by Morgana Best
I looked at Mr. Buttons. “Could someone please tell me what you’re talking about?”
Mr. Buttons fidgeted. “This morning, Alison and I went into the library and we found a cereal bowl in there. The library is rarely used, and I said that Tim Higgins might have been in there. As you said it was cyanide, Alison and I thought we should put the cereal bowl in a plastic bag to keep it safe, just in case Tim was eating from it before he died. Alison said she’d call the police to collect it.”
“We left it here, in the kitchen,” Alison said. “Now it’s gone.” She glared at Mr. Buttons, and then gasped, raising her hand to her face. “The dishwasher!”
She hurried to the dishwasher and opened it. After the steam cleared, we could see a lone cereal bowl. Alison looked up at Mr. Buttons. “Mr. Buttons, why did you put the cereal bowl in the dishwasher?”
Mr. Buttons shook his head. “It wasn’t me.”
Alison put her hands on her hips. “Well, someone took that cereal bowl out of the plastic bag and put it in the dishwasher. What’s more, it’s the only item in the dishwasher, so it’s not as if someone did it by accident.”
I watched as the man’s jaw ticked, his fists clenching across the table. He took up his cup of tea and sipped it slowly, but then set it back down again so that he could speak.
“I have obsessive compulsive disorder when it comes to cleanliness and neatness, and the like. I can’t control it. If it’s dirty, I must clean it,” he said. “Yet I can assure you, I did not touch that cereal bowl.”
No one had a chance to speak further as Cressida burst into the room, with Sergeant Wessley right behind her. “Blake is here for the cereal bowl,” she announced, stating the obvious.
Mr. Buttons and I exchanged glances. I noticed that Alison looked decidedly uncomfortable.
The sergeant nodded to us. “Now where’s the cereal bowl?”
For a moment no one spoke, and then Mr. Buttons said, “After Alison called you about the cereal bowl, I decided to vacuum, and then Sibyl came, and Alison made us a cup of tea.”
Blake shifted from one foot to another. I could see he was impatient, but he waited for Mr. Buttons to continue.
“Then,” Mr. Buttons said, “when the three of us came into the kitchen, Alison noticed that the dishwasher was on. She opened it, and the cereal bowl was in there.”
Blake looked at us. “Did any of you do it?’
We shook our heads.
Mr. Buttons stood up. “Blake, you know I have obsessive compulsive disorder and I can’t control it. I admit I vacuumed the crime scene –“
Blake interrupted him. “You vacuumed the crime scene?”
Mr. Buttons folded his arms across his chest. “I had to clean up the mess. It was horrible. Once the police have their evidence ready, you’ll see that I’m clearly not the perpetrator of the crime. I simply had to clean it,” he repeated.
Blake’s face darkened. “We’ve finished with the crime scene anyway, just as well for you, Mr. Buttons. Now tell me, who had access to this room after Alison called me, apart from the three of you and Ms. Upthorpe?” He looked directly at me.
For some reason, his unwavering gaze made me feel guilty. “I didn’t have access to it,” I said. “I didn’t go anywhere near the kitchen.”
Blake gave me a weary look. “Who met you at the door?”
I frowned. “Well, no one. I knocked for a while and when no one came, I walked inside, and found Mr. Buttons.”
“So you could’ve gone straight to the kitchen first.”
I narrowed my eyes. I hadn’t thought of it like that. “Well, yes, I suppose. But I didn’t,” I ended lamely.
Blake turned back to Mr. Buttons. "Why did you go into the library?"
Cressida interrupted him. "Lord Farringdon said I left my favorite reading glasses in there, so I asked Mr. Buttons if he'd go fetch them for me."
Mr. Buttons nodded vigorously. "And as I was going in there, Alison saw me and came with me."
Blake's face was growing redder. "Lord Farringdon, you mean the cat, right?" He shook his head and before anyone could respond, he added, “Who else had access to the kitchen?”
“Only Nora, the cleaning lady,” Cressida said.
“And where is Nora now?”
Cressida walked over to the table and sat down. “Cleaning upstairs somewhere.”
