Murder Flies the Coop

by Jessica Ellicott

  “It looks like a knife wound, doesn’t it, Archie?” Beryl said. She heard Edwina let out a startled cry. Archie nodded slowly and she reached out a hand and placed it on his arm. She happened to know from firsthand experience that Archie cried out about such things in his sleep.

  “He’s definitely been stabbed by something,” Archie said.

  “How can you be sure, Mr. Harrison?” Edwina asked. Beryl wished she hadn’t. Archie winced before answering.

  “Suffice it to say I am familiar with the look of damage caused by bayonets,” he said. Beryl turned around to look at him as he wriggled out from beneath the loft. “If you don’t mind, I shall yield my spot to you.” Beryl watched as he pressed his book of matches into Edwina’s hand and retreated a step or two before sitting upon the ground to observe from a bit of a distance.

  Edwina rose to the occasion and squirmed into the spot he had vacated. She struck a match and slowly inspected the corpse before her. “I don’t expect this is quite what the vicar had in mind when he asked us to locate his missing treasurer,” Edwina said. “I suppose this is the end of our investigation.”

  “Nonsense. If anything, the scope of the case has increased,” Beryl said. “I say we go on full speed ahead.”

  “We must fetch Constable Gibbs. There is nothing else for it,” Edwina said in the warning tone Beryl had noticed she tended to use when she felt things were about to stray too far from the straight and narrow.

  “There is no question that we will alert her. However, I see no reason not to do a little poking around before we do.” Beryl reached for the dead man’s jacket once more. She felt it would be a breach of professional conduct not to at least riffle his pockets. Edwina nodded then looked back over her shoulder. From Beryl’s angle beneath the loft she noticed a pair of men’s work boots and the accompanying legs had appeared beside Archie.

  “Mr. Wilkes,” Edwina said softly. “We were lucky he waited so long to join us. His rheumatism must be playing up. With his bad knees it will take him a moment to crouch down.” Edwina made a fluttering motion with her hand that Beryl interpreted to mean she should get on with whatever poking about she wished to accomplish.

  “I’ll be quick,” Beryl said. “Who is Mr. Wilkes, anyway?”

  “He was the constable here in Walmsley Parva before Doris Gibbs took over the job. The two are on very good terms. He spends at least one day a week in the station chatting with her about cases, old and new,” Edwina said as she scootched back out from under the pigeon loft. Beryl could hear her friend doing her best to buy a little time by trying to engage the elderly man in conversation whilst screening Beryl from view by a clever use of her long skirt. Beryl slipped her hand into the right inside pocket of the dead man’s jacket and felt around. Her fingers closed over a folded-up sheet of paper. She just managed to place it in her own pocket before Mr. Wilkes’ pasty face loomed into the opening behind her.

  “What are you doing mucking about under there, missy?” he said as he peered into the gloom. “That’s Lionel Cunningham. What’s he doing lying there on the ground?” He went so far as to put a gnarled hand on her ankle and he proceeded to give it a firm tug. While it was never her first choice, Beryl knew when to accept defeat. She slid out from beneath the loft, stood, and brushed the pigeon droppings and straw from her silk trousers as best she could before turning to address the elderly man.

  “It appears that he is dead,” she said. She took a step towards Edwina and Archie who stood conferring a few feet away. She felt something grasp her arm and looked down. She wondered fleetingly if the man had some sort of a mania about her limbs. She tried to pull away but his grip held fast. If his strength was diminished by rheumatism, Beryl would have been loath to have suffered his grip during his prime.

  “I always said he’d come to a bad end. Shameful it was the way he didn’t put the rest of the land on his patch to use.” Mr. Wilkes pointed at the weeds and brambles blanketing the parts of the allotment not covered by the pigeon loft. “I tried to tell him he should have used the entire space since he rented it all, but he told me to mind my own business.”

  “I doubt it was his lack of interest in gardening that did him in, sir,” Beryl said. “Do you think you could summon the constable? I believe we are looking at a crime.” She hoped to rid them of Mr. Wilkes long enough to make a more thorough search of the body.

