Collectors, Cats & Murder Page 17

  “Speaking of cats, Christie, it’s time to put you back in your pack.” She wandered by at just the right time for me to scoop her up. I thanked Fiona and descended the stairs to the shop. Belle had a copy of Dracula on the counter and something in a small frame.

  “Look, Leta. Since last week’s book club meeting, I’ve been thinking about this. I bet you’ve read it, but I never have. I’ve seen lots of the movies, though.”

  “As long as you’ve got Peter or Wendy staying the night, you should be fine. It’s not a book I’d want to read in my cottage by myself.”

  In unison, Dickens barked and Christie meowed. “What do you mean by yourself? We’re always there.” My, my, something they agree on.

  “What’s this?” I asked, holding up the small gilded frame. “Oh, it’s a quote—'Age is an issue of mind over matter. If you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter.’ – Mark Twain. Well, that’s perfect for you.”

  “I thought so! Pris tells me Fiona does the calligraphy, and then they send her work to the print shop to be copied on sturdy card stock. A local frame shop does the rest. They’re quite popular with the customers. You know what, I think I’ll get one for Ellie too.”

  I held up the frame. “Who chooses the quotes?”

  Pris beamed. “Oh, it’s been a combination. Sometimes, it was Teddy. He particularly liked the one your friend is purchasing. Other times Fiona or Albert might see something and think it would be popular, and often it’s me.”

  On the drive to Astonbury, I filled Belle in about my conversation with Fiona. “Your hunch about the cane was right. She confirmed he always had one by the bed. Just think, without you, we’d never have noticed.”

  Belle grinned. “That’s what I enjoy about our cases—seeing things others don’t. That and folks telling me things they shouldn’t.”

  “Now, what does that mean? Who’s opened up to you now?”

  “Pris Price, the manager. You think she’d have realized if I was friends with you, I must also be friends with Beatrix. Regardless, she let slip a few choice comments about Teddy leaving Beatrix the shop. She was already steamed he’d invited Beatrix to manage Bluebird Books this summer. And, I guess, like Beatrix, she had no inkling he’d decided who would get the shop.”

  “Hmm. Why wouldn’t he have made that decision? Forgive me, but he was in his eighties, and he was right to have a will—the bookshop was a huge asset. Did she think it was up for debate?”

  “I didn’t get the whole story, but I gather there’d been some conversation about his stepping away from more than the day to day and leaving her to manage the shop entirely—the book signings, ordering—all of it. Could she have thought that meant he’d leave the whole kit and caboodle to her?”

  Recalling what Beatrix had told me, Pris’s version didn’t seem to jibe. “Teddy described things differently. He wasn’t sure she was up to the job as it was, much less taking on what he’d been handling. Interesting. Could it be he wasn’t completely honest with her? As in, he didn’t want to let on he had doubts? That could be why she was so upset about Beatrix suddenly taking over for the summer—and now completely.

  “This whole thing reminds me of when I worked in Personnel. Managers were notorious for thinking they’d delivered a message about an employee needing to improve their performance when in fact they’d danced around it. I can’t tell you how many folks were clueless their bosses were disappointed with their work.”

  Belle snorted. “Saw that time and time again as a nurse. Those hospital administrators had the hardest time shooting straight. Glad I don’t have to worry about that anymore. So, do you think we should add Pris to our list of suspects?”

  “List of suspects? I didn’t know we had one!”

  “Now, Leta, I’m sure you’ve started one in your head. If not, you’re falling down on the job. Shall we brainstorm?”

  Miss Marple is at it again. “Sure. Where do you want to start?”

  “Might as well start with Pris. What’s that list of motives you like—Lust, Loathing, Lucre—what’s the other one? Love?”

  Belle was cracking me up. “Yes, that’s the list. What would Pris’s motive be?”

  “A burst of loathing, angry beyond words? Found out Friday morning she was essentially being replaced and worked herself into a lather worrying about it all day? Maybe she went by to have it out with him late Friday and lost her temper.”

  “Anything’s possible, but why would she steal anything?”

  “Tuppence, we don’t have to figure it all out right this minute. We just need a list to start with.”

