Death Drinks Darjeeling (A Helen and Martha Cozy Mystery Book 4)

by Sigrid Vansandt

  “Thanks, Berry. Shut the door on your way out,” Johns said.

  Once they were alone, Piers began.

  “I got a call from Helen this morning saying George wanted part of the business. You and I both know he’s aware of Helen and Martha’s success, and this is his way of getting a piece of it. Why would he leave so suddenly? Odd that.”

  He paused for a moment.

  “George was running from something. I just don’t understand what, yet. I’m getting my solicitor to look into it all. I’m going to tie George Ryes’ hands forever on this deal.”

  And with a sigh, he changed the subject.

  “Have you spoken with Martha?”

  “No phone call yet but she’s been sending me text messages for the last hour. They’re hunting for a manuscript and she wanted to have an extension on her mandatory anger management meeting. I told her it was out of my hands and she needed to be home by tomorrow. Truth is, I think I’ve got her sentence commuted, but I’m holding her feet to the fire. She’s got to get a hold on her temper. It’s going to get her into trouble.”

  “So, she failed to mention the part about someone following them who wants the manuscript, too?” Piers added.

  Johns, shaking his head, exhaled the air in his lungs with a sigh. He looked up at the ceiling as if searching for an answer that might drop from somewhere up high.

  “No, she appears to have deliberately failed to mention anything like that. Why, why, why does that woman…” he began, but finished with, “it doesn’t surprise me that someone is following them.” Johns slumped in his chair noticeably. “Do you think they’re in danger?”

  “Maybe,” Piers returned. “I spoke with Helen this morning. I’ve got this feeling I shouldn’t be listening to her about staying here and not going to Switzerland. Their track record isn’t a good one. If someone is following them and this manuscript is valuable, they’re probably in more trouble than she’s letting on or possibly realizes.”

  Johns, obviously discombobulated by the news, rattled some papers on his desk, picked the receiver up twice and slammed it back down again into its cradle.

  “I can’t leave right now,” he said, his voice rising with real worry, “I’ve got St. Stephens coming this morning to go over my accounting. He’s looking for a reason to get rid of our constabulary and probably turn it into some old boy’s club for retired police commissioners. My running off to Switzerland to find Martha will cinch our removal and most likely the loss of some of my people’s jobs. Dammit, Martha!”

  He quit ranting and stayed quiet for a moment. Finally, looking up with a hopeful expression at Piers, he asked, “Are you going then?”

  “Yes,” Piers said, looking like a man who’d only moments ago made the decision.

  “Good,” Johns came back.

  “You know, she doesn’t want me to get involved. In fact, Helen wants to handle it herself. If I go dashing off to her aid, she’s going to be…”

  “You know they are both crazy, right?” Johns interrupted. “We need our heads checked, Cousins. Those two women are going to be…”

  But Johns didn’t get to finish. Piers’ face lit up with some internal idea coming to mind.

  “If you can’t go, I’ll take Adam, my head of security, with me. He’s like sending in the marines. The guy is amazing.”

  A bit too quickly, Johns came back with, “I’m not sure if that’s the best idea.”

  Perplexed, Piers asked, “Why not?”

  Johns swallowed the lump of cake still in his mouth and answered, “Don’t go until after two o’clock and I might be able to go with you. You flying yourself?”

  “I’ve got a plane and a pilot. We should be there in less than two hours,” Piers said, a huge smile stretching across his face.

  “Good,” the chief said, his own mouth returning to the boyish grin of a few moments ago. “Let’s go get the girls and bring them home,” he said, his grin completely illuminating his entire face. Slapping the corner of his desk, and laughing, he said, “That woman is going to get me into more trouble, but I’ll be damned if I’d let anyone harm even one hair on that crazy head of hers. Count me in. Two o’clock, I won’t be late.”

  Chapter 37

  Geneva, Switzerland

  Helen tried to shove the chocolate bar she’d been eating on the plane into her purse.

  “I don’t think there’s any room,” Martha pointed out.

  “Well, I should have space,” she mumbled, half-interestedly. “Hey! Wait a minute. What have you put in here?”

