Peridale Cafe Mystery 22 - Scones and Scandal

by Agatha Frost

  “They turned me away,” she said to Lady and Bruce, curled at her feet and lulled to sleep by the rehearsing choir. “We’ll show them what Dot’s Detectives can do.”

  A fine name too. Percy agreed. She had been mortified when they laughed at her suggestion like theirs were better. Eye this and eye that; she’d rather have no name at all than have Peridale’s Eyes think she took any inspiration from them. Their downfall was all the inspiration Dot needed.

  “Anywhere nice?”

  Dot turned away from the picture. Father David was walking towards her in his black robes, smiling.

  “Come again?”

  “In your mind,” he said, tapping his temple and joining Dot at the picture. “You were in a world of your own. I hope I didn’t startle you.” Linking his hands behind his back, he leaned in to examine the photograph. “Ah, yes! The infamous 1956 choir committee bowls finale in Riverswick. That’s your father on the end, isn’t it?”

  Despite being younger than Dot, Father David had always made it his business to know his congregation. Dot appreciated it, even if she confined her church visits to events, holidays, and the odd times she joined Percy for choir rehearsals.

  “They suffered a horrific defeat,” Father David said, rocking back on his feet with a chuckle. “Riverswick showed them up, and they never played again. We haven’t had a bowls team at the church since.”

  “To the day he died, he swore that they cheated,” she remembered tenderly. “How, we could never quite figure out.”

  “And now it’s just a picture on a wall and a story we keep repeating.” He stepped back. “Funny how that works, isn’t it? It almost shows how pointless those resentments can be.”

  “Tell that to whomever killed Penelope,” she said in a quieter voice, sensing an opportunity. “Especially so close to the church.” She sat, and after adjusting the hem of her skirt, said, “I bet the police are keeping you up to date?”

  “Aside from calling this morning to let me know they’d be allowing public access to the graveyard again, they have told me very little.”

  “Oh.”

  “Gus and Penelope were regulars here. Unfortunately, negativity always plagued my interactions with Penelope. She always had something to complain about. Their grandson, however, I do know. He—”

  “Will you excuse me, Father?” Dot interrupted, her eyes darting into the church as the choir finished rehearsing. “I’d quite like to talk to my husband. Am I okay to take the dogs in?”

  Dot walked in while Father David said something vaguely biblical-sounding about all creatures being welcome in God’s house. She’d have to remind Julia of that. She swore she’d never seen that ‘NO DOGS’ sign at the café until Lady and Bruce came along.

  Bruce tried to bound ahead when he noticed Percy, though the French bulldog’s tiny frame meant Dot’s shoulder remained firmly in its socket. Thank goodness they’d done their research on dogs for the ‘elderly’. Aside from some issues with accidents on the carpet when the rescue dogs first moved in, she’d had no complaints.

  In fact, she’d fallen completely in love with them.

  “He’s over there,” Percy whispered as he kissed Dot. “He hasn’t said much since he arrived. I think he wanted to take his mind off things with some singing.”

  Dot would have spotted the recently widowed person even without Percy’s instruction. A slender man with thinly combed-over grey hair dabbed at his eyes with a tissue while the rest of the choir closed in around him.

  “They’re like grief leeches,” she said. “At least I have a reason to talk to him.”

  “Should I go over?”

  “It’s better if I do it,” she said, handing over Lady’s lead.

  “Oh, really, my Dorothy?” Percy scratched at his bald head. “It’s just . . . I know the chap rather well.”

  “Don’t worry,” she said, straightening her brooch. “I know what I’m doing.”

  Lingering by the end pew, she flicked through a songbook keeping her eyes on Gus. Finally, the sight of a suspect. Did he do it? He was crying real tears; his shredded tissues proved that. A choir meeting was the last place Dot would have gone if she’d just killed her husband.

  Dot approached Gus as the group trailed off and left him at the back. He squinted at her as though trying to place her face.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” she said softly. “It’s simply awful what happened.”

