Pumpkins, Paws and Murder (A Dickens & Christie mystery Book 2)

by Kathy Manos Penn

  Paddington assured me that was the case. I was thinking about that when I heard Gavin call me. He was in the kitchen. “What on earth is going on? When I walked into the conservatory, my daughter shooed me out. Does Gemma talking to Jill mean something else has happened? Something beyond Libby finding a dead body?”

  Gavin had been right in his sense that something was wrong, but It wasn’t my place to tell him Jill had been assaulted. Though her quick reaction had staved off the worst, she’d had a terrible experience.

  I was spared having to come up with a reply to Gavin’s question when Libby appeared in the kitchen. She looked better than she had the day before, but not much. “I feel as though a truck hit me. Coffee, I need coffee.”

  I poured her a cup and moved her to the kitchen table while Gavin pulled the breakfast casserole from the oven. After I poured three glasses of fresh-squeezed orange juice, we dug in. Well, Gavin and I dug in—Libby moved her food around her plate.

  Gavin and I were on the same wavelength, wanting Libby to get some food down. Gavin thought eating would help her get back to her old self—the way she’d been before finding a dead body. I wanted her to be fortified and less shaky in case Jill chose to share her story, but it soon became apparent she wasn’t going to eat.

  Dickens wandering into the kitchen took the focus off Libby. When he sat and looked expectantly at her, she slipped him a chunk of the scone she’d crumbled in her plate. My boy was adept at picking out the softest touch. He tried the same approach on me, but I told him no way. He was putting the touch on Gavin when Jill and Gemma came into the kitchen.

  “Mornin’ Dad, Mum,” said Gemma. “Oh good, you saved us some coffee.”

  She busied herself at the coffeepot, and Jill sat down next to Libby. “Okay, this is hard for me,” she choked out. Gemma handing her a cup of coffee seemed to strengthen her resolve. “But I want you both to know what happened Saturday night before I left for home.” With that, she repeated much the same story she’d told me.

  Gavin and Libby were both speechless. With tears in her eyes, Libby put her arms around Jill and pulled her close, and I could see Jill’s shoulders relax as Libby stroked her hair. They sat like that for a few moments until Gemma spoke up. “You’re a strong girl, Jill.”

  Gavin shook himself and asked, “Don’t you want to take some time off, Jill? I mean I don’t know what’s best in the circumstances, but being here can’t be helping, can it?”

  Jill frowned. “I’d rather keep working, if it’s all the same to you. I feel comfortable and safe here with you and Libby, and staying busy helps.”

  Libby and Gavin quickly agreed, and Jill headed to the laundry room. As prone as Libby was to tears, I was surprised at her calm. She asked Gemma a few questions and shook her head, but she didn’t break down. I suspected the pills the doctor had given her had numbed her to some extent. She’ll get through this, I thought, and so will Jill.

  As I finished clearing the table, I pulled Gemma aside and told her about the button. She scowled. “Bloody hell, you didn’t pick it up, did you?”

  “I keep trying to tell you I’ve learned my lesson, Gemma. Give me some credit.”

  And then she did it. She rolled her eyes at me. “If you’d learned your lesson, you wouldn’t have gone near the garage at all.”

  I snapped back at her. “You know good and well I couldn’t disturb something so many people have already trampled. Repeat after me,” I mimicked her. “Do not disturb the crime scene.”

  She muttered something like here we go again and left. It seemed a good time for Dickens and me to do the same.

  Dickens pestered me to tell him what I’d learned from Gemma, but I wanted time to think. Walking home in silence would help me sort through both facts and impressions. Gemma had chided me in the past about relying too heavily on intuition, but it paid off as often as not. Who was I kidding? She hadn’t chided me. She’d implied I was an idiot.

  I don’t know why I let her get under my skin. Well, really, I did know. I’d figured out long ago that I didn’t take criticism well and any implication I was slow on the uptake got all over me. Not a fatal flaw, but a flaw nonetheless.

  Something told me Gemma and I would be at loggerheads before long.

