Pumpkins, Paws and Murder

by Kathy Manos Penn

  Praise for Kathy Penn

  Kathy’s columns have entertained our newspaper readers for years, so it doesn’t surprise me she’ll now be entertaining the world with a new cozy mystery series.

  Kim Lewicki, Publisher, Highlands Newspaper

  Astonbury, the fictional Cotswolds village in this new Dickens and Christie series, much like Louise Penny’s famous Canadian village Three Pines, will have you longing to visit and even live there. Something is amiss, though, in this vibrant village, and you’ll find yourself trying to solve an unexpected murder. Highly recommended for lovers of cozy animal mysteries.

  Katie Wills, Librarian

  An author whose books are set to become bestsellers.

  Longtime Reader

  Pumpkins, Paws, & Murder

  A Dickens & Christie Murder

  Kathy Manos Penn

  Copyright © 2020 by Kathy Manos Penn and Manos Penn & Ink

  Paperback ISBN: 978-1-7343226-4-4

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-7343226-3-7

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  For my father, who never got to

  complete the book he started.

  I have a certain experience of the way people tell lies.

  Agatha Christie

  Contents

  Cast Of Characters

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Psst… Please take a minute.

  Spanakopita Recipe

  Parker’s Pen: Christie’s Perspective on Black Cats

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Kathy Manos Penn

  Cast Of Characters

  Aleta “Leta” Petkas Parker—A retired American banker, Leta lives in the village of Astonbury in the Cotswolds with Dickens the dog and Christie the cat.

  Henry Parker—Handsome blue-eyed Henry was Leta’s husband.

  Dickens—Leta’s white dog, a dwarf Great Pyrenees, is a tad sensitive about his size.

  Christie—Her black cat Christie is sassy, opinionated and uppity.

  Anna Metaxas—Leta’s youngest sister lives in Atlanta with her husband Andrew, five cats, and a Great Dane.

  Sophia Smyth—Leta’s younger sister is married to Jeremy and lives in New Orleans.

  Bev Hunter— Bev is Leta’s Atlanta friend who fosters dogs.

  Martha and Dylan—The donkeys in a nearby pasture look forward to carrots from Leta.

  Libby and Gavin Taylor—The Taylors are the owners of The Olde Mill Inn.

  Gemma Taylor—A Detective Sergeant at the Stow-on-the-Wold station, she’s the daughter of Libby and Gavin and lives in the guest cottage behind the inn.

  Paddington—Libby and Gavin’s Burmese cat is fond of Leta.

  Beatrix Scott— Owner of the Book Nook, she hosts the monthly book club meeting.

  Trixie Maxwell— Beatrix’s niece works in the bookshop.

  Max Maxwell—Trixie’s husband is a magician who performs at the Fall Fête.

  Wendy Davies—The retired English teacher from North Carolina returned to Astonbury to look after her mum and has become good friends with Leta.

  Peter Davies— Wendy’s twin and owner of the local garage, Peter is a cyclist and cricket player.

  Belle Davies— Mother to Wendy and Peter, Belle lives at Sunshine Cottage with Wendy.

  Tigger—Belle and Wendy’s cat is a recent addition to Sunshine Cottage.

  Rhiannon Smith— Rhiannon owns the Let It Be yoga studio where Leta and Wendy take classes.

  Jill and Jenny Walker—Jill works at the Olde Mill Inn, and her sister Jenny is a barista at Toby’s Tearoom.

  Dave Prentiss—A journalist from the States, he and Leta hit it off when he stayed at the inn.

  Toby White—Owner of Toby’s Tearoom, he gave up his London advertising job to pursue his dream of owning a small business.

  George Evans—George is the owner of Cotswolds Tours.

  Constable James—Constable James works with Gemma.

  The Watsons—John and Deborah live next door to Leta with their little boy Timmy.

  Summer and Sparkle—The two Fairy Hair ladies have a booth at the Fall Fête.

