Murder Flies the Coop

by Jessica Ellicott

  She followed Beryl wordlessly back along the path they had taken from the mining village and soon they arrived in sight of Beryl’s motorcar. She was startled from her thoughts by a woman’s voice.

  “Hello there,” said Alice Morley, the young woman she and Beryl had met at the pigeon race. “What brings the two of you here?” Alice stood with a wicker laundry basket perched on one of her hips.

  “Hello, Mrs. Morley. We are still searching for Mr. Cunningham and our investigation brought us here. What a happy coincidence that we should run into you,” Edwina said. She suddenly had a stroke of inspiration.

  “Why is that? Are you feeling a desperate urge to hang out some washing?” Alice asked, inclining her head to her basket. “If so, I can help with that straightaway.”

  “Actually, I wanted to ask if you would encourage your friends and neighbors here in Hambley to attend the upcoming May Day festivities in Walmsley Parva. I serve on the committee planning the day and I would be delighted to have the residents of Hambley participate in the celebration,” Edwina said.

  “Why would you ask me?” Alice asked, shifting her basket to the other hip. Edwina wondered why she didn’t just put it down, and then realized it would become simply filthy as soon as it touched the ground. Come to mention it, the clothes in the basket and the basket itself were greyish with coal dust just from exposure to the breeze.

  “As the colliery nurse I’m sure you have a lot of influence in the community. And your husband sounds like a man others would be inclined to listen to as well,” Edwina said.

  “I’ll have to talk it over with Dennis. I’m not sure he’d like to hear I had agreed to something like you’re suggesting without speaking with him first,” Alice said, casting a glance over her shoulder. Edwina had thought Dennis Morley sounded like a pleasant young man, but seeing the hesitation Alice exhibited, she began to have doubts concerning his character.

  “We have a committee meeting coming up in three days’ time. I’d like to tell the committee I have secured the help of a woman in Hambley in bringing our two villages closer,” Edwina said. “I noticed a post box on my way into the village. Do you think you would be able to send me a note letting me know before the meeting if you are able to help spread the word?” Edwina asked. “You can reach me at The Beeches, Walmsley Parva. She took a calling card from her handbag and passed it to Alice.

  Alice looked back once more. “I’ll write to you as soon as I know if I am able to assist you,” Alice said. Edwina noticed a furrow had appeared between the younger woman’s brows.

  “I look forward to receiving your note,” Edwina said before nodding her good-bye and leaving Alice to tend to her washing. She wondered if Alice would actually broach the subject with her husband or if she would simply send along her regrets without ever mentioning a word to him. She looked over at Beryl and noticed her friend looking in the same direction that Alice had cast her worried glances.

  Together they watched as Alice walked away and disappeared behind a cluster of small cottages.

  “It’s been quite a day so far. I’d say we deserve lunch. How about I make you my famous camp side stew?” Beryl asked.

  “I’ve had your cooking, Beryl. I don’t think I’ve ever done anything to deserve something like that,” Edwina said. “But I appreciate the sentiment. Fortunately we have a leftover roast chicken just waiting to be turned into sandwiches.”

  Chapter 12

  Beryl spent the better part of the next morning secreted away in the guest room at the Beeches. While she would not have cared to admit it and certainly would not have wanted anyone to observe what she was up to, Beryl was busy primping and preening. She didn’t tend to think of herself as a vain woman, but she did know how large a role her appearance played in her success. It was one thing to be known as an adventurous woman. It was quite another to be perceived as glamorous, too. She knew in her heart of hearts that much of her fame was derived from her uncanny ability to combine her dual reputations.

  But such reputations required maintenance. She had learned, much to her chagrin, that such maintenance took longer and longer with each passing year. Seated at the vanity table near the window, she noticed a quantity of fine lines around her eyes and at the corners of her lips stood out starkly in the abundant natural light. She carefully inspected the skin on her neck and lavished a quantity of beauty cream up and down its length. She selected a tube of lipstick from a vanity table drawer and rolled it up to consider the color.