  Chapter Five

  I reminded myself that sleuthing wasn’t the only thing on my to-do list for the day. I pulled out the ingredients for spanakopita so I could put it together ready to pop in the oven when my guests arrived. I’d thawed the phyllo dough and spinach overnight, so now all I had to do was chop the feta, onions, garlic, and dill, and put everything together.

  Some people spread olive oil on the layers of phyllo instead of melted butter, to make the dish lighter, but to me, butter—lots of butter—made the recipe. Soon enough, the 9x12 casserole dish was filled, covered in foil, and placed in the fridge.

  The salad I could throw together when I put the main dish in the oven. Wendy was bringing dessert, and I had several bottles of red wine on hand.

  Next on the to-do list was adding details to my column about the Fête. I described the costumes, the fairy hair, and more, everything except Max the Magnificent’s ugly behavior and the discovery of his body. My columns were upbeat and all about smiles, so mentioning a death at the Fête wouldn’t do.

  That done, I perused my topic ideas for the remainder of October and asked Christie if she’d like to take over for Halloween. She’d long been vocal about the bad rap black cats had, and this would give her an opportunity to debunk the myth they were evil. My editor got a kick out of the occasional columns written by the dog and cat. He thought I had a real knack for imagining their voices and had no idea I simply typed what they dictated.

  Christie looked up from her cozy spot in the file drawer. “That’s a great idea, Leta. I know just what I want to say, so let’s get started. People need to know we black cats are special because we’re exceptionally intelligent, not because we’re evil.”

  I chuckled at her indignation. “I know you’re not evil, but this is the first I’ve heard that black cats as a group are highly intelligent. Don’t get me wrong, I know you are, but all black cats?”

  She purred. “You’ll have to trust me on this, Leta.”

  And so it went. Christie meowed her thoughts, I typed, and Dickens snored gently beneath the desk. At least two of us had a productive afternoon.

  I was preparing a plate of grapes, hummus, and pita chips when Beatrix knocked on the door. She looked harried, and I was quick to pour a glass of wine and sit her down at the kitchen table.

  “How’s Trixie doing today?” I asked.

  “Probably better than you or I would be. The young are for sure more resilient. She sent her mother home after lunch and told her she’d busy herself working at the bookshop and be fine. Since she’s been out two days, I’m behind on paperwork. Glad she’s ready to come back.

  “She had an asthma attack last night when her mum was here, but she’s recovered well. I think telling the story over and over plus Gemma telling her not to leave town was too much for her. I don’t know whether or not doctors think stress can trigger an asthma attack, but I think it does.”

  “Gee, Beatrix, I think I read somewhere there’s a connection. Poor kid.”

  “Yes, her parents were probably overprotective of her because of her asthma. Could be why she fell hard for Max. First time really out on her own, you know.”

  We heard Wendy and Belle coming in. I hollered for them to make themselves comfortable in the sitting room and asked Beatrix to take the appetizer tray and join them. I followed behind her with the wine bottle and glasses.

  I poured wine. Christie jumped in Belle’s lap, and Dickens rolled over for a belly rub from Wendy. I hoped the relaxed setting would make our discussion easier.

  Wendy pulled out her phone. “Let me show you the Fête photos I found on the Astonbury Aha! There are lots of great crowd shots and quite a few of our costumed gang. And, I did find a few of Max. Nothing particularly
telling, though.”

  As we looked at the website, I had to admit that Max was a hit with the crowd. I could almost hear the children laughing as I swiped through shots of him doing tricks. I pulled up a photo of him with Sparkle. She was smiling as he placed his hat on her head. The next picture caught her grinning as she pulled flowers out of the hat. They looked happy together.

  Beatrix looked thoughtful. “He seems so nice in these photos. I suppose he was once the same way with Trixie.”

  “I’m sure he was,” said Belle. “Good-looking, charming, all the things young girls fall for.”

  I shook my head in wonder. “Well, on that note, shall we dive into what we’ve learned?”

  Beatrix spoke up. “I’ve been busy at the bookshop and only know what Trixie’s told me, so I’m eager to hear from you ladies. I’m sure you’ve plenty to share.”

