Frances still had a few unanswered questions that were bothering her. She really wanted to speak with Gerald and she also wanted to speak with Dr. Garnet. Those were the two men she hadn’t had the chance to pepper with questions yet, and she wanted to know if they were involved. And if they were, then how?
She hadn’t seen Gerald since that first night for dinner, but she had the impression that he was staying at the Forsyth residence for a few days. Lady Marmalade had the impression that he lived in Manchester close to the Forsyth Motor Manufacturing plant. That wasn’t a long drive from Puddle’s End, so he might have already left back for Manchester, though Frances hoped not.
She wanted to ask him about the insurance policy. That didn’t seem like such a good idea, now that he had been identified as being at the docks. He didn’t need the company anymore now that he had a hundred thousand pounds coming due.
That was a small fortune, at least for the Forsyths, or so Lady Marmalade would guess. It might not be enough for Gerald to retire on, but it would be more than enough for him to start over with. He’d have no money concerns again if he was careful with it.
And what about the study? Why did Jack utter those two last words? Could it have been a red herring to put his son off the trail of the gold, or could there actually be something to it? Lady Marmalade needed to find out what the study might hold exactly.
She was certain who had killed Ginnie and she was now quite certain who had killed Jack, though she wanted to button it down completely before she got them all together tomorrow afternoon with Inspector Gibbard’s help.
“You want to go back to the Forsyth estate?” asked Florence, not taking her eyes off the road, her gloved hands both gripping the steering wheel firmly.
“I do, Flo. I want to take a look at the study. I want to know why ‘the study’ were Jack’s last words.”
Florence nodded. The roof of the car had been pulled over and buttoned down to the red frame. The clouds were ganging up on the sun and it couldn’t blink out a moment’s warmth before being tucked back in behind gray fluffy clouds. Because of that it was cooler and so the top had been pulled over and that made it quieter too.
“You know,” said Florence, “I was wondering about that too. Do you think the gold might be in the study someplace secret?”
“I don’t think so, Flo. It might be and perhaps we’ll find out, but I think it has already been taken.”
“Really? By whom?”
“I can’t say for certain yet, but I plan to find out by tomorrow. Later, I need to make a call to Eric. I have a few questions to ask him. He’s a whizz with financial matters and gold especially. I think he took a liking to it during the Second Boer War.”
Frances smiled. She was glad he had made it home safe from that war. A war the British should never have fought in the first place. At least that was her opinion, as unpopular as it might be. Though not without merit. It was an ugly war, and the concentration camps and deaths of the many children seemed very un-British to her.
“I don’t think you ever told me that Eric served in the Boer Wars.”
“Yes, the second one. He was there in ‘02 for the last of it. He doesn’t like to speak about it. I think it had a lasting impression on him and that was one of the reasons he used to not get involved in the Great War.”
Florence nodded. Puddle’s end was up ahead as the came round the last bend and the railway station was in sight.
“I wondered why Eric was always around during the war years. You’re lucky you had him with you. The toll was so great on so many others.”
“I know. War, it seems to me mostly about state sanctioned murder. Yet if it helped to end all wars then I suppose the sacrifice might be considered worth it. Though with the current state of affairs I fear, my dear Flo, that we might yet be due a second one.”
“I hope not.”
That’s all Florence had to say about it. She disliked war, and she disliked talking about it more so. And Frances was right, the world stage looked ready to teeter into the cauldron of more fighting and division. And this time the guns were bigger as were the bombs and the planes were faster. It was a ghastly thought to think about. So she turned her thoughts to other matters.
“So you just want to have a look at the study, do you?” she asked.
“That’s one of the things I’m hoping to do. I’m also hoping that Gerald might be around. He lives in Manchester, correct?”
Florence nodded.
“But I thought I overheard him mentioning that he was staying at Jack’s estate for the week.”
“Yes, that’s right. Though I suppose with everything that’s been going on there lately, that might have changed.”
“That’s what I’m worried about. I’d rather not have to drive all the way into Manchester to speak with him. I also want to try and find out if and how Dr. Garnet might be related to all of this. And then there’s Enoch, I think he might have a few things to say that could enlighten us even further.”
Florence looked over at Frances briefly.
“How so? I didn’t find our last visit with him to be exceptionally enlightening.”
“Yes I agree, however, this time I think he has a better stake in the outcome. I think it all revolves around the gold, Flo. I think that might be the key to Jack’s murder and in a roundabout way, Ginnie’s too.”
“You know, I’ve been thinking about that too. All this talk of gold and yet nobody has actually seen any. I wonder if it’s even true?”
“I think it is. I think if we get a greater idea of what this gold was worth, not just in monetary terms but in other ways too, I think everything will become much clearer. You see Flo, the whole Forsyth clan seems on the edge of, dare I say, destitution.”
Frances looked over at her friend and Florence smiled and nodded.
“That might be a fair assessment,” she said.
“And what I’ve learned over the years is that the destitute are often liable to doing all sorts of egregious and illegal things. When you’re living a lie, lying becomes almost like truth to you. You start to lie for all sorts of reasons to get what you want and to continue the facade.”
