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

by Kathy Manos Penn

  What a treat. The FBI, as the locals call it, had a huge picture window looking out on the river sparkling in the sun plus several local ales to choose from.

  I raised my pint for a toast. “Cheers, ladies. This has been a grand adventure for a mystery fan like me. Even before I moved here from the States, I adored British mysteries—books and television shows—and all these bits of trivia make my day. Like seeing the actual boathouse Agatha Christie describes in her book and knowing that a Poirot movie was filmed there.”

  “Look,” cried Belle, pointing to a framed poster near our table. “I’d never made the connection between Lady Dittisham and this village.”

  “Huh?” said Wendy. “Who’s Lady Dittisham? Oh, I see.” The poster depicted the cover of Christie’s novel The Five Little Pigs and proudly proclaimed that the character Lady Dittisham was named after the village.

  “Belle, have you read everything Dame Agatha wrote?” I asked.

  “Honestly, Leta, I’m not sure I have, but I’ve seen most of the Poirot movies, and Five Little Pigs was one of them.”

  “Gee, Mum, maybe we should have you join us as the speaker at Beatrix’s book club for an Agatha Christie night. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

  “No, luv. I prefer to read books, not discuss them. But maybe between the three of us, we could come up with an Agatha trivia game for your club. Now, I’d get a kick out of helping with that.”

  We continued to discuss Christie trivia as we enjoyed our lunch and Dickens happily chewed the knucklebone the waitress had given him. He didn’t want to leave it behind when we left to catch the ferry to Dartmouth, so I tucked it in a napkin and promised to give it back later.

  I was looking forward to the captain’s informative talk as we traveled downriver, and I wasn’t disappointed. This time he pointed out a small building as the spot where the Mayflower and another ship, the Speedwell, put in for repairs before proceeding to Plymouth to set sail together for America. When it was decided the Speedwell was too leaky for the trip, only the Mayflower made the voyage. This one small stretch of river was packed with history.

  It was late afternoon when we docked in Dartmouth, and I was glad I’d acquiesced to staying the night. It wasn’t only Dickens who chose to join Belle in a nap. Dickens carried his knucklebone, we ladies grabbed mugs of hot chocolate, and we all retired to our rooms. I enjoyed naps on the best of the days, and after a restless night, I needed one.

  When I awoke refreshed, I rang Wendy to see if she was up for a walk to town and a glass of champagne at Platform One on the river. I loved the quirky story of how the train station was built before the railway was granted permission to build a bridge over the River Dart. Permission never came, and the train runs only along the other side of the river. Travelers have to take a ferry from Kingswear to Dartmouth for the final leg.

  Dickens and I met Wendy in the lobby. We were glad we had our gloves and had donned our quilted coats, as the wind had picked up. Dickens, of course, was in heaven. His Great Pyrenees brethren have been guarding herds of sheep in the Pyrenees mountains for centuries, and his coat, like theirs, is well-suited to cold and windy weather.

  We ordered flutes of champagne and a dozen oysters and settled in to enjoy the view with Dickens ensconced beneath the table.

  I turned to Wendy. “This turned out to be a lovely day—once I managed to put the whole Max the Magnificent issue out of my mind, that is. I think I can honestly say it didn’t enter my head from the moment we boarded the first ferry until just now.”

  “And what brings it to mind now?”

  “For some reason, I remembered I hadn’t shown you the photos Deborah took at the Fête, and that made me think of Max and the rest of the story. Let’s continue ignoring that tale and focus on Deborah’s photography. There are quite a few shots of your Peter Pan group.”

  We oohed and aahed and laughed over the images. Wendy thought she’d get copies of one of the Wizard of Oz group to frame for both Peter and Belle for Christmas. I suggested she give her mum a copy of the Peter Pan group too. After all, Belle had done a masterful job on the Peter Pan and Cowardly Lion costumes for her twins.

  She asked my opinion on which Peter Pan shot to choose. “Hmmm, I like this one, but isn’t that Max in the background?” I said.

  “Yes, but maybe I can crop him out if it doesn’t ruin the picture. Wait, who’s that with him?”

