Pudding, Poison & Pie (A Marsden-Lacey Cozy Mystery Book 3)

by Sigrid Vansandt

  “Martha? Did you say Greenwoods?” came his voice.

  Both women immediately huddled closer and with great urgency, Martha answered, “Yes, Merriam. Greenwoods in an old lime pit. Can you hear me?”

  The phone made a bell sound and a message blipped up on the screen saying ‘low battery’. They looked at each other with dread.

  “Do you think he got it, Martha?”

  “If he did, I know he’ll be here within the hour, but we’ve got to help ourselves, too.”

  “Okay, but Brickstone will probably have a gun.”

  “We need a plan.”

  A scraping sound above them made Helen and Martha move to the side of the kiln below a stone overhang to hide. They peered upwards. Soon a woman’s head appeared. It was Melissa.

  “Hey! Are you okay?” she called down to them in a low voice.

  Martha and Helen exchanged unsure looks. Neither uttered a sound.

  “Hey! I want to help you,” Melissa said with an urgency in her voice.

  Helen poked her head out. “We need to get out of here, Melissa. We can help you, too, if you’ll let us.”

  “Do you see a door with an iron handle?” she asked in almost a whispered cry.

  “Yes, we see it,” Martha, stepping out from her hiding place, said. “Can we get out through it?”

  Melissa threw something down. It clinked as it hit the stone floor. “That’s the key. Use it quickly and crawl out. He plans to…” she stopped. “Just hurry!”

  The head disappeared from the circle above them and the wooden cover was pushed back in place. Helen and Martha dropped to their knees and felt around on the floor for the key.

  “I’ve got it!” Helen jubilantly cried. Standing up, she helped Martha to her feet. “Come on, let’s give it a try.”

  Using their fingers, they felt for the tiny place to insert the key and found it.

  “Go slow, Helen. It might be fragile and break if we turn too hard,” Martha warned.

  With a tenderness reserved for taking test samples from delicate, priceless documents, Helen worked the key into its lock and ever so gently turned it. The mechanism gave and the door swung open.

  Martha stopped Helen from going immediately through the child-size aperture. She pulled Helen close and whispered into her ear, “What if it’s a trick? We need to go slow and listen.”

  Helen nodded, and Martha picked up one of the hand-sized stones that lay on the kiln’s floor and gestured for Helen to follow her. They knelt down, and squinting her eyes into the darkness, Martha crawled first into the hole.

  “What do you see?” Helen asked, following Martha into the blackness.

  “They must have pulled us or shoved us through here. Hey! I see light! Come on, Helen. We’re almost out.”

  The girls crawled for about five feet and exited into a shed.

  “This must be where they prepped the kiln. Look! There’s lots of wood and charcoal stacked up,” Martha said pointing to a hefty pile of burnable kindling.

  “Oh, my God! Martha! He was going to start a fire!” Helen hissed.

  Holding up a rope, Martha announced, “I’ve got an idea!”

  Chapter 35

  JOHNS’ PHONE WAS RINGING. SERGEANT Endicott maneuvered the car easily back and forth between drivers on the highway. They’d covered the usual two-hour drive in less than an hour and twenty minutes. It was the police chief of the village outside Greenwoods, Johns answered immediately.

  “Bennie.”

  A man’s voice said, “I’m sorry Johns, but our hands are tied. Your supervisor says you’re on probation and not to assist you. If I help you, I’m asking for a substantial fine.”

  Chief Johns held the phone away from his ear. His anger stoked once again by Knells’ ridiculous accusations. He mastered his emotions and replied, “Bennie, do me a favor. If you can get away in about an hour, meet me at the entrance gates. Consider this more of a social call than a professional one.”

  “I’m there. By the way, Merriam, that Knells is a real piece of work. One of my constables worked in Leeds about five years ago, Knells doesn’t like team sports. He’s a snake.”

  “Thanks, Bennie. I’ll see you in an hour.”

  Johns turned off his phone.

  “Sir?” Endicott began.

  “Yeah, Michael.”

