Pumpkins, Paws and Murder (A Dickens & Christie mystery Book 2) Page 3

  The phone rang before I could get beyond the title page. It was my friend Dave Prentiss calling from New York City. We’d met and gone out a few times when he stayed at the inn in September. We were both avid readers and enjoyed writing, so we had lots in common. “Hi there,” he said. “Are you ready for your starring role as Dorothy?”

  “You bet. My red shoes are polished and my pinafore is starched. How’s your Peter Pan article coming along?”

  “I’ve been putting the finishing touches on it this week. I’ll send you the link to it as soon as it goes online.”

  “You know I can’t wait to read it. What’s next? Your article on Arthur Conan Doyle?”

  “Yes, my editor at the Strand wants to run it in the December issue, so I need to immerse myself in my notes and start pulling it together. Speaking of December, do you still plan to spend Christmas in England?” Dave asked.

  “That’s what I want, but my sisters have stepped up their campaign to get me to Atlanta. I’m torn. I’d like to see them, but I’m eager to start my own Christmas traditions here in Astonbury. Chances are I’ll see Sophia and her husband Jeremy in the new year when they visit London, so it’s just Anna and her husband Andrew I’d miss.”

  “Well, keep me posted. If you come to the States, maybe you could plan a detour to New York City—you know there’s nothing like the city at Christmas. We could go ice skating at Rockefeller Center, take in the Rockettes, see all the department store windows . . .”

  A visit to New York for the holiday season sounded delightful. “Ooh, that’s awfully tempting. I’ll keep that idea in mind, and I’ll let you know soon.”

  “Okay. Time to get back to work. Say hi to the gang and give Dickens and Christie each a belly rub from me. Bye now.”

  I thought about my holiday dilemma, my sisters, and Dave as I made another cup of tea and returned to the couch. I was attracted to Dave, but I wasn’t ready for a serious relationship. I looked at Dickens. “I still tear up over Henry. How can I even consider a relationship with another man?”

  Dickens cocked his head and studied me. The question seemed to stump him.

  Christie, on the other hand, was ready with an opinion. “Seems to me you have the perfect setup with Dave. Since he lives across the pond, as they say, what’s the harm in seeing him every few months?”

  She was probably right. Who knew a cat could be a relationship expert? I sighed and opened my book. Nothing like reading to clear my mind, but it was not to be. When the phone rang again, Christie jumped from my lap in a huff. Clearly, she’d had it with the interruptions.

  I’d barely said hello before Beatrix declared, “I knew he’d be trouble.”

  “Huh?”

  “That worthless Max Maxwell. Whatever were his parents thinking when they named him Max? If that’s even his real name. Never mind. When I told Trixie he was in town, she wasn’t happy. Then she bucked up and said it would give her a chance to ask him about signing the divorce papers one more time without making a trip to Totnes.”

  “Uh-huh, so when’s she going to do that?”

  “Her first thought was to go straight to the caravan and have it out with him, but I convinced her it wasn’t a good idea to be alone with him. Then she decided she’d leave a note on his door telling him she’d meet him at the Fête tomorrow. That way she can read him the riot act in kind of a public place. Just what we need, right? A scene at the Fall Fête?”

  I tried to respond, but Beatrix didn’t take a breath.

  “So, here’s the plan. When Trixie comes to relieve me tomorrow, I’ll motion you over to the booth. Then, can you go with her to get Max’s attention and take him off to the side for a conversation? She’ll be safe out in public, and I know you’ll keep them civil.”

  I was almost speechless, but not quite. “What? Why me? Why not you?”

  “Oh, come now, I’m hardly a neutral party, so he’s more likely to get on his high horse if it’s me. You’re so good at calmly speaking with people and getting them to be calm in turn. Don’t forget you told me all about that conflict resolution work you did in your corporate days. I know you’re the best person for the job.”

  “Whoa, wait a minute, Beatrix. I’ve never mediated a domestic dispute, for goodness’ sake. Getting two professionals to work something out is an entirely different ball of wax.”

  Beatrix bulldozed right over my rationale. “Doesn’t matter. I need you to do this for me. Please.”

