Pumpkins, Paws and Murder

by Kathy Manos Penn

  “But I saw his top hat in the bed of the truck. Like it had been tossed there. He’s awfully particular about that thing, so I was worried. I may have been furious with him, but I had to be sure he was okay. I wandered the grounds and finally found him by the river between the guest cottage and the waterwheel.

  “Sure enough, he was out cold, a bottle of Highland Black by his side. He was hanging over the bank with his face almost in the water . . . like he’d tried to get a drink from the river or maybe splash his face.”

  “Did you see anyone else?”

  “No, just Max. I pulled him back from the edge and rolled him over. He was a muddy mess. I figured he’d be okay there. He was far enough from the water that he couldn’t accidentally tip himself in. And he’d sober up soon enough.”

  “Sounds like you did him a good turn. So you left?”

  “Yes, Leta. I was already later than I’d told Aunt Beatrix I would be, and I needed to get home. I’d had a lot to drink, and I had to concentrate to drive here.”

  I only had to nod and more came tumbling out.

  “If only I’d stayed with him at the river, maybe he’d be okay. I mean, I didn’t want to be married to him any longer, but I didn’t hate him. Might have if I’d stayed with him long enough, but I wised up and left him.”

  “Trixie, it’s not your fault. Most women, including me, wouldn’t have gone anywhere near him after the way he behaved.”

  “Maybe not, but in some small way, I still cared about him. I can’t believe he’s dead. And how did he die? Gemma wasn’t clear about that, or maybe she said and I couldn’t take it in.”

  I had to think for a moment. Was it okay to tell her Gemma didn’t know for sure, but suspected foul play? “The medical examiner will have to say for sure. It’s hard to say.”

  “He was out cold when I left. How can he be dead?”

  Something was niggling at me. Something about the scene. Then it occurred to me. I didn’t want to mention the apple in Max’s mouth, but I could ask about the apple core. “Trixie, was there an apple core on the bank?”

  “No, not that I noticed. Only a handful of apples, whole apples.”

  So, who ate an apple and tossed the core aside? Who was there after Trixie?

  I’d known Trixie maybe two weeks, and I thought I was a good judge of character. Nothing she’d told me changed my perception of her as an innocent young thing, and I felt she was telling me the truth about Saturday night. How on earth had she gotten tangled up with Max?

  “Trixie, your aunt told me you went to Totnes only to take a class. How’d you wind up staying? Was it because you met Max?”

  “Oh, Leta, you can’t believe how magical Totnes was after living in a city like Manchester. It was small and friendly. I’m a shy person. I love books and art and took art lessons all through school. If I didn’t have my nose in a book, I was drawing or painting. More school wasn’t for me, so I went to work at an art supply shop when I graduated. I loved it there and became fascinated with papermaking.

  “When I found there was an eight-week program in Totnes on book and paper arts, all I could think about was finding a way to go, even though I’d never been away from home. The class covered designing handmade books, papermaking, printing, and bookbinding—art and books combined. It sounded like heaven.”

  “I bet Beatrix would have loved attending too, since she keeps her eye out for old books. I can see why you two were close.”

  “Yes, Aunt Beatrix encouraged me. Mum and Dad were hesitant, but in the end, they paid for the class and a place for me to stay. I found a walkout flat in a family home. The mother and I hit it off, and sometimes I even babysat the kids in the evening. It was perfect. Taking the bus every day from my flat to Sharpham Hall for class was super convenient. It was a wonderful summer, and I chatted off and on with Aunt Beatrix about someday working for her and combining my two loves—books and art.”

  “So, what happened, Trixie?”

  “I fell in love with the town and being out on my own, but I couldn’t ask Mum and Dad to keep supporting me, so when the course ended, I kept my flat and found a job at the bookshop in Totnes. Suzanne, the owner, let me make cards to sell in the shop, and they were a huge hit with the customers.”

  “And Max, how did you meet him?”

