“Hey, maybe you should step back a little from the window,” Malcolm says, pulling me back a little. “Are you okay? You seem far away.”
“Sorry, I was thinking about the teacher that was pushed off of the tower,” I say.
“I thought the police said he killed himself?”
“Well, yes, but I’m not sure I agree with them. I keep thinking both of the deaths must be connected. I’m sorry. I wish I wasn’t thinking about this. I was hoping to focus solely on you this weekend and put everything that’s been happening out of my mind for a while.”
“That’s probably impossible. I mean, two people may have been murdered at your school over the last few weeks.”
“Also, I didn’t tell you this before because we don’t know each other that well and I didn’t want to freak you out, but because I found both of the bodies and am new at the school, the police are interested in me.”
“As a suspect?” Malcolm asks in horror.
“Yes,” I say with a sigh, my stomach immediately knotting up. “I would completely understand if you don’t want to see my any more.”
“Alice, that’s ridiculous. I haven’t known you for that long, but I’m certain you’re not capable of murder.”
“You’re not freaked out? You don’t want to pack up and go directly back to Scotland?”
“No. Of course not,” he says, wrapping me in a bear hug. “No wonder you’re distracted. Anyone would be.”
“Thank you. I feel much better after telling you. I didn’t want to keep it from you, but I was afraid of your reaction.”
Malcolm looks at his watch. “It’s close to noon. How about we go find a cozy cafe and eat a long, leisurely lunch? If you want to talk about what’s going on, I’ll listen and help in any way I can. If you don’t want to talk about it, I will regale you with amusing stories from my boyhood.”
“That sounds nice,” I say, tearing up a little. “Thank you for being so sweet about this.”
We drive into Carlisle and find a cozy little restaurant for lunch. We sit across from each other at a table for two. I give Malcolm an overview of what the police asked me, and he’s reassuring and level-headed. Then he tells me stories about his family.
We spend the rest of the afternoon exploring all the downtown shops. We find a cute little bookstore that we both happily spend way too long in. I’m glad that Malcolm also loves books. I can imagine many nights ahead of reading companionably side by side.
After the bookstore, we get coffee ad I share some of my childhood memories with Malcolm. My stories aren’t as funny as his, or maybe I’m just not as good of a storyteller. I still enjoy telling him about some of the mischief my brother and I got up to growing up.
We take a walk around a trail at a large park before going to dinner because despite the fall chill in the air; the sun is still shining, and it’s gorgeous outside. We hold hands and people watch. There are lots of people out walking, running, or sitting on benches enjoying the sunshine.
I notice a woman walking a Pomeranian. The little dog is wearing a tiny red sweater and is very cute. When I look up at his owner, she looks familiar. After staring at her for a few more seconds, I realize it’s Mrs. Brigg.
I’m planning to walk on by and pretend I didn’t see her. Malcolm’s here and we barely know each other, but she’s staring at me too. Then she gives me a brief wave.
“Hello, Mrs. Brigg,” I say.
“So, I do know you. I thought you looked familiar. Remind me of your name again,” she says, holding out her hand. Her little dog jumps and yips under our feet. “Cupcake, quiet!”
“I’m Alice Stewart, the new English teacher at Ashbourne. And this is my friend, Malcolm. He’s here visiting me from Scotland,” I say as she and Malcolm shake hands.
“Ooh, a paramour. Am I right?” she asks.
“Um, yes,” I answer, uncertainly. Who says paramour these days, and why would she ask such an awkward question?
“Well, he’s yummy,” she says, looking at Malcolm over the top of her very expensive sunglasses, as if he’s a dessert she’s looking at through a display case.
“How are you doing? With everything?” I ask, trying to distract her from Malcolm.
“It’s been difficult,” she says with a little sniffle. “But one must carry on.”
“I was talking to a few of my colleagues the other day about coming by your house with some food. Would that be okay?” I ask.