  There was no convincing her otherwise, and I asked myself for the umpteenth time whether I would ever learn to say no to my friends. Instead of a fun-filled day dressed as Dorothy, greeting visitors, and laughing with my friends, I had this drama to look forward to.

  Chapter Two

  Saturday dawned crisp and cool, a day made for a fall fête, and I could almost forget what lay ahead with Trixie and Max. I couldn’t help grumbling as I ushered Dickens into the car.

  Dickens was puzzled at my sour mood. “What’s up with you?”

  “People! Why can’t they be more like dogs?”

  He cocked his head. “You’re not serious, are you? I like people, especially you.”

  I looked down at my blue-checked dress and white pinafore and sighed. “Never mind. We’re going to have a super day. What do you think about my outfit? Do I look like a young girl?”

  “Sure you do, Leta,” said my ever-faithful dog.

  “Ha! Maybe not, but I feel young. Do you feel like Toto?”

  “Can we talk about this Toto thing? I’m not brown, and I’m certainly not tiny. I’m much bigger . . . and much more handsome.”

  Dickens had a thing about being called small, maybe because as a dwarf Great Pyrenees he was so much smaller than full-sized Pyrs. I tried to cajole him. “It’s all about your big personality. You know everybody’s gonna love you, and with your scarf that says Toto, they’ll know exactly who you are.”

  He was pretty much always chipper, and he was easily distracted, so by the time we pulled up to the inn, he was chomping at the bit. “Ooh, I see Wendy and Peter, and I just glimpsed Paddington running under a table in the face painting booth. Hurry!”

  As he scampered off, I looked for my Wizard of Oz cohorts. Our plan was to position ourselves next to the Scarecrow Garden. The garden had blossomed since I’d seen it yesterday. Today there were nearly thirty scarecrows with pumpkins scattered among them. There was even a Humpty Dumpty scarecrow sitting on a bale of hay.

  Barb was positioning the correctly spelled sign against the white picket fence. Today, the tall, athletic blonde was dressed in a crisp black skirt and a white top, ready for her long day at the pub. “Phew,” she said. “That should do it.”

  As she waved at me and walked toward the parking lot, I saw Max the Magician try to intercept her. She made a rude gesture with her hand, and he smirked and said something I couldn’t quite catch. Odd, I thought, as I turned back toward the Scarecrow Garden.

  I heard Gavin before I saw him. He wore a silver vest and gallon paint cans up and down his legs and arms. With his face painted silver and a tin funnel on his head, he was somewhat recognizable as a Tin Man—maybe one crossed with the Michelin man.

  He clanked toward me, followed by Toby as the Scarecrow and Peter as the Cowardly Lion. Rhiannon’s Glinda the Good Witch costume sparkled in the sunlight as she exited the inn arm in arm with the Wicked Witch of the West. With her green face paint and big fake nose, Libby was almost unrecognizable. What gave her away were the salt and pepper curls peeking out from beneath the black hat.

  I clapped as the group came together. “If there were a costume contest, I’m sure we’d win. Too bad Dickens doesn’t look much like Toto, but he’ll just have to do.”

  I never ceased to be amazed at how well Dickens could hear. He came dashing toward us from the garden, barking. “Hey, what do you mean I’ll ‘just have to do?’ I’m made for this part.”

  “Well, you’ve certainly changed your tune, young man,” I said.

  I’
m sure my friends wondered what I was talking about, but they didn’t ask. Everyone was too busy taking in the sights and sounds of the Fête and greeting friends.

  “Look, Leta, your neighbors are here—Deborah and John Watson and their son Timmy. Let’s see if Timmy wants his picture made with us,” said Gavin.

  Wendy had recruited Timmy to play Michael Darling with her Peter Pan crew. Dressed in footy pajamas, he threw his arms around Dickens as Deborah and John greeted us.

  “No dental emergencies today, John?” I asked.

  “Hush, don’t jinx me,” said our village dentist. “Getting out of this Captain Hook outfit to repair a tooth wouldn’t be easy. I’m keeping my fingers crossed.” He dropped a pound in my straw basket while Deborah took a picture of Timmy posed with the gang.

  John pointed out the Peter Pan team across the courtyard and moved that way. His sword clanked as he walked, and he periodically removed his pirate hat and waved at the crowd. Deborah tagged along as the official family photographer for the day.

