by Kris Pearson
I watched as she began to pat the teddies. “So who does the cat belong to?” I asked. “You’re right he’s in a sad condition.”
“How can anyone see an animal like that and not do something?” Lurline demanded. “Old Rona Jarvis in Beach Street, as it happens. I recognized the name Prince Albert when they said he’d snagged his name-tag on something outside their cat door. He won Best in Show a couple of years ago at the Drizzle Bay Summer Festival. You wouldn’t think that to look at him now.”
“And how’s old Rona?” I asked, thinking privately of not-much-younger Isobel, who’d also lived alone with only pets for company.
“I went to check,” Lurline said, switching her attention from Itsy to Fluffy, or possibly from Fluffy to Itsy. The little dogs stood braced, black eyes twinkling, loving it. “Probably got Alzheimer’s. Half-starved and senile, anyway. I got hold of Social Services and they’ve arranged Meals on Wheels and a regular agency helper for an hour twice a week. Not fantastic, but it’s a start. Catching the cat was a lot harder.”
“You do wonders,” I murmured, because it was true. Lurline looks like a hippie who never escaped from the sixties but she has a heart as big as Texas and her kindness extends to people as well as animals. “I hate to tell you what I’m here for,” I added. “But I don’t think I can do any more dog-walking for you for a while – unless you have someone the size of these two.”
Not very likely. The dogs that end up needing Lurline’s care tend toward too large and too hungry for the average home; cute puppies for Christmas who grow into unwelcome out-of-control destruction specialists.
She shook her head. “No-one small. Are you looking after them?”
“Pet-sitting. Out at Isobel Crombie’s cottage at The Point.” I waited for the reaction, and sure enough…
“She was killed, wasn’t she!” Lurline exclaimed.
“Awful thing to happen to a harmless old biddy like her,” I said.
“Not so harmless,” Lurline surprised me by saying. “She looked as though butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth but she had fingers in strange pies, believe me.”
Huh? I looked at her more sharply. “What sort of pies?”
Lurline shrugged. “You hear things,” she muttered.
That pulled me up short. What sort of ‘strange pies’ could possibly be accessible in sleepy Drizzle Bay? “She can’t have deserved what happened, though?” I asked.
Lurline didn’t seem to mind me being nosy, and I’d walked dogs for her for ages now, so we were on good terms. She repeated the shrug. “She did the tax returns for a number of people in the Bay – and further afield. She knew a lot. I heard she put money into all sorts of things because she got the inside skinny on stuff.”
No way ho-zay!
“I doubt it, Lurline. Honestly, the house is threadbare. The comparison between her sister’s place and that decrepit cottage has to be seen to be believed.”
“Margaret Alsop’s her sister – right? Putting up a fancy front, I reckon.” She shook her head and her dreadlocks bounced around her shoulders. “And maybe the old cottage was a front of the opposite kind. Purposely run-down looking. As though Isobel didn’t want anyone suspecting it was worth burgling. It would have looked like easy pickings, being so isolated. One elderly lady, two tiny dogs. Maybe the well-worn clothes and ancient car were supposed to indicate there was nothing worth having.” She raised an eyebrow. “But how large is her bank balance? What’s she got hidden there?”
Now it was my turn to shake my head. “There’s not even any Wi-Fi out at The Point. Did she have an office in the village somewhere?”
Lurline narrowed her eyes. “Must have done. Never heard of one.” Then she surprised me by saying, “You were there when they found her, weren’t you?”
Wheee! News travels fast in a small place like Drizzle Bay.
I nodded. “Would rather not have been. It was horrible.”
She nodded with sympathy but wasn’t going to leave it alone. “In the church? Who’d do it there?”
“No doubt the Police will discover who,” I said, thinking of this morning’s visit from Carver and Wick. “The vicar and I found her lying in the aisle amongst all the flowers she’d brought with her to arrange. Looking quite peaceful until we saw the blood leaking from the back of her head.”
That wasn’t really true. Her eyes had been staring – wide open and distressed. Her unlipsticked mouth was strangely twisted. One open hand had landed on her thigh and might have been reaching up for help. I shivered, picturing her again.