  Tuppence and Miss Marple. “Duly noted. In that case, how ’bout Fiona? I don’t have a motive for her, but she does have a key to the cottage. And there were no signs of a break-in, so our murderer must have had a key.”

  “You know," Belle said, "I’ve not met the girl. I only glimpsed her at Dave’s presentation. Do you have a motive for her or just opportunity? Means, motive, opportunity! Isn’t that what Gemma would say?”

  Dickens chimed in. “She’s a sweet thing. Why would she hurt anyone?”

  Trying to respond to Dickens and answer Belle at the same time was a challenge. “Yes, Gemma and every detective on TV would say that. I can’t think of a motive for her, and based on what Beatrix told me, she seems to be an angel. But she has a key.”

  Christie had to have the last word. “Listen to you two, just because she’s blonde and young—well, younger than Leta, anyway—doesn’t mean she’s an angel. Maybe we should ask Watson what he thinks.”

  Picking up on Christie’s suggestion, I commented to Belle, “Gee, too bad Watson can’t tell us what he thinks of all these folks. I understand Fiona put him out every night when she left, and Teddy let him in every morning. So, unless it was Fiona, he’d have been prowling the neighborhood when the murderer was there.”

  Now, Dickens was barking. “Wait, wait. What about that Albert person? He doesn’t look mean, but he didn’t pet me or talk to me—not any of the times he saw me. Could be he’s not a dog person, but that’s suspicious in itself, isn’t it?”

  Christie disagreed. “That’s because he’s a cat person—a very discerning cat person who thinks I’m beautiful.”

  When I laughed out loud, Belle looked at me. “What’s so funny?”

  “Um, just thinking about the cat knowing something. That reminds me, Albert was a big part of Teddy’s daily life. I wonder what their relationship was like.”

  “That young man who brought him to the festival and picked him up?”

  “Yes, that’s the one. He came by the cottage Saturday morning while Dave and I were there with the police. He was scheduled to pick Teddy up. And today, he came by Fiona’s flat to borrow some money while I was there.”

  Belle was quiet for a moment. “It would take some amount of strength to smother someone, wouldn’t it? I don’t know what his motive would be, but he’d be a more likely candidate than one of the women—as far as physical strength. I say we add him to the list.”

  Picturing Albert in Fiona’s kitchen brought another thought to mind. “Belle, you know those plaques with hooks for keys? I saw one on Fiona’s wall by the back door, and I bet both Albert and Pris have easy access to her flat—and to the key to Teddy’s cottage. That makes three people with opportunity.”

  “Okay, duly noted. Anyone else come to mind, while we’re in an accusing frame of mind?” She frowned. “I guess we have to put Beatrix on the list, don’t we? She had the most to gain, though I don’t think for a minute she did it.”

  That made me think of the conversation with the solicitor. “Hmm. I’d almost forgotten the solicitor said another individual was in the will, but he didn’t say who it was. I guess if we’d asked, he would have told us. He emphasized Beatrix had gotten the bulk of the estate, so I wonder how significant a bequest this other person will receive.”

  “I’d say significance is in the eye of the beholder. If you live from one payday to the next, as I did when the
twins were young and their father had just died, £500 could be significant. Now that Wendy’s retired and we live together, it could fund a long weekend in an all-inclusive five-star resort—but it wouldn’t mean as much.”

  “True. Well, at a minimum, I need to find out who that person is. I should be able to get that from Beatrix, since she’s taking a copy of the will to her solicitor as we speak. Meanwhile, we’ve got who on the list? Pris, Fiona, Albert, Beatrix? And if we consider it being some avaricious collector who was desperate for something Teddy had, it could be someone we’ve no idea about. Just think, there was a literary festival in town, filled with book lovers.”

  Belle squinted and didn’t respond right away. “Now that you mention the festival, you’ve made me think of Gilbert. After all, didn’t he visit Teddy to see his collection? Could he have seen something he felt he had to have?”