  In a low whisper, Martha answered, “It’s some of the cheese I bought. I can’t carry anything more.”

  “You’ve shoved cheese into my purse!”

  Helen pulled out a neatly wrapped triangle of Brie cheese.

  “I’m not carrying this for you,” she objected, thrusting the cheese back at Martha. “Put it in one of your own five sacks. You’ve bought enough cheese and chocolate in the duty free shops to put on a Marsden-Lacey fondue festival.”

  Martha shifted the sacks. The weight of which was causing her to struggle as she walked through the airport. “Oh, come on Helen. I just want to bring back a little something for everyone. It’s one tiny hunk of cheese. You act like I’ve asked you to carry the bag with the lotions and skin care stuff I bought or the big Swiss Raclette.”

  “Is that for your own consumption? You’re a cheese and chocolate addict,” Helen said, her expression stoic. “This cheese will never see the light of day once you stuff it into your refrigerator.”

  “Just carry the damn cheese to the taxi in your pristine purse and I’ll figure out a way to get it all back to England myself!” Martha huffed.

  “Fine! But you’re done buying. We’ve got to find a taxi. The Wittener home is about twenty kilometers from here. Herr Wittener said he would be able to meet with us at one-thirty this afternoon. That leaves us about an hour.”

  With Martha in tow, Helen headed for the exit where taxis waited in a line along the curb.

  “Mrs. Ryes, may I help you with your bags?” a man wearing a cap said to Martha’s right. He stood there with the back car door of a luxurious Mercedes open ready to take their things.

  “How do you know my name?” Helen asked.

  “Your fiancé, Mr. Cousins, sent me to drive you. Everything is paid for, Mrs. Ryes.”

  Surprised, but grateful to Piers, a weary Helen got into the back and reached for the multiple bags Martha was trying to cram in after her. With the redheaded shopaholic finally wedged into the other side of the back seat, the car pulled away from the airport’s main entrance.

  “Where to?” the driver said.

  “Vaulion,” Helen said, her French pronunciation perfect.

  As the great city of diplomacy slipped away in the rearview mirror, Helen studied Annalena’s notebook. Occasionally, she was distracted by the sound of paper crinkling and would catch Martha breaking off a piece of chocolate from the candy bar she’d retrieved from Helen’s purse. Thinking it best to ignore the sneaky chocolate maneuvers, she instead focused on Annalena’s notes about Verena Wittener.

  In the middle eighteen hundreds, Frau Wittener was, for all intents and purposes, an early biochemist. Being female, she’d not been allowed to study at any of the formal institutions. This hadn’t stopped her from setting up her own personal laboratory and learning about medicine and plants. Fortunately, due to her inheritance from her wealthy father, she had the means to carry out her interests.

  Those interests lead her, in 1851, to Count Libri’s auction in London. She purchased a manuscript written in Italian described in the auction catalogue as a Libro E Secreti. Annalena was convinced that whoever purchased the Leonardo folio had the initials ‘VW’ based on the auctioneer, Wentzle’s records.

  Verena Wittener’s initials fit, but so did Count von Wallentstein’s and that had been a no-go. Helen looked at the amount Verena had paid for her winning bid. Seventeen pounds for the Libro E Secreti. That was an eno
rmous amount of money for the time. One thing was for sure, Verena Wittener had been a woman of means.

  Little else was known about Wittener according to Annalena’s notes. She never married and her brother would have inherited the family home. Herr Karl Wittener, the gentleman they would be meeting today, was the grandson of Verena Wittener’s brother many times removed. He had been very pleasant on the phone and said he was looking forward to showing them around his family’s copious collection.

  The smell of strong cheese filled the car’s cab. Helen looked up from the journal to see Martha sleeping peacefully, covered and surrounded by her duty-free booty. A contented smile and some smeared chocolate on the side of her chin, made Helen sigh tenderly. It was hard to be annoyed with Martha for very long. Even though they would stink of cheese by the time they arrived at the Wittener home, having a friend with a heart as big as Martha’s was worth it.

  Turning her head back to face the front, Helen caught the driver watching her in his rearview mirror.

  “Do you need the exact address?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he replied.