“Crikey,” Lurline muttered, glancing down at Itsy and Fluffy. “You want to know you’ve put the wrong colored leads on these two?”
“Um… how?” I asked, welcoming the diversion. I was still trying to sort them out.
Lurline had no such qualms. She upended one of the teddies, who gave a surprised bark. “Little boy,” she said. She grabbed the other and positioned its nether regions a bit too close to my face for comfort. “Little girl.”
I reared back. “Yes, I knew there was one of each,” I agreed. “But the names on their tags aren’t much help, and … things are covered in fur. Graham’s spaniels are both boys.” To my relief she lowered the ‘little girl’ to the grass again.
“Gold for a girl, silver for sir,” she said with a grin, touching the tags hanging from their collars.
That made it easier, but I felt sorry for Fluffy. “So Itsy’s the girl? What kind of a name is ‘Fluffy’ for a male dog?”
“Not exactly male any longer. No worries there.” She bent and resumed petting their upturned heads and they instantly forgave her for the indignity of being flipped over and inspected. She sent me a sideways glance. “Poor old Miss Crombie – murdered in the aisle.”
“Presumably so,” I said. “Unlikely anyone could have done it elsewhere and then carried her into the church. The vicar was painting the fence outside.”
Talk about obvious… Paul might not have noticed a stranger (or not a stranger) popping in for a few moments of quiet contemplation, but if they’d been carrying a limp and bleeding body in their arms he certainly would have. He also might not have noticed them quietly leaving because I guess it’s the kind of place people drift in and out of without always wanting to chat. If the back door of the church was locked then they had to come out through the lovely old double doors at the front. Which had definitely been open. Open to welcome anyone who wished to enter, and therefore easy to leave through again. I remembered Paul closing them later to give Margaret some privacy.
I clutched my suddenly queasy tummy. The murderer might have been at work right when I was inappropriately admiring Paul’s legs. Or as we chatted about the prospects of pet-sitting jobs over by the notice board.
Oh get real, Merry! Paul had said Isobel had been inside the church ‘for quite a while’ and I also remembered him saying it wasn’t worth trying rescue breathing because he could tell from the state of the bleeding and the lack of pulse she was definitely dead and had been so for ages. Well, for long enough that he couldn’t revive her, anyway.
I dragged my attention back to Lurline. “Seriously though – what have you heard about the ‘strange pies’ she might have had her fingers in? I didn’t really know her. It’s very odd living in her house amongst all her stuff. I only ended up doing it because her sister was going away on a cruise and didn’t have time to arrange anything better. I just happened to be Johnny on the spot.”
Lurline sniffed. “That figures. Margaret Alsop thinks she’s the bee’s knees, but that car-yard husband of hers pulls the strings in the marriage. He says ‘jump’ and she asks ‘how high?’ I’ll bet the cruise was his idea – one more thing to try and impress people with. And you can’t tell me his car business is entirely legit. Have you noticed how many foreign people are associated with it?”
I shook my head. “I don’t have the same opportunities as you to be out and about. I’m staring at my screen half the day.”
“Out and
about,” Lurline murmured. “Well, that’s one way to describe rescuing mistreated animals and looking after them.”
“Mmmm, sorry – foot in my mouth,” I agreed. “I meant you have the chance to see a lot more of the community than I do. That’s partly why I’ve taken on the house-and-pet minding. I’m sick of being stuck in the same place, mostly with only Graham for company.”
She was quick to forgive my description of the amazing work she does. “Foreign people,” she repeated. “The car salespeople, the mechanics I’ve seen, even the office staff. Indian people and Chinese people and Germans, too. Or people who sound very German, anyway. And they’re never the same ones.”
I raised an eyebrow. “How can you tell?”
She stared off into the distance, lifted one of her dreadlocks and brushed it to and fro across her lips as she considered. “I always see people as animals,” she said after a few seconds. “The woman who looks like a poodle – all curls and long nose. The man who looks like a walrus – big mustache and leaky eyes. The crocodile lady with too many teeth. The oily-looking chap who’s skinny as a snake… Huh! I didn’t really think about that until you asked. But yes, the animals change, so the people must be changing too.”
