“And you’ve seen something you think we should know about?” Edwina said encouragingly.
“I’m afraid that I have. I take a walk on a regular route every day and it takes me past Mrs. Plumptree’s boardinghouse.” The vicar paused as if gathering his resolve. “Two or three times each week, lately, I’ve noticed a young blond woman entering the boardinghouse at the crack of dawn. I should not like to speculate where she has been all night, but I can’t say I can think of any good reason for her behavior.”
“Thank you for sharing that information with us, Vicar,” Edwina said. “We will be sure not to spread any gossip about the village but will look into it discreetly.” Edwina slid forward in her chair and stood. She and Edwina took their leave of the distraught clergyman. She did not envy him the conversation he would be having with his other club members. But she was eager to go have a talk with one of them in particular herself.
Chapter 37
Edwina was of two minds on the subject of confronting Gareth Scott. On the one hand, she was excited about the possibility of making progress on the case. On the other, she was distressed to ponder the fact that the local greengrocer was a man of such low character. One didn’t like to consider that one had consumed things that had been in such close proximity to someone of such base morals. In fact, the entire situation made her feel decidedly flushed and indignant. She tugged at the collar of her blouse as she and Beryl made their way swiftly from the vicarage to Mr. Scott’s shop. In Mr. Scott’s pigeon loft, and while visiting the vicarage, she had been too caught up in the chase to feel personally perturbed by the greengrocer’s perfidy. But now she felt her agitation growing.
“Which one of us do you think should do the talking?” Beryl asked.
“Perhaps you should handle this one,” Edwina said. “Honestly, I am so angry to think that I’ve been frequenting a tradesman of this ilk that I’m not sure I can control myself should I open my mouth to speak. To think of all the vegetables I have consumed that this man has handled.” Bushels of them, Edwina thought to herself. She had always objected to her mother’s insistence that one clean one’s plate before leaving the table every night. Now she had even more reason to feel maligned by that practice.
“Just leave it to me, Ed,” Beryl said, laying a reassuring and restraining hand on Edwina’s arm as they approached Mr. Scott’s door. Edwina cast a spurious glance over the bins of early peas and scallions flanking the door. She felt as though the poor things had been contaminated.
They pressed open the door and stepped inside, setting the bell to jingling. Beryl strode confidently up to Mr. Scott and poked him in the chest with a gloved finger. Edwina wanted to do much the same herself but would not have dared no matter how angry she was. One simply did not go about touching other people’s husbands. Unless one was Beryl. She congratulated herself on having the presence of mind to turn the interrogation over to her far more outspoken friend.
“You aren’t going to get away with it,” Beryl said. “We have figured you out.” Mr. Scott crossed his beefy arms across his chest and leaned against the counter behind him.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re on about,” he said, looking down at the top of Beryl’s head. Beryl was a tall woman, but he still had a few inches on her. Edwina suddenly wondered if it was such a good idea to confront him so boldly. His face was flushing with color and his body language signaled that he was on the defensive. Edwina was quite sure that after their last interaction with Constable Gibbs the policewoman would be in no hurry to rush to their aid should they have need of her.
“We have solved the mystery of your winning streak. Suffice it to say it’s far easier to pull off with substitute birds than it is with quantities of fruits and vegetables. Wouldn’t you agree?” Beryl said to the greengrocer. She tapped him in the chest again. “What’s more, we’ve already told the vicar of our suspicions.” Mr. Scott drew himself up to his full height and scowled at the pair of women.
“You’re not saying the vicar agreed with such a ridiculous suggestion, are you?” Mr. Scott said.
“We have and he agrees it’s entirely possible,” Beryl said. Edwina noticed her friend was widening her own stance in a most unladylike and confrontational fashion. Edwina would not have known how to begin such an exchange. She marveled at what was taking place before her.
