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

by Kathy Manos Penn

  “I adore Chrystal,” Trixie said. “You know, she taught Max quite a few of his magic tricks.”

  Sparkle frowned. “Well, not exactly. He learned most of them on his own, and he was as good, if not better, than she was.”

  Trixie looked taken aback but didn’t argue the point. “Anyway, I met her when I was taking classes at Sharpham Hall. She was the one who introduced me to Max. Seems like another lifetime.”

  Sparkle looked uncomfortable. I’d wondered at Trixie and Sparkle spending time together given their separate relationships with Max. Unless they were bonding over their love for him, I couldn’t see them becoming friends.

  “Who’s for a round of shots?” Sparkle asked. She didn’t wait for a reply before heading to the bar.

  Summer watched as Sparkle placed the order. “I’m worried about her. I know it’s an emotional time, but her highs and lows seem extreme to me. One minute she’s quiet and teary, the next she’s angry and almost belligerent. She smiles over happy memories and then rants about how badly Max treated her. Is it that way for you, Trixie?”

  Trixie hesitated. “Not exactly. I mean, I tear up because I do have some happy memories, mostly from before Max and I married. Maybe it’s because we’d been separated for almost six months, but I’m not angry anymore. Could be she just needs more time.”

  We all looked up as Sparkle returned with a tray of shot glasses. Goodness knows I didn’t need to start doing shots. I’d never been much of a drinker even when I was their age, and I was driving to Stow tonight.

  Sparkle held her glass high and said, “Here’s to Max. May he rest in peace.” We all raised our glasses. The three of them tossed back their shots, and I took a small sip. Then I nudged my glass toward Sparkle. She chuckled at me and downed it.

  The shots seemed to clear the air, and we chatted about the Burford Fair and how the day had gone. Despite the nasty weather, the girls had enough customers to make it worth their while. Many had booked appointments at the soap shop for the next week, rather than sit in the tent in the rain—so many that Sparkle planned to stay on at least through Wednesday. Plus they had the Twitchy Stitchers lined up for another luncheon.

  Trixie smiled at the mention of the luncheon. “I had so much fun with the Knitwits. It’s sweet that they make booties and hats for newborns. I like working with paper but never took to any kind of needlework.”

  Summer and Trixie chatted about how cute the knitting group had been and how excited they got about their fairy hair. One of the Knitwits was making a winter scarf for Summer and was going to experiment with weaving in some of the silk threads.

  Sparkle looked thoughtful. “I wonder whether there are similar groups in the Totnes area? Surely there are. I could check Paignton and Dartmouth and other neighboring towns.”

  Trixie offered to ask her former landlady and the manager of the bookshop. “I know you can google knitting groups, but they don’t always have a presence on the internet. More often they’re groups set up via church connections. I’ll see what I can find out for you.”

  “Could be one in Dittisham,” I offered. “Belle, Wendy, and I had lunch there when we finished touring Greenway. It seemed an adorable village, but we didn’t get a chance to explore it.”

  That led to my describing the Greenway visit. Sparkle and Summer had never been to the mansion, though Trixie had. I mentioned Christie’s archaeological trips with her second husband, and we all agreed the author had led an amazing life.

  As the conversation swirled, I noticed Trixie growing increasingly quiet. She shook her head and said, “I’m going to get a glass of water and take a Panadol. I’ve got the beginnings of a headache, and I need to nip it in the bud before it gets worse.”

  Sparkle studied Trixie as she left the table. “Are headaches an indicator of an asthma attack coming on? Max told me Trixie had those, but not all that often. What does she do for an attack?”

  “I’ve read that headaches can be a sign, as can nausea or coughing. To use Trixie’s turn of phrase, using her inhaler should ‘nip it in the bud.’ If the headache doesn’t go away, that will likely be her next step.”

  We continued to chat, and Summer explained that the fairs and festivals brought in lots of money for them and also resulted in repeat customers. Sparkle was booked up for the holiday season in Totnes, and Summer would join her there for the Christmas Fair at Sharpham Hall in December.