  I spotted Belle getting her face painted. Belle was all about fun and had volunteered to sell tickets for cornhole. It was set up on one side of the apple-bobbing bucket, and the Peter Pan team was stationed on the other side. “Oh my gosh, Peter. Your sister’s costume is perfect. Did Belle make it?” I asked as I caught a glimpse of Wendy.

  “Of course,” said Peter. “Just like she fashioned this lion suit for me. She had the darnedest time making my tail.”

  Next to Wendy, a.k.a Peter Pan, stood Gemma in a blue empire waist dress, the spitting image of Wendy Darling with her blonde hair down on her shoulders. When Captain Hook and Michael Darling joined them, the ensemble was complete. Kids and parents started lining up to have their photos taken, and there was a line forming in front of the Wizard of Oz cast too.

  When there was a momentary lull, I asked Peter to take a pic of me with Dickens, so I could send it to my friend Bev in Atlanta. She’d kept both Dickens and Christie while I was househunting in the Cotswolds, and she and Dickens had formed a special bond.

  I told the gang I’d be back in a bit and went to see Beatrix. “How’s it going? Selling lots of books?”

  She beamed. “Yes. It always cheers me up to see kids picking up books and asking their parents to buy them. I’ve even sold some classics to a few teenagers.”

  I looked over at the Fairy Hair booth but saw only Summer. “Are the girls taking shifts today?”

  “I don’t know. Max the Magnificent, as he bills himself, was over here trying to chat with Sparkle as I was hanging my sign, but I haven’t seen her in a bit.”

  “Ugh. Well, what time will Trixie get here? I want to be on the lookout.”

  Beatrix looked at her watch. “Not until 1 pm, so you’ve got some time yet.”

  I glanced back at the Oz group and saw there was still no line, so I stopped by the cornhole setup to see Belle. “Oh, look at you. Is that Tinker Bell on your cheek?”

  “Yes. Since I’m named for that mischievous fairy, I think it’s only appropriate. A bit of sparkle on my cheek is as close as I can come to dressing the part.”

  “Shoot, Belle, maybe we should get you some fairy hair too. Wouldn’t pale blue look good in your white hair? I’ll see if Summer and Sparkle can fit you in today.”

  Belle may have been near ninety, but she never missed an opportunity to try something new. She grinned and agreed, and I went to confirm my appointment and get one for her too.

  Summer, dressed in a purple bell-sleeved top with the phrase Fairy Hair embroidered on the pocket, was working on a little red-haired girl so I approached Sparkle. She was wearing a Fête sweatshirt over her brightly colored skirt. I would have thought she and Summer would be dressed in matching blouses. Perhaps she was chilly, but as I drew closer, I could see it was more than that. Her hair was wet, and her face was flushed.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  She acted as though she hadn’t heard me and busied herself sorting the colorful silk threads on the table. I took the hint and shifted to talk of appointments for me and Belle and how the booth was doing.

  She perked up. “We’re doing well. Both Summer and I have been booked back to back. I mean, it only takes about fifteen minutes for ten strands, but lots of the young girls have wanted twenty. They’re all into either pumpkin and gold for the season or the rainbow look.”

  “Sounds like a good day, then, and it’s early yet. The crowds will probably pick up as more folks arrive from farther away. We’ve got mostly locals right now.” I saw a crowd forming near Dickens, who for some reason had decided to bob for apples, so I scurried off, promising to return later.

  “What’s going on over there?” I called.

  I heard a voice from the crowd. “I’ve never seen a dog bob for apples before.”

  By this time, Dickens had his front paws and his head in the bucket with his hind legs dangling above the ground. He popped back up and barked. “Leta, look at the balls. Can I have one?”

  I laughed at my dripping wet dog. Fortunately, only the front of his body was soaked. “Dickens, those aren’t balls, you silly boy. They’re apples.”

  “Yup, I tried to tell him that,” said the teenager in charge, “But he’s a determined little thing. Guess I’ll have to rinse out the bucket and start fresh.”

  The crowd chuckled as I led him away. Somehow Jill had anticipated the problem and came running up with a towel. “How’d you know I’d need this?” I asked.