“That’s preposterous,” Mr. Scott said. “The vicar trusts me implicitly. I’m his vice president and right-hand man. It would take more than a couple of nattering women to convince him that I’m doing anything I should not be. Besides, where’s your proof?”
“We’ve been to your pigeon loft and have seen your duplicate birds with our own eyes,” Beryl said.
“Since when are you an expert on pigeons?” Mr. Scott said.
“We didn’t need to be an expert on pigeons to see that the bands on their legs were identical,” Edwina said, adding her two pence worth. “I happen to be an avid bird-watcher so I noticed the similarities. All it took was a willingness to check their leg bands to know for sure that you are swapping one for the other during the races.”
“You are correct when you say the vicar was not easily convinced of your unsportsmanlike behavior. Fortunately, Edwina had the forethought to take a pair of twin pigeons to Vicar Lowethorpe’s office to show him the birds and the identical bands they each wear around their legs. He was easily convinced after that,” Beryl said.
Mr. Scott looked as though he were about to speak when Beryl jabbed him in the chest once more. “The only real question here is whether you are simply a cheat or if you are also a murderer,” she said.
“I didn’t kill anybody,” Mr. Scott said, lowering his arms and waving his hands before him. “I swear, all I did was fix the races a bit.”
“Fix the races a bit?” Beryl asked. “You have consistently skewed the results with your cheating. I can’t begin to imagine how much money you’ve bilked the other bettors out of over the years. How long have you been running this scam?”
“Only for the last few months, truly,” Mr. Scott said.
“Whatever made you start?” Edwina asked. “I should have thought such a thing beneath you.” Beryl was not entirely sure but she thought she heard one of Edwina’s tsk tsks.
“I needed some extra money and it seemed a good way to make it. The opportunity came up to expand the business and I didn’t want to let it slip away. Banks aren’t lending money the way that they used to do, so I couldn’t go to them for a loan. I was helping out my nephew who wants to expand his landholdings. He said he would give me a great deal on produce if I helped him with down payment money. It seemed the perfect way to make that happen,” Mr. Scott said.
“It sounds as though you had an awful lot to lose. I suggest that Mr. Cunningham found out what you were up to and you killed him for it,” Beryl said.
“I didn’t. I can’t prove it, but I didn’t.” Mr. Scott’s posture deflated and left him looking shrunken. In fact, Edwina thought that he appeared as though he had lost six inches in height in approximately thirty seconds of time.
“What were you doing at the allotments that morning?” Edwina asked. “You lied about what time you dropped off your van at the Blackburns’ garage. It seems likely to me you would have done so to cover up the time you were murdering Mr. Cunningham.”
“I saw Cunningham that morning, it’s true. He collected the birds from me that I was racing and then went on to his loft. I went back inside my own loft and didn’t see him again. The truth is I was too busy inside preparing my duplicate birds to be released later to have time to kill him and dispose of his body,” Mr. Scott said. “I swear.”
“That’s an awful lot of swearing from a man whose word cannot be trusted in the least,” Edwina said.
“Did you see anyone else at the allotments that morning?” Beryl asked.
“I saw Cunningham and I also saw Norah Blackburn. She was busy doing some weeding and watering on her patch. I can’t say that I saw anyone else an
d I don’t believe that anyone saw me besides Cunningham.”
“You are a most unfortunate man, considering your only witnesses are a dead man and someone who has accused you of lying,” Beryl said. “You’re absolutely certain you didn’t see anyone else there that morning?”
“I was too busy worrying about anyone else seeing me. I made a point to stay hidden inside my pigeon loft until I was sure that Cunningham had left and that nobody would connect me being there with the race that day. It’s become harder and harder to convince myself that I was not going to get caught fixing the races. In fact, it’s almost a relief that it’s over.” Mr. Scott hung his head and Edwina considered how it would feel to be a prominent citizen who had been caught out on something as loathsome as cheating. She did not envy him the weeks ahead. She doubted his reputation would recover from it.
