“This is wonderful,” Lorna said, awestruck.
“Yes, we were going to have it inside, but the air is so fresh out here that it felt like a waste. As you can see, all the tables have umbrellas,” Muriel explained.
“A wise choice,” Lorna said.
Truly, having the Italian feast outside would prove to be inspired, because the rain had ceased, the stars had come out, and the air was clean. Chianti was served (no fava beans), with which to wash down giant platefuls of spaghetti Bolognese.
Although Lorna wanted the evening to be all laughs and Pecorino Romano, it was time to get down to business.
Lorna looked at the various tables, filled at present with happy, smiling, stuffed faces, and she thought about what was to come next. Once the spaghetti ran out, the demeanor out on the patio would begin to shift, and the villagers would once again become anxious. Accusations would fly, and she didn’t want to think about what would come after that.
Lorna stood and clinked a glass with her fork, calling everyone’s attention. She almost felt as if she was about to give a speech at a wedding, but it was much more serious than that. All eyes turned towards her, and a lump came to her throat.
Lorna cleared her throat, ready to say what she had to say. Off across the street, Bill Bumblethorn looked out the window of the second floor of Tweed Library, wishing to be freed and join the pasta-eating masses.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Lorna began. She gazed out at the sea of faces. Everyone was there. Flo had red, white, and green eyeshadow on and she chewed gum while she ate her pasta. Jackie and Ralph Abrahms were there, Ralph with a huge pasta stain on his polo shirt. Maurice Crabtree looked sullen, but still relieved to be free. Elizabeth Larkin looked dour, but Lorna knew now that that was because she had not yet taken her happy pills. At a distant table, Lorna briefly spotted John Larkin, eating garlic bread.
OH…MY…GOD…
Oh, no. Thank goodness that was not actually John Larkin but someone who looked like him.
Finally, at a very nearby table sat Evie Ellis, on her second plate of pasta, and smiling so hard that it probably hurt her cheeks.
Evie Ellis was wearing a kilt.
Chapter 15
“Spit it out, then!” a voice in the crowd called. Truly, the people of Tweed-upon-Slumber did not take kindly to their dinner being interrupted.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Lorna began, “I’ve gathered you all here this evening—or should I say, it was the pasta that gathered you all here this evening,” she joked, “but I hope that you find what I have to say to be just as nourishing.”
No one laughed. All she could hear was the sound of spaghetti being slurped.
“I have solved the murder of John Larkin!” Lorna proclaimed, a large smile on her face. She threw her hands up in the air in celebration, and then felt silly about it.
Evie Ellis stood from the table and started running. Even with all that spaghetti in her belly, she got up and ran at a feverish clip. No one followed her, or even seemed to think it strange.
“Evie Ellis did it!” Lorna said, in shock that no one was getting up to retrieve her. Even Bill Bumblethorn just sat there, eating a calzone.
“Evie Ellis?” the crowd murmured.
“The dog walker that literally just ran away from here is the murderer of John Larkin!” Lorna repeated.
“What makes you think so?” Muriel asked, stepping forward and putting her hand on her hip, trying to look like Anna Magnani. Were there a Roman fountain, she’d be swimming in it.
“Well, we all know that John was cheating on his wife,” Lorna began.
“Everybody knew…” Elizabeth Larkin said, seated alone at a table.
“But what has only been hinted at is the fact that John Larkin was having an affair with Evie Ellis,” Lorna went on.
The crowd grasped. Even Muriel had a marked intake of breath. She knew all the gossip, but that tidbit had entirely eluded her.
Elizabeth Larkin got up from her table and started running in the same direction in which Evie Ellis fled. She, too, had a belly full of spaghetti, and she couldn’t feel any of it.
“Pull her hair out!” Muriel cried to Elizabeth’s back before turning back to Lorna. “Do go on.”
“Well, you see. On my first day here, John made a call to my cottage and kindly delivered my boxes.”
“I haven’t received any post since,” someone grumbled.
“Join the club!” Maurice Crabtree said.