  The young sergeant took a deep breath, and as if he was ready to say something he didn’t relish, he banged the steering wheel with his hand.

  “What is it, lad?” Johns asked, a bit stupefied by his sergeant’s unusual emotional outburst.

  “Knells has asked each of us to write a statement regarding your conduct. He said if we didn’t acknowledge your…”

  “Spit it out, lad. I’m fully expecting that louse to manipulate my team to win himself my position as Chief,” Johns said with disgust in his voice.

  “He wants us to acknowledge your affection for a nip or two while on duty.” Endicott let out a gust of air from his lungs. “There I said it, but, sir? We all know about the black purse in the tree pot, and when he found it, we all tried to play dumb. He told us if we didn’t talk, we’d be written up. We need these jobs, sir.”

  Endicott hung his head slightly, whereupon Johns sunk back in his seat, shaking his head from side to side.

  “I’m going to solve these murders and toss Knells by his belt loops out of my constabulary. You’re a good man, Sergeant. Don’t worry about the forced statement. Let’s get to Warwickshire and help Martha and Helen. I’d better call Cousins. He’ll be worried about his fiancé.”

  After trying to explain to Piers that it was better to let the authorities handle the situation, Johns finally threatened him with impeding an investigation if he showed up. Finally, and in record time, they pulled up at the gates of Greenwoods. There sitting in his own car was Bennie. All three men got out of their cars.

  “So, the local gossip says that Lord Percy, who’s about eighty, hasn’t been seen in over six months. That’s not unusual. He’s known for being a recluse. His nephew arrived about that time and hired two women to work for him, one as a cook and the other as a general maid. Both women are not local. What do you need from me?”

  “I received a call from a woman, Martha Littleword, who I believe is under threat. In the last three days, two homicides and one assault, resulting in a victim being taken to the hospital have taken place within close proximity of Mrs. Littleword. She’s also a personal friend of mine and, if you would, I’d like your help.”

  “Let’s go,” Bennie replied, without hesitation.

  All three men got into Johns’ vehicle and turned the car into the lane. As a light snow fell, the world became deceptively quiet, holding its breath and waiting for the inevitable.

  TUCKED INTO THE CORNER OF the limekiln shed, Martha found a sturdy rope. Their plan was to surprise Brickstone when he came to fricassee them and tie him up, then pop him back into the kiln for safe keeping and go to the house to call Johns and Piers.

  “So, here’s what we’ll do. Brickstone has to come through here to access the wood furnace. If he comes through the door, we’ll be standing on either side and trip him with the rope. Your job, Martha, is to get the gun, if he has one, while I quickly tie his feet. What do you think?” Helen asked, her face still covered with soot and her hair completely disheveled, making her look like a deranged wilderness woman.

  Martha, scrunching up her mouth, said sarcastically, “I like it. It’s a good plan. The trick, for me, is not to get shot two or three times while he’s floundering around on the ground.”

  “You sound critical,” Helen replied, her tone indignant.

  “Well, I’ve got to wrestle a loaded gun from a maniac. That’s a trifle more complicated than tying flailing legs.”

  Helen stood back, exasperatedly. “Really? Is this a time to quibble over who does what? If you want to tie his legs, while I grab the gun, fine!”

  Martha again pursed her lips. She actually liked the plan but didn’t want t
o take chances wrangling firearms from a man.

  “What if when he comes into the shed, we hit him over the head with something? That way he’s easier to tie up and less likely to shoot us,” Martha offered.

  Helen nodded, obviously ruminating over the adjusted plan.

  “Sounds good. I don’t want to kill him, though. Promise to tap him only hard enough to knock him silly. Okay?”

  Martha, with her hands firmly positioned on her hips in a posture of consideration, agreed. “Let’s find a rock or brick, something to whack him with.”

  “No. Let’s try a long board. That gives us extra length. Don’t want to get too close,” Helen said.

  “Oh, now it’s about staying safely out of arms range,” Martha snipped.

  “Okay, what’s wrong with you? You’re being very touchy. Why the mood?”

  Martha shuffled around the dark shed looking for a usable piece of wood to knock Brickstone out with and toeing things that might have mice or bugs under them.