  She was right, so I recapped what we knew from my visit to the scene on Sunday morning and from Trixie’s story. I added the little bit Constable James had learned from Sparkle and the fact that she’d initially denied seeing Max after the pub encounter.

  Hearing that Sparkle had lied elicited a gasp from Beatrix. “What else do we know about this Sparkle girl? Why would she lie?”

  Before I could say anything else, Belle spoke up. “Don’t know the answer to that, Beatrix, but Wendy and I did find out more about her today. We visited Summer at the soap shop. We arrived when it opened, and it was a slow day for the fairy hair business.”

  Wendy nodded and said, “Seems Summer and Sparkle have been business partners for about a year. Summer’s been a fairy hair pro for several years and only met Sparkle last year in Totnes when there was a festival there.”

  Belle picked up the story. “Sparkle worked in a hair salon washing hair and thought doing fairy hair might be her ticket to a better job. It seemed a win-win for Summer to train her to do it in Totnes and at the same time gain a helper to join her at festivals where she always has more business than she can handle.

  “Summer trained Sparkle at the soap shop in Cheltenham for a week and let her stay at her home. Sparkle was a natural and became a regular on the festival circuit with Summer. This was last year, and together they’ve done rather well.”

  “They’ve got a good thing going,” said Wendy. “They get along well, split the travel expenses and entry fees for the events, and then split the weekend’s take.”

  Beatrix seemed impatient. “Did you learn anything about Sparkle and Max?”

  “Just that she’s only recently started talking about him. She wasn’t in a relationship when Summer first met her,” replied Wendy.

  I considered what I was hearing. “Did Summer say what time Sparkle got in on Saturday night?”

  “Yes,” said Belle. “Summer left soon after Trixie, a bit after 9. They often take two cars to events because Sparkle likes to party later than Summer does. Summer got home and followed her routine of straightening and storing her silk threads and hooks before going to bed. She thinks she heard Sparkle around midnight, which would be an early night for her. She said she can’t be sure.”

  Wendy added, “Summer said they’d all three had more than enough to drink, and she’s surprised she heard Sparkle at all. She’s a sound sleeper, especially after a few too many pints.”

  Belle looked at me. “Is this it as far as news? It’s past time for my dinner, girls.”

  Oops. I’d preheated the oven but forgotten to put the spanakopita in it. I told my guests I’d serve the salad, and it wouldn’t be too long before the main course. It was nothing to throw together the salad and uncork another bottle of wine.

  We moved to the dining room table, and I heard no objections to refills. I plated the salads and offered a toast to good friends before we dug in.

  Belle took a few bites before exclaiming, “Goodness, how I love this salad. You’re either going to have to invite me over more often or start a delivery service.”

  I thanked her and told the story of how Henry and I had participated in an annual Christmas dinner for twenty years with several couples. On a weekend night in December, we went to the same house every year and ate the same main course, beef tenderloin cooked on the grill. The rest of us brought appetizers, sides, and dessert.

  I brought Greek salad all but one time. That year we’d decided to mix up our assignments. I arrived with the appetizer, Rosalynn Carter’s Strawberry Cheese Ring, and someone else brought a different salad. Both were delicious, but my friends unanimously proclaimed my assignment would forever after be Greek salad. Boring for me, but darned easy.

  While we waited for the main course to bake, I first swore the group to secrecy and then shared an abbreviated version of Jill’s story. They didn’t need to know the details, but his behavior with Jill was something we needed to consider as we tried to figure out who the murderer could be. The horrified reactions were no surprise.

  “Oh no, poor Jill,” exclaimed Wendy.

  “Not something she’ll soon get over,” said Belle.

  “I knew he was a rotter, but . . . but . . .” exclaimed Beatrix. “I wonder if he was abusive with Trixie. Is that why she was divorcing him? I still can’t believe she married him in the first place.”

  Though I’d had all day to digest Jill’s shocking disclosure, I was still reeling as I considered what it could mean. “It occurs to me that Jill may not be the first one. What if this is a pattern, but no one’s ever reported him?”

