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

by Kathy Manos Penn

  A knock at the door got Dickens’s attention and he barked hello. “Leta, it’s Sparkle. Oh look, she’s wearing a bowtie like mine.”

  I laid the phone on the counter. How odd, I thought. She wasn’t just sporting a bowtie. She was also wearing a top hat and a red-lined black cape and carrying a black cane. I’m sure my surprise was obvious as I unlocked the door.

  She came swirling in and asked, “What do you think?”

  It took me a moment to reply. “You look stunning. The black and red with your dark hair? It’s lovely, but . . . but . . . what’s going on? Are you going to a party?”

  “Not likely,” she retorted. “I’m taking up where Max left off. We had plans, big plans, but now I’ll be doing it without him.”

  I was stunned. “Oh! You mentioned he’d taught you a few tricks, but I didn’t realize you were a full-fledged magician.”

  “I am. And a better one than Max ever hoped to be. I learned what he showed me in no time, and I’ve been studying videos on my own. I always was a quicker study than he was. Together, we could have played big parties and theatres, not these small-time village fairs.”

  I felt as though I was seeing Sparkle’s—or Prudence’s—alter ego. Weird. And I wasn’t sure how to respond. “Wow. I wish you the best.”

  “That’s it?” she snapped.

  What did she expect me to say? Dickens must have been as shocked as I was because he growled. I reached down to touch him, and he stopped, but I could tell he was still disturbed.

  I tried to laugh it off. “Well, I’m in complete shock, so I don’t know what to say. But before I forget, thank you for taking such good care of Trixie last night and for bringing the coat by today.”

  Sparkle looked contemptuous. “Silly girl, she can’t hold her liquor. I mean, Max told me about her asthma, but I didn’t really understand what a wimp she was, how sickly she was.”

  Sickly wasn’t the word I would have used. “Well, she’s not exactly sickly. She has a condition lots of people have. I suspect, though, that she’s not used to partying like you and Summer.”

  Her expression switched from contemptuous to angry. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Why was she so touchy? “It means I think she led a sheltered life until she went to Totnes. She’s experienced all kinds of new things these last two years, and drinking with girlfriends is one of them.”

  “Not much of a life, I’d say. You know it’s only because I felt sorry for her that I invited her along.”

  Sparkle’s responses were getting stranger by the minute. “Uh-huh. It’s been kind of you and Summer to include her while you’re here. And you’ll be returning to Totnes next week, right?”

  “Yes. Can’t wait to get back. Totnes is more my kind of town. It’s younger, not as hoity-toity as this place.”

  I didn’t want to be having this conversation, but I couldn’t see how to get out of it. “I’d have to agree the Dartmouth and Totnes vibe is different than what we have here. They’re both livelier than our quaint little village.”

  She looked indignant. “Think you know all about Totnes, do you? After sticking your nose in my business all around town? What gave you the right to ask questions about me—and about Max?”

  Huh? Where was this coming from? I hadn’t detected this attitude last night.

  “Nothing to say?” she screeched. “It wasn’t only Tina who told me the questions your lot asked, it was the bartender at the Whistling Pig too. What were you playing at?”

  I was alarmed at the change that had come over her, and so was Dickens. He was growling again. I edged back toward the counter, hoping to put it between us. “Sparkle, we were trying to find out more about Max—so maybe we could figure out who would have a reason to kill him. We didn’t think it could have been you or Trixie.”

  Could she tell I was lying? That I’d considered her a suspect, just as I had Trixie, Jill, Barb, and others?

  She continued to advance on me as I tried to put distance between us. “Liar. You were trying to pin Max’s murder on me. Of course, it couldn’t have been Trixie, the little angel. It could only have been me. That’s what you thought, right?”

  My brain was screaming yes, but I kept my mouth shut.

  “You and Trixie. You ruined everything. First, she steals my Max away with her Little Miss Innocent act. We were together again, and things were going well between us until she showed up at the Fête. I knew he wasn’t divorced yet, but not that he was hoping she’d come back.

