Collectors, Cats & Murder
Collectors, Cats & Murder
A Dickens and Christie Mystery - Book IV
Kathy Manos Penn
Copyright © 2020 by Kathy Manos Penn and Manos Penn & Ink
Paperback ISBN: 978-1-7343226-9-9
eBook ISBN: 978-1-7343226-8-2
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.
Also by Kathy Manos Penn
Dickens & Christie Series
Bells, Tails & Murder
Pumpkins, Paws & Murder
Whiskers, Wreaths & Murder
Book V Coming Fall 2021
https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B085FSHQYW
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To Banjo, who inspired the
easy-going lovable personality of Dickens.
I couldn’t ask for a better canine muse.
I don’t know what lies around the bend, but I’m going to believe the best does.
-Anne of Green Gables
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
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Psst… Please take a minute…
Recipe
Books, Authors and Series Mentioned in Collectors, Cats & Murder
About the Author
Cast of Characters
COLLECTORS, CATS & MURDER
CAST OF CHARACTERS
The Americans
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—Leta’s 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.
Dave Prentiss—A journalist from the States, he and Leta hit it off when he stayed at the inn.
The Brits
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 Inspector at the Stow-on-the-Wold police 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.
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 cricketer.
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.
Toby White—Owner of Toby’s Tearoom, he gave up his London advertising job to pursue his dream of owning a small business.
Constable James—Constable Jonas James works with Gemma.
Brian Burton—A DCI stationed in Stroud, Brian is Gemma’s boss and Wendy’s boyfriend.
The Watsons—John and Deborah live next door to Leta with their little boy Timmy.
Barb Peters—Barb is a barmaid at the Ploughman Pub.
Brian Peters—Barb's cousin Brian is the gardener for the Olde Mill Inn and several country estates.
Caroline—Caroline is the cook at the Manor House.
Ellie, the Dowager Countess of Stow—Ellie lives in Astonbury Manor and is active in village affairs.
Matthew and Sarah Coates—Ellie’s son and daughter-in-law, the Earl and Countess of Stow, live on the estate in a large cottage close to the Manor House.
Teddy Byrd—Teddy is the elderly proprietor of Bluebird Books in Chipping Camden.
Fiona Linton—Fiona works part-time at Bluebird Books.
Albert Porter—Albert is Teddy Byrd’s driver and does odd jobs at Bluebird Books.
Pris Price—Pris manages Bluebird Books for Teddy.
Gilbert Ward—Gilbert is a collector of Sherlock Holmes memorabilia and a friend of Dave’s.
Alastair Porter—Alastair is the proprietor of Alastair’s Attic in Manchester.
Chapter One
A Friday afternoon in April
I surreptitiously studied Dave as he stood in front of the mirror adjusting the collar of his starched white shirt. “You know you look quite dashing,” I said.
He laughed and turned to me, his eyes twinkling. “Thanks to the fashion-conscious woman who gave me this sweater, right? And insisted I wear it today for my presentation?” He had me there. I’d found the wool crewneck at the Astonbury Tree Lighting in December. Knit by local artisans, the black sweater with four-inch squares subtly outlined in slender white lines set off his black hair and brown eyes.
It had been my Christmas gift to him. I’d visited him in New York City at Thanksgiving, and after spending Christmas in Connecticut with his mother and his sister’s family, he’d flown to England to spend ten days with me. We’d split our time between my cottage in the Cotswolds and a stay at the Dukes Hotel in London.
This afternoon’s event at the Chipping Camden Literary Festival marked Dave’s first speaking engagement in the UK. Since he’d written his October article about the discovery of a previously unknown J.M. Barrie book, he’d given several talks in the States, but none here. With most of the literary festivals in the Cotswolds held in the spring and fall and speakers already booked, I had a feeling that this April appearance would put him in high demand for next year’s events. After all, the book had been found in the Cotswolds village of Astonbury, at Sunshine Cottage, home to my retired English teacher friend Wendy and her mum Belle.
Belle’s mother had been befriended by playwright J.M. Barrie, and he’d become Uncle Jim to Belle. She’d kept the book in a trunk with childhood keepsakes and had no idea it was unusual or valuable. I kept thinking someone would decide to write a book, maybe a screenplay, about the enchanting tale. What a treat it would be to see the story on the big screen. This was a big event for both Belle and Dave.
