by L. A. Nisula
Mrs. Albright went left for no reason other than she was standing on the left, so I took the right side of the square. The first shop was closed and the front window looked like it belonged to a solicitor’s office, so not a good source of gossip, or a place likely to tell me if Mrs. Otway had been there. I continued on. Nothing seemed promising until I spotted a cottage around the corner where a woman had set up a greengrocer stall with a nice display of fruit in baskets. It looked like the sort of place Mrs. Otway might have visited and also the sort where I could get something to eat. I crossed over to it.
The display was small and neat. My eye went straight to a display of summer berries which reminded me again how long ago the cheese sandwich had been. The woman who’d set it up was re-arranging a display of rhubarb to hide where some had been sold. “Good afternoon, miss.”
She seemed the friendly sort who’d know what was going on. “Good afternoon.”
“You’re just here for the day?”
I wasn’t at all surprised she knew I was a stranger on holiday. “We’re here for a couple of weeks. My landlady is a friend of Mrs. Foster, and she loaned us her cottage.”
“That’s very nice of her. I didn’t know she knew anyone in America though?”
I sometimes forgot about my accent, which didn’t sound at all like an accent to me. “I’m living in London now.”
“Ah, that explains it. Did anything here appeal?”
“I’d like some of the raspberries.” While she weighed out my purchase, I asked, “You haven’t seen Mrs. Otway today, have you?”
“Today, no. Why do you ask?”
“She was supposed to give us the key to Oakwood Cottage, but we can’t seem to find her.”
“So you haven’t even seen the place yet? But that’s not like her.”
“Someone suggested she might have been helping to set things up for a meeting?”
“That would be to arrange the charity baskets at Saint John’s in Eybry, so she wouldn’t have come here, and that’s not until four o’clock, and it’s only a planning meeting. The only thing to set up is the chairs, and Mr. Simmons does that for us as he has to get them out when we need them anyway. No, that wouldn’t be where she’d gone.”
“I’m sure it will make sense once we find her. Do you have any ideas?”
“She was here yesterday to do some shopping, so I can’t see her needing anything today. And she seemed in fine health, so I wouldn’t think she’d have needed to see Dr. Catlin. I can’t think what else it would have been. She’s really not the sort to go off like that.”
“Then we’ll keep looking. Thank you.” I paid for my raspberries and went back to the square.
The rest of the square was of little help. There was a closed-up shopfront next to the greengrocer and then the pub taking up the final side. I considered going in to see if Mrs. Otway had been there, but I saw Mrs. Albright pass by it without stopping, so I went to meet her on the corner as we had agreed. “Any luck?”
“She was in the village yesterday according to the caretaker at the school, but no one’s seen her today. And you?”
“I got some delicious raspberries and was told the same.” I held out the bag so Mrs. Albright could try some.
Mrs. Albright pulled out a handful. “That’s better than I was doing, then. Do you have any ideas?”
I shook my head.
“Then I thought we should go back to the cottage. If she was called away on an emergency, she might be back, or have sent someone over with the key for us.”
I’d had enough tramping through the countryside for one day, even if it was very nice countryside, so I agreed, and we set out for Oakwood Cottage, eating the raspberries while we walked.
Once we’d finished the raspberries, there didn’t seem to be much else to talk about. I wondered if Mrs. Albright was getting as tired of walking as I was, but I didn’t want to say anything, as this holiday had been her idea. And there was the question of what we would do if Mrs. Otway didn’t arrive with the key. I hadn’t seen any inns in the villages we’d been in, but perhaps one of the pubs would have rooms.
Mrs. Albright interrupted my thoughts by saying, “We should go right past Daisy Cottage soon.”
“Then should we stop and see if Mrs. Otway has gotten back?”
“I think so; it can’t hurt.”
When we got to the turning, we followed the small path to the gate. This time, there were definite signs of life at Daisy Cottage. The front windows were open and I could see a shadow moving around inside. Mrs. Albright and I went up to the front door and knocked. As soon as Mrs. Albright let the knocker hit the door, I could hear the sounds of someone moving around and a minute later the door opened. “Good afternoon?” The woman who answered was roughly Mrs. Albright’s age and wearing an apron large enough to hide the rest of her clothes.