  Phil Porter— Phil is the bartender at the Ploughman

  Barb Peters—Barb is a barmaid who works with Phil.

  Brian Peters—Barb’s cousin Brian is the gardener for The Olde Mill Inn and several country estates

  Chapter One

  “Yes I can, yes I can,” I chanted under my breath. Standing in front of the garage looking at my bicycle, I knew I needed to make the leap. Well, not literally. I wasn’t going to leap onto my bike, but I had promised myself today would be the day I’d get back on it.

  With the leaves turning and the sun trying to break through the clouds, it was a perfect fall day for a ride in the Cotswolds countryside. My shiny red bicycle was tuned up and ready to go, thanks to my friend Peter Davies who’d taken it to the bike shop in Bourton-on-the-Water. I had no excuse, except for the one I’d been using for nearly two years.

  I hadn’t been on my bike since Henry’s accident in Atlanta, and I was still haunted by vivid images of his crumpled body on the side of the road. Though I hadn’t seen the collision, I’d glimpsed the red Mercedes convertible as it sped past me and rounded the curve where Henry pedaled up ahead just out of sight. I’d heard the crash, thrown down my bike, and run up the hill, but it was too late. It was a sight I’d never forget—my husband of twenty years lying dead next to his mangled bicycle.

  “Stop it,” I muttered. “Get on the darned bike.”

  Dickens cocked his head and barked. “You can do it, Leta.”

  Even Christie chimed in with a sharp meow. “Oh, for goodness’ sake, get on with it.”

  “I’m trying, I’m trying,” I replied.

  There were times when having talking animals could be a real pain, but today I needed the encouragement. Fortunately, if any of my neighbors overheard me, they’d think I was talking to myself, not to my animals. Heaven forbid that I get a reputation as the village crazy lady who thought her animals spoke to her. I’d managed my entire life to keep my strange talent hidden, and I had no intention of letting the cat out of the bag—or the dog, for that matter.

  I shooed my four-legged cheerleaders into the garden and swung my leg over the bike. I put one foot on a pedal, pushed off with the other, and wobbled down my gravel drive. Turning left into the lane, I checked my mirror to be sure Dickens and Christie weren’t behind me. I didn’t need a Pied Piper scene to complicate the morning’s challenge.

  Up ahead, I glimpsed Martha and Dylan in the field. It took the donkeys a moment to realize it was me on a bike—instead of on foot with Dickens by my side. When I stopped by the fence, the sight of carrots did the trick. The two trotted over and soon I was rubbing donkey noses and laughing.

  One mile down, only one more to go to reach The Olde Mill Inn, my goal for the day. “The hills are alive with the sound of music,” I sang. Only there were no hills and it would be a stretch to call the sounds coming out of my mouth singing.

  I felt confident and comfortable on my bike. Still, I was relieved to catch sight of the waterwheel
as I pedaled through the gates. Perched on the River Elfe, the old wheel was part of the flour mill that had operated from the early 1900s to the 1950s. Now, it was the setting for the popular inn owned by my friends Libby and Gavin Taylor.

  I propped my bike on its kickstand and wandered in. “Libby, Gavin,” I called.

  “In the kitchen,” called Libby.

  “In the conservatory,” yelled Gavin.

  I chose the kitchen. “Hey, I did it! I rode my bike today, and here I am.”

  “Oh, I’m so proud of you,” exclaimed Libby. “I know it wasn’t easy, but now that you’ve done it, you’ll be riding everywhere.”

  “I hope you’re right. No backsliding. I can wander so much farther on a bike than I can on foot. Well, a bit farther anyway. I think next time, I’ll try riding to Sunshine Cottage to see Belle and Wendy—except I’ll have to explain to Dickens why he’s not going.”

  Belle and Wendy Davies, mother and daughter, lived together in the family cottage now that Wendy had retired from teaching English in the States. Dickens and I visited often to see the ladies and their cat Tigger.

  Libby laughed. “Dickens is quite the social butterfly, isn’t he? Do you think he understands what’s in store for him this weekend?”

