A Debt Is Finally Paid (A Marsden-Lacey Cozy Mystery Book 2)

by Sigrid Vansandt

  The two policemen walked farther down to where three well-maintained narrowboats lay quietly against the canal’s embankment. Two children sat on a man’s lap holding onto his sweater and staring with large, round eyes at Richards and Johns.

  “Are you one of the Rossar-mescros?” Johns called loudly.

  The man nodded yes.

  “He doesn’t have words,” one of the children said. “He uses his hands to talk.”

  Johns took a deep breath and let it out. Heads peeked out of back doors and windows of the three boats. First, Johns saw a young boy’s face and an older woman’s. Slowly, the Rossar-mescro family reemerged from their floating homes. Not a single one of them appeared to be inclined to conversation, but Johns’ twenty-some years in the force meant he was comfortable handling a crowd.

  “Does anyone here know anything about the attack? I will be needing statements from everyone, but it would be a great help, if you have information, to come forward.”

  Watching and waiting, Johns soon got the picture. Not a single person made a move to say anything, instead they stared past Johns and Richards to the figure of Stephan Rossar-mescro coming down the tow path.

  The Romani wouldn’t talk until they were given the sign it was okay from their paterfamilias.

  Once the older man arrived, Johns said, “Mr. Rossar-mescro, you need to let your family know if they have any information, they need to share it with the police. This is a serious crime we’ve got on our hands. I know this is a terrible thing to happen to you, but if the murderer is close by, we need information to catch them.”

  Stephan studied Johns’ face for a brief minute. Turning to his family, he said, “Laura has been killed. If you saw anything, tell this man. He’s honest and fair.”

  With that statement, the entire group of water travelers talked at once.

  “Wait, wait a minute!” Johns’ voice raised over the chorus of people all trying to talk at once.

  “One at a time, please. Let’s start with this lady.” Johns pointed to a small, older woman of about seventy. “Madam, who are you and did you see anything?”

  The wizened face gave nothing away. She pursed her lips and, taking a deep breath, said, “I am Miri, Stephan’s sister. Laura saw a man sitting on the other side of the water.” She pointed to the place Stephan had earlier indicated. “Laura told him she knew why he was a hunter. She said Baba told her he was a shade come to take something that wasn’t his. I heard her tell him to go away.”

  “Anyone else see the man or talk with him?” Detective Richards asked.

  The remainder of the party shook their heads back and forth. Johns knew that it was a living, breathing person since both Stephan and Miri had seen him. The Romani communicated things differently.

  The boy sitting on the mute’s lap climbed down and pointed to the soccer field laying adjacent to the tow path they stood on. “Laura walked over to the field. There. She was gone for a long time but she came back through the grass over by the big wheel.”

  Johns peered down the tow path to see the old abandoned mill house lying on the same side as where both Miri and Stephan indicated seeing the man watching the Romani. “One last question. Is anything missing?”

  The child spoke one last time. “In her hand, there was something long and bright. It glittered in the sun. She went to fight the hunter.”

  “Baba’s sword?” Johns asked almost more to himself than to the others listening.

  The old woman narrowed her eyes at the words Johns uttered. She crossed herself muttering something about greed and ghosts. She raised her hand at the others to focus their attention on what she would say next. They waited for her words.

  “Baba Sophia’s sword must be found. No stone unturned until it's back with the Rossar-mescros. No stone unturned.”

  Johns, at her words, tensed. The last thing he needed was a family of Romani running around the country digging under people’s flower pots and in their garden sheds trying to find a long, deadly knife.

  “Mrs. Rossar-mescro, we don’t want your family searching for this man or for the sword. He's dangerous. Let the police do their work and we’ll find your family’s heirloom. Will you give me a description of it?” He turned to Stephan for an answer.

  “It was long and slightly curved. There was a gold handle. It’s been in our family for almost a hundred years and was my Baba’s, or as you say, grandmother’s. It was our good luck piece.”