“Anyways, on the morning that John came to my house, Evie Ellis just happened to be passing by,” Lorna continued. “I noticed that she seemed to be overly enthusiastic in John’s company.”
“She’s overenthusiastic in everyone’s company,” Muriel said, unimpressed.
“I know, but there was something about the way that John avoided her like the plague which gave me pause,” Lorna went on. “He just had this look in his eye. It was a mixture of scorn and guilt.”
“Hmm,” the villagers said in collective contemplation.
“And then last night, I had this vision…” Oh boy, Lorna thought. She was saying too much. “This dream, rather. I saw a figure wearing a kilt and walking a dog. I thought this figure was a man, but considering that Evie was wearing a kilt tonight, I assume that it was her.”
The villagers nodded, thinking that it made good sense.
“I went to the park to investigate, and I found a paw print in the dirt. I knew it to be the print of a Great Dane, because it was literally the size of a dinner plate.”
“Great Danes do have rather large paws,” Betty said from her table, sipping chianti.
“Now, the only Great Dane that I know of in Tweed is Montebello, John Larkin’s dog.”
“That poor dog,” someone said, hinting that they knew the goings-on between the Larkins and the tortured canine.
“Exactly. Well, not only was there the paw print, but off in a distant bush I found a Picasso, a scarab, and a sausage roll,” Lorna went on.
“A scarab…” Maurice said in wonder, his thoughts turning immediately to the potential for selling such a unique and valuable object.
“Let me know if this sounds too farfetched,” Lorna continued, “but I am of the opinion that Evie and John were having an affair, but that he got cold feet, afraid that his wife might find out. I believe that John broke off the affair, and gave Evie a Picasso and a scarab in exchange for her silence about the affair, and about his black market activities. I think that Evie met John on his usual route and begged him to take her back, only for him to reject her. Furious and unable to cope with the rejection, I believe she then stabbed him to death.”
“That does sound rather farfetched,” Muriel said. “How on earth did you put it all together?”
“Because in the forest, with my own two eyes, I saw a carving on Grandmother Willow,” Lorna went on.
“Who the devil is that?” Maurice asked, thinking it all was sounding ridiculous.
“I’m sorry—that’s a Pocahontas reference,” Lorna explained.
“Of course,” Maurice replied, amazed that he hadn’t realized sooner.
“Anyhow, on the willow’s face it said ‘Evie & John 4 Eva.’”
Another collective gasp.
“And what’s more,” Lorna went on. “The words ‘4 Eva’ were crossed out!”
“This explains everything!” someone cried out.
The villagers looked at one other in stunned silence for a while. Then there was murmuring. Then there was collective silence again, and finally everyone was eating pasta. Muriel had made an entirely new batch of noodles and the villagers just kept piling it in. It was a phenomenal sight.
Lorna returned to her seat. She would have liked applause or something fun to congratulate her on figuring it all out, but there was nothing but Italian pastry.
“Here, have a cannoli,” Muriel had said, seating herself beside Lorna.
“Thanks,” Lorna replied.
“You know, there are still
some holes in this,” Muriel said.
“I know. But I didn’t get a chance to say it all,” Lorna went on. “No one seemed particularly surprised or impressed by what I had to say, and I got sort of self-conscious and sat down.”
“Well, tell us now!” Muriel said.
“Okay, so. Evie goes to the park with the dog, she defaces a tree, and waits for John Larkin— she knows that he’s coming because they cross paths every day at that time. When he arrives, and refuses Evie’s appeals for him to take her back, Evie is overcome with rage, and hacks him to death with the scarab.”
“But a scarab has rounded edges,” Muriel reasoned.
“Yes, it must have been really painful,” Lorna went on. “Evie can’t have been thinking straight at the time. I certainly don’t think she considered the fact that scarabs are not good weapons.”
“And yet she managed to shred him to pieces anyhow,” Betty said, taking a bite of cannoli.
“Indeed,” Lorna said, grimacing.