“Agnes Albright. I think Mrs. Foster said we were coming?”
“Of course. It’s so nice to meet you at last. Miranda Otway. And you must be Miss Pengear.”
“Yes.” I wasn’t sure what else to say, as most of what I wanted to say revolved around finally getting into the cottage.
Fortunately, Mrs. Albright went on without waiting for me to say more. “We just dropped by to pick up the key, then we’ll be out of your way. But we would love to have you over for tea once we’re settled, find out about the village and all.”
“Oh dear, didn’t you see my note? I left it pinned to the front door, on the nail Mrs. Foster uses to put up her wreath at Christmas. The key was under the flower pot.”
“There wasn’t a note,” Mrs. Albright said. I shook my head in agreement.
“Oh, I am sorry. I should have left it with Mrs. Rodgers, but I wasn’t sure you would think to try her house over there.” She nodded in the direction of the neighbor’s house I had tried out of desperation. “I had to go to Moreton-on-Marsh. Mrs. Campbell sent her son with a note, in the new steam gig no less, saying she needed me to come over, so I left the key under the flowerpot and a note on the door.”
“That seems a bit...” I wasn’t sure how to say careless or dangerous without being rude.
“Oh, I know you’d never do anything like that in London, but nothing ever happens here, not without someone seeing it, so it was quite all right. Here, let’s go over there and I’ll show you.” Mrs. Otway stepped back inside and emerged with her hat and a small handbag and without her apron covering her dark green dress. “Really, I am sorry. And do you know what it ended up being for? Her strawberry jam. She’d run out of sugar and wanted me to watch the pot while she went to get some. Can you imagine? Sending her son out in the new steam gig all the way to Eybry just so her neighbors wouldn’t get her recipe for strawberry jam. Not that it’s even worth hiding, if you ask me.”
We walked down the lane back to Oakwood Cottage, Mrs. Otway and Mrs. Albright leading the way as I followed. Mrs. Otway kept apologizing for not being in when we arrived and Mrs. Albright kept telling her it was quite all right and we’d had a nice walk through the village while we waited, which then turned into a discussion of what there was to see in Eybry and ended with the faults of several people’s canning recipes.
When we got back to the cottage, Mrs. Otway went to the door and stared at it for a moment then hooked her finger over a small nail we hadn’t noticed before, which was decidedly noteless. “This is where I stuck the note. I thought it would stay just fine. And I put the key under that flower pot, right there, with the blue glazing.”
Mrs. Albright tipped the flower pot to the side, and I knelt down to look under it. “No key.”
“But it must be there. It was definitely that pot.”
“It must have slipped,” Mrs. Albright said as she lowered the pot back into place.
I slid my fingers carefully through the grass near the flower pot. Now that we knew which one it was, it was worth making a thorough search. I kept feeling around, making a wider arc, until I felt a bit of metal under my fingers. “Here it is.
Just under the bush here.”
“I must have let it slip when I was hiding it there. I am sorry.”
“Or we might have knocked it off the edge when we looked under there earlier,” Mrs. Albright offered.
“And since you didn’t know where I’d put it, you didn’t know where to start searching. If only I hadn’t been called away. I don’t know what Mrs. Foster will say when she returns. She was expecting me to meet you.”
I wondered what she would say about entrusting her key to a flower pot, as that was the bit that would have annoyed me, but I refrained from saying anything.
As I stood up, Mrs. Otway was asking, “Where did you leave your cases?”
“In the shed behind the house.”
“Well, I’ll help you bring them over.”
“It’s kind of you to offer...” I could tell Mrs. Albright wasn’t sure if she should accept the offer or not.
“The least I can do. If you’d had the key, you could have gotten Mr. Westin to help move everything.”
I held up the key. “Let me get the door open, then I’ll come and help.”