  “Indeed I will not. I plan to keep a close eye on the pair of you.” Mr. Wilkes pointed a knobby-knuckled finger first at Beryl and then at Edwina. “I shouldn’t be surprised if you had something to do with what happened to him. Doris Gibbs said you two had set yourself up as some sort of sleuthing spinsters and that it was impossible to predict what sort of trouble such nonsense would cause.”

  “For a police officer, Doris Gibbs is remarkably ill informed,” Archie said.

  “So they aren’t those women who think they’re detectives?” Mr. Wilkes asked, taking stock of Beryl’s figure with a frankness that was as unwelcome as it was impolite.

  “They are detectives, but no one would categorize them as sleuthing spinsters,” Archie said. “Not with the number of husbands Beryl has had.” Beryl wasn’t quite sure it was wise to encourage Mr. Wilkes to give any additional thought to her experience with men. Especially not given the way he had made free with her ankle.

  “No matter what you call yourselves, you need to stay put. Doris will sort out your stories when she arrives,” Mr. Wilkes said. He turned his attention on Archie. “You’re the one to go fetch Doris. You look spry enough to run all the way to the police station and back.” Beryl sent a pleading look at Edwina who seemed to take the hint.

  “Isn’t he a suspect, too?” Edwina asked. “After all, he was under the loft with Miss Helliwell and the remains of the unfortunate Mr. Cunningham.”

  “He looks like a trustworthy feller to me. I’m starting to think there is some reason you all don’t want the police to be informed of this,” Mr. Wilkes said. Beryl noticed Edwina shaking her head in warning. She would have to endure the unwanted attentions of an unpleasant old man as well as foregoing the opportunity to inspect the crime scene and the body more thoroughly. Still, it was better than giving Mr. Wilkes reason to encourage Doris to place either Edwina or herself at the top of her suspect list. She was altogether too inclined to distrust them without encouragement.

  “Of course we wish to alert the authorities. Archie, the station is right off the high street. You can’t miss it,” Beryl said. “Edwina and I will eagerly await your return.”

  Chapter 14

  It was just like Constable Doris Gibbs not to show the slightest bit of appreciation for the help she and Beryl had provided. Constable Gibbs would not have the good manners to say thank you should God himself descend from on high to pass her a glass of iced water should she find herself thirsting in the desert. That’s just the sort of person she was. When it came to her profession she was far more likely to feel irritation than appreciation for any assistance others might give.

  To some extent Edwina understood. Constable Gibbs had achieved the position of sole law enforcement agent in Walmsley Parva during the Great War. She never would have been hired when Mr. Wilkes had retired if most available men weren’t off at the front. She had managed to keep the position when those same men returned, through hard work and remarkable tenacity. It did not hurt that no one else seemed inclined to take an interest in the job. Which is likely why Doris Gibbs was so defensive whenever Beryl or Edwina made any contribution whatsoever to the curtailing of local criminal activities. Edwina supposed that Constable Gibbs perceived them as a threat to her position.

  Edwina was quite certain it would do no good to assure the officer that she took no interest in the day-to-day workings of the local constabulary. And she was quite sure the rules and regulations such a post would require would reduce Beryl to tears of frustration. Constable Gibbs was exactly the sort of person who took no end of delight in codes and regulations of any ilk. In fact, she be
gan reciting a number of infractions to Beryl and Edwina the moment she appeared within shouting range.

  “Trespassing, impeding a police investigation, impersonating a police officer, and interfering with a corpse. I don’t suppose there’s anything else you’ve done so far today that you ought to confess to, is there?” Constable Gibbs asked, turning from Beryl to Edwina.

  “As you and I both know, this is a public space so trespassing is an impossibility,” Edwina said. “And from what is said around the village there was no police investigation of Mr. Cunningham’s disappearance. According to our sources you declared that a grown man is free to take leave of the village without anyone’s permission.” Edwina ran her finger across some writing in her notebook. No one had in fact made any such accusation but knowing Constable Gibbs as she did, it was likely those were her exact sentiments. The bright red splotches, which sprang immediately to the constable’s face and neck, confirmed Edwina’s theory. Before Constable Gibbs could sputter out any objections Beryl added her own two pence.