“I hope you realize that this means I will no longer be able to purchase my produce from you.” Mr. Scott nodded. Edwina almost felt sorry for him. Almost. Perhaps it would not be necessary to tell anyone else what had transpired if they extracted a promise from him to retire from the sport forthwith. Before she could make the offer, Beryl spoke up.
“It won’t be a relief to be investigated for murder,” Beryl said. “At this point you’re one of the few people with a very strong motive for killing Mr. Cunningham. If you stood to lose your reputation amongst the community members you might be desperate enough to kill him.”
“All I can do is to reassure you for once and for all that I didn’t have anything to do with Cunningham’s murder. However, I can’t prove that I didn’t, and as far as I can see, you can’t prove that I did. I understand if you want to take your trade elsewhere although there aren’t many options here in Walmsley Parva. You may have to start growing all your own vegetables if you don’t wish to trade with me,” Mr. Scott said, gathering up his courage once more. Beryl could see the shift in his demeanor as he pushed off from the counter and stood up straight. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to make sure the shop is in readiness for those customers who would like to purchase from me.” He pointed at the door and held his arm outstretched until they retreated. Edwina could feel his eyes boring into the back of her head as she strode out of the shop behind Beryl.
“That didn’t go quite as well as I had hoped,” Beryl said as they took a few steps down the sidewalk out of earshot of Mr. Scott. “I had sort of imagined that he would break down and confess. In my mind I had it built up into a very dramatic scene.”
“You always have had a love of the dramatic, Beryl,” Edwina said. “I’m afraid it’s going to take more than that to get to the bottom of things. Let’s go back to the Woolery and settle up my account. I would rather not have difficulties with all of the shopkeepers here in Walmsley Parva.” Edwina thought she could manage without a steady supply of vegetables and even without fruits. After all, she could grow those herself at the Beeches. But unless she wished to start farming sheep, and she most certainly did not, she would be hard-pressed to supply herself with sufficient yarn for her knitting projects.
Chapter 38
The next day Edwina set off bright and early to help set up the May Day celebration. She and all of the other volunteers congregated near the village hall to take charge of their various assignments. Edwina was to oversee the raising of the tents and booths. She could only imagine she’d been given such an onerous task on account of her earlier, and most likely distressing, visit to the vicar. Mrs. Lowethorpe was not one to overtly hold a grudge. But she was one to make sure her retribution for any infractions was swift and merciless. Edwina headed to the center of the green where laborers of various sorts were struggling to lift up tent poles and wide swaths of canvas.
She checked her clipboard and consulted the map it held as to where each booth was planned to be erected. The coconut shy, the tea tent, the tombola booth were all marked on the map and she could easily see where those tents were being erected. Down at the end of the row was an unplanned gathering of laborers. Their tent did not match the others. In fact it was cobbled together with blankets and bits of tarpaulin. Edwina headed towards them, knowing that the vicar’s wife would be most distressed indeed to see something so unattractive featuring in her festivities.
As she approached, Edwina suddenly felt uncomfortable at the idea of confronting the group. There were several men who looked like miners whispering and jeering. She was paused partway across the green to convince herself she ought to speak to them when she felt a restraining hand upon her arm. She turned to see Charles Jarvis standing beside her. He leaned towards her and spoke quietly in her ear.
“Best have a care there, Edwina,” Charles said. “I have a feeling you don’t want to tangle with those men.”
She watched as they jostled and joked with each other as they hastily constructed a makeshift stage. “Whatever do you think they’re doing?” she asked.
“I think they may be planning a speech,” Charles said. Edwina glanced at her clipboard once more. She could see no indication that a stage had been planned at that end of the village green. In fact, the vicar’s wife had mentioned at a committee meeting that she felt the occasion did not call for something as ostentatious as a stage and that it should be an altogether more informal event. The centerpiece for the May Day celebration, despite the fact that a member of the clergy was organizing it, was a maypole. And that had been set up in the center of the green. Edwina noticed the ribbons fluttering from its top despite them being held down with large rocks.