  Stephan’s demeanor changed as he talked. He was pensive and in a burst of oration for everyone to hear, he said, “The sword took one of our own. It’s turned on our family. No one must keep it, if they find it. Give it to this man.” He pointed at Johns. Turning to the Chief, he continued, “There’s a curse now on that blade. It will bring only darkness and death. No Rossar-mescro will be stung by its poison again. The blade and the paper are brothers. One will try and find the other and evil haunts the person who handles either.”

  The group was quiet. A gurgle and humming slowly emanated from the old woman, Miri, who earlier called for the sword to be found. She stared into the sky as if in a trance and her body became rigid. Like a Greek oracle from old, Miri’s voice boomed from her fragile body with this warning:

  “A Helen holds the letter.

  A hunter wields the blade.

  Death creeps among us,

  A debt is finally paid.”

  Chapter 11

  MARTHA AND HELEN PULLED UP in front of the veterinary office a few minutes before five o’clock. Amos was coming home and Martha was trying to prepare herself emotionally to see the tiny invalid.

  “Helen, when we see Amos for the first time, whatever you do, don’t laugh. She’s sensitive about her appearance and this may be an extremely humbling experience for her ego.”

  “It’s a dog, Martha.”

  “Helen! I’m not going to argue the notion that she isn’t human. She’s better!”

  In a bit of a huff and feeling indignant by the tone of Helen’s dog comment, Martha grabbed a pink baby blanket from the back of her car and made her way into the vet’s office with Helen coming up behind.

  The girls waited in the reception area until one of the assistants came out of the back holding a cone-wearing Amos. All four legs were shaved except for the paws, which had been left with long fur patches giving the pint-sized dog the appearance of wearing baggy socks. Small scrapes and bruises were along her shaved sides and a large pink bandage weaved and wrapped its way around her chest, back and front shoulder. Amos’ tail was wonky and naked except for some fluff still wobbling at the tip.

  When the patient saw Martha, the once fuzzy tail wagged feebly in recognition. Martha’s maternal heart experienced a strong thump of pity and love.

  She went over to the pathetic dog and wrapped her gently in the pink blanket. “It’s going to be okay, Fuzzy-pants. I’ve got lots of treats for you at home,” her voice heavy with emotion.

  Amos wagged her tail even harder and shot a glance at the exit in a worried way.

  “Don’t worry, we’re going home. Helen, would you please pay for me? I’m taking Amos out to the car.”

  Helen took Martha’s purse, paid, and drove them home. When they arrived, Johns was waiting in his car parked by the garden wall of Flower Pot Cottage. He came over to Martha’s door and opened it. There, in Martha’s arms, was a plastic cone wrapped in a pink blanket. Deep within the cone’s recess were two coal-black eyes and one black nose.

  “Girls, let me help you inside. I have something to tell you,” he said.

  Martha detected from his tone that it wasn’t something good. She hustled in through the garden gate and turned to see Johns scanning the area and waiting for Helen to lock up the car. Once Helen was through the gate Johns followed her indoors.

  With the front door locked, Johns said he wanted to check the house and asked the girls to stay in the living room.

  “What on Earth is this all about, Merriam?” Martha demanded.

  Johns turn
ed to see three sets of blinking eyes waiting for an answer. “I don’t want to worry you but I have reason to believe someone is searching for Helen and that person may be dangerous.”

  Martha and Helen stared dumbfoundedly at Johns.

  “What the heck is going on? Dangerous person? Helen, why would anyone want to hurt you?” Martha shifted her gaze back and forth between Johns and Helen then stopped as if some truth dawned on her. “That was a dumb thing to say. Just two months ago someone was trying to ice you. What is it with you and people wanting to mess you up?”

  “How should I know! You haven’t stopped rambling long enough for the Chief to tell me. Give the man a chance to finish. Please!” Helen said, exasperated.

  They both took deep breaths and exhaled forcefully. Giving Johns their full attention, they raised their eyebrows and waited for him to explain.

  “Helen, the documents Stephan Rossar-mescro gave you, do you still have them?” Johns asked.

  “Yes, I do. They’re in my briefcase.”

