Dear Abby Cozy Mystery Collection 2

by Sonia Parin

  Mitch strode in and set the tray on the table. Looking at the laptop, he mouthed, “Is it safe?”

  “Yes, my mom’s organizing her notes, but we should still tread with care, so keep your voice down.”

  “Have you made any headway?” Mitch asked.

  Shaking her head, Abby said, “My cell is still missing and so is most of my memory of yesterday. Every time I think I’ve retrieved something, I second guess myself. I know I came into the pub so my mind automatically goes through what I normally do.”

  “And what do you think that is?” Mitch asked.

  “Make my way to the bar.” Doyle stretched and yawned. “Hang on. I took Doyle’s jacket off.” Then, she’d made her way upstairs. “Hey. I nearly crashed into someone. A man. He had a suitcase.”

  Mitch brushed his hand across his chin. “And?”

  “And… I’ve never seen him before. Oh, I then saw Denise Lowe. She looked angry.” Abby pumped her fist in the air. “Yes. I remember feeling relieved because I thought we’d be seeing the last of her. Please tell me she’s gone for good.”

  Mitch nodded. “She got the go-ahead from the police and came to clear out her dad’s belongings.”

  “Did she come alone?”

  “Her husband came with her.”

  That must have been the man she’d seen.

  “Eat up or your food will get cold.”

  “Where’s my lunch?” Faith asked.

  “Sorry,” Abby said around a mouthful of steak. “The blow to my head must have blocked out my manners. I only ordered for myself.”

  “Blow to your head?” her mom asked. “What blow? Abby, have you been lying to me again?”

  “Technically, you didn’t lie to your mom. I did,” Faith said. “And you have to admit, I came up with a rock-solid explanation.”

  “Yes, how clumsy of me to have knocked my head when I bent down to retrieve Doyle’s coat from under the bed. Nice job thinking on your feet.” Abby knew she also had her mom’s neighbor to thank for the reprieve. She’d dropped in for a cup of coffee just as Abby’s mom had been about to launch into a full-scale reprimand for keeping the real facts hidden from her.

  Abby skimmed through the notes her mom had sent her. She had been busy. “Bert’s son has money problems. He’s been declared bankrupt. That’s definitely motive for murder.” But he hadn’t been anywhere near Eden.

  “How did she get that information?” Faith asked. “She’s all the way over in the States.”

  “The wonders of the internet,” Abby mused. “She made a note of her thinking process and listed money as a main motivator for murder. She then found a database listing bankrupts. It’s called the BRS, which sounds like an acronym for a swear word. Anyhow, it searches the national personal insolvency index. That’s a permanent record of personal insolvencies in Australia. I guess this is the modern version of debtors’ prison.” Seeing Faith’s vacant expression, Abby went on to add, “In the 1800s, debtors’ prisons were a common way of dealing with unpaid debt.”

  “I’m lucky my folks taught me to live within my means,” Faith said. “If I want something, I have to save up for it.”

  “Yes, well. Instant gratification is the modern-day plague. We want things now. But it’s not always about overspending. Some people who declare themselves bankrupt usually have a business that went belly up.” Abby stretched her legs. Since returning from hospital, she’d done nothing but sit down. “I need to go out for a walk.”

  “You’re supposed to rest and take it easy,” Faith said. “I promised your mom I’d take care of you. You don’t have to lift a finger. Everything is taken care of. Even the cleaning.”

  Abby sat up. “I think I just remembered something.” She got on the phone and called Markus. When he picked up, she asked, “Did the maid clean Bert’s room the morning he died?”

  “No, she was running late and then the police asked me to make sure no one went in.”

  “So, when’s the last time she cleaned the room?”

  “This morning.”

  So, whatever she thought she saw had now been cleaned away or it had been taken by her attacker. Not that it mattered since she knew Joshua had done a thorough search of the room. She couldn’t possibly think he’d missed something. “While I have you on the line, could you send up some coffee, please?”

  “I thought Mitch had gone up,” Markus said.

