A Matter of Wife and Death (A Sibyl Potts Cozy Mystery, Book 4)

by Morgana Best

  “So, Greg, how’s everything going with the wilderness area and all that?” Mr. Buttons asked.

  The man continued spinning his cup of tea and tuning out the world. Eventually, he looked up at Mr. Buttons and spoke slowly. “It’s been okay. We’re still dealing with those wilderness nuts, though. On a daily basis, it seems.” His tone held more than a hint of annoyance.

  I was annoyed. I most certainly was opposed to his destruction of the wilderness area, but I could hardly say anything. After all, he was Cressida’s paying guest, and his wife had just died.

  “Things will get better,” Cressida said. “Sometimes I can’t believe we’re still standing after everything we’ve been through. You just have to have hope, and trust that things will work out how they are supposed to. Whoever caused your wife’s demise will be punished. I know it.”

  Greg rolled his eyes, a gesture I considered to be quite rude after Cressida’s kind words. He raised his cup and took a brief sip. He licked his upper lip and placed the cup down a little too hard. “I should probably head out soon. This construction site is monstrous, difficult, and full of protesters, so I might need an early start this morning.”

  Just as he stood to his feet, Blake and Constable Andrews walked in.

  “Good morning, everyone,” Blake said.

  “What brings you here so early, Blake?” Cressida asked.

  “I came by to see if Greg would mind accompanying us back to the station. We would like to discuss a few things about his wife’s murder case with him.”

  Greg frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. “Will this take long?” he snapped. “I’ve been dragging my feet on the ground long enough because of this mess. I have work I need to get done so I can get back home and away from this circus.”

  “Not long,” Blake said.

  Greg shot him a dirty look, but rose from his chair and followed the officers out.

  After they left, the three of us sat in silence for a few minutes.

  “That was unexpected,” Mr. Buttons said.

  Cressida nodded hard. “I thought they were arresting him at first.”

  I agreed. “I thought so, too,” I said. “I wonder what they have to talk to him about, though. New evidence, maybe?”

  “I’m confused,” Mr. Buttons said. “Maybe they found something that points in his direction.”

  Cressida chuckled. “If that’s true, your Dorothy theory is out the window.”

  “Maybe we should do some research,” I said, to forestall another tirade by Mr. Buttons as to Dorothy’s likelihood as a suspect.

  “Like what?” asked Cressida. “Do you mean online?”

  I bit my lip. “I meant that we should look up the wife’s past. If she was the intended murder victim, then we need to find out if she had any enemies.”

  “Good idea, Sibyl.” Mr. Buttons nodded. “Perhaps Lisa knew Dorothy a long time ago. We might uncover a motive for Dorothy.”

  “Or perhaps we’ll find out why Greg would want to hurt Lisa,” Cressida added.

  I shook my head. “Greg seems the obvious suspect, except for one important thing. There’s no motive.”

  “I’ll get my laptop.” With that, Mr. Buttons left the room, leaving us to consume cucumber sandwiches and lukewarm tea.

  Mr. Buttons soon returned with his laptop. He booted it up, and Cressida and I looked over his shoulder.

  “Hmm,” Mr. Buttons said. “It seems to suggest that Lisa is actually just as wealthy as Greg is. So, that rules out money as a motive, and he has plenty of it himself, doesn’t he?”

  I nodded. “Yes,” I said. I was already bored. I was sure we wouldn’t turn up anything of use.

  “Well, this is odd,” Mr. Buttons remarked, after what seemed an age.

  “What?” I said, looking at Cressida, who seemed to have zoned out, too.

  “Barbara and James Madison, Lisa’s parents. Hmm, now that’s interesting.”

  “And?” Cressida prompted.

  Mr. Buttons paused to dab at a spot on the screen with his handkerchief. “Okay, it looks like the Madisons are in business with Greg’s parents. They’re in Europe. Oh yes, Greg said that’s why the funeral was delayed. Hmm.”

  “Why is that interesting?” Cressida asked. I was thinking the same thing.

  Mr. Buttons did not reply. He was diligently at work scrolling through countless URLs. I was thinking up an excuse to leave when Mr. Buttons leaned over and peered at the screen. “Lisa had a will.”

