Lady Marmalade Cozy Murder Mysteries: Box Set (Books 1 - 3)

by Jason Blacker

  The coroner came back into the living room from the front of the house and spoke to the inspector.

  “We’re all done, Inspector,” he said. “I’ll ring you up when we have any news about the time of death.”

  Gibbard nodded and shook the coroner’s hands.

  “Thank you, Dr. Blackstone.”

  SEVEN

  Chapter 7

  “WHERE is Garrett?” asked Inspector Gibbard. “He’s been gone quite some time now.”

  “He went to the greenhouse when he heard his mother had died, perhaps he is still grieving,” offered Florence.

  “Yes, well, I’d like to be getting on. Crime doesn’t take a break just because the police are,” said Gibbard.

  “I’ll go and get him,” said Florence.

  As she turned around to walk to the end of the living room and through the French doors, she saw Garrett coming out of the greenhouse and back towards the house.

  “Ah, there he is,” she said. “Speak of the d...”

  She stopped herself, realizing that such a phrase was perhaps not quite right under the circumstances. One of the constables came back into the living room just as Garrett came back in through the French doors.

  “We’re ready when you are, Inspector,” said Leavens.

  “Just a minute, you can go wait outside, I just have some last questions for the younger Forsyth on the Lady’s insistence.”

  The constable left and Garrett walked up to his father who had sat back down on the same couch as he had been when Frances first entered the living room.

  “What the hell was she doing in the greenhouse in the first place? She’s not the gardener,” said Garrett.

  Jack looked up at his son and noticed his eyes were bloodshot and glassy. They were dry, but it was clear he had been crying.

  “I don’t know why, son, she said she wanted to go in and check on the tomatoes.”

  “Right.”

  Garrett looked at his father, his head was cocked to one side and his hands were on his hips. He ground his teeth together and thought for a moment.

  “That’s not why she was there. You know that.”

  “Listen Garrett, I’m just as upset as you are. I loved your mother and this ghastliness is not only senseless it’s upsetting.”

  “Well, you had one hell of a way of showing it. If you’d just get yourself out of trouble and start working at the family business we might not even be in this predicament.”

  “That’s enough. Not now! Our family affairs can be discussed after we’ve laid your mother to rest.”

  Garrett spun around and folded his hands in front of his chest and hung his head low. If he were a boy he would be pouting, but he wasn’t a boy and this was different. He was angry and sad. But the anger and sadness had a depth to them that didn’t seem to have come from this afternoon’s news alone.

  “I need to ask you a few questions if you don’t mind, Mr. Forsyth,” said the inspector.

  “No, I don’t mind. Call me Garrett.”

  Garrett looked up at the inspector with his hands still folded over his chest.

  “We’ve heard that you went out this afternoon. Can you tell us where and when?”

  “Yes. At around two thirty I went to town to have a few pints. I just got back.”

  “Where did you drink at?”

  “The Wet Whistle.”

  Inspector Gibbard looked at Lady Marmalade and she nodded at him.

  “Did your mother tell you she was going gardening?” asked Frances.

  “No. As I said before, she’s not a gardener. I don’t know why she’d be in the greenhouse at all. That just wasn’t her thing.”

  “So you’ve never seen her in the greenhouse before?”

  “Well, yes, I have, but not to garden. I don’t know why she’d go in there. I’ve seen her a few times. Probably just to smell the flowers. She’s not in very long. No more than five minutes.”

  “Do you know who might want to kill your mother?” asked Frances, softly.

  He looked at her for a moment and then broke her gaze as he looked off through the windows and into the garden. He slowly shook his head and fought back tears.

  “No, she was a saint. She was really sweet. The glue that kept our family together in spite of everything he tried to do to bring chaos.”

  Lady Marmalade inferred the ‘he’ to be Jack Forsyth. She looked at the inspector for a moment.

  “Inspector Gibbard has arrested Enoch. He thinks he might be the one to have killed her.”