  I studied my phone. “Not sure. Let me make it larger. It’s a man poking his finger in Max’s chest. It must be Brian. He does look familiar to me. Guess I’ve just never met him, only seen him around.”

  Wendy studied the photo. “I’ve only met him once or twice, but I think you’re right. So, happy photos and one pic Gemma can put in her files. Are you going to send it to her?”

  “Yes, and after I do that, I’m making this whole Max murder thing a taboo topic, at least until tomorrow.”

  Wendy looked at me and rolled her eyes. “We can try. You should put in the text ‘Do Not Disturb tonight’ or ‘Little Old Ladies signing off until tomorrow.’”

  I thought for a moment. “Don’t want to rub Gemma’s nose in the fact that she’s always on duty and we’re not.”

  “Right. Better left unsaid. How about one more glass of champagne before we fetch Mum for dinner?”

  We’d decided on a more casual evening at the Floating Bridge, the pub next door to our hotel. Wendy rang her mum and asked her to meet us in the lobby and told her to bundle up for the short walk. We chose not to tell Belle about the photos, and we felt fortunate that we didn’t hear from Gemma.

  We shared an order of calamari and ordered burgers for the main meal. Dickens got a few fries, or chips as they call them in the UK. And Belle gave him a chunk of her burger. He and I would have to get in some long walks at home to make up for the goodies we’d both indulged in.

  The only murders discussed were those in our favorite mystery novels. I hadn’t gotten very far in my Tommy & Tuppence book, and already I’d added two more Agatha Christie books to my To Be Read list—Five Little Pigs and Deadman’s Folly. I planned to stop by the Book Nook to get them and knew Beatrix would order them for me if she didn’t have them in stock.

  We’d had good weather for several days, so it was no surprise when we woke to a rainy day on Saturday. Gemma called while we were eating breakfast. “Are you ladies on the road yet or are you having another day of leisure?”

  “Today, it’s a quick breakfast and the drive home. How are you?”

  “Well, I wish I could say I had the day off as I did last Saturday, but no such luck. I got the photo of Brian and Max. Thanks for that. Thought you’d get a laugh out of another bit of information that came my way. Mum and I are sitting here in my kitchen chuckling about it. Doesn’t push the case along but does answer a question.”

  “And which question is that?” I asked.

  “Who scrawled PIG on the truck? I got a call from Barb last night. Said she did it.”

  “Why on earth would she own up to that?”

  I could almost picture Gemma rolling her eyes. “Said she didn’t want me to waste time trying to figure it out when I could be looking for a murderer. Remember, Leta, when you saw her and Max pass each other Saturday morning? She’d seen him approach from his truck and had the spur of the moment idea to get back at him one more time. The nose of the truck was almost in the bushes, so she could complete the artwork unseen. Really, all I could do was laugh.”

  “Guess there’s no one to file a complaint?” I said.

  That got a laugh from Gemma. “Right. Just going to document it and let it be. Like Barb said, one less question to worry about. Wish all the answers would come my way that easily.

  “Anyway, safe travels. Mum says give her a call when you get home.”

  I put the phone down and turned to my companions to share the Barb story. “Gemma is so unpredictable. This is two days in a row she’s been perfectly pleasant, no snide comments, no insults. Do you think she’s beginning to s
ee how valuable we little old ladies are?”

  “Based on recent history, I wouldn’t bet on it,” quipped Wendy. “Her behavior is a bit erratic. Can’t tell whether it’s only when she’s stressed about a case or it’s her usual personality. Maybe as more time passes after something awful like murder, she gets calmer and more patient.”

  I nodded in agreement. I hoped my relationship with Gemma would continue on its current pleasant path. Pleasant and productive, I thought. We might come at things from different angles, but together we seemed to make progress. What was the harm in our putting our heads together?

  Chapter Twelve

  We pulled out of the parking lot shortly before ten and were in Astonbury by one despite the rain. As I dropped Belle and Wendy off, I realized I was more than ready for some quiet time with Christie and Dickens.

  Dickens echoed my sentiment when I pulled into the driveway. “Home at last,” he barked.

  We heard Christie meowing as we approached the side door. “Hurry up. I need food.”

