A Fatal Footnote

by Margaret Loudon

  Ivy gave a brief smile in return, showing a gap between her two front teeth. “The duke has a taste for pork tonight,” Ivy said. “Cook is making a pork roast stuffed with mushrooms.” She snorted. “Waste of a good piece of meat if you ask me. Mother used to serve it roasted on Sundays with a nice gravy and what a treat it was.” She put her shopping basket on the counter. “Cook would have come himself, but he’s worn out what with all the cooking for the wedding breakfast and the ball, not to mention his knee is bothering him again, so I told him I’d come get it myself.”

  “That was quite a celebration,” Penelope said. “I imagine you’re all tired.”

  Ivy gave her a suspicious look.

  “Everything was splendid, including the fireworks. Did the staff put those on?” Penelope said.

  Ivy gave her a look that clearly said she thought Penelope was daft.

  “Hardly. The duke had to bring in a firm from London to do them. Our little crew here in Chumley weren’t good enough, even though they do a fine job of it every Guy Fawkes Day.” Ivy sniffed. “But they did have Bert Digby helping out. He’s the one that does them here in Chumley.”

  “Oh?” Pen said. “He’s local, then?”

  Ivy nodded. “He runs a garage just outside of town. Took it over from his father when old man Digby had that stroke that crippled him.”

  “I think my MINI could use a tune-up,” Pen said nonchalantly. “You don’t happen to know the name of the garage, do you?”

  Once again Ivy looked at her as if she was daft. “It’s called Digby’s, of course. What else would it be?”

  Ivy turned her back on Pen and began chatting with Gladys. Gladys wrapped up Ivy’s pork roast and handed it over.

  “I’ll put it on the account, shall I?” Gladys said.

  “That would be fine,” Ivy said as she dropped the package into her shopping basket.

  Pen watched as she left the shop and handed the basket to a young man who had been hovering near the door. Together they walked on down the high street. Penelope turned back to Gladys. Gladys shook her head. “She’s a hard worker, that Ivy Brown. A bit of a strange one too, if you ask me.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Pen stuck her head into the Open Book to tell Mabel she was going to get some lunch and then headed back to her cottage. Mrs. Danvers was waiting by the door when Pen opened it. She followed Pen into the kitchen, where Penelope put her beef stew meat in the refrigerator and pulled out a container of leftover tikka masala from Kebabs and Curries, which was at the end of the high street near the new Tesco, heated it up in the microwave, and ate it standing over the sink.

  She rinsed out the container, slipped her coat back on, and grabbed her car keys from the hook by the back door.

  Pen opened the door to her MINI, slung her purse onto the passenger seat, and got in. She started the engine and carefully pulled away from the curb, being sure to check her rear and side mirrors.

  She didn’t have far to go and managed the mile or so without once straying onto the wrong side of the road—something she was inclined to do when she’d first started driving in Chumley. She mentally patted herself on the back. It looked as if she was finally getting the hang of driving in England.

  The parking lot of the Tesco was full with a Vauxhall station wagon jockeying for a space a Ford Gulf was about to vacate when Pen went past, and the rich scent of exotic spices drifted into her car as she came abreast of Kebabs and Curries.

  She continued down the high street until the shops disappeared in her rearview mirror and fields stretched out on either side of the road. She hadn’t gone far when she spied the rotating sign for Digby’s garage.

  She pulled into the parking lot and got out. Weeds grew up through the cracks in the concrete forecourt and the smell of gasoline and motor oil hung heavy in the air. The door to one of the garage bays was open and an old model Jaguar was on the lift.

  The man standing under the lift was wearing a cap, and his belly strained the front of his grease- and oil-stained overalls. He grabbed a rag from his workbench, wiped his hands and began to walk over toward Penelope’s car.

  He slapped the MINI on the hood. “Got a problem with her?”

  “Not exactly,” Pen said.