  “Okay, here it is. Hold on.” Mr. Buttons stared at the screen, his eyes darting left and right over and over. “Oh no, it wasn’t anything.”

  “So basically, we’re back where we started?” Cressida said, in a strained voice.

  Mr. Buttons nodded. “Looks like it.”

  “Okay, so let’s go over what we know and what we don’t,” I said. “We know that Greg is very wealthy. We also know now that Lisa was wealthy too, before the marriage. So, I think it’s safe to say that the money motive just doesn’t fit into this puzzle.”

  “And they were only married for a short time,” Mr. Buttons said. “Why even marry Lisa in the first place if he didn’t want to? Sure, people change their minds and want a divorce, but not days after the wedding.”

  “Wait,” I said. “What if he didn’t want to get married at all? If their parents are good friends and business partners, wouldn’t it make sense that the marriage was arranged?”

  Mr. Buttons looked at me strangely. “Who in Australia has an arranged marriage? I really don’t think their marriage was arranged, and even if it was, I think saying no is a much better tool to get out of it than murder.”

  “You never know with those high society types though,” Cressida said.

  I sighed. “I didn’t mean an arranged marriage as such. I meant that their parents might’ve put pressure on both of them. Perhaps it was expected of them both from an early age and they just fell into it.” I sighed again. “Really, I don’t have a clue. You know what they say, money and love are the usual motives for murder, and I can’t see how Lisa’s murder fits either.”

  Cressida sighed. “We’re back where we started from.” Mr. Buttons agreed, and then took his coins out of his wallet and polished them.

  Chapter 13.

  Mr. Buttons, Cressida, and I arrived in Little Tatterford, heading for the first of the many cafés that dotted the main street.

  “And what will you ladies have for lunch today? My treat, of course,” Mr. Buttons said, as he held open the door for us to enter.

  “You don’t have to do that, Mr. Buttons,” I responded, earning me a waved hand from the man in response.

  “I insist.” Mr. Buttons’ tone was no-nonsense.

  “Well then, if you insist,” Cressida said, nudging me to go along with it. “Thank you. I do appreciate it.”

  I smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Buttons.”

  We took our usual table at the front of the café. Cressida and I looked at the menus, while Mr. Buttons repositioned the menus throughout the café in the center of the tables.

  “What will you ladies have?” he asked, upon his return to our table.

  “I’ll have my usual, the macadamia apple crusted pork loin, please,” Cressida said.

  Mr. Buttons furrowed his brow at Cressida. “Macadamia nuts give you heartburn.”

  “Yes, but it’s worth it,” Cressida sighed contently. “It’s just too delicious.”

  “Did you take your medication?”

  “No, I forgot on the way out.”

  “Well then, take one now,” Mr. Buttons insisted.

  “Then I would have to wait thirty minutes to eat.” Cressida shook her head stubbornly. “I don’t want to wait.”

  Mr. Buttons looked up from rearranging the lilies on the table. “Cressida, waiting a few minutes won’t kill you. You’ll swear those macadamia nuts are in an hour, though,” Mr. Buttons fussed at her.

  I smiled as a light bickering session started up between them. Things
were so normal today. It was such a refreshing change of pace compared to what we had been dealing with lately. I decided to have the bruschetta laden with sundried tomatoes, olives, basil, and parmesan cheese, and so turned my attention from the menu to the room.

  As I did so, my stomach dropped.

  Blake was sitting at a table. His back was to me, but I’d know him anywhere. He had not turned around to say hello to us, so I guessed he hadn’t even seen us come in. He seemed completely fixated on the person he was talking to, his ex-girlfriend, the gorgeous Rachel Winters.

  They seemed comfortable together. Rachel was laughing, and Blake appeared to be hanging on her every word.

  I tried not to feel the sharp pangs of hurt as I watched them chatter away like they were in their own little world. I couldn’t see Blake’s expression, but he seemed to be having a lovely time.

  I was in the depths of despair. Maybe there’s a reason we never went out for a second dinner, I thought.