  Gus offered the generic ‘thanks for caring’ smile Dot had perfected in the days after her first husband’s death. How well she remembered the exhausting mix of people feeling obliged to say something and the horror when no one brought it up because it was the only thing she could possibly think or talk about. The familiarity of the look shifted towards confusion with a downturn of his eyebrows.

  “Thank you,” he said with some hesitation. “Sorry, you’ll have to forgive me. I’m afraid I don’t quite know who you are.”

  “Dot,” she said. “Percy’s wife? I was briefly part of your little choir thing the Christmas before last. I was stood just next to you, I think.”

  “Ah, yes,” he said uncertainly, looking her over. “I remember.”

  His suspicious gaze shifted to the songbook in Dot’s hands, and the frown deepened. It was upside down. She quickly corrected it, even as her mind shouted at her to get it together. She’d get nowhere acting like an amateur, especially interviewing one of Peridale’s Eyes.

  What if he was already on to her?

  Gus nodded a puzzled goodbye before continuing down the aisle. The rest of the choir lingered by the door – no doubt ready to marinate in the man’s sorrow once again.

  Be bold, Dorothy.

  Be your own hero.

  “I’ve started a new neighbourhood watch group,” she called after him. “I thought you should know we’re looking into what happened with your wife.”

  Gus turned, his frown even more pronounced.

  “What is it with you people today?” He let out a throaty laugh. “You’re as bad as Ethel. She was on the phone this morning trying to arrange another Peridale’s Eyes meeting. I . . .”

  Gus flicked his hand and left without bothering to finish his sentence. Clutching her brooch, Dot watched him go. As Percy hurried towards her with worried eyes, Dot spun to a tap on her shoulder.

  “Have some respect,” a woman said, drying her hands with a blue paper towel as the bathroom door swung shut behind her. “The poor man always has enough going on this time of year, what with Shawn’s anniversary. And adding Penelope’s death? Last thing he needs is someone like you sticking your nose in.”

  “Sorry, do I know you?”

  “Really, Dorothy?” The woman tutted. “I was stood right behind you when you were in the choir.”

  Dot looked the woman over, though she could have sworn she’d never seen her before. She attempted an ‘oh yes, I remember’ smile, but the woman hurried off after the rest of the leeches.

  “I think he did it,” she declared when she and Percy were alone. “Did you see how he just overreacted? Maybe I went in too hot.”

  “What did you ask, my dear?”

  “It’s all a blur.” She tugged at her collar; why did she insist on wearing it so tight? “I got some intel for the board, though. Ethel White, to whom he crudely and incorrectly compared me, is brazenly trying to carry on the group without Penelope.”

  “Sounds like a motive to me.”

  “My thoughts exactly.” Dot tapped her chin. “We need to talk to Ethel. Even if she didn’t do it, she might know something.”

  “Right you are,” he said, his lips tightening. “It’s just, I thought you were leaving Ethel to Amy?”

  Dot glanced over at the organist, dressed in pale pink and baby blue. She closed the lid of the instrument, trapping her finger in the process.

  “I don’t think she’s up to it, do you?”

  But that didn’t mean they couldn’t use her.

  Ignoring the lead Percy held out, Dot hu
rried over to Amy with a wave and a smile, already cooking up a reason to invite her round for tea.

  “These scones are divine,” Amy Clark said after another cream and jam filled bite. “Your granddaughter has gifted hands. I can never get mine like this.”

  Dot bit her tongue and smiled as she topped up Amy’s tea to the brim. She was sure Katie had made most of the scones, though at least to Julia or Pearl’s recipe. She was getting good at biting her tongue. She hadn’t said anything when Amy put the jam on before the cream.

  Cream before jam, always.

  At least she agreed with her mother about one thing.

  “Is that a new cardigan?” Dot asked suddenly. “It’s very . . . pink.”

  “This?” Amy looked down and shook her head. “I got this old thing from the charity shop years ago. It’s held up well, but – Oh, would you look at that. I’ve slopped some jam.”

  “Here.” With a sickly smile, Dot plucked a tissue from the box. “Three ply. Only the best.”

  Amy accepted the offering and rubbed at the stain while Dot bit her tongue yet again.