“I find the whole thing, Fran, to be quite depressing to be honest.”
“I know. The reasons why people do the things that they do to each other are often insignificant and petty.”
“That’s just it. Ginnie seemed like such a lovely woman. I didn’t know her that well, but just was always very decent to me.”
“I understand, Flo, I do. It appears as though Jack might not have been the nicest man, but even still, as Lottie said, he didn’t deserve to be murdered. There are more civilized ways of handling these things.”
“I don’t know how you do it,” said Florence, glancing at her friend as she drove through Puddle’s End towards the Forsyth estate on the outskirts of town.
“I don’t go looking for it. I couldn’t imagine being a full time detective. No wonder Gibbard seems frustrated and grumpy. Having to deal with that element all the time, it’s enough to make you bonkers.”
Florence laughed.
“Though truth be told, Flo, what makes it all worthwhile is seeing justice served at the end of the day.”
“And thank you for doing that, my dear friend. It is so good of you to help out in this case. I know it isn’t the break that either you or I were hoping for when I picked you up at the station on Monday.”
“Not at all, Flo, I’m happy to help. And I’ll just have to come back up again so we can enjoy a more relaxed time together. No visiting any of your friends though, I’m not taking any chances next time!”
Florence laughed.
“Heavens, no. In spite of what you might think, I do enjoy a quiet life out here in Puddle’s End. That’s one of the reasons I moved out here.”
Florence turned left into the driveway of the Forsyth home and up above at the top of the driveway was a police car and one other that she didn’t recognize, though Frances remember
ed the 1936 Rolls Royce Phantom III from her first visit to the home. It was either Gerald’s or Dr. Garnet’s car. Frances hoped it was Gerald’s.
Florence drove up and parked next to the Rolls Royce. It was immaculate and very well cared for. You could tell that the owner took great pride in maintaining it. And even after almost three years there wasn’t a scrape or ding on it that Frances could see.
Florence and Frances got out of Florence’s red Alvis and walked up to the main door. James answered it, doing his best to stand tall and smile broadly. Though the weight of the day were pulling down both his shoulders and the corners of his mouth.
“We’re getting to the bottom of this James,” said Lady Marmalade. “Won’t be long now and we’ll all be able to rest and get back to normal.”
“Thank you, my Lady.”
“Who’s all here?” asked Florence.
“The inspector with one of his constables. They just brought Garrett home not long ago and he’s quite upset about the whole ordeal.”
“I can imagine,” said Florence.
“Ms. Church is still here and Mr. Gerald Forsyth showed up earlier this afternoon. I think he’s packing upstairs and getting ready to head on home.”
“Is Enoch around?” asked Frances.
“Yes, my Lady, he should be out in the garden or shed I imagine.”
“Listen, James, we just need to do a little snooping around the study, if you don’t mind. Perhaps you can let everyone know we’ll be with them shortly.”
“As you wish.”
James closed the door behind them and plodded slowly down the hall towards the living room. Frances and Florence walked a few strides down the same hallway and then took a right down a secondary hallway where they took their first right into the study.
The study was bright and large. To the left was a large wooden table with a bookshelf behind it up against the wall. To the right was a large brown leather couch that was well worn with use but by no means near the end of its usefulness. There was a large low wooden coffee table in front of the couch with assorted magazines on it. These included Lloyd’s List as well as The Scots Magazine.
Opposite where Frances and Florence had just entered was a large window that opened up onto the front yard and driveway. Frances walked over to the desk. It was strewn with papers, perhaps from Garrett’s attempt at making sense of his father’s last words.
Frances took her time combing through all the scraps of paper. Most of them, perhaps eighty percent or more, appeared to be invoices and there were duplicates amongst them too. Some said sixty days overdue, others ninety and a few more were one hundred and eighty days overdue.
There were even a few solicitors' letters demanding payment on behalf of some clients. It was clear to Frances that she was witnessing the beginning of the end of Forsyth Motor Manufacturing.
The only two left to run it appeared to be Garrett and Gerald. Frances didn’t hold a lot of hope that Garrett could run this business, and as for Gerald, that remained to be seen.
Under the many papers all over the desk, Frances found a desk calendar with the month of April. There were some meetings later in the month regarding business matters as well as a meeting with his solicitor.
It also appeared that there was some smudged charcoal across much of March. It was hard to make out what it was, but it seemed to have been from a letter written in duplicate with carbon copy. What Lady Marmalade could read of it was, ‘equal share of proceeds...business matter will be finished...our cost ten pounds each...Gerald’. It was a strange and cryptic scribbling that didn’t make much sense.
But what Frances found interesting was a cryptic note on the 7th of April. All it said was “AE to FC, 12”.
“Take a look at this, Flo,” said Frances to Florence who was on the opposite side of the desk. Florence walked around to take a closer look.
“Interesting,” she said, “and what about this one?”
She pointed to another cryptic hastily written scrawl that said “AD, 02, Liverpool”. which was written on the desk calendar square for the 6th of April.