  “That will be our last gig for this year. The winter months can be slow, so we have to make a killing while we can,” Sparkle explained. “Oi, bad choice of words. Can’t escape the topic of Max, can we?”

  Trixie had returned to the table, and my next words were for the widow and the girlfriend. “Ladies, I promise it will get easier. The tears will flow less often, and someday you’ll be able to smile at the memories.”

  I raised my pint. “Here’s to treasuring the good times.”

  We all had unshed tears sparkling in our eyes, but we also had tremulous smiles on our faces. I donned my hat and pulled my plaid wrap close around me. As I said goodbye, my lower lip was trembling.

  The mist was still thick as I walked to my car. Chances were the mist would be followed by fog, and I’d need to be especially careful driving tonight. In the best of conditions, I had to constantly remind myself which side of the road was mine. Now was no time to let emotion cloud my judgment.

  The Old Stocks Inn was more crowded than I’d expected for a rainy night. I was speaking with the hostess when I saw Toby waving from a table near the back. Rhiannon was already pouring me a glass of red wine when I sat down.

  “Glad you could join us,” she said. “We tried to get Libby and Gavin to come too, but they’ve got another full house this weekend and preferred to stay put.”

  “Yes, autumn’s a busy season for all of us, but it will be a different story after Christmas,” Toby explained. “Beatrix and I and the other shop owners will be slow in January and February and part of March. If it’s a warm spring, business will pick up in April.”

  The waitress approached to see about our orders and rattled off the specials. It didn’t take me long to settle on lamb as a shift from the seafood I’d consumed for three days on the coast.

  Toby grinned. “I’m with you tonight, Leta. I think I’ll go for the lamb.”

  Rhiannon attempted to look aghast but couldn’t quite carry it off. “As a vegetarian, I know I should be appalled at both of you, but to each his own. I’m going for the root vegetable casserole.”

  Orders placed, the two were eager to hear what I’d been up to with Belle and Wendy. I shared the assortment of clues we’d picked up on our trip along with the fact that we were no closer to knowing who the killer was.

  Rhiannon was intrigued by Prudence’s change of name. “Gosh, I don’t see it as a bad name. Makes me think of ‘Dear Prudence.’”

  “That’s exactly what I thought of when I heard it,” I said. “I should have known you’d make that connection, since your yoga studio is named for a Beatles song.”

  Rhiannon shook her head. “Funny about names. I’ve lived most of my life with people asking me if I was named for the Fleetwood Mac song ‘Rhiannon.’ The song hadn’t even come out when my parents named me. The real Rhiannon was a Celtic Goddess, and the name translates to White Witch or Great Queen. I’ll take either one. I like having a powerful name.”

  “Just like I get a kick out of my namesake being the Goddess of Truth. I can think of worse things.”

  “Okay, ladies,” said Toby. “Will you think less of me if I tell you I have no idea what my name means, and I’ve never been curious?”

  We laughed and assured him we’d keep him as a friend. I wondered aloud about writing a column on names and where they came from. I thought it likely it was mostly expectant parents who researched names and their meanings while trying to decide what to name their newborns. I doubted most adults were that curious unless they’d been saddled with what they saw as an odd name.

  We drif
ted into a conversation about business. I knew October through December could be a make or break time for small businesses, and I wasn’t surprised when Toby shared how apprehensive he was about the next several months. His impending divorce only heightened his anxiety, as he was faced with having to buy his wife out of the business. Though he’d been able to secure a bank loan, money was still tight.

  I asked him how Jenny was working out at the tearoom. It was clear Libby and Gavin were delighted with Jill, and I wondered if he felt the similarly about her sister.

  Toby grinned. “Oh! You cannot believe how amazing she is. The customers love her. She‘s punctual. She does everything I ask and more.” We all agreed that the sisters had a down to earth practical approach to most things and that Toby and Libby and Gavin were fortunate to have found them.

  “You know,” said Toby, “I haven’t had a weekend off in several years, and with Jenny on board, I’m seriously considering visiting my family in Cornwall over the New Year’s holiday.”

  “Good for you,” I exclaimed. “I haven’t decided yet what I’m doing for the holidays. I’m getting a fair amount of pressure from my sisters to go home, but I just don’t know.”