  “I, for one, would never consider impersonating a police officer. For one thing I don’t believe the uniform would suit me,” Beryl said, looking Constable Gibbs up and down. It may not have been kind but it was true. It was hard to imagine Beryl swaddled in dark blue serge devoid of all embellishment. It was equally difficult to imagine her supporting the sort of scowl that was permanently etched on Constable Gibbs’ visage. “And as to the charge of interfering with the corpse, I must protest. If we had not found him when we did, there would have been less corpse to find. Between the heat and the pigeon droppings it was a good job we discovered him when we did.”

  Edwina felt a twinge of guilty satisfaction as the red blotches on Constable Gibbs’ face were replaced with a far greener hue. But Edwina had to give the constable credit. She recovered her nerve quickly and with little more than a grunt clambered beneath the pigeon loft.

  By the time the unfortunate Mr. Cunningham’s body had been extracted from its unsavory resting place, wrapped in a shroud, and placed in the back of the waiting ambulance, the sun was high in the sky. Unladylike noises emanated from Edwina’s digestive tract despite having consumed two eggs, a slice of toast, and a rasher of bacon. Considering her friend’s prodigious appetite she hardly dared think how Beryl was feeling. Archie seemed oblivious to any such concerns despite the reputation of gentlemen as being most interested in getting their three square meals a day.

  He moved around the edges of the crowd that had gathered asking a question here, taking a note there, and through it all watching everything Constable Gibbs did. Edwina found she wished he had not tagged along as Constable Gibbs once again turned her eagle eye on Beryl and herself. Despite Beryl’s utter confidence in him, Edwina still felt a nagging trepidation about the scrutiny of a reporter.

  “Why is it the two of you have such a knack for discovering dead bodies?” Constable Gibbs said.

  “Such a thing is to be expected in our line of work,” Beryl said. “After all, private agents never know what sort of dangers will crop up from day to day.” She turned to Edwina who nodded her head sedately in a manner she hoped appeared to be both credible and astute.

  “The pertinent point is that you are private agents and have no authority to investigate crimes that are the purview of the local constabulary. I absolutely forbid you to continue to pursue any investigation connected to this man’s death.”

  “I’m not sure you have the authority to do that,” Beryl said.

  “I do, and now that I come to think of it I’m inclined to credit the theory suggested by my predecessor, former Constable Wilkes, that you may have murdered this poor man yourself.”

  “Mr. Wilkes may be well intentioned, but he is mistaken,” Beryl said. “As I am sure you are well aware, we were hired to discover where Mr. Cunningham had scarpered off to.”

  “What better way to drum up clients for your fledgling business than to create a crime yourself?” Constable Gibbs said.

  “That’s ludicrous, Doris,” Edwina said. “Even you cannot imagine we would be involved in something like that.” Edwina was so outraged she felt her throat constricting and her hands clenching and unclenching involuntarily. At that moment she could think of nothing she would like more than to make Constable Gibbs mysteriously disappear. She doubted very much anyone would hire them to investigate that case however. In fact, she would be surprised if even the constable’s own husband would be willing to hire them for that.

  “You’re right. I can’t actually imagine the two of you having the foresight to plan something as complex as all that,” Constable Gibbs said with a scowl upon her face. “Still, I’m going to have to ask you both to remain in the vicinity until I discover what happened to Mr. Cunningham. So don’t get any ideas about floating off in any hot-air balloons or other such nonsense. Although perhaps that shouldn’t be such a concern now, should it? After all, I seem to remember your last venture of that nature ending in a crash landing somewhere far off course.” Constable Gibbs turned her back on Edwina, Beryl, and the small crowd of people who had assembled to watch the goings-on. She climbed into the passenger side of the ambulance and hurried off.

  “I hope you didn’t take Doris’ comment to heart, Beryl,” Edwina said, laying a hand on Beryl’s arm.

  “If there’s one thing that’s never bothered me, Edwina, it’s a critic. If I had ever listened to any of them I should not be where I am today. But I will say that should I ever wish to take flight again, we had better stick to our investigation. If we need to stay in the vicinity of Walmsley Parva until Constable Gibbs manages to discover the murderer, I fear we shall be too old to attempt to leave.”

