Peridale Cafe Mystery 22 - Scones and Scandal

by Agatha Frost

  Dot assumed her position in front of the fireplace and cleared her throat as the room quietened. Olivia moved on from Amy’s fingers on one side to Shilpa’s bangles on the other.

  “Well, I suppose we should get—”

  Dot’s eyes lit up as the doorbell rang. She hurried off and returned with two of the last people Julia would have expected to see.

  “Sorry we’re late,” Leah said, shrugging out of her coat as she walked in. “Blame Johnny.”

  “I could hardly come with one crutch, could I?” He followed her, although at a much slower pace. “How was I to know it had rolled under the bed?”

  “Twenty minutes!” Leah huffed as she balanced on the edge of Evelyn’s armrest. “I spent twenty minutes turning his cottage upside down, and it was mere inches away from the other crutch.”

  “Which, when you think about it,” Johnny said, collapsing into a chair Percy ferried in from the dining room, “is the only place it could have been. I couldn’t have gone anywhere on one crutch to lose the other.”

  “Any look finding the person behind the wheel?” Percy asked. “I still can’t believe they drove off and left you for dead.”

  “Thankfully, only a broken ankle,” Johnny knocked the blue cast on his left foot.

  “They weren’t to know that.”

  “That’s what keeps me up at night,” Leah said, “and now we have another likely to be unsolved mystery. When do the police ever find these people?”

  “Which answers your question, Percy,” Johnny said, resting the crutches against the picture rail behind his chair. “Two months in, I doubt I’ll ever get closure, but at least it was only an ankle.”

  While everyone was looking at Johnny, Julia kept her eyes on her gran. Dot waited at the mantle with clasped hands, doing a terrible job of keeping her pleased grin in check. Evidently, she didn’t need the whole village . . . just enough people to make the cottage feel as full as it only ever did on Christmas Day.

  “Peridale’s Eyes never had a newspaper editor,” Dot said, rubbing her hands together, before quickly adding, “Not that we didn’t have a fine calibre of people before, but it’s nice to have a finger in every pie.”

  “Speaking of Peridale’s Eyes,” Evelyn announced, turning inwards. “If we’re to be a group, won’t we need a name?”

  “Oh!” Amy Clark sat up. “I’ve been thinking about this. How about Eyes on Peridale?”

  “That is essentially identical to the group we’re hoping to replace.” Dot’s tone rose, forcing her to push forward a nose-crinkling smile. “But it’s one to consider, I suppose.”

  “How about Peridale’s Third Eye?” Evelyn’s enthusiastic smile faded when Dot’s nostrils released a sharp blast of breath at the suggestion. “Or . . . something else?”

  “I like it,” Shilpa agreed. “It has layers.”

  “Again, it’s virtually the same.” Dot’s widening gaze let on that she couldn’t believe she had to deal with such suggestions. “Let’s get away from the eye thing. In fact, a name isn’t important right now.”

  “To business, I say.” Percy winked at Dot. “Listen up, everyone.”

  Dot thanked him with a smile before clapping her hands and throwing her arms wide like a circus ringleader about to perform a trick.

  “Picture the scene,” she began, scanning the room. “You’re in the graveyard alone and it’s dark. But you’re not really alone, are you? Because bam!” Her hand slapped down on the mantlepiece. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m afraid the break-ins and shoplifting will have to wait. We already have our first case, and it’s a murder investigation.”

  Julia cradled Olivia, startled to tears by the bang. Dot seemed more frustrated by the noise than apologetic that her theatrics had caused it.

  “I didn’t realise I was signing up for a murder investigation,” Johnny said, scratching at his ankle cast with a pencil. “I’m more concerned about finding whoever broke into Leah’s cottage last night.”

  “Think of the stories for your paper, Mr Watson,” Dot said in an excited whisper. “Time and again, Julia has proved that the local constabulary doesn’t always have both eyes – or even one of them – on the ball.”

  “On the Ball would be a good name,” Amy pointed out.

  “Oh, I quite like that one actually,” Leah said, leaning across Julia. “Snappy.”

  “It makes us sound like a bunch of seals performing tricks at the zoo for kippers.” Dot sighed, rubbing at her temples. “Can we get away from the naming for a moment? Here’s our chance to put our own stamp on what a neighbourhood watch team could be. We don’t have to spend our days harassing people over parked cars when our homes are being broken into and you can’t stroll in your local graveyard of an evening without having your skull caved in.”

  Dot paused as though to assess if she’d gone too far, but everyone appeared to hang off her every word.

