Collectors, Cats & Murder Read online

  “Put me on speaker so I can talk to the little Dickens. Hi, boy, do you miss me already?”

  “Is that Dave? Where are you? When are you coming back? We took a trip today.”

  I chuckled at the two of them. “You got all that, right? No need for me to tell you about my day?”

  “Let me guess. You said you wanted a quiet day, so it was yoga, the Tearoom, maybe the grocery. Did you see the donkeys too?”

  Little did he know. I filled him in starting with the fact that the police had determined his new friend had been murdered. I lightened the mood by teasing him that Gemma had said thanks and was quite interested in him looking at the binders. “She seemed awfully disappointed when I told her she’d have to make do with me. Could it be she’s interested in you for more than your literary expertise? How would a young, blonde detective suit you?”

  “Not my type. I go for petite brunettes—beautiful, highly intelligent, petite brunettes.”

  “Don’t forget mature—mature with silver highlights in their hair.”

  He was as surprised as I’d been that Beatrix had inherited the bulk of Teddy’s estate and also intrigued by the letter. “Teddy was quite a character, wasn’t he? I wish I could be there to help solve the puzzle with you and Beatrix. Despite the circumstances, I think it could be fun.”

  When I told him Belle was going with us the next day, silence echoed down the line. Please don’t let things get tense between us again. I waited. Wendy would say I was working the pregnant pause like I did when we spoke with folks to ferret out clues. Dave needed to say whatever was on his mind, and I wasn’t going to prompt him, nor apologize for getting involved.

  When he finally responded, my first thought was he’d done a masterful job of tamping down any misgiving he had. “Sounds like a party. You, Beatrix, Belle, and Constable James. Are you taking Dickens too?”

  “Of course. There’s no telling what he might discover digging in the flower bed. On a serious note, I think determining whether anything’s missing from the binders or anywhere else in the cottage will help establish motive. That should give Gemma and Constable James a line of inquiry. If it wasn’t theft, I don’t know what their next steps will be.”

  “I’m sure you’re right. I can’t imagine Teddy had the kind of enemies who would kill him. And bad as it was, what you and I saw makes me think it’s more likely a robbery gone bad. Now, dear Tuppence, I expect daily bulletins. I don’t want a call from that young, blonde detective telling me anything has happened to my beautiful brunette.”

  I’m not sure what I’d expected, but I felt the conversation had gone well. Christie sauntered into the room and leaped into my lap. I knew before she spoke what she wanted. “Those loud voices woke me up, but I’m glad. So, you’ve been off on an adventure without me? You’re not thinking of leaving me behind again tomorrow, are you?”

  That’s exactly what I’d been thinking. It wouldn’t do any harm to take her, but I couldn’t get her, Belle, Beatrix, and a dog in my taxi. I tried explaining that to her.

  “Leave the dog behind! It’s his turn. You know I’m better at sniffing out clues than he is.”

  Dickens had already heard me say he was going, so I couldn’t disappoint him now. That explanation didn’t go over well.

  “Dickens,” she meowed, “you’re okay to stay home, right? So, I can go? Think about it. First, you and Dave and Leta spent Friday and Saturday night away. Next, you went off without me again today. It’s only fair you let me take your place.”

  I watched Dickens. It would be just like him to give in to his pushy feline sister. Fortunately for both of us, we were saved by the bell—the ringing of my phone. It was Beatrix. “Leta, I can’t thank you enough for taking care of me today. It’s a load off my mind to have met with the solicitor and delivered the news to the ladies at the bookshop.”

  “You know I was glad to do it. How are you doing now? You sound perkier.”

  “I don’t know that I’d call it perky, but Trixie fixed dinner, and we shared a bottle of wine. We talked through ideas for Bluebird Books and how to manage two bookshops, and I feel confident it will work out. Now, about tomorrow. I’d like to meet you there maybe around ten a.m., and when we’re done, treat you to lunch. Then I plan to take a copy of the will to my solicitor in Stow to talk through my questions. If we have two cars, you won’t have to make that stop. How does that sound?”

  “All good, and I’ve spoken with Belle and she’s eager to join us. She’ll be a great help with the treasure hunt.” And much more, but no need to go into that.

