by Morgana Best
I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. “I suppose you’re right, but I don’t like it.”
Cressida took a pen from her purse and opened up a paper napkin. “Okay, we need a list of suspects. We know it wasn’t us, so anyone else is fair game.”
I nodded. “Well, there’s the new cleaner, Susan.”
Cressida shook her head vehemently. “No, no, Susan is not a suspect. Lord Farringdon sat in on the interviews, and he selected her.”
Mr. Buttons and I exchanged glances. Mr. Buttons picked up the chrome salt shaker and proceeded to polish it with a paper napkin, so I figured I should say something. “Well, all the boarders have to be the main suspects, of course. And then there’s the philosophy staff up at the university. And the new gardener. Anyone else?”
Cressida and Mr. Buttons shook their heads. “I can’t think of anyone else,” Cressida said, scribbling on the napkin. “It has to be someone we’ve already mentioned.” She pulled a face and scrunched up the napkin. “This is no good at all. I’m just going to have to paint the house.”
Mr. Buttons leaned over to me. “When Cressida gets upset, she paints something or engages in comfort buying,” he said in a low tone. “She becomes a little strange.”
“I’m right here. I can hear you, Mr. Buttons,” Cressida snapped. “And I didn’t mean I would paint oils on canvas. I meant paint the house itself.”
“The house itself?” Mr. Buttons exclaimed in horror. “People might not pay to board at a house painted in primary colors.”
I held my breath, supposing that Cressida would be highly offended by that remark, but she appeared to take it well. “I can’t afford to paint the outside of the house. I thought I’d start small, with one of the inside rooms. Now that there’ve been so many philosophy professors boarding and paying a good rate, I can finally afford some repairs around the house.”
“Shouldn’t you have the pipes fixed first?” Mr. Buttons suggested gently. “The pipes make a horrible hammering sound every time water is turned on.”
Cressida pursed her lips. “I don’t like to use the local plumbers because I’ve been told they’re too expensive.”
Mr. Buttons looked exasperated. “Well then, Cressida, don’t use them.”
Cressida pouted. “But I don’t know of any other plumbers.”
Mr. Buttons mumbled something to himself. I think he said, “Oh no, not again,” but I couldn’t be sure. To Cressida, he said, “Who told you they were too expensive?”
“No one.”
I stared at Cressida in disbelief. Hadn’t she just said someone told her that the local plumbers were too expensive?
Mr. Buttons’ words echoed my thoughts. “Cressida, you just said that someone told you they were too expensive.” I could tell Mr. Buttons’ frustration was growing by the second.
“Yes,” Cressida said.
I thought I had better chip in. Mr. Buttons’ face was turning redder. “Cressida, who told you they were too expensive?”
“The painters.”
“I see,” I said. “And can they recommend any plumbers?”
Cressida shook her head. “No.”
I looked at Mr. Buttons, but his face was swelling up like a cane toad. I thought it prudent to leave. “Perhaps we should head back now.”
“You two go on without me,” Mr. Buttons said through clenched teeth. “I have a few things to do.”
* * *
The taxi stopped outside my cottage, on the way to the boarding house, and Cressida got out too. “May I come in please, Sibyl? I don’t want to be alone right now.”
“Sure.” I was a little concerned about Cressida. Being the detectives’ main suspect was obviously stressing her no end. I was wondering how to cheer her up, when I threw the front door open, and caught sight of the destruction in front of me.
The old leather sofa hadn’t been in good shape, but at least it used to have a shape. Now what was left of it was lying in pieces all over the floor. Two of the cushions were ripped to shreds.
The culprit was lying in the middle of all the mess.
Chapter 11
“How could you, Sandy?” I said in despair.
Sandy just wagged her tail and spat out a piece of foam. She was completely unrepentant and didn’t look the slightest bit guilty.
My first thought was that I had rented the cottage furnished. “Oh, Cressida, I’m so, so sorry. I’ll replace the sofa, of course.”