  “Have you thought of going to see them for Thanksgiving instead?” asked Rhiannon. “Since Thanksgiving isn’t a big deal here?”

  I was sure my face lit up. “That’s brilliant. Then I could spend my first Christmas in the Cotswolds as I’ve been longing to do. I’ll have to think how to broach that topic so they’ll go for it.”

  Our freewheeling conversation continued on through coffee, and once again I marveled at how fortunate I was to have made new friends so quickly.

  When Toby suggested we order aperitifs, I quickly declined. “No way. I’ve already sipped a shot tonight. Wouldn’t allow myself to down it. Those young girls—Sparkle, Summer, and Trixie—are more hardcore than I am or ever was. That reminds me, I think I’ll check on Trixie. She was getting a headache after that shot of whiskey. With Beatrix out of town, I just want to be sure she’s okay.”

  Rhiannon chuckled. “Bit of a mother hen, aren’t you? I bet she’s fine.”

  I rang Trixie. It went straight to voicemail, so I tried again. This time she picked up on the first ring. She sounded breathless. “Hello . . . Aunt Beatrix?”

  I heard what I thought was wheezing. “Trixie, it’s Leta. Are you okay?”

  “No . . . my asthma . . . can’t get a breath . . .”

  “Where are you? Do you have your inhaler?”

  “Home . . . inhaler . . . not . . . helping.”

  “Trixie, I’m going to hang up and call 999. I’m on my way. Where does Beatrix keep her extra key?”

  Trixie coughed several times. “Doormat.”

  Toby and Rhiannon looked at me in alarm as I called 999 and described the situation. When I grabbed my purse, Toby stood up.

  “I’m going with you. Rhiannon drove me here, so I can drive your car. Let’s go.”

  “Bless you, Toby.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Thank goodness Toby was driving. He was faster and more comfortable on the road than I was. We arrived at Beatrix’s home in record time, and I was fumbling with the doormat when the ambulance pulled up. I unlocked the door and rushed in with the EMTs behind me.

  Trixie was sitting on the floor, back against the couch, her inhaler in her left hand. An overturned teacup lay on the floor beside her. She was conscious, just barely, and she was breathing in short gasps.

  The EMT asked about allergies but I had no idea. I knew only that she had asthma. It was clear she’d tried her inhaler to no avail. The EMTs put her on a stretcher and loaded her into the ambulance. I watched as they strapped on an oxygen mask and hooked her up to an IV. I heard words like albuterol and steroids.

  “If she doesn’t respond quickly,” said the other EMT, “we’ll use the EpiPen.”

  As she began to breathe a little easier, he asked questions about her evening activities. Had she been drinking? Had she done any drugs?

  I was able to tell him she’d been at a bar and downed at least one shot. “No way she does drugs,” I said. “She probably drank too much tonight, and she had the beginnings of a headache earlier in the evening, if that tells you anything. She took Panadol. I think there are some headache meds she can’t take.”

  “That’s right. Some of them can trigger an attack in people who have asthma. We’re going to draw some blood so it’s ready for analysis in the event we take her to hospital in Cheltenham. Are you her mother?”

  “No, a friend. She lives with her aunt, but she’s out of town this weekend. I can stay with her.”

  They suggested Toby and I wait inside. I was worried sick. Should I call Beatrix or wait until I knew more? Toby searched the kitchen and located the same bottle of brandy I’d found when I visited Trixie the week before. He poured me a shot and pushed me to drink it.

  I obliged. “Toby, is it just me, or is it odd that she’s had two asthma attacks in less than a week when she pretty much has her asthma under control? Beatrix figured it was stress last Sunday, and that made sense. Hearing your husband was murdered and the police asking you not to leave town has to be a double whammy. But what happened tonight? What could have triggered another severe attack?”

  “Don’t know much of anything about asthma, Leta. Did I hear him say certain drugs can trigger an attack? Is that why they’re testing her blood?”

