by Morgana Best
“That sounds like something out of a movie,” I said.
Professor Tilley nodded, her expression sad. “Well, it was all a long time ago. Now I’d best get out of memory lane and start back on these.” She tapped a stack of papers in front of her.
I stood. “I apologize for taking up your time. I know you must be busy. Thanks for your help.”
I walked back down the long hill to the Visitors’ Parking Area, and hopped into my van. I called Blake and told him I had evidence that Cressida’s gardener, David Bilderbeck, had been a colleague of Martin Bosworth’s some years ago, and had plenty of motive.
Blake, thankfully, did not lecture me, but said he would call by my cottage later to review the information. He was currently in court that day, in Tamworth, and would not be back until evening. He told me to go straight home and to keep out of David Bilderbeck’s way.
I didn’t need to be told twice.
"Dogs have given us their absolute all. We are the center of their universe. We are the focus of their love and faith and trust. They serve us in return for scraps. It is without a doubt the best deal man has ever made."
(Roger Caras)
Chapter Nineteen.
I was in my kitchen, warming hot chocolate mix in a shallow pot on the stove, when I heard a knock at the front door. “Blake,” I said to myself. It was dusk and the sky outside the window over the sink was purple and pink, with the last bit of light fading quickly. Above the trees I could see some stars already, twinkling softly in the evening light. One thing about the country is that one can see so many more stars than in the city.
I took the pan off the burner and turned off the oven, pouring the mix into a mug sitting next to the stove, before I set down the pan and went to the front door.
“Blake, come in.” I smiled and opened the door. My heart beat quite a bit faster, and I scolded myself for looking at Blake’s big, muscled arms. “I just made some hot chocolate; would you like some?”
Blake said that he would, and I managed to restrain Sandy from leaping on him. I put her at the back of the house in the garden room, at the same time inadvertently letting in my cockatoo, Max. “Now Max, be a good boy if I let you stay inside for a while.” I shook my finger at him.
Max squawked at me and sat on his perch, which was around the corner, and hopefully, somewhat out of the way. Thankfully he didn’t say anything, but I figured it was only a matter of time.
I poured the remains of the hot chocolate into another mug for Blake.
“Mmm, this is good.” He smiled at me, and my insides flipped.
I mentally rolled my eyes at my response and sat opposite Blake. “So, tell me, did you catch David Bilderbeck?”
Blake pulled a face. “I told the detectives, and you’ll be pleased to know that they agreed. They said they’d just come to the same conclusion.”
I could tell by Blake’s tone that he didn’t actually believe that. At least I could now breathe a sigh of relief: Cressida was off the hook. “Have they arrested him?”
Blake shook his head. “They can’t find him; I suppose he’s done a runner. Anyway, that’s their problem now.”
“I’m so relieved it’s all over. Thank goodness for that.”
“I must say I’m impressed that you figured the whole thing out,” Blake said, “but next time, please leave it to the police.”
I ignored the latter comment, and addressed the former. “I didn’t quite figure it all out; I was only guessing at his reasoning.”
“I can help with the reasoning,” a voice said, as the front door swung open and banged into the wall.
My first thought was that I hadn’t locked the front door, but why would I have thought it necessary with Blake in the house? Besides, no one locked their doors in the country. My second thought was that the man had a gun.
David Bilderbeck stood in the doorway, his face devoid of any expression. He stepped forward, shutting the door behind him as he did so, and waving the gun with his right hand.
He made his way further into the room, until he was standing next to my chair. I closed my eyes, and took a long, slow breath, afraid of what the man was likely to do. I jumped as his fingers rested on my shoulder.
“You really are a smart woman,” David Bilderbeck said. “You did figure this all out.”
“Why did you kill Martin Bosworth?” I asked, opening my eyes and seeing, to my relief, that David Bilderbeck had retreated to stand in front of the door. I had no idea why I spoke; it was an automatic reaction due to fear, I suppose. I tend to ramble when I’m nervous.