“So that’s it, then. Case closed,” Muriel added, rather sad to see the whole thing concluded.
“Oh Muriel, this is definitely not the end of the story,” Lorna went on.
“No?” she asked.
“Absolutely not. The murderer just ran away to God-knows-where, and Chief Bumblethorn is still in prison,” Lorna said.
“No he isn’t. He’s sitting over there with a cannoli,” Muriel said. “He bribed Rachel with a pork pie, I’m told,” she continued.
“Ah yes,” Lorna replied. “But anyway, all that is to say that there is still a lot to wrap up around here. And by the looks of how Elizabeth Larkin ran after Evie Ellis, there’s a good chance that we might have a second murder on our hands.”
“Oh, for shame, Lorna. Don’t say that,” Betty replied.
“Hey, you didn’t see the look on her face!”
“Oh, Lorna Merryweather, I’ve counted thirty-seven blind jokes since I’ve known you,” Betty said.
“Oh God, I swear that wasn’t my intention, Betty. I hope I haven’t offended you,” Lorna replied, feeling terrible.
“Not in the slightest,” the older woman replied. “As it happens, I think it’s all rather funny. I go home at night and jot down the jokes that you made that day, and I just laugh and laugh to myself. Then I write my newsletter for the British Association for the Blind, and I share your jokes with them as well, so that they can delight in the same cheerful giggles. Then I call up Stevie Wonder and tell him about it, and…”
“Okay, Betty. I get the point. I’ll stop it with the blind jokes.”
“I thank you.”
“But truly, how are we going to get Evie Ellis in custody?” Lorna asked. “Bumblethorn won’t be able to arrest her.”
“Well, we must demand that he do so this minute,” Muriel said.
“I think that might be tricky,” Lorna said.
“Why’s that?” Muriel asked.
“You’re gonna have to get the monkey off his back,” Lorna said.
“What the devil?” Muriel asked, turning and finding Chief Inspector Bumblethorn playing the accordion with a monkey on his back. No one knew where the monkey came from, and the people did not question it.
What was remarkably interesting was that Bumblethorn just happened to be an expert accordion player. They all sat and listened for a while, delighting in the sound of it.
“Oh, I just thought of another thing that we haven’t figured out!” Lorna said.
“What is it?” Muriel asked, thinking that everything was figured out.
“Anonymouse.”
“Anonymouse?” Betty repeated.
“Do I hear an echo?” Lorna asked. “What I was saying was that we still don’t know who Anonymouse is.”
“Well we know it was someone who wanted to see Maurice thrown in jail,” Muriel murmured.
“And that it was someone who wanted Elizabeth Larkin to know about the affair, and therefore look guilty,” Lorna added.
“Then Evie wrote it, of course,” Betty said, thinking that she was surrounded by two fools.
“Oh heavens, you’re right!” Lorna said. “Evie is Anonymouse!”
“What on earth are you so excited about? It’s the product of simple reasoning,” Betty replied.
“Yes, I guess that was an easy one,” Lorna conceded.
“Might I say something?” Muriel said, standing to her feet and speaking to the crowd. All the villagers looked at her in wonder. What would they do without Muriel and her café? There would be no sandwiches, no pasta, and no cannolis.
“Speak!” the villagers cried.
“I am of the opinion that tomorrow we need to call a search party to find Evie. She could be halfway to Scotland by now with that godforsaken kilt!” Muriel said.
“Yes, a search party,” Lorna murmured. “But Evie is a fast runner, and we’ll need to search far and wide.”
“It will be too much to undertake on foot,” Muriel noted. “How shall we get around?”
“Vespa?” one villager asked.
“Considering the theme of tonight’s dinner, that would be an excellent choice,” Muriel said with a grin. “Unfortunately, we’re not actually in Italy, but in Britain.”
“What about by car?” Bumblethorn called out. It was the most sensible thing he’d said all week, but Muriel was having none of it.
“Oh no, that doesn’t sound anywhere near fun enough,” she replied.