  “It is Route de Suisse, 1250. Herr Wittener, the owner, said to turn up the road that runs to the right of the only church in the village. It will be the first road on the left. A typical Swiss barn sits there.”

  The driver smiled and continued to drive. Within thirty minutes, they were turning onto the gravel road. Helen nudged Martha, who awoke and yawned.

  “Are we already here? That was fast.”

  She looked out her side window and took out a compact mirror. After fluffing and scrunching the tangled mess of hair on her head, Martha whipped out a tube of lipstick and applied it to her mouth.

  “I look awful, Helen. We’ve got to get home. I’ve eaten myself into five extra pounds and this lack of sleep is giving me terrible dark circles. I’m a wreck!”

  “Stop eating junk. Drink some water, and if all goes well, we should be home tonight,” Helen softly said so only Martha heard her.

  Martha turned to look at Helen who tapped down on the notebook on her lap. As Martha watched, she wrote, “Something feels wrong with the driver and the car. This may have been a mistake getting in the car.”

  But before they wrote another word, the car stopped in front of a three story Swiss chalet with a gabled roof, massive, exposed wooden beams, green shutters and a balcony already bedecked with flowering red geraniums and petunias. The exquisitely tended house sat up on a low hill overlooking an azure lake. The entire property was surrounded by the snow tipped Alps, with what appeared to be endless pine forests stretching up the mountains’ stately sides. Far down below on the water, a sailboat and a floatplane rested near a dock. A young teenage girl was washing the plane. It was clear that the Wittener’s were an extremely well-to-do family. Annalena must have been wrong about their supposed weakened financial situation.

  As the driver stepped out of the car and opened Helen’s door, a tall, slim grey haired man walked down the flagstone path from the house and waved.

  “Hello, Mrs. Ryes,” he said, his native accent elegantly handling English. “My name is Karl Wittener. It is a pleasure to meet such a celebrity.” He smiled warmly and held out his hand for Helen to take.

  “Herr Wittener, thank you for seeing us on such short notice. Let me introduce my friend and colleague. This is Martha Littleword.”

  Herr Wittener’s eyebrows and corners of his mouth raised together into a large grin.

  “No introduction is necessary, Mrs. Littleword. Your celebrity proceeds you. My daughter and I are avid watchers of Heinrich Gott’s show. I would love to know more about you and Mrs. Ryes' daring deeds.”

  Martha offered her hand to Wittener with a stunning flash of a smile.

  “Oh, I’d love, too, Herr Wittener. Why don’t you show us your collection,” she said, “and I’ll tell you all about the time Helen and I were chased through a secret passage by a deranged housekeeper.”

  As they walked towards the house, Helen turned to the driver.

  “I don’t believe we’ll be needing you again. Thank you.” She offered him a twenty-pound note. “It’s not much, I’m sorry. We haven’t been able to take out cash.”

  He waved the money away with a smile.

  “It isn’t necessary, Mrs. Ryes. Mr. Cousins asked that I take you to the airport. I’m happy to wait.”

  Helen nodded and turned away. She would text Piers as soon as there was a free moment inside. Martha and Herr Wittener were already to the chalet’s front door and waiting on her. Refocusing her attention on what she’d come here for, she walked through the door and followed the chatting twosome in front of her up a beautiful wooden staircase.

  “You see, Mrs. Littleword, I have led a retiring life for the last ten years after growing too old to work as a Papal guard in the Vatican. I, like my great aunt, am a chemist now. My son and I are working together on a project that I hope will make a difference in the way we treat certain cancers.” He gave a short sigh and continued. “I wouldn’t mind an adventure some day. If for no other reason than to give my brain something fresh to enjoy. I envy you.”

  Martha reached up and gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder.

  “Herr Wittener, you never know when adventure will come knocking. The key is to never hesitate. Go with it!” She smiled up at his hopeful expression. “He who hesitates is lost, they say.”

  “Mrs. Littleword, the actual saying is in reference to love,” he said looking down thoughtfully at her. “It says, ‘The woman who deliberates is lost’. When love comes knocking, if she ignores it, she may lose it. Do you agree?”

