Lady Marmalade Cozy Murder Mysteries: Box Set (Books 1 - 3)

by Jason Blacker

  The constable looked up towards the house and thought about it for a moment.

  “If I have to go back up, I’ll be sure to bring the inspector back with me so that you can explain in person why you wouldn’t let Lady Marmalade into the greenhouse.”

  The constable’s face flushed for a brief moment.

  “I beg your pardon, I didn’t realize you were Lady Marmalade,” he said, tipping his hat to her, “I’ve heard about you.”

  “So I’ve gathered,” said Frances, her voice rusty with just the barest hint of frustration.

  “Oh, no, it’s not like that,” he said. “Some of us have heard of your great deductions. It’s the older ones who have a different opinion.”

  Frances smiled.

  “Kind of you to say.”

  The constable moved aside and let Lady Marmalade and Florence enter into the greenhouse.

  “Seems your reputation precedes you,” said Florence.

  “Hardly ever, actually, but I’ll use whatever I can to help bring criminals to justice.”

  Inside the greenhouse it was quite warm and humid. After a short while both Florence and Frances started to glow from the warmth.

  “I think I could live in here,” said Florence. “So warm and comforting, like a blanket.”

  Frances nodded absentmindedly. The greenhouse was large. Roughly twenty-five feet by fifteen feet. As you entered near the front there was a rectangular table across the width. Just past it, were two rows of rectangular tables in parallel heading towards the back of the greenhouse. At the back, there was another rectangular table along the width.

  All the tables were full of planters sprouting many different varieties of vegetables and flowers. Some of them were already a couple of feet tall with greenery.

  In the middle of the greenhouse, in the open space between the lengths of the tables lay Ginnie’s body on the soft dirt. She was lying face down with her hair off to the left as her face faced away from Frances towards the back of the greenhouse.

  She had on a pair of floral patterned gardening gloves that seemed surprisingly clean. She wore a green dress that fell just below her knees and she wore flat black shoes. Frances walked up to her and looked at the body. Her feet were slightly apart and on her head, just above the right ear was a congealed damp spot of blood.

  Frances stepped over her and leaned down to look at the face. Ginnie looked calm, there wasn’t much sign of the struggle on her face. Though around her neck was an abrasion.

  “Do you think she was strangled?” asked Florence.

  “I do. Though it looks like she might have been hit over the head with something blunt first.”

  Frances stood back up and surveyed the scene. There were plenty of scuff marks by Ginnie’s feet as if she might have struggled for a short while. There were also several assorted shoe prints of various sizes across the length and breadth of the greenhouse.

  At the far end were a huddle of several large pots carrying the hearty beginnings of tomato plants. The soil around them was smooth other than for various circle indentations from where the tomato planters had been moved and replaced.

  “I wonder why they like to move the tomato plants around so much?” asked Frances, mostly to herself.

  “Probably to give them better light, I imagine. I can feel slight temperature differences in here from one end to the other.”

  Frances bent back down next to Ginnie’s body and looked her up and down. She didn’t have much dirt on her other than what she had come in contact with from lying on the dirt in the greenhouse. Frances picked up Ginnie’s right hand and then her left hand. She felt her ring finger.

  “Doesn’t look like she’s been doing much gardening,” said Frances, “her gloves are particularly clean.”

  “Could’ve been she got surprised soon after she arrived here to do her gardening.”

  “Perhaps, we’ll ask Jack when Ginnie came out to garden. She’s also not wearing her wedding and engagement rings.”

  “Well, I know I probably wouldn’t if I was going to be doing any gardening.”

  Frances smiled up at Florence and nodded her head.

  “Perhaps, but you, at least, are a gardener.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” asked Florence.

  Frances stood back up and looked around again at the Greenhouse.

  “Well, just that Ginnie doesn’t strike me as the gardening type. This is a very well kept greenhouse and the garden is already tilled and ready for planting. They likely have a strapping groundskeeper who does most of this work. It just seems odd that she’d show so much interest in something she really doesn’t need to be concerned with.”