  “Still, we’d have gotten through that. We’d have had another row and made up. We were good at making up. But not this time. I was ready to forgive him when I found him on the riverbank. He’d have gotten a kick out of the picture I took. I sat there with his head in my lap, wiping his brow, being sweet. Until . . . until he looked up at me and said ‘Trixie, I love you, girl.’”

  Oh my God. It was her. She strangled him.

  “And you! You couldn’t leave it alone. You stupid cow!” she screamed.

  And before I could react, she swung the cane at me like a baseball bat. It struck my left temple, and I staggered against the counter. Dickens lunged at her and must have connected because she screamed. But she kept coming. The next blow hit my neck, and I went down.

  I lay on my side. A third blow fell on my shoulder. I covered my head with my hands, expecting another blow to fall. Instead, I heard hissing, screeching, and screaming. I heard guttural growls—but no barking. I looked up in time to see Sparkle crash onto a table of books, three cats pinned to her chest and a dog attached to her calf.

  I must have passed out because the next thing I saw was Toby kneeling beside me. “Leta, can you hear me? Can you sit up?”

  His image was blurry. “Did you bring my latte?” I croaked.

  He called over his shoulder. “She’s still got her sense of humor.”

  I heard him say “oomph” and saw a black shape land on his back. It was Christie. “You’re awake. We got the magic lady. She went down in a heap.”

  Tommy and Tuppence weren’t as vocal as my girl, but they came over to look at me and tentatively lick my hand.

  “Where’s Dickens?” I asked.

  Christie licked my chin and meowed. “Oh, he’s still standing guard over the magic lady. Toby tried to shoo him away, but Dickens wasn’t having it. If she budges, he’ll get her in the thigh this time.”

  I smiled at the image of Detective Dickens taking a chunk out of Sparkle. Toby helped me sit up and lean my back against the counter. As my vision cleared, I took in the scene. Jenny and Dickens were standing over Sparkle. She wasn’t moving. Rhiannon was running in the front door.

  She looked aghast, as well she should. “Bloody hell. Jenny rang me after she dialed 999. What happened here? Who’s that on the floor with the books? Oh my gosh. Is it Sparkle?”

  The blow to my neck must have done something to my throat. I was having difficulty speaking. Rhiannon put a cup of water in my hand, and after a few sips, I explained as best I could. Still, Rhiannon and Toby had to lean in close to hear me. I honestly wasn’t sure how I’d come to be the victim of an attack.

  I’d barely finished croaking out what I knew when Gemma showed up, followed by the EMTs. Oh hell, I thought, not another trip to the hospital. And then I remembered my phone. I pointed up to indicate the top of the counter.

  Rhiannon looked at the counter and then at me. “What is it you want? Your phone? You want your phone?” Rhiannon asked.

  “Video,” I whispered. I’d been recording the antics of the cats when I put the phone down. If it was still running, it might have captured the confrontation—the conversation, not the visuals.

  Rhiannon picked it up and pressed the right buttons. I was in luck. The earlier back and forth when Sparkle had first come in was faint and scratchy, but the dialogue near the counter was crystal clear.

  At least I wouldn’t have to replay that last scene over and over for the police, but I knew Gemma would still have plenty of qu
estions for me. Heck, I had plenty of my own questions.

  I was beginning to detest emergency rooms. This was my third trip to the Cheltenham ER since I’d moved to the Cotswolds. I’d rushed here a month ago when I’d gotten word a friend had been involved in an accident. I’d sat here with Trixie last night—was it only last night? And, here I was again, this time for myself.

  The EMTs had explained they were worried about the blows I’d taken to my head, and to my neck. My fall to the floor and the blow to my shoulder, they assured me, would result in stiffness and major bruises but nothing worse. I rode to the hospital with my head elevated and an ice pack on my neck.

  For me, the afternoon and evening were a blur. Examinations by multiple doctors led to a cat scan of my head. Thankfully, there was no bleeding on my brain, though I’d have a headache for a day or two. Wendy told me later they’d debated putting a camera down my throat to check my larynx. They finally decided they could do that in a few weeks if my hoarseness didn’t improve. Thank goodness for small favors.

  By the time Wendy loaded me into her car, I was more than ready to be home with Dickens and Christie. I was even a tiny bit hungry but knew I couldn’t manage more than a bowl of soup. Questions ran through my brain—well, maybe the questions weren’t running. It was more like they were floating.

