Murder in the Mail: A Diane Dimbleby Cozy Mystery

by Penelope Sotheby

  The Inspector referred to the police authority closing the police station in Apple Mews and replacing the full-time constable with a community officer that would be shared amongst the three villages in the area. Cost-cutting was given as the reason, but many viewed the recent incident in Apple Mews as being a deciding factor.

  “Quite alright, Inspector. I really should get ready for the day anyway. I’ll take my laptop and head upstairs.”

  “Thank you for your cooperation. We will try to be as unobtrusive as possible.”

  Diane went into the living room and saw the Sergeant sitting opposite Monica, whose hair was finally starting to dry into a rough tangle. She was picking at her fingernails, avoiding eye contact with the Sergeant, and he was scrolling through his phone.

  “I’ll get you a brush, dear,” said Diane, “otherwise you’ll have sparrows nesting on your head.”

  Monica nodded absently, her mind distracted by the shock of all that had transpired.

  “I will be right back.”

  Diane headed upstairs and was greeted by Rufus, who stood on the landing having already decided that there were too many people in the house, and that the best defensive position was behind the balcony rail. The little dog led the way into Diane’s bedroom before turning upon entering with a sour look on his wrinkled face.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” admonished Diane. “Your food is safe from them.”

  The answer didn’t seem to please Rufus, who continued to frown at Diane while she made her way over to her dressing table and retrieved a brush. She heard the front door close and saw Sergeant Webster heading along the pathway to the police car that sat at the side of the road. She returned downstairs, leaving Rufus as sentry to the bedroom.

  “Knock knock,” said Diane before entering the living room. “Here’s that brush, and I’ve found a small mirror too.”

  She handed the items to Monica and left the room again, Inspector Crothers swinging the door shut behind her. Diane could hear him begin asking the same questions Diane had already told him the answers to. She shook her head while walking upstairs. She said to Rufus:

  “The police do travel the most circuitous paths.”

  As she headed to the master bathroom, Diane flicked her phone on and searched for the photo she had sent to Inspector Crothers earlier. She had saved a copy for herself. Something about the image reminded her of something she had seen before today.

  She looked over the fingernail, zooming in for more detail. The little yellow flowers on the deep blue background were not false, having been meticulously painted with great care. There were shades of yellow and stems and leaves, all greatly detailed, which was not the work of someone simply idling away time fixing her nails. This girl had spent time and money on making her fingers look immaculate. The suggestion came to Diane that her hands were to be the focus; she wanted her nails to look more special than usual.

  And the ring; the beautiful rubies and sapphires and that diamond. This was not a ring worn without purpose. This ring had expense and meaning embedded in it.

  This was the hand of someone newly engaged or married. This was someone that had prepared for the moment to make everything perfect and had met with this horror soon after. The ring and nails were of a celebration turned macabre.

  These were things Inspector Crothers would find out after the medical examiner had looked at the finger.

  “Lack of tan line around the ring would probably tell them,” she mused.

  And then the answer struck Diane. She had seen the ring before. A jewellers in Shrewsbury was having a sale and rings were flashed across the screen during the TV commercial. They had shown a beautiful princess-cut two carat diamond ring that Diane had “accidentally” paused upon the television for Albert one day when he had visited for tea. The very next ring in the commercial was two rubies and two sapphires around a square-cut diamond.

  Diane ran to the shower. She had to make herself look presentable; she was going ring shopping.

  Chapter 2

  Diane dressed quickly in khaki trousers and a floral blouse. She skipped down the stairs to see Tommy Giles and Rose O’Dowd sitting in the living room with Inspector Crothers. Monica was sitting again at the kitchen table and was sipping on a fresh cup of tea.

  “Feeling any better, dear?” asked Diane as she stuck her head into the kitchen.

  “A little, thanks.”

  Monica gave a shallow smile to emphasize her improved mood.

  “I’ve got some business in Shrewsbury, so I’ll be gone for a while. I’m sure the Inspector will let you know when you’re free to go home.”