“That would be very kind. Just give a ring beforehand, as I’m out and about a lot. Here’s my card,” she says, handing me a gold embossed calling card. Cupcake whines and tugs on the leash. “Alright darling. Must go. Cupcake is bored. Nice to see you again.”
Malcolm and I stand together, watching Mrs. Brigg totter off in her fancy coat and high heels.
“Who was that?” Malcolm asks as soon as she’s out of earshot.
“That was Mrs. Brigg, newly widowed wife of Professor Brigg, who was pushed off of the bell tower.”
“Wow, I never would have guessed her husband died a few weeks ago. I was afraid she was going to take a bite out of me.”
“Yeah, sorry about that. From what I’ve seen of her, she tends to be overly dramatic. About everything. I can’t tell if that’s her personality or if she’s trying to cover something up.”
“You think she might have killed her husband?”
“I don’t know. She’s definitely on my list of suspects, which is why I said I wanted to stop by with some food. Hopefully, I can convince Freya to come with me and distract Mrs. Brigg, so I can snoop a little.”
Malcolm frowns at me.
“What?” I ask.
“That just seems a little dangerous and perhaps unethical.”
“I have to figure out who did it and clear my name. I could lose my job or go to jail,” I say, my voice rising a little.
“Hey,” he says, holding up a hand. “I know you’re worried about that, and I’m not trying to tell you what you can or can’t do, but just please be careful. I’m worried about your safety.”
“I’ll be careful. I promise. I’ll have Freya with me. And it’s not like she’s a maniacal serial killer. If she did it, it was probably a spur-of-the-moment act of passion, not something she masterminded.”
“That’s true. She seems a bit too posh to run around murdering people. I just want you to stay safe,” Malcolm says, kissing the back of my neck.
“Maybe you’d better visit more often to make sure I’m not doing anything reckless,” I say, laughing.
“Maybe I will,” he says, kissing me sweetly.
We have a nice dinner and then head back to my place to enjoy the rest of the time we have together before Malcolm has to go home to Edinburgh. The weekend has gone by entirely too quickly.
Chapter 14
After Malcolm leaves the next morning, I go back to bed and spend entirely too long feeling sorry for myself. Eventually, I make myself get up and get around for the day. I’m drinking my second cup of coffee and looking through lesson plans when someone knocks on my door.
“I saw that your man left. How was your weekend?” Freya asks, bustling inside and sitting down at the table.
“It was great,” I say, deciding not to even ask how she knew Malcolm left. Sometimes with Freya, it’s better not to know how she knows everything.
“I didn’t see either of you the whole weekend. Did you end up staying in the entire time?” she asks, lifting her eyebrows at me.
I decide not to answer her question directly. “We went to Carlisle yesterday and visited the castle. It was interesting. Thank you for the suggestion. Would you like a cup of coffee?”
“No thanks, love. I don’t need any coffee because I wasn’t up all night with my boyfriend,” she says, singing the last few words.
I try as hard as I can to keep myself from blushing, but I can feel my cheeks turning pink. And then I just start laughing.
“We had a lovely weekend. I was moping around this morning after he l
eft. I hate doing the long-distance thing. I’m glad you stopped by. You’ve cheered me up a lot. How was your weekend?” I ask.
“It was fine, just boring. I just puttered around cleaning and working on lesson plans. I should have gone to Carlisle and shopped or something.”
“Oh! I forgot to tell you. We ran into Mrs. Brigg while we were in Carlisle.”
“Oh yeah? Was she doing anything crazy?”
“She was at the park walking her dog, but she was all over Malcolm. It was weird and awkward since her husband just died. And, you know, Malcolm and I are dating.”
“Well, their marriage didn’t exactly seem normal.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“She was always getting mad at him about other women, but she seemed to do the same thing with men. Maybe she was just trying to make him jealous. I don’t know. Sometimes they acted like they couldn’t stand each other.”
“Hmm. I’ve been wondering if she killed Professor Brigg. I told her some of us might stop by this week with some food, hoping I might do a little snooping at their house. Would you come with me?” I ask.