  “What made Toby come to the bookshop?”

  Wendy glanced at me. “Don’t you remember? You asked him to bring you a latte.”

  “Oh right. Wish I had one now. And Dickens and Christie? I’m guessing someone took them home?”

  “Yes, Toby was happy to do that. And when he told Rhiannon you’d been planning to go to Sainsbury’s, she looked in your purse for your list. You should have a fully stocked fridge by now.”

  “How’s Trixie?” I croaked.

  “She’s fine. Beatrix picked her up, and she went home to get more clothes. She’ll be your babysitter for a few days.”

  I turned my head slowly to look at Wendy. “How sweet of her.”

  “Well, you were looking after her, so she’s returning the favor. By the way, Gemma won’t be by until tomorrow afternoon. She said there was nothing urgent about interviewing you, given she had Sparkle in custody. I will, however, be meeting with her tomorrow morning at the Stow station to rehash our findings from Totnes. That case map we put together will come in handy.”

  I groaned. “I don’t recall Maisie Dobbs being dumb enough to get beaten up. When will I ever learn?”

  Wendy didn’t have an answer to that question. Probably thinking if I hadn’t learned by this age, I never would.

  Another question floated through my brain. “Uh, I didn’t even ask about Sparkle. Is she okay?”

  “Ha! As okay as she deserves to be. It took seven stitches to close up the gash where Dickens bit her. And I wish I could have seen the cat scratches on her chest. I understand they were extensive. Who knew cats could inflict so much damage?”

  When we pulled in my driveway, I sighed. “Home again, home again, jiggity jig. Goodness, you can’t imagine how glad I am to be here.”

  Trixie opened the door, and Dickens came bounding out. “Leta, Leta, you’re a sight for sore eyes. I was scared to death when they loaded you into an ambulance. Are you all better?” barked my boy.

  Christie followed at a more sedate pace. “Pfft, silly boy. Of course she’s not all better. She looks like something the cat drug in, as the saying goes.”

  How I loved my animals. I slowly walked inside while Trixie and Wendy fussed over me. I made it as far as the couch and sat down gingerly. The glow of the fire and the sight of my attentive four-legged friends were a comfort.

  “The doctor said you needed to drink plenty of hot fluids, so here’s a cup of tea to start with,” Trixie said as she placed a mug on the table by the couch. “I’ve got a pot of homemade chicken noodle soup on the stove, compliments of Belle. Doesn’t it smell delicious? Peter delivered it earlier.”

  I was touched by the ministrations of my friends. What a day it had been. When I finally made it to my bed, Christie snuggled against my ribs and Dickens lay on the rug in front of the nightstand. I gave thanks for my four-legged heroes and drifted off.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Monday morning, I awoke to Christie licking my face. “Leta,” she said, “time to get up. You forgot to tell Trixie how I like my milk.”

  “Excuse me, aren’t you the one who told Dickens I wasn’t all better? Don’t I get to sleep in?”

  She gave me a look only a cat can, and I chuckled. I struggled out of bed and into my robe and went downstairs. Dickens was downstairs with Trixie, who was surprised to see me up so early. She poured me a cup of coffee, while Christie stared at her bowl, waiting for me to instruct Trixie on the proper presentation for her milk.

  Christie got her milk, and Trixie fixed toast before we moved to the sitting room. I pulled my fleece blanket onto my legs, and Christie appeared in my lap.

  “I appreciate you staying here to take care of me, but what is Beatrix doing without you?”

  “It’s okay. Mondays are slow days. I suspect she’ll spend most of the day adding the books she found in Manchester to the Used Book section. Leta, I’m so, so sorry about what happened to you. If it weren’t for me, none of this would have happened.”

  “What? What do you mean?”

  “If I hadn’t married Max, if you hadn’t helped me speak with him, if you hadn’t been trying to clear me . . . you wouldn’t have gotten caught up in this.”

  “Oh, Trixie, Trixie. It’s not your fault. There are plenty who would say it’s my own fault, and it serves me right for sticking my nose in your business.”

  “Who would say that? You were trying to help.”