  Without a further word, Diane raised her phone and snapped a picture of Monica before she could react. She looked down at it and nodded in approval.

  “Your hair looks so much better,” she said as Monica made to protest.

  Diane winked at her, the action exaggerated by the lenses of her glasses. Then, turning on her heel, she headed to the front door and out to her car with a brief “See you soon” to the Inspector as she streamed past. He barely had time to look up from his notepad, and Diane was already behind a closed front door.

  As she reached her car, she tapped through her contacts until she had found exactly who she was looking for, setting the phone to dial as she lowered herself into the driver’s seat.

  With the phone buzzing in her ear, she saw Sergeant Webster pull up in a marked police car. He parked irregularly against the kerb and was stepping out of the car even as he turned the engine off.

  Diane shook her head and muttered,

  “Always in a hurry. He will need to take his time more if he wants promotion.”

  It was an old habit, remarking on people’s attributes that might be a detriment to improving their situation. When she had been a teacher in the Apple Mews school, parents’ evenings had been a moment for her to shine. She had every student analysed and annotated in a little notebook and could clearly highlight areas of expertise and need for improvement with specific examples and suggestions.

  “Hello Diaaane,” drawled a high-pitched voice.

  “Dolly, my dear. How are you?”

  “Splendid, just splendid. Though a little early still. You know how I don’t do mornings. They’re so, well, early.”

  Dolly Ainsley was a long-time friend of Diane’s. They had met in school when they were on the hockey team together. Over almost fifty years they had kept in touch even as their paths diverged. Diane had married once, worked as a school teacher for many years and enjoyed keeping herself in top form, both mentally and physically. Dolly had headed the other way, marrying five times, outliving four and divorcing one, had never worked, and had let herself go, both mentally and physically. Yet when they got together, they were schoolgirls giggling over boys and sharing stories over a plate of biscuits.

  “Dolly, I have need of one of your areas of expertise. Can we meet somewhere?”

  “Looking for a man, eh. Does that mean that delicious Albert is free for the picking?”

  Dolly had a way with men, much easier and freer than Diane, and she had made it clear several times that she would take Albert off Diane’s hands in a flash. Diane had mentioned this to Albert, who had shivered and said something about knowing how a fly in a Venus flytrap would feel.

  “No no, we’re quite happy. You’ll have to keep looking.”

  “Oh no, dear. I’ve already found my next one. Lovely old fellow called Graham. We met at a dinner and dance about a month ago. He’s spritely. I do like them with a lot of life.”

  “And money,” replied Diane.

  “Oh yes. They have to have money. I do like my lifestyle just the way it is.”

  Dolly’s lifestyle involved fine food, fine drink, and relentless shopping.

  “Well, I need your jeweller knowledge, and it’s pretty urgent.”

  “Why didn’t you say so. I will meet you at the Town Park, our usual bench by the lake. Say, ten… no, make it twenty minutes. Have to make sure
I’m presentable to the men of the world.”

  Diane agreed and hung up, turning the key and gunning the engine to life. She had time, the park being only ten minutes away, but once she was moving, Diane was loath to slow down until she had the conclusion well and truly sewn up.

  ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠

  Diane sat on the wooden bench, her gaze passing out over the fine ripples of the lake. A brisk wind had gotten up and ruffled her hair dry, but she did not pay any attention to it. Her short hair always seemed to fall back into place with minimal effort, no matter the ferocity of the tousling.

  Behind her on the path, small groups of people were moving. Some walked past at speed, chatting in pairs during their morning constitutional. Others formed groups around a nucleus of pushchairs, getting the good clean air into their and their offspring’s lungs. The gaggle of chatter was caught by the wind and whipped away so that Diane only caught snatches of it, some words overcoming the force of the breeze. None of the words resonated with the concerns foremost in her mind, so she let them sidle into one ear and ejected them out of the other.