“First, that sounds completely crazy. Second, it also sounds totally fun. I would love to come with you. We should probably come up with some sort of plan, though. What are you hoping to find?”
“I don’t really know. Some evidence that she had a reason to kill him.”
“Like his will saying she would inherit a lot of money?”
“Maybe something like that,” I say. Now that Freya has asked me, I’m not sure at all what I’m hoping we’ll find, but it’s the only thing I can think to do right now in my quest to figure out who the killer is.
“How about we go on Wednesday, early evening? I can ask Cat and Samantha, too. That will give us more distractions so you can sneak away. We can all bake something and drive together.”
“That sounds great,” I say, realizing Freya just did more planning for this crazy idea in five minutes than I’ve done since I thought of it.
“We can all go inside and once we’ve been there for a while, you can ask to use the loo. Then go do your investigating while we keep her busy talking. This will be exciting!” Freya says, clapping her hands in glee.
“I just hope I can find some evidence showing she killed Brigg. Thank you for agreeing to help. I hope it will be as fun as you think and not just boring,” I say.
“It doesn’t matter that much. Just the thought of an undercover mission is exciting, and I’m happy to help a friend. I hope this wasn’t just an elaborate scheme to keep me from asking questions about your weekend. I need more details.”
I tell Freya more about my weekend with Malcolm without giving away too many intimate details and talk about how much I miss him already until she probably wants to smack me.
After she leaves I sit around worrying that the scheme to look around the Briggs’ house is a bad idea. I’m not a detective. I don’t have any idea what I’m doing. I’m not even sure what I should look for or what type of evidence I’ll find. If I were going to commit a murder, I wouldn’t leave evidence just lying around for someone to find.
I go around and around in my head until I’m exhausted. Finally, I decide whether right or wrong, it’s too late now. Now that Freya knows, there’s no way she’ll let me back out. I just hope it doesn’t blow up in our faces.
* * * * *
I wake up Wednesday morning to sheets of rain pouring down. Normally, I’m not someone that believes in signs, but the weather seems ominous. I was hoping to go for a run to clear my head, but instead, I nervously eat a couple of the chocolate chip cookies I made yesterday after class. They’re sitting on my counter in a pretty little box, ready for our outing to see Mrs. Brigg. I also called her last night to make sure it was okay if we came by after class today. Everything is in place for a bit of detecting.
My classes go by way too quickly, and before I’m ready, the school day is over. When I get back to my apartment, Freya’s waiting outside.
“What’s wrong?” I ask immediately.
“Just a tiny hiccup. Samantha has decided she doesn’t want to go. She’s not comfortable going to Brigg’s house. I thought it might give her some closure, but I see now that it would just upset her.”
“Of course. I completely understand. And Cat is still going?” I ask, letting us into my apartment.
“Yes. She’s done with her classes and is just finishing making a bread and butter pudding. We’re still leaving at 4:30?”
“Yes. That should get us there around five, which is when I told Mrs. Brigg we’d be by. I’m just going to change. I’ll meet you both in the parking lot?” I ask.
“I’ll go let Cat know. See you in a few.”
I quickly change into more casual clothes, then grab the cookies and race out to the parking lot. The rain has slowed to a drizzle. Cat and Freya are sitting in Cat’s car. As soon as I get in, Freya begins methodically going over the plan again and again until we reach the Brigg house. I appreciate her dedication, but she’s making me nervous.
The Briggs’ house is out in the country between the school and Carlisle. The road leading to their house is lined with trees, and it seems to be the only house around. Freya pulls into the Brigg’s driveway and parks in front of their stately house. It’s all columns and bricks with a sweeping front porch.
“Wow, that’s a big house,” I say. “Does Mrs. Brigg have a high-paying job or come from money?”
“I’m not sure,” Freya says.
“I think I overheard someone say something about her being an heiress,” Cat says.