  “Yes to both questions. I heard she had a severe attack in Totnes, and they had to call 999. The landlady mentioned Max giving her something for pain when she sprained her ankle. Wonder what it was?” I started out the door, and then it hit me. “Wait. Gemma and I found a supply of oxycodone in Max’s caravan. Is it possible some of those pills got mixed up with Trixie’s Panadol?”

  I went outside to mention the Totnes incident to the EMTs. They thanked me but kept their focus on Trixie. I waited a beat and asked, “Excuse me, would oxycodone trigger an asthma attack?”

  That got their attention. The EMT closest to me looked up. “Yes. What made you ask? Any chance she took oxy?”

  I tried to explain about Max and the availability of the drug. “Maybe unintentionally? I’m grasping at straws, I know, but I want to be sure you’ve got the whole picture. Oh, if it means anything, she had a severe asthma attack on Sunday.”

  I wandered to the front door and back again. The EMT exited the ambulance and called to me. “We’re going to take her in. They may not keep her, but we’d feel better if they did a complete workup.”

  I explained the situation to Toby and offered to take him home when he said, “I’m in for the duration. Let’s go.”

  I grabbed Trixie’s phone and purse on the way out and then locked the door, pocketing the key. We were in for a long night.

  At the hospital, it wasn’t long before Trixie resumed breathing normally and the wheezing disappeared. She’d come in still wearing the oxygen mask and hooked to an IV, but those were soon removed. She was resting comfortably when the doctor came in.

  He looked toward me and nodded at the side of the cubicle. “Are you her mother?”

  “No,” I repeated for what seemed the umpteenth time. “A friend.”

  “Well, we have the bloodwork back. We’ve started drawing blood in the ambulances because we’ve learned early analysis helps in possible heart attack and overdose situations. For this young lady, we wanted to know what could have triggered such a severe asthma attack. Could have been as simple as mistakenly taking ibuprofen—simple but potentially deadly. It wasn’t. We found oxycodone in her bloodstream.”

  “I wondered,” I murmured.

  “And why is that?” he asked. “Has she been known to take it for pain? Can’t imagine her doctor prescribing it, given her asthma.”

  How could I explain my hunch to him? I could hear Carol, Trixie’s landlady, describing her attack after the sprained ankle—after Max had given her something for pain. And I was seeing the tablets in Max’s caravan. Had so
me of those gotten mixed in with her Panadol? Was that even possible?

  I did the best I could to make my thoughts understandable. And I dug through Trixie’s purse to find her pill case. I held it out to the doctor. “Is there anything in this besides Panadol?” I asked.

  He emptied the pills into his palm. “Yes! Three of these are oxycodone. She should know better. Now that she’s coming around, let’s ask her where she got them.”

  I moved to her side and held her hand. “Trixie, the doctor found signs of oxycodone in your blood. Can you tell us what happened tonight? Did you take anything besides the pill I saw you take at the pub?”

  She looked at both of us. “Oxycodone? No, Leta. I took that one pill, and I guess I should have stopped drinking, but you know how it is when you’re out with friends. We had appetizers, more cider, and another round of shots. My headache got worse and I felt nauseated. The girls knew I didn’t need to drive, so they offered to take me home. I rode with Sparkle, and Summer drove my car.”

  I was glad to hear she hadn’t driven herself home. I had an inkling she wasn’t accustomed to drinking that much. “What happened when you got home?”

  “The car ride made me queasier, I think. Sparkle settled me on the couch and made me a cup of tea. I told her to go on. I wasn’t worried about my asthma. I wasn’t having any problem breathing—just the headache and upset stomach. Oh, I forgot. I thought it had been long enough since the last pill, so I took another with my tea. The girls hadn’t been gone long when my wheezing started—much worse than I’ve experienced before.”

  I looked at the doctor. He nodded and asked, “Well, young lady, we found not only Panadol but also oxycodone in your pillbox. Why is that?”

  Now Trixie was near tears. “I . . . I have no idea. I don’t do drugs.”

  The doctor looked skeptical, but there wasn’t much more he could do. He admonished Trixie not to take oxycodone—ever—and told us we could go home shortly, no need to remain for observation. He suggested Trixie get an EpiPen to have on hand in case of another severe attack.