by Morgana Best
The first drops of rain were falling, and I ran down the pathway to the driver’s window. Blake rolled the window down. “Would you like a police escort home?” he said.
I laughed. “Sure, why not. What are you doing here?”
Blake opened his door and got out of his car. “Maintaining a police presence at the boarding house. Has Cressida had any trouble with Greg and the protesters being under the same roof?”
I shook my head. “Not as far as I know. I think it’s all okay.”
We took off at a fast pace toward my cottage. “Sibyl, I’m not saying that you should change your routine, your life, or anything of the sort,” Blake said. “All I’m saying is that Greg is a target. That means he has a large, red circle on his back, with possibly more than one person aiming to take him down. This wilderness protection stuff is serious, and his company refuses to compromise with the protesters in any way. He’s bringing it on himself, but letting him stay here is just bringing all of the danger he’s inviting onto you guys too. I care about you.”
We had reached my front gate, and I turned to Blake, but he opened my gate for me to walk through.
I opened my front door, and switched on the light. I was about to invite Blake in, but he was already heading back down the path.
Chapter 10.
I put Sandy in the back yard after our walk, and went to the boarding house for breakfast. I headed for the private dining room, intent on asking Mr. Buttons why he had not shown up for dog walking once again that morning.
Cressida was talking as I walked into the room and took my seat at the imposing mahogany dining table. “For all we know, it could be that female assistant of his who chased him around the establishment,” Cressida said to Mr. Buttons.
“Julie?” I asked, although I already knew the answer. “She seems a little unpleasant, but surely she isn’t dangerous.”
Just then, I slipped into a vision. Cressida and Mr. Buttons faded away, replaced by a mist. Julie walked out of the mist, holding a box in her hands, and then Mr. Buttons and Cressida appeared behind her, looking over her shoulder.
“Do you really think she could have had something to do with it?” Mr. Buttons asked Cressida.
Julie shook her head, and then handed them the box. They both opened it, and then they nodded.
“Aha,” Mr. Buttons said to Cressida. “Julie’s given us the answer.”
I came to my senses, and looked around the room. Clearly, Cressida and Mr. Buttons had not noticed me zoning out, or whatever I did when I was experiencing a vision, as they were still talking to each other.
“Do you really think she could have had something to do with it?” Mr. Buttons asked Cressida.
His words chilled me to the bone, considering I had just experienced those very words in my vision only seconds earlier.
Cressida thought about it for a few moments. “I just saw how she was acting the other day after it all happened, and it didn’t seem like she was saddened by the news in the least. Something just didn’t feel right about it, but that doesn’t mean she would’ve done something like that.”
“Maybe we should talk to Greg about her,” I said. “I’m sure if she’s a homicidal maniac, he’d have some clue about it.”
“You never know. Sometimes people are completely blind to betrayal from within,” Mr. Buttons said softly.
Cressida looked down at her watch. “Well, he usually comes down around this time. So, unless he’s sleeping in this morning, we should be able to find a nice, subtle way to ask him about his personal assistant any time soon.”
Mr. Buttons and I nodded. “Hey, Mr. Buttons,” I said. “I missed you on our walk this morning.”
Mr. Buttons looked shamefaced. “Sorry. I was actually heading down to your cottage, when I saw that Dorothy had some teaspoons mixed in with some forks, so I had to rearrange all the cutlery. It took a long time, as some of the knives needed polishing.”
Cressida and I shot each other a quick look, but were saved from speaking - anyway, what was there to say? - by Greg’s arrival.
“Hey, what’s up?” he said by way of greeting, as he poked his head around the door.
“Same old thing, just a new day. How are you holding up?” asked Mr. Buttons.
“It’s been rough, but I think I’m starting to accept things a bit better. Sorry about any comments I might or might not have made recently. I just have a hard time holding back my mouth when my heart’s aching so badly.” He frowned and pursed his lips.