  “Maybe she just likes to come out and check on things, see how Enoch is getting on. She might also just like to pretend she’s more of a green thumb than she is.”

  “Yes, you could well be correct.”

  “Does anything else here look odd to you?” asked Frances.

  Florence looked around and walked down to the far end. Then she walked back up to the front end and looked around again.

  “No, can’t say that it does. A nice large greenhouse with a bountiful amount of gorgeous plants. I’m nothing if not envious.”

  “How do you suppose she got that bump on her head?” asked Frances.

  Florence looked around again but didn’t find what she was looking for.

  “Maybe in the struggle she stumbled and bumped her head on one of those table corners.”

  “That is a good theory, but I don’t see any blood on any of the table edges near her do you?”

  Florence bent down to take a closer look but she too had to admit that she didn’t see any blood that might support her theory.

  “However, if you take a look here,” and Frances pointed to the front of the greenhouse where hooks were arranged holding a variety of gardening tools. “It seems that a couple of hooks are without tools hanging on them.”

  “Yes, I see what you mean. Do you think she was bumped over the head with some sort of gardening implement?”

  “Well, I think I’d certainly like to find out what tools belong to those hooks. Wouldn’t you?”

  “I’d like to do whatever the sleuth feels is best,” said Florence laughing. “You don’t seem to miss a thing, do you?”

  “Not very often. Once you’ve done this sort of thing once or twice you get an eye for the details. It’s the details that are often very telling.”

  SIX

  Chapter 6

  LADY Marmalade and Florence had reentered the house and were in the living room. Enoch Habbit had been brought in and was standing with his hat in his hands. His hands were big and large like shovels and knobbly as tree trunks. The size of the rest of his body was in proportion to his hands.

  His face had been weather beaten, unkindly. The years had more miles on them for him than for others his age. He wasn’t likely much older than fifty and yet he seemed to be leaning on the decade of sixty.

  His hair was a mix of sandy brown and gray, it was thin and messy though kept short. His clothes were well worn and meant for work. His wore a couple of hues of brown. A vest was open over his shirt which was buttoned up a few buttons below his neck. You could see hair on his thick slab of chest, like black and gray wires sewn into his skin.

  His eyes were brown and held up heavy lids under protest. He wore a frown better than he wore his clothes, perhaps it came natural to him with years spent in the outdoors squinting out the sun. His nose was broken, perhaps more than once and he had a scar on his upper lip. The teeth he had remaining in his mouth were yellow and crooked.

  There was something about the man that Frances didn’t like. And it wasn’t because he worked for a living. It was something else. The road map written all over his face spoke of dark journeys. He might have been handsome once if his life had been more genteel.

  “So you’re telling me, Mr. Habbit, that you didn’t see the lady of the house out in the garden at all today?” asked Inspecto
r Gibbard.

  “Yes sir, that’s what I’m sayin’,”

  Meredith was still sitting down next to Jack. It appeared that drinks were the order of the afternoon as both Jack and Meredith seemed to have made good work on the drinks that they held in their hands. Frances was certain they were alcoholic in nature. Florence’s bag of the marmalade was still where she left it, in the corner of the room by the doors.

  “Well, then,” said the Inspector, “where were you all day, Mr. Habbit?”

  The young bobby shifted uneasily on his feet. Seemed that Frances wasn’t the only one who was made uncomfortable by Enoch’s presence.

  “I was out in the garden, an’ I was preparin’ it for the planting. At two, Agnus call’d me fa’ suppa’. I was eatin’ suppa’ with the staff until three.”

  Enoch was squeezing his cap, his knuckles going white, one of the scabs on it cracking open.

  “Can you confirm that, Mr. Gromson?” asked Gibbard.

  “I can sir. In as much as I saw Mr. Habbit come in for his supper at two as he says, but he left at around two thirty and I only saw him again at three when he brought his plate and mug back to Ms. Van Buren.”