  “Lovely greeting,” I replied as we entered the mudroom. I kicked off my wet shoes, hung my parka on a hook, and grabbed a towel to dry Dickens. “I know Peter fed you while we were gone. Can’t you admit it was our company you missed?”

  “Well, maybe just a little. It gets lonely around here when you two are gone.”

  Dickens barked and butted her with his head. “I missed you too, silly girl.”

  Dickens chased her into the sitting room while I carried my suitcase upstairs to unpack. I laughed as my four-legged companions dashed up the stairs and down again while I unpacked my suitcase and changed into leggings and an oversized heavy sweater.

  In no time, I had a fire going in the fireplace, a cup of tea in my hand, and my Tommy & Tuppence book in my lap. Yes, indeed, home at last.

  I must have dozed off because I was awakened by the phone ringing. It was Rhiannon calling to see if I was up for dinner in Stow. She was in the mood for a meal at the Old Stocks Inn.

  I yawned and stretched. “Oh my, let me get my wits about me. I’ve been lazy this afternoon. What time are you thinking?”

  “Not before seven at the earliest. Toby wants to go and can’t leave until he closes the Tearoom for the day.”

  I glanced at the clock and saw it was 3:30. “I should be able to make that if I can shake myself awake, though I can’t say I’m looking forward to going back out in the rain after this morning’s drive from Dartmouth. On the other hand, I have nothing in the house for dinner after being gone for three days. What’s one more meal out?”

  “That’s the spirit. And the forecast calls for the rain to start tapering off after dark, so maybe it won’t be too bad. Do you plan to bring Dickens?”

  I looked at my boy. He was lying on his side with his paws stretched toward the fireplace. “I think I’ll leave him home this time. I’ve managed to keep him mostly dry today, and I’d like him to that way. Let’s say I meet you guys at 7:30 so Toby isn’t rushed.”

  The conversation with Rhiannon made me think about Beatrix’s shop across from Toby’s Tearoom, so I called the Book Nook. Trixie answered the phone and told me Beatrix had gone to Manchester to shop for used books at the flea markets there and would be back Sunday afternoon.

  “So, Trixie, you’re in charge this weekend? How’s it going?”

  “It’s been slow today due to the rain. At least I’m warm and dry here, not like poor Summer and Sparkle at the Burford Fair. They’re going to close up their booth early, and Aunt Beatrix suggested I do the same with the shop. I haven’t had a single customer in the last hour.”

  “Are you bored to tears?”

  “Not at all. Being here alone is like having my own private library. I’ve rearranged a few displays, and I’ve been browsing the art section. I’ve got a few ideas for books to add there. Hey, I’m going to Bourton-on-the-Water to meet the girls for a pint. I invited Jenny too, but she’s opening the Tearoom early tomorrow and said she’d have to pass. Want to meet us? I’d love to hear about your trip to Totnes, and I bet Sparkle would too.”

  I wasn’t too sure Sparkle would, but what the heck. “That’s a thought. I’m meeting Rhiannon and Toby in Stow-on-the-Wold for dinner. Stopping off with you girls would be a nice start to the evening. But, so as not to catch anyone off guard, I need to ask you something. Has Sparkle told you she goes by a different name in Totnes?”

  “Oh, you mean Prudence? Yes. I didn’t know until the Knitwits luncheon, though. When they were clearing up, Summer called her Pru. That took me by surprise. Sparkle explained she chose a name to sort of line up with Summer so folks would remember them. You know, ‘The Fairy Hair Girls—Sparkle and Summer—something like that. Not to mention, she hates her real name.”

  “Okay, good to know. I’ll have to show you the photos of Belle after she had her hair and makeup done at the Blue Hair Studio where Sparkle works. Belle had a ball. And we all enjoyed Greenway. It was a fun trip. Anyway, what time and where in Bourton-on-the-Water?”

  “They want to try the Ale House, and we’ll be there around six.”

  I promised to stop by. I was glad I’d gotten a short nap, though I was still tired. A shower would perk me up. The phrase “No rest for the weary” came to mind. An amateur sleuth can’t afford to pass up any opportunities to do more digging.

  Christie made her displeasure known when she saw me putting on makeup. “You’re not leaving again, are you? And taking Dickens too?”