  “Good, I’ll be taking them as evidence in a murder investigation,” he replied.

  “Murder? Who’s dead?” Martha demanded.

  Johns paused and studied the two women. “Helen do you know a woman named Sharon O’Connor? She lived in Nottingham.”

  “Yes, I know Sharon. Please, please tell me it isn’t her you’re investigating?”

  Johns nodded. “I’m sorry Helen. It’s Sharon. She was murdered about forty-eight hours ago. Can’t be specific with the time yet.”

  Martha put Amos on the couch and laid a hand on Helen’s shoulder. “Would you like a cup of tea, Helen? Here, have a seat and I’ll run in the kitchen and make us all one.”

  “Martha, stay put for a moment,” Johns said in a firm tone. “I need to check around and I’d like it if both of you are in the same place. I’ve got Sergeant Endicott outside sweeping the area and in a minute we’ll all have a chat. Okay?”

  The girls said they would wait. While Johns searched the rooms, Helen and Martha sat subdued on the couch.

  “You okay, Helen?” Martha asked in a low voice.

  “Oh, Martha. Not really. She was a friend and an excellent colleague. Why would anyone want to kill Sharon?”

  “What kind of work did she do?”

  “She owned an antique store and dealt in rare books, prints and miniatures,” Helen replied.

  “Do you think the document might have something to do with it?”

  “No idea, but why would Sharon send the letter to me?”

  “Was she an honest sort of person?”

  “I think so. She was one of those people who liked to help out in areas she enjoyed. Kind of an eccentric, but definitely a professional.”

  “If she sent the document to you, she must have thought it was something deserving of special care or of unique importance. Don’t you think?” Martha asked.

  “The only reason I can think of Sharon would send it to me is she wanted it authenticated or perhaps she recognized its value and wanted a second opinion.”

  “When you studied it, was there something special about it?”

  “No, other than it was old,” Helen replied. “It was written in Russian. I won’t know more until a friend of mine in Nottingham has a chance to see it. One thing though that stood out. There was a list on the document, and I had the feeling it corresponded some how with the boats belonging to the Romani people.”

  Johns came back into the room and the girls stopped talking.

  “Find anything of interest upstairs?” Martha asked.

  Johns smiled. “The house is safe.”

  “Safe enough for me to go make some tea?” Martha stood up.

  A loud knock came at the front door making Amos bark and everyone else jump except Johns. The dog’s cone slightly quivered from the low guttural sound emanating from the broken but brave protector of hearth and home. Johns walked over and opened the door and Amos wobbled over to sniff at Michael Endicott, one of the leading lights of the Marsden-Lacey Constabulary force.

  “Nothing to report, Chief,” Michael said. “But there are signs along the back kitchen window of someone trying to break in. Also, someone’s been smoking back and forth along the canal side of the garden wall. The butts are new ones, probably only one or two days old.”

  Martha spoke up at the news. “Someone’s been out there? That must be why Amos was so agitated yesterday when she ran out in front of your car. She whined and scratched at the door all morning on Tuesday. That’s not normal unless she thinks something or someone is outside. I thought it was because the wind was blowing things around.”

  “Are you thinking that someone is watching the cottage, Chief?” Helen asked.

  “Yes,” Johns answered. “The Romani made no secret of their intent to come find you. Michael, pick up a few of the butts and get them to forensics.”

  Turning to Martha and Helen, he said, “Ladies, want to come stay at the farm for a while? Mum would love to have the company. We’ve loads of room. She’s busy with her garden planning these days but she’s one incredible cook.”

  Martha shook her head. “I don’t think that would work. What about Amos? Would your mother be okay with pets?”

  Johns frowned. “If you stay here, I can’t guarantee your safety unless I put men around the house twenty-four seven. That’s not in my budget.” He thought a moment and smiled rakishly. “There’s always your former accommodations at the jail.”

  “Not happening,” Martha and Helen said in unison. They both laughed and said to the other, “You owe me dinner!”

  “Hey, quit clowning around. This is serious. Bring the dog, bring the cats. I’ve got lots of mice for them to catch.”