  It was a daring shade of red, one that only women with no concern whatsoever for their reputations would have donned when Beryl was a young girl. It wasn’t entirely smiled upon even for modern women in 1921. Certainly Edwina would never be caught wearing something so flashy. Beryl touched it to her lips and with a practiced hand created a perfect Cupid’s bow on the top lip and a voluptuous pouch on the bottom. She deftly applied a spot of rouge to each of her cheeks and smudged her eyes with just a hint of kohl.

  A little voice in the back of her head reminded her of how much fun she had had with Archie Harrison when she had known him in Australia. Perhaps that was the reason she had selected such a flattering silk coat and wide leg trouser ensemble from the wardrobe. She wound a black and red scarf around her head like a turban and fastened a large pair of ruby ear drops to her earlobes. She spritzed some perfume at her wrists and at the back of her neck before giving herself a final inspection in front of the long mirror positioned at the end of the room.

  She did not look like the woman she had been ten years earlier. But then, she told herself, almost no one did. It wasn’t just the years, it was the way she had lived them. Careening across the globe under the beating sun or the howling Arctic winds left its mark. Outliving so many friends and companions claimed by the war had taken even more of a toll. Beryl considered herself most fortunate indeed to still look ten years younger than her actual age.

  Whenever anyone asked her secret, she was more than happy to share it. Generous applications of quality gin and a steadfast refusal to bear children to any of her former husbands was how she accounted for her youthful appearance. Most women scoffed at her response, but now and again she found herself in the company of a kindred spirit who nodded as if Beryl’s words were a lifeline in a turbulent sea.

  Beryl slipped her feet into a pair of satin slippers completely devoid of a heel. While many women preferred shoes that added to their height, Beryl was not one of them. She was as tall as most men already and found that she preferred footwear that allowed her to make a hasty escape should the need arise. After all, she had often found that it did.

  She took a deep breath and left the safety of her boudoir sanctuary for whatever the meeting with Archie Harrison might bring. It was true she had extolled the value to their fledgling business of newspaper coverage to Edwina, but that did not mean she felt no butterflies at the thought of Archie’s scrutiny. At one time he had meant a great deal to her, and while she didn’t like to think of herself as the sort of woman who cared about other people’s opinions, the fact remained that she wished for him to be impressed by her latest venture.

  Edwina was in the kitchen stirring something at the stove. Archie Harrison had made himself at home at the kitchen table. Beryl had not expected to find him there before she had a chance to settle herself. Both Archie and Edwina looked up as she entered the room. On the table in front of him Archie had laid one of his reporter’s notebooks and had made good use of it from the words that Beryl could see scrawled across the surface of the paper.

  “It’s high time you joined us,” Edwina said. “I told Mr. Harrison I couldn’t imagine what was taking you so long as you knew he was expected.” Beryl hoped Edwina would make no mention of her clothing, and to her relief her friend contented herself with pointedly looking her up and down.

  “I’m glad you took your time, Beryl. That way I’ve had the chance to have Miss Edwina all to myself,” Archie said, giving Edwina a broad wink. Edwina’s cheeks flushed becomingly an
d she batted her eyelashes like a coquettish young girl. Archie did tend to bring out the romantic in most women, Beryl thought. Even she had not been immune to his charms.

  “I’m glad the two of you are getting along so well. What have I missed?” Beryl said. She headed for the stove where Edwina had thoughtfully left a percolator on one of the burners. Beryl fetched a cup and poured herself a full measure of a thick, dark brew. She lifted the percolator and waggled it at Archie who indicated he would like a cup of his own. She poured one for him then joined him at the table.

  “The morning post has brought a note from Alice Morley saying she will help to encourage the residents of Hambley to attend the May Day festivities,” Edwina said.