“And you think something shady’s going on?”
“Hiya, girls!” came a sudden cheerful greeting from the other end of the garden. We both swiveled our heads in that direction. Lisa Smedley the vet is a tiny thing but she has a voice that carries easily across farm paddocks or sports fields.
“Lisa!” we exclaimed in unison, and with real pleasure, too. The teddies set up a huge ruckus, bouncing around and tugging at their leads. I was unsure whether they were pleased to see her or remembered past appointments at her vet clinic.
Lisa sat on the seat with me after Lurline moved aside and perched on a low wall nearby.
“Just the person I need,” Lurline said, folding her skirt around her knees. “I’ve got someone for you. Persian cat, full of knots, poor thing. Beyond me, I think.”
“Needs sedating?” Lisa suggested, clicking her tongue at the Bichons, which made them bark even harder. From somewhere out of sight several other dogs with much deeper voices joined in.
“Probably,” Lurline agreed. “I got the poor thing back into a cage because it wasn’t going well.”
“I walked in with these two,” I said. “Total pandemonium.”
Lisa grinned at me and then down at the teddies. “You’ve got the wrong leads on them. Isobel Crombie’s dogs – I wondered what had become of them.”
“Pet-sitting,” I said, wanting to get back to the ‘strange pies’. “What do you know about her?”
Lisa looked non-committal. “Nice enough little woman. Kind to her pets. Always paid right away – never had to chase her for money.”
And then Lurline, bless her, said, “I always thought there was something shady about her.”
“Well, there must have been, mustn’t there?” Lisa agreed. “Murdered, and in the church. That’s not a random sort of thing. That’s intentional. So why do you reckon?”
“No good asking me,” I said. “I’ve seen her around the village but never up close. Don’t think I’d ever spoken with her.”
“She was good with money,” Lurline insisted. “Never looked as though she had any, but I heard she was clever with investments and getting in on the ground floor with new businesses.”
Lisa nodded. “Like the whale watching trips and that expensive new gallery? How does that survive, do you think? I wouldn’t have thought there were many people in Drizzle Bay who can afford their prices, but they must have been open for at least a year now.”
“The whales are wonderful,” I said. “Ideal to bring some tourists to the area, although I don’t expect they’ll be buying pricey art.”
“It’s not a huge boat like the ones they have down at Kaikoura,” Lisa mused. “Brett Royal can’t take more than a dozen or fifteen people out at a time.”
“Maybe he brings them in?” Lurline suggested.
We both looked at her in astonishment. “What – people smuggling?” Lisa asked.
“Or drugs. His boat’s big enough to meet other vessels out past the horizon and do midnight transfers. Who’d suspect him? Smiley, easy-going Brett?”
“I don’t think so,” I said. She’d shocked me. “Anyway, how would Isobel have made money out of that?”
Lisa tapped her chin. A slight smile danced about her lips. “Did the money laundering for him? Hid the funds? Arranged currency transfers?” Then she shook her head. “This is terrible – assassinating the character of a nice little woman just because someone killed her. Forget I ever suggested that. I came to have a groan about Ten Ton, actually.”
“What’s the big lump done now?” Lurline asked. But it was asked affectionately enough. Lisa’s estranged husband, Ten Ton Smedley, is our local mechanic, and despite having what looks like an ever-changing line of vehicles to service outside his workshop he never seems to have enough spare cash to pay any extra to Lisa. Or perhaps he’s simply not willing to subsidize her possibly quite good vet’s income.
“All the kids need new sports shoes,” Lisa said. “Good ones. Expensive ones. Not rubbish. They’re putting their hearts and souls into their training. Bailey’s playing inter-club tennis and she’s good. Mac’s made it into the college’s first eleven for cricket. Also good. And Pete’s taken up archery of all things. I don’t think he needs special shoes but if the others are getting them he’d better have new sneakers to keep things fair. He’s so accurate it’s scary.”