  Thinking about that possibility, I realized I didn’t want to consider Gilbert a suspect any more than I did Beatrix. “I hardly know him, but somehow I think he’d offer money for whatever he wanted rather than break into Teddy’s cottage to get it. Unless, he did offer to buy something and Teddy didn’t want to part with it. My head is spinning. If it was Gilbert or anyone besides Teddy’s employees, how did they unlock the door?”

  As we pulled into the driveway to Sunshine Cottage, Belle yawned. “I think we’ve done good work today. Maybe Constable James will find something on the computer that will help. Or Gemma’s come up with a fingerprint that will crack the case. You know, I think I still have time for a lie-down before Peter comes in.”

  I helped her into the cottage and got her comfy on her bed. Tigger came into the bedroom, stretching one paw and then another until he’d worked the kinks from all four. He leaped up beside Belle and curled up by her side, and I tucked a quilted throw around the two of them.

  “Thank you, Leta. And Tigger thanks you too. He likes being beneath the cover. I’m sure we’ll chat later.”

  By the time I drove the short distance to my cottage, I too was ready for a lie-down—or nap, as we Americans call it. I let Dickens inspect the garden while I put out fresh water for my furry friends. When he was back inside, we three retired to the bedroom, Dickens on the rug and Christie by my side. Maybe I’d wake up knowing who the villain was. To sleep, perchance to dream . . .

  Not a chance. I’d barely closed my eyes when Gemma called, and she didn’t sound happy. “What were you thinking? Keeping my constable tied up for hours?! You know we have other crimes to solve!”

  Good grief. What brought this on? “Gemma, what are you going on about? He’s a grown man. He could have told us he needed to leave. And what crime could you have that’s more important than a murder?”

  She bulldozed right over my words. “And you took Belle! I didn’t say you could have a party. Did you invite the neighbors too?”

  At the best of times, Gemma ran hot and cold about my sleuthing activities. She could be snippy, rude, and downright insulting one minute, and then grudgingly—even nicely—ask for my help the next. “Excuse me, didn’t you invite Dave and me to return to the scene of the crime and then ask for our help in studying the binders? What’s gotten into you?” I wasn’t usually this direct with her. I was usually the soul of politeness. But she’d rubbed me the wrong way one time too many.

  “I’ll tell you what! DCI Burton’s been on the horn reading me the riot act about you dragging Belle into an investigation—yet again. Says the poor woman could be in danger because of you.”

  I guffawed. “Me dragging Belle? He’s got to be kidding. She was putting together a list of suspects on the way home today. And what danger? We’ve been with Beatrix and Constable James all day. It’s not like some crazed killer is going to commit mass murder in a Chipping Camden cottage. And if he’s so concerned about Belle’s safety, is he worried about mine too?” Now I was getting steamed.

  “He’s furious I allowed Beatrix to go to the cottage. Says she’s a prime suspect.”

  “Seriously? Has he no respect for the local bobby—as in you—knowing her turf? I know she has to be cleared because she’s the key beneficiary, but seriously?”

  I heard Gemma take a deep breath. “He’s on the wrong track, but there’s no telling him that. He goes from wanting to bring Beatrix in for questioning to wanting to label it a random break-in—says the thief must’ve been surprised to find Mr. Byrd at home.”

  Could he possibly be that stupid? “What? Surprised to find him at home—an elderly man at home after 9 p.m.? Is he nuts? Has anyone even asked what time it was that Fiona left? It was probably closer to ten. And if he believes that, then he should clear Beatrix. She knew he was at home.”

  “Okay, okay, I admit he’s not making much sense, but he’s my boss. He’s a—what do you call it—a micro-manager.”

  As was my nature, I defaulted to being polite—to being non-confrontational. Some people thrive on conflict. Not me. I spoke softly, which typically had a calming effect. “So, Gemma, what do you think? Do you think it was a random crime?”

  Her tone shifted from furious to exasperated. “No. Nor do I see Beatrix as a suspect, but, of course, she doesn’t have an alibi. She was in her hotel room alone. Too bad she didn’t share a room like Belle and Ellie did.”

  “And this random crime thing? Has there been a string of break-ins in Chipping Camden?”