We climb out of the car and out into the rain that has picked back up. By the time we ring the doorbell, we’re all drenched. We hear yipping coming from inside and then the tap, tap of high heels.
“Hello, ladies. Please come in,” Mrs. Brigg says, opening the door for us. She’s wearing a pink Chanel suit. Cupcake has on a tiny matching pink sweater. “Terribly sorry about the rain. If you wouldn’t mind leaving your shoes by the door? I hope you can stay for a while. I have tea ready in the salon.”
We hand our dripping jackets to a maid standing beside Mrs. Brigg and take our shoes off. The maid hands us each a towel so we can dry off a bit, then she disappears.
We follow Mrs. Brigg into the kitchen, where we each put the container we brought on the counter, then she leads us to the salon. I’ve never been in a salon before, so I’m not sure what to expect, but it’s just a room with a velvet couch and a table and chairs. There are lots of plants everywhere and windows letting in light. It’s actually a beautiful room that I would thoroughly enjoy spending an afternoon in with a good book.
We sit around the table, and Mrs. Brigg pours tea for all of us.
“It is so kind of you to think of me right now. I get lonely out here all by myself now that Simon is gone,” Mrs. Brigg says, helping herself to a couple of cucumber sandwiches.
“I’m sure it’s been difficult for you,” I say, already feeling guilty that we’re only here to spy on her.
“As representatives of the school, we wanted to check in and make sure you’re doing okay. It was such a loss and Professor Brigg was such an important part of the school,” Freya says, sipping her tea.
I’m so stunned that I have to force myself to close my mouth. I don’t know why I’m surprised. Of course, Freya would be an excellent actress.
“It was such a shock. And I feel horrible because we had such a terrible fight before he died,” Mrs. Brigg says.
“I’m sure he knew you loved him,” Cat says and pats Mrs. Brigg’s hand.
They are both good at this. We talk a little while longer, and when I feel like Mrs. Brigg is engaged enough not to leave the conversation, I ask to use the restroom.
“Of course, dear. Go out the door, turn left, walk down the hall a ways and it will be on your right,” Mrs. Brigg says.
I excuse myself and walk as fast as I can down the hall. I realize that the rain is actually a good thing. I’m
quieter without my shoes, and the sound of the heavy rain will help muffle any other sounds I make. Most of the doors are open along the hallway. There are two bedrooms that look like they’re not being used, then I find the bathroom I’m supposed to be using.
I quickly go in, shut the door and look through the medicine cabinet and closet, but they only contain items a guest might need, such as aspirin and extra toilet paper. Definitely no clues.
I poke my head out, don’t see anyone, so I keep walking down the hallway. Through the next doorway, I see what looks like an office. There are bookshelves, filing cabinets, and an immense mahogany desk. This seems more promising.
I tiptoe in and can’t decide if I should close the door or leave it open. I leave it open, which seems less suspicious if someone catches me. I walk over to the desk. It’s tidy, with only a pen and expensive-looking stationary sitting on top.
I open drawers and in the middle one I find some bank statements which could lead to something. I quickly take some pictures with my phone, so I can look at them later. The rest of the drawers just contain normal office supplies.
I move to the filing cabinet and begin looking through the files. At first I don’t find anything interesting, but then towards the back I find what looks like adoption paperwork. I don’t know if it’s anything important, but I take some photos, anyway. I know the Briggs have never had any children, so what could it mean?
I close the filing cabinet, then I notice a torn piece of paper that has gotten wedged under the filing cabinet. I quickly take a picture without trying to make sense of it, then I slide it back to the spot I found it.
I’m moving over to investigate the bookshelves when I hear something out in the hall. My already racing heart speeds up even more. I’ve got to get out of here. I tiptoe to the open door and peak out. There’s no one in the hallway, so I slip out of the office and move back towards the salon.
“Can I help you, miss?” the maid asks, poking her head out from one door farther down the hallway.
Murder Most Studious Page 11