  “I’m sorry. I woke up in there,” she gestured toward the kiln where they’d been locked up, “and the whole reality of the last few days came flooding in on me. People are dead because of me, because of some ridiculous moment in time when that crazy nut job and I crossed paths. I didn’t like Saundra and Mrs. Cuttlebirt was a gossip, but that doesn’t mean they deserved what happened to them. It doesn’t make sense and sometimes I need it to. Do you know what I mean?”

  Martha picked up a nice sized piece of firewood and holding it with one hand, hit it a few times against her palm.

  Helen stopped her own search. “Come here,” she said gently.

  Martha, with tears in her eyes, choked up. Salty drops pooled and wound their way down her cheeks. Still holding onto the log of wood, she went over to Helen, who wrapped her in her arms and hugged her for a long time.

  “It’s going to be okay. You’ve been through a rough patch, and there aren’t answers for why bad things happen to people. Keep your faith in goodness. Believe in it, even when it’s too dark to see the other side.”

  Through snuffles and some soft crying, Martha finally choked out, “You’re one of the few people, Helen, I’d want to have in my bomb shelter. I love you. Thank you.”

  Helen patted Martha on her back as they both heard the footfalls coming toward the path. With looks of sheer terror, they jumped to either side of the door, Helen, with the rope and Martha, with the kindling whacker. Martha put her finger over her lips in a gesture of quiet. Helen gave her back a ‘duh’ expression, and they both readied themselves for the strike.

  The wooden shed door swung open, allowing for more of the moonlight to penetrate the interior. A man’s shadow cast itself across the dirt floor. His tread solid, he walked inside.

  Martha, her heart pounding, swung for the back of his head, knocking him forward. He fell to the floor groaning and rolled over.

  “What the Hell?” Brickstone mumbled.

  Something snapped inside Martha and taking her foot, she gave him a firm push, rolling him back over onto his face. She jumped on his back, and grabbing his hair, she ground his face into the dirt of the shed floor.

  “You worthless piece of human trash! How could you? How could you hurt poor defenseless, innocent people so you could have what you want! I’m going to pull every piece of your nasty, creepy hair out of your head!”

  Brickstone cried and flailed under Martha’s attack. Helen tied his feet and then stood back watching Martha take out all of her pent up anger upon the back of Brickstone’s head. It was somewhere in between a third ear pulling and a fifth thwacking between the shoulder blades that Johns, Bennie, and Endicott stepped through the door. Their flashlights danced around the dark room, landing upon Martha’s red mane, whipped into a wild, unkempt storm as she pulled on a pleading Brickstone’s hair.

  The three policemen and Helen exchanged expressions of surprise and consternation at the spectacle happening on the floor in front of them.

  Johns stepped forward and put both his hands, firmly on her shoulders. She became quiet and completely disengaged from assaulting Brickstone.

  “Martha?” Johns said softly. “Please, sweetheart, get off the criminal. I’ll take it from here.” He lifted her up and she turned around abruptly burrowing into his chest. He held her. Endicott and Bennie picked Brickstone up off the floor, his face covered with dirt and sprigs of his hair spiking out in multiple directions.

  “She’s crazy!” he cried with wild-eyed fear upon his muddy face.

  Martha tried to get free from Johns’ embrace, probably to go after Brickstone again, but Johns held her tightly, saying, “Better be glad I don’t turn her loose. She’d most likely enjoy finishing the job.”

  Endicott and Bennie jerked Brickstone out of the shed, leaving Johns to help Martha and Helen find their way back into the main house.

  Later, the girls sat quietly in Greenwoods’ library. They’d built a nice fire in the massive stone fireplace, and Helen had called Piers to explain that she was safe. With Martha’s assistance, Helen was going through the various documents, manuscripts, account books and acquisition logs trying to determine what the collection had held and what had been sold. The job would take some time.

  “Brickstone was thorough, to be sure, but he’d, thankfully, started with the less valuable things. He probably didn’t want to attract too much attention, too fast,” Helen said. She picked up a cup of steaming tea and sipped it.