  I couldn’t explain to Libby that of course, he did. He was beyond excited about accompanying me to the inn for the Astonbury Fall Fête, where there’d be people galore and plenty of children. My handsome white dog adored kids, and they couldn’t get enough of him. A forty-pound dwarf Great Pyrenees, he was the perfect size for the munchkins. They loved to hug him and give him belly rubs and bury their faces in his soft fur. Come Saturday, he’d be in heaven.

  “Hard to say,” I said. “Now, I stopped by to see if you have anything last-minute I can help with. I’ll be busy tonight with book club, but I’ll be back tomorrow to help Beatrix set up her booth of used books, and I’ll be here with bells on this weekend.”

  She shook her head. “Don’t need a thing. Jill will be here all day Friday baking and helping to set up, and then on Saturday, she’ll be a general dogsbody. I see her passing trays of pumpkin spice biscuits and scones and apple cider and handling whatever else needs doing. Jenny will be here Saturday too.”

  Jill and Jenny Walker were sisters. Though there was a year between them, they could have passed for twins with their light brown hair and hazel eyes. A godsend after Libby lost her last housekeeper, Jill was a great fit at the inn, and Jenny was a barista at Toby’s Tearoom in the village. I’d hired them both for a party I’d thrown in September. “Those two are a delight,” I said. “I only wish I could talk Jill into being my housekeeper too.”

  “Let her get her feet under her here, and she may take you on. Your cottage can’t be much work except for the dog and cat hair, that is.”

  “Tell me about it,” I groaned. “Okay, I’m headed home. See you tomorrow.”

  “You’re back! How far did you go, Leta?” barked Dickens.

  “Four miles round trip,” I replied as I returned my bicycle to the garage. “Not far, but now I know I can do it. Maybe Peter and I can go for a longer ride when he’s up to it. A leisurely ten miles would be nice.”

  My friend Peter had broken his collarbone in a bicycle accident, and I knew he was eager to get back out. He kept threatening to ditch the sling the doctors told him to wear for four to eight weeks, but I and his twin sister Wendy were after him to stay the course.

  “Good job,” barked my boy.

  When I unlocked the kitchen door, Christie strolled in behind me. “Pfft, only four miles? Back in Atlanta, you and Henry always rode at least fifteen. Tsk, tsk, such a slacker.”

  “That’s rich coming from a girl who sleeps eighteen hours a day,” barked Dickens. “Leta and I walk every day while you’re stretched out napping. Slacker, indeed!”

  I joined in the ribbing. “Gee, Dickens, do you think it’s only black cats who sleep all the time?”

  “Enough you two,” huffed Christie. “Joke all you like, but I’m the trimmest four-legged member of the family. I’m speaking to you, Dickens. Now, it’s time for someone to feed me.”

  Well, she was right about being a sleek beautiful feline. And Dickens’s habit of scarfing her wet food wasn’t helping with his tendency to be on the plump side. I kept her dry food dispenser in the pantry where only she could get to it, but when she turned her back on her dabs of wet food, Dickens gobbled them up in a flash.

  I served Christie a forkful of food and kept an eye on Dickens when the princess turned her back. “Uh-uh,” I admonished him when he made a move toward the dish. I fluffed the food and nudged the dish back to Christie. After several minutes of that routine, she cleaned her dish, much to Dickens’s dismay. The things we do for our pets.

  I fixed a cup of tea and called Wendy. “Guess what? I rode my bike today.”

  “Way to go,” she replied. “You were beginning to sound like The Little Engine That Could with your constant refrain of ‘I think I can, I think I can.’ Henry’s probably saying ‘that’s my girl.’”

  “More like ‘it’s about time,’ but I know he’d be happy I’m back at it. Now, about tonight. Are you still picking me up for book club?”

  “Yes, I can’t wait to see the gang. I’ll honk the horn.”

  Book club had become one of my favorite pastimes since my move to Astonbury. Though I’d long been a bookworm, I’d traveled too much in my banking job in the States to commit to monthly meetings.

