I propped my feet on the ottoman, grabbed my fleece throw, and invited Christie into my lap. After kneading my stomach a few times, she curled into a purring ball. Dickens lay on his dog bed in front of the fire.
I sighed and looked around my comfy sitting room, thinking how warm and inviting it was. This is what I’d envisioned when I first walked into the cottage with my real estate agent.
Built as a schoolhouse in the 1800s, the building had later been converted into a spacious home, its two downstairs classrooms turned into a sitting room and a large bedroom. I used the bedroom as my office and positioned my desk so I could gaze out the picture window at the garden.
The master and guest bedrooms were upstairs and the bathroom up there had a huge walk-in shower. My favorite touch was the school bell hanging to the left of the front door. Judging by how frequently my neighbor Timmy rang it, it was his favorite part too.
I scratched Christie’s ears and reflected on my decision to retire to England. After I’d lost Henry, I’d returned to my corporate job and buried myself in work. Though my financial planner had made it plain I could comfortably take early retirement, I couldn’t imagine myself not working. It wasn’t until a year later that the seed she’d planted sprouted. One too many encounters with my witch of a boss did the trick.
Retiring to England had been a dream of mine, and here I was. I liked to think Henry was looking down on me, marveling at the leap I’d taken. More likely he was looking down wondering when I’d get the hang of driving on the wrong side of the road. Whichever it was, I hoped he was smiling.
Monday morning was damp but not yet rainy. More often this time of year in the Cotswolds, it was chilly, cloudy, and misty with rain in the offing. We’d lucked out with a sunny, mild day for the Fête.
I donned my hooded rain jacket and gloves, grabbed Dickens, his leash, and a few carrots, and set off for the inn. My plan was to feed Martha and Dylan on our return trip, but I gave in to their insistent braying and fed them on the way. I’m not sure how I’d become so attached to them, but the sight of the two donkeys never failed to make me smile.
I let Dickens off his leash when we turned into the gravel drive to the inn, and he dashed to the front door. Jill was bringing an armful of dirty sheets down the stairs as we stepped into the entry hall, Paddington trailing behind her. One of his favorite pastimes was diving in the pile of dirty linens in the upstairs hallway as the rooms were cleaned each day. Dickens had joined him in that game a time or two.
Dickens barked a greeting. “Hey Paddington, ready to romp?”
“You missed the fun,” meowed Paddington. “Only one room to change out this morning, so that’s it for today. Let’s check out the garden.”
The two darted out the front door, and I followed Jill as she passed through the kitchen to the laundry room. I could smell an inviting breakfast casserole in the oven. “How’s Libby this morning?” I asked.
“I haven’t seen her yet. When I arrived, our Sunday night guests were driving away and Gavin was in the kitchen making a grocery list. He said the sedative the doctor gave Libby had knocked her out good, and she was just beginning to stir. This is the first time since I’ve been working here that she hasn’t been in the kitchen first thing, going ninety to nothing.”
She started a load of sheets and towels and picked up a cloth-lined basket. “Libby usually takes breakfast to Gemma, so I’ll get it ready.”
I watched as she wrapped scones in a napkin, set out small crocks of butter and jam, and prepared a bowl of berries. She placed everything in the basket and covered it with a tea towel. “There, ready to go,” she said. “How ’bout you? Would you like some coffee and a warm scone while we wait on the main course?”
I was torn. Should I stay and talk to Jill, or should I offer to take the basket to the guest cottage in the hope I’d catch Gemma? I opted for Gemma. “Let me take the basket to Gemma, and then I’ll have a cup of coffee. I’ll be back in time for breakfast. Will you be here for a bit?”
“Oh yes. I’ve yet to clean the ashes from the fireplace and dust and vacuum. Not sure how many guests are coming in tonight, or whether Gavin will want me to prepare a tray of nibbles for their arrival.”
I was in luck. As I walked across the courtyard, Gemma sprinted up the driveway. She ran five miles most mornings. I hollered hello and met her at her front door.
“Mum not up yet?” she asked.
