The bedrooms were to the right and this is where the apartment differed from Cassy’s own. Instead of a single room, there were two. As she was about to investigate further, and perhaps catch the mysterious attacker riffling through drawers, she was distracted by something on the floor of the main room. A single shoe lay on the floor, tipped over as if kicked away. She bent down to look closely and yelped, stumbling back as she came face to face with Mrs. Donnington. She was leaning against the table leg and was definitely dead. Blood matted the hair on the side of her head where a heavy object had struck it.
Satisfied, if not at all happy, that Bella’s mother was in no need of help, Cassy returned to the hall. If Bella hadn’t already done so, her priority now was to call Sheriff Noyce. She got two steps into her home when a shadow moved near the exit in the hall. Low against the wall, somebody was crouching, in the dark. Her first instinct was investigate, but if it was the attacker, she didn’t want to alert him.
Instead, reached for the light switch. It flickered on as she pivoted to get a look at whoever was hiding. She caught a glimpse of a male figure disappearing down the stairs. A hood hid his features, but she noted that he was tall, white (she could see his exposed hands) and judging by the speed at which he escaped, very athletic. She might even have given chase, if Bella hadn’t called for her.
Cassy couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d missed something crucial. For a moment, back in the other apartment an idea had percolated its way through to her conscious mind but its journey had been cut short by the discovery of Mrs. Donnington and the fleeing man. But still it nagged her, that some missing element, or some half-realized thought escaped her. Her worries were quickly forgotten when she saw Bella braced in the partition between the kitchen and the main room, her feeble legs barely holding her up.
“I can’t be alone,” she said and teetered forward into Cassy’s arms. The girl was heavier than expected and Cassy almost tumbled backwards. Bella looked up sharply and yelped on seeing someone directly behind Cassy.
“It’s okay, it’s me,” said Patty, rushing to take some of Bella’s weight. Together they returned Bella to the couch and Patty made some tea.
“I’ll call the police and they’ll get sorted right away. Don’t you worry,” said Cassy. She put a hand on Bella’s to comfort her, but the girl was too tired or detached from the recent events to respond. Cassy took Bella in her arms and held her to her chest until Deputy Jones arrived ten minutes later.
Cassy didn’t open the shop the following day out of respect for the deceased and the living; not that it would have been practical with all the police activity in and around the Nether Edge quarter. Besides Cassy and the other women had to give statements to the police. Cassy even noticed Deputy Jones going up to the top floor of the complex to talk to Frowd.
“You do know that he wasn’t even at the barbecue,” she said as the deputy passed by on his way to the reclusive author’s hideaway.
“Oh, hi Cassandra,” he said distractedly, his thick, southern drawl making him sound as placid as a stagnant pond. Until Noyce arrived, he was the lead in the investigation and although he was not out of his depth, there was more than enough to do. “You know how it is. I’ve got to ask everyone. Maybe he heard something, or saw something from up there. Any little clue could be vital.”
He was right. It was easy to focus on the big things such as the force required to kill someone with a blunt object or the man seen fleeing the scene. The obvious things sometimes hindered the truth, but even Cassy thought that the killer had been sloppy. She remembered something that Noyce had once told her about fires that had been deliberately started a few years earlier. Arson was unique in that the perpetrator usually stayed to watch; the crime itself was not satisfaction enough. Murderers, however, rarely hung around; death being their goal and not anything that followed.
In this case the killer had stuck around which made Cassy think there was something more to the crime that needed to be witnessed for it to be complete. She said nothing to Deputy Jones, preferring to keep her farfetched speculation to herself. For now.
“When I’ve finished with him can you take me through what you saw last night?” the police officer asked Cassy.
“I already gave my statement to Wolinski,” she said, referring to the other deputy who had arrived shortly after Jones.
“I know, but I want you to walk me through it again.”
The ‘POLICE DO NOT CROSS’ tape had already been set up over the Donnington door and as fragile as it was, constituted something of an impenetrable barrier that Cassy wanted to get past- just to see if she could garner anything else that might point toward a culprit.
“Of course, James - I mean Deputy Jones.”
“Wait right here. I’ll be right back.” Jones ascended to the floor above leaving Cassy to ruminate. Bella had been taken to the station but Cassy had no way of knowing what would become of her after that. She was still young enough to go into foster care, but Cassy thought she should stay with someone she knew and was comfortable with. She’d suggest that Bella stay with her if she was all right returning to Nether Edge. A voice in her ear snapped Cassy out of her thoughts.
“I never liked that woman,” Dot said, as outspoken and unconcerned who heard her as ever.
“Do you mean Mrs. Donnington?” inquired Cassy. She may not have been perfect, but now was hardly the time to point it out.
“Yes. I used to know her sister when I was younger, and Minnie—as they called her—was a terrible little brat even back then.”
Cass sighed heavily. This was the woman who just an hour earlier she’d discovered dead on the floor with one shoe missing. It was the missing shoe, almost casually kicked to the side, that got to Cassy when she conjured the scene in her mind.
“Do you have to Dot? Really? That woman sacrificed most of her adult life to look after her daughter. We all know she was loud and more than a little abrasive to some people but I hardly think that a character assassination is in order.”