  The girls shrugged.

  “If your mother tells us it’s okay, we would do it,” Helen said.

  “Fair enough. Give me a second to call her.”

  He walked away down the hall and a few minutes later he handed the phone to Helen.

  “Mrs. Johns? Yes, this Helen Ryes. We don’t want to inconvenience you…”

  Everyone watched Helen’s face as she talked with Polly Johns. She smiled and quickly shot a glance at Chief Johns like she was hearing some juicy morsel of information. Laughing, she said, “We would love to come over. Thank you so much for your hospitality. Yes, I promise to bring my parcheesi board.”

  Helen handed the phone back to Johns.

  “Yes, Mum. I’m going to tell them you like to play for big stakes and you’re not as innocent as you try to appear. We should be there in about an hour.”

  Chief Johns ended his call. “Girls, how about you get packed.”

  Helen’s face drained of color and she pointed down the hall to the window.

  Johns turned in time to see a white face peering in the corner pane of glass before it vanished. “Go, Mike, and take the front way. I’m out the back.”

  The men moved like cats, quietly and quickly out of the room, leaving Helen and Martha holding on to each other. Amos went berserk barking. Gus and Vera, the two cats who had been curled up in their favorite chair together, scuttled out of the living room and up the stairs.

  “I’m not waiting around here to be shot or stabbed. I’m going to get my stud stick upstairs,” Martha said.

  “Your what?” Helen exclaimed.

  “My stud stick,” Martha said nonchalantly. “You know, the cricket bat I’ve got upstairs?”

  “Why on God’s green earth is it called a stud stick?” Helen asked.

  “Well, because you have to be kind of a stud, or tough guy, to handle it,” Martha said cockily while standing there with one hand on her hip.

  “I tell you what, Martha. If you try and leave me to go up and retrieve your so-called stud stick, you might find me bowling a beamer at you with that house shoe over there.”

  Martha nudged the shoe with her foot. “What’s a beamer?”

  “Ask your guy. He’d know.”

  After a few frustrating minutes of wondering wha
t the men were finding outside, Martha convinced Helen it would be okay to get their overnight bags ready. Happy with any excuse to quit standing around like fish in a barrel, the girls went upstairs and packed.

  Coming back down, Helen remembered she was supposed to meeting Piers. “Fudge! I forgot about Piers. He’s supposed to be meeting me on the Barbel Bridge.”

  Glancing at her watch, she said, “Oh, no. He’s probably there. I’ve got to call him.”

  Helen picked up her cell phone and dialed Piers’ number. No answer, so she left a message asking him to call.

  Johns and Michael stomped into the house. The Chief’s face was blotchy with anger.

  “Are you ready, ladies? I’d like to leave immediately.”

  “What happened?” Helen asked.

  “Whoever it was used the canal to escape. They must have a boat. We just heard a motor and because it’s dark, we were only able to see the silhouette of a person in a motor craft going up the canal. Let’s make haste and get you both out to the farm.”

  “Which way did he go, Chief?” Martha asked.

  “Towards Barbel Bridge.”

  “Piers!” the girls said together.

  Helen’s phone rang and it was Piers. She quickly hit accept.

  “Piers? Are you on the bridge?” Helen asked hurriedly. She nodded to the others that he was indeed on the bridge.

  “Do you see anyone coming up the river in a small powerboat?”

  No one in the room moved. Their gazes focused on Helen’s face. She nodded. “He can hear a small motor in the distance but definitely coming toward him. Piers, if you get a chance to see the person, try and use your phone to take a photo, okay?”

  Johns countermanded her request, “No! Tell him to not draw any attention to himself, but if at all possible to see where the person goes. I’m going to the constabulary to get Sergeant Cross. We’ll cover the two roads on the bridge.”

  Helen reiterated exactly what the Chief had said and hit end on her phone. “He says he’ll do it and will call us.”

  “Ladies, I want you to follow Michael to the farm. I’ve got Mr. Cousins’ phone number. I’ll see you hopefully later this evening. Mum will be waiting for you.”