Before Cressida could reply, I saw my one good pair of heels, chewed into tiny pieces. I tried not to cry. These had been highly expensive. They also had great sentimental value for me as they were all I had managed to buy with my then-husband’s credit card, in the very short space of time from when I found out he was having affairs to when he had canceled the credit card.
I ran into my bedroom, but everything in there was intact. However, the closet door was slightly open, revealing where Sandy had selected the precious shoes she had wanted to destroy.
I hurried back out of the bedroom, worried about Cressida’s possible reaction to my Labrador eating her furniture. To my surprise, she was smiling.
“You know what we need, Sibyl? Retail therapy! Let’s go and buy a new couch.”
I did some mental math. “Could we go next month, Cressida? I don’t think I could afford a couch right now.”
Cressida, still smiling, took me by the arm. “Put your naughty dog in the yard, and then we’ll go shopping. I’ll buy a new couch.” I made to protest, but she waved a hand at me. “I insist. It will cheer me up. Let’s go at once.”
“What, now?” I was exhausted. All I wanted to do was to lie down and take a nap. Still, Cressida would not take no for an answer, and soon hustled me up to the boarding house where she refreshed her makeup, as she put it.
I had all but drifted off to sleep on the elaborately brocaded Victorian period chaise longue in the entrance hall, when Cressida reappeared, a fresh coat of make-up on her face. She had chosen a combination of bright blue and sparkling gold eye shadow, and had drawn on a thick line of eyeliner which extended from the side of her eyes like old film versions of Cleopatra. She had drawn in her eyebrows with, I suspected, a black marker pen more suited to drawing on whiteboards. Bright red lipstick and matching bright red blush completed the picture.
“I tried to disguise the fact that I’ve been crying,” Cressida said, gesturing to her face. “Do you think I’ve put on enough make-up?”
“Yes!” I said emphatically.
I followed Cressida to her car, and she drove us all the way to Pharmidale, where she parked outside a paint store. “I’ll just buy some paint before we buy your couch, Sibyl,” she said, hurrying into the store.
Cressida wasted no time consulting the color cards. She held up a bright red sample next to a navy blue sample. “What do you think, Sibyl? I’ll start with the dining room; it could do with some brightening up. I was thinking of having a feature wall, so how about Hot Bombay Red for the feature wall, and the other walls in Blue Night Sky?”
“Cressida, I think the idea of a feature wall is that you have one wall as a feature, and the other walls in a neutral color.”
Cressida laughed. “Oh you’re so funny, Sibyl. Such a sense of humor. But seriously, do you think the dark blue is too much with the red?”
I nodded. “Yes, I do.”
Cressida looked through the color samples again, and then held up a lime green one. “Here you are, Fluoro Lime. That would be a better contrast, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes,” I said. I had given up. I shuddered to think how the dining room would look, with one wall painted bright red and the other walls lime green.
Cressida bought several tins of paint, and the assistant carried out the paint cans and put them in the trunk. At least the shopping spree had, by all appearances, cheered up Cressida. “Now we must replace those dingy, old curtains in the dining room.”
“Yes, faded, yellowing lace won’t go with bright red and lime green wall
s,” I said, seriously considering the fact that Cressida might be color blind.
“Exactly!” Cressida said cheerfully.
I was worried what she would choose. Nevertheless, when we reached the store, I was comforted by the fact that there were some lovely blinds and curtains there, in every pattern and design. Surely Cressida couldn’t go wrong in this store.
Cressida stopped in front of a display that read, New Colorful Blockout Eyelet Curtains. “Oh, Sibyl, aren’t these simply lovely!”
With some relief, I agreed that they were. There were five curtains hanging in a row, each in a different color: gold, pink, green, blue, and black. “Which color do you like, Cressida?”
Cressida looked at me as if I were mad. “What do you mean, Sibyl? You’re supposed to buy the five of them and hang them together.”
I decided to hold my tongue. I had always thought the dining room was drab, but now I realized that there were some things immeasurably worse than drab.