  “That’s fine by me. I’ll see you then, and thanks again for everything.”

  Shaking my head, I looked at my four-legged companions. Now I could take them both, and Christie would be happy. A happy cat beat an angry one any day. Dickens? He was happy all the time.

  I never did make it to Sainsbury’s for groceries, so it looked like another round of cheese and crackers. And I never did work on my columns. There’d be no rest for the weary tonight. I prepared my makeshift dinner, poured another glass of wine, and headed to the office, cranking up my new Van Morrison CD for inspiration. I should be able to finish at least one column.

  “Thank you, Leta. This is perfect,” meowed Christie as I positioned her backpack in the car. Would wonders never cease? She hadn’t uttered a single complaint this morning, but the day was young. I didn’t have an official car harness for her pack, so I passed the seatbelt through its loops. Then I secured Dickens behind me. Belle would ride shotgun.

  When I pulled up to Sunshine Cottage, Belle was waiting outside by the front door. She locked it behind her and made her way to the car. I hopped out to open the passenger door and noticed she was moving more slowly than usual. “Is your arthritis bad today?”

  She handed me her cane as she settled herself in the front seat. “Seems so, but I hope these old joints will loosen up as the day goes on. Can’t let a few aches and pains stop the LOLs, can we?” Belle had played a big part in naming our detective agency. When Gemma had first referred to the three of us as little old ladies, I was fit to be tied, but Belle loved it. We didn’t think of ourselves as an official business, but we had fun with the name, and plenty of the villagers referred to us that way.

  I’d had Little Old Ladies’ Detective Agency business cards printed to give Wendy and Belle for Christmas. Wendy’s were tucked in the pocket of an aqua hoodie embroidered with the phrase, “Your first mistake is thinking I’m just a little old lady.” I’d gotten myself an identical one in red. Since Belle would never wear a hoodie, I’d given her a blue canvas bag embroidered with the saying. She carried it everywhere.

  “Hold on, Leta. Maybe if I greet Christie and Dickens properly, they’ll quiet down.” She was right. All she had to do was rub their noses and scratch their chins while cooing how glad she was to see them, and their chatter stopped. Christie, especially, adored Belle, so there was a chance my prissy cat would be on her best behavior today.

  I pulled up in front of Teddy’s cottage. A police car was parked by the cottage next door, and Beatrix’s car was in the driveway behind the Rolls. “Such an elegant car that Rolls. It makes me think of that BBC show we watched, The Mrs. Bradley Mysteries, with Diana Rigg. You know I loved her hats.”

  Belle glanced at me and smiled. “Those hats from the 1920s were something, weren’t they? A bit much for this day and age, though, when you can hardly get a woman to wear a dress, much less a hat.” I was pretty sure Wendy and I rated high in Belle’s eyes because we liked to dress well.

  I helped her from the car before I unfastened Christie’s pack and placed it on my shoulders. Last, I went around to Dickens’s side to let him out. As our little entourage proceeded up the walkway, I asked, “Can you ever forgive me for wearing jeans today?”

  “Let me see, not just jeans—jeans tucked into boots and topped with a fashionable hip-length sweater? I think so. Much better suited for a treasure hunt than a dress.”

  Beatrix g
reeted us at the front door. “Perfect timing. It’s eerie being here without Teddy, and I don’t know that I could manage it without you two and Constable James—well, you four. Shall I lift Christie out of her pack?”

  "Yes, but let’s be careful not to let her outside. I don’t want her wandering off in a strange place. Where would you like to begin? The library?”

  Since Constable James was already in there, that seemed the logical place to start. He jumped up to help Belle to one of the wing chairs and then knelt to talk to Dickens. Christie tucked herself onto the lowest shelf of one of the bookcases and surveyed the room. She would come out in her own time.

  Constable James glanced at Christie and shook his head before he stood and pointed to the binders on the desk. “I’m not sure where you ladies want those, but DI Taylor instructed me not to let them out of my sight. And, I’ve brought plastic gloves for us.”

  Belle motioned him over. “You know, this will be a first for me—the gloves. Do you think Miss Marple wore them?” Her demure manner cracked us all up.