  “Nope.” She sighed and I could picture her shaking her head.

  I reverted to my conflict management training from my corporate days. Not everyone I worked with agreed with my self-deprecating style, but it worked for me. “Gemma, I’m confused. Exactly why did you call me?” I thought I knew the answer. She’d been chewed out by her boss, and she was feeling defensive, but she was a good enough manager not to take it out on her constable. She had no qualms, however, about taking it out on me. Her response would be telling.

  I sensed she’d spent her fury. “I . . . I’m not sure. I was beside myself when DCI Burton hung up on me. And I couldn’t exactly talk it through with Constable James. That would have been unprofessional.”

  But she could blast me? Will the girl never learn? What she needs is a mentor. Instead, she has me. “Gemma, how do you think I feel?” I should be getting paid for being a counselor, I thought. Never mind being a detective.

  “Point taken. How ‘bout I hang up and call back—and start over?” That was as close as I was going to get to an apology. One thing Gemma never did was apologize.

  It was my turn to sigh. Disaster averted. Am I the only person in the world who thinks arguments are a disaster?

  “Let’s pretend you did. Forgetting about our favorite DCI and what he thinks, am I correct in thinking Constable James has brought you up to speed on what we discovered at the cottage today?”

  “Yes, pretty much. I understand there’s a cane missing and some documents from the collection. It would appear our thief was looking for something or several things in particular. Otherwise, he or she would have carried off the binders, maybe even some of the rare books. Though hauling off more than a book or two could be difficult, I suppose. I wonder where they parked their car.”

  It was good to talk things over after letting my findings simmer a bit. “I wonder why they didn’t just take the binders away to examine somewhere else. If you had access to a trove of rare documents, some valuable, some not so much, wouldn’t you want to look through them? I mean if the motive was lucre—excuse me, that’s what P.D. James says for money—why not take every bit and see what you could get for it?”

  “I think you’re rubbing off on Constable James. He asked something similar. Of course, for all we know, it was something else the thief was after, and they got distracted somehow by the binders. Couldn’t have been the cane, could it?”

  I thought about the ledger sheets. “I didn’t pay close attention to what Teddy paid for it, but I think it was over £1000. I suppose it’s possible he got it for a steal, and it’s worth ten times that. Heck, they could have gra
bbed the umbrella stand and made off with the whole lot. Still, something tells me the target was rare documents or books.”

  “Aaargh. Don’t tell me this is going to be another book collector drama. I can’t see us having more than one of those in a lifetime in our little village. Besides, we locked up the culprit for that crime.”

  “Well, it’s not exactly in Astonbury. It’s in Chipping Camden, and it happened during a literary festival. Maybe it’s not such a far-fetched idea. I wonder how many collectors were in attendance last week. Gilbert might know.”

  “Number one, I hope you’re not serious. Number two, who’s Gilbert?”

  I was about to attempt an answer when another call came in. “Gemma, I’ve got another call. Ask your dad about Gilbert, and maybe we can catch up later.” As rude as she’d been, I had no problem cutting our call short.

  Hearing Dave’s voice dispelled the lingering tension from speaking with Gemma. “Thank goodness it’s you, Tommy. I’ve have enough of talking with Gemma.”

  “Uh-oh,” he said. “Does your calling me Tommy mean Tuppence is about to share tales of derring-do, or are you going to go straight to complaining about Gemma?”

  I chuckled. “Never mind Gemma. No derring-do, unless you see looking through ledgers and bookshelves as particularly adventurous. Perhaps a tale of intrigue, though. You’ll be sorry you missed the mystery of the key. We followed the clues, and we found it. And that’s just the beginning . . .”

  By the time I filled Dave in and heard how his research was going, any thought of a nap was gone. Besides, a trip to Sainsbury’s was in order if I planned to cook dinner for Belle and Peter the next night. It occurred to me I should invite Ellie too.

  I rang the Manor House, where Caroline, the cook, answered the phone. Before I asked for Ellie, I inquired about Caroline’s dinner menu for Wednesday evening.

  “No plans, Leta. Wednesday is one of my days to work at the Chipping Camden Café.”