  “The White Rabbit, where he works—worked—is just up High Street from the bookshop, and I’d met the owner’s daughter at Sharpham Hall. She introduced me to Max one day, and we kept running into each other. I’d never had a real boyfriend at school, and Max was so attentive. I know it’s hard to imagine after the way he acted yesterday, but he was charming. He must have bought a card a day, and he surely didn’t need all of ’em. And, you know, he’s handsome beyond words. Guess I read too many romance books for my own good.”

  Trixie broke down and sobbed, prompting Dickens to put his paws in her lap and try to lick her tear away. That brought a tremulous smile to her face. “I wanted a dog, but Max wouldn’t have it. One of the many edicts he issued once we were married.”

  What’s the saying? “Leopards can’t change their spots?” He dazzled the poor girl and swept her off her feet, and then revealed his true self. I could just see him buying the cards she made, pulling flowers out of his sleeve, and more to win her heart.

  “Leta, I loved him, but I’m not stupid. Well, I guess I was for a few months, but he changed. He drank. He was jealous, and he belittled me. He said my artwork was amateur and he was the true talent in the family, things he never said when we were dating.

  “And I was pretty sure he cheated on me when he went off to festivals and I stayed home to work. All that’s why I filed for divorce after the first year and moved back to the flat I’d rented before.”

  I could only imagine how he took that, given what I’d seen of his ego. Must have been a real blow to his masculinity. “Let me guess,” I said. “He wouldn’t leave you be, and you felt it best to move here or back to Manchester.”

  “How’d you know, Leta?”

  “He fits the pattern of an abusive man. In a small town like Totnes, he’d have known your every move. You made the right decision to leave. I wonder if he took the job at our Fête because you were here?”

  “Don’t know, didn’t ask. It’s all too much to deal with,” she mumbled.

  “Trixie, I know your Aunt Beatrix must have some brandy in the house. Let me fix you a cup of tea with a shot in it. I know from experience it’s good for shock.”

  Preparing the hot toddy gave me a moment of quiet, and questions crowded my brain. If Max was fine when Trixie left, someone had to have been there after her. According to Paddington, he was fine and lying on his back by the river after Trixie left. That was confirmation of at least part of her story, not that anyone besides me was going to take the word of a cat.

  Who went to the river after Trixie left? Who put the apple in his mouth? Who wanted him dead?

  Or maybe I was being naive. Was Trixie lying to me? Did she go back later? Wanting out of the marriage was a motive, and he wouldn’t sign the divorce papers. Plus he’d threatened her. Was she so desperate to be rid of him that she killed him? And how did he die? Gemma didn’t know for sure it was murder.

  I could hear my sister Anna whispering in my ear, “Right, Leta, you’re one to see only the best in people. You never believe anything bad until it slaps you in the face, and even then you give ’em the benefit of the doubt way too long.” I’d heard that lecture for so long, you’d think it might have done some good. But no, I was trusting to a fault.

  I made sure Trixie drank her tea, and then I tucked a blanket around her on the couch. She had stopped crying, and with her mother arriving shortly, I felt sure she’d be in good hands.

  Belle’s story about Max holding Sparkle’s face in the water made me want to see Sparkle and find out where she’d been late Saturday night. But I couldn’t think of any reason she’d talk to me. Questions were flying in and out of my brain, and I needed to figure out how
to get answers.

  Chapter Four

  I spoke to Dickens as we drove home. “Where do we go from here, boy? What would Nancy Drew do?”

  “I bet Nancy Drew would revisit the scene of the crime, so how about we check on Libby tomorrow?” suggested Dickens.

  “You know, I was going to call tonight to see how she was doing, but visiting tomorrow is a better idea. Wonder what Gemma’s found out today. If we get to the inn early enough, maybe we can bump into Gemma before she leaves for work,” I mused.

  Christie greeted us at the door, stretching and yawning. I felt like yawning too. It was my habit to take afternoon naps, and I hadn’t had one in several days. Not to mention I’d been on my feet most of Saturday and out later than usual. It was past five, though, and I deemed it too late for a nap. Bummer.

  Christie meowed as I put a dab of wet food in her dish. “Thanks. Studying those photos wore me out, and I didn’t spot a thing. Guess the SOCOs carried it all off. I was hoping they’d missed something—something that would crack the case wide open.”

