Fetch a Pail of Murder (We're Not Dead Yet Club Book 1)

by Constance Barker

  “It’s not a goose chase. We’re looking for a murderer, not a bird…”

  “It’s a saying, Hazel…”

  “Then at least say the right thing…”

  I’ll be honest, I’d lost interest by this point. As the two of them squabbled, I got reluctantly to my feet and made the long trek back across the bingo hall to the door. They were still going as I pulled the door open. In fact they only seemed to stop to allow Hazel to excitedly shout:

  “Bingo.”

  As I carried on out into the evening air, I began to wonder whether Ida May was right. Had Hazel really just taken us out to chase dreams and rainbows, or was there really a point to it all. One thing was for sure, I didn’t believe for one moment that Milton had murdered Patrick Sheridan for the love of Aunt Ruby – although I suppose you never really know.

  But the day’s adventure had raised one question in mind.

  Had Patrick and Ruby been close before he died?

  There was only one person I knew that was ever going to be able to give me answers, although I doubt Don ever would.

  Except, he wasn’t the only person…

  There was another…

  Chapter Eleve n– What the Cook Had to Say

  Sylvia Cooper lived in a small house right towards the outskirts of town – I had to change at three different bus stops to get there, but I already knew long before I arrived that it would be worth the travel. In her working life, Sylvia had been Aunt Ruby’s cook before - some years ago – she’d handed in her notice and left to go into retirement herself. As she wrenched open her front door and her eyes fell on me, there was a brief moment of confusion as though some part of her mind had trouble recollecting me, before finally a gigantic smile spread across her face. She hobbled forward and wrapped her arms tightly around me.

  “Clara, so good to see you.”

  “Hello Sylvia.”

  She led me into her front room and, despite my apologies for the late hour, insisted on rustling up a pot of tea and some of her home-baked scones. They were as delicious as I remembered them.

  “The jam is the key,” Sylvia said happily. “And the cream. Not just any cream, mind. You need the good clotted stuff from England for the real effect.”

  “They’re wonderful,” I replied, shoving in the last mouthful and savoring the airy freshness of the treat. “I don’t imagine you saw much of Ruby after you left…”

  Sylvia’s face fell. She busied herself by stirring her half-drunk tea, but a single look at her expression told me that something wasn’t quite right. It was only then that I realized that I’d never found out exactly why Sylvia left when she did – come to think of it, I didn’t know when she left exactly.

  “It’s been a long seventeen years,” she muttered, as though anticipating my thoughts. “And no – I suppose I haven’t seen Ruby from that moment onwards. I’d see Don around of course…” Her eyes gazed guiltily up at me. “I really couldn’t face the idea of her funeral…”

  I smiled sympathetically. “The dead are dead. I don’t think she would’ve cared anyway.”

  I took another sip of tea and set my cup down on the table. I glanced around at the walls and silently noted the lack of photographs or ornaments from her time in Ruby’s household. It was almost as if that part of her life had never happened but - then again – it was such a long time ago…

  “They found a body in the well,” I said, watching carefully for Sylvia’s reaction.

  To my surprise, she nodded confidently. “Patrick Sheridan. I was told.”

  I felt my mouth fall open slightly. “The police have spoken to you already?”

  Sylvia’s eyes narrowed. “No, dear. Your friend visited me last night. At least she said she was your friend, although I suppose you never really can tell…”

  “Ida May?”

  “Ida who?”

  “Blunt lady. Green hair. Has a bit of attitude on her?”

  Sylvia shook her head. “No, dear. A sweet old thing. A little odd to speak to but absolutely as sharp as a needle…”

  I thought for a moment. “Hazel?”

  “That’s the one, dear.”

  Suddenly Hazel’s little trip earlier began to make sense. The old girl had been out investigating on her own…

  “Crafty old girl…”

  “Pardon?”

  “Nothing,” I replied quickly. “I suppose it was you who told her that Pat and Ruby had become close.”