Cressida bought one pair of each colored curtain, refusing the help of the store assistant. “I know!” she exclaimed once she had paid for her purchases. “We should buy some flowers for the garden, since we’re out anyway. We’ll buy the sofa, but we’ll go to the plant nursery first.”
I didn’t know how much Cressida knew about flowers, given the fact that she had allowed Mr. Buttons in her garden, but she seemed so excited that I didn’t want to point out that David Bilderbeck perhaps should be the one to select the plants. She pulled into one of the large nurseries on the edge of a Pharmidale. “Aren’t you going to a native plant nursery?” I asked her.
“No, of course not, Sibyl. What do I want bottle brushes and all those other Australian plants for, when I can get pretty European plants like tulips and roses and…” Her voice trailed away. I figured she was trying to think of names of European plants but was unable to think of any. Still, it was her garden, and she was excited to buy plants for it, even if she didn’t know their names.
We walked inside the entrance, which was actually a gift store. It had beautiful brass bells, ceramic bird baths and feeders, as well as pretty wind chimes. I tried to linger, but Cressida grabbed my arm and dragged me outside.
The air was filled with the heady scent of dozens of beautiful roses in full bloom, but Cressida led me away from that section and over to a section with brightly colored flowers. She bent over the flowers and peered at the labels. “Isn’t this pretty, Sibyl,” she said. “A Bird of Paradise plant. And look at these gorgeous Torch Gingers! What magnificent deep pink.”
I scratched my head. “Cressida, aren’t these tropical plants? Will they grow in this climate?” I had come from Sydney, a coastal area where tropical plants would grow nicely, but Little Tatterford was in the mountainous inland area of Australia where the frosts were so bad that they often froze and broke water pipes. Not that I’d lived through such a frost yet, but I’d heard all sorts of stories from the locals, who were always keen to tell dread winter stories to coastal city slickers.
Cressida waved my concerns away, but an elderly lady must have overheard our conversation, because she stepped out from under a particular large rhododendron to address us. “No, those plants can’t survive in this climate,” she said. “You should go to the hardware store in Little Tatterford. I don’t live in these parts, but I know for a fact that the hardware store only sells plants that actually grow in this climate, unlike this plant nursery! They have no right selling tropical plants here. It’s just ridiculous!”
“I come from Little Tatterford!” Cressida said with delight.
I left the two women in happy conversation and walked down to the other end of the large area to look at the terracotta pots for the potted plants. I myself wasn’t much of a gardener, but I did love to look at pretty plants and more than anything, I enjoyed the scent.
I soon found my way to the native plant section and was admiring the bright colors when I was accosted by a salesperson. “The Australian native plants are lovely, aren’t they!” she exclaimed with an over abundance of enthusiasm.
I had to agree. “They really are beautiful colors.”
She nodded. “Yes, that’s because they need to attract bees and other bugs to pollinate them. It’s a survival mechanism. Which ones are you interested in buying? See this native Correa plant, with its magnificent scarlet bell shape ending in lime green. How many would you like to buy?”
I shook my head. “I’m just here with a friend,” I said. The salesperson at once lost interest and headed for the nearest prospective buyer, while in turn, I looked at Cressida who was heading for me. She insisted that we go to the pet store so she could buy a rawhide bone for Sandy.
By now I had decided to do whatever Cressida wanted. I had been to the sole pet store in Pharmidale before, and had left some of my pet grooming business cards there. We had just walked in the door when we met Blake walking out, carrying a large bag of dog food. Cressida turned and winked at me, much to my embarrassment.
“We’re here to buy Sandy a rawhide bone,” Cressida told him, “in the hopes that it will stop her eating furniture and shoes.”
Blake adjusted his grip on the dog food. “Is she bored? Usually dogs chew up stuff when they’re bored, but you walk her every morning, don’t you?”
“Yes I do,” I said, “but she’s a Labrador, and only young. I’ve heard that Labradors never grow up.”
Blake nodded. “You know, you should take her to dog training classes. It’s Saturday tomorrow, so there’s one on at nine, in Little Tatterford. They have a class for beginners.”
“Wouldn’t it be too late to sign up now?” I asked.