  The man looked at her curiously. “What can I do for you, then?” He scratched the stubble on his chin.

  “I understand you helped put on the fireworks at Worthington House the other night.”

  Digby scowled. “Yeah. I don’t know what they needed to call in a London firm for. My guys and I could have done it easy. I guess we aren’t posh enough for the Worthingtons.”

  “I was curious,” Pen began somewhat nervously. “Did you happen to see anyone in the gardens or on the terrace while you were setting up?”

  Digby took off his hat and scratched his head. “Well, now,” he said. “I saw that woman that was murdered step out onto the terrace.” He shook his head. “She lit up a pipe and began to smoke it. I don’t know what the world is coming to, I honestly don’t. Women weren’t meant to smoke pipes.”

  “Anyone else? Did you see anyone else?”

  “There was another woman,” Digby said. “Pretty thing as far as I could see in the dark.”

  “What did she look like? Could you tell?”

  Digby shrugged his shoulders. He opened his mouth, then shut it. He scratched his chin again, his fingernails rasping against his stubble.

  “Like I said, she was pretty. A tiny thing. Put me in mind of a bird.”

  “So that was it?” Pen said, disappointed.

  “Well, there was this bloke in a fancy dinner jacket who came out. I thought maybe he wanted a smoke, too, but he just sort of hovered in the cover of the bushes alongside the terrace. I have to say I did wonder what he was doing. It looked like he was hiding from someone.”

  Tobias was hiding? Penelope wondered why.

  Unless it was because he was waiting for the right moment to hit Cissie over the head with Worthington’s polo mallet.

  * * *

  * * *

  Pen was driving back to the Open Book from Digby’s garage when she saw the Jolly Good Grub gourmet shop in the distance. It had been opened by a fellow who had moved to Upper Chumley-on-Stoke from London shortly before Penelope arrived in town. She decided to pop in and pick up some cheeses to serve Maguire when he came for dinner.

  She parked the car and stood in front of the shop for a moment, admiring the wooden sign with Jolly Good Grub on it and an artfully drawn wedge of cheese.

  A lavish picnic hamper was displayed in the window like a cornucopia with all sorts of delicious-looking goodies spilling out of it—tins of caviar, several wedges of cheese, dried sausages, petits fours, and chocolate truffles.

  Pen opened the door and went inside. The aroma in the shop nearly made her swoon.

  “Welcome to the Jolly Good Grub,” the man behind the counter called out.

  He didn’t look very old, but the wispy lines under his eyes were a giveaway that he wasn’t that young despite his trendy blond haircut and fashionable clothes.

  “It’s nice to meet someone who is almost as new to Chumley as I am,” Pen said as she approached the counter. She frowned. “At least I assume you’re not from Chum originally?”

  “You’re right, darling.” He held out his hand. “The name’s Grant.” He pursed his lips. “I’m on the lam from London actually. Chased out by the critics.”

  Pen raised her eyebrows.

  “Theater critics, darling. I fancied myself treading the boards as the next Laurence Olivier, but alas it was not to be. I’ve played my last role, I’m afraid. The London Times made that quite obvious. After those reviews, I doubt I could get a part in a school play.”

  “I’m sorry,” Pen said.

  “Don’t be, darling. One must be a realistic. My father was a groc
er and to that occupation I have returned although my wares are—how shall I put it—in a class above your frozen bangers and mushy peas and tinned haggis. If those are what you’re after, the Tesco is just down the street.”

  Grant straightened his bow tie. “Now what can I get for you today?”

  “I’m looking for some cheese for a cheese plate.”

  “Right over there, darling.” Grant pointed to a case along the wall. “If you can’t find it there, you won’t find it anywhere. At least not anywhere in Chumley.”

  Pen went over to the case Grant had indicated and began reading the labels on the cheeses. She was about to select an Irish cheddar with chives when the door to the shop opened and Tobias walked in.

