“In the back garden.”
“Stay here,” I ordered and still holding the phone ready to dial, I walked into the next room—a small kitchen—and straight to the window.
“It was murder.”
I admitted to jumping at the whispered words—maybe—because she hadn’t stayed where she was, but followed me. I gazed out of the window to where she was looking. The back yard was as small as the front one. And I couldn’t see anything remotely resembling a body. “Miss Edgeware—”
“It’s Nicholas Nevermore,” she said, and she pointed. I stared at the small yard and wondered if she meant a cat or something? I knew from Ella’s stories people got very passionate about their pets. Maybe—
And then I saw it. My sound of disgust was audible, and I shoved the phone back in my pocket. “You mean the gnome.” It had been beheaded.
Miss Edgeware burst into tears again, and I tried very hard not to roll my eyes. Telling myself that this was actually my job now and not—as it was proving to be—getting caught up with murder cases, I calmed her down, made the tea myself, and took notes.
Miss Edgeware had been woken at three a.m. by Callum Greer from next door, who “had been getting up to all sorts” apparently. He regularly came home from the pubs and clubs at that time and woke everyone up. The police had been called before, but his grandfather who owned the cottage was in Newbury General having a hip replacement, and no one was there to supervise him.
I studied Miss Edgeware as I made notes. I thought at first she was in her early twenties, but the more I noticed the heavy makeup and the way she spoke, I realized I had been off in my estimate by at least ten or fifteen years.
She was sure that Callum was the one responsible for Nicholas Nevermore’s decapitation just to spite her, because she had told Callum’s younger brother off for letting his cat into her garden. She shuddered. “They have this awful old tabby that pees all over each of my gnomes in turn. And I told them,” she waggled her finger. “Next time I saw the mangy thing, I’d put rat poison down.”
“No, ma’am,” I said sternly. “That’s against the law.” A criminal offense under the protection of Animals Act of 1911 to be precise. I’d had a lot of homework to do with my new job.
She sniffed and I tried to hide my disgust, wondering if I should turn Ella loose on her. But then she’d probably get the re-enactment society to line the gnomes up and make them face a firing squad.
Apparently, Nicholas Nevermore had been a gift from the woman’s boyfriend, an expensive gift that had to be commissioned, according to her, but I had tuned her out by then. I managed to keep my face straight while I told her she would need the case number to make an insurance claim, and assured her I would speak to her neighbor, Callum Greer.
I had to make a note to come back, though, because even though I tried knocking, it looked like no one was at home. On the way back into town, I tried to speak to Ella, but she was seeing patients, so I drove to the pub. It was too early to be open, but I wanted to look at the car park and where the car had been before the pub opened. SOCO had been there and taped everything off, and both cars had been taken away. I parked and got out, wandering over to the entrance and the lane where Roger had been struck.
“It’s a bad business.”
I turned and saw Eric, Maisie’s dad just crossing to where I was standing looking at what was obviously dried blood. I held out my hand and he shook it.
“I’m not working the case,” I explained quickly, in case he wondered if that was why I was there. Then I realized how bad it probably looked that I was essentially just being curious.
“She was going to take him home as soon as she got back from taking Lily.”
I nodded. “And she’d told him to sleep it off in the car?”
Eric sighed. “Yes. Maisie took his keys off him because she was convinced the idiot would try and drive home himself, but she always keeps hers tucked up over the visor. I tell her all the time she’s too trusting, but she insists someone would be doing her a favor if they took the rust bucket.”
“Nan told me he was asleep when the two of them left, and we’re assuming he woke up and decided to drive but…”
“There are tire marks on the road,” Eric pointed to the road, “where Maisie tried to stop in time. The police took a lot of pictures of them, but like I said, we’d been busy all day Saturday, so there would be a number of cars going past there.”
“I suppose he might still have been fairly drunk and ran off into the ditch. He could have got out of the car and been stumbling all over the road.” I made a mental note to come back when it was dark—when this time, I’d be completely sober and wide awake—and see just how good the streetlamps were. I also needed to find out what he’d been wearing. If his clothes had been dark.
