by Morgana Best
“I know that, Sibyl,” Cressida continued. “It’s just so irritating when you hear about accusations being made, and you know it’s all lies, but there’s nothing you can do to prove it.”
I nodded. “Anyway, back to Dorothy. Do you really think she could possibly harm someone?”
Cressida bit her bottom lip and frowned. “I think anything is possible. Sometimes, the least likely person is the most obvious culprit. People just don’t realize it because the clues are there to point you in the wrong direction.”
“Since when are you an amateur sleuth?” I asked.
“I’m far from that,” Cressida said. “I just know how far people are usually willing to go when they feel like everything is on the line. Sometimes nothing will stop them from achieving their goals.”
I understood only too well. After all, my ex-husband had plotted to kill me with the help of his mistress.
“Anyway,” Cressida continued, “I don’t really suspect Dorothy. I don’t know who else it could be, though. Well, other than that environmental activist or whatever he is, but murdering someone seems a bit extreme for such a noble cause.”
“That’s true,” I agreed.
Cynthia Devonshire, coffee in hand, walked back past our table. “I will be seeing you again in the near future, I would assume.”
“I look forward to it,” Cressida said evenly.
“I wouldn’t be looking forward to anything if I were you,” the woman said. “Either we’ll end up putting you out of business, or you’ll end up going bankrupt when your decrepit building falls apart and hurts someone again.”
Chapter 8.
“Leave it to us to have a paperwork party,” Cressida said as she took a sip of her drink, and then shuffled the files she was updating.
“We’re unconventional and adventurous like that.” I smiled and sighed as I looked at my own untamed tangle of forms and receipts.
Cressida and I were sitting in the dining room with our paperwork spread out around the table. We had both fallen behind, and so Cressida suggested we should sit together to catch up. It was ironic that trying to organize receipts was the most relaxing part of my week. Part of me hoped that Mr. Buttons would join us, but that wouldn’t help with the paperwork.
Greg poked his head around the door. “Good evening, ladies.”
I returned his greeting, while Cressida waved. Greg looked like the whole ordeal was wearing him down. While it did not show in his appearance, his manner was sad and less energetic than usual.
“How are things going?” I asked, as he walked into the room.
“The environmentalists have made it worse,” he said sadly.
While I certainly did not approve of Greg destroying the wilderness area, I could not help but feel sorry for him. His wife had just died, and he had possibly been the intended murder victim. To make matters worse, the media kept calling him for a statement, and then he had to contend with his aggressive personal assistant. Cressida had to put the six protesters in a separate wing and organize special meal times, all to keep them and Greg from running into each other.
No matter how frustrating life is, someone always has it worse, my grandfather used to say whenever I complained about anything. He was a wise man. I wouldn’t switch places with Greg for a million dollars.
“What are you ladies up to?” Greg nodded at the table full of scattered files and calculators.
“Paperwork party,” Cressida explained, as she waved a hand grandly over the spread out mess. “I’d ask if you wanted to join in,” she said as a joke.
“Actually, I might have to take you up on that offer.” Greg rubbed the back of his neck. “With what happened to Lisa, it’s been hard to stay on track with work.”
A knock interrupted our conversation. Cressida waved Greg to sit down, while she went to check on the door.
“So, how are you doing?” I asked in the awkward silence that followed Cressida’s departure.
“One day at a time.” Greg sighed. “Just a little bit more to go. Then I’ll take some time off.”
As I tried to find the right words to express my sympathy for his situation, two men made their way into the room. It was obvious by their manner that they were detectives.
I left the dining room to give Greg privacy, and Cressida was standing outside the door.
“Never a dull day.” Cressida sighed and rubbed the back of her neck.
“It will be all right,” a familiar voice assured her.
Blake! I couldn’t remember ever being so happy to see him. It felt so good to see him standing there with a cup of coffee in his hand.
“What are they here for?” I asked him, glancing in the direction of the dining room.
Before he could answer, Greg’s voice bellowed, making the three of us jump. “What do you mean, no suspects?”
The three of us exchanged glances, as Greg continued to yell. “How about twenty six environmentalists breathing down my neck? Half of them are so extreme they’d sell off their mother to save a wombat! What about the rival companies? The historic preservation group? Those loons claiming the land has been in their family for hundreds of years? Do I need to draw you idiots a map? What are my tax dollars paying you for? My wife is dead, and you think someone killed her. And you have no clue who might have done it?”
“Sir, please calm down.”
“I’ve been calm! I’ve been sitting on my hands wondering when you were going to take care of this mess! Get out! Get out, and let me know when you actually have some answers!”
Cressida made a move toward the door, but Blake placed a hand on her shoulder and shook his head.
After Greg ranted and raved some more, the detectives walked out of the room and headed for the front door of the boarding house. As soon as the detectives left, there was banging in the room, followed by the sound of rustling papers. Cressida and I hurried into the room, followed by Blake.
“Greg!” Cressida snapped, as she crouched to gather the papers on the floor. “This isn’t your office!”
Greg stopped his frantic pacing of the room. He mumbled an apology, and then bent over to pick up our things and return them to the table.