Mrs. Albright and Mrs. Otway moved aside so I could get to the door with the key. It was an old lock, so took a little fiddling to get the key in, but I managed by pulling the door towards me before fitting the key in the lock.
As Mrs. Otway waited by the edge of the step for me to figure out the door, she said, “No wonder you didn’t see the note. Look, it’s just there in the shrubs. It must have blown off. And I thought I put it on so well.”
“No harm done,” Mrs. Albright assured her. “We had a nice look at the villages and some lovely sandwiches.”
“From Mr. Elliott’s cheese shop? He does make nice ones.”
“There was no one at the counter there, so we went to Mr. Burton’s Grocery.”
“No one at Mr. Elliott’s? I wonder why. Oh well, let’s get you settled. Which one did you say you put your cases in?”
I pushed to door open a hair so it wouldn’t lock again, made certain the key was safely in my pocket, then followed Mrs. Albright and Mrs. Otway to the shed. “We’ll just take the hand luggage to start,” Mrs. Albright said as we crossed the lawn. “Perhaps we can get some help with the trunks.”
At least the shed was still closed when we got there, and our luggage was all where we’d left it. I collected my train case and the satchel I’d put my books in and started back for the cottage. I could hear Mrs. Albright giving Mrs. Otway our hamper and a hatbox to bring over.
It seemed our holiday was finally beginning. Once we were settled into the cottage and our luggage put away, we could make a pot of tea, and I could sit in the garden and read, or we could go back to the village and have a leisurely look around, knowing we’d have someplace to go back to when we’d finished, or we could just sit in the parlor and rest after the day we’d had. In any case, it was a relief to finally be able to relax.
I was half expecting to find the front door had locked again when I got there, but it swung open with a nudge of my shoulder. I stepped inside and got my first look at Oakwood Cottage, and almost tripped over something.
Mrs. Albright was already coming up the path behind me with her train case. “Are you all right, Cassie?”
“Yes, just something left by the door.” I put my bags down near the front staircase to the left and picked the offending object up to move it to the umbrella stand and out of everyone’s way. “Fireplace poker.”
“What on earth is a fireplace poker doing in the entryway?” Mrs. Albright asked as she approached the door.
My mind went immediately to one answer, which was the one Inspector Wainwright would have suggested as well, and that ought to have been enough for me to dismiss it out of hand. Still, I found myself wishing I hadn’t touched the poker as I moved further into the cottage and began looking around very cautiously. That or I had kept it with me, as my prints were already on it and it did make a very good weapon.
I didn’t have far to look. The entryway opened into the sitting room. The body was on the hearth rug.
“Mrs. Otway, where is the nearest policeman?”
Chapter 4
TO HER CREDIT, MRS. OTWAY DID NOT ask a lot of silly questions. Once she’d been told there was a body inside, she put our bags down in the entryway and set off for the neighboring cottage. Mrs. Albright put her bags down beside the others and accompanied Mrs. Otway to the gate. I went back inside and stood in the doorway to the sitting room.
While I waited for word on the policeman I’d ordered, I went to have a look at the crime scene. I couldn’t help but look at the victim, although I was careful to stay out of the sitting room and not disturb any evidence. It was a man in a dark suit—I couldn’t tell the exact color—a blue waistcoat with an unfortunate vertical stripe pattern on it, and a rather limp red scarf tied around his neck. No hat or coat, and I didn’t see one that could belong to him in the entryway. Dark hair, average height, heavyset, not as tanned as I’d expect a farmer to be. There wasn’t much blood, that was a good thing. Not only would a mangled corpse in the sitting room have been an even worse situation, it meant the carpet wouldn’t be a total loss. Of course, his suit wasn’t helping it any. He looked as if he’d swum to the cottage through some ocean in a rainstorm. Although I noticed he didn’t seem to be seeping into the carpet either, so his back must have been at least somewhat dry. From where I was standing, I didn’t see any sign of a head wound, nor did I see any blood on the poker. That made me wonder how it had gotten to the front door where I’d tripped over it.