“The only speech slated is the one being given by Mrs. Lowethorpe to introduce the Maypole Queen. What sort of speech are they planning, do you think?” Edwina said. “And what’s more to the point, who are they?” Simpkins appeared out of nowhere and joined them in staring at the group of men.
“You did say you were interested in including miners in the festivities. It looks like you may have gotten your wish,” Simpkins said. “I’d say they are setting up a Labor Day demonstration.”
“I’m very much afraid that you’re right, Simpkins,” Charles said. “This could turn nasty.”
“Do you think they will become rowdy? Or violent even?” Edwina asked.
“Labor demonstrations are not known for their decorum,” Charles said. “I think it would be best to let Mrs. Lowethorpe know that this is in the offing.” Edwina nodded.
“She and I are not on the best of terms at the moment. Unfortunately, Beryl and I needed to deliver some upsetting news to her husband and I have reason to believe she is holding it against me,” Edwina said. “I don’t suppose I could persuade one of you to let her know on my behalf?”
“Well, I’m not going to go and tattle on them,” Simpkins said disloyally. “My allegiance is to the workingman in all circumstances.” Edwina could not say she was surprised. It was quite like Simpkins to prove unreliable when there was work to be done. After all, how many times had he left her alone to finish planting spring crocuses or pulling weeds in order to disappear into the potting shed to go about God knows what business of his own. Edwina turned towards Charles. While he was not a man who particularly liked confrontation, he could always be counted upon to behave as a gentleman.
“I would consider it a privilege to help shoulder your burden, Edwina,” Charles said gallantly. “But I will only go in search of her if you will promise not to confront these men yourself while I am gone. I really think it will make things far worse if you do.”
“I promise I will mind my own business and worry about setting up these tents and seeing to the items on my list. There’s far too much to get done without adding to my responsibilities,” Edwina said. She and Simpkins silently watched as Charles moved out of earshot before her gardener spoke again.
“That was a neat bit of work getting rid of your protective friend. I noticed you said that you would mind your own business,” Simpkins said. “You didn’t say anything about me minding mine.”
“I see we understand each other perfectly,” Edwina said. �
�I don’t suppose you would be willing to take on the role of the workingman and go eavesdrop a little bit on them?”
“I planned to do just that even if you hadn’t asked.” Simpkins touched his cap and gave her a cheeky wink before striding off with an enormous grin plastered across his craggy face. Really, Simpkins was taking his part in her detective business far too seriously for her liking. It was almost as though he felt he was a detective himself. Still, it would be useful to know what he was able to find out.
She turned her attention back to setting up the tents but all the while a bit of her brain was considering what Simpkins was hearing. Every time she stole a glance in his direction, she saw him nodding and clapping the younger men on the shoulder with a gnarled paw. The other men seemed comfortable with his interest in their activities. Before long Simpkins headed back to where she stood pretending to be entirely engrossed in what was written on the pages attached to her clipboard.
“It’s just as we suspected, there is a Labor Day demonstration planned for the festivities. But I think they’re just a bunch of good lads,” Simpkins said. “I don’t think they want to cause any trouble to any of the villagers in Walmsley Parva. I think they just want folks to know what it’s like down in the mines. They want folks to know that they aren’t just a bunch of troublemakers planning to strike for the fun of it.”
“Can they do that?” Edwina asked. “Can they just set up as though they were one of the official participants at the festival?” She glanced in their direction once more. She feared it would cause a great deal of fuss if anyone were to try to make them leave considering the amount of setup they had already done.
“I think that will turn what’s planned as a peaceful demonstration of workers’ rights into something far nastier,” Simpkins said. “I think that likely the best thing to do would just be to leave them well enough alone and let them hand out their flyers. From what the lads were saying, that’s all they’re interested in anyway.”
Murder Flies the Coop Page 24