don’t know her that well. Yes, we see her all the time at the Ploughman, but I can’t say I really know her.
“Sparkle, I know the least. In fact, most of what I know is from your chat with her at the Tearoom and what we’ve picked up here in Totnes. And what does that amount to? She has a stage name. So what? She’s dated Max longer than she’s let on. Again, so what?”
I wrote temper on the whiteboard next to Sparkle. “If she’s the person who made a scene at the caravan park, could be she has a fierce temper.”
Wendy wrote sweet and naïve next to Jill and Trixie. “That’s my take,” she said.
“What would you write to describe Barb?”
Wendy wrote savvy and street-smart. That seemed to fit.
I stared at the whiteboard. “If more men than women commit murder, maybe it’s Phil who’s lying, or at the very least omitting information?”
Dickens barked, “Why don’t you list the key questions?”
As usual, I acted as though I’d had a brainstorm. I wrote as I talked. “I’m going to start listing our key questions. Who put the apple in his mouth? Where’s the hat? Where’s the cane? Who wrote PIG on the truck and drew the picture? Who is Brown Jacket Man? Who’s lying?”
Plopping into a chair, Wendy put her head on the table. “Too many questions without answers. I can’t take any more tonight. Let’s take a picture of this and copy it all onto a big sheet of paper so we can add to it if we have any earth-shattering ideas later. And then let’s call it a night. With any luck, things will be clearer in the morning.”
“Or foggier,” I mumbled.
I tossed and turned all night, my mind fixing on some random fact like Phil giving Max a bloody nose or the song “Dear Prudence,” and I gave in and turned on the bedside lamp at 5:30. I fixed a cup of coffee in the Keurig on the dresser and sipped it as I looked at emails on my phone. Both Anna and Dave had written wanting to know the latest about the murder. Ugh.
Dickens stirred and stretched. I’d long been thankful that he wasn’t an early riser. He barked softly. “What’s going on? Why are you awake?”
“Couldn’t sleep, so I figured I might as well get up. Well, I’m not exactly up, but my eyes are open.”
“Can we take a walk, then? As long as you’re awake?”
I nodded and threw on my leggings, a sweatshirt, and a parka. When I added a ball cap and picked up the leash, Dickens knew I was ready. It was not yet six, and the hotel was quiet. The sun wouldn’t be up for another hour or so, but the walk along the river was well lit.
“Dickens, I’m stumped. There are too many possibilities as to who killed Max, and we can’t seem to rule anyone out. Any number of people could have come and gone to the riverbank that night, and no one would be the wiser. Unless they raised a ruckus, that is. And, apparently, no one did. And where does my brain go? To a book title of all things—Death Comes Silently by Carolyn Hart. In this case, it sure did. Now, see, I can make connections to books but not to anything useful.”
Dickens stopped walking and looked at me. “Maybe we should leave it to Gemma. By the way, have you called her yet about all the stuff our detective agency found out yesterday? I bet we uncovered plenty of information that will be news to her. Does she have any idea that Sparkle has another name, for instance? Here you are beating yourself up for not solving the murder yet, but we’re making progress.”
“As in ‘Slow but steady wins the race?’ It just feels so very slow to me. And I’m worried that leaving it to Gemma may result in Trixie being charged. She had the motive, the means, and the opportunity. But you’re right, I need to contact her this morning. Maybe she learned more at the Ploughman.”
We’d made it to town already, so we walked up Fosse Way and glanced in the dark store windows. When we turned around to head back, we stopped by one of the kiosks. It wasn’t open, but I made note of the ferry departure times for Greenway. The earliest time in the off-season was eleven, giving us plenty of time for a leisurely breakfast and a call to Gemma. Perhaps in the interest of time, we could call Trixie’s landlady and speak with her instead of making a second trip to Totnes.
When I joined Wendy and Belle in the restaurant at eight, Belle looked as though she’d slept well, and I was surprised to see her in makeup. “Belle, that can’t be yesterday’s makeup, can it?”
She chuckled. “No, luv. Wendy let me use hers this morning. How’d I do?”
“You look smashing. I could get used to this new you. Does this mean we’ll be shopping not only for new curlers but also makeup on our way home?”
“Could be,” she replied with a smile. “I hear you girls could’ve used an additional brain last night. And here I thought you two would solve the case with all the clues I gathered at the Blue Hair Studio.”