  “Earth to Sibyl,” Cressida said, startling me back to the moment.

  “Did you know what you wanted?” Mr. Buttons asked.

  “Oh yes, the bruschetta laden with sundried tomatoes, olives, basil, and parmesan, please.” I forced a smile, and did my best not to allow the unexpected scene to throw me off my lunch. It was my fault I had assumed that Blake had been interested. I didn’t have a right to pout and turn our lunch into a soap opera.

  “Is everything all right?” Cressida asked with concern, following my gaze. She looked surprised as she spied Blake and the woman. “Oh, don’t worry about any of that. That’s just his ex. It’s nothing to worry about.”

  “They broke off on friendly terms.” Mr. Buttons gave me an encouraging, reassuring smile. “They figured out they were no good for each other, but managed to salvage a good friendship after the relationship went south.”

  Cressida studied my face. “They’re just friends,” she insisted. “Whatever reason they met up, I’m sure it’s no big deal. How about we go over and say hi?”

  “No, no, no!” I exclaimed. “That’s okay.” I shook my head. “You’re right. It’s probably nothing.”

  I wished I believed my own words. It wasn’t my business who Blake saw, or why. I didn’t want to become that obsessed stalker with too many cats, or in my case, a dog and a trash-talking cockatoo.

  I just wished I had not let myself think we had been building more than a friendship. I glanced back at the pair. My ex-husband, Andrew, had been friendly with many women, a lot friendlier than I had realized at the time. I’d stupidly trusted in our relationship, and that blind trust had nearly gotten me killed.

  Oh, stop it, I silently rebuked myself. Blake wasn’t anything like that man. It was my own fault for making assumptions about an imaginary chemistry between us.

  “Are sure you’re okay, Sibyl?” Cressida asked with concern.

  “I’m okay. It’ll all be fine,” I said, as I waved my hand gently. “It just threw me off. It’s all good,” I lied.

  Cressida persisted. “They really are just friends.”

  “I’m happy they were able to stay friends,” I said quickly. It truly wasn’t any of my business. The last thing I wanted to do was get my friends worried about me, especially when friendship was probably all Blake and I would have as well. I thought back on the times when he’d rushed to my rescue. He’d looked so angry when I’d been arrested by mistake. He’d always gone out of his way to see if I was okay.

  In hindsight, that’s what friends do. I was sure Blake would have done the same for Mr. Buttons or Cressida. It was just how he was. It was my own imagination fooling me into thinking it was turning into more than that.

  “Our food will be out in about fifteen minutes,” Mr. Buttons said, as he returned to his seat after ordering. He shot Cressida a pleading look. “Dear Cressida, for all that is good and right in the world, take something before you eat those macadamia nuts. You’ll love it so much less by dinner. I beg you to take appropriate measures.”

  Cressida sighed dramatically and dug through her bag for the pills for her heartburn, which had been flaring up quite a lot lately with all the stress. “All right. But only because you are begging.”

  Mr. Buttons grinned at her. “I could beg on my knee if it will make you take it that much faster.”

  Cressida laughed. “Go for it.” Her eyes widened in alarm as he rose and started to drop to the floor, snagging his sleeve. “I was kidding. Kidding. I’m taking it right now, look.”

  “Are you sure?” Mr. Buttons asked, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I could sing my concerns for you if you like.”

  “I’m taking the medicine - just don’t make a scene.” Cressida laughed nervously as she brandished her heartburn pills. “You’re tone deaf anyway.”

  I found myself muffling a laugh as Mr. Buttons climbed back into his chair, looking pleased that he had taken Cressida by surprise. I loved these two. They always had a way of making me feel better by just being themselves.

  “While we wait on our meals, shall we try to solve the mystery of Lisa’s death?” Mr. Buttons asked, as he leaned back, conveniently blocking my view of Blake’s table.

  That sounded fine to me; I could do with a distraction. I’d sort out my heart and head later in a less public place, preferably over some salted caramel ice cream and a rerun of Monty Python or The Young Ones. I could do with some classic silliness.

  “It had to be Greg,” Cressida said, after she took a sip of her soda to wash down the medicine. “I’m betting his new bride had a really nice life insurance policy.”

