by Beth Byers
“It’s odd,” he said. “Interesting, I suppose. I wouldn’t want it for breakfast, but…it’s not so bad.”
Georgette laughed and then said, “The girls and I are going to visit the Mangan family. Janey has helped Eunice make a basket of food and gathered some things for the children.”
“You aren’t sleuthing, are you?” Charles asked.
Georgette shook her head. “Janey is drowning in empathy for the family, I think. It’s their first Christmas without their parents and then to lose someone their father knew? It is more than little Janey can handle.”
“The poor bug.” Robert frowned. “What are we supposed to do to help her with that?”
“Do you think anything could have been done to help you mourn your parents?” Georgette asked him, remembering her own striking loneliness. No one could have found the words to make that better for her.
“I’ll come with you,” Charles announced, slowly closing his book. It was clear that he didn’t really want to go with them, and Robert stood.
“I’ll go, Charles. I need to stretch my legs.”
Charles hesitated but Robert must have seemed convincing.
Robert opened the automobile door for Georgette and then Lucy and Janey, and they all piled in. The holidays were upon them, and she regretted that things had gone sideways for this family, especially given their sudden connection. The mourning of the Mangan family was affecting the Aaron family. A Happy Holidays just might require reaching out as much as they could, but even then, how happy could it be with their husband and father dead. Georgette glanced back at the girls who were sitting quietly, hand-in-hand, and felt certain that focusing on others would help Janey through.
Chapter 4
JOSEPH AARON
Joseph approached the family home with Constable Rogers. The wife hadn’t taken the loss of her husband well. Not that she was expected to, but the constable’s visit had ended with the constable sending for Cynthia Mangan’s mother and the doctor. The widow had gone to bed with a sleeping aid and her mother demanding the constable leave.
There was every reason to believe Cynthia wouldn’t be doing any better today. Would Joseph be improved after just a few hours of knowing Marian had been taken from him? Just the idea of it made his stomach hurt. He’d had breakfast with her that morning in town. What would it be like to have breakfast with Marian and then never see her again? That was what had happened to the poor widow.
They approached the house where a wreath hung on the door, but someone had added black ribbon to the wreath, ruining the holiday cheer. Joseph and Constable Rogers eyed each other and then winced as they knocked on the door.
The woman who opened the door had to be the mother of Cynthia Mangan. She was too old to have been married to the bloke he’d seen dead yesterday. She had dark circles under her eyes, and a long night of tears were evident in her bloodshot eyes and the way she moved gingerly.
“She’s not doing much better, Andy,” the woman said to the constable.
“I know, Minerva. We have to talk to her and get an idea of what was happening with Davis before he died.”
“I thought he had a heart attack.” Her gaze narrowed and she looked between the two of them. “It was a heart attack, wasn’t it?”
“His heart did fail,” the constable agreed. “Like I said, we need to just get an idea of what was going on in his life. We’re being careful.”
She so very clearly didn’t believe Rogers that he might as well have confessed, but perhaps it was better to have an open secret than to admit aloud to something that the woman would feel compelled to share with her daughter. She might have agreed because she asked no further questions.
She led the way into the parlor where the woman who must be the widow sat in a rocking chair in front of the fire, a blanket over her lap.
“Cynthia dear, Andy is here with one of his coworkers. They have a few questions.”
The woman’s dark hair was pulled back, but Joseph had little doubt her mother had smoothed her hair and wrapped the shawl around her shoulders. The widow held an untouched teacup, and the children he knew were there were barely making a sound. He glanced down the hall, but there was no sign of them.
Cynthia didn’t look away from the fire when they entered, and Joseph wasn’t entirely sure she was aware they were there, despite her mother’s words. Joseph and Rogers glanced at each other and then at Minerva, who seemed to feel as helpless as they did. While Joseph was trying to decide how to approach speaking to her, she spoke.
“Is it true he was laughing as he died?”
Joseph leapt at the sound and blushed at the look on Rogers’s face. The widow had neither looked their way nor seemed to move.
“It is,” Joseph said carefully. “A man had just tripped and fallen. Mr. Mangan was clearly very amused.”
A tear passed down her face as she stared at the fire. “He always did laugh the hardest when someone was clumsy. Nothing delighted him more than what he called the mighty struggle to remain upright. Poor idiot. I suppose if his last moments had to happen, it was better they were merry.”
Joseph swallowed thickly.
“Did he suffer?”
“He died quickly.” Joseph hated his work at moments like these. “I understand he’d been unwell.”
“He was vomiting,” she said in a hushed voice. “I asked him not to go to that blasted cricket game. He laughed it off even though he didn’t feel well. He didn’t want to let the boys down.”
Minerva rose and took the teacup from her daughter’s unresisting hands and pressed a handkerchief there instead.
“How long had he been ill?”
Minerva pressed her fingers to her face and answered when her daughter didn’t. “A few days. He had been acting off for a little longer. He kept complaining that things tasted odd.”
“Odd how?” Joseph asked. “Did he fall ill at home the first time or when he was out?”