“I know this is a hard time for you, Greg, but be more careful!” Cressida scolded, shaking her head as she tried to sort out our paperwork.
“I’m sorry. They came all the way here to tell me that my wife was murdered, and they haven’t a clue by whom.” Greg again paced the room furiously. “As if I didn’t already know that!”
I sighed and tried to get the paperwork organized without reading too much of Cressida’s personal information.
“There’s a strong likelihood that you were the target,” Blake said, as he helped collect the papers. “In fact, you could still be targeted as we speak.”
“Really, now?” Greg asked in mock surprise, earning him a look of warning as Cressida jabbed a finger in his direction.
“Yes, really,” Blake said calmly. If he was bothered by Greg’s behavior, he did not show it. “In fact, I came here to advise you to go under police protection.”
“Police protection?” Greg said skeptically as he crossed his arms. “Like bodyguards?”
Blake remained calm. “We can relocate you to a local hotel, and keep your location hidden. You can delegate this land deal to other members of your team.”
Greg gaped and moved his mouth wordlessly for a second. It didn’t take him long to recover. “That’s your grand plan? I go into hiding?”
Blake tapped a stack of papers on the desk. “You are the target, so it’s safer for everyone if no one knows your exact location.”
“Safer for everyone? Like my wife?” Greg demanded, his eyes blazing.
“Like Sibyl, Cressida, and Mr. Buttons.” Blake fixed Greg with a stern, critical glare. “People who are not part of your land deal. People who are involved because you had to bring work with you. People who are in the cross fires of anyone who might be aiming at you. No one else needs to be coll
ateral damage.”
“And then what?” Greg demanded, as he slammed an open palm on the table. “What happens in the next deal if they think I can be chased off? The next? A family member is targeted? An accident at my house?”
He banged his fist on the table. “I need to finish this. Here, in the open, to show them there’s nothing they do can stop me, no matter how extreme!”
“Like killing your wife?” Blake glared at Greg.
“I can’t protect the dead,” Greg said, in a quieter voice.
“But I can protect the living,” Blake said at once. “And until we have a lead on why someone would try to kill you, how they knew where you would be, and when you would be there, and then managed to get to the room first, until we have this information, you and everyone here is in danger. You will be safer in a non-disclosed location.”
“Out of the question,” Greg snapped. “I’m not going to let them think they can chase me off this land deal.”
Blake crossed his arms over his chest. “How do you know it’s about the land deal?”
“What else could it be?” Greg demanded as he threw out his arms in exasperation. “It has to be someone connected to the land deal. Who else would come here?”
“Enemies, people who owe you money, blackmailers, a jealous ex, even someone who didn’t approve of the wedding. The list would probably be pretty long if you stopped blustering and gave us details beyond this land deal.”
“My personal life is no one’s business,” Greg said quickly.
“It is people’s business. Especially when your personal life could get someone killed,” Blake said levelly.
Greg shot Blake a killer glare, but Blake did not seem to care.
“Fine. I’m not going to give anyone the satisfaction of going into hiding.” Greg set his jaw stubbornly. “What if I allow the police to stay here at the boarding house and accompany me, then everything is fine. The whole building is under police protection, right? Problem solved.”
Cressida stood up and waved a hand in disagreement. “Wait! No. It’s bad enough that we’re in the news with all that’s happened. If there are police stomping around, then no one will feel comfortable staying here!”
“You want me to leave?” Greg demanded, as he turned his attention on Cressida.
“Of course not!” Cressida shook her head. “But you need to be safe, Greg. We do worry about you. But police all over the place?”
Something in Greg’s expression made me concerned. I figured that he would be a lot more rational about Blake’s encouragement to relocate if he were not distracted by the death of his wife.
Blake sighed and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “I’ll see if I can get clearance for surveillance, until the deal’s finalized, or the murderer is apprehended, whichever comes first.”
Greg gave a thin smile. “Good. Then everyone gets what they want.”
I shook my head. All I had wanted was a quiet night to catch up on my paperwork. Cressida wanted an end to the drama. Blake wanted Greg someplace else. I didn’t see any winners in this argument.
Chapter 9.
I was sitting in the private dining room that night, having been invited to dinner by Cressida. Cressida and Mr. Buttons had decided that Greg would dine with them from now on, as it was not wise for him to be eating in the main dining room with the protesters around. Now, Greg was sitting at the far end of the table and staring off into space, as if he were lost in thought.
A thunderstorm was brewing, and the air almost cracked with electricity. It did nothing to lift the mood in the room.
Cressida’s voice broke through the tense atmosphere. “Please, let’s just focus on having one normal night. It’s been a stressful and heartbreaking week.”
Greg started to cry, but he appeared to be fighting to keep himself composed. I looked at him with sympathy, but then I noticed that Mr. Buttons was watching him intently. I had no idea why, but planned to find out later.
“I know we can’t express how truly sorry we are for your loss, Greg, but we want to make sure that the rest of your stay here is as good as it can be,” Cressida said sincerely, before signaling for everyone to eat.
I watched her glance over at Mr. Buttons, acknowledging that by that point he had already started eating. Cressida didn’t appear to be annoyed or upset, but it was apparent to me that everything was starting to take a toll on her.