The effect that name had on David Bilderbeck was instant. His brow furrowed, and anger flashed across his features. I bit my lip, afraid I had tipped him over the edge, but he took a deep breath and continued.
“Listen, I had no plans to kill that man. He wronged me years ago, but I had moved on. He came to stay here at the boarding house, and pulled into the parking lot with his brand new BMW, no less. It all came flooding back, all his lies, how he made me penniless. I spent all my money on lawyers in those days but still couldn’t get my professor’s job back. I ended up on welfare. That’s how I was for years, all thanks to Martin Bosworth.”
He gave a weird, strangled laugh that chilled me right through to my bones, and then continued. “Then it all came crashing down. Not just the promotion, but my whole career. And my wife said, well, I won’t go into it, because it still makes me mad, and I’m trying to be calm.”
If this was David Bilderbeck calm, I would hate to see him when he wasn’t calm. I risked a glance at Blake, but he had his eyes fixed on the man.
“So that’s why you killed him,” I said.
“No,” David Bilderbeck said. He shook his head and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “It was when he recognized me in the garden one day, and taunted me about being poor when he was so wealthy and famous. He was a nasty piece of work. I was so furious that I could have killed him then, but then I thought about all the hemlock plants growing wild, and that gave me the idea.”
“To kill him with hemlock?” Blake asked.
David grinned, showing a row of yellowed teeth. “Yes. What a fitting end for one of the world’s most eminent Socratic scholars, to die the same way that Socrates did, poisoned with hemlock.” He giggled manically. “Hemlock looks like parsley, so I put it in the salad, and of course, you both know by now that quail aren’t affected by hemlock, so I fed those quail on it, then made sure Cressida fed one to that horrid little man.”
“Did you intend to frame Cressida?” I asked. His face blackened, and I thought for a moment that I’d gone too far.
“No, of course not,” he spat. “The cops would never think she did it; they couldn’t be that stupid. It was Colin Palmer who was just the innocent bystander. I liked that man. I didn’t mean to hurt Colin Palmer; really, I didn’t mean that to happen. After I killed Martin Bosworth, Colin Palmer recognized me in the garden. He said he thought I’d moved interstate, and he was quite surprised to see me. How he recognized me, I don’t know. I was doing my best to keep out of everyone’s way. I knew it was only a matter of time before he put two and two together and went to the police.”
“So you didn’t want to kill Colin Palmer,” Blake said.
David’s face fell, and he lowered the gun a little. “No. I was careless, and he had to pay the price. I feel bad about that. He was an innocent victim. I always liked that man.”
“Why didn’t you just leave town?” Blake asked.
I studied Blake for a moment. He was nodding his head, and acting like he was truly listening. I decided to follow suit.
“Where would I go? I needed the gardening job. It’s taken me years to get a job, and Cressida is nice to me and pays me well.”
Despite my fear, I was amazed by his statement. He had killed Colin Palmer just because he didn’t want to leave town, simply because he liked his gardening job?
David Bilderbeck lifted his gun. “I’m sorry about this. I kill
ed Colin Palmer because he recognized me, before he could tell anyone else, and I have to do the same to the two of you.”
“But I’ve already told the detectives,” I said.
“That’s true,” Blake said. “I’m surprised they’re not here already.”
“See, there’s no point killing us then, as the detectives already know it was you.” My voice came out weak and trembling, but I hoped he would listen to me nevertheless.
And indeed, David Bilderbeck did consider my words, or so it seemed to me. “Yes, I accept the truth of the premise; therefore I must accept the truth of the conclusion,” he said.
I frowned and looked at Blake, but he shrugged.
David was silent for a moment before speaking again. “Okay, you two can be my hostages. We’ll take your van.” He waved the gun at me.
“Leave Sibyl here, and take me as your hostage,” Blake said, his voice calm. “Two hostages are hard to manage, and you really only need one. I’m your better choice as the other cops will take a cop hostage seriously.”