  “Peridale’s Eyes needs their prescription checked,” she rallied, pacing with her hands behind her back. “They’ve let this village – our village – down too often. And what have we done about it?”

  She paused, and the group looked amongst themselves.

  “Exactly.” Dot wagged a finger. “Maybe we’re the ones letting this village down because we’ve let these so-called ‘Eyes’ run rampant, harassing small business owners while local crime skyrocketed! But my friends, there’s good news.” The pacing stopped, and her face softened. “Look at us. We spread far and wide across this village. The editor, the organist, the post office . . . person, the B&B owner, the dog walkers – regretfully not the ones to discover poor Penelope's body – and . . .”

  Dot paused on Leah.

  “And Julia’s friend,” she said with a pinch too much gusto. “Not to mention Julia herself. Café owner, mother, super sleuth, and most importantly, my granddaughter. If she applied to the station, they’d put her in the top job right away, you know.”

  “I don’t think they would, Gran,” she said. “I think you need qualifications and years of training for that.”

  “Qualifications?” Dot arched a brow. “Training? Why, when we have results? There’s probably more than a few prison cells with pictures of your face on their dartboards, Julia.”

  Julia could hardly believe her ears, and she couldn’t believe that everyone was eating up every word. It was impressive; she’d give her gran that.

  “But now to the task at hand,” Dot said, centring herself with a slow blink. “We can solve this, and when we do, people will be banging the door down to join. And you know what I’ll say? We’re full. Here and now, we have everything we need . . . in Dot’s Detectives!”

  “No,” Shilpa said, shaking her head.

  “Absolutely not,” Johnny added.

  “Oh, I don’t like that one.” Amy shuddered. “I still think Eyes on Peridale is the best one.”

  “Forget the name.” Dot lifted a clenched fist in the air. “Who’s with me?”

  Clearly, her gran was waiting for everyone to bounce up and raise their fists with the same enthusiasm, but in the blink of an eye – or the uttering of a ‘Dot’s Detectives’ – the spell had broken.

  “I guess I’m in,” said Leah. “Anything to feel safer.”

  “I’ll give it a go,” Shilpa added, checking her watch, “but I think Julia should lead us. Like you said, she’s the most qualified.”

  “Oh, I’m flattered.” Julia leaned in and whispered, “I’m not actually joining.”

  “Then why are you here?” Dot demanded, and this time all eyes shifted to put Julia in the hot seat. “You’re as intrigued as I am. As we all are. It’s human nature.”

  Julia considered her options as she stroked Olivia’s back.

  Could she really say no?

  Did she want to?

  “At least come to the meetings so we can pick your brain,” Dot said. “A halfway point.”

  “Fine,” Julia said. “That seems fair.”

  “Then we are a team!” Dot bit
into her lip and announced, “Percy, fetch the board.”

  After setting Bruce on the carpet next to where Lady had curled up by Dot’s feet, he scurried into the hallway. Dot exchanged the packet of plain digestives with a tin of luxury selections as he dug around under the stairs. Percy rushed back and set up a large presentation board.

  “The stationery shop had a sale on,” explained Dot.

  “Oh, which one?” asked Evelyn. “The B&B’s printer is in desperate need of an upgrade.”

  “I bought it a while ago,” Dot said as she wrote ‘SUSPECTS’ at the top of the board in big letters. “You never know when you’re going to need a large notepad.”

  “Where do we start?” Shilpa asked. “Anyone could have done it.”

  “Anyone, yes,” Dot said as she continued writing. “Anyone in Peridale’s Eyes, that is. Yesterday afternoon, Percy and I heard a vicious row in the village hall between them all, mere hours before Penelope was found a few paces away in the graveyard. Dead.”

  Dot pulled away and underlined the first of five names she’d written down.

  “Ethel White,” she announced. “A busybody in her seventies who I’ve heard can’t keep her nose out of anything. I only know her from around the village, but she strikes me as a woman I could never get on with.”

  “I’m in her bridge club,” Amy revealed. “I could interview her?”

  “A great start!” Dot wrote ‘Amy’ next to Ethel’s name. “Anyone else know anyone on here?”

  Julia waited for someone else to chip in before reluctantly deciding to share her connection to one of the names.

  “I kind of know Victoria Grant,” she said, repositioning a drowsy Olivia. “She goes by Vicky. She owns that new coffee van on Mulberry Lane outside Dad’s antique shop. She seems nice enough. I only popped by to introduce myself so it wouldn’t be awkward, considering she’s now technically my competition.”

  Julia had also saved her from sending out flyers by spotting a typo before she’d spread them far and wide around the village, but she kept that detail to herself; she didn’t want to embarrass the woman.