“Word is she’s moving, but she hasn’t put in an appearance downstairs. Leta’s Delivery Service is pitching in.”
She opened the door and motioned me inside. “I’m sure there’s enough for two in that basket, and I’ve got a pot of coffee going. Want to join me?”
I looked around for Dickens, but he was nowhere to be seen. Hopefully, my boy was getting the scoop from Paddington, and I’d get the same from Gemma. “Thanks, some coffee would be great.”
Gemma poured two cups, and we talked as she munched. “Guess you know how I spent yesterday. I hate death notifications.”
“I bet. I thought it best for Trixie to have company until her mother could get there, so I popped in. I suppose I got much the same story you did. She was sniffly but calm when I got there.”
I got the eye roll, but Gemma refrained from chastising me about my visit. “Surprisingly, Trixie was pretty calm, though she was appropriately shocked. Didn’t give her many details, just that we’d found her husband dead and asked when she’d last seen him. Got the story about seeing the top hat in the truck and finding him by the river. Says he was lying there snoring when she left him. Nothing else.”
I took a sip of coffee. “Do you believe her story?”
“Maybe. She knew her husband was bad news and she’d initiated divorce proceedings, but she didn’t hate him—not sure why not—and I want to believe her story. I see her as a quiet mouse. But you know me: my second thought? She’s maybe a little too good to be true.
“I need to find out about their finances. Can’t imagine there’s any joint property to speak of, but if there were, it would go to Trixie. So, that would give her another motive in addition to getting out of the marriage.”
I thought about my few interactions with Trixie. “I don’t know her well, other than seeing her at the bookshop and book club and then at the Fête, but my perception jibes with your first one—she’s young, kind of naive. When I spoke with her yesterday, it sounded as though she’d been taken in by Max’s good looks and his charming side.”
Gemma choked on her coffee. “Charming? Not a word I’d use for that one.”
“Me either. By the way, did the SOCOs find the top hat?”
“No. No sign of it or the cane. So I have to ask, why would someone take them?”
I looked out toward the river, thinking. “Good question. By the way, did you speak to Sparkle?”
“As a matter of fact, I sent Constable James to see her after hearing the apple bobbing story from Belle. Been trying to find opportunities for him to do more interviews, so I called him at the station. Told him to locate Sparkle and speak with her.
“He didn’t learn much. You didn’t come up with an excuse to interrogate Sparkle yourself, did you? As in you don’t already know her story?”
I laughed but didn’t take the bait. Gemma was being unusually forthcoming, and I didn’t want to stem the flow of information by ticking her off. “I learned my lesson last time, and I’m trying to behave. I don’t even know where to find Sparkle.”
“She’s at Summer’s flat in Cheltenham and will be for at least a week because they have a fair in Burford this weekend and some luncheons lined up. Who knew there were ladies’ groups looking for fairy hair? She may well be here longer than a week if her story doesn’t check out.”
“So, what was her story?” I prompted.
“According to Constable James, her shock and grief were about over the top, but I’ve learned everyone reacts differently. He let her settle down and then asked when she’d last seen Max. She said it was at
the pub right before Phil told him to get lost.
“When he queried her about their relationship, she told him they’d dated off and on starting in late summer and that she was shocked to find out he wasn’t yet divorced.”
I pointed out that story lined up with what I’d heard Saturday afternoon at the Fête, that she never would have gone out with him if she’d known he was still married. “As for her reaction, maybe she was more upset because she was still in a relationship with him, unlike Trixie, who was trying to get rid of him.”
“Good point,” said Gemma, “but when he asked whether she’d seen Max’s truck when she went to the inn to get her car—so he could get a fix on where Max was when—she hesitated, which made him suspicious. He’s learning. So, he pressed her, and she admitted to seeing Max at the inn that night.”
“Uh-oh. Where exactly at the inn? And why did she lie about seeing him? That doesn’t give me a good feeling.”
“People lie to the police for all kinds of reasons. Sometimes it’s because talking to us is just plain scary. Other times it’s because they have something to hide. Constable James went with the standard line, ‘So, let’s try this again: exactly when and where did you last see Max?’”