  Through the waves of words lapping at her ears, a clacking sound came that rapidly increased in volume. Wildlife fled, swans skidding across the lake surface, ducks scattering as if under gunfire. Diane smiled as she recognized the approach of her friend.

  “Diaaane,” came the familiar drawl. “So awfully windy, it’s messing with my ‘do.”

  “Bracing weather,” she replied. “Not for the timid of hair.”

  “I paid good money for this ‘do. The wind always has been quite thoughtless about my appearance.”

  Diane turned slightly as she felt the wooden slats of the bench bow. Dolly was dressed in a crimson jacket over a blindingly white blouse with a lace collar. Her skirt was shorter than her age would generally consider tasteful and black silk ran over her legs from strapped high heels. Strands of black hair had broken free of the helmet of hairspray and were whipping wildly about the side of her head. Her jacket had a brooch that looked to be of jade, which was large enough to be an egg. Each finger had a different adornment from petite bands of platinum to thick strips of gold encrusted with gems of all colours and kinds.

  Diane knew that some rings had been gifts from husbands, suitors, and lovers over the years. She also knew that the rest came via the small fortune Dolly had accrued through her several marriages and inheritances combined with a passion, and some would say lust, for shopping. And they were exactly the reason Diane knew she would find the information she needed.

  “This had better be a good reason for getting me out so that my hair can look like someone dragged me through a hedge backwards.” Dolly ran a hand over the wayward strands that tried to tangle themselves in the rings.

  “I need to find a jeweller,” began Diane.

  “Is that all?’ said Dolly, mildly agitated “There are plenty of them in the phone book, dear. And they don’t cost a hundred pounds’ worth of styling.”

  “It’s not quite that simple,” replied Diane smoothly. “I need to find a specific jeweller for a specific ring.”

  “You don’t know where a ring came fro…” started Dolly, before pausing in thought. Her face slowly evolved into one of recognition as she continued, “Is this one of your cases? Am I going to get to watch a perp walk? Are you hot on the trail of some blackmailer or con man? How exciting!”

  “Something like that,” said Diane. “Do you recognize this ring?”

  She pulled out her phone and flipped open the picture of the contents of the mysterious box. There was a sharp intake of breath followed by a slow exhalation that became a drawn-out “Woooow.”

  “I’m glad the stores don’t deliver all rings like that, with the finger already attached. Though that’s the only way it would get on a finger for some people,” chuckled Dolly.

  “Does the ring look familiar?” urged Diane.

  Dolly took the phone and manipulated the image, expanding the ring to make the stones clearer.

  “You know, I do think I have seen this before,” said Dolly as she tapped a bejewelled finger to her lips in thought. “Yes, I am fairly certain I know where this came from.”

  “Where would that be?” said Diane as she leaned in a little closer.

  Diane’s elbow nudged Dolly, who had become silent and was staring a little too hard at the image.

  “You’re in luck,” Dolly said distractedly. “It’s not far from here, and I’ve been a good customer over the years.”

  Diane reached for the phone and undertook a mild test of wills with Dolly in prying it from her hand.

  “Right, yes,” said Dolly as if waking from a trance. “Yes, I know the place. It’s just across the way in the shopping centre. Maybe we can get some ideas for Albert while we’re there.”

  ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠

  The shopping centre was a short drive from their seats at the park and the early morning hour had left an abundance of parking spaces near to the entrance. The wind had picked up a little, and a line of dark clouds were bearing down from the north. Diane grabbed an umbrella from the rear seat of her car before she escorted Dolly into the building.

  Despite her shoes, Dolly could maintain a wicked pace, especially when she had a particular shopping objective in mind. Diane, whose legs were a little shorter, was glad that she had maintained her speed walking regimen around Apple Mews, even during the steadily worsening weather of autumn.

  Small knots of shoppers drifted from shopfront to shopfront through the brightly lit avenues. Everywhere were lights and reflective surfaces, the white walls and shining floors amplifying the illumination. Natural light would have poured in through the high windows had the rain clouds not imposed themselves on the sky, sprinkles of rain dashing against the panes.