“I understand, Greg,” Mr. Buttons said. “We’re all shaken up too, with the recent events, and on top of that, the council is threatening to shut down Cressida because they say that the balcony collapsed due to faulty construction, or some such nonsense.”
Greg nodded, but I noticed a light in his eyes. “I hope the inspectors aren’t right. It’d be a shame if this place was actually at fault for my wife’s death.”
Cressida jumped to her feet. “Are you serious?” she snapped. “You know very well that balcony was one hundred percent safe.”
To me, Greg looked smug rather than contrite. “I didn’t mean anything by it; I’m sorry. I was just saying that it’s possible. I certainly hope that isn’t what happened, but it sounds like the most logical answer, unless that crazy guy who vandalized my car was in on it.”
I thought I’d better say something. “Do you think your personal assistant would have any reason for trying to hurt you or your wife?”
Mr. Buttons kicked me under the table. “You were supposed to say something subtle,” he said in a stage whisper, a comment which would have been heard not only by Greg, but probably by half the residents of the boarding house as well.
Greg frowned and appeared to be thinking about what to say. “Julie?” he said, as he walked into the room. “She definitely would’ve had a reason to hurt either of us. She hits on me all the time. That woman has been trying to have an affair with me for a long time, even when Lisa was still alive!”
“Have you had an affair with her?” Mr. Buttons said.
“Mr. Buttons!” Cressida and I exclaimed in unison.
Greg’s hands flew to his throat. “No, I would never cheat on my wife,” he said loudly, fixing Mr. Buttons with a glare. “That woman has just always had a thing for me. Every time I tell her no, she gets all crazy and makes being around her miserable. I don’t know if she would ever go so far as to hurt anyone, though. I didn’t even consider her a suspect before now,” he added.
Greg crossed to a window and stared out. “Maybe I should just fire her,” he said quietly. “Even if she didn’t hurt Lisa, if it gets out that she’s been hitting on me and I allowed it to continue, I’ll be made a fool in the public’s eyes. I’m going to have a talk with her.” With that, he hurried to the door, and closed it quietly behind him.
Cressida sighed. “There are better ways to start a morning.”
“I think I’m going to pay Blake a visit,” I said. “I don’t know if he’s even looked into the personal assistant’s history. He should at least be made aware of her, and the fact that she’s shown interest in the victim’s husband.”
Mr. Buttons nodded. “Okay, but can’t you just call him?”
Cressida elbowed him. “You silly man.”
Mr. Buttons’ cheeks flushed. “Oh, sorry.”
I was a little embarrassed, but, truth be told, I was looking forward to seeing Blake. It was funny that he had just left me on my doorstep like that, and I wondered if anything was wrong.
As I pulled over outside the police station, I smiled. The thought of seeing Blake again always filled me with excitement.
I opened the door with anticipation, but then stopped in surprise. Blake was standing behind the front desk with a young, attractive woman. The two were talking like best friends. I caught my breath and turned to leave, but before I reached the door, Blake called me back.
“Sibyl, this is Rachel Winters. Rachel, this is Sibyl Potts.”
The two of us sho
ok hands. Blake did not introduce the woman as his girlfriend, thankfully, but neither did he give any clue as to her identity.
Rachel left, after waving to Blake flirtatiously, or so it seemed to me.
Blake must have caught my expression, as he chuckled. “Rachel’s an old friend,” he said. “She’s one of the protesters. She’s back in town for the protest rallies.”
I nodded. I was more than a little jealous, to be honest. I took a deep breath. “Well, I’m here about Julie, Greg’s personal assistant. Greg told us that she’s been trying to start up some sort of affair with him for quite a while now.”
“Does he think she wanted to hurt him, or Lisa?”
I shrugged. “He isn’t sure, but maybe Julie thought he’d be all hers if the wife was removed from the picture.”
“Thanks, Sibyl. I’ll look into it.”
I nodded, and made to leave, but Blake caught my arm. “Sibyl,” he began, but then Constable Andrews burst through the door, and hurried to the front office.
Blake abruptly released my arm. “That was my ex-girlfriend.”