  “I bet if you’re here when Gemma comes by, you’ll hear her say it.”

  Trixie said, “Oh, I almost forgot. Gemma called and said she’d be here around two or three. I hope that’s okay.”

  “No worries, Trixie. Maybe I can make myself presentable by then. Now, I don’t think I can take a walk this morning, but would you care to take Dickens to visit the donkeys?”

  Her face lit up and Dickens barked. “Don’t forget the carrots. Martha and Dylan haven’t had carrots in days.”

  Christie curled into a tighter ball in my lap. “I’m staying with you. Someone’s got to keep you out of trouble.”

  This getting bruised and battered is for the birds, I thought as I stared into the fire. I need to take better care of myself. Fortunately, before I could get too deep into second-guessing myself, the phone rang. It was Dave. I looked at the clock. It was two AM in New York. He must be working on his article for December, I thought.

  “Hey there, how was your trip? Did you ladies have a good time?”

  Where to begin? “Um, the trip was wonderful, but there were some complications once I got home.”

  “Complications? Why am I thinking that’s code for something bad, Leta Parker?” he asked.

  I tried to explain what had transpired since I’d spoken to him Tuesday night, almost a week ago. We’d exchanged a few texts as we usually did but hadn’t had a conversation. Dave was understandably incredulous and making noises about flying over to take care of me.

  “You know I’d love to see you, but you’re busy with your Sherlock Holmes article, and I’ve got more nurses than I know what to do with. Trixie’s here. Belle and Wendy are on the way over. And, of course, I have Dickens and Christie.”

  “Right, now those two are not only your protectors? They’re also your nurses? Okay, I won’t come right away, but I’ll call tonight to check on you. I may call you every night, and I may have to call Belle to get the real story about how you’re doing.”

  Case map rolled up under her arm, Wendy showed up for lunch with Belle by her side. Trixie warmed the soup Belle had made, and we enjoyed it while I got the rundown on the morning at the police station. My friends wanted to be here when Gemma arrived, so we could fill in any blanks together.

 
“By the way, Leta,” said Belle, “we’ve decided on our official name—the Little Old Ladies’ Detective Agency.”

  I couldn’t quite manage a smile. “Gee, Belle, we may have to retire that name before we get to use it. I can’t say I’m eager to play detective again any time soon.”

  Belle let that pass. Perhaps she knew me better than I knew myself.

  In the sitting room, Wendy taped the large pieces of paper to the windows, and we sipped tea as we waited. Dickens sat leaning against my legs, and Christie chose Belle’s lap. Soon, we heard Gemma pull up.

  “Hello, Tuppence,” Gemma called as she came in. “How are you feeling today?”

  “A bit worse for the wear. Being beaten with a cane is a first for me.”

  “I can only imagine. And how are your little heroes, Christie and Dickens?”

  For a change, Dickens didn’t seem to take offense at the adjective little. He and Christie both looked up when they heard their names. Christie acknowledged the recognition by moving from Belle’s lap to mine, and Dickens laid down on my feet.

  We all laughed. “I think they’re fine and taking their protector jobs seriously,” I said.

  “Good thing. Well, on that note, let’s move on to Sparkle’s story about killing Max, trying to kill Trixie, and going after you. It’s quite a tale.”

  “What? She tried to kill Trixie? How’d I miss that?”

  “According to Sparkle, ’cause you’re nosy but not too bright. She mixed oxycodone in with Trixie’s Panadol. Figured sooner or later, she’d take one by accident and die from an asthma attack. You ruined a good plan by calling Trixie in time to get the EMTs there.”

  Belle was shocked, but then, she hadn’t seen the crazed Sparkle I’d experienced. “That’s cold,” she said. “She didn’t care when Trixie died, just so long as she did?”

  “Apparently,” said Gemma. “Sparkle hated Trixie for coming between her and Max. She saw Max as falling prey to Trixie’s charms. Why is it women always blame the other woman, not the man?

  “When she got back with Max, he told her about Trixie’s asthma attack—that he’d given her oxy for her ankle pain. He had no idea she shouldn’t take oxy and was horrified he’d almost killed her. Sparkle recalled that bit of information and acted on it.”