“Very interesting indeed, Flo, I think this is part of the key. But I don’t think it’s what we were meant to find in the study. If we’re meant to find anything at all.”
Frances lifted up the desk calendar but there was nothing underneath it. She pulled out the sheets from the bottom right and top right envelope corners, but there was nothing in between any of the sheets.
“Why don’t you take a look at the bookshelf and see if you find anything interesting or related to what Jack’s last words supposedly were.”
Frances stayed focused on the desk. There were three trays to handle mail and none of them contained anything of note. A letter from the bank that warned of Jack’s account closure if he didn’t repay his loan. A letter from another solicitor that was unopened and the last income statement from Forsyth Motor Manufacturing which didn’t require you to be an accountant to realize that the company was taking it’s last dying breath.
Frances next looked in the small cigar box that was on the desk, but it just held cigars as would be expected. The holder of pens and pencils was empty except for two pencils and one Swan fountain pen.
Next she took to looking into the main drawer. It seemed that whatever it held was probably stolen or now lying strewn across the face of the desk. There was a pad of paper and a brass key. What the key was for she had no idea.
She was just about to start opening the side drawers when Florence spoke.
“I don’t know if this is anything, but it’s interesting nonetheless.”
Frances stood straight and turned to face the bookshelf that was behind her. Florence was pointing at a book’s spine.
“Odd. This book is called ‘The Study of Deceit’. It’s the only book I’ve seen on here so far that has the word ‘study’ in its title.”
“Well, let’s take it out and have a closer look,” said Frances.
Florence pulled it out and handed it to Frances. Frances looked at it. It was burgundy in color, written by a Dr. Reginald Masterson, an author she had never heard of. It didn’t have a dust jacket and was of average size in all three dimensions.
“Strange,” said Frances, “I wonder what it might be about?”
She opened the front cover and went to flip through to the index, but the book opened rather unexpectedly by itself about one third of the way in. There was a small piece of paper folded in half, stuck between pages forty seven and forty eight.
“We might have something here, Flo,” said Frances grinning.
Florence smiled widely.
“Oh, do tell!”
Frances took the paper out and opened it up. It was about half the size of a regular sheet of paper and this was written on it:
Jack,
I’ve had it. I want what’s mine and I’m going to come and collect it.
If you don’t have it by Tuesday I’ll take it from the gold. Yes, I know about that and I know about Albert Dock on Wednesday night.
I swear I’ll kill you if I don’t get it, for all the trouble you’ve caused.
DG
“Oh my,” said Florence. “That is quite something isn’t it. But who on earth is DG? Do you think he could have killed Jack?”
“That is a puzzle, my dear Flo, and who’s to say DG is a man. Could it not have been a woman just as likely?”
“Well, I suppose so, but didn’t Lottie tell us she saw a man shoot Jack?”
“Not exactly, Flo. She saw a man holding a gun run away from the scene and he was in the vicinity of where the shot might have come from. But she didn’t actually see him pull the trigger, did she?”
Florence put her finger to her mouth and furrowed her brow.
“I suppose not. I give up, Fran, I have no idea who did it and I’m not going to try anymore. I’ll wait for you to spill the beans.”
“And the beans I shall happily spill. I believe this is exactly what Garrett was supposed to find. I
think it helps point to Jack’s killer.”
Before Florence could speak, they heard brisk footsteps coming down the hall towards them. They turned to look at the study door just before he entered.
TWENTY-THREE
Chapter 23
INSPECTOR Gibbard walked his thick frame through the door. He raised an eyebrow when he saw it was Frances and Florence.
“Oh,” he said, “it’s you two.’
Frances looked at him and smiled. His gruff and grumpy facade was not worth the bother in getting upset over.
“I’m so glad you’re here Inspector,” she said. “Did you bring Garrett back?”
“Yes, well we had to, on closer inspection of the revolver. Apparently his revolver didn’t have any bullets in it so he couldn’t have shot his father could he?”
It was a rhetorical question, but Lady Marmalade decided to answer it anyway.
“Quite. We heard the same from Ms. Lottie Daubney. I don’t suppose you’ve had a chance to speak with her yet have you?”
Lady Marmalade was poking the bear. She couldn’t help herself, and besides the stick she was poking with was long and thin, meant more in jest and fun than seriousness.
“No.”
“We have something here, Inspector, that you might like to take a look at. We could use your expertise in helping uncover its meaning.”
Frances held the letter out for Gibbard. He came round to their side of the desk. There was a lot of space behind the desk for the three of them. He took the letter from her and read it silently. Frances watched him read it, standing to his left and to her left was Florence, also intently staring at the inspector.
“Interesting,” he said, still looking at the paper in his hands.
“Florence found it in this book,” said Lady Marmalade pointing to “The Study of Deceit” which was now closed, spine facing them, on the desk. Gibbard looked at it but didn’t pick it up. He glanced back at the paper still in his left hand. Then he looked over at Lady Marmalade. They were standing closely together, the three of them, all crowding around the page in Gibbard’s hand as if he were holding a newborn baby.
Lady Marmalade Cozy Murder Mysteries: Box Set (Books 1 - 3) Page 19