I sighed. “I wish. Dickens and I’ve been up since 5:30 because it was all swirling in my head. Taking a before-dawn walk didn’t help, but it was a beautiful outing. I managed to do one productive thing, though. I found out the first ferry to Greenway is at eleven. Shall we try to make that one?”
“Yes, dear. I’m looking forward to both the ferry trip and the tour. I’m not sure I can manage the stairs to the second floor, but I’ll enjoy whatever I can see.”
Wendy refilled our coffee cups from the carafe. “Yes, Mum. I researched accessibility, and the good news is there’s a car to take us from the quay to the house, and the first floor has step-free entrances to all the rooms. Could be we take turns doing the tour, as Dickens won’t be allowed in the house. If you don’t feel comfortable with the stairs to the second floor, perhaps you and Dickens can relax at the café outside the house while Leta and I do the second level.”
“What do you mean, I’m not allowed inside? What’s up with that?” barked my boy.
I rubbed Dickens’s head and looked at him meaningfully. “Dickens will have a full day, what with a ferry ride and exploring the grounds, the gift shop, and the second-hand bookstore—he’s allowed in all those places. I’m hoping they have something I can take home to Christie. Doesn’t seem right that she’s missing this.”
“Mum,” Wendy said, “what do you think about popping in a few shops in Dartmouth before we board the ferry and then lunch in town when we return? Too full a day or doable?”
Belle chucked. “You girls take such good care of me. I think I can do all of that. What’s on the schedule for after lunch?”
“I’m struggling with that,” I said. “Sometime today, we need to call Gemma and bring her up to speed and find out how her investigation is progressing. And we need to speak with Trixie’s landlady. I’ve entertained thoughts of driving home this afternoon, depending on what you ladies would like to do. You mentioned the Naval Academy, Belle, but could you do a second tour in one day?”
Wendy wore a puzzled expression. “Is there a reason you want to go home today?”
“Not one I can put my finger on. I don’t think there’s more to discover here, and I don’t know what we’d do in Astonbury to push this case along either. So, no, I don’t have a reason beyond feeling at loose ends.”
Clearing her throat, Belle spoke up. “Girls, I suggest we enjoy our stay and return home on Saturday as we’d originally planned. I can't see any urgency about getting home. This afternoon, I’ll take a nap. You may recall I didn’t get one yesterday. Didn’t you say there was more to see in Dartmouth? Isn’t there a castle? And more sho
ps? Why don’t you two enjoy yourselves this afternoon while I rest? And if Dickens wants to nap with me, he’s welcome.”
Dickens had something to say about that. “Let’s see how I feel after two boat rides. It’s nice to have a choice—snuggle with Belle or explore more of the town.”
Belle snuck him a scrap of toast. “Is that a hard choice, Dickens? Bark once for yes, twice for no.”
And he obliged with a single bark, which made us all laugh. The couple at the table next to ours had been taking it all in and commented on Dickens’s obvious intelligence. If they only knew.
I had to admit Belle was right about returning to Astonbury. Yes, we’d likely learned all we could in Totnes, but that didn’t mean we couldn’t enjoy more of the sights before traveling home. I gave in and suggested to Wendy that she meet me in my room so we could get Gemma on speakerphone before we drove to the shops. She knocked on my door at nine, and I hit speed dial.
“Gemma Taylor. Oh hi, Leta, glad you called.”
I never knew what kind of reception I’d get, and I was relieved. “Hi. I’ve got you on speakerphone, and Wendy’s with me. And Dickens too, so be careful what you say.”
“Right, wouldn’t want to offend the little hero dog. So, I’ve got some news on this end. First, they tested the apple core and apple for DNA, and guess what?”
Dickens barked and Wendy and I said, “What?”
“Well, the DNA on the apple belongs to Max and both bite marks match his teeth, but—and this could be a lead—the DNA on the apple core belongs to someone else.”
“But, let me guess,” said Wendy. “There’s no DNA match in the database, right?”
“Right you are, but if we have good cause, I can gather DNA from our likely suspects. Not that eating an apple is proof of murder. But it would place someone at the scene.”
“How ‘bout what you learned at the Ploughman? Anything beyond what Peter gleaned from Phil the other night?” I asked.
Pumpkins, Paws and Murder (A Dickens & Christie mystery Book 2) Page 16
