by C T Mitchell
“Stay here if you want, dear. I’m going to talk to Mrs. Grant. That woman’s up to something.” Maggie patted her nephew on the shoulder and rushed away, but not before the Detective Inspector grabbed her gently by the forearm.
“Leave it alone, Maggie. It’s nothing.”
“It’s Lady Margaret Turnbull to you, Detective. And I’m just going to talk to someone. It’s nothing.” She winked at him and hurried away. Detective Sullivan sighed in frustration knowing that anything involving Lady Maggie wasn’t just about nothing. She was acting on one of her hunches again and they are usually right, much to the displeasure of the Detective.
“Aunt Maggie!” It was Simon, trotting toward her, looking as though he was saddling up to say something brave. “Don’t go,” he suggested, taking her by the hand. “I know you like to help the police, but can’t you just sit this one out?” Simon knew his aunt had a reputation for getting caught up in police matters, and it didn’t matter if she figured things out first or not, she was still a bit of a nuisance to the police force.
Maggie kissed him on the nose and walked briskly to the other side of the food tent, sliding in and out of mini crowds that had formed and making her way through them easily. She was in pretty good shape for being in her fifties; he had to hand it to her. Simon watched her briskly stride out from under the tent; she really was cut out for her favorite hobby.
Mrs. Grant was startled when Maggie sat forcefully into the chair next to her. “Hey there!” Maggie said loudly, patting the woman on the leg. I heard what you said back there, why was that? What made you say “This can’t be?”
The color drained from Mrs. Grant’s round face. “I have no idea…did I say that? Probably something I mumbled from shock.”
Maggie didn’t buy it. There was still plenty of time left in the day to have a cup of tea with the woman and sort things out, so she suggested just that, recommending a little trip home to Mrs. Grant’s house to help her deal with her shock. Surprisingly, Mrs. Grant agreed, and the two women walked arm in arm right past Tom Sullivan on their way to the parking lot.
He stood up and looked at them, eyeing his nemesis as though it would change the fact that she was taking a witness home with her. If he tried to stop her, she would only cause enough of a fuss to delay his entire day, so he let her go and returned to questioning witnesses at the table closest to the crime scene. It didn’t seem to be going well; all the people at the table could say was how shocked they were that anyone would want to kill Mrs. Davies.
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