  I suggested to Beatrix we tackle the treasure hunt for the key first. “Who knows what’s in the safe? It could be something as mundane as ledger books for the shop or it could be a priceless manuscript, but I’m dying to know. Have you had a chance to find it yet?”

  “Since I only just got here, I haven’t looked. Let’s not waste time with me trying to guess, since you know where it is.” I walked past her to the bookshelf near the desk and pointed to Safe Haven.

  “Just like Teddy.” She put her glasses on and read the inscription inside the oversized book cover.

  You found me! Now you must find my key.

  As I had, she felt around the safe for an obvious spot for the key. Based on the letter the solicitor had given us, I was sure there had to be more clues. “So, ladies, if you were hiding a key and not tucking it right beside the safe, where would you put it?”

  Belle thought for a moment. “Could it be in the desk drawer? Or in that little glass bowl with paperclips? That would make it convenient for Teddy, but not much of a treasure hunt.” I quickly checked both places. No luck.

  Standing in the middle of the room, Constable James turned in a circle. “This room is filled with books. Could it be hidden in a book?”

  “That makes sense,” I said, “but where do we begin? We could be here all day looking in books.”

  Beatrix stared at the safe. “Teddy was a bookshop owner and well-read.” That description fit her as well as Teddy. “The safe was hidden in a book with the word safe in the title. What book titles contain the word key?” That seemed like an easy question, but none of us suggested an answer.

  It took Constable James pulling out his phone to google book titles with the word key. The first thing he called out was Key to Rebecca. “If that’s it,” he asked, “Where do we look? Is there some logic to the way the books are organized?”

  I explained what I’d ascertained on Saturday. “Some shelves are dedicated to one author, others have several all arranged alphabetically. Key to Rebecca was written by Ken Follett, and the Fs are here on the left, in this first bookcase.” I moved to study the shelves. “He has quite a few by Faulkner, Ferber, Fitzgerald, even Freud, but Ian Fleming takes up the most space. I count fourteen James Bond novels, and look, I’d forgotten he wrote Chitty-Chitty-Bang-Bang too.”

  Belle reminded me of the task at hand. “Leta, dear, what about Ken Follett?”

  “Oh, right! No Follett here. Beatrix, look on the shelves near the safe. The layout seems to go from collectibles to more modern books read for pure pleasure. You know—the Spenser and Bosch novels and Inspector Lynley. Maybe Follett is among those.”

  “He is. Teddy seemed partial to his thrillers—Lie Down with Lions, The Eye of the Needle, and Key to Rebecca. And tucked in Key to Rebecca is another sheet of paper.” Again, she read aloud.

  Now, now, did you think it would be that easy?

  Perhaps you need to sleep on it.

  “Seriously? Is he suggesting we come back another day? Or . . . is he sending us to the bedroom to nap?” Belle asked.

  Taking the page from Beatrix, I stared at it. “If we follow the same logic about him being a bookshop owner and reader, maybe it’s another book.”

  Constable James had his phone out in a heartbeat, but before he could say anything, I spotted Raymond Chandler’s The Big Sleep on a shelf beneath the safe. It was tucked next to a copy of In Cold Blood by Truman Capote. It was my turn to search for a piece of paper. And there it was. I grinned, unfolded it, and read.

  I can see why you’d look here, but this is just a book

  You can’t sleep in it.

  Belle shook her head. “I bet now he’s sending us to the bedroom. Are there books in there?”

  I explained that the book Dracula had been beneath his hand, but I hadn’t noticed whether there were any others. Beatrix theorized he’d been interested in it because we discussed the author Thursday night at the book club. “Doesn’t that seem an age ago?” she asked.

  “Yes to you, and yes to Belle. Maybe he is sending us to the bedroom. I bet the library, the bedroom, and the kitchen are the rooms he spent most of his time in, so maybe the clues are in those rooms.”

  Belle said she’d stay where she was, and the rest of us went down the hall. There were no books in sight, none on the mantle nor the nightstand. I looked in the closet, thinking there could be a book tucked in with the extra blankets. Nope.