“We could roller skate!” Lorna cried out, and for once, the people of Tweed looked at the American as though she had had a bright idea. Not even when she solved the entire murder mystery did she command respect, but now that she mentioned roller skates, it was as though the people of Tweed looked upon her with fresh eyes.
The villagers were beyond thrilled. They continued to eat spaghetti, of course, and cannolis, as they planned their roller skating journey the next day. The search would begin at dawn.
Remarkably, most Tweeders already owned roller skates, and those that did not planned on buying them that very night. Young and old, petite and stout, they would all lace up their skates and make a go of it. There would even be a morning picnic before they left, and it would take place in Tweed Park.
Muriel would prepare scones and breakfast fare, they’d start roller skating, and then they would recover Evie, send her to Tweed jail, and perhaps eat more pasta after that.
Everything was falling into place and Lorna was finally the hero.
“Oh, Lorna, you have all the best ideas,” Muriel said, already planning the ingredients for the morning’s breakfast.
“I hope that Evie has made it all the way to London,” Betty said. “Can you imagine, roller skating down the streets of London?” she added with childlike glee.
“Betty, there’s something that I want to say here, but I’m holding my tongue,” Lorna said.
“Oh, I can’t wait to write the newsletter this evening and tell everyone that you managed to not make a blind joke,” Betty said.
“If only we had a motorcycle with a sidecar,” Lorna mused.
“Oh come off it. We’re not the Two Fat Ladies,” Betty said.
“Speak for yourself; I ate three bowls of pasta tonight,” Lorna countered.
The chianti was really flowing that night, and the evening stars were bright and clear after the morning’s storm. Excitement was in the air, and the villagers broke out into a conga line to the tune of the accordion. These things might not seem like a good fit, but they truly were, and the villagers danced with abandon, snaking their way around High Street.
But not Lorna. She sat at her table and watched it all with a warm smile on her face. Such a remarkable place, Tweed-upon-Slumber. So much had happened that day that Lorna could barely remember it all, but she was pretty sure that it was all something to be proud of.
“What are you going to do while we’re out skating?” Lorna asked.
“I’m going to decorate your cottage, if you’ll permit me,” Betty said.
“Now that I’d like to see.”
“Do you doubt me, Lorna?” Betty asked. “And pray tell, who do you think decorated my cottage?”
“I don’t know. I guess I just assumed you had someone do it for you.”
“Well, never make assumptions about things. I’ll have you know I have a degree in interior design.”
“Betty Wardenshire, are you joking with me?”
“I couldn’t possibly.”
“In that case, I would be over the moon if you designed my cottage for me. But where are you going to get supplies?” Lorna asked.
“Why, from Crabtree Antiques, of course,” Betty replied. “And I might just steal a few things from the library, to boot.”
“I’d be very impressed if you did,” Lorna said.
“Just you wait and see,” Betty added, proud of herself.
“Did you just make a sighted person joke?” Lorna said with amusement.
“No, Lorna. I couldn’t possibly.”
Chapter 16
And then there were roller skates. They came in all different shapes, sizes, and colors—Lorna had a rainbow on hers. In accord with the rainbow skates, she wore her eighties’ tracksuit again, and the ensemble was complete. The tracksuit had had an opportunity to dry after the situation in the lake, and it was fresh and gleaming in the morning light.
Lorna skated to Tweed Park and loved going up and over the bridge. She was far less happy to skate up High Street, however, and found the exertion to be trying. She had to sit in the parking lot of Super Supermarket for a few minutes in order to regain her breath, but then she was ready to go and went down the hill to Tweed Park. What greeted her there was nothing short of remarkable. The whole village had convened, and tables had been set up to display a sprawling breakfast spread.
“Look at that fresh fruit!” Lorna cried in delight, her gaze settling on a huge bowl of the most delicious fruit salad imaginable. The bowl contained every color of the rainbow, just like her skates.
Lorna procured a plastic plate and dished up. Muriel was passing out T-shirts. A picture of Evie had been printed on the front of each shirt, below the words: “Have You Seen This Girl?”
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