Cynthia leaned forward, looking at Joseph for the first time. “He got ill like this in the summer. Then he got better. Back to himself. Then he got ill at work. They’re working on that bridge. He fell ill…Monday? The foreman sent Davis home, and he was better by the evening. The vomiting had passed. He didn’t feel right, but he was better.”
Joseph didn’t make notes, he just nodded and asked as gently as possible, “And then?”
Cynthia shuddered. “He went to work again. Got ill again. Got sent home again. It took longer for him to feel right that time. We took him to the doctor who suggested that he rest.”
“Did he come home both days at around the same time?”
Cynthia’s mouth twisted as she considered. “Well, yes. I suppose he did.”
“When was that?” Rogers asked.
“About 2:00 p.m.? I think.”
Rogers nodded his head and Joseph hated himself as he asked, “I assume you packed him lunch daily?”
Cynthia wasn’t a stupid woman and she followed the train of thought. “I didn’t kill my husband, Andy.” The appeal was made to her cousin.
He flinched. “You know I don’t believe you did, Cynthia.”
“Then why are you here asking these questions?” Another tear slipped down her cheek. She was either a very, very good actress or she hadn’t killed her husband. Joseph preferred to believe the latter and wished his job allowed him to give her that. “Do you think that I killed him? Do you think that he was poisoned? My life is ruined now, Andy. How am I supposed to support the children? How am I going to feed them? Educate them? Children are expensive, and we were barely making it before Davis died. Did I pack Davis’s lunch? Of course I did. Every day. Lunch, a thermos of tea, biscuits for a quick snack.”
“I know, Cynthia. I know.” Rogers took her hands and leaned forward. “You aren’t the criminal simply because you looked after Davis as every other wife in the area does. We can’t prove that you hurt Davis if you didn’t. Don’t worry. We’ll figure this out.”
“Did someone take
Davis from me?” Cynthia asked hoarsely. “Did they take him from our children?”
Joseph forced himself to continue the questioning. “Did he have any enemies?”
Cynthia shook her head. “Of course he didn’t. You knew him. He was one of the boys. He worked hard. He took care of us. He played cricket with his friends and went to church on Sunday.”
Joseph frowned as he sought the possibilities. “He was close with his family?”
“They live in Plymouth. I suppose they are close as you’d expect with the distance and with the need to work. It was hard to see them very often.”
“Work was going well?”
Cynthia paused and then shook her head. “Well, no. He hated working for Rudy Cooke. Davis had been looking for a new position for some time and finally found one.”
“Work can be hard to come by,” Joseph said. “And leaving a job that he’d been at for a while.”
Cynthia looked up and nodded. “He worked with them since before we were married, and that’s been for seven years now.”
“Lots of fellows stay with the same company for their entire lives.”
“Davis had thought he would,” Cynthia agreed. “It wasn’t easy to find another position that wouldn’t make him start at the bottom again. He was so happy that he had. It was starting in January. He’d have worked his current job through Friday and then it would have been it.”
“Why did he want to leave?” Joseph asked. “What was the problem at his job?”
“He wouldn’t say. He just said it wasn’t what he’d thought, and he wanted something better.”
“Davis was some sort of builder, wasn’t he?”
“He was quite good,” his wife said. “Almost ten years at it give a man skills that you can’t easily replace. I don’t imagine that Cooke was all that pleased when Davis gave his notice, but you don’t kill over that, do you?”
“Of course you don’t,” Rogers said. “Of course you don’t. None of this adds up.”
Cynthia’s lip was trembling as she stared down at her hands. “I care if someone killed him. I wanted to help you, Andy. I just—how am I even going to keep the children?”
Joseph stared in horror.
“We were barely making it, and I have little children, and there isn’t work for someone like me in this village. The men are having trouble getting work. Who is going to hire me?”
Chapter 5
GEORGETTE DOROTHY AARON
Robert parked the auto outside of the house just as Joseph and Constable Rogers left. Joseph slowed enough to eye them before he put his auto into gear and went back towards the center of the town.
“Why was Joseph here?” Janey asked. “He shouldn’t be here.”
“He was just checking on the family,” Robert said easily, eyeing Georgette out of the side of his eye.
Janey’s head tilted. “But he doesn’t visit every person who loses someone they love. Constable Rogers didn’t visit us, and we lost both our mother and father.”
Georgette closed her eyes, fighting for an answer.
Lucy sighed and said, “Janey, darling, Joseph is clearly here because he might think something could have happened to Mr. Mangan that wasn’t an accident.”
Janey squeaked and then a tear rolled down her face. “When Mother and Father died, it was God who took them.”
Georgette turned and said, “That’s true. That’s why murder is so bad. It takes the days left that the person might have had. There’s no getting those days back.”
Janey frowned deeply, her mouth screwing up in a fury. “That makes me very angry.”
Georgette eyed the girl. Her braids were tied neatly by her shoulders, her eyes were hot with anger, and her cheeks were flushed, making the freckles stand out. She scowled deeply and Georgette told her, “The Mangan children do not know that someone took their father from them rather than it being a terrible accident, so it’s necessary that you just focus on helping them get through the day and be distracted.”