Greg looked at his full plate, but didn’t take even the smallest bite. “I’d like to say something, if I may,” he began. We all nodded, and he continued. “This has been the hardest week of my life. They say you can’t start to heal until you grieve the loss of a loved one, but how can you begin to grieve and try to come back from such devastation if nobody lets you?” He looked around the table. “I’m sorry. It’s just so frustrating. First the cops were poking around; no offense to your friend, Sergeant Wessley,” he said. “Then my car got destroyed, and then those weirdoes put on a huge protest rally, and for what? To stop my company from expanding our business? It’s ridiculous. Let me mourn my wife.” He paused and covered his eyes. “I just want to say goodbye to her properly, to come to terms with everything, and to find out who did this to her, if this was indeed intentional.”
Everyone looked around at each other. “That’s entirely understandable, Greg,” Cressida said. “The police are just doing their jobs, but your poor wife, the vandalism, the council complaints, and everything else all at once is unbearable. We’re here to help alleviate some of your pressure and share it.”
Greg smiled and nodded.
“I know you don’t hold any hard feelings against Blake personally,” Mr. Buttons said, “but it’s important for you to understand that typical police procedure requires them by law to interview possible witnesses and suspects immediately after a crime has been committed and reported. It would be a complete travesty if your wife’s killer went free and no justice was handed down.”
Greg’s lips trembled, but he didn’t speak.
“We all just want to see justice served,” Mr. Buttons added.
Greg bit off a piece of meat and spoke with a full mouth. “That’s all I ask.” The words were mumbled and difficult to hear, but it was clear enough to keep the room silent. Greg sloshed the food around in his mouth and took a deep gulp. Mr. Buttons cringed at the sight.
Greg let out a sigh before speaking again. “I don’t mean to sound like a jerk at all tonight. I’m just so heartbroken and lost right now. It’s so hard to accept. The vandalism isn’t really anything in the grand scheme of things, but I lost my loving wife, and now a bunch of wilderness conservationists are trying to make me lose my business, too. I just feel like I’m losing everything, and I can’t do anything to stop it from happening.”
We all continued in silence for some time. I knew that none of us approved of Greg destroying the wilderness area, but we weren’t about to say anything about it, what with his wife so recently dying.
Dorothy swept in and cleared the plates, while shooting evil glares at Greg. I felt like shooting evil glares at Greg too, as he had just refused dessert. I had been looking forward to it, but Cressida had not mentioned it again after Greg’s refusal.
“Would anyone like cards?” Mr. Buttons suddenly blurted, causing everyone to start. “How about you, Greg?”
Greg had risen half out of his seat; now, he sat back down. “Err, yes,” he said, but he didn’t sound too willing.
With a flourish, Mr. Buttons pulled a box covered with a piece of silk from his pocket. At that moment, there was a loud clap of thunder, and Greg gasped.
“I hope we don’t get hail,” Cressida said, oblivious to Greg’s jumpy demeanor.
Mr. Buttons handed Greg the deck. “Please shuffle these, and then put them back down on the table.”
Greg did as he was told, until Mr. Buttons took the cards back and started turning them over. “What?” Greg gasped. “I thought you wanted me to play a hand of poker or blackjack or something with you. What is th
is?”
Mr. Buttons paid him no mind, and continued laying out the cards on the table. Then he flipped each one face up. “The moon,” Mr. Buttons said. “The devil. Deception exists around you. Take that how you will, but I know what I take it to mean.”
Greg looked agitated. “They’re just cards, man. You already tricked me into letting you read my cards or whatever they call it, but can I just catch a break for once? I just need one single night of relaxation. My mind needs it more than my body does.” With that, he hurried from the room, without so much as a thank you to Cressida for the dinner.
“Something seems off about him. That’s all I’m saying,” Mr. Buttons said in a hushed tone.
“Mr. Buttons, why do you think he’s being deceptive?” I said. “Do you think he knows something he’s not telling anyone, or do you just think he’s aware that his work might have caused his wife’s death?”
Mr. Buttons frowned. “I’m not really sure what I think yet, but I believe the cards. He’s lying about something. He might not even know he’s lying, but there’s something dishonest about that man. Have you noticed that when he cried, not a single tear could be seen?”
“Mr. Buttons is right,” Cressida said. “Why, Lord Farringdon told me only this morning that Greg is not to be trusted.”
With that, Lord Farringdon waddled out from under the vast, starched linen tablecloth, and hissed in the direction of the door.
I stroked Lord Farringdon, and said my goodbyes to Cressida and Mr. Buttons. “Thank you so much for dinner, Cressida.”
“Anytime, dear. You know that.” She smiled warmly. “Would you like an umbrella or raincoat? There’s an old Drizabone too, but I think it has spiders in the pockets.”
I crossed to the window to look out. “No thanks, Cressida. The rain hasn’t quite started yet. If I hurry, I’ll get home before it does.”
I made my way to the front door, and flung it open. I loved electrical storms, and particularly the time between the lightning and the rain. There was a flash of lightning, and I could see a police car parked at the front gate.