  Beatrix Scott, owner of the Book Nook, kicked off the meeting promptly and introduced Rhiannon Smith to lead the discussion of our October book. Rhiannon had selected Wicked Autumn by G. M. Malliet as a seasonally appropriate choice. “What’s not to love about a book that has a handsome vicar as the main character?” she asked.

  Our lithe blonde yoga instructor gave us a bit of background on the author, and then we launched into a discussion of the similarities and differences between the fictional village of Nether Monkslip and our beloved village of Astonbury.

  “Well, I for one would love it if we had a vicar like Max Tudor—a gorgeous, single vicar,” said Wendy. “Though I’d like him to be a bit older so he’d be the right age for a few of the good-looking single women I know.”

  Rhiannon and I both laughed at that. “Hmmm,” I said, “Perhaps age 50 – 70? Would that do? I’m assuming you’re counting Rhiannon, Beatrix, yourself, and me in that group, right?”

  Gavin piped up. “Hey, if he were younger, he might suit Gemma. Doesn’t my daughter get a vote?”

  “Only if she comes to book club,” said Beatrix.

  We all knew that was unlikely given Gemma Taylor was a Detective Sergeant at the Stow-on-the-Wold police station. No way her schedule lent itself to making a monthly meeting.

  We turned to a discussion of the Fayre held in Nether Monkslip and concluded our Astonbury Fall Fête would be more festive. Libby had asked several of us to come in costume, and we were counting on being a hit with the villagers and tourists. Since the goal of the Fête was to raise money for Breast Cancer Now, she’d come up with the idea to charge guests to take photos with us.

  Wendy had organized a group of Peter Pan characters with herself as the lead. I always described her as petite and elfin, so she was perfect for the part, though I don’t recall Peter Pan having spikey platinum hair.

  I’d be dressed as Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz with Dickens as Toto, Libby as the Evil Witch, and other friends as the Tin Man and the rest of the cast. Thankfully, there was no mention of playacting, just good dress-up fun.

  Gavin shook his finger at us. “Just be sure the Evil Witch doesn’t wind up crushed beneath a house. Nether Monkslip may have had a dead body at their Fayre, but we’ll have none of that.”

  A hush fell over the room when he uttered those words, and it took Gavin a moment to realize what he’d done. Given I’d stumbled across a dead body only a few weeks ago, his comment hit a bit too close to home.

  He hung his head and
stuttered. “Crikey, I’m sorry, I didn’t think . . . I didn’t mean—”

  Beatrix stepped in. “Don’t worry, Gavin. We know you didn’t mean anything by it. A month ago, we’d have thought nothing of it.”

  “Right,” said Rhiannon. “What we want is good weather, good fun, and lots of money for Breast Cancer Now. And an attractive single vicar showing up in Astonbury would be a bonus!”

  The group broke up after that. I gave Gavin a hug and told him not to worry about his faux pas, and Wendy gave him a peck on the cheek. I was picking up teacups and wine glasses when Beatrix’s niece approached me.

  Trixie had only recently moved in with her aunt, and this was her first time at book club. The two had the same fair coloring and strawberry blonde hair, and I imagined a younger, slimmer Beatrix would have been the spitting image of her niece. “Leta, Aunt Beatrix told me about you finding the body. That must have been awful. Are you doing okay now?”

  “Thanks for asking, Trixie. I’m fine. I think we all shudder when we think about it, but life goes on. By the way, I know Beatrix is happy to have you here. Are you settling in?”

  “Yes, you know my mum named me for Aunt Beatrix, and we’ve always been close. It was only when I went to Totnes and married that we grew apart. Glad to say that chapter of my life is closing. I’m looking forward to working in the bookshop and starting fresh.”

  “Working in a bookshop sounds like heaven to me, but I’m afraid I’d spend every dime I have on books. I’m sure your aunt has told you I almost singlehandedly keep her in business—along with Wendy, that is.”