Blake rubbed his forehead. “All right, would someone please go get her?”
“I’ll go.” Alison hurried out of the room.
An uncomfortable silence hung in the room. After a while, Cressida got up and made herself a cup of tea. I fidgeted nervously while Blake just stood there, his arms still crossed.
I looked at Mr. Buttons as he sipped his tea, not making eye contact with anyone. Was he telling the truth or was he trying to cover something up?
It seemed like an age before Alison returned with Nora. Nora looked flustered. She was clutching a spray bottle of disinfectant.
The sergeant pointed to a chair. “Sit down, please, Nora.”
Nora looked around, I assume for a place to deposit the bottle. Cressida, visibly annoyed with her, stood up and took the bottle from her. Nora sat down and then looked at each of us in turn.
“Nora, where have you been for the last hour?”
Nora looked at the cop. “Upstairs, cleaning.”
Blake wrote that down in his note book. When he had finished, he looked up at her. “For the whole hour? You didn’t come downstairs at all?”
“Yes, I mean no.” Nora shook her head. “I mean I’ve been cleaning upstairs for the whole hour, and I didn’t come downstairs.”
“Not once in that time?”
Nora shook her head again, and wrung her hands.
Blake wrote something else in his note book. “And you didn’t see anyone the whole time?”
“No,” Nora said.
Nora and I looked at each other. I had no idea that Nora even existed or was working at the boarding house, and we as yet hadn't been introduced. Still, I supposed this wasn't the time for social niceties.
Blake looked around at all of us. “And no one admits to putting that cereal bowl in the dishwasher?”
We all shook our heads.
Blake frowned. “The detectives will be back to interview all of you.” His tone was solemn.
“Why?” I asked. “Does that mean it was murder? Tim Higgins, I mean?”
Blake looked at me for a moment before answering. “Yes.”
Everyone gasped.
“All the results aren’t back yet,” he continued, “but they found evidence of cyanide poisoning in the trachea and bronchi, along with other signs. The pathologist has sent samples to the toxicologist to confirm cyanide, but at this stage, it’s pretty clear it was murder by cyanide. What’s more, his last meal was cereal.”
There was a collective gasp.
I looked around at each person in turn. Someone sitting here was surely the murderer. Cressida? Mr. Buttons? Alison? Nora? Someone had put that cereal bowl in the dishwasher to destroy the evidence. The only thing I knew for sure was that Mr. Buttons and Alison couldn’t have been in it together, as they had found the cup together and alerted the police.
That left four murder suspects, and all of them my close neighbors.
"A man may smile and bid you hail
Yet wish you to the devil;
But when a good dog wags his tail,
You know he's on the level."
(Anonymous)
Chapter Seven.
I jumped when someone knocked on the door. Surely the detectives hadn’t come back? They had come to my cottage and given me the third degree the previous day after the incident with the cereal bowl. Surely they didn’t think I was a suspect; after all, I was the one had who mentioned cyanide.
“Hello, anybody there? State your name,” I called out. I figured it wouldn’t be a good idea to fling open the door and find a murderer on my doorstep – not that I’d know the murderer if I saw them, I realized.
> “Yes, it’s Alison,” a female voice said through the door.
I opened the door and gave Alison my warmest smile to make up for acting weirdly. “Hi, Alison; I’m glad to see you.” I motioned for Alison to come in, but the maid smiled and shook her head.
“No, thanks. I just came to invite you to lunch.”
“Today?” I tried to figure out the time. I’d fallen asleep on the sofa after a restless night of tossing and turning.
Alison nodded. “Yes, now. I’ve made some preparations already. The tenants are out and Cressida’s away for the day.”
I smiled. “I’d love to come over for lunch, thanks.”
I closed the door behind me and followed Alison down the worn pathway to the large boarding house, down the creepy dismal corridor, and into the dated kitchen. I sat and watched in the kitchen like an obedient child, while Alison chopped up the vegetables and stirred some broth in a pot.