  A brief look of disdain leapt across Sylvia’s face.

  “I never approved of it. And neither did Don. It seemed so rotten. I mean, she was old enough to be his mother for goodness sake.”

  “They were lovers?”

  “No idea. But even if they were, don’t you think it was suspicious. Lord knows what she was in it for – probably the thrill of the younger companion. But there’s no real guesswork needed to work out what he wanted out of it. Don nearly throttled him when he found out…”

  I let her words hang in the air. “You were close to Don, weren’t you?”

  Sylvia shrugged slightly. “You could say we were having an affair of our own – yes. I would’ve married him if he’d let me – but I think I was too old for him.”

  “Do you think Don could’ve done it?”

  “Done what?”

  Her eyes fell on me for a moment before suddenly widening with complete and utter shock.

  “No, dear,” she exclaimed. “Not in a million years. Don isn’t the type.”

  “You said he nearly throttled him…”

  “Throttled – yes – but that was all, dear. Whatever makes you think Don had anything to do with it?”

  I explained about how calmly he’d reacted when the body was first found. To her credit, Sylvia allowed me to explain every part of my thought process before she shook her head.

  “That’s just Don, dear. He’s always been a little switched off when it comes to emotion. He probably just viewed it like any other unsavory job he’s had to do over the years. That’s not proof that he murdered anyone…”

  “But then there was the break-in,” I interrupted. “About twenty years ago. Someone stole a pepper shaker from Ruby’s house…”

  “And several other valuable items as well…”

  “You remember it?”

  Sylvia smiled. “Of course I remember. Don and I felt so terrible about being out the night it happened.” She set her teacup down and relaxed back into her armchair. “Don had taken me down to town for the early bird special and Ruby was alone in the house. She was so shaken up when she discovered the break in – it was awful.”

  “Thomas Lansborough thinks Don had something to do with it…”

  “Tom Landsborough can think what he likes,” Sylvia fired back, her voice tinged with a hint of anger. “He was another one who liked to skulk around the place. Don always thought he was hanging around to try to muscle in on Ruby’s will, thinking she was going to die soon. The moment he realized she wasn’t going anywhere soon, Tom showed his true colors and shoved off. Vultures!”

  She threw her head back and muttered a quiet curse into the air around her.

  “Besides, Ruby already knew who’d stolen her things.”

  “She did?”

  “Of course, she did. The old girl wasn’t stupid, you know. She knew when she was being played. The next day she confronted him over it. She promised to leave the police out of it if he returned everything back again. The next day everything reappeared – apart from the pepper shaker, I guess – and the police were never called so I guess he did as he was told…”

  “Who?” I asked, leaning forward with burning concentration. “Who was it who stole from Aunt Ruby?”

  Sylvia considered me for a moment, cocking her head to one side and staring deep into my eyes. Her hands tapped rhythmically on the arm of her chair and her breathing had slowed to such a low pace that she looked almost like she had stopped completely.

  “Your friend was a lot more intuitive,” she
replied eventually. “She almost seemed to know the answer before I even told her.”

  “Hazel?” There was no one else that Sylvia could have been talking about, but some part of me was really struggling with the idea that Hazel could be described as intuitive. “Why? What did she say?”

  “Well, isn’t it obvious, dear?” Sylvia asked, smiling coyly. “It was Patrick Sheridan…”

  Chapter Twelve – Interrogating Jasper

  I stayed at Sylvia’s for a little while longer. We reminisced about Aunt Ruby a little but – for the most part – she wanted to talk about Don. She hadn’t seen him for such a long time and – I suppose – a part of her was anxious to know whether he still talked about her.

  “We grew apart,” she explained. “But I often wonder what would have happened if we’d seen it through…”

  I couldn’t give her an answer. In many ways, I was more of an outsider in that house than she was. All these things had happened around my aunt’s home that I had never been aware of – but at least now I understood why. Aunt Ruby had always been one to show forgiveness, even to those she despised most.