I huffed out a frustrated breath. No, I couldn’t do any of those things, because I wasn’t working the case.
I took my leave of Eric and drove home, because I had left both dogs with Nan, and they would need a walk. Ella helped me with Watson so many times, it was the least I could do. I probably should go over and check on Pawdry Hepburn too.
“Garrett.” Nan smiled as I came in and pointed to the mail. “There’s three for you.”
I kissed her on the cheek, helped myself to one of the scones she’d just gotten out of the oven, and took the scone and my mail to the couch. One was my cell phone bill, one was junk and one was a handwritten envelope from Atlanta. I frowned. Who wrote actual letters anymore? I tore it open and swallowed the last of the scone as my heart sank.
My darling Garrett,
I’ve been forced to write to you because you changed your cell phone and you never liked social media. No one from headquarters, or any of your old friends, would give me your new number. I’m afraid I invented a story about owing you some money from the apartment, so the lady that lived at #538 gave me your forwarding address.
I know I hurt you, and I’m really sorry. I know you were in shock over your mom and dad’s death and I should have been more patient.
Anyway, the Atlanta Ballet just got some marvelous news. We are touring Europe and we just booked an extra stop in London on August the twentieth for three nights. I would love to see you. We parted badly, but we were friends for a long time.
My cell number hasn’t changed but in case you forgot it’s 768 555 0498.
All my love, Anna.
“Is everything all right Garrett?” Nan wiped her floury hands on her apron and came and sat down. I guess I looked as thrilled as I felt.
“It’s from Anna.”
“Your old girlfriend?” Nan didn’t look happy.
“Yeah, she’s touring with the ballet, and they’re in London this month. She wants to meet me and catch up.”
“And do you want to ‘catch up?’” Nan asked lightly.
I shrugged. There was nothing between us anymore, but the thought of talking to someone from home was tempting. “Do you fancy a trip to the ballet, Nan?”
Nan chuckled. “Definitely not. Now, if it was a musical I’d be interested. The Newbury Novices are putting on Oklahoma before Christmas. I definitely want to see that.”
I grinned, imagining the Newbury Novices version of the title song, though the London revival of the show in 2006 with Hugh Jackman playing Curly, of all incongruous things, was supposed to have been a great success. Our own sergeant—whom none of us suspected as a closet musical theater freak—had been crazy about Hugh Jackman and driven us all insane with it, too. She’d been the one who’d told us all about it. Ad nauseum.
“Ella loves the ballet,” Nan said far too innocently. “I’ll just bet she’d love to go.”
And that wouldn’t be awkward at all.
“Oh no…” I said shaking my head from side to side, as Ella spoke up from the doorway at the exact same moment.
“Who’s taking me to the ballet? Or…not?” Ella asked from the doorway, as both dogs jumped up to greet her.
“Garrett, of cou
rse,” Nan said before I had chance to think up a suitable excuse.
“Really?” Ella asked, the doubt in her voice obvious. “I never took you for a ballet type of person, Garrett. That’ll teach me for stereotyping.”
I squirmed. How on earth did I get out of this? Ella’s face was turning pink. “But I overheard Garrett saying no, so…”
“You didn’t let me finish! I was saying, ‘no way would I not ask you! No way!’”
She gave me a dubious look, and I rushed on, still trying to cover. I’d never want to hurt Ella’s feelings. “I know one of the dancers who’s appearing.” I laughed nervously. “But you’re right, ballet’s not really my thing. I just wanted to visit with old friends.”
Ella cooed to the dogs then looked up. “I completely understand; and, of course, you wouldn’t want me tagging along. Please don’t feel you have to include me.”
“No, really, you should come,” I added valiantly. “I want you to come. I’ll find out exactly when they’ll be in town.”
“Well, if you’re sure.” Ella looked doubtful.