Dot was taken aback as if shot. “I’m not—” she started, then composed herself. “I know that look on your face, Cassy. You want to get involved. I know you too well. I was just giving you the info you needed. The truth is that she’s always been difficult to get along with. Maybe there are people in her past that you know…”
“Are you rejoicing? Rejoicing that her daughter is now without care?”
“That’s not the word I would have used. But motive is the very first thing to look for, isn’t it?”
Dot was right, Cassy’s innate desire to get to the bottom of things was kicking into overdrive.
“You’re blunt and to the point, aren’t you?”
“Hon, when you’re my age you don’t have time to pussyfoot around things. The quicker you get to the point the better it is. So where do we start?”
“We?” The relish at which Dot was investing herself in this sorry affair might have been considered in bad taste, but it was one of her more useful qualities. It allowed Cassy to put all moral blame on her and simply allow herself to be swept along in the older woman’s wake. Cassy was itching to get to the Donnington’s apartment, especially because she hadn’t been paying attention the last time she was in the TV room.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” said Cassy. “Deputy Jones wants me to walk him through the room. That’s where I’ll start.”
“And me?”
Cassy checked around and saw Wolinski talking to another resident from the south-facing block. Jones was nowhere to be found, presumably still talking to Frowd. “You should talk to that Welsh woman. The nurse.”
“Gwyneth?”
“I saw her and Mrs. Donnington arguing last night. Nothing too harsh, but I think it’s worth checking. She’s had more contact with Bella than anyone else. If there’s anybody who’s going to have insight into what went on behind closed doors, it’s her.”
With Dot out on her errand, Cassy felt a lot more relaxed. As useful as sh
e could be sometimes, there were limits to how much Cassy could put up with her forthright attitude. Cassy had been given access to the scene of the crime once more, under the watchful gaze of Deputy Jones.
“When did you find the body?” he asked.
Cassy cocked her head. “Well, when I went into the front room. I was about to go to go into the bedroom when I—”
“I meant at what time?”
Cassy remembered being woken up but hadn’t bothered to check what time it was. It hadn’t seemed important, but now she knew it would have been helpful.
“I guess it must have been about two. I dunno.”
“We got here at shortly before three so that makes sense.” The deputy was scribbling notes in a little pad and Cassy felt it reassuring that he didn’t have something more modern and hi-tech. “Can you walk me through the house?”
Cassy led him along the entrance hall, past the kitchen, pointing out what she’d been doing. She got to where the naked floorboards stopped and the plush carpet began. She remembered thinking that she’d liked its softness on her bare feet. The twin grooves of the chair’s tire tracks had gone. Cassy mentioned that she’d seen them and dutifully Jones jotted it in his book.
Mrs. Donnington had long been removed from the scene. A procession of photographers, forensic detectives, other officers, and Dr. Bloom, the local doctor and coroner, had been in and out all morning. Cassy realized that she hadn’t slept since being woken by Bella. She was, however, being driven by adrenaline.
“Did you notice anything odd?”
Cassy thought for a second. “The one thing I keep coming back to is the shoe, kicked away.”
“Mrs. Donnington’s?”
“Yes. I don’t know why but I’ve got this thing in my head about it, as if it was significant.”
“And was it?”
There was no answer to that question. She admitted that it might just have been her mind trying to find connections where there weren’t any.
“No,” she said and moved on. She crouched next to the table where Minerva had been. “How did she die, do you know yet?”
“Nothing official of course until Bloom is done with his investigation,” said the deputy. “Tell me again about the person you saw in the hall. Are you certain he was male?”
“Yeah, I’m sure it was a guy. Didn’t get a good look at his face, though. White, young I think.” There wasn’t more Cassy could say about the all too brief encounter. “What was the murder weapon? Have you found it?”
“I’m the one with the notepad, Cassandra,” said Jones waving his pen pointedly at her.
“Indulge me.”
“Porcelain pig,” said Jones bluntly, “If you’d have made it to the bedroom you’d have noticed that she was quite the collector. Place is full of stuff like that.”
“It’s not exactly a deadly weapon though, is it?” she pondered out loud.
“Deadly enough.”
“All I’m saying is that it seems to me to be an improvised weapon. If your intent was to come in here and kill Mrs. Donnington, you might think to bring something with you.” While Jones considered her insight, Cassy launched into a new thought. “Was there any sign of forced entry?”
“None.”
This didn’t sound like an opportunistic burglary gone wrong.
“So, she knew the killer and let him in?”
“Maybe, but did you notice the alarm control by the door?” Cassy had not. “It was the first thing I checked - quite sophisticated really - expensive. The kind of thing that you’d expect in a bigger house. It records when the door is opened and when the alarm is set, so there’s always a record if it’s been tampered with.”
“And was it? I mean did someone tamper with it?”
“Not at all. In fact, it only shows the door being opened once and the alarm didn’t go off.”
It meant nothing without context and such little info could only lead to wild speculation. Cassy dismissed it.
“If you think of anything else,” said Jones. “Let me know, won’t you?”