  “He’s as good as any. Sure he has a green thumb, but he’s not all that he appears to be. I mean you’ve had a look at him. So no, I wouldn’t put it past him if he killed her, a brute like that. But it’d be my father’s fault in the end.”

  Frances and Florence looked at Garrett quizzically. Meredith and Jack stood up and went to the bar to refresh their drinks yet again. Seemed they were trying to find either solace or solutions in the bottom of a bottle. Lady Marmalade didn’t hold out hope they’d find either. Jack poured their drinks and glared over at where Frances, the inspector, Florence, and Garrett were standing.

  “Why do you think it was your father’s fault?” asked Frances.

  Garrett stared at the floor between the four of them, his face a twisted mask of anger and sadness. He slowly shook his head from side to side, his arms still clutched together in front of him.

  “I’ve said enough. I’m just upset and angry, that’s all.” Then he looked up at them. “I don’t believe my father killed my mother. He may be many things but he’s not a murderer.”

  The four of them stood huddled together for a while in silence. Over the rims of their glasses, Jack and Meredith stood with blank stares, looking over at the foursome. Frances looked over at Meredith and Jack. There was something about the two of them that bothered her.

  She had lost her husband and he’d lost his older brother. One could see how they might come together in a shared grief to console one another. But the way they whispered together, the small physical intimacies seemed to tell of something more. Frances turned to Garrett and smiled at him. She touched him gingerly on his forearm.

  “I’m terribly sorry for your loss, Garrett. I just want to help bring justice and closure to this senseless crime.”

  Garrett looked up her, his eyes still wet and bloodshot, holding back the tears. He tried to peg a smile to the clothesline of his cheeks, but the tumultuous gale of grief blew it very quickly off his face.

  “If you don’t mind, Lady Marmalade, I have a man to take up to Blackpool. So I’ll be off,” said Inspector Gibbard.

  Gibbard looked at her through his small blue eyes. They wobbled in their sockets as if they were loose. Gibbard closed up his notebook and tucked it into his inside jacket pocket. Frances had noticed he hadn’t really been taking all that very many notes of late. Barely a scribble really. Didn’t matter, she didn’t need to take notes either, though in her case it was because she had a good memory and only focused on the one task at hand.

  She couldn’t say for certain if the inspector had either. Though she felt quite certain that this crime was unlikely to be his only concern. She smiled at him.

  “Not at all, Inspector. Thank you so much for indulging me.”

  Gibbard started to turn around when Lady Marmalade put her hand on his arm. He stopped and looked at her.

  “I hope you don’t mind if I call you up tomorrow to see if you have any news from the coroner?”

  The inspector's nose twitched and he pinched his lips before forcing a thin smile across his lips as if he’d just now tasted bile.

  “As you wish. But mark my words, my Lady, by tomorrow we’ll have this case all buttoned down.”

  “I’m sure you will.”

  Frances smiled after him as he left. Sometimes she wondered how some crimes got solved at all with the incompetence of some of the policemen she had met. Perhaps it wasn’t just incompetence but an arrogant unflinching belief that was the problem. N
ot that she didn’t think Enoch could have killed Ginnie, though her suspicions lay elsewhere. She turned to Florence. Florence smiled at her and raised her eyebrows.

  “I’m afraid, my dear, I’m going to have to be a little indelicate. Be prepared to leave shortly.”

  Florence smiled.

  “Ooh, sounds exciting,” she said.

  Frances walked up to the bar with Florence by her side. Jack gamely smiled at them as they came up.

  “I’m going out,” said Garrett as he left the living room.

  “Would you like a drink?” asked Jack.

  “No, thank you, Jack. Though I do have a question if you don’t mind. An awkward one at that. But I feel it must be asked,” said Frances.

  Jack looked at her from the corner of his eye. Meredith also stared at Lady Marmalade while she sipped on her quickly vanishing drink.