  Dab don’t rub.

  Perhaps she agreed with her mother on two things.

  “We’ve always been friends, haven’t we, Amy?” Dot smiled, pushing the tray closer. “Have another scone. I have more than I could ever eat.”

  “Oh, thank you.” Amy dabbed her lips with the scrunched tissue. “I probably shouldn’t. We usually go to The Comfy Corner after bridge.”

  “That’s today?”

  “Soon, actually.” Amy checked her watch. “I can only stay for a little longer.”

  Dot swallowed her sigh. Why hadn’t the woman just said so? She’d wasted two delicious scones and a good tissue to get to that information. At least Amy’s admission presented an opportunity for Dot to redeem herself after the friction with Gus.

  “Why don’t we set off now?” Dot stood, pulling Amy off the sofa before she could pick up her scone. “New members are welcomed, I assume?”

  “Oh, I think so, I’m not sure if—”

  “You can vouch for me.”

  Dot pushed Amy in the direction of the front door before calling into the dining room that she was popping out and wouldn’t be long.

  Bridge club, as it turned out, was held in the perfect location for Dot to continue her investigation: Ethel’s home. Ethel lived a short walk across the village in a detached cottage with a scruffy garden. The surrounding area was quiet save for the noise pouring through the open window. Dot heard cackling women from the gate.

  “Laughter right after her leader’s death?” Dot whispered to Amy as they walked up the garden path. “From now on, we’re Dot’s De—” She stopped herself and corrected with: “We’re on our as-yet-unnamed neighbourhood watch team’s time.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that—”

  “If it’s another eye-related or eye-adjacent idea, I don’t want to hear it.”

  “Never mind then.”

  Amy knocked on the door three times before letting herself in. The laughter stopped, and all eyes zoomed towards the newcomer. Dot presented her best smile, but few returned it. Some faces were familiar, but only because she recognised them as living in the village. Everybody was at least a decade younger than her, not that they looked it.

  “This is my friend,” Amy said, breaking the awkward silence that had grown after the women’s laughter had so abruptly ceased. “Everyone, Dot. Dot, everyone.”

  “Yes.” Ethel’s gaze was as scrutinising as Gus’s had been. “I know you from here and there. Are you to join our group?”

  “If you’ll let me.”

  Ethel, a short, slender woman with violet-hued silver curls, homed in on Dot with laser focus, and the women followed where she led. After staring at her for an uncomfortable amount of time, the women looked amongst themselves as if having a telepathic conversation. Dot bit back the urge to tell them where to stick their stuffy silence and shifty looks, but she refrained. She’d bit her tongue a record number of times in the last hour.

  “We were all new once,” Ethel said with a nod, holding out a hand. “Let’s see if you melt into our pot.”

  Dot smiled her appreciation, though she sensed she was on trial from here on out. Suited her perfectly fine, thank you. She was there for information and information only. She’d ditch them long before they rumbled her; if she worked hard, she could be in and out within the hour. Bridge’s complicated rules always bored her to sleep.

  “Make some room for our newcomer, girls,” Ethel ordered from her slightly elevated armchair in the corner. “How’s your game, Dot?”

  “I play decent bridge.”

  “Oh, you didn’t think we actually played bridge, did you?” Ethel cackled, and the women squealed like piggies with her. She reached into a drawer and pulled out a gold-engraved metal tin. Flipping the lid revealed a deck of cards. “I hope you brought your purse.”

  They settled quickly into a low-stakes poker game with penny bets. Dot could hardly believe there was a secret poker group in the middle of the village. How had she never heard of it? She’d had her own organised poker nights over the years, but nothing had stuck. That wasn’t to say she was out of practice, though. Percy had gone from an ear-tugging bluffer to a semi-decent opponent under her tutelage.

  Meanwhile, she’d become even better.

  Not that she could show it.

  Not yet at least.

  She had to blend in with the women and the furniture, though Dot struggled to tell the difference with some. Except for Ethel, it was a room full of Amy Clarks. She held court like no other, leading and dominating most conversations. Dot had to admit Ethel was good at spinning a tale, though she never paused for anyone else to get a word in.