“No, for the beginner class, anyone can join in at any time, and then you can register for the ongoing classes, which are more structured, later. It’s done my dog a lot of good. He was quite badly mannered when I got him from the shelter last year.”
“Okay, I will. That’s a good idea. Thanks, Blake.”
Blake smiled. “I’ll see you there.”
He must have gone only two steps from me, when Cressida announced loudly, “Blake likes you, Sibyl.”
I was mortified. “Shush, Cressida! He’ll hear you.”
“He won’t know what we’re talking about,” she said, even more loudly.
I cringed and turned my attention to the rows and rows of goldfish in glass tanks, and waited for my face to stop burning.
“What type of dog do you think Blake has, Sibyl?”
I turned around. “A large dog, maybe a Rottweiler or a German Shepherd. What do you think?”
Cressida rubbed her chin. “I was thinking more like a Pit Bull. Anyway, you’ll find out tomorrow, when you meet him at Little Tatterford Dog Training.” She winked at me, and I rolled my eyes.
After we had bought rawhide bones for Sandy, and Cressida had told the store assistant the lengthy tale of my naughty dog, we headed for the furniture store.
I saw plenty of sofas I liked, but Cressida found fault with all of them. “They’re all too plain,” she said. “I really don’t like any of them. Do you?”
“I actually do like most of them.”
Cressida did not agree. “They’re all too boring, Sibyl. I know another store we can try.”
The other store was next door, and to my dismay, it was an antique store. I had already figured that Sandy could not be left inside in the house on her own, but even so, I did not want to risk her chewing the leg or the upholstery of a valuable antique.
Cressida, on the other hand, had not seemed to consider the drawbacks of putting an antique sofa in my cottage. She clasped her hands in delight over a Victorian red mohair chaise, and a salmon pink mahogany settee. All of a sudden, she slapped herself on the side of the head. “Silly me! I know what to do, Sibyl. I’ll lend you the couch from the dining room, since I’m painting the room anyway, and it’ll clash with my color scheme. That will help us both out. I’ll ask two of the boarders to carry it to your cottage tomorrow.”
I t
hanked Cressida, thinking that my throw would cover a multitude of sins. The sofa in the dining room was from the early 1800’s, and was upholstered in the most unusual shade of orange I have ever seen. The wood was walnut, and had grapes and roses carved into it. It was not the slightest bit comfortable, and was rather an imposing piece. Still, that’s what I got for owning a furniture-eating dog.
We were about to leave when Cressida exchanged greetings with a lady who had just entered the store. I recognized her as the owner of one of the cafés in Little Tatterford. They chatted for a while about the lack of rain, so I wandered off to look at the antiques. When I finally walked back to Cressida, I heard the lady saying, “I didn’t know your cleaner had such an interest in weeds.”
“What do you mean?”
“The other week, I saw her out on Gostywk Road, picking armfuls of the hemlock that was growing wild on the side of the road. I thought she must be studying botany at the university.”
“No, she isn’t, not as far as I know,” Cressida said, shooting me a significant look.
As soon as we were out of the store, Cressida turned to me. “What do you think of that? Quick, get in the car.”
By the time I was in the car, Cressida had already called the detectives. “Constable Andrews has gone to fetch Detective Henderson,” she said to me. After a moment, she spoke again. “Hello, Detective. It’s Cressida Upthorpe. Sibyl and I are in Pharmidale, and we just happened to meet Janine Templeton who owns the Top Hill Café in Little Tatterford. She told us that she saw my cleaner, Susan Woods, gathering hemlock the other week, where it grows wild on Gostywk Road.”
Cressida listened, and then said, “Okay, goodbye.”
“What did he say?”
She shrugged. “He just said, ‘Thank you. We’ll be in touch.’”
I bit my lip. “That doesn’t sound good, but I suppose the police always say that when handed evidence. Surely those two detectives would have to consider it seriously. Are you excited, Cressida? This means you’re no longer the main suspect.” I looked at Cressida, but she was hunched over the steering wheel.