“Absolutely,” I said firmly, trying not to panic. “I’m positive.”
“Then that’s settled,” Nan said in a far too satisfied way. “And Garrett’s also taking us to see Oklahoma when it comes out in Newbury.”
“He is?”
“I am?” I said at the same time as Ella, but this time I was relieved to see her trying to hide a smile, as I agreed. “Yes, I am.”
“Nan told me you had to go see a dog who had swallowed something?” I needed to steer the conversation away from my ex until I had worked out how to get out of the mess Nan had managed to talk me into.
Or had I done that all by myself?
Chapter Five
Petronella
I’d had almost no sleep Saturday night and had tossed and turned all Sunday night, my mind still occupied by Maisie, so I was pretty tired when Monday had arrived bright and early. When Mrs. Bailey, one of our regular clients, called early that morning to say that her young golden retriever, Sadie, was ill and seemed to have somehow swallowed something she couldn’t pass or bring back up, I groaned at the thought of what I knew could be wrong. At the same time I was anxious to examine Sadie. I knew the dog well and she was only a big, overgrown pup, not quite a year old yet. Sadie was a sweet girl, but she had a penchant for eating things she shouldn’t, and I was also worried about stomach torsion, which has been called, "the mother of all emergencies." Gastric dilatation and volvulus, known as GDV, can be fatal to a dog within hours. When gas or food or some other object stretches a dog's stomach, GDV could happen if the distended stomach rotated, trapping the gas inside, and blocking off the stomach's blood supply. I needed to see Sadie and fast, before anything like that could happen.
On rare occasions, when the obstruction was small, like the blue-violet Crayola crayon she had stolen from Mrs. Bailey’s toddler as he colored on the floor, Sadie was able to pass it through her gastrointestinal system without too much trouble. However, there are items that cannot physically pass through a dog's digestive system, because they’re simply too big, too rough, or too dangerous to do so or to remain inside them.
According to Mrs. Bailey, Sadie had been trying to vomit since early that morning, since shortly after she, her children and Sadie had all arrived back home after a visit to Mrs. Bailey’s mother in Brighton for the weekend. I told her to bring Sadie in as soon as she could, so I could examine her.
They arrived almost the same time as I did at the clinic, and right away I could tell Sadie was in serious distress. She’d been gagging in the car and had an inward look of deep concentration. She was trembling too, and beginning to have trouble breathing, so I quickly scooped her up in my arms, while Mrs. Bailey brought in her two small children, and I took Sadie straight back to the procedure room. Katie came running in to help, and soon I had Sadie hooked up to fluids and medication to help stabilize and sedate her before I tried to take a look inside her.
Henry had made an investment in endoscopy equipment for the practice only a year before, with my full consent and approval. We were the only vets outside of Newbury who had the equipment, so we were quite proud of it. I’d had some training, though not as much as Henry. Still I’d been diligent in learning to use the tools and observing Henry at work. I could put a camera down Sadie‘s throat and into her digestive tract to look for an obstruction, and I was hoping I could locate it and be able to remove it with the tools connected to the scope, as there were multiple retrieval instruments available, including various kinds of forceps and loops, even a net retriever.
Once I had Sadie sedated, I set to work, and before long I found the obstruction—some kind of cloth object in her stomach. Using one of the tools, I carefully drew the object out and laid it on the procedure table while I finished seeing to Sadie. Once I had her stabilized and resting peacefully, I examined the item and found it to be undoubtedly a small piece of clothing. A female undergarment, from the looks of it, consisting only of a small scrap of black lace. Smothering a smile, I rinsed it off, wrung it dry and put it in a bag to return to Mrs. Bailey. With a curious pup like Sadie around, she’d need to be more careful of where she left her knickers in the future.
When I came out to speak to the worried family, Mrs. Bailey jumped to her feet. “Oh, is Sadie all right? She was in so much distress on the way over. We were so worried.”
“She’s fine. She just swallowed an article of clothing, I’m afraid. But I managed to retrieve it and no lasting harm was done.”
