“Blimey,” responded Dickens, “guess this calls for Detectives Parker and Dickens to visit the Book Nook.”
“Would you listen to him,” meowed Christie. “We’ve barely been here a week, and he’s going all British on us.”
As upsetting as the morning’s information was, I had to laugh at that comment. A glance at my email told me Wendy had accepted my lunch invitation, so I decided I’d kill two birds with one stone—tackle Beatrix and pick up sandwiches in the village.
I’d wanted to speak with Beatrix ever since I’d learned about Alice’s flea market business in Manchester. I was curious as to what she might know about that, and I also wanted to know whether she’d missed the Alice in Wonderland teapot. Given the amounts listed on her page in Alice’s notebook, that conversation now seemed even more critical.
The bell tinkled as I opened the door into the Book Nook. This was Dickens’s first visit, and Tommy and Tuppence gave him a wide berth as he set about sniffing every inch. “Good mornin’, Beatrix,” I greeted her as she came hustling out from the backroom.
“Mornin’ yourself, and mornin’ to you, Dickens,” she replied with a smile. “Just browsing today or looking for something in particular?”
“I came by to pick your brain, but as long as I’m here, I think I’ll pick up a biography of J. M. Barrie. No matter where I turn, his name keeps coming up, so it’s high time I learned more about him. What would you recommend, Beatrix?”
“Oh, Hide-and-Seek with Angels for sure. I’ve always found it to be the most informative. You’ll find it on the table of biographies, but if you’re interested, I just got in a flawless copy of a first edition.”
“Wow, I knew you sold used books but didn’t expect you had rare or collectible books. How does one come by something like that?”
“I keep my feelers out,” said Beatrix. “And I visit estate sales. Plus a few of the flea market vendors I know will contact me if they get something special in. You have to know people and know what you’re looking for.”
“I’ve never owned a first edition of any book, but now that I’ve made my home in Astonbury, it seems only appropriate my first one be a Barrie biography. Not if it’s priced anything like the examples Thom gave us the other night, though. Still, I’d love to see it.”
As Beatrix went to the backroom, Dickens settled on a snoozing spot. He turned around several times and stretched out.
The book Beatrix brought me was in pristine condition. “I’d love to have it, Beatrix. So, break it to me gently, what does something like this go for?”
She explained that it would probably go for as high as £60, but for a friend and for cash, she’d take £50. I pulled out five £10 notes, and she tucked them in her pocket.
As she wrapped my purchase, I eased my way into what I hoped would sound like innocuous questions about Alice. “I’m curious. I’ve heard Alice once had a flea market stall in Manchester and that she sold books among other things. Since you deal in used books and collectibles like this Barrie biography, it occurred to me you might have known Alice before she moved here.”
Beatrix didn’t reply right away. She busied herself with tying a bow around my package and then looked up. “Yes, I’d met her before on my occasional flea market foray.”
“Did you ever purchase anything from her?” I asked.
“Yes, a used book here and there, and once, if I recall correctly, an unusual Alice in Wonderland teapot. Why do you ask?”
“Honestly? When I went to her flat to get Tigger, I saw some things that made me uncomfortable. For starters, I saw one of my Frog Prince figurines, which means Alice took it from my cottage. And the teapot you just mentioned was there too. If you bought it from her, what was it doing back with her?”
“Ah well, she wanted it back, so I let her have it; that’s all.”
“That was kind of you, Beatrix. There’s also something else that’s worrying me.”
She gave me an anxious look. “Like what?”
“Alice kept a notebook with client names and notations on when she cleaned for us and what she charged us. For example, next to my name, it said £50/Tu for my rate and my day of the week. And for a few clients, she listed extra charges for meals she prepared. But next to your name and the names of one or two others, it showed the rate and day and then a series of amounts like £50, £30, £40, and on and on with no explanation. Here’s a photo I took of the page so you can see for yourself. Was she charging you extra for some reason?”
Beatrix hesitated before answering, “Perhaps, now and then.”