As Alison was cooking, I squirmed in my seat, suddenly nervous. I was aware of the fact that I was in sitting in the very boarding house where the murder was committed. Who could the murderer be? I had no clue, and I hoped the police were doing better. I wondered if Alison suspected Mr. Buttons, though could hardly ask.
“There we go,” Alison said, depositing the plates on the table.
She laid out a soup bowl and plate with a crusty, fresh bread roll. It was a welcome change from the ghastly microwave dinners I usually made for myself.
I brought a spoon of soup to my mouth and blew on it, pretending I was doing so to cool it down, but I sniffed it. After all, Alison could well be the murderer. There was no smell of bitter almonds, so I gingerly placed the spoon in my mouth. To my relief, Alison ate some soup. She had ladled both her soup and mine from the same pot.
“Thanks, Alison; this is good.”
The maid shrugged, as if it wasn’t a big deal.
There was no conversation for a while, but just as I finished my soup, Alison spoke. “You’re not married?”
I hesitated for a moment, and then answered. “No, I’m not; I’m divorced. My husband cheated on me, so I left him. I decided to come here for a new start.” I laid down my spoon, the topic about my ex-husband leaving a bitter taste that lingered in my mouth.
Alison folded her hands and her eyes narrowed. “I got rid of my man for the same reason.” She chuckled, but did not look at all amused.
I was curious about Alison’s story, but I could see from the stony lines on her face that she didn’t want to push the topic further.
“What do you think of the sergeant?”
I was taken aback by Alison’s question. “Um, he’s all right, I suppose. He’d be better if he didn’t see me as a suspect.”
Alison laughed. “I’m sure he doesn’t. His last girlfriend -” She stopped and rolled her eyes. “Well, I haven’t been in town for long, but Cressida said she was attractive, but there was nothing in her head. She was always going on about vibrations and things like that, you know, to cure illnesses. She was a new age hippy type. Who knows what she was talking about! Do you think you’ll ever get married again?”
I shrugged. “Dunno. It’s too way early to think about such things. It would be nice to have someone to depend on, that sort of thing.” A wave of sadness overwhelmed me, and I bit back the tears. I had thought that Andrew was the man I would always be with, that he was The One. Now he was gone, and I was in a strange town, all by myself.
Alison nodded her agreement. “So you’re going to do pet grooming?”
“Yes, I bought a mobile pet grooming van. I’ve always loved animals, and I’ve always wanted my own business, and now I have both. It’s a bit daunting though; I don’t know if I’ll be able to make enough out of it to live on.”
“Did you leave him as soon as he cheated on you?” Alison asked.
I was surprised by the rapid change of subject, and didn’t reply for a while, pushing the bread roll around my plate. I had only just met Alison and barely knew anything about her, and what’s more, I had only opened up to my family about my divorce. I had written down the feelings, the hurt, and the anger and everything pertaining to it, in my journal.
I had no desire to open up to Alison, but I had to say something. “Yes, what about you?”
Alison frowned and bit her bottom lip. “It had been going on for some time, but it took me a while to come to my senses and sort it all out.”
I swallowed some bread roll and murmured my sympathy. “And you never remarried?”
Alison looked shocked. “Oh, it was fairly recent.”
“I’m sorry.” I thought that Alison and I might become friends; after all, we’d shared an experience. “Mine had cheated on me for some time before I only found out.”
Alison nodded. “That was probably the case with me, too.”
“You know, I don’t even know how he found women out where he was working, out in the mining industry.”
Alison looked interested. “Where was he working; out on an oil rig? Not many women work offshore.”
I frowned. “Not many women work where he works either, but he managed to find them, that’s for sure. He’s a chemical engineer working for one of the companies that makes sodium cyanide.”
Alison gasped. I shot her a sharp look, and she said, “People make cyanide? Like the cyanide that killed Tim Higgins?”
I nodded. “Sure, for the mining industry, you know, to separate gold and silver from iron ore, that kind of thing. I was always stuck in Sydney, and Andrew was always working in the mining industry.”
I was surprised that no tears had sprung to my eyes while I recounted my sorry tale. Alison reached over the table and squeezed my hand.