  That clack of Dolly’s shoes echoed off the walls and shoppers looked upwards as if expecting to see rhythmic strikes of lightning across the sky. Dolly nodded to people they passed who had turned to follow the noise. Dolly strode through the place with her head high and shoulders back, like a queen walking amongst her minions, acknowledging not a single one.

  In short order, the jewellery store, Dazzling Jewels, appeared before them, sandwiched between a bank and a bookstore. The black-rimmed doors and windows were offset by gold lettering and displays of selections of fine jewels.

  Through the window, Diane observed a moderately-sized young man in a grey suit and pink tie wandering around cases manned by staff members in smart dress. He first looked at the display, once pulling his pocket square handkerchief free to clean a smudge or fingerprint, before running a careful eye over the person and their attire. His face held a sour look that seemed to be its natural state, and he spoke briskly to each of the staff who nodded or replied with one-word answers.

  This is a tightly run, or should I say tightly wound, ship that he’s running, thought Diane.

  “Here we are,” said Dolly unnecessarily. She was already beginning to appraise the stock on display, examining her needs and the objects that might meet them.

  “Do you know that young man? Is he the manager?” asked Diane.

  “Oh no, I don’t deal with him. He runs the shop well enough, but he’s got no idea of style. Only deal with the owner myself. He’s a very refined gentleman, and he knows what I like.”

  Dolly flashed Diane a smile, a knowing smile that a younger generation may have accompanied with a wink.

  “Is no gentleman safe from you, Dolly?”

  “Some only think they are,” replied Dolly, her smile widening.

  A small bell rang within the store as Dolly pushed the door open; the staff members’ backs seemed to stiffen and heads turned. She ignored them all, instead striding to the back of the shop to the man in the pink tie.

  “I need to see Mister Wilkins,” demanded Dolly.

  Diane read his nametag, Jeremy, and stood quietly as he inspected Dolly. His response was not swift and when it came there seemed to be a sneer upon his lip.

&n
bsp; “I’m sorry, Ma’am. Mister Wilkins is indisposed.” He paused, his mouth working as if he tasted the words that were to come and he didn’t like them. “Can I assist you?”

  “I need to see Mister Wilkins,” repeated Dolly, undeterred by Jeremy’s response.

  While they were each at eye-level with the other, somehow Dolly seemed to be looking down her nose at Jeremy and Diane was sure that she saw Jeremy’s hands clench before he slid them behind his back.

  “Madam, as I have said, Mister Wilkins is not available at this moment. Maybe you would like to browse our collections and allow us to assist you with a purchase.”

  Dolly placed a gloved hand on the glass counter separating the two combatants and leaned forward slightly while maintaining her nose-length gaze.

  “Inform Mister Wilkins that Miss Ainsley wishes to see him.” There was only command in her voice; she was clearly not in the mood for mincing words for anyone she deemed below her.

  Jeremy faltered, his crisp exterior cracking slightly around his eyes, his suit bulged a little as his shoulders sagged from defeat. Diane caught a rigid staff member casting sideways glances at the scene, lips slowly drifting apart in surprise.

  Not a man that is spoken to like that often it seems, thought Diane. Gives more orders than he takes.

  Jeremy reached for a small phone and pushed an intercom button. He spoke briefly and sharply into the handset before replacing it beneath the counter.

  “Mister Wilkins will be down momentarily. Could I offer you a seat in the office?”

  Without acknowledging his question, Dolly moved around the counter with practiced ease and through a thick black curtain. Diane followed close behind her, offering a “Thank you” to the scowling Jeremy as she passed him.

  “Arrogant little man,” said Dolly as she lowered herself into a dark green leather chair. “He’s been getting worse recently. He knows me well enough but tries this game every time. No wonder so many people cycle through here.”

  “He seemed a bit put out.”

  Dolly snorted and waved her hand dismissively.