Janey gritted her teeth and nodded.
“You worked hard on that basket,” Georgette reminded her. “Go gift a little love.”
“Then I’m going to find out who killed Mr. Mangan and tell Joseph, so he can take the bad man to jail.”
Georgette shook her head frantically, but Janey ignored her to get out of the auto. She reached back into the vehicle for the box full of treats and walked towards the front door without the rest of them.
“I feel certain,” Georgette said quietly, “that we will come to regret this conversation more with each passing day.”
Robert laughed but he didn’t sound any more amused than Georgette felt. They followed Lucy to the house and found that Minerva Rogers was at the door.
“Janey took the box to the kitchens. It might be better if you come with us that way. Cynthia isn’t feeling well.”
Georgette nodded and followed the woman to the kitchens. Lucy had unpacked the box at the table, carefully lining up the game pie, the bowl of mushy peas, a paper bag of oranges, and the treacle tart. Lucy took the toys she’d brought for the children and glanced between the adults.
She asked, “Is it all right if I were to go see Sammy and Linda?”
Their grandmother nodded and Janey disappeared through the doorway. “She’s such a good girl.”
“She’s very upset by the death of your son-in-law,” Georgette told her. “If it helps to know you don’t mourn alone, you don’t.”
“It doesn’t. Not really.” Minerva sat down at the table and waved the others down. “I suppose we’ll let her try to brighten the children’s day, and maybe she will. Losing Davis—we’re in quite the bind.”
“What do you mean?” Lucy asked.
“What do you think would have happened if just your father had died?” Minerva asked, not unkindly. “You were going to be separated before Mr. and Mrs. Aaron provided you refuge.”
Lucy’s hands shook as she slowly answered. “We would have been able to stay together if Mother, Eddie, and I had all gotten work. Perhaps. Eddie wouldn’t have gone to university, and I’d eventually have married.”
“What if you and your siblings were very little?” Minerva asked, sounding exhausted.
Lucy paled further because she’d known where Minerva was going with her thought process. “Surely you can move into a smaller house?”
“Perhaps,” Minerva said, rubbing the back of her neck with a wince.
“A smaller house, together, while the children grow. It isn’t that long before they can start helping.”
“They’ll have to move in with me. It’s much too small, but—what else can we do?”
“Better to struggle together,” Lucy said gently, “than to be alone or lose the children to some orphanage.”
Georgette nodded. “What kind of things does Cynthia know how to do?”
“She’s an excellent mother,” Minerva muttered. “Beyond that? Nothing. My heavens, what a world where we raise our daughters to be entirely dependent upon a man while knowing how fragile life is.”
Georgette had faced this same problem herself when she was single and her dividends had been falling. Minerva was entirely correct. Georgette’s stomach cramped, and she placed a hand on her stomach. She glanced at Lucy who was half-in-love with Dr. West and wondered was Dr. West safe enough? Was he healthy? He was young, but that didn’t always matter.
Georgette changed the subject selfishly as she was breaking inside at the worries of Minerva and her daughter. “What do you think happened to Davis?”
Minerva looked up and had the same relieved look on her face that Georgette felt. “I don’t know. Joseph and Andy think that he was murdered, and Joseph at least suspects Cynthia. I suppose there’s no hope if she murdered him.”
“Why does he suspect her? Does he realize about the children and losing them?”
“He does now.” Minerva ran her hands over her face. “I hope that was enough time for Janey to interact with the children because I need
to check on my daughter and you need to go. I do apologize.”
“We apologize as well,” Georgette said, glancing at Lucy and Robert.
Robert hadn’t said anything, but his gaze was wide and horrified as he got a glimpse into a woman’s role. Lucy looked as though she was being haunted by her own past, and Georgette could understand why.
They gathered the upset Janey who hugged each of the three children and then escaped into the parlor to kiss Cynthia on the cheek. She returned, going outside to hide the streams of tears on her face.
“She’s an angel,” Minerva announced and Georgette nodded.
Georgette glanced at Robert and then said, in exhaustion, “I think we should invite the doctor to Christmas Eve supper and the evening thereafter. Then we can go home.” She sighed.
“I could take you home first,” Robert said, but Georgette shook her head.
“I’ll relax better if I know everyone is home.”
Lucy took Janey’s hand and held her little sister close to her. “There has to be some way for us to help Mrs. Mangan and her children.”
Georgette’s heart ached as she answered. “She doesn’t have any skills. I remember what that felt like. It’s helpless.”
“We could invest in her, couldn’t we?” Robert asked suddenly. “We can’t just support her forever, but we could…I don’t know…buy her dairy cows or hens or both? Give her some way to take care of her family.”
Lucy was already shaking her head. “They’re not the accepting of charity type of people.”
“What if we didn’t ask them to accept it?” Georgette asked. “What if we invested like Robert said, and then we ask her to pay us back by doing the same for another widow. Or another old maid. Another woman who needs to be able to support herself. Someone like I used to be. I was thinking of getting hens if Charles or someone didn’t buy my book.”
Georgette let her head fall back against the seat.
Robert asked, “Do you think it’ll work?”