  Martha shrugged her shoulders.

  “Must have been written by a man,” she said thoughtfully.

  “It was,” he admitted.

  “Then it wasn’t love, if it was so easily misplaced or it was lost because someone didn’t grab it the moment it was offered.”

  Herr Wittener considered her point and nodded his agreement as Martha cocked her head and offered him a final reflection.

  “I wouldn’t want to be loved by someone whose love was so transient, so weak. Would you? Real love is never lost. It’s eternal. Now, enough about love, Karl. Helen’s dying to see your dusty old library.”

  He opened the door and a lovely, immaculately tidy room lined with bookshelves yawned out before them.

  “Ladies, welcome to Verena Wittener’s library. She, also, was a woman who dared to be strong. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

  Chapter 38

  Marsden-Lacey Constabulary

  England

  Perigrine sat before Chief Johns and they both stared at the USB flash drive lying on the desk.

  “It has everything you’ll need to convince Commissioner St. Stephens to keep his dirty paws off the constabulary and probably leave you alone for the remainder of your service, not to mention letting Marsden-Lacey retain her police force,” Perigrine said without any emotion.

  Johns sat motionless for a moment and with a quick glance up through his furrowed eyebrows at Perigrine, he swallowed hard and nodded saying, “How can I ever thank you? I owe you my job and so does everyone else who works here. Waters would have had it the worst. She’s got her kiddies and without a job, it would have been…” he stopped and cleared his throat, trying to rid it of the obvious emotion.

  Perigrine stood up and reached over the desk, offering Johns his hand who readily took it and shook it.

  “St. Stephens is dirty and he’s someone who climbed to the top by stepping on everyone else. A bully, a cheat and most likely an arrogant bastard, he’s also, as you’ll see, involved with taking money from some not-so-savory types. That list of names in Bolgia Ten shows how the commissioner has been taking a cut from a money laundering ring which was counterfeiting money then running it through dog racing tracks to get the money clean so to speak. He’s crooked as they get. The only thing legitimate in his condo was his dog, Rascal, and I let the dog stay because St. Stephen
s’ wife probably needs at least one man in her life who isn’t stingy with affection.”

  “I owe you one, Clark,” Johns said. He stuck the USB drive into his computer and downloaded the files.

  “You owe me nothing,” came the response. “This is my home and these are my friends. You were there for me and for Alistair. We’re loyal old dogs. Be careful how you manage that little piece of security.” He indicated the thumb-sized piece of technology lying on Johns’ desk.

  The chief smiled and typed something into his computer.

  “I’ll somehow work the words,” he paused, looking at the screen and then finished typing, “‘Bolgia Ten’ into the conversation.”

  Perigrine laughed out loud and his eyes twinkled with pleasure at Johns’ comment.

  “I’ve put a nice, large graphic for when you open your mail. You’ll see what I mean. Let St. Stephens see your computer screen. I want to hear how you manage it later over a pint. Okay?”

  Johns shook his head.

  “Absolutely and any drink is on me, Clark. Thank you.”

  A sturdy knock on the door made both men stop the conversation.

  “That has the ring of destiny about it,” Perigrine said grinning. “Guess I’ll let myself out.”

  He opened the door to Commissioner St. Stephens, who thanked him as Perigrine stood aside for him to enter. The two men nodded politely at one another as St. Stephens strode in and Perigrine let himself out. Neither showed the tiniest notion of recognizing the other. Johns smiled at the shear beauty of Perigrine’s aplomb.

  “You’re in a good mood,” St. Stephens said. “Must have those accounts of yours in perfect order. Let’s have a look, shall we.”

  “Yes, sir. Please make yourself comfortable. I have everything for us to look at on my computer,” Johns said indicating the seat across from his desk for the commissioner to sit in.

  Johns walked back around his desk, pulled his computer keyboard out and turned his over-sized monitor around so St. Stephens could see. There flashing on the screen was what appeared to be an easily readable graphic announcing an incoming email. The subject line read ‘from persons who wish to remain anonymous, Bolgia Ten documents from Corrupt Commissioner who takes money from money laundering mobsters’.