Mrs. Albright came to stand beside me in the doorway. “At least it isn’t Mrs. Foster.”
“I suppose that’s something.”
Mrs. Otway came back just then. “I’ve sent Jerry from next door to get the constable. Oh my, that’s Mr. Hoyt.”
I turned. “You know him?”
“He lives in Haybrook Cottage, but that’s a fair bit of a walk from here. He owns the pub in Eybry. Well, his wife inherited it. And anyway, I thought he’d gone to Bristol to see one of their suppliers. At least that was what Mrs. Hoyt said when I saw her on Friday. I wonder how he ended up in your front parlor?”
I wasn’t sure I wanted to lay claim to any front parlor with a dead body in it, but getting information seemed more important than correcting the ownership of the parlor or the corpse. “What did he do before his wife inherited the pub?” I wondered if it was the rather dodgy-looking place we’d seen in Eybry.
“Nothing very interesting. A salesman, selling to the shops, not door-to-door. He gave that up as soon as his wife inherited and started to run the place into the ground.”
So it was the dodgy place, although there had seemed to be plenty of customers there, just not the sort Mrs. Otway, or any sensible person, would want to have a meal with. I nodded as she spoke, hoping showing some interest would encourage her to keep talking, but she seemed to have run out of things to say. I stayed quiet in case there was more, but Mrs. Otway took a final look at Mr. Hoyt, shook her head, and went back towards the door.
“Who is it?” a new voice asked.
“Mr. Hoyt. I thought he was in Bristol.”
“Got back yesterday evening, according to my Robert.”
“Well, it must not have taken as long as it normally does.” There was something about her tone of voice that told me she hadn’t told me everything she knew about Mr. Hoyt and his trip to Bristol, but I couldn’t think of how to ask about it. Perhaps Mrs. Albright would have more luck anyway. Although I wasn’t going to investigate this. It had nothing to do with me, and there was no way the police could consider us suspects, as we’d spent most of the last twenty-four hours in some stage of travel.
“Have you met Mrs. Foster’s guests? Mrs. Dalby has the cottage on the other side of you. This is Mrs. Albright, and Miss Pengear is inside. She’s lending them the cottage. Good thing, too, or we might never have found him.”
“Well, I would think Mrs. Foster would have found him w
hen she returned,” Mrs. Albright pointed out, “but what a thing to come home to.”
“Not what I’d want, although Jerry would say it was some grand adventure.”
I seemed to remember Jerry was who was being sent for the police. I was imagining him as a boy, so the speaker must have been his mother. Probably came back to get the facts straight from us before the gossip started spreading, giving her first crack at it, no doubt, and the ability to set any story straight by saying she’d been there while we were waiting for the police.
It took the police half-an-hour to arrive. When they did, it was in an old gig that had been converted to run on steam. There were two constables—the one we’d met at the train station was driving, the other was seated beside him—another officer in back, whom I took to be in charge, and a boy of about nine, who I assumed was Jerry. Mrs. Dalby went down the path and collected her son. I heard her say, “Good afternoon, Constable Palmer. Come along now, Jerry. They’re busy here.”
Jerry argued all the way down the lane, saying how unfair it was that after he had run all the way to the post office in Eybry, had them call to the police station in Stow-on-the-Wold, waited for the police to arrive, and brought them all the way back to the cottage, he wasn’t going to see the body. I couldn’t hear Mrs. Dalby’s replies, but they didn’t seem to please him. The last thing I heard was Jerry yelling, “I would not have nightmares!”
Both constables turned away so their smiles would not be seen. The one in charge didn’t seem to have heard. He was already coming down the path towards us. “I was told you found a body, Mrs. Otway.” He seemed put out that something as common as murder was disturbing him.
“No, Sergeant, the ladies who are borrowing Mrs. Foster’s cottage found a body.”
I had the definite feeling it was the sergeant, not the body, that she was pawning off on us.
“Names?”
“Agnes Albright.”
“Cassandra Pengear.” When he didn’t say anything, I added, “I didn’t catch yours?”