“Ex-girlfriend?” I parroted.
Blake nodded. “Yes, Rachel Winters is my ex-girlfriend.” He stressed the ex.
It was my turn to nod. Rachel Winters, the New Agey type, as the townspeople had described her. Was she really in town for the protest rallies, or did she have another agenda, an agenda that involved Blake?
Chapter 11.
I was walking down the main street with Mr. Buttons and Cressida. We were on our way to Nathan’s Hardware store. Cressida was determined to fill some tiny cracks in the plaster walls, as she was sure that the council would condemn the building if they saw them. Mr. Buttons and I had assured her that all old buildings have hairline cracks here and there, but our assurances had fallen on deaf ears.
Mr. Buttons was still convinced that Dorothy was the one responsible for Lisa’s death. “That awful woman, Dorothy, is the murderer. I’m sure of it,” he said. “She has a frightful temper. She and Lisa did have a terrible argument, and, as far as I can see, that’s the end of the matter. Problem solved.”
Cressida shook her head. “Do you really Dorothy would actually kill someone for complaining about her cooking?” she asked.
“You never know,” Mr. Buttons insisted. “She has a bad temper. I just think the wife was the intended victim, and that Dorothy was somehow involved. Besides, her eyebrows are crooked.”
Cressida and I exchanged glances.
A thought occurred to me. “How could the wife have been the intended victim?”
“What?” Cressida asked me. “What does that have to do with eyebrows?”
“Nothing,” I said. “Mr. Buttons, you said that you think Lisa was the intended victim.”
Mr. Buttons nodded.
“Greg said he always smoked out on the balcony,” I said. “Lisa was hardly ever out there, so why would Dorothy, or anyone else for that matter, try to kill Lisa on the balcony if they wanted to make it look like an accident?”
Mr. Buttons paused and thought about it for a while. “I guess you might have me there, but who knows?” he finally said. “Maybe Dorothy overheard Greg telling his wife he was going to smoke outside that day.”
Cressida arrived at the checkout with a basket full of items. Mr. Buttons walked up behind her and greeted the store’s owner, who was slumped over the register. “Hi Nathan, how are you?”
The elderly, stooped man looked up and squinted at Mr. Buttons. “Is that you, Mr. Buttons? I’ve misplaced my glasses. What with the death of that poor woman, to all those people dancing around with signs and yelling about saving the wilderness area, the world’s gone mad. It’s a good cause, mind you, but protesting in the main street won’t help them.”
“It is a good cause,” Mr. Buttons said. “I’m sure if something came my way that I felt strongly about, even I would hold up a sign for a few hours to show my support. Can’t blame them for trying to save the wilderness area, can you?”
I nodded. “It’s an absolute crime that Greg’s encroaching on the wilderness area. I wish the protests could help, but it’s obvious that Greg isn’t going to stop his land expansion.”
“Greg?” Nathan said. “Is he doing renovations at the boarding house?”
Cressida frowned. “No,” she said. “Why do you ask?”
“Oh, no reason, really. Sibyl mentioned his name, and I just then remembered him coming in here the other day.” Nathan scratched his nearly bald head. “Strange thing, but old age is a fickle beast.” He chuckled.
“What did Greg come here for?” Cressida asked.
“I think he bought a big wrench,” Nathan said.
Cressida, Mr. Buttons, and I exchanged glances. Mr. Buttons wriggled his eyebrows at us. I looked back at Nathan, but he was staring in a mirror, trying to rearrange his combover.
As we were walking toward the front door of the hardware store, Mr. Buttons stopped and looked up at the ceiling, and then pointed upward. “Hey, Nathan,” he said, turning back to the elderly man, “is that a CCTV system?”
Nathan looked up from the mirror, and set his comb on the nearest bench. “Yes, it is. Why?”
“Do you think we could take a look at your footage for the week leading up to the recent death at the boarding house?”