He helped Cassy stand up. She’d wanted to get close to where Minnie had been as if proximity to the location would have given her greater insight. It hadn’t.
“There’s something in here that isn’t right. I know I saw something and I thought coming in here again would jog my memory.”
“But it didn’t?”
“No. Sorry.”
“Nothing wrong with that. We’re more than capable of getting to the bottom of this. So, don’t you worry.”
He’d called her Cassy. When on duty he preferred to address her by Cassandra or Miss Dean, but over the last month they’d become close. They had even gone out on two dates under the excuse she was showing him, a newcomer to town, the local sights. It hadn’t gone much further than that, but Cassy was happy she hadn’t scared him away completely.
“I know what you’re getting at,” she said, referring to the ‘Newmark Murders’ that she briefly investigated in the past. “I’m not poking my nose in where it’s not wanted. You invited me in here, remember?”
“And I’ll get back to you as soon as we know more.”
She’d been truthful when she’d said she would not get involved. She just hoped that Dot, with all her idiosyncrasies and her and somewhat lax attitude about almost everything, could stay focused enough to poke her nose in where it wasn’t wanted in place of Cassy.
Chapter Five
“Damn thing, I oughta scrap you,” said Dorothy McGuiness as she floored the pedal on her ancient, but preternaturally still-roadworthy car.
With no one to blame but herself, Dot continued the journey in silence as to not blow her cover by being seen shouting to herself inside her car. It was her mission to locate Gwyneth, Bella’s caregiver. For the fifth time since setting off a few minutes earlier, Dot looked at the business card Cassy had given her. It read Gwyneth Griffiths, Health & Care Consultant and listed her number and address. Dot scoffed at her being a ‘consultant’. What was wrong with just calling yourself a nurse? It was good enough for her mother and sister back in the day.
The Welsh nurse lived in Knotwood, the closest town to Havenholm and a short ride to the other side of the lake.
On the trip there, Dot concocted a plausible reason she would want to meet a Care Consultant. As unbelievable as it might initially be, Dot would convince Gwyneth she was in need of help. Despite being a relatively young sixty-something… Dot was sure she could convince Gwyneth that she was in poor health and needed help. Once she’d gained access to the inner sanctum she would pounce, bombarding her with questions, accusations, theories and postulations that would be inescapable until the woman confessed.
Dot opened the driver’s side window. It was getting hot and the morning sun was unsheathed from any protective cloud cover. She relaxed. Maybe such an aggressive attitude wasn’t called for. She had to think like Cassy. She always seemed to know what to do in situations like this. In her mind, she played out several scenarios, imagining what Cass would say, then tried it out in her own words. By the time she’d worked out her plan of attack, Dot had arrived at the private residence of Gwyneth Griffiths in Knotwood.
She waited until nine a.m. to not seem too suspicious, but the police were probably already there or would be soon. t. With a skip in her step, Dot crossed the morning traffic to the house whose address was on the card. She cleared her throat as if about to perform, which in some ways she was, then pressed the button on the side of the door A shrill ring startled her and the door opened swiftly
“Hello?” Gwyneth said, in her thick, Welsh accent, then on seeing Dot, she repeated the salutation with a welcoming grin. “Do come inside. You’re from the Spice place, aren’t you? We met yesterday.”
This was not how the conversation had panned out in Dot’s head. Already it was going off course.
“That’s right. I’m Dorothy, but please call me Dot. Cassy gave me your card and I thought ’she seems like a nice enough woman,
I’ll pay her a visit’.”
“Do come in, won’t you? I made some tea. I know you like your tea.”
The house doubled as a work space; a clinic of sorts. It was better appointed than most ‘real’ clinics Dot had been to, caught somewhere between practical and homey. Gwyneth showed her to a couch then fetched some tea and sat on a chair opposite Dot’s.
“So what brings you here?” asked Gwyneth, all smiles. She clearly hadn’t received the bad news yet. Dot was unsure if she should inform her or play dumb t, then decided ignorance was best.
“I hope you can be discrete, I’m was a bit reluctant to come here.”
“But you did and that’s always a good first step?”
“It’s just that as I’ve gotten older, I’ve started to have more problems and it’s always best to know that you have someone you can rely on.” Gwyneth was lapping it up. She believed that she was some frail old woman who needed home care. Dot continued. “I don’t like the idea of going into a home. Not my style, really.”
Dot coughed to get into the role. She topped it off with a wheeze for added effect. Hook, line and sinker.
“I don’t normally deal with the care of the elderly, but I’m open to it, of course.”
Elderly. Really? Was that language necessary?
“You always need clients, don’t you?” asked Dot without thinking that Gwyneth now with one less person to care for. Dot sipped her tea. It had too much milk and not enough sugar, but she didn’t complain “What services do you provide?”
“I adapt to whatever is needed on a client-by-client basis.” She looked Dot up and down. “I can see that you’ve got early stage arthritis, so my focus in this case would be mobility.”
Dot blanched at the unwarranted and libellous remark. She was no more arthritic than she was missing a head. The words pained her deeply, but Dot did not break character. She was in this moment a woman in need.
Where Pigs Fly (Nether Edge Cozy Witch Mystery Book 2) Page 3