“Right. I want to be sure I’m with the best-dressed speaker. And Dickens needs to look his best too. While I finish getting ready, can you put Dickens’s bowtie on him, please?”
As Dave chuckled, Dickens barked and pranced over to the dresser. My handsome white dog liked dressing up as much as I did. He knew to bow his head so Dave could hook the bowtie, and he strutted into the bathroom where I was putting the finishing touches on my hair.
He sat and looked up at me. “I look grand, don’t I? Hurry, Leta. We don’t want to be late.”
As though he understood Dickens, Dave chimed in, “Your hair looks perfect, and we need to get a move on. You know I want to be early so I can calm my nerves.”
Wouldn’t it be something if I’ve found a man who could understand my four-legged friends? I’d never known anyone else with my strange talent, and I worked hard to keep it under wraps lest my friends think I was delusional. For the most part, I was quite content to be the only human who could converse with Dickens and his feline sister Christie.
It was my turn to chuckle as I stepped into my black long-sleeved jumpsuit. With a wide silver accented black belt and a silver choker, it was an elegant yet casual look—and best of all, comfy. “Voila,” I said as I spritzed Shalimar above my head and slid into my heels. “Ready!”
Luckily, the walk from the Cotswolds House Hotel & Spa to the library where Dave was speaking was a short one. High heels and walking could be a recipe for disaster, which was why I let Dave hold Dickens’s leash. People stopped us along the way to greet Dickens—intrigued that he looked like a Great Pyrenees but was so small. He was a miniature replica of those gentle giants, forty pounds to their typical 120-140 because he was a dwarf Great Pyrenees. Before Dickens, I had a full-size Pyr, but I was past handling such a large dog, and considered myself fortunate to have stumbled across Dickens online.
As we entered the library, we were greeted by a small crowd of our friends. Belle was accompanied by her twins Wendy and Peter, and our friend Ellie—the Dowager Countess of Stow—had joined them for the evening. Gavin Taylor was there with his daughter Gemma, but his wife Libby had stayed behind to handle the guests at the Olde Mill Inn. I was glad the couple had worked it out so Gavin could attend, since he was the book lover in the family and a regular at our book club meetings at the village bookshop.
Astonbury’s High Street business owners were well represented too, and it made me smile to think they’d managed to take a busy Friday afternoon off to hear Dave’s presentation. Rhiannon had canceled her classes at Let it Be Yoga Studio. Toby’s Tearoom was in good hands with barista Jill in charge, and I knew Beatrix had asked her niece Trixie to handle the Book Nook Friday through Sunday so she could hear several of the speakers.
Dave excused himself to take his flash drive to the computer set up at the front of the room. He planned to share photos of Belle’s book plus a few teasers about his latest project.
Beatrix hugged me. “I can’t wait for Teddy to hear Dave’s talk. He thought Gilbert Ward’s Sherlock Holmes presentation last night at our book club meeting was well done, and I’ve promised him Dave’s will be even better. I told you Teddy owns Bluebird Books, the bookshop here in Chipping Camden, right? And that he fancies himself a collector. He has a typewriter and fountain pen allegedly used by J.M. Barrie plus an assortment of letters written by various authors who visited the Cotswolds.”
“He told us when we met him last night, and he also invited us to visit him at his home in the morning.”
“Oh, you’re in for a treat. I’m meeting him there for dinner tonight, and I’m looking forward to seeing what he’s added since I last visited. Before he opened his bookshop here, he was a regular customer at the Book Nook, and a few of his prized possessions are items I found at the flea market in Manchester.”
Just then, Teddy Byrd came in, accompanied by a gangly young man. He leaned heavily on his cane and held on to his companion’s arm. “There he is,” exclaimed Beatrix. “And that must be Albert. He drives him from time to time and does odd jobs at the shop.”
Beatrix went to greet them, and Teddy took her arm as Albert departed. Pointing toward the conference room, Beatrix invited me to follow them inside, where we slowly made our way to the front row. Once seated, Teddy motioned to Dave. “Are you and Leta still up for a midmorning visit tomorrow?”
Dave grinned and looked at me. “Leta and I are looking forward to it.”
I agreed. “I don’t know why, but I’m especially eager to see the typewriter.”