  I laughed at my petite black cat. “Now, now, don’t take it too hard. You may be named for Agatha Christie, the Queen of Crime, but even her detectives never get results that easily.”

  I opted for a glass of red wine and a phone call to Anna in Atlanta. It was lunchtime there, and as a small business owner, Anna was usually in her office doing paperwork on the weekends.

  “Well, if it isn’t my favorite oldest sister,” she said. “How was the Fête? I was sure I’d get an email with pictures last night.”

  “Oh, the Fête was a huge success. We were a hit in our costumes there and at the pub afterward. Dickens tried to bob for apples. You should have seen the crowd that gathered to watch that act. I got fairy hair again, as did most of my girlfriends. Everyone enjoyed themselves.”

  “Sounds like the festivals we’re having here every weekend,” she said. “Except you and I used to shop them together. We didn’t participate. I wish you were going to be here for the St. Simons Art Festival this year. I could use your help selecting the perfect painting to hang over the bed in the blue guestroom.”

  I laughed as I thought of our many shopping expeditions. “The good news is I didn’t succumb to shopping at this Fête. The bad news is something dreadful happened today—well I guess it happened last night, except I didn’t know about it then.”

  “Uh-oh, are you okay?” she asked.

  “Fine, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, but . . . my friend Libby found a dead body today.”

  “What?” blurted Anna. “A dead body? You can’t be serious. You’re supposed to be living in a quiet country village, not someplace that’s crime-ridden. What on earth?”

  “I know. At least this time it wasn’t someone we knew. Not someone we’d even met until this weekend. Still, a dead body is a dead body.”

  I told her the story and answered the questions she posed. Anna was a detail-oriented businesswoman, and talking it through with her helped bring some semblance of order to my jumble of thoughts. Once upon a time, I’d been a detail-oriented businesswoman too, but those skills had dulled since I’d retired.

  Anna couldn’t miss an opportunity to press me about Christmas. “This is all the more reason for you to come home for Christmas. I need to lay eyes on you after this crime wave.”

  I laughed. “I appreciate your concern, but you know this situation has no bearing on Christmas. I still haven’t made up my mind, though Dave’s mention of a detour to New York City for the Christmas lights and decorations makes the trip awfully tempting.”

  “That’s a great plan. See your family, enjoy the holiday spirit in New York City. Two birds with one stone. Not to mention I’ll bake all your favorite desserts.”

  Anna was the number one baker in the family. I could almost taste her pound cake, pecan pie, and brownies. Soon, I’d have to make a decision, at least by the end of the month. I promised to keep her posted on that decision and any additional information about the murder in the village.

  Sitting with my phone in my hand reminded me that I needed to send the picture of Dorothy and Toto to Bev in Atlanta. I missed her, and I knew Dickens did too. I fired off an email with the photo attached and told her what fun we’d had on Saturday. No need to mention the dead body.

  Taking another sip of wine, I rang Wendy. I thought of her as my partner in crime, but that phrase sounded inappropriate in the present circumstances. When she answered, she asked me to wait while she put her phone on speaker and got Belle’s attention. Come to think of it, I had two partners in crime, and they were all ears as I relayed Trixie’s tale.

  “Sounds like something from a Halloween tale,” said Wendy. “A pretty girl out on a dark night, a victim . . . the only thing missing is a werewolf.”

  I stated the obvious. “And the killer, since according to Trixie, Max was alive when she left him.”

  Belle had a good chuckle. “Well, you know in the best murder mysteries, the killer’s identity isn’t revealed until later.”

  I acknowledged Belle was right. “And it’s early days yet. I know, I’m just impatient. By the way, Belle, did you get hold of Gemma?”

  “Oh yes, and she was quite interested. Said she’d have Constable James locate Sparkle and speak with her. So, what’s the next step for the Leta Parker Detective Agency? We’re going to tackle Beatrix tomorrow night, right? Any other ideas?” asked my octogenarian partner.