  “Do you have any idea where we should start?” Edwina asked.

  “As a matter of fact I do,” Beryl said. She patted the pocket of her filthy silk jacket and smiled.

  Chapter 15

  Edwina reached for the piece of paper Beryl had extracted from her pocket and smoothed it flat on her lap. Even though it was typewritten she still found it difficult to read. She supposed it was because Beryl took each turn in the winding road at sufficient speed to roll the motorcar up on two wheels. Edwina found she felt all wobbly in her stomach trying to read whilst the motorcar was in motion. From what little she could focus upon, it was clear that the sheet contained a list of names.

  “What does it say?” Beryl asked, taking another turn like they were fleeing for their lives from a gang of highwaymen.

  “I’d be delighted to tell you if only you’d slow down enough for me to read it. My stomach is lurching about so badly, I keep needing to close my eyes,” Edwina said.

  “Sorry about that. I tend to overdo it a bit when I am excited.” Beryl let up on the accelerator and Edwina took a deep breath before glancing at the paper in her lap once more. “So what is it?”

  “It is a letter addressed to Mr. Ecclestone-Smythe. Apparently it is a blacklist of miners who have been dismissed from more established mines in other parts of the country and it requests that Mr. Ecclestone-Smythe help to keep the list up to date should he have any outbreaks of labor agitators at Hambley,” Edwina said.

  “Do you recognize any of the names on the list?” Beryl asked. Edwina read over it as quickly as she could.

  “No. Not a one.”

  “I wonder how that letter came to be in Mr. Cunningham’s pocket,” Beryl said, pushing down firmly on the accelerator once more. Edwina’s heart lurched in her chest and she braced herself against the dashboard with her hand.

  “I don’t suppose we can just come out and ask anyone about it since you really shouldn’t have taken it in the first place,” Edwina said.

  “Then we shall have to take the scenic approach. We can start out by asking that frosty secretary of Mr. Ecclestone-Smythe about office efficiency. We can tell her we are looking to set up with a secretary of our own and would appreciate her advice. It should be a simple enough thing to turn the conversation to the topic of managing correspondence,�
� Beryl said as she reached for some sort of a lever and moved it about.

  “I suppose we could also ask around about the possibility of labor organizers at Hambley. Maybe Mr. Cunningham was keeping an eye on such things for his employer,” Edwina said.

  “See, I knew I was right to pocket that paper.”

  “Whatever possessed you?”

  “I always make a point to follow my instincts when on any sort of an expedition. Searching for Mr. Cunningham was very much like trekking through the jungle in search of lost cities or exotic plant species. My first thought was to pick the dead man’s pockets, so I did. And it was a good thing, too.”

  “I’m not so certain you can say that,” Edwina said. “Looking for a missing person is one thing. Solving a murder is really quite another. I think you may be letting our success last autumn go to your head.” Edwina had never felt as confident as Beryl had seemed to do that their help with a murder case a few months previously had been anything other than an extraordinary and exceptional success with little chance of being repeated.

  “After our encounter with Constable Gibbs I feel entitled to getting a bit of our own back. Besides, you know what she’s like far better than I do. Wouldn’t you agree that poor Mr. Cunningham stands a better chance of receiving justice with us seeking it for him?” Beryl asked. Edwina felt the gravitational pull of Beryl’s mischievous grin. As usual, there was no resisting such a force of nature.

  “Perhaps you are right. I suppose we can at least give it a try since we now have little else to investigate. That is, if we manage to make it home in one piece.”

  * * *

  Edwina looked shattered by the time they reached the Beeches. Beryl chose to believe it was the harrowing conversation with Constable Gibbs and a delayed reaction to the discovery of Mr. Cunningham’s body rather than the way she put her beloved automobile smartly through its paces on the way back home. She did not like to admit it but she had found the whole affair to be a bit nerve-racking herself. Upon arriving back home she steered Edwina into the sitting room and proceeded to apply herself to her only real culinary skill, the concocting of cocktails.