  Jill grinned. “Well, Dickens isn’t the first visitor to get soaked today. A few of the smaller kids lost their balance and all but fell in before their parents grabbed them. And Sparkle must’ve tipped in too. I handed her a towel when I spotted her off to the side dripping.

  “Look for the kids in Fête sweatshirts. They’re the ones who got soaked. The sweatshirt business is booming, and I think next year we should sell towels too.”

  That explained why Sparkle was wearing a sweatshirt. “Why didn’t she just tell me that?” I mumbled to myself. Strange to be secretive about it.

  I did my best to dry off Toto so he’d look good for the photos. The problem was he had such thick hair, my task was almost impossible.

  The Cowardly Lion waved us over and tried to look stern, but he couldn’t quite pull it off. “We’re gonna dock your pay if you wander off again. Look at the line of fans waiting for photos.”

  Dickens barked and I joked, “Hey, you in the lion pajamas, where were you when Toto decided to bob for red balls? Someone had to rescue him.”

  The photos resumed, and my basket was getting heavy with donations. Though we were only charging a pound per photo, plenty of visitors were dropping in more. It was going to be a good haul. The crowd began shifting to the food booths around lunchtime, about when Trixie showed up to spell Beatrix.

  She approached me hesitantly. “Thank goodness you’re willing to stand by me. Max sometimes goes off without warning.”

  “What do you mean ‘goes off’?” I asked.

  “He has a bit of a temper. That’s one reason I filed for divorce.”

  “Trixie, you’re not telling me he gets violent, are you?”

  She hesitated. “Well, not exactly. He never hit me, just kinda grabbed me and pushed me.”

  It amazed me that she defined grabbing and shoving as not exactly violent. “Maybe we need to bring Gavin or Toby with us too,” I said.

  “No, no. That will make him think we’re ganging up on him. Yesterday, I left a note in the caravan saying I wanted to speak with him here by the waterwheel, so he’s expecting me. Look, he just waved.”

  I saw Max performing in his spot near the apple-bobbing bucket. I had to admit he looked dashing in his tux jacket, his red scarf, and his top hat. He’d just pulled flowers out of the hat with a flourish, and the crowd of children was clapping. He moved to a little girl and pulled a coin from behind her ear, making her giggle.

  When Trixie, Dickens, and I walked that way, he gave a deep bow and snapped his m
agic wand. A small flag with the words “Back in a Magic Minute” unfurled from it, much to the disappointment of the children.

  He made his way to the waterwheel, and we followed with Dickens at our heels. “Why did you suggest we talk by the river, Trixie?” I asked.

  “I didn’t want anyone to overhear us if Max created a scene. It’s more private there but still in sight of the crowd.”

  Max opened his arms wide for a hug when we got there, but at the same time, he looked at me curiously. “What are you doing here, Dorothy?”

  Maybe I was biased, but the question sounded snarky. “Oh, I’m a friend of Trixie’s. Just want to be sure everything is okay.”

  “Why wouldn’t it be? We’re going to have a friendly chat, right, Trixie?” he asked.

  Trixie avoided his arms. “Yes, but since it’s about our divorce papers, I doubt it’s a chat you’re happy to have.”

  He smirked. “Not that again. What’s your hurry about divorce? I’m thinking you’ll miss me before long and come crawling back. And if you’re really sweet about it, I might have you.”

  Dickens picked up on his tone and barked. “Hey, watch it.”

  I don’t know what reaction Max expected, but what he got was indignation. “Come back? Are you kidding? Don’t hold your breath. If I have to, I’ll refile and charge you with unreasonable behavior. You know I can find someone who will attest to you sleeping around while we were still living together. All those weekends away? You think I didn’t know?”

  “Oh, come on. Those girls were just a bit on the side. Nothing serious.”

  Oh, for goodness’ sake. He acted as though cheating on your wife was okay. Was that what he thought? It was time to move this conversation along. “Max, Trixie is giving you fair warning. No matter what you call it, adultery is adultery. I understand Trixie could charge you with that and be done with this. So, please, don’t be unreasonable.”

  Probably not the calming influence Beatrix was thinking of when she asked me to get involved, but enough was enough. We could stand here listening to this jerk insult Trixie or we could get down to business.