  “Yes, we’ll have dinner here and see what more Beatrix can tell us about Trixie, and I have a tentative plan for early in the morning. Barring rain, Dickens and I will walk to the inn to check on Libby, have a cup of coffee, and maybe chat with Gavin too. Chances are Gemma’s let slip a detail or two to her mum about the investigation. And, if I’m there early enough, I’m likely to catch Gemma in person. I mean, she did invite my input today, so perhaps she’ll share her progress. I sure would like to know what she heard from Sparkle.”

  My partners agreed it was a good plan, and Wendy offered another idea. “Do you suppose Gemma’s planning to talk to Summer? Maybe I should find a reason to visit her in Cheltenham. Doesn’t she offer fairy hair in one of the shops?”

  “Now, that’s a thought,” I replied. “During the week, she works in the soap shop, and the owners have set aside a small space for fairy hair customers. She has a local clientele and travels to festivals on weekends. You can drop by to tell her how much you love your hair.”

  Not to be left out, Belle spoke up. “Don’t think you’re leaving me behind. Let’s visit the shop and discuss our findings over a nice lunch.”

  By now, Wendy and I were both laughing. “You know, ladies,” I said, “soon we’re going to need a new name for our enterprise. The Leta Parker Detective Agency just doesn’t do it.”

  “Leave it to me,” said Wendy. “I bet Mum and I can come with a clever literary reference a la Arthur Conan Doyle or Alexander McCall Smith. Too bad we can’t steal ‘The No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency’ for our name. That pretty much fits the bill.”

  Names started flitting through my head with words that went with ladies—literary, lovely, lucky, leading. “Given that you and I love to read and were once English teachers, perhaps Literary Ladies Detective Agency would work.”

  “I like to read too,” said Belle. “That name could work, but let’s not decide yet.”

  We agreed Wendy and Belle would bring dessert and set 6:30 pm as the time for dinner Monday evening. If anything major came up before then, we could always adjust.

  I fixed a plate of fruit and cheese and pondered next steps. I’d planned to drop in unannounced to see Libby in the morning but thought better of it. On a typical Monday, the inn was all but empty, but if she had a full house, she might be too busy to chat.

  I slipped Dickens a bite and rang the inn. Gavin answered sounding a bit harried, odd for a Sunday evening, but this had been no ordinary Sunday. “Oh hi, Leta. If you’re looking for Libby, she’s resting.”

  �
��That’s good. That scene this morning was awful, and she needs to take it easy. How are you and Jill holding up without Libby’s help?”

  “Pretty well. We’ve only one couple staying the night, and they plan to be up and out early. Don’t want more than coffee and scones to go. Makes for an easy day, so easy in fact that I’m sitting in front of the fire taking a break,” he said.

  I could picture him in his favorite chair with his feet on the ottoman. Henry and I’d stayed at the inn on our trip to the Cotswolds, and then I’d stayed for a month when I was househunting. I’d spent many an evening relaxing in the sitting room with Gavin, Libby, and Paddington.

  “In that case, is it okay if I come by early tomorrow to see Libby? I know what a shock she’s had, and she’d likely benefit from some company.”

  Gavin sounded relieved. “Sure, I hardly know what to do or say beyond hugging her. Why don’t you come for breakfast? You know we cook a big one even when it’s just the two of us, so there’ll be plenty. You bringing Dickens or his alter ego, Toto?”

  “Of course. I go very few places without my boy. That’s one of the things I love about England—dogs are welcome most everywhere.”

  He laughed and hesitated before he spoke again. “This is usually Libby’s department, but she’s not noticed yet. Something is off with Jill, and I don’t want to intrude, but . . .”

  “But you’d like me to see if I can find out what’s bothering Jill?” I asked. She was probably upset about the dead body at the inn. Who wouldn’t be? With coffee, a hug, and a few carefully phrased questions from me, she was sure to open up.

  “Phew,” he said. “Thanks for making that easy for me. See you in the morning.”

  I’d settled my morning sleuthing agenda, Wendy and Belle were going to Cheltenham, and Beatrix was scheduled for dinner. The plan was taking shape.

  “Dickens, Christie, let’s put another log on the fire and relax. I could do with a few hours of reading. I’m enjoying getting to know Tommy and Tuppence.”