  “And Miss Edwina has told me all about the adventure the two of you had last autumn,” Archie said. “And she filled me in on your current case, at least as much as she could, considering client confidentiality.” Archie blew across the steaming cup and took a tentative sip. He grimaced and arched an eyebrow at Beryl. She raised a finger to her lips. While she hated to be disloyal to Edwina, the fact remained that her dear friend had simply not gotten the hang of brewing a pot of coffee. It either came out looking like tea that had been cut in half by water or was so strong you could feel your teeth protesting as it slipped past them on the way down the throat. There was simply no in-between. That was just like Edwina. Most things in her orbit seemed to be black or white. Very little middle ground existed.

  “So what sort of an article are you planning to write?” Beryl asked.

  “I rather thought it would turn out to be an exposé,” Archie said with a wink. “Two ladies with very little experience conning the local gentry out of wads of cash or some such a thing.” Beryl noticed Edwina stiffen and drop the spatula she was using to stir the contents of the skillet.

  “Don’t worry, Ed,” Beryl said. “Archie has always been the most horrific tease.” Beryl gave Archie a look that she hoped he would interpret as a notification that he would miss out on a good thing if he continued to pester. Edwina had been hard enough to convince to begin the endeavor of running their own enquiry agency. Any whiff of scandal from the newspapers was certainly going to set back the enterprise more than Beryl wished to consider.

  Archie shrugged and gave Beryl one of his almost irresistible grins. “Of course I don’t believe the two of you are intent on duping your neighbors. But I would like for the article to be more than just an interview. I really want to be able to show the readers a sense of what it’s like to be out in the field, following leads and questioning suspects. What have you got on the docket today?” Archie asked.

  Beryl looked over the top of Archie’s head, hoping to catch Edwina’s eye. Edwina had retrieved her spatula and turned to the table. She slid a perfectly fried egg onto the plate in front of Archie.

  “After we’ve all eaten Beryl and I had planned to head out to the missing man’s pigeon loft. We intend to do a thorough inspection, which we hope will turn up new avenues of enquiry,” Edwina said. Beryl let a silent slow sigh escape her lungs. Edwina really was an excellent partner. She helped herself to a slice of bread from the basket in front of her and proceeded to slather it with butter and some of Edwina’s outstanding black currant preserves. Archie jotted a few lines in his notebook before turning his attention to the plate before him.

  Within three quarters of an hour the three of them were within sight of the Walmsley Parva allotments. The allotments were popular with many of the villagers, especially those without sufficient space in their own gardens to grow vegetables, flowers or to keep small animals like chickens or rabbits. It was more than that though. The allotments provided a chance to socialize with others who enjoyed such pursuits and it also gave villagers an opportunity to indulge in a spot of good-natured competitiveness. It was easy to see which of the residents of Walmsley Parva had green thumbs and which certainly did not.

  Edwina headed straight for an elderly gentleman seated on top of an overturned bucket in front of a tidy row of lettuces. After a moment’s conversation and some animated gesticulation on the part of the gentleman, Edwina returned with a satisfied look on her face. “According to Mr. Wilkes, Lionel Cunningham’s allotment is six spots down on the right,” she said. Edwina lifted the edge of her skirts above the damp ground and determinedly led the way. Beryl followed and Archie brought up the rear. Even over the sound of the birds chirping and the whistling of the wind through the vegetable plants Beryl could hear Archie’s pencil scratching against his notebook. She hoped he was busy adding notes of local color to his report and that they were of a flattering nature. Even if his article cast a positive light on their venture, Edwina would not be pleased if he made Walmsley Parva appear to be a backward and ridiculous out-of-the-way spot.

  Chapter 13

  Beryl carefully picked her way along the dirt path. It was strewn with all manner of vegetable matter and muddy ruts. Ordinarily she would have concerned herself with choosing appropriate footwear for an outdoor expedition. Had she and Edwina consulted about their plans for the day, she would have chosen an outfit far more suited to the great outdoors. But when she had dressed that morning, she had only considered impressing their guest. There had been no time to change before Edwina hurried them out the door. It wasn’t the sad effect the conditions had upon her shoes that worried her but rather the possible deleterious effects on her ankles. One of the first lessons she had learned early on in her career was to respect one’s feet above most other things. As her right foot caught on a partially submerged rock she could not help but feel it would be good advice for a detective as well.