“I’m sorry; that’s awful. I can relate, though. My ex was the same. Your last name, Potts, is that your husband’s name?”
I meant to give a rude, short laugh but it came out more as a grunt. “No, his name is Rankin, Andrew Rankin. Potts is my maiden name. I changed it when I found out that Andrew had several affairs; I wanted nothing to do with that name.”
I looked at Alison but her face was frozen. “Alison, are you okay?”
“That’s awful, Sibyl. I’m so sorry to hear that. Did you say he had several affairs?”
I nodded. “Yes, he admitted to it. Well, gloated, more like it.”
“Men have needs,” Alison snapped, “and sometimes they neglect to remember that those needs should be satisfied by just one woman and not by some…” Alison’s voice trailed away and she clutched at her throat.
I wondered if her divorce was recent; it appeared as if that were the case. I wanted to comfort Alison, but didn’t know how.
At that, the conversation died away and there seemed to be no point in furthering it. I stood up to carry my dirty plates into the sink, but Alison stopped me.
“The dishwasher takes care of everything. Don’t worry about the dishes. Let me show you to the door,” Alison said.
I protested, but left the plates on the table as Alison led me out of the boarding house.
I walked back to the cottage with an overwhelming sense of tiredness. I just wanted a quiet life with no drama or intrigue. Was that too much to ask?
"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 Eight.
I woke up to the sound of “Don’t stop Believing” blaring from my bedside radio. It was early – earlier than I normally woke up. I had a trip to make, but otherwise today could be spent however I pleased. I had no clients lined up for the day, and I wanted to spend more time figuring out how to get more business. I got up and ran through my routine, having a shower, getting ready, making a morning coffee and eating a bowl of cereal.
This morning, the coffee and cereal both tasted different. I was in the habit of having both every morning, but today something
was wrong. Maybe the milk in the cereal was bad; maybe it was something else, but I drank the coffee and ate the cereal anyway. One doesn’t break a caffeine and cereal addiction for the simple issue of terrible flavor. I was in a rush to pick up a “Simpson Superjet Stand Dryer” for my dog grooming business – the older dryer that came with the van had been playing up, and I didn’t want to risk it breaking down on a day I couldn’t make the trip. A town as small as Little Tatterford didn’t stock this kind of speciality product, so I had to make the trip over the nearby mountain to the next town over. It was only an hour or so, but it wasn’t a trip I could make if I had clients to tend to. Luckily, today was different – aside from my bad coffee, the day was looking up. The sun was shining, and the forecast said the weather was here to stay.
I jumped in my van early, so I could get home early and relax for the afternoon. It started first go – something I wished would happen more often – and I was off for the day. I didn’t mind the trip, but it wasn’t particularly exciting. The mountain (which comprised the majority of travel time) was full of twists and turns, which at least kept me alert, but the scenery was nothing to write home about. There were about twenty minutes of straight road between Little Tatterford and the base of the mountain which had the exact opposite problem; from there the road was straight and exceptionally boring, but the countryside was beautiful. There were rolling hills in the distance with farmland in the foreground, with sheep, horses, and cattle mulling about lazily. I wondered what it would be like to spend the day as such an animal, just wondering aimlessly about, doing nothing but eating food and sleeping. It dawned on me that recently my life wasn’t so different, for better or worse.
I was already quite tired before I reached the base of the mountain. It’d only been fifteen minutes – I’d made good time – but I was feeling so tired that it were as if I had made the entire trip already. Maybe a second coffee would have helped. Either way, there wasn’t anywhere safe to pull over for the next several minutes.
Today was a day for being lazy, like the cows, not for being sensible. As ridiculous as it was, this was the sentiment that ran through my mind as I drove along. I felt my thoughts degrade to this kind of thing. Normally my driving time was spent in quiet reflection, but on this trip something was off. I was thinking silly, irrelevant thoughts. I noticed the birds flitting around, diving in front of the car, and wondered what it must be like to sing all day. I noticed a lizard on the road and thought about his family.