The man shook his head. “You’re just trying to trick me.” He raised his gun and pointed it at Blake.
I caught my breath.
Just then, the door flew open.
"No matter how little money and how few possessions you own, having a dog makes you rich."
(Louis Sabin)
Chapter Twenty.
Mr. Buttons burst into the room. “Hello, everyone. Oh David, fancy seeing you here. Nothing wrong with the Old English roses, I hope? They are so prone to black spot.”
I stared at the scene unfolding before me with my heart in my mouth. Didn’t Mr. Buttons see that David Bilderbeck had a gun? Had he completely taken leave of his senses?
Even David Bilderbeck seemed surprised, and he lowered the gun momentarily. I watched as the barrel pointed toward the floor, but then it rose swiftly through the air and pointed directly at Mr. Buttons.
“David, what’s this?” Mr. Buttons said in horror. “A gun?”
In my peripheral vision, I saw the yellow crest on Max’s head extend to stand upright. He often did that before he spoke. He was out of David Bilderbeck’s line of sight, at the far end of the kitchen, around the corner. His words were out of his beak before I realized what he would say.
“We’ve got the place surrounded!” he screeched. “Drop your weapon and come outside, or we’ll shoot you down, you %&^%##.” Max then imitated the sound of a police siren.
David Bilderbeck jumped, and backed away from the three of us. He turned to peep out the window, and his gun dropped slightly.
Then, to my astonishment, Mr. Buttons did an amazing gymnastic move, which from what I recalled of my vision of the Olympics, I think was called an Arabian double front with double twist. At any rate, he flipped through the air and across the room in a series of elegant somersaults, landing upside down, and with his legs tightly wrapped around David Bilderbeck’s neck.
Blake rushed forward, and, as David Bilderbeck crumpled to the ground, retrieved the gun.
I just sat there, my mouth open, wondering if I was having a vision, or if this was really happening.
At that point, the two detectives knocked my door off its hinges, despite the fact that it was unlocked, put a semi-conscious David Bilderbeck in handcuffs, and dragged him through the opening left by the door, all the while mumbling about getting our statements later. It happened so fast, I could scarcely take it in.
Blake and Mr. Buttons walked over to where I was still sitting, concern on their faces.
“Are you okay?” Blake asked. He leaned down to peer into my face.
I was unable to speak.
“I think she’s in shock,” Mr. Buttons said to Blake.
I pointed at Mr. Buttons. “You, you, um, gymnastics,” I stammered.
Mr. Buttons beamed. “Yes, I won an Oxford Blue for gymnastics in – well, never mind the year. Men didn’t really do the Double Fronts back then, but I really liked them.”
“That was very brave of you, Mr. Buttons,” Blake said, “but you really shouldn’t have taken on an armed man.”
Mr. Buttons shrugged. “Well, I’m sure the real hero is Max.”
“You’re a fool,” Max squawked.
I shook my head. Was I the only sane person in this town?
“Sibyl is pale; I had better make her a cup of tea,” Mr. Buttons said.
Blake took the throw rug from the bright orange sofa and draped it around me. I shivered and huddled into it. “I’ll get the fire going,” he said to Mr. Buttons.
Soon, I was huddled in front of a roaring fire. Despite the fact it was spring, the nights up here in the mountains were always cold. I started to come to my senses; the sugary tea was helping bring me back to reality.
“Bosworth would be alive if he hadn’t done what he did,” Blake said to Mr. Buttons, who was sitting beside him on the sofa.
Mr. Buttons nodded, and picked a few threads from Blake’s shirt.
“It doesn’t make it right, of course,” Blake said, brushing Mr. Buttons’ hand away. He turned to me. “Sibyl, you should stay at the boarding house tonight, and tomorrow I’ll send someone to fix your door. Those detectives had no right to do that.”