  Inspector Gibbard turned to look at Mr. Habbit and his eyes turned to slits.

  “I put men like you in prison, Mr. Habbit, for the sport of it. Looks to me like that’s where you’re going. A place you’re probably familiar with, aren’t you.”

  “Now just a minute, Inspector,” said Jack standing up. “Enoch’s been with me for over three years. He’s a good, honest, hard worker and I’ve never had a problem with him. You can’t seriously believe that he’d kill my wife.”

  “I didin’ sir, I swear I didin’ kill the missus,” said Enoch. “Listen, ‘spector, I ain’t much for company so I took my supper and went an’ sat down un’er the tree. Being such a nice day an’ all.”

  The tree was at the far end of the garden behind the shed and out of the way. A quiet spot if you were looking for peace. Though Lady Marmalade didn’t think that Enoch was a man that spent much time looking for peace. Quite to the contrary.

  The French doors opened up behind Frances and Florence and another bobby they hadn’t seen before entered carrying a small shovel. Gibbard looked at him.

  “What is it, constable?” he asked.

  “Well sir, I was looking around in the shed like you asked me too, after Leavens brought Mr. Habbit in sir, and I found this shovel hiding way in the back out of sight behind a wheelbarrow. I think it’s the murder weapon, sir. There’s blood on it here.”

  The bobby brought the shovel up for the inspector to take a closer look. There was indeed a smudge of blood on the convex part of the shovel’s blade. In addition there were a couple of long strands of red hair stuck to it.

  “Um, Inspector,” said Frances. He looked at her. “I don’t believe that is the actual murder weapon.”

  “You don’t do you? So how do you suppose Mrs. Forsyth was killed then?”

  “Well, I believe she was strangled, the shovel was only used to knock her down.”

  “Is that so, and you are of course a coroner too, I take it, as well as a detective now?”

  Jack and both Meredith had to stifle a small laugh.

  “I just think it’s important.”

  “Let the police and coroner determine what’s important. Speaking of which, go and see what’s taking them so long.”

  He was speaking to the bobby holding the shovel. Gibbard took the shovel from him and handed it to Leavens, the constable standing slightly behind Mr. Habbit. Mr. Habbit was chewing his lip, not looking any happier with the situation.

  “Take him to the station, constable and have him charged. We’ll let the barristers sort it out.”

  For a moment it looked like Mr. Habbit was going to put up a fight as Leavens grabbed him by the elbow. He was bigger than Leavens, but Enoch’s eyes met Lady Marmalade’s and then Florence’s and he thought better of it. Perhaps one of the few wise decisions a man like him had made in his long life.

  Frances looked up at the grandfather clock as it struck once indicating half past the hour of four. The coroner was running late. And as if hearing her thoughts, the coroner and two men carrying a stretcher came in and walked up to Gibbard. He pointed them in the direction of the greenhouse and they walked out again through the French doors.

  Running into the living room after them was Garrett. His eyes wide and his hair a mess. A white and blue scarf was around his neck and he wore gray slacks and a navy blazer over blue sweater.

  “What on earth is going on here?” he asked, looking around at everyone.

  Jack came up to him and put his hand on his son’s shoulder.

  “Your mother’s been murdered, son, I’m sorry.”

  Jack looked at him for awhile as Garrett stared at the floor. He dragged his fingers through his messy hair and looked back up at his father.

  “What? Where?”

  “In the greenhouse,” said Jack. “The inspector thinks Enoch did it.”

  Garrett wasn’t listening, he was looking out the French doors and beyond towards the greenhouse. He walked briskly towards them.

  “Garrett, no, wait,” called Jack after him.

  But Garrett was already out the doors and running towards the greenhouse. The French doors left open, James went over to them and closed them. Lady Marmalade came up to Gibbard.

  “Don’t you think you should interview everyone to determine their whereabouts before summarily charging someone?” she said in a quiet voice.