It was a toss-up as to who was more eager for the Saturday visit, Dave to see the collection or Teddy to show it off. It was close to five as the crowd began to take their seats. Across the aisle on the front row, Wendy had saved me a seat with Belle and Peter. I leaned in and kissed Belle on the cheek as Dickens tucked himself between our chairs. “Are you ready for your appearance, Mrs. Davies?”
She shook her head of soft white curls. “Since all I have to do is turn around and give a royal wave, I’ll be fine. Heaven forbid I’d be asked to say anything.”
The announcer shushed the crowd and introduced Dave as the man whose writing had enabled modern readers to see J.M. Barrie as more than the author of Peter Pan. He’d introduced them to Barrie’s wit and generosity and brought his outsized personality to life, and Barrie’s friendship with Arthur Conan Doyle was also part of that story. He invited the group to settle in to hear a discussion of Barrie and Friends.
Dave opened by explaining that he’d come to the Cotswolds last year in search of tales of Arthur Conan Doyle for an article he was writing for the Strand Magazine. “Little did I know I’d meet the characters from Peter Pan. Let me introduce Belle Davies, named for Tinker Bell.” Belle stood, turned to the crowd and waved. She remained standing, as she and Dave had planned. “And to complete the cast, please meet her twins Peter and Wendy, named for you know who.” When the whole family was standing, a round of applause ensued.
With that, the Davies clan sat and Dave launched into a brief explanation of how Barrie’s book had been discovered and how that find had engendered in him a desire to write a book about Barrie and his literary friends. “Did you know that among those who summered at Stanway House with Barrie were not only Arthur Conan Doyle, but also P.G. Wodehouse, A.A. Milne, and Jerome K. Jerome? Imagine all that talent packed into one Manor House. Then picture them playing cricket in Stanway and nearby Broadway on a team formed by Barrie.
“Not that the team, the Allahakbarries, was particularly good. As the story goes, Doyle was a decent cricketer who even played in some professional matches, but the rest of the authors were more talented at writing than they were at playing cricket. One even appeared in his pajamas for a match. To paraphrase Arthur Conan Doyle, they cared very little about cricket but ‘a good deal about a jolly time and pleasant scenery.’ Fortunately for us, they also cared a good deal about their writing, and generations have continued to enjoy the antics of Winnie-the-Pooh, Peter Pan, Sherlock Holmes, and Jeeves & Wooster.”
Though I’d already heard many of the intriguing tidbits Dave was sharing, I continued to be amazed at how little I knew about Barrie and Doyle—their writing and their friendship. The most surprising to me was that the two men had collaborated on an operetta, Jane Annie. When Barrie started it and got stuck, Doyle came to his rescue and helped him finish. It was not, however, successful. The critics hated it, and playwright George Bernard Shaw panned it.
After a plug for the Strand Magazine and the New York Book Review, the two publications he most often wrote for, Dave took questions from the audience. Turning to scan the enthusiastic crowd, I saw Albert come in and stand at the back of the room. How wonderful for Teddy that he has someone to help him get around, I thought.
The questions from the audience were varied, from which authors Dave planned to include in his book to how he’d gotten his start writing literary articles. They were curious as to how much research could be accomplished via online sources versus in-person visits to museums, libraries, and family homes.
One gentleman was interested in Barrie’s cricket team. “How about other authors. Did Rudyard Kipling or H.G. Wells play to
o?”
“Kipling did, but there’s conflicting information as to Wells. I can quote one source as saying, 'Wells was famously uninterested in cricket, and they never could get him to play.’ And yet, there was another that said both Kipling and Wells played on the team.”
Teddy posed the last question. “Excuse me, Dave, do you know whether Bram Stoker played cricket with the author group?”
Dave paused. “Good question. Though he was friends with Arthur Conan Doyle, who not only played on Barrie’s team but formed a team of his own, I’ve never seen mention of Stoker playing. Perhaps his job managing the Lyceum Theatre kept him too busy.”
The announcer approached the front as Dave wrapped up. He thanked Dave, who got a nice round of applause, and reminded the audience that Bluebird Books in Chipping Camden was well stocked with books by and about Barrie and Doyle and many of the other authors Dave had mentioned. The next speaker would come on in thirty minutes to discuss his book on military history—not a topic that held any interest for me.
What did interest me was meeting our friends in the bar at the Cotswolds Hotel. As I went to say goodbye to Teddy, I paused. A young woman dressed in jeans and a baby blue smock was leaning over him and pointing to the back of the room where Albert was standing.