  “This should be it,” Edwina said, pointing to a surprisingly tidy wooden structure. Neat, raw wood siding cladded the outside of the small building. A sheet of corrugated metal spanned the roof. As they approached, Beryl noticed a door fitted into the front, the bottom of which was set at approximately knee height. Windows, covered in screening, were built into either end. Lattice skirting trimmed the underpinnings and gave the building a finished look.

  Unlike the allotments of most of its neighbors, Mr. Cunningham’s plot was devoid of any deliberate plantings. Tufts of grass and patches of weeds covered the bare earth and here and there a clump of violets peered out from amongst their less attractive neighbors. It would appear Mr. Cunningham was no gardener. It also seemed that pigeons made for odiferous neighbors. Beryl wrinkled her nose as the wind shifted and brought the smell of them to her. Being the good countrywoman that she was, Edwina took the lead with the actual pigeon loft. She approached the gable end of the loft and stretched up on tiptoe and looked through the screening into the small building.

  “There are quite a number of birds roosting inside here. All of them look fed and watered and quite tranquil.” She beckoned for Beryl to join her at the window. Beryl stepped up to the screening and peered inside. There was nothing to see but feathers and straw and dark-eyed birds resting on perches. Of Mr. Cunningham there was no trace.

  “Someone must have stopped in to feed and water them, don’t you think?” Beryl asked. “Otherwise they would have shown some sign of distress by now.”

  “I expect you’re right. But I do wonder who he could have gotten to help,” Edwina said. “I don’t know how Mr. Cunningham could stand the stench. It smells quite unlike any other coop I’ve ever been near.” Edwina was right. Beryl thought it was enough to make her wish she had not breakfasted quite so heartily. Edwina stopped in her tracks, and rather than covering her nose delicately with a handkerchief as Beryl would have expected her to do, Edwina drew in a fuller breath. Her friend shook her head, a perplexed look on her face.

  “I’m very much afraid that what you are smelling has nothing to do with the wholesome animal smell one would associate with poultry,” Beryl said. She could almost see Archie’s ears lengthening. She and Edwina each took a step back from the pigeon loft. Beryl glanced at Archie and a look of comprehension passed between them. Both had spent time on or near the battlefield and
the memories created by the odor chilled Beryl to the core.

  “What is it then?” Edwina asked. She looked around, searching for the source of the smell. Beryl bent over and wrapped her fingers around the lattice skirting the bottom of the pigeon loft. She gave a tremendous tug and heard nails wrenching free of the loft’s wooden underpinnings. Covered by the debris from the birds and cloaked in the shadows cast by the loft, she could barely discern the outline of a man’s shoe. Given the angle at which it sat, she was absolutely certain there was a foot still inside it.

  “I’m rather afraid we have discovered the whereabouts of our missing Mr. Cunningham,” Beryl said. Entirely forgetting about the unfortunate effect it would have upon her silk outfit, she ducked her head and crawled beneath the pigeon loft. “Archie, have you a book of matches on you?” she asked. She heard hurried footsteps behind her and then Archie wedged himself into the tight space on the other side of the body. She heard a scratching noise, and felt the sting of sulfur fill her nostrils. Even in the quavering light of a single match the waxen face of a man fitting the description of Mr. Cunningham stood out clearly.

  Beryl leaned closer and felt her breath catch in her throat. A dark stain saturated the bits of straw and the bare ground around the body. She told herself quite firmly not to be sick. Edwina’s voice reached her from behind.

  “What do you see?” Edwina asked.

  “I believe I was right about our missing man,” Beryl said. “There is a body here that fits the description we were given.”

  “Oh my.” Beryl heard Edwina’s voice quite near to her ear. Her friend had crouched down and was leaning towards her. “Are you quite sure he’s dead?” Edwina asked. Archie lit a second match as the first had burnt down to his fingertips. As he moved it farther down the body, Beryl lifted the man’s jacket away from his chest and the flickering light illuminated a dark patch on the man’s shirt.