  Martha was studying a full-length portrait of a lovely woman dressed in a silk gown of the type fashionable during the late eighteenth century. The woman’s face showed a refined grace coupled with bright, intelligent eyes.

  “You know what, Helen? I think if she walked into the room at this moment, we’d like her.”

  “Who?” Helen mumbled, focusing only on the work before her.

  “The woman in the portrait.”

  Helen looked up and turned her head to see who Martha was talking about. “Oh, yeah, I guess we would. She has a kind face.”

  “Do you see the bow and arrow she’s holding in her hands? That seems unusual for a woman of that time,” Martha mused.

  “Actually, it was fashionable for genteel women to learn archery.” Helen went back to pouring over her accounts, but added, “Gave them an outlet. Their lives were pretty constrained for the most part.”

  Martha continued to consider the woman in the painting. “I bet she was a force to be reckoned with. You can see her spirit in her eyes.”

  Johns and Sergeant Endicott walked into the room. Both women turned toward them.

  “Did Brickstone tell you everything he told us?” Martha asked.

  “Yes, he’s on his way into Stratford’s Constabulary. He’s got lots of time ahead of him to think about his crimes. Lord Percy’s body was collected and his nephew is being contacted. They’ve picked up Melissa Sutherland. She was halfway to Bath. Melissa is willing to talk.”

  “Well, she did save Martha and me,” Helen interjected.

  “Yes, that will be taken into consideration. Brickstone, on the other hand, has a lot to answer for,” Johns chuckled. “But, I think the best punishment he’s ever likely to receive was the thrashing you gave him, dear.”

  Martha gave him a loving smile and turned to Helen.

  “Come on, Helen. Let’s get home. I’ve got a child to pick up Wednesday and a house to get tidy. We can dig in this mausoleum another day.”

  Helen shut her books and walked over to the group ready to leave.

  “Help me snuff the fire. We don’t want anything to happen to this house. It’s a wonder of English history. I’m going to have a friend of mine from the National Trust come down and see what he thinks they might be able to do. If the new heir wants to sell the Shakespearian documents, he’ll have more than enough money to put the house and estate back to rights.”

  Both women unconsciously looked up at the woman’s portrait over the fireplace.

  “I think she’d like that,” Martha sa
id softly.

  “Yes, let’s do our best to make it happen,” Helen added.

  Johns went over and tamped out the fire. The four people left the room and made their way out to the parked vehicle. As the car pulled out of the pebbled courtyard, Martha turned back for one last look. What she saw made her nudge Helen.

  “Do you see what I see?” she asked.

  There in the library’s long window stood a woman dressed like the one in the portrait. She raised her hand in an acknowledgment, on her face an expression of gratitude and then she was gone.

  Helen and Martha exchanged smiles. The past and the present were finally reconciled.

  Chapter 36

  “One feast, one house, one mutual happiness.”

  -Shakespeare, Two Gentlemen of Verona, Act V, Scene IV

  PRACTICALLY EVERY WINDOW AT HEALY was illuminated. Christmas Eve was in full swing and Piers pulled out all the stops to make it one of the most memorable the old Elizabethan pile had seen in a long time. The dining room was dressed with crisp white table linens. Beautiful hand-painted china and delicate crystal stemware graced the impressively long table. A centerpiece of candles and grape vines intertwined into the shape of a Christmas tree, festooned with evergreens and holly berries charmed everyone who saw it.

  The guests arrived through the main hall and collected together in front of the massive fireplace where a log of enormous girth snapped and crackled within its stone embrace.

  “Here’s more mulled wine,” Señor Agosto declared as he brought in a tray of clear cups full of the spicy, warm traditional drink.

  All those dearest to Helen and Piers were assembled. Emerson and Christine’s young son, Robert, both played with Amos. They kept up a merry chase running up and down the long hallway, tossing toys for Amos to fetch. Martha, Kate and the new boyfriend, James, sat comfortably together on the Knole sofa and wingback chairs telling stories to Christine and her husband Joseph about the Pudding and Pie Contest. Johns and Polly had just arrived.