  As she saw me to the front door and stepped out into the cool evening air, a thought occurred to me – one that was probably lurking in the back of my mind for most of my visit but had only seemed to form in the last few moments. I turned to her and asked her directly:

  “My friend, Hazel, how did she know to come here?”

  Sylvia smiled. “She said you’d ask. I was wondering whether you would. She said she found out from Don, round about the time you were lying unconscious on the floor…”

  “She told you about that?”

  “She told me everything,” Sylvia replied mischievously. “Don told her where she could find me and she popped round shortly after.”

  I laughed. It was so like Hazel to be impulsive like that.

  “But why did she know to come to you? I didn’t even think of it until a few hours ago…”

  “She said you’d asked that too…”

  “And what did she say?”

  Sylvia hesitated, a small smile flitting across her face. “She said to tell you, ‘Four of Diamonds’.”

  “Of course she did…”

  I said my goodbyes and headed back out into the night air, making my way slowly back across town until I arrived back at my house once again. Just before going to bed, I hammered out a couple of quick texts to the girls.

  Hazel had a lot of explaining to do.

  I arrived at the coffee shop early – and just as well I guess. As I turned to walk in through the door, I was greeted by Jasper who almost scattered the three takeaway cups that he cradled in his arms when he saw me.

  “Detective,” I said pleasantly. “It’s good to see you. How are you getting on with the case?”

  Jasper’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I’m afraid I still can’t discuss it, Clara,” he replied. “But I appreciate your interest in the matter. If I need your assistance, I’ll be sure to let you know…”

  He turned as though intending to speed off. As he did so, Ida May appeared from round the corner and positively threw up her arms in excitement upon seeing the detective.

  “Jasper, I’m so glad you’re here,” she called out, making a bee-line for him. “You really must tell me whether Don is on your list of suspects. Hazel has been driving me up the wall with her incessant ramblings about him that I really want to put her in her place…”

  Jasper looked as confused as he was shocked. “Hazel? Oh, your friend. Well, I can’t really talk about the case…”

  “Because, in my investigation…”

  “Our investigation,” I corrected her.

  “Fine - our investigation – we discovered that Patrick Sheridan was quite close with the late Aunt Ruby – may she rest in peace – and I was wondering whether the old girl had it in her to bump him off, or whether the loyal butler did it for her…”

  “Ida May, that’s my aunt you’re talking about…”

  Ida May flitted a dismissive hand out towards me. “You were never that close anyway.”

  Jasper looked between the two of us, his face slowly draining of color.

  “Your investigation?”

  Ida May nodded. “We’ve been investigating too, dear. Try to keep up…”

  “But you can’t just…” Jasper spluttered, readjusting the cups in his arms. “You can’t interfere… That’s what the police are here for…”

  “OH, DETECTIVE?”

  Hazel had arrived. She quickly scuttled over to us, sliding herself in between Ida May and Jasper and beaming up at the latter with such enthusiasm that I wondered whether she might leap into his arms.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” she said quickly and breathlessly. “I’ve been investigating this affair with Patrick Sheridan…”

  “We’ve been investigating…” corrected Ida May.

  “… And they originally thought that Don was the killer. But I think they’re wrong. It doesn’t suit his profile.”

  “Profile?” Jasper muttered, shaking his head. “How did you even know it was Sheridan?”

  “Because he went missing,” Ida May answered.

  “Only he didn’t,” I put in. “He was down the well.”

  “We read about it in the papers…”

  “And I wondered,” Hazel continued, raising her voice over our own. “Whether you’d be partial to a little theory of mine.”

  “A theory?”

  “Oh, I have evidence as well,” Hazel confirmed. “I think it would wrap everything up nicely…”

  In that instant, Jasper lunged forward, letting out a small, petrified squeal and chucking his coffees all across the sidewalk. He didn’t seemed too upset by this, and instead turned to face the three of us, raising his hands as though he expected us to jump at him.