Just like in the movies, I thought. Except this is real life, and it bothers me that she lied to the police.
“Gave him a bit of a song and dance about seeing the truck and worrying about him. I have to tell you, it’s unbelievable to me how concerned these girls were about the guy. Why did they care so much? Anyway, Sparkle finally said she’d seen Max maybe late that night. She knew she’d left the pub before closing but couldn’t be precise about the time.
“Claimed she saw Paddington stalking something and followed him to the river. That cat’s out hunting every night, so I could believe that part. Said Max looked fine lying there, so she turned around and went home.”
The situation wasn’t getting any clearer to me. “No mention of an apple in his mouth? So did yet another person go to the river after those two left? Sparkle’s story jibes with what Trixie said about Max being passed out but fine otherwise. They both saw him at the river, and say he was okay when they left him. So how did the apple get in his mouth?”
Gemma rolled her eyes. I’d been waiting for her to do that, as it was one of her habits. When she rolled them at something I said, it aggravated the heck out of me, but that wasn’t the case this time.
“I wish I knew what to think. I told Constable James not to mention the apple in the mouth. I didn’t mention it to Trixie either. Not ready to give that away yet. We just asked each of them if they saw any apples. Both said they saw some scattered on the bank, but that was it.
“If Sparkle got there after Trixie, and if they’re both telling the truth about him being alive when they left him . . . well, where does that leave us? I can’t see it being anything but murder, but I won’t know how until the medical examiner gets him on the table. Same for the SOCOs and their analysis of what they collected at the scene.”
“What did Sparkle say about earlier Saturday? About the apple bobbing?”
Gemma grimaced. “Said he was acting the fool like he’d always done, that sometimes his playing around could be borderline mean.”
I sipped my coffee and wondered whether Max had any redeeming qualities. “Well, hell. Does Sparkle’s story at least let Trixie off the hook?”
“Off the hook? Not yet. My gut’s hemming and hawing. If it was murder, then one of those girls could’ve done it and lied to us. They were both furious with him, but for different reasons. Maybe Trixie returned after Sparkle left. Or it could be someone else entirely.”
I sighed. “I’m gonna go out on a limb and say it wasn’t Trixie or Sparkle. You know, if you were Inspector Barnaby in Midsomer Murders, you’d soon find several more suspects and forget about the girls. Guess you’ll be interviewing other folks today, corroborating statements, and running background checks.”
“Oh sure,” Gemma said, “our cases always work out like those on the telly. But you are right about the grunt work. I’ll have Constable James doing that after he finishes following up on what’s on the phone we found.”
I perked up at the mention of the phone. “Anything interesting so far?”
“Lots of texts, but only a few contacts. The texts we could figure out were messages about festivals and his schedule at the magic shop. Plenty of others were more cryptic. Seemed to indicate meeting times and money. There were also lots of photos of him in his tails and top hat doing tricks at parties. Looked like he forwarded those pics to the shop. Also an unflattering shot of Sparkle looking sullen.”
“Well,” I said as I stood up, “your dad invited me for breakfast, and whatever’s in the oven smelled scrumptious. Thanks for the coffee and the update.”
I didn’t want more coffee, but I needed a reason to sit down in the conservatory where Jill was dusting and straightening. Armed with a steaming mug, I made myself comfortable in an armchair. “So, Jill, how are you taking this whole Max thing?” I asked. “Just the idea that a dead body was found on the property must be disturbing.”
She glanced at me and hesitated. “It’s definitely not something you’d expect. Except for the Fête, it’s peaceful here. Beautiful grounds, a quiet garden, the sounds of the river and the birds. Not the place for a dead body.”
“I know. I’m so sorry Libby had to see it.”
Dickens was a natural at sensing even mild discomfort, but the way he moved to Jill’s side told me she was giving off high anxiety vibes. He rubbed against her legs and nudged the hand with the dustcloth.
She dropped into the chair opposite me and rubbed Dickens’s head. “I’m scared, Leta. I shouldn’t be, ’cause he’s dead and I don’t have to see him again, but I’m scared.”