  “Yes, and then I got into trouble with my mom so he beat a hasty retreat.”

  “What’s going through your mind?” Faith asked.

  Abby disconnected the call and sat back. “I’m entertaining a couple of thoughts. Firstly, I’m wondering if Denise Lowe removed something the police missed when she came to collect her dad’s belongings. She would have known what to look for.” Abby rubbed the tender spot on her head. “Secondly, I think I bent down to pick something up.” She must have had her back to the door. Had she been followed upstairs?

  Who would have seen her going upstairs?

  “Let’s add a few names to the crime board,” Abby suggested. “I need to remember everyone I saw when I came into the pub.” She surged to her feet but her legs crumbled beneath her. “Whoa. Dizzy.”

  “What happened?” Abby tried to sit up but it felt too comfortable lying down.

  “You sort of fainted but you came to straight away and then you curled up on the couch and fell asleep. I called the doctor and he told me to keep you awake.”

  “How exactly did you do that?” Abby asked and rubbed her cheek.

  “I tapped you on the cheek.” Faith grinned. “Okay, I sort of slapped you. Hey, needs must. You suffered a possible concussion. You’re not supposed to fall asleep.”

  Faith rose to her feet and went to answer the door. “Oh, good. Coffee. Abby needs to stay awake.”

  Markus strode in and looked around the sitting room. “Is it safe to talk?”

  “My mom’s having coffee with her neighbor. At least, I think she is.”

  Faith checked the laptop. “Yes. She’s off-line.”

  “Okay,” Markus said. “I brought you enough coffee to stave off fatigue. You’re in luck because this is a state of the art dosage.”

  “Huh?”

  “It’s been scientifically proven,” Markus quirked his eyebrows up. “There’s even an algorithm.” He pointed at the mug of coffee. “This is a 200 milligrams or 3.5 ounces serving. That should keep you going for an hour. I’ll bring another one in an hour’s time.”

  “Three and a half ounces? What’s the usual serving?” Abby asked.

  Markus gave her a lopsided grin. “Half that. This is bound to keep you upright for a while.” Markus set aside some cushions and sat down. “Has anything come back to you?”

  Abby wanted to shake her head but decided against any sudden movements. “I’m trying to remember everyone I saw when I walked into the pub. The killer might have been sitting at the bar.”

  “Okay. I might be able to help,” Markus said. “I’d been in the dining room and I walked into the bar. That’s when I saw you going up the stairs.”

  “Great.” Abby perked up. “Did you see Denise Lowe coming down the stairs with her husband?”

  Markus clasped his hands. “Her husband? No, I didn’t see him. I saw her brother.”

  “Huh?”

  He nodded. “When she arrived earlier, she made a beeline for the stairs. So, I stopped her.” Markus grinned. “I knew she’d come to clear out her dad’s stuff, but I couldn’t miss the opportunity to annoy her. The woman is made of steel. To be honest with you, I don’t think she cares about her dad’s death. Some people excel at hiding their feelings, she doesn’t have any.”

  “How can you be sure?” Abby asked.

  “I watch and listen. I’ve been doing it all my life. Easy enough to do when you grow up in a pub. I know you all think she’s been hiding her emotions, but some people just don’t have any to hide. Anyway, long story short, I pretended I didn’t know her and said I couldn’t allow j
ust anyone to waltz in as if they owned the place.”

  Abby rubbed her eyes. “Okay. Tell me about the man with her.”

  “Oh, since I’d never seen him before, I subjected him to a security check. I actually made him produce his driver’s license. He didn’t like that. His name is Robert Howington.” Markus grinned.

  “So, why did Mitch think he was her husband?”

  Markus gave her a lift of his eyebrows and drawled out, “I told you. I dropped him on his head when he was a baby.”

  Slumping down on the couch, Abby sighed.

  “I think she’s having a relapse,” Markus said.

  “No, I’m not.” Abby straightened. “So, what happened next?”

  “They went upstairs and I went back to the dining room.”

  Meaning, he’d gone back to the kitchen to be with Hannah. “What about the tourists? When we left the pub, they weren’t there.”