  “Oh, it’s foul coffee,” Shilpa said with a gag. “Not a patch on yours.”

  “And I don’t think any of her cakes are fresh,” Amy whispered. “Last week, I had the driest angel slice I’ve ever tasted.”

  A glance at the display case in the small van had told Julia they weren’t fresh; she recognised their technical perfection from her supplier’s website. But that wasn’t her secret to divulge, either.

  “Then Julia shall interview Vicky,” Dot said after writing her name on the board. “Makes the most sense.”

  Julia couldn’t argue with that.

  She could stretch to one interview.

  Meetings, and one interview.

  “Don’t forget I know Gus Morris, Penelope’s widower, dear,” Percy pointed out between biscuits. “Although considering Gus’s wife just had a surprise meeting with a headstone, I doubt I’ll be seeing him at this week’s choir rehearsal.”

  “Rehearsing for anything exciting?” Shilpa asked.

  “Just the summer fetes,” Dot answered for him as she added Percy’s name to the board. “Let’s not get off track. Any other names? We’re doing great. Only Desmond Newton left. Anyone know him?”

  “Newton?” Leah spoke up. “He must be a relation of Penelope’s, no?”

  “Maybe.” Dot scribbled down the detail. “Anyone know where to find him?”

  Nobody stepped forward.

  “Are we nearly finished here?” Shilpa asked, already pushing herself up. “I’ll never get dinner sorted if I don’t get home within the hour.”

  “And I need to start the evening duties at the B&B,” said Evelyn.

  “Then I guess that’s our first official meeting over.” Dot popped the cap onto the pen. “Great work, team. Let’s reconvene here in two days, same place and time. Keep your eyes open and your ears to the ground. We can do this.”

  Rather than stay for an extended session, Julia left with the group, and they all went their separate ways. Overtaking a woman being dragged along by a huskie, Julia headed for the church. She’d thought about going straight home, but a familiar chalky cloud had pulled her in.

  “Evening.” Detective Inspector John Christie exhaled cherry-scented smoke he’d pulled in from an electronic cigarette device. “Look at the little thing. She’s flat out. If only I could curl up and have a nap like that.”

  “Tough day?”

  “Like you wouldn’t believe.” He forced a laugh, pocketing his device after a few short blasts. “I imagine your husband has had an easier time of it?”

  “He’s looking into a potential buyer for the manor.” Julia’s gaze drifted over his shoulder to the small group of white-outfitted crime scene investigators currently sipping coffee from cups sporting Vicky’s Van’s logo. “Any leads?”

  “If only we were that lucky.” His hand brushed over his rough stubble. “It’s not like a graveyard on the edge of a forest is a prime location for camera coverage. How’s your neighbour holding up after last night?”

  “She’s still a few handheld electronics short.”

  “Nothing the insurance won’t cover.”

  “A feeling of safety in her own home?” Julia followed Christie to his car on the edge of the green. “I hear there’s been an uptick in break-ins lately. Should I be worried, Detective Inspector?”

  “A few more than usual, but we’re on top of it.” He checked his watch. “I have a meeting with the serious crime unit in five. I need to go.”

  “No problem,” she said, looking back at her gran’s cottage. “As a friend, I thought you should know that my gran has set up a new neighbourhood watch team. I imagine you’ll be hearing from her.”

  “Oh, bloody fantastic.” His eyes rolled around in a perfect circle. “That’s all I need. And to think, I’d just got rid of one. That Penelope was in the station reporting the strangest of things every five minutes. You’d think she had better things to do.” He smirked. “She must have really hated you. Tried to have you in over where you parked your car.”

  “Never knew the woman.”

  “Isn’t that always the way?” Christie climbed into his car and slid down the window. “Tell Barker to get his backside down to the pub one night if he can tear himself away from happily ever after. We need a good catch up. Hardly seen him this year, but I won’t hold that against either of you, considering.”

  With a wink and a smile, he rolled the window up and sped off, leaving Julia to set off home with Olivia fast asleep in her pram. The gentle winding incline to her cottage, the last home before Peridale Farm, always felt steeper on the way back. According to her sister, Sue, walking with the pram was good post-baby exercise. Every time Julia felt like she was getting used to it, Olivia grew bigger, and heavier.

  Back at the cottage and slightly out of breath, Julia changed Olivia again before settling her in the cot next to their bed. After squeezing the golden pyrite in her palm, she placed it on her bedside table and hoped for a peaceful, safe night. Then she checked the locks on the bedroom windows, bolted the front door, and went in search of Barker.