  “Ladies, I appreciate your efforts. But I really must insist that you leave this to the professionals. Good day to you…”

  With that, he spun quickly on his heels and walked speedily off down the sidewalk, throwing the occasional terrified glance back at us. As he disappeared off, Hazel took two small steps forward and called out:

  “So, you don’t want to hear my theory?”

  And then he was gone.

  Hazel continued to watch the last spot where she’d seen Jasper before finally Ida May stepped forward, shaking her head sorrowfully.

  “See what you did there, Hazel? You scared him off.”

  Hazel snorted. “Don’t be daft. It was you with your brainless idea…”

  “Oh? And not your silly theory, I suppose?”

  They both stopped as I placed a comforting hand on each of their shoulders.

  “I’m afraid, Ida May, I’m inclined to agree with Hazel this time.”

  “You are?”

  “You are?”

  “Yes,” I replied confidently. “I think your hand on Jasper’s bottom may have been the last straw…”

  Chapter Thirteen – An Unlikely Pairing

  The coffee shop was unusually busy that morning and, rather than risk the inevitable awkward skulk around for space whilst carrying our beverages, we sent Ida May ahead to save us a table. Within seconds she was back again, tugging furiously at my sleeve with a smile on her face that would make even the unhappiest person feel some sense of excitement and anticipation.

  “Who would you say were the most unlikely pair to be having a coffee together?” she asked enthusiastically, throwing a wayward glance over her shoulder as she hopped back and forth.

  I shook my head and turned to Hazel who stared up a point at the ceiling for a good few seconds before finally replying: “Elvis and JFK?”

  Ida May’s face fell in an instant.

  “No, dummy,” she fired back, glancing again over her shoulder.

  “Well, I think that would be pretty unlikely. They’ve both been dead for so long…”

  “I don’t mean hypothetically, Hazel. I mean right here - in this town – who would you say w
ould be the most unlikely pairing?”

  I thought for a moment. “I don’t know, Ida May. Who?”

  Ida May flashed a cheeky smile. “What would you say if I told you I just saw Percy and Cecil drinking coffee together?”

  Hazel’s eyes returned to the ceiling before falling back down as she nodded her head confidently. “I’d say you’d lost the plot.”

  “So, would I,” I agreed.

  “And I,” confirmed Ida May. “But check it out.”

  She gestured to a point over her shoulder. Hazel and I followed her outstretched finger, staring hard into the corner of the coffee shop where, sitting on two luxurious looking armchairs, Percy and Cecil sat quietly drinking from their lattes.

  “They look like something out of the circus…”

  I don’t think I would quite go as far as Hazel, but they certainly did look an odd pair – even stranger considering the two had next to nothing in common. As Cecil crudely gulped at his drink, splashing his leather jacket with light brown droplets of coffee, Percy sipped at his delicately, doing his utmost to prevent any staining of his light brown suit and dull, pink bowtie.

  I felt Ida May nudge me in the side of my chest.

  “Let’s go bug them…”

  And bug them we did.

  With our drinks made, we wandered across the coffee shop, pretending to search for an empty table. Well, I say we pretended – Ida May and I pretended. Hazel didn’t. With the tact of a bull in a china shop, she marched straight past us, stopped right next to Cecil and Percy’s table and bellowed at the top of her voice:

  “Percy. Cecil. How wonderful to see you.”

  The two men nearly jumped out of their skin and instantly shied away from each other as though this would prevent anyone from realizing they were there together.

  “You don’t mind us joining, do you?”

  Even if they had minded, I don’t think they would have stopped Hazel, who had already drawn up three chairs and was beckoning me and Ida May to join the group. After a few short minutes, the two men appeared to reluctantly accept our intrusion and – soon – they were chatting away with us as though this had been the plan all along.