  “Yeah, they came back and sat at the bar. Just don’t ask me to name them. I know they have those ridiculous name tags pinned on but one of the women caught me trying to read it and gave me a pursed lip look. She must have thought I’d been looking at something else.” He bobbed his eyebrows up and down. “If you get my meaning.”

  Faith retrieved the photo from the wall and held it up in front of Markus. “Can you point to them?”

  “They were all there, except that one.”

  Faith leaned down to look at the person he’d pointed at. “Linda. Yes, we saw her at the café.”

  “And that one.”

  “Alice,” Faith said. “We saw her outside. But when we headed to the café, we saw her coming back to the pub.”

  “She might have gone in the residents’ entrance,” Markus suggested and then he pointed to another person.

  “Steph.”

  “Steph wasn’t there?” Abby drew down her brow. “Has she come up in conversation?”

  Markus chuckled. “Are you two about to point the finger of suspicion her way because she escaped your notice?”

  Steph hadn’t said or done anything to raise their suspicions. In fact, if Abby had to be honest with herself, she had no idea who the culprit might be. If she had to suspect someone of hitting her on the head…

  Alice? If she’d gone back inside the pub via the residents’ entrance, she might have gone straight upstairs to her room. A few scenarios ran through Abby’s mind. Alice could have heard Abby. She might have nudged her door open, taken and peek and then decided to take action. She might even have been inside Bert’s room. When she heard someone coming up, she might have hurried out and hidden around a corner…

  “Did you see Denise Lowe go upstairs again?” Abby asked.

  “Nope. After I saw you go up, I walked away. Mitch would have been at the bar then. Ask him.” He checked his watch. “In fact, I have to go relieve him from bar duty. I’ll send him up.”

  “Thanks, Markus.”

  Unfortunately, they were out of luck. Mitch swore he’d been at the bar and hadn’t seen Denise Lowe go up the stairs again. In fact, he hadn’t seen anyone go up the stairs.

  If most of the tourists had been downstairs and Denise and her brother had left, who’d attacked her? Steph? Alice? Maybe even Linda.

  “I need to get out of here and Doyle needs to go out too.” Abby got his little tartan coat and put it on him. Doyle gave her a half-hearted wag of his tail and hung his head in resignation. “If you don’t like your coat, we can get another one.” Doyle gave her a lick on the chin. “Is that it? You don’t like the color? But dogs are colorblind.”

  “Maybe you should get a plain colored one. Something in blue,” Faith suggested.

  “Yeah, I might do that. Hey… I remember I had the coat with me. How did it get here?”

  “Oh, I picked it up,” Faith said. “I know what you’re thinking. No, I didn’t see your phone. If I had, I would have picked it up.”

  “Okay. Let’s go out the residents’ door, it’s closer.” Abby gasped. “The residents’ door. That has to be how my assailant came in.” But it didn’t make sense. Why would Alice hit her on the head? She couldn’t be the killer. Bert had bailed her out.

  Yes, but…

  She knew all about drying herbs. The knowledge could have been employed to process the digitalis…

  Chapter Ten

  Faith gave a slow shake of her head. “It can’t be Alice.”

  “Faith, you’ve spent half an hour saying that, but you haven’t provided any supporting evidence to back your objection.” Abby took Doyle’s coat off and ran a brush through him. “Oh, you like that. Yes, who’s my good doggie. You’re so gorgeous.”

  “My reasoning is floating around my head. I have to pluck it out. Give me another minute.” Faith slumped down on the couch and covered her eyes. A moment later, she sprung upright. “I’ve got it. We assume the killer hit you on the head.”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. We also assume, and rightly so, the killer is responsible for somehow making sure Bert took his regular dosage of digitalis.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Well, all along, you’ve been saying you saw someone in Bert’s room the first day you arrived back in town.”

  “Yes.”

  “So, if the killer is responsible for hitting you on the head and planting the digitalis in Bert’s room, then it can’t be Alice because your mom said she saw her sitting with the group that first night.”