  Beatrix pulled open the drawer to the nightstand. “Here’s a book, The Lost Book of the Holy Grail, by Charlie Lovett. This better not be an indication that our search will be as fruitless as that one.”

  “Keys, sleep, it must have to do with sleep, right?” I murmured. And, then it hit me. What was it I found beneath the bed the other day? “Hold on, I completely forgot—look at this,” I said as I pulled my phone from my pocket.

  Constable James looked over my shoulder and did the reading this time.

  To sleep, perchance to dream—ay, there’s the rub,

  For in that sleep of death what DREAMS may come

  “Oh! I’ve got that with me. It was in a separate evidence bag, and I brought it with the binders.”

  I’m sure I looked rather pleased with myself. “I found it between the bed slats and the boxspring on Saturday.”

  Beatrix blinked. “And what were you doing under the bed?”

  I explained about my random brainstorm and that reminded me of the list we’d found on the floor in the library. Turning to Constable James, I asked, “Did you bring the other piece of paper we found?”

  He had it with him, and Beatrix and I huddled over it when he pulled it from his briefcase. She shook her head. “Some of this is probably in the will, but Teddy couldn’t have made the updates about Dave and Gilbert. I’ll be sure they get the items he’s mentioned.”

  Returning to the library, we found Belle looking at an umbrella stand filled with walking canes. Christie had taken over her seat, and Dickens was at her side.

  She held out a cane. “It’s a shame these are all too tall for me. You know your canes have to be proportioned properly. I’d forgotten, by the way, that Teddy and Peter had a conversation about antique canes on the way home Thursday night. The one he had with him that evening was an antique sword cane supposedly identical to the one Dr. Watson carried, and he had to demonstrate it for us.”

  One with colorful playing cards painted on it caught my eye. “Look at this. I’ve seen canes with brass heads or carved ivory knobs, but these are amazing. Oh my gosh, this one unscrews and has four shot glasses stowed in it. I never even noticed these on Saturday.”

  Belle asked if we’d found anything useful in the bedroom, and I showed her the photo to see what she’d make of it. She looked puzzled. “So, if there’s only one book in there and it doesn’t have anything to do with sleep or death or dreams, does that mean we’re back to searching in here? Oh! The quote is from Shakespeare’s Hamlet. Maybe we’re lookin
g for A Midsummer Night’s Dream? That would cover sleep and dreams.”

  That search took a bit more time. We had to look through six editions of Shakespeare’s plays, but none held the next clue. Where did I see the word dream today? “Wait, on the shelf with Fleming and Ferber—Freud’s The Interpretation of Dreams. Nothing says it has to be a work of fiction, does it?”

  Constable James was closest to the bookcase and quickly found Freud’s most well-known work. I nodded encouragement when he pulled another piece of folded parchment from the book. He had a perplexed expression as he read.

  No need to interpret my dreams.

  Instead, consider my passions.

  Beatrix chuckled. “Finally, something that’s easy. Look around you. The man was passionate about books.”

  Now, Constable James looked dismayed. “Doesn’t sound easy, not if you mean we have to look in every one of these.”

  Returning to her chair, Belle placed Christie in her lap. “If he was passionate about books, perhaps we’re looking for one that has that word in the title—book!”

  “Right!” I exclaimed. Two books immediately popped to mind. “Could it be The Book Thief or How to Find Love in a Bookshop? Those aren’t collectibles, per se, so if he has them, they should be on the bookcase near the desk—but I can’t recall the authors.”

  Of course, Beatrix knew. “Marcus Zusak wrote The Book Thief and Veronica Henry wrote the one about finding love in a bookshop. It hasn’t happened to me yet, but I guess there’s always hope.” She opened Zusak’s book. “Nothing here. Fingers crossed . . . blast, nothing in the other one either.”

  Books, books, what others had the word in the title? “Okay, maybe I’m reaching. It has doesn’t have the word book in the title, but it’s about the love of books—The Readers of Broken Wheel Recommend. Could that be it?”

  Of course, as the owner of a bookshop, Beatrix knew right away who the author was—Katarina Bivald. I’d have never come up with that. But that book wasn’t on any of the shelves.