  I glanced at her as she stood in the doorway to the bathroom. “Will I be forgiven if I leave Dickens here with you? And I promise to take you for another outing in the backpack this week, okay?”

  She chose to give me the silent treatment. Instead of responding, she proceeded to wash her paws and her face. Christie was adept at communicating without words.

  Dickens, on the other hand, was all about chatter. “Who’re you going out with? Is it a date? Or is it girlfriends?”

  “Silly boy. Who would I have a date with? Dave’s in New York, and he’s the only man I’ve dated since Henry died. To answer your question, I’m having dinner with Rhiannon and Toby. And before that, I’m meeting up with the young girls, as I think of them. Can’t imagine why they want me tagging along—someone old enough to be their mother—but I’m going.”

  Dickens watched me pull out my skinny jeans and my black suede knee-high boots. I debated between a hip-length cranberry sweater and a longer black velveteen top. The pub would be casual and the Old Stocks Inn a bit dressier. I chose the velveteen top for its touch of elegance and because I could wear my new red plaid wrap with it.

  Christie broke her silence as I finished dressing. “You know, you and I both look ravishing in red. Maybe I need a matching collar.”

  I laughed at my fashion-conscious cat. There was no doubt she was a pretty thing, and I liked the plaid collar idea. “Why, I think you do, Miss Priss. Should we get Dickens a coat to match?”

  She rubbed against my boots. “He’s got all the coat he needs, but it would be cute if we all dressed alike. We could have a photo made of the three of us in our matching outfits. That could be our Christmas card this year.”

  Was I wrong to think I had the cleverest animals in the world? Adorable and smart and loving—I couldn’t imagine life without their companionship.

  Rhiannon had been right about the rain. It had stopped and all that remained was a heavy mist. I was glad I’d grabbed my black cloche to protect my hair. Cute and functional.

  When I walked into the pub, Summer saw me and waved me over. “Love the hat, but we can’t see your fairy hair.”

  I removed my hat and shook out my hair. “Better? Have to be sure people see your handiwork, right? The red strands are perfect with my wrap. And I see Trixie has fairy hair now too.”

  Trixie turned her head back and forth. “Yes, Sparkle added the gold threads when I went to lunch with the Knitwits, and every person who’s walked into the Book Nook has commented on the look. I may have to get a f
ew more strands.”

  Sparkle looked much improved since I’d seen her last, almost like the girl I’d first met a week ago. She grinned. “Tell us about your trip. Trixie says Belle had a makeover.”

  I showed them a picture of Belle all dolled up and regaled them with the story of Belle’s time at the Blue Stair Studio and our tour of the High Street shops. “Sparkle, I understand I was the only one in the dark about your alias. How was I to know your real name was Prudence?”

  “You weren’t to know. I really don’t like my name, and working with Summer was a chance to be called something besides Pru, at least some of the time. Imagine being called Prudence the prude in high school. Pru was only a small improvement.”

  “Ugh. I wouldn’t have liked that either. Guess the folks who called you that didn’t know that the term prude has nothing to do with being prudent. Then again, I’m a word nerd. Prudent means to be cautious and careful, not such bad things. A prude is someone who is prim and prissy.”

  Sparkle looks surprised. “Gee, I never thought to stick up for myself by using a dictionary. Wish one of my English teachers had helped me out.”

  I laughed. “I think my family had a dictionary in every room of the house when we were growing up, and my sisters and I are all word nerds and grammar geeks. Funny how that happened. Bet you didn’t know I’m named for Aleta, the Greek Goddess of Truth. Imagine telling a white lie with a name like that.”

  The girls chuckled at that. “But you can tell one, can’t you, Leta?” asked Summer.

  “Yes, I’ve adjusted. I mean, there’s not much upside to being brutally honest when someone asks you how you like their new haircut or new outfit. For important things, though, I’m known to be pretty direct, which gets me in trouble from time to time.”

  “Okay then, I’ll put you on the spot, Leta. How’d you like Totnes?” asked Sparkle.

  “Oh, we enjoyed it. The shops on High Street were fun. Loved the bookstore and lunch at the pie shop. And we got Timmy a magic set at the White Rabbit and had a nice time chatting with Chrystal.”