  Penelope ducked behind a pyramid of cans of imported olives as Tobias strode to the counter. Grant greeted him with a big smile and reached under the counter. He pulled out a woven picnic hamper, hefted it onto the counter with a grunt, and flipped open the lid. He ran a hand over it like a game show host showing off the grand prize.

  “Everything you asked for and everything you could possibly need to provide a most seductive meal for any young lady.” Grant waggled his eyebrows at Tobias.

  A seductive meal for a young lady? Pen wondered who the young lady was. Tobias hadn’t been widowed more than a couple of days—how had he managed to meet someone so quickly? And in a place like Upper Chumley-on-Stoke? Or was Rose the young lady in question?

  Pen added up all the facts—Tobias was outside somewhere in the garden when Cissie was murdered. The police had found the button missing from his jacket and Digby had seen him hiding in the bushes. He had a motive as well—rid himself of Cissie, inherit her money, and move on to someone else.

  Penelope made a split-second decision to follow him. If he wasn’t meeting Rose, she wanted to know who this young woman was. Maybe they’d already known each other for a while and had been in on the murder together?

  Pen dropped the block of Irish cheddar back into the case as Tobias headed toward the door, and she followed him outside.

  His Jaguar was parked two cars away from hers. Penelope kept her head down as she walked toward her MINI, got in, and started the engine. Tobias pulled away from the curb and she quickly did the same.

  She tailed him through town, keeping a safe distance behind him. Traffic was light and she had no trouble keeping up. They went past Digby’s garage and out into the country. They were almost to the pub where she’d had lunch with Jemima when Tobias pulled off onto a dirt road that was little more than a track cut through tall grass, giving it the appearance of a jagged scar as it zigzagged up the slight hill.

  Penelope waited until Tobias was nearly out of sight before making the turn herself and following him.

  She bumped along the rutted track, her teeth clashing together at each jolt, until she saw Tobias’s car up ahead. He crested a small hill, pulled up outside a rustic-looking stone building with a large wooden shed alongside it, and stopped the car.

  There was nowhere to hide. Pen put the car in reverse and backed down the slight rise far enough to where she hoped her car wasn’t immediately visible. She cursed her decision to buy a car in bright red. There had been a dark green MINI on the lot that would have been a lot easier to hide. Of course at the time she hadn’t anticipated sneaking around following people, so there was that.

  Pen got out of her car and crept toward the house—Tobias had already disappeared inside. When she got closer, she was surprised to see that there was another car pulled around in back of the building. It looked as if Tobias’s date had already arrived.

  Pen was itching to find out who it was. She hesitated but realized this wouldn’t be the first time her curiosity had gotten her into trouble and she reminded herself that somehow she’d always managed to squirm out of it.

  She moved closer to the house. The curtains were parted on one of the windows and Penelope slunk toward it, then quickly knelt down so that she wouldn’t be visible.

  A small sharp pebble dug into her knee and she shifted position trying to get more comfortable on the hard, frozen ground.

  She peered through the window, which was surprisingly clean. On closer inspection the building, while rustic, was in good repair. The brief glimpse she’d had of the interior showed a large stone fireplace with the Worthington crest hanging above it and a set of deer antlers on the wall alongside it. The furniture was cozy and comfortable. There was a rack of guns along one wall and several pairs of boots lined up by the back door.

  Tobias began walking toward the window and Pen quickly ducked. She banged her head against the sill and bit her lip. She realized she was holding her breath and finally let it out in a rush. She raised herself up slowly and peeked over the edge of the window again.

  Tobias had moved away and was busy arranging the contents of the hamper on a low table in front of the fireplace. Pen could see a woman moving off to the side, but she hadn’t turned to face the window yet and Penelope couldn’t identify her.

  She risked rising up a bit higher on her knees and was rewarded with a better view. The woman with Tobias was standing at the island that separated the kitchen from the living area of the room. She was putting two champagne glasses on the counter.