Nathan looked confused. “You really should leave that up to the police, Mr. Buttons,” he warned him. “Why, back in my day -”
Mr. Buttons cut him off. “Oh, yes, of course we’ll turn over anything we find right away. I just have a hunch about the whole thing, and if you have recordings of everyone, we can at least narrow it down to a few people who could be involved.”
“You’re looking for what, exactly?” Cressida asked him.
Mr. Buttons looked smug. “If a certain person purchased a wrench or similar tool, she could’ve tinkered with the railing that collapsed.” He turned back to Nathan, but he had already fallen asleep on the counter and was snoring softly.
We walked down the street to the nearest café. Mr. Buttons stopped outside the entrance. “I’m still saying that Dorothy did it.”
Cressida groaned. “Of course you are, Mr. Buttons.”
“Look, just think about this,” I said. “Why would Dorothy sabotage the railing of a balcony that Greg always used? I’d think the perpetrator would have to be either someone going after Greg, like the wilderness protesters, or Greg himself going after his wife.”
“How do you figure?” Mr. Buttons asked in disbelief. “Why would Greg kill his own wife?”
“I don’t know what the motive could be, but maybe it has to do with his assistant.”
Mr. Buttons shook his head. “We know that he turned her down, though, so I really doubt that. There’s also the fact that Greg and Lisa just got married, so it’s unlikely that he was already having an affair. Why would he get married in that case? It makes no sense. Plus, he’s already a very wealthy man, so it’s not like he did it for insurance money or something. I just don’t see it.” Mr. Buttons shook his head again.
I walked inside the building, the tempting fragrance of coffee luring me in. “I’m just saying that Greg had an opportunity, much more so than anyone else could have. It’s his room, and he used that balcony frequently. I just think it would be far less obvious to the random person walking outside if Greg was undoing some bolts, as opposed to someone like Dorothy standing up there doing it.”
“You could have a point there, Sibyl,” Cressida said. “And why wasn’t Greg up there that day? Seems odd to me that he wanted to smoke in the yard that one time.”
“Exactly,” I said. “I think we might be onto something.”
“But then he would have had to lure his wife onto the balcony in his place,” Mr. Buttons said. “Wouldn’t that have been tough, too? And again, what is his motive?”
We had taken our seats at the front table, by the big window overlooking the highway. “Just because we don’t know his motive doesn’t mean he doesn’t hav
e one,” I said. “It’s possible that he called her out onto the balcony from out in the yard. She walked out, and leaned over the rail, and crash!”
Cressida looked impressed, but Mr. Buttons seemed unmoved by my theory. “It’s possible, but I don’t know, I still just don’t buy it. Not unless you can give me a believable reason as to why a newly married man with buckets of money, a highly successful business, and everything he could possibly ask for, would risk it all away to kill the woman he had only just married.”
“Who knows?” said Cressida.
“Why else smoke outside instead of on the balcony though, that one day?” I said. “Surely that’s the pivotal question. We need to figure out if Greg was the actual target, or whether Lisa was the target.”
Cressida and Mr. Buttons looked at me. “How do we figure that out?” Mr. Buttons asked.
I shrugged. “I don’t have a clue.”
Chapter 12.
I was sitting in the main dining room with Cressida and Mr. Buttons. The three of us were sipping our English Breakfast tea and nibbling on cucumber sandwiches, perfectly cut into triangles.
Greg sat with us, but he was spending more time looking at his cup and playing with it than actually drinking from it. He slowly spun the cup around and around as it perched atop the table, stirring it with a spoon every once in a while.
“I’ll have to go back to Nathan’s Hardware for a trowel,” Cressida said out of nowhere.
Greg looked up from his tea cup. “Nathan’s Hardware?” he said. “If you ever need any supplies, I’d be happy to pick them up for you. Have you been there lately?”
I wondered why Greg was so focused on the hardware store all of a sudden. What’s he trying to hide? I wondered. The fact that he had bought a wrench?
“Yes,” Cressida said.
Greg simply nodded, before returning to stirring his cup.