“An article of clothing? I don’t understand.”
“At first, I thought it might belong to one of the children because it was so small, but when I had it out, I could see it was…um, a small piece of your lingerie.”
She stared at me blankly. “A piece of my what?”
“Lingerie. Here, I put it in a bag for you. After a good long wash, it should be as good as new.”
She opened the bag and gazed down into it for a long moment, before looking back up at me with an odd expression. “Is that a black lace thong? Dr. K,” she said, gesturing down at herself, “take a look at these hips.” She was a tall, big-boned woman, who helped her husband run his small farm where they raised Sussex cattle. She was attractive, but had more of a sturdy farmwoman build than that of a willowy model. I began to suspect where she was going with this.
“Do I look as if this thong belongs to me?”
I could feel my face grow warm and I had no idea what to say. “Well, I…uh…”
As I stood there blinking at her, she folded the bag and stuck it inside her large purse. “Never you mind. Unless Mr. Bailey claims these as his, and models them for me to prove it, it looks as if we’ll be having a nice long talk about just what he got up to while I was away for the weekend. Thank you, Dr. Knight. Let me know when Sadie is ready to take home, won’t you?”
“Um, y-yes, of course. It shouldn’t be long until she comes out of the sedation, and then I’d like to observe her a while. Maybe two hours? Can you come for her then?”
“Yes, indeed.” She picked up her youngest child, slung him on her ample hip and took the hand of the other child to lead her to the car. “Thank you again,” she said with great dignity and then swept slowly and majestically out of the waiting room, leaving me staring after her.
The rest of the day passed without incident and I was in with another patient when Mrs. Bailey returned for Sadie, so I had no idea how that situation turned out. I did fear a little for Mr. Bailey, who was a small-statured man, at least three inches shorter than his wife, but as my mother always said, we do often reap what we sow.
I did have a chance at lunchtime to run over to the Drunken Duck to see if Maisie might be there. She wasn’t—her dad said she was at home. She used to live there at the pub, but had recently decided she needed her own space. Eric said he was worried about her. She was really depressed, he told me.
I could well imagine. I called Katie and told her I’d
be a few minutes late and went over to Maisie’s house to check on her. She had found a tiny, detached cottage not too far from the center of the village. Since she spent so much time at the pub, she didn’t lavish much attention on her home, but everything was kept neat and clean, and the yard even had some decorations—a bird bath and even a few garden decorations. Maisie’s car wasn’t in the driveway, but I went up to the front porch and knocked just the same. She came to the door right away, looking surprised to see me.
“Petronella, what are you doing here in the middle of the day?”
“Coming to check on you. Your dad said you were taking the day off.”
“Yes. But come inside if you have the time.”
“I have a few minutes. Where’s your car?” I followed her into the lounge and sat down on the old sofa across from her.
“The police still have it.”
“Oh, I see.” I reached across and squeezed her hand. “How are you coming along? Really.”
“Oh, Petronella, I’m all right. I wasn’t in love with him, you know. Though I did care for him, of course. I never wanted to see him hurt like that, or have anything bad happen to him.”
“I know you didn’t. You don’t have to tell me that. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
She sighed. “No, I’m okay. That awful man, that Detective Wainwright. He accused me of hitting Roger with my car as he walked down the road and then just pretending it was an accident. Pretending! Can you imagine? That detective is a horrible little man. I wish someone would take him out with a car.”
I shook my head glad to see a little of Maisie’s fire returning. “Please don’t say anything like that in anyone else’s hearing.”
Maisie huffed.
“He had to let you go, though, right?”
“Yes, because there was no obvious evidence.”
“I see. But why do they still have your car?”
“They’ve impounded it. To do more forensics testing, that Detective Wainwright said. He said they’d be thoroughly searching it too, and I said, ‘Go ahead; I have nothing to hide.’” She seemed to suddenly deflate though, right in front of me. “I just can’t figure out why Roger didn’t wait for me to come back.”
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