  “Um, how to say this. I guess the best approach is a direct one,” said Frances. “Jack, do you know why Garrett might have wanted to blame you for your wife’s murder.”

  Frances watched as Jack’s face turned red. His eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth as if to speak. Then he thought better of it and finished his drink in one large gulp. He composed himself.

  “I have no idea. Probably because he’s upset. Aren’t we all?”

  “Yes, of course,” said Lady Marmalade. “I’m terribly sorry for your loss. I can only imagine how deep your grief is.”

  Jack nodded curtly with Meredith like a statue by his side.

  “Are you two having an affair?”

  Frances knew she was being impolite, if not outright rude. But politeness be damned, she was investigating a murder and she didn’t quite like the impression she got from the two of them.

  “Well I never...how dare you!” said Jack.

  Lady Marmalade’s question had tipped him over the edge. He was upset and losing his composure. His veins on the side of his neck bulged like little snakes. His eyes narrowed and his thin mouth became a hot wire.

  “My wife’s dead body has not even cooled and you come into my house as a guest and accuse me of indiscretions. Do you have no shame!”

  “I’m sorry...I didn’t mean any...”

  “I suggest you leave and allow me the peace and dignity of grieving alone.”

  “Yes, very well. I do apologize, I didn’t mean to suggest...if I can help in anyway.”

  “You’ve done more than enough...please, just leave,” said Jack.

  He turned, blading his body towards Frances and Florence, trying his best to regain his composure and obviously wrestling strenuously with it.

  EIGHT

  Chapter 8

  AT the end of the driveway, just as they turned onto the lane and started walking back towards Florence’s home, Florence spoke.

  “That was quite indelicate,” she said, grinning mischievously. “What were you hoping for?”

  Lady Marmalade turned and looked at her friend.

  “Sometimes being indelicate in polite society catches people off guard, and when they’re off guard you can oftentimes get a response that is quite telling.”

  “So what did Jack’s response tell you?”

  “That there is more to the story between him and Meredith than he cares to admit.”

  “Do you think? I just thought they were grieving a shared loss. You know, his brother being married to Meredith and now dead.”

  “Yes, I wondered about that myself, but it was something about them together that I didn’t quite like. Something a little more...nefarious.”

  “Oh do tell.”

  Frances gazed down the lane, her mind like a locomotive gaining speed.

  “I don’t know for certain. But I think it will all come together in time. You know what we should do?”

  Florence looked over at her as they walked casually towards her home. The sky was graying with heavy clouds, though blue patches of sky were still out as the sun started packing up its chores for the day and making it’s way home.

  “I think we should go to the Wet Whistle as you offered yesterday. No cooking tonight, let’s go to the pub and have supper and drinks out.”

  “Sounds great to me, but I get the sense there’s more to it than just that.”

  “My dear Flo,” said Frances, “you know me too well. If there is someone who knows the workings of a community better than a barman, I have yet to meet him.”

  “Well, as it happens, I’ve developed a good relationship with the barman, Finley Moran. I’ll make our introductions. This is so exciting, sleuthing around with you.”

  Frances smiled.

  “Where is your bag you brought the marmalade in?” she asked.

  “I left it behind. I’ll pick it up another time. Tell me, Fran, do you think Enoch did it? He sure is big enough to have done it.”

  “No, I’m not certain he did. Did you see the size of the shovel used to knock Ginnie down?”

  Florence nodded.

  “Well, it was small, not something I’d imagine a big man like Enoch using...”

  “But that’s all that would have been available to him in the greenhouse,” said Florence.

  “In the greenhouse, yes. But why go to the trouble of using the shovel in the greenhouse and then taking it back to the shed to hide it. I would think he’d have just taken a shovel from the shed in the first place. In any event, I think the whole idea of Enoch using a shovel to knock Ginnie out before strangling her is nonsense.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, look at the size of the man’s hands. He could have strangled her with just one of them. No, I don’t think he would have used a shovel to knock her out and then strangle her with his hands after.”