  Abby tapped her chin. “Oh. You’re right.”

  “See, I’m not just a pretty face.”

  “Maybe she didn’t act alone,” Abby said and went to answer a knock at the door.

  “We ran the number plates,” Joshua said as he strode into Abby’s apartment. “The car belongs to Denise Lowe’s brother.”

  Faith pumped the air. “Yes.”

  “And?” Abby asked.

  “According to him, he drove into town to give his sister moral support and to help her pack their dad’s belongings.”

  “He didn’t exactly look happy about it.” Abby gave a slow shake of her head. “No. I don’t like coincidences. We saw Alice standing by his car.” There had to be a connection. She knew Alice would have a key to the residents’ entrance. Had she opened the door for Robert Howington? Frowning, Abby strode to the window and imagined Robert Howington taking his dad’s suitcase out to the car. Along the way, he contacted Alice and asked her to let him in the residents’ entrance. He came up, found Abby snooping around in his dad’s room and decided to get her out of the way.

  “Alice had known Bert for a long time,” Joshua reasoned. “I think we can safely assume she met his son at some point. Think about it. If you lose a family member who’s been traveling around with a group of people, one of them might stop you to offer their condolences.”

  Abby exchanged a look with Faith that spoke of silent agreement. “We both got the impression she didn’t want to be seen talking to him. That’s why at first we thought she’d been on the phone or talking to herself.”

  “Unless you can read lips and know what she’d been talking about, I don’t have anything to connect them. Despite what you might think, the police can’t go around badgering people just because they stand in a street corner talking to themselves.”

  “Did you know Robert Howington is a bankrupt?” Abby asked. “That makes him desperate for money and desperate people make bad decisions and wrong choices.” Abby gave a firm nod. “Also, you need to canvas the area and find out if anyone saw someone coming in through the residents’ door. I’m sure that’s how my assailant came in.” Abby shivered. She had no trouble imagining Robert Howington coming back inside because… because he’d seen her taking the photograph. Yes, that’s it, Abby thought. “You should at least check to make sure he’s left. For all we know, he’s still hanging around town, waiting to finish me off.”

  “Anything else?” Joshua asked, his eyes brimming with amusement.

  Abby read the notes she’d been taking in case her memory fai
led her. “Yes. When I went into Bert’s room, I think I saw something in the waste basket.”

  “We did a thorough sweep of the room, Abby.”

  Abby looked up at the photos Faith had taped to the wall. “You said you took samples of the tea and coffee.”

  “We did.”

  “Were there any used teabags in the waste basket?” Seeing one would have prompted her to have a closer look.

  “We took samples of the tea,” Joshua confirmed. “And the tests came back negative. No traces of digitalis were found.”

  Abby fought the urge to surge to her feet because the last time she’d tried to get up too quickly, she’d collapsed. “But you didn’t test all the teabags. What if only some of them were tampered with? We’re looking at a pre-meditated crime. Someone went to a lot of trouble to make sure Bert succumbed to a heart attack. And I bet anything they didn’t act alone.”

  Joshua got up. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

  “You’re leaving?”

  “As per your instructions, I have to go canvas the area.”

  “You’ll get us into trouble, Abby.”

  “Just drive.” She’d called the owner of Rosebud Cottage, the bed & breakfast where Denise Lowe had been staying at, and the owner, Glenda Stephens, had told her Denise hadn’t left yet.

  Faith grumbled. “Do you even have a plan?”

  “Yes. I’m going to be confrontational.”

  “And where do you think that will get you?” Faith asked.

  “Denise Lowe has to have a breaking point. Push her hard enough and she might make a mistake and say something to incriminate herself or someone else.”

  “When did we start suspecting Denise Lowe?”

  “If we haven’t, we should have. She had the run of the place. For all we know, she might have spoon-fed her dad the digitalis.” While he’d been at home, Abby reasoned. But then, he’d gone on vacation. Had Denise Lowe engaged the services of a co-conspirator to do the dirty work for her?

  “Yes, but… Why do we have to confront her?”