“I guess that’s a yes, then,” I said. “Beatrix, you’re a dear friend, and I’m concerned you may be tangled up in something. You must know that the police will be asking the same questions.”
“What does it matter that she charged me extra from time to time?”
“It matters because I’ve discovered Alice was blackmailing at least one of her clients, and I think she was blackmailing you too. If she was, the police will see you as having a motive for murder.”
“Murder? Are they saying it was murder?” she exclaimed.
“Yes, and now they’re looking for suspects,” I said.
“Look,” she said. “Alice and I had business dealings in the past, always on a cash basis. When she started cleaning the Book Nook, she nosed around and put two and two together.”
Beatrix sounded exasperated rather than alarmed. “She figured out I was keeping some of my business—mostly the rare collectibles—off the books by dealing in cash. She’d done it herself, so she knew exactly what I was doing. She threatened to call the tax hotline on me if I didn’t pay her. It was just easier to pay her now and then than it would have been to have to get a lawyer and fight the taxman.”
How could she be so nonchalant about breaking the law? Clearly, she and I had a different sense of what was acceptable behavior. It dawned on me that was what I’d just witnessed when she put my £50 in her pocket rather than in the cash register. And here I was thinking the cash price was less because she wouldn’t have to pay a credit card fee. How naïve of me. “Beatrix, please tell me Thom isn’t involved in this somehow.”
“That one?” she scoffed. “He’s fairly knowledgeable about rare books, which is helpful. I think he picked up some of that from one of his professors, but no way I’d knowingly let him or anyone else in on the cash business. Besides, I’ve known him since he was a lad, and he’s pure as the driven snow.”
It was nice to hear someone was innocent, but I was dismayed, no that wasn’t strong enough—I was horrified—that Beatrix was doing something illegal. “Well, I’m glad to hear Thom isn’t caught up in this. So how did Alice approach you? Did she just intermittently ask for money?”
“Oh,” said Beatrix, “she was a subtle one. She’d leave a sticky note either at my home or here at the shop. On it, she’d print the tax hotline number and the sum she wanted. When next I left her an envelope with her cleaning fee, she’d expect the extra to be in it.”
“She never let up?” I asked.
“Not a bit. And the money wasn’t enough. From time to time, she’d fancy something in the shop or at my cottage, and instead of a sum written below the tax hotline, she’d jot down whatever it was she wanted and place a checkmark by it as the signal she’d taken it. That’s how she got the teapot back after I’d had it several years. Wasn’t it considerate of her to let me know, so I wouldn’t think I’d misplaced it?” she asked, sarcasm dripping from her voice.
She felt wronged by Alice but didn’t seem to feel remorse for her own actions. “Beatrix, I have to be honest with you—I’m shocked Alice was blackmailing you, but I think I’m more shocked that you’ve been breaking the law.”
“Now, wait a minute, Leta. Who are you to judge me, you a rich widow who picked up and moved here without a care in the world? Bought a historic cottage, no less? What do you know about running a business and making ends meet? Don’t you dare lecture me.”
Okay, I hadn
’t worded that last bit as well as I could have, but her comment about me being a rich widow stung. As tends to happen when I’m angry or put on the defensive, I responded in a soft but stern voice. “Yes, I’m rich, but being a widow wasn’t a choice I made. You know I’d trade it all to have Henry back.”
Beatrix looked a bit abashed. I think she knew she’d crossed a line. “Alright, I’m sorry about the widow comment, but can we agree that Alice blackmailing me was wrong, no matter what I might have done?”
“Well, of course. And, Beatrix, I’m sorry I got on my high horse about the taxes. I do feel strongly about it, though, so I’d rather pay you full price for the book to make it right. Okay?”
She rolled her eyes, but she accepted the additional £10 I handed her.
I was still digesting what she’d told me, and realized I’d had no inkling there was anything like that going on between her and Alice.
“Beatrix,” I asked, “How long has the blackmail been going on? Since she arrived?”
“Pretty much. It started the second month she was here. I figured out the amounts went up and down depending on how much she needed to make ends meet. Sometimes, she’d go months without making any demands, but when her car was in and out of the shop, she asked more often and for larger amounts.