  Wendy’s eyes widened. “It that’s the case, there could be women lined up out there wanting to kill him. For that matter, there could be boyfriends, fathers, and husbands lined up too.”

  I pulled the spanakopita from the oven and cleared the salad dishes. Once the main course was on the table, there was very little chatter.

  “Oh my gosh, scrumptious,” remarked Wendy. “I’ve eaten this before in Greek restaurants, but this is so much better.”

  “Please add this to my delivery order,” said Belle between bites.

  “Ditto and ditto,” sighed Beatrix.

  It was nice to hear the compliments. I’d made this dish any number of times, but mostly for girlfriends. Henry had a thing about cooked spinach and might tolerate a bite or two, but that was about it. Funny, neither of my brothers-in-law liked cooked spinach either. A spinach salad was fine, though.

  Wendy and I shooed Beatrix and Belle back to the sitting room, and we cleared the table, brewed a pot of decaf, and sliced the carrot cake she’d picked up in a Cheltenham bakery. Soon dessert and coffee were served in front of the fireplace.

  After I all but licked my plate, it was time to get back to business. “Now, ladies, where do we go from here?”

  “To bed?” asked Beatrix.

  “Right, but not quite yet,” I responded.

  “What she means, Beatrix,” said Wendy, “is what are the next steps on our sleuthing agenda?”

  Beatrix looked slightly aghast, and I realized she hadn’t been as actively involved in the last investigation as we had. In truth, I’d briefly considered her a suspect. “You ladies aren’t serious, are you?”

  Belle looked at her. “Serious as a heart attack, dear. Considering your niece is high on Gemma’s list of possible murderers, we need to expand the suspect list. Better yet, we need to identify the killer.”

  I’m not sure I’d have put it quite so baldly, but Belle was right. We had a vested interest in clearing Trixie. She was one of our own now. My intuition, despite Gemma’s doubts, was telling me someone else had done the dastardly deed.

  Wendy had been sitting with her feet tucked under her. I watched her slowly unwind herself and put her feet on the floor. She had an idea. I could tell.

  “Let’s go to Totnes.”

  “Totnes?” I asked.

  “Yes, we can find out more about Max and what other trouble he’s been in. You know he didn’t turn into a different person because he came to Astonbury. There has to be a pattern. And we can nose around about Sparkle too. Consider it backgr
ound. We’re in need of background.”

  I thought she was on to something. “That’s not a bad idea. And, Beatrix, wouldn’t you love to know more about how Trixie came to marry Max? I was intrigued by the few details she shared with me, but there’s bound to be more to it.”

  Beatrix was showing interest. “I’d love to know that story. She never had a serious boyfriend in school as far as I know. Then, bam, she meets Max and she’s married.”

  The three members of Leta’s Detective Agency, or whatever our name was, looked at each other, and it was the senior member who spoke first. “So, when do we leave? Have to get Peter to look after the animals.”

  We’d finally gotten Dickens’s attention. “You’re taking me, aren’t you?”

  I glanced up at my companions and said, “I think Dickens wants to go.”

  Neither of them realized I’d understood him, but Wendy said, “Sure, let’s take him. Most of the B&Bs allow dogs.”

  Henry and I’d visited Dartmouth on one of our trips and taken the ferry to Totnes. We’d wandered up and down its steep High Street, and I remembered it being packed with small shops. I recalled reading that back in the day, Totnes had been known for its hippy population, and it still had a bit of that vibe with its mix of New Age crystal shops, organic markets, and vintage clothing shops.

  Belle was in planning mode. “Shall we stay in Dartmouth or Totnes? I admit I have a fondness for Dartmouth as I vacationed there once many years ago, and I adore the ferry on the River Dart. May have to bundle up this time of year on the water.”

  “Maybe we should stay at the hotel at the Dart Marina because it has an elevator and patio rooms too,” I said. “I love the charm of a B&B, but we can’t have you going up and down the stairs, Belle. I’ll check around both towns. I know we’ll be working, but let’s make an excursion of this, maybe visit Agatha Christie’s Greenway while we’re there.”