  “I suppose, though, he does seem a bit shifty, doesn’t he?”

  “Yes, I’m sure he’s not an innocent man, but I’m not so sure he’s guilty of killing Ginnie. Did you notice the footprints on the dirt floor of the greenhouse?”

  “No, not really, it was the first time I’ve seen a dead body. It was awful actually.”

  “I know. Well, the footprints were of a variety of sizes. Some the size of men’s feet and others the size of women’s. None of them however, seemed to be as large as Enoch’s.”

  “He could have brushed them away couldn’t he?”

  “He could have, but the dirt floor didn’t show any signs of having been recently swept other than for the far end where the tomatoes were.”

  “Well, Fran, this is all very confusing to me. I don’t know how you keep it all straight. I thought that when the inspector hauled Enoch away that he was our murderer. But if not him, then who?”

  “That is a very good question. I have my suspicions, but we need to determine motive and we need to speak with more people in order to gather more evidence.”

  “I hate to be macabre, Fran, but I must say I’m thrilled to be a part of this detective work with you.”

  They stopped in front of Florence’s gate as Florence opened the latch and they walked up the driveway towards her front door.

  “I’ll be thrilled when we catch the murderer?”

  “Oh, me too. It seems so senseless to me why anyone would kill that poor innocent woman.”

  “Yes, sometimes it does seem all quite senseless. But you have to try and make sense of it from the killer’s eyes before you can solve the crime. To madmen, my dear Flo, even their madness makes perfect sense to them.”

  NINE

  Chapter 9

  THE Wet Whistle is the only pub in Puddle’s End and it’s a large one. It was founded inside a house. A brick built house that is two story house. An addition was added at a later date that holds two rooms that can be rented by the night. The building’s exterior was yellowed and old though the stability of the building was sound.

  It was just after six when Florence and Frances made it to the pub, Florence parking her car right outside. Six in the evening was a good time to be at the Wet Whistle if you didn’t much care for crowds and you wanted to be able to ge
t a decent amount of the barman’s attention.

  Not being a smoker, Frances preferred less people in her pubs, if only because that meant there’d be less smoke around. It seemed all the rage lately, especially amongst the women, to be smoking. As to why, Frances had no idea.

  Frances and Florence got out of the car and walked into the pub through the main doors which were two large wooden ones which opened surprisingly easily for their obvious heft. The Wet Whistle was at most, perhaps a third full. Off to a far side from the entrance was a comfortable booth made to fit four. Frances and Florence thought that’d be a good choice for them.

  But first they made their way up to the bar. Behind it was the barman who had a dish towel draped over his left shoulder, on top of a black vest. He was wearing a dirty white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to bare hairy forearms that were thick and meaty. He was of average height but he was thick with it. He had a mess of gray hair over a pudgy face with a nose that looked like it had been stuck on his face by accident like a piece of putty. It was red and large.

  Here was a man who had found his calling and took the time to savor it. His face was kind but he was not a handsome man. He leaned on a lower ledge from behind the bar. As soon as he saw Florence coming towards him he smiled and it warmed up his face and brightened his eyes.

  “Ms. Hudnall,” he said. His voice was crackly as if he spoke through the wireless. “So good of you to come. You never told me you had a sister.”

  Florence laughed good naturedly and Frances smiled at him.

  “This is my dear friend whom I’ve known for, well, a few years. Lady Marmalade, Mr. Finley Moran.”

  Frances offered her hand which Finley shook in his big thick hand. A soft hand without calluses.

  “My Lady, you’ll be the first Lady I’ve had the pleasure of serving in my humble public house,” he said.

  “Please call me Frances.”

  He nodded and then looked back at Florence.

  “Looks like you’re here for more than just social visit,” he said.

  “We are, but social matters must come first. What do you recommend for supper tonight?”