“But you know, Leta, even after what she put me through, she didn’t deserve to die. She was so darned likable despite the blackmail. I certainly didn’t want to be exposed for tax evasion, but if someone murdered her, what must she have had on them? I can’t imagine.”
“I agree. It’s kind of creepy thinking that someone we know in Astonbury is capable of murder. I admit I don’t know everyone listed in her book, and I can only hope it isn’t one of the folks I know well . . . or think I know well.”
“Leta, please don’t tell Gemma about this. I realize she needs to know, and I’ll tell her myself, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course I don’t mind.”
I couldn’t help myself. Just as I’d done with Toby and Peter, I suggested to Beatrix that Gemma was bound to ask her for an alibi. And her response was much like Toby’s. “Right, like I have an alibi for any night. I live alone, have done my whole adult life. Where am I going to come up with an alibi?”
All I could do was throw up my hands in a “who knows” gesture and give her a hug. The door tinkled as another customer entered, so I picked up my package and waved goodbye.
I had a cup of tea at Toby’s and ordered sandwiches for lunch with Wendy. When Toby brought my order to the table, he leaned down and whispered, “Thanks for lending me an ear. I feel better for having talked it out, and I’m meeting with Gemma later today.” I smiled in acknowledgment and headed out the door.
At home, I started a list of things to tell Wendy and decided right away that there were some details I didn’t need to share. I’d tell her that Beatrix was being blackmailed but keep the why among Beatrix, me, and hopefully Gemma. I’d give her a bit more detail about Toby and Rhiannon so as to set the record straight about their relationship. As for Peter and Alice, the less said on that score the better.
My snooping at the inn hadn’t turned up anything about Gavin and Libby, nor had the notebook revealed any strange payments for them, but the information from Gemma would make for an interesting discussion. And Wendy would get a kick out of the note and book in Dave’s room, just as I had. And, of course, I’d point out what Christie had found in the photos—only Wendy wasn’t to know it was my curious cat who’d found it.
Dickens and Christie both greeted Wendy as she came in the kitchen door. “Hi there,” I said. “It’s turned warm, so I thought we could eat in the garden. Does that work for you?”
I could hardly hear Wendy’s response over Christie’s plaintive comments. “What about me? Isn’t it time I get to explore the garden? I promise to stay close, scout’s honor, whatever that means.”
Wendy and I both looked at Christie and laughed. “It cracks me up how she changes the pitch of her meows. I’m betting that last bit means she wants to go outside with us. This will be her first outdoor adventure in England, so I’ll have to keep a close eye on her,” I explained to Wendy.
I uncorked a bottle of wine for our meal. “By the way, before we dive into detective work, I’ve been meaning to tell you—I’m having dinner with Dave Prentiss tonight. Maybe you can help me decide what to wear.”
“Dinner? Is this a date, Miz Parker?”
“I think it’s more he’s thinking of writing a travel article and is looking for an outsider’s perspective on life in the Cotswolds, but it’s an excuse for me to wear somethings beside yoga pants or jeans.”
“Okey dokey, then I’m happy to be your fashion consultant.”
I laughed, imagining Wendy draping me in pashminas and necklaces. “Good. Guess we need to get started, but I think we owe ourselves a glass of wine first given how hard we’ve been working.” And then I launched into the tale of my findings. I used my phone to show Wendy the clues I’d found in the “Alice” photos, as I now referred to them.
“I can’t believe she took not only your figurine but your Frog Prince book too,” exclaimed Wendy. “I wonder what the attraction could have been. And the pages in the notebook are a revelation. We didn’t have time to study those the other night. Have you figured out what all the extra things are on some of the pages?”
“Unfortunately, I have,” I said. And I told her about my conversation with Toby and how it had caused the aha that the notations had to indicate what he was paying her to keep quiet. “And the Toby connection led me to the conclusion that Alice was blackmailing Beatrix too.”