  “Listen, my Lady, I’ve been policing for over thirty years, and believe me, Mr. Habbit is not innocent.”

  “He might not be innocent, but he might be innocent of this particular crime.”

  “We’ll let the courts determine that.”

  Frances was getting a little frustrated, not for some time had she found a policeman to be so unwilling to help.

  “Inspector, if you'll indulge me, I’d be ever so grateful.”

  Frances smiled at Gibbard with genuine warmth and touched his forearm. The inspector sighed and nodded his head.

  “Very well,” he said.

  He took out his notebook and made some notes. Jack was at the bar refilling his and Meredith’s drinks. She was whispering in his ear and she had her hand on his lower back.

  “Mr. Forsyth, if you don’t mind, I need to ask a few more questions.”

  Jack turned to look at him and Meredith did too. She took a slow sip of her drink. Gibbard walked up towards them accompanied with Florence and Frances.

  “Who else has access to the shed?”

  Jack looked down at his drink for a moment before answering.

  “Well, Enoch has the key and he locks it up at night. Though James, our butler, has a spare just in case I ever need to get in there when Enoch isn’t around. Enoch’s here five days a week and I suppose that during the day he keeps it unlocked so that anyone might actually make use of it. Not like there’s anything of value in there.”

  “Are there gardening tools kept in the shed, Jack?” asked Frances.

  “There are, the main ones for the garden are kept in there, there is a smaller set, in both number and size which are kept in the greenhouse for that purpose.”

  “And the shovel you saw earlier, did that one belong in the greenhouse or the shed?” asked Frances.

  “Well, it was a smaller shovel so I’d have to say probably in the greenhouse. Look, I’m not the gardener, Enoch is, and I don’t believe he would have killed my wife.”

  Jack looked visibly upset again. He drank deeply from his drink.

  “Is this really necessary, can’t you all see how devastating this has been on him?” said Meredith.

  “Yes, we certainly can, and we won’t take up more of your time than is needed,” said Gibbard. “Though I do have a couple more questions. Did your wife tell you when she was going out gardening?”

  Jack nodded.

  “Yes, I was reading the paper after lu
nch. It must have been around two or thereabouts. Yes, just after two I believe as I heard the clock chime twice. Ginnie told me she was going to the greenhouse to check in on the flowers.”

  “And were you at home this whole time?” asked Gibbard.

  “Yes I was. I finished the paper and I was in my study, which is in the front of the house, by two thirty. I heard the clock chime once. I never left my study until James brought Enoch in with the terrible news.”

  “And that was around three thirty?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was anyone at home with you, besides Ginnie?” asked Frances.

  “Meredith was here, as was Garrett, though I saw him leave just after two thirty.”

  “Did he tell you where he was going?” asked Frances.

  Jack shook his head.

  “He probably went into town to run some errands. He’ll take any excuse to drive his Alfa Romeo around.”

  “Was Meredith with you in the study?” asked Gibbard.

  “Of course not, what sort of question is that? I was in my study working. That’s what studies are for.”

  “It’s okay, Jack, they’re here to help,” said Meredith.

  Frances noticed that Meredith was not wearing any nail polish from the night before which she had been.

  “And where were you dear, while Jack was in his study?” asked Frances.

  Meredith looked at Frances over the rim of her almost empty glass.

  “I spent some of that time reading right here in the living room before I decided to go and freshen up. From the upstairs bathroom I saw the police arrive. That’s when I came down to see what happened.”

  “But you weren’t here when we had arrived, you had gone back upstairs, had you not?” asked Frances.

  “Yes indeed, but my dear Lady, this is not a conspiracy, I had not finished getting ready for the day, and after I heard the news there was nothing I could do other than support Jack, but I couldn’t do that in my half undressed state.”

  “Did you see Garrett leave and did he tell you where he was going?” asked Gibbard.

  “No, I was likely still here in the living room when he went off, I did remember hearing the door close though.”