I murmured my thanks.
Blake stood. “I’ll start the paperwork, if you’re sure you’re all right, Sibyl?”
I nodded.
Blake went to the door and stopped. He turned and looked at me, and then at Mr. Buttons.
I looked at him with expectation.
“Never mind,” Blake said, smiling at me. “I’ll talk to you later.” He walked over the door lying on the ground and out onto the porch, leaving me wondering what he had intended to say.
“I’d better go and see if Cressida’s all right,” Mr. Buttons said, getting to his feet with some difficulty. “Ouch, my back. I think I’ve pulled every muscle in my body. Will you be okay by yourself? Do you want to come to the boarding house with me now? I’ll make dinner for the three of us.”
“Thanks for everything, Mr. Buttons. Dinner sounds great, but I think I need a few moments to myself first, so I can first to process everything. I’ll come up soon.”
Mr. Buttons nodded, and then also made his way across the door that was lying on the floor. I sat in my living room for a long while, and then I went to take a shower. The hot water did wonders to wash away my stress, and after I had dried and dressed, I felt considerably better.
I went back into the kitchen, and saw that the hot chocolate mug was still next to the stove. I picked up the mug and dumped the cold liquid down the drain. I washed the mug and put it away. The dinner invitation was good, as I was in no state to cook anything. After checking that Sandy’s water was full and her blankets were in her dog bed in the garden room, I pulled on some sneakers. Next, I lifted the edge of the door off the floor to retrieve my light jacket which had been hanging on the back of it.
My moonlight walk down the dirt path toward the boarding house was enjoyable. The sky was dark blue and growing darker, and the wind hardly blew at all, and when it did, it sent dead leaves rising into the air in swirling patterns. When the boarding house loomed before me, I smiled and picked up speed. I reached the porch, and then hurried inside without knocking.
Cressida greeted me as soon as I arrived in the main living room. “Oh Sibyl, Mr. Buttons has told me everything.” Her hand flew to her chest. “I can’t imagine what you went through.”
“Mr. Buttons was the hero,” I said. “If only you could have seen him, flying through the air like that.” I waved my hands around to try to describe what he did.
“Mr. Buttons was too modest to tell me that part,” Cressida said, a note of disapproval in her voice. “I’m just grateful that I called the detectives, after Lord Farringdon told me that you and Blake were in mortal danger.”
I looked at Mr. Buttons and he arched his eyebrows. He stood up, and poured both of us a glass of wine. Cressida was already into her second glass, by the look of her.
“I thought you only drank tea,” I said to Mr. Buttons.
“Medicinal purposes,” he said, taking a long drink from his glass.
“Things sure did start getting interesting when you moved into town, Sibyl,” Cressida said, her speech slurred.
I held up my hands in a gesture of helplessness. “I had nothing to do with any of it.”
“Trouble might just follow you around.” Cressida raised one of her penciled-in eyebrows.
I chuckled. “I guess it might. Anyway, where are the boarders?”
“They all moved out,” Cressida said. “We have an empty house here now.”
I sipped my wine and looked at Cressida and Mr. Buttons. What an odd set of friends I had. A good-looking cop, an eccentric woman with make up that always appeared to be applied with a trowel, and an Englishman with a penchant for tea and cucumber sandwiches. Was this really my life? It was, of course, and I wasn’t sure I would have it any other way. I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t change a thing. Life wasn’t always how one imagines it, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t the best it could be.
In the last few months since moving to the Little Tatterford, in hopes of moving on after divorcing a cheating and homicidal husband, I had seen more dead bodies than I had ever planned on seeing. The strange thing was that, somehow, I was happy. So what if my life wasn’t normal, and my friends weren’t normal. Some things were worth a little bit of weird.
“Are you okay, Sibyl?” Mr. Buttons asked, reaching over to pat my hand.
I smiled and nodded. “I’m just fine,” I said.
* * * * The End * * * *
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