At that revelation, Wendy’s mouth dropped open and she poured herself another glass of wine. “If you’ve got much more like this to tell me,” she said, “we may need another bottle.”
I made the Beatrix story as brief as possible and took that opportunity to include Gemma’s information about Alice’s Manchester history. Then I broached the topic of Peter. “This is Peter’s story to tell, but he said it was okay to share the broad strokes with you. He confirmed that he and Alice had been in a relationship but said it had ended not long ago. He became aware she was nicking things from her clients and thought he might be able to get her to stop by helping her financially. That’s how she came by the car. Your big-hearted brother gave it to her.”
“Oh for goodness’ sake, the big lug,” she said. “He always was naïve when it came to women. Fortunately for him, he earns a good living from his garage. You wouldn’t know, but he often barters with his customers for repairs. The man never lacks for fresh vegetables or firewood. Still, giving Alice a car seems over the top.”
“I got the impression he was head over heels in love, and I’m afraid he knew about the blackmail too, at least of Toby. I don’t think he knew about Beatrix. “
“Was the blackmail what ended their relationship? Was that last bit the straw that broke the camel’s back?” asked Wendy.
“Actually, it was when she told him she’d be stopping the blackmail soon because she had a new scheme in the offing. That ripped it for him. There’s more detail on all this, but it doesn’t change the basics of the story, and I’d rather let Peter fill in the blanks for you if he chooses.”
“Well, what’s the new scheme?” Wendy asked.
“Peter didn’t know, and I don’t have any idea. I have another tidbit from my cleaning spell at the Olde Mill, but let’s hear what you know first. Let me take the dishes in, and I’ll be right back.”
Dickens was stretched out in the sun and didn’t move, but Christie followed me in the kitchen. She meowed, “Hey, aren’t you going to tell her about the black and white photo I found? I think that’s important.”
“Dear Christie,” I murmured, “All in good time. And, by the way, thank you for staying in the garden today. Are you ready for a treat?”
She eagerly took her treat and dashed back to the garden. She was enjoying her taste of the outdoors.
When I returned to the garden, Wendy was busy giving Dickens a belly rub but stopped long enough to pull out a list of all the items missing from Sunshine Cottage. There were quite a few figurines missing, and when she mentioned the Peter Rabbit piggy bank, I interrupted her to tell her Peter had seen it at Alice’s. Belle also had a set of Winnie-the-Pooh figurines, and Tigger was missing from it.
Christie chose that moment to leap into my lap and lick my hand. She’s reminding me to tell Wendy about the photo, I thought. “Well, that fits,” I said, “since Alice had a cat named Tigger. I don’t recall seeing it in the photos we have, but it could have been buried in the mess. Is there a black and white photo on your list? I saw one of those and thought maybe it was a pic of your mum and J. M. Barrie.”
“If it was in a dime store frame, you guessed right,” she said, “and I’m not anywhere near the end of my list. Mum has lots and lots of books, older ones from her childhood and ours and tons of romance and mystery novels from the last forty years, so trying to figure out what books are missing is tough going.”
“You checked for missing romance novels?”
“No, no,” said Wendy. “I wasn’t trying to see if any of those were gone, but Mum’s books aren’t well organized, so you never know what you’ll find tucked where. To give you an idea, I found a Daphne du Maurier hardback next to The Cat in the Hat.
“But here’s the disturbing thing—I couldn’t find her copy of Peter and Wendy anywhere. It’s probably not in good enough shape to be a collector’s item, but it’s inscribed to her and Gran and signed by Uncle Jim. It’s possible she tucked it away somewhere for safekeeping and I haven’t yet stumbled across it. I haven’t wanted to ask her because I know she’ll be upset if it’s really gone.”
“That’s awful,” I said. “We’re talking about a treasured childhood keepsake. There were so many books flung around Alice’s flat, I guess we could have missed it, but somehow I doubt it. And given that Alice must have known a thing or two about books, I’m betting she took it because she thought it was valuable. I wonder whether she sold it to someone she knew in Manchester, maybe at the flea market. Lord, I hope not.”
Bells, Tails, & Murder Page 10