“Better send him out spear-fishing for dinner, then?” Lurline suggested.
We got the giggles at that. Pete’s no more than twelve, so hardly likely to be let loose on his own with a deadly weapon.
Lisa sighed. “I’m serious, though. They’re his kids. He should be willing to pay an extra whack for things like this. He should be showing he’s proud of them.”
Lurline and I both nodded.
“I hear he always has enough cash to drink at the Burkeville,” she added. “No buying a box of whatever’s on special at the supermarket for him.”
“Maybe he’s lonely?” I suggested. “You have all your cows and horses and farmers and pet-owners to interact with. Who does he have? People who’re annoyed about having to get their cars serviced.”
“He could come and live at home again,” Lisa said acidly. “We’d talk to him. In fact the kids would never stop.”
“Might be why he stays away?” Lurline said, smiling to take the sting from her comment. “Cuppa?”
“Yes please,” we chorused.
We ambled inside together after I’d tied the teddies to the end of the seat. They settled down in the shade underneath it with long-suffering sighs.
“Okay,” I said, unwilling to let go the subject of Isobel Crombie’s possible expertise with money. “What’s the gallery doing she can grab a piece of?”
Lurline thought for a few moments. “Maybe they’re fencing stolen art,” she said. “And she’s blackmailing them to keep it secret?”
“You’re good at this,” I said as Lisa and I leaned on the kitchen counter and Lurline took three mugs from the hooks under her kitchen canister shelf.
But smartly dressed Winston Bamber? He of the constant cravat? I couldn’t see it. Mind you, I also couldn’t see the residents of Drizzle Bay parting with a thousand bucks for his large pastel-colored canvasses with bands of paint splatter on them. Or the expensive, useless, narrow-necked pottery bottles in lurid colors. Or the metallic-painted wooden trays with notices warning they ‘were not functional items and intended only as wall art.’ He had one with the most amazing copper and gold banding I’d been admiring, but not at the eye-watering price on the discreet attached tag.
“Not very likely,” I said. “Winnie’s an old sweetie, and pretty conventional. I don’t think he’d be willing to risk his reputation but I can’t imagine how he stays in business.”
“Yea
h, probably right,” Lisa agreed. “Not blackmail, then. Maybe he won Lotto.”
“Maybe Isobel did, too,” I said. “But she hasn’t any visible money.” I elbowed Lurline now we were standing side by side. “Why do you think she has?”
“Someone killed her for something,” she replied. “It wasn’t for sex. It probably wasn’t for drugs. So that leaves money, eh?” She turned the tap to fill the kettle for tea.
*
Eventually Lurline gathered up our empty mugs. Lisa glanced at her watch and gave a guilty curse, and I went to untie the teddies. I held them back until she had Prince Albert’s cage stowed in her wagon and then I took them home. To their home. Isobel’s home. My home for the foreseeable future.
Finally on my own, I decided to have a thorough search through the rambling old place to see if I could substantiate any of Lurline’s suspicions. I fed the teds, then chased them outside for a run-around. It wasn’t long before they rattled back in through the dog door and curled up in the dotty dog bed after their day’s excitement. By then I’d made sure both doors to the house were locked and was on my knees checking shelves and quietly opening drawers and cupboards in the kitchen. Nothing, nothing, nothing. Itsy came and dangled her gold tag into the bottom drawer when I opened it, but after a sniff at the muffin pans and cake tins and a snort of disappointment she went back to bed.
I moved to the sitting room. Plenty of books on gardening and flower arrangement – very well thumbed or else bought second hand. In the bedroom that had plainly been Isobel’s there were faded nightgowns, uninspired undergarments, and neat but neutral clothes. I felt terrible going through all her things but surely the Police had already had a look if they wanted to? Cards from Christmases past had been bundled up with rubber bands and stowed in the bottom drawer of a bedside cabinet.
They were about the most personal thing I found. This was crazy – there had to be documents in her life. She had a gas stove. There must be a gas bill. With no computer she couldn’t be paying online.