  Thankfully, Ethel’s bullet train sped through every conversation station until it finally arrived at the one Dot had been hoping for.

  “I don’t know what she was doing in that graveyard,” Ethel said, dealing out the cards for another game, “but I can’t say I was surprised when I heard it was Penelope who had died.”

  “That’s a wicked thing to say,” said Martha, evidently the woman designated to volley questions when Ethel did pause to sip tea, deal cards, or play her hand.

  “I said I wasn’t surprised,” she replied with a matching wicked smile. “I didn’t say I was glad. I will admit it makes things a little simpler for me. I was going to wait to announce this until later . . .”

  Ethel paused and the tension mounted. At first, Dot thought she’d lost her train of thought, but Ethel gave herself away with a quick scan to check people were waiting with appropriately bated breath.

  “What the heck!” she cried. “I might as well tell you girls now that I will be taking over Peridale’s Eyes.”

  Ethel paused for gasps, and gasp they did, though Dot did not join them; it was old news.

  “Now that Penelope isn’t in charge,” Martha said, “who’s to say who can and can’t join?”

  “Of course, we’ll still have standards,” Ethel said with some firmness. “But if enough of you meet the measure, who’s to say we can’t have combined ‘bridge’ and neighbourhood watch meetings?”

  While the personality-deprived women chattered about Ethel’s proposal, Dot did everything she could to avoid rolling her eyes. This group of women running the neighbourhood watch? Perhaps Dot’s team comprised only what she had on hand, but this lot left more than a little to be desired.

  Dot had intentionally thrown all her good hands, but just from quick glances at the women she’d been sandwiched between, neither had a brain between them. They were throwing as many winning hands as Dot.

  Unless they were doing it on purpose.

  Ethel did seem to win most of the games.

  “Listen to this,” Martha said as they started a new game. “Someone is going around trying to rally troops to start a new group.”

  “What?” Ethel took a brutish slurp of tea. “Who?”

  Dot sank b
ehind her cards, wanting more than ever to become one with the furniture. None of the women immediately looked at her, though it wouldn’t be long until someone figured it out; she’d called everyone in her phonebook.

  “I got a call about that the other night,” one woman said. “You know, I have no idea who she was.”

  “Can’t be anyone important,” Martha said quickly as Ethel silently seethed in the corner. “Nothing to worry about, I’d say.”

  Dot physically bit her tongue this time. She tried to disguise her little yelp behind a cough as she shifted in her seat. She felt Amy’s eyes on her, but she couldn’t bring herself to look up.

  Since they weren’t onto her, she could afford one question; she’d just have to make it a good one.

  “I heard Penelope was a terrible leader,” Dot said, tossing in a pound coin before taking another card. “She was borderline harassing my granddaughter.”

  A few suspicious eyes turned her way, though Dot suspected it was because she’d finally chosen to vocalise something other than ‘stick’ and ‘I’m out’.

  “You heard right,” Ethel said. “Penelope always had an agenda, and she made that agenda very clear before she died. She’s had us all keeping her secrets without knowing why. But now, it’s . . .”

  Ethel’s voice trailed off to nothing, and Dot caught the unmistakable internal struggle of someone trying to hide their wide-eyed panic after saying too much. Dot had worn the very same look moments ago, but thankfully, nobody had witnessed hers.

  Dot had Ethel right where she wanted her.

  “Secrets about what?” Martha, apparently the only one brave enough to speak, pushed.

  “It doesn’t matter now,” she said. A betraying tremor tainted Ethel’s casual laugh. “Silly neighbourhood watch politics. She took her role as a leader too seriously and, like I said, she had an agenda. She carefully policed what things we could and couldn’t look into, and always went out of her way to make sure her orders were being followed.”

  Ethel inhaled deeply and smiled around the room, skimming over Dot as if she were no longer there.

  “Don’t worry, ladies,” Ethel said, topping up some teacups and once again skipping Dot’s. “If you join, I’ll make sure everyone gets a voice. It’s about time this village had some real eyes watching it.”