  Pen could finally see her face clearly.

  It was Rose Ainsley.

  TEN

  So Rose and Tobias were a couple again, Penelope thought as she hovered beneath the window. Tobias had dumped her for Cissie—Cissie had a fortune and Rose had nothing—so why would Rose be willing to take him back?

  Unless that had been the plan all along—marry Cissie, dispose of her, grab the money, and then marry Rose, who had been the love of his life all along.

  Pen risked rising up on her knees again to take another peek in the window. Rose and Tobias were looking very cozy in front of a roaring fire, clinking champagne glasses.

  Celebrating their success?

  Suddenly Tobias swiveled around in his seat. Had he heard Penelope outside or somehow sensed her presence the way people sometimes do? She ducked down but had she been quick enough? She heard the front door to the shooting lodge open and she froze. If Tobias came around the building, he would find her crouched beneath the window.

  Besides it being an incredibly embarrassing position for her to be caught in, there was no telling what Tobias would do. He’d killed once already—what difference would it make if he killed again? You can’t hang a man twice, her grandmother Parish always used to say.

  Penelope began to inch away from the window. If Tobias was coming from the front door, perhaps she could go in the other direction and make it around the house and into her car before he caught her.

  She rounded the corner of the house and paused to listen. Silence. Then she heard a door slam. Tobias had given up and gone inside. Penelope crept back to her position under the window and peered in.

  Tobias was on the sofa in front of the fire again, one hand on Rose’s knee and the other wrapped around his champagne glass.

  Pen felt woozy with relief. She took a couple of deep breaths to steady herself and then began making her way back to her car.

  She’d never felt so relieved to be in the driver’s seat of her MINI before. Even if the seat was on the wrong side of the car. During her first few weeks in England, she’d opened the wrong door every single time she’d gotten in the car and was just as astonished each time to see that the steering wheel appeared to be missing.

  There was no way to turn around on the narrow track, so Penelope stepped on the gas and reversed down the hill, sending pebbles flying in every direction on her descent. She didn’t relax completely until she was on the high street and saw the bright red Tesco sign beckoning in the distance.

  * * *

  * * *

  Pen stood in front of her closet and examined its contents. It had become a ritual every time she wanted to look
nice for a special occasion—or, in this case, a special someone.

  She realized that every time she saw Maguire she was wearing her “ordinary” clothes—garments that were warm and comfortable and allowed her to move without being pinched or poked. So far he hadn’t objected.

  Which meant she really didn’t have to worry about it. Not like with her ex-boyfriend Miles, who had been extremely fashion conscious. Penelope still couldn’t fathom what he saw in her in the first place. Or, vice versa for that matter.

  She finally grabbed a newly washed pair of leggings, a bright red sweater that always cheered her up, and a pair of ballet flats since she was a smidge taller than Maguire and didn’t want to increase the disparity.

  The air had been slightly humid causing Pen’s hair to curl even more exuberantly than normal. She fiddled with it in the mirror and in the end simply pinned it up and out of the way.

  She could smell the beef stew simmering on the stove as she descended the stairs to the first floor. She wasn’t the most accomplished cook in the world but she could make a mean stew, she knew how to roast a chicken, and she could whip up eggs at least three different ways.

  Pen went out to the kitchen where her bright red Dutch oven sat on the burner on the Aga. She lifted the lid and took a deep breath, relishing the scent of the fragrant steam. If it was true that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, she had it made.

  She was putting the finishing touches on the table—dishes lined up perfectly, linen napkins folded just so, and wineglasses sparkling—when the doorbell rang.

  Pen felt her heartbeat speed up a bit as she ran to the door. Mrs. Danvers, obviously eager to see who was intruding on their solitude, was right on her heels.

  Pen flung open the door. Maguire was standing on the mat, a sheepish expression on his face. He was clutching a wine bottle in one hand and a paper-wrapped bundle of flowers in the other.