Huh. What was she talking about?
“I’ve never been afraid of the dark before. I’ve ridden my bicycle back and forth to town, the inn, the pub, and never thought a thing of it. Now, I’m not sure I can.”
“Because a body was found at the river?” I prompted.
And that’s when she told me the story. “Because I ran into Max before he died. I mean he ran into me . . . oh, I don’t want to talk about this.”
Dickens whimpered and licked her hand, and I stood up and gave her an awkward hug. I wondered what Max had said to her. “It might help if you talk to someone, and I’m happy to listen. What did he say to you?”
“It’s not what he said. It’s what he did.” She took a deep breath. “He . . . he groped me.”
“What? What did he do?”
I listened, appalled, as the floodgates opened. “I was getting my bike from the garage, and I never hesitated about approaching him. I hadn’t noticed him leaning against his truck until he called to me and asked for help. When I got close, I could tell he had a bloody nose, so I told him to wait while I fetched a wet rag from the kitchen. I tried to clean him, but it wasn’t easy ’cause he was staggering drunk.
“He bowed politely and said thank you, and then caught me off guard when he tried to kiss me. And . . . before I knew it . . . his hands were all over me, and he pulled my blouse so hard, buttons popped off. “
“Tell me he didn’t . . . hurt you?”
She was twisting the dustcloth in her hands. “Would’ve if I hadn’t kneed him proper. He went down hard, and I scrambled to my bike and took off. But, Leta, what if he hadn’t gone down? What if I couldn’t have stopped him? How far would he have tried to go? What would’ve happened to me, here by myself? Might’ve been some guests inside, for all I know, but not Libby or Gavin.”
Must have been Jill I saw on her bicycle Saturday night, I thought. I did my best to calm her. I was sure I was the only person she’d told, but I asked anyway. “Jill, did you tell Jenny or your parents?”
“No. I’m ashamed, and I feel stupid. Dad would say I shouldn’t have gone over to him, I should’ve known better. But it’s right to help someone, isn’t it?”
“I think it’s a natural reaction, Jill. We tend to take folks at face value and not think the worst—or at least I do. I don’t think you were stupid, and certainly, you shouldn’t be ashamed.”
I glanced out the window and saw that Gemma’s car was still here. “Jill, would you be comfortable sharing your story with Gemma? I hate for you to have to repeat your story, but I think she needs to know. Everything that happened here could be pertinent to her investigation.”
Jill looked at me for a moment before nodding yes. “Okay, then,” I said. “You stay here with Dickens, and I’ll go get her.”
I hurried to Gemma’s cottage. When I told her she needed to speak with Jill and why, she didn’t miss a beat. Still in her running clothes, she went straight to the inn. I walked to the garage, wondering whether Jill’s buttons would be visible in the gravel. It had rained the day before, and guests had come and gone, but the buttons might be there.
I was hardly going to disturb the crime scene, given the luggage that had been loaded and unloaded and the cars that had pulled in and out since Saturday night, but I was careful anyway. I saw a speck of white and knelt down. I used a piece of gravel to dig a bit of dirt. Sure enough, it was a white button. I left it there so Gemma could retrieve it without my smudging any fingerprints. I wasn’t sure fingerprints would help, but you never know.
Paddington was in the hall when I strode in the front door. “Glad you spoke to Jill, Leta. She needs taking care of. She hasn’t sat still long enough for me to crawl in her lap to comfort her, but Dickens seems to be making her feel better.”
I scratched his ears. “Paddington, didn’t you tell Dickens you saw Max’s top hat in his truck?”
“Sure did. Funny thing. It smelled musty. Didn’t smell like a rabbit at all.”
That made me laugh. “Trust me, Max never pulled a real rabbit out of that hat. And it was there in the truck after you saw Max at the river?”
Paddington assured me that was the case. I was thinking about that when I heard Gavin call me. He was in the kitchen. “What on earth is going on? When I walked into the conservatory, my daughter shooed me out. Does Gemma talking to Jill mean something else has happened? Something beyond Libby finding a dead body?”
Pumpkins, Paws and Murder Page 7