  “Oh come now. You’ve seen how broken up he is over the whole thing,” Mr. Buttons pointed out. “Besides, if insurance was his motive, he would’ve waited until they had been married for much longer than a day or two.”

  Cressida looked skeptical. “Money does weird things to people. He didn’t take time off his work to mourn.”

  “People deal with grief differently,” Mr. Buttons said. “He might be burying himself in his work.”

  I bit a fingernail. “Who else would have known Greg’s room number? Or been able to get into the room with no one noticing?” I asked. I had to side with Cressida on this one. Greg’s behavior was indeed strange, even for someone in mourning. He didn’t act like he had lost the love of his life when he was making land deals and chasing off protesters.

  “My money is on our dear Dorothy.” Mr. Buttons grimaced as he brought up the woman’s name. “She knew Greg’s room number, of course. It would’ve been easy to go up there wielding a wrench. She’s a few bats short of a belfry.”

  “Why would she do that, though?” Cressida asked, unconvinced. “I know you don’t like her, Mr. Buttons. But really, we can’t accuse someone just because she is unlikable.”

  “How much do we really know about her, though?” Mr. Buttons asked. “Look at that time when the ghost hunters came to town. None of us saw her connection there, until it slapped us in the face.”

  “And Dorothy was also on the suspect list then,” I said. “We can’t throw her on the list every time we get stumped on something.”

  “We can if she is a mean woman who has the access and ability to do it,” Mr. Buttons countered.

  Cressida raised her eyebrows. “But again, why would she do it? We don’t have any way to connect her to Greg. The only motive is her big fight with Lisa the night before the murder.”

  I shrugged. “I suppose it’s possible that’s she related to one of the protesters, but that’s quite a stretch.”

  “Greg is the one with the motive,” Cressida said. “His whole life involves the bottom line. Most of his opponents backed off out of respect for the loss of his wife, too. Maybe she was worth more to him dead than alive.”

  “That’s a pretty grim picture to paint,” Mr. Buttons said doubtfully. “Killing his wife for sympathy? That’s the most tenuous motive I’ve ever heard.”

  “Hi, Cressida and Mr. Buttons,” a feminine voice said, interrupting our debat
e.

  To my horror, I turned my head to see an unhappy Blake and his overly cheerful and pretty ex-girlfriend standing by our table. “It’s been forever. How have you both been?”

  Blake gave an awkward greeting as he stood there. I tried to push down a wave of anxiety as Blake avoided my gaze. It wasn’t like I was following him or anything. He didn’t have to act that upset I was there.

  “Hi Blake,” I said, in an even tone.

  Rachel stuck out her hand to shake mine. “Hi again, Sibyl.”

  I mumbled a polite greeting as I shook the woman’s hand. Blake did not look at all pleased that the two of us were speaking. Unpleasant memories of my ex-husband flooded back. I reminded myself that Blake was nothing like him.

  “Sorry, I have to get to a meeting, but I’ll leave you all to talk. Be good, Blake. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” The woman winked and waved to Cressida and Mr. Buttons, before making a rush out the door.

  Blake shot me an apologetic look. Well, I thought it was apologetic. I didn’t know what he had to apologize to me about. Nothing changed the fact that we were only friends, and not a couple.

  At least things couldn’t get any worse.

  Chapter 14.

  Mr. Buttons had I had been googling for hours, or at least it sure felt like it had been that long.

  “So, what else do you want to look up?” Mr. Buttons asked me.

  I was mentally exhausted; I couldn’t think of a single avenue that we had not pursued.

  “Top ten men who murdered their wives,” Cressida interjected from her position behind the table. She shuffled her paperwork for a moment. “He might not be on those lists yet, but perhaps his motive is,” she added, before returning to her work.

  I laughed, but I knew she might be right. “Go for it,” I said to Mr. Buttons. “Let’s see if there are any cases of men who murdered their wives for unusual motives.”

  We got back to work sifting through the mountains of links.

  “What about this one then?” Mr. Buttons asked, stabbing his finger at the screen. “This man killed his wife because she was going to turn him in for embezzling company funds.”