Birds of a Feather: 3: Fly the Nest (Bennett Sisters Mysteries Book 16)

by Lise McClendon

  Introduction

  This book is the last part of the trilogy titled Birds of a Feather, a Bennett Sisters Mystery. Read the first two parts to get the full story, and read all the books at Amazon.

  Birds of a Feather 1: Swan & Peacock

  Birds of a Feather 2: Crazy as a Loon

  “I do suggest newbies start with the first-in-the-trilogy, “Swan & Peacock,” to enjoy all this set has to offer: “bucket list” setting, clever mystery, character driven plot, witty banter. Lise McClendon’s writing style is descriptive, clearly painting pictures of the Welsh countryside, varied personalities, and adding humor along with the mystery.” — Amazon reviewer

  Contents

  Characters

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Epilogue

  Bonus Recipe

  The Bennett Sisters Mysteries

  About the Author

  Characters

  In Birds of a Feather

  The Bennett Sisters

  Annie

  Merle

  Elise

  •

  Their partners

  Callum Logan - Annie

  Pascal d’Onscon - Merle

  Conor Albion - Elise

  •

  Albion Family

  Evans - father

  Isabelle - mother

  Conor - son

  Aubrey - daughter

  Freddy - Aubrey’s husband

  Toby, Gwendolyn, & Michael - their children

  Duncan - son

  Pauline - Duncan’s girlfriend

  Richard - Evans’s brother

  Cecily - his wife

  Bree and Sally - their daughters

  •

  Sabine Tatou - Isabelle’s second cousin

  Gabriel Tremblay - Sabine’s amour

  •

  Staff at Monnow House

  Audette - chef

  Gini - maid

  The Police

  Badan Powe, Detective Inspector

  Rogers, Chief Constable

  Chapter One

  Wales

  Merle Bennett stood at the tall front windows of the cottage, next to the red brocade drapes, and idly scraped frost from the glass with a thumbnail. Outside the snow had begun to fall, lightly at first in swirling flurries, but now coming down in clumps and sticking to the grass and gravel driveway. She glanced behind her at her sister Elise, standing by the fireplace with Pascal, as her boyfriend Conor comforted his mother on the sofa.

  The death of Isabelle Cadieux Albion’s cousin had been a shock to everyone at Monnow House. A most unwelcome New Year’s Day event, to say the least. Parked on the driveway were two police cruisers and the ambulance from Newport. The emergency medical team was slow to arrive, possibly given the indication that there was no actual emergency now.

  Sabine Tatou had lain in that spot near the pond, under the thick green yew hedge and the chilly clouds, for another two hours after Freddy and his children had discovered the body. Pascal stood by the scene, making sure nothing was touched or moved. The local constables didn’t seem grateful. They crashed into the hedge to ensure Sabine was actually, truly deceased. Pascal was livid. Whatever evidence had been there was now ruined.

  Merle turned back to the window as Isabelle bent her head into her hands and began to cry. Conor had his arm around her. Her husband, Evans, was cloistered in the library, his usual haunt, with his brother Richard.

  Pascal had already told them what he’d gleaned about Sabine in his Internet research, which wasn’t much. The police had access to the same public records, no doubt. Supposedly someone from Cardiff was coming up, a detective inspector of some sort. Merle wondered if they’d all be subject to individual interviews the way they had in Scotland when the family went there for Annie and Callum’s wedding.

  “Tea, madame?”

  The young maid stood near her right elbow with a heavy tray of full teacups. “Cream or sugar, madame?” the girl said shyly.

  Merle took a cup and a lump of sugar. “Thank you— Gini, is it?”

  “Oui, madame.”

  And she was gone, off on her rounds. Conor fixed his mother’s tea the way she liked it, then asked Elise how she took her tea. He was really good with women, Merle noticed. His sister and mother had taught him well. It certainly wasn’t by example from the men in his family.

  Duncan lounged silently in the far corner of the room, brooding over his whisky, taking swigs and refilling at will. He was at least quiet now, not the noisy, spiteful drunk he sometimes was. Where was Pauline? She hadn’t been seen since they returned from the pond an hour earlier.

  The tea warmed Merle. She hadn’t realized how chilled she was from standing outside. Elise’s lips had turned blue, that was the sign to go into the house. Merle walked over to her sister and Pascal. The fire was blazing, making standing in front of it warm but a little dangerous.

  She slipped her arm around Pascal’s waist, feeling the comfort in his embrace. “What’s happening? Does anyone know?”

  Elise said, “Conor said they heard from the detective that he may not get here until tomorrow because of the snow.”

  “I hope Annie and Callum don’t get caught in it,” Merle said. “Oh. I suppose I should call her.” She frowned at the thought.

  “Let them have their trip back to London,” Pascal advised.

  Merle put her phone away and got an approving smile from him. The French were not as fixated on instant communication as Americans were.

  Elise was listening to Conor talk to his mother. Merle leaned closer to Pascal. “What did you think? You saw her?”

  He squinted. “Not good.”

  “You mean— violence against her?” He gave a curt nod. “What?”

  “No one is discovered dead in a hedge like that unless someone is trying to conceal her body.”

  “Right but— no wounds or blood?”

  “I didn’t examine her, blackbird.” He glanced outside at the police vehicles. “It is strange.”

  “How so?”

  “Who was missing during the day yesterday? Who went out searching for her?”

  Merle frowned. “From what Elise said, she and Pauline did. And the men, Conor, his father, and uncle.”

  “And Gabriel Tremblay. The lugubrious amour.”

  She squeezed his waist. “You’ve been brushing up on vocabulary.”

  “I like that word. What does it mean?”

  “I have no idea,” she laughed.

  “Okay, who was left in the house?”

  “Let’s see. The chef and the maid. Isabelle and Cecily. Who else?”

  “Duncan didn’t search, Conor said. Freddy and his family were at a castle with the children. Then off to bed?”

  Merle nodded. “That leaves the cousins, Bree and Sally. They came home at some point and went up to their room.”

  “Did they come down for soup? I don’t remember seeing them.”

  She shrugged. “Me either. But you don’t suspect them, do you? Two college girls?”

  “Just accounting for everyone.”

  Merle mulled over the list of people. “Gabriel spent hours on his own.”

>   Pascal wiggled his eyebrows. “And had a huge row with her just before she disappeared, according to Isabelle.”

  “Do you think it was him?”

  “Means and opportunity.” He shrugged. “Motive?” He blew his breath out in a whoosh. “He seemed to care for her although God knows why.”

  “Ah, love. The ultimate mystery.”

  As the sky turned purple and twilight arrived, the body of Sabine Tatou was carried up the hill and placed, covered respectfully, into the back of the ambulance. They drove away in a non-emergency way, creeping down the driveway and disappearing into the woods. The family watched soberly from the drawing room windows.

  A minute or two passed silently then Duncan cracked, “Well, that’s that. Sayonara, Sabine.”

  Isabelle’s head snapped toward him. “Have some respect, Duncan.”

  He raised his hands in surrender. “Just saying, she’s probably sad to have missed the high drama of her own demise.”

  “What are you saying,” Conor said, glaring at him. “That she killed herself for a bit of theater?”

  Duncan threw back the last drops in his glass. “Bloody hell. Theater, sure but she was way too wrapped up in herself to end it all.”

  “Oh, Duncan, shut up,” Isabelle said sharply. “You’re drunk.”

  Duncan clutched his throat dramatically. “Mama! You slay me with your harsh words.”

  “Why don’t you go lie down? Find your girlfriend. Get out of my sight,” she said, past the point of niceties.

  Everyone stared at the older son, his red nose and bloodshot eyes, his mess of uncombed hair and wrinkled dress shirt. The trousers from yesterday with stains from dinner, his plaid tie loose and spotted. They all waited for his next comeback to his mother.

  But he didn’t have one. He slopped some more liquor in his glass and lurched out of the room. In the silence they could hear him stumbling awkwardly up the stairs. Then Evans and his brother Richard entered the room from their sequester in the library.

  “What’s the news?” Evans asked. “Any clues from the hedgerow?”

  Elise glanced at Conor. Merle wondered if this was the moment Conor told his parents about Duncan, now when it was obvious he needed an intervention about his drinking. But the silence stretched, Evans tipped his head quizzically and finally Isabelle answered him: “Nothing yet.”

  The maid came back with more hot tea. Isabelle asked her to bring some canapés as well. It was the cocktail hour again but strong tea would do today. Gini returned with the silver server lined with leftover hors d’oeuvres, melon/prosciutto wraps, cold shrimp, and bits of cheese. She lay the tray down on the cocktail table and left in a hurry.

  The party sipped tea and munched on the appetizers for a few minutes. Then three policemen walked by the front windows, up the steps, and knocked. Conor went to the door and ushered them into the drawing room.

  “Sir.” Chief Constable Rogers nodded at Evans. “M’lady.” And at Isabelle. “This is Detective Inspector Powe, come to us from Cardiff.”

  The DI, in a rumpled gray suit, took off his hat and offered his hand to Evans and Richard, then looked around at the assembled group.

  “I’m sure to meet each of you in good time. Inspector Badan Powe, here. I grew up nearby. Always wondered about this big old house.” His smile faded. He was young to be a DI, maybe forty, with sandy hair cut short, and gray, inquisitive eyes. “Sorry to hear about your New Years tragedy.” He nodded especially at Isabelle then. “Your cousin, madam?”

  “Second cousin. Our grandfathers were brothers.”

  “Ah, right. I can never keep that all straight, the once-removed and second, third, whatever.” He laughed at himself, then sobered again. “Condolences. Have we all had some tea?”

  “Fancy a cuppa, Inspector?” Cecily said, standing. “And the constables as well?”

  So the ritual of tea after the death continued, Merle noted, making everyone feel at least warmer and a bit more British. Elise picked up the tray of hors d’oeuvres and each policeman declined in turn although the young constable looked pained at refusing.

  “What’s the word then,” Evans demanded brusquely. “What happened to the old gal?”

  Isabelle winced, as did Cecily. The Inspector looked him in the eye. “The old gal has died, in the elements, sir. It’s a sad affair.”

  “Yes, yes. Sorry.” Evans glanced at his wife. “No disrespect intended.”

  Isabelle straightened, sighing. “Did you find anything that pointed to the cause of death, sir? I am a physician, you may speak freely.”

  Powe glanced around the room. “Were you having a bit of a gathering here last night? A party for New Years?”

  Cecily answered for them. “We had planned one, yes. A French dinner, a réveillon, perhaps you’ve heard of it. A long, drawn-out affair. Sabine herself planned the whole thing, many courses, soup to nuts. But when she went missing we put it off.”

  Powe nodded thoughtfully. “And the food she planned? What happened to it?”

  Merle glanced at Pascal, frowning. What did the food have to do with anything? He gave a little shrug.

  Cecily looked at Isabelle. “We put it all away.”

  Isabelle shook her head. “No, we ate some of it, like the soup and the cheese, but most was put in the fridge. Is that what you mean?”

  “What kind of soup?”

  Isabelle blinked. “Tomato and cream of lettuce.”

  “Lettuce soup?” he asked, incredulous.

  “It is a French delicacy,” she replied primly.

  “No clam or bouillabaisse?”

  “No.”

  The Inspector looked behind him at the younger constable who extracted an object in a small plastic bag from his jacket pocket. The DI held it aloft. From where she stood Merle saw it was an irregular gray blob, maybe a rock.

  Powe asked: “And did you have oysters last night?”

  Chapter Two

  A stunned silence stretched out for a long minute. Everyone in the drawing room stared at the bag in the Inspector’s hand, now obviously containing a large oyster shell. He hoisted it higher so all could see.

  Pascal was first to clear his throat. “Oysters? We—” He looked at Isabelle who had a look of astonishment on her face. “Did you—”

  “No.” Isabelle stood up from the sofa, followed by Conor at her side. “We threw the oysters out. They were raw of course and there was some concern about them going bad.”

  “So no one— none of you— had an oyster last night?” The Inspector looked through the group. “Is everyone present here now who had dinner last evening?”

  Conor stepped forward. “My sister and brother had dinner. They’re upstairs, sir. Shall I ask them to join us?”

  “If you would.” Inspector Powe peered at Conor as he crossed the room. “Are you— hold on, do I know you? Are you the golfer?”

  At the door Conor turned back to face the room. His expression was solemn. “Conor Albion, yes. Have we met?”

  “Yes— well, no.” The Inspector was smiling now, eyes wide. “We played against each other ages ago, at the Welsh Boys Championship. Fourteen and under, it was.”

  “That was ages ago,” Conor said. “Good to see you again.” He left the room to find his siblings.

  “I’ll be damned,” the Inspector muttered. “All these years.” He turned to Evans. “You must be very proud, sir. Such a brilliant golfer in the family.”

  Evans nodded unenthusiastically, sticking out his chest. Another awkward silence passed. Isabelle sat down again, with Cecily joining her on the sofa.

  “So where was this oyster shell then?” Richard piped up, rattling ice cubes in his glass.

  “Found near the deceased,” the Chief Constable answered.

  “So you posit she ate a bad one?” Richard continued. “Keeled over in the hedges? Shame.”

  Merle and Elise shared a glance. Was Richard trying to lead the investigation in that direction, or just making small talk?

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nbsp; “Where were the oysters thrown out— where is your bin, madam?” the Inspector asked.

  “We take our rubbish into town,” Evans said. “Usually on the day before we leave.”

  “And that is scheduled for—?”

  “We stay until Twelfth Night. The 5th. It’s a tradition.”

  “Can someone show the constable where the bags are stored?” The Inspector asked the assembled group. No one volunteered. “Is there staff? Could they show him?”

  The young constable was directed to the kitchen where he was told either the chef or the maid could show him where the rubbish was stored. As a vacation home they had no regular garbage service, even if such a thing existed out in the countryside, Isabelle explained to the Inspector.

  “Just as well, madam. We need to check the bin bags.”

  Conor came down the stairs with Freddy and Aubrey. He introduced them to the Inspector. “My brother Duncan is asleep.”

  The Inspector checked his watch. It was five-thirty in the afternoon and he’s asleep, his face said, but he made no comment. He nodded cordially to Freddy and Aubrey. “Can you tell me what your dinner consisted of yesterday, sir, madam?”

  Freddy looked flummoxed. Aubrey replied, “We had tomato soup and crackers with the children, followed by cheese and some shortbread biscuits. I had a glass of wine. Did you, Freddy?”

  “Yes. Wine. The children had milk.”

  “No oysters?” The Inspector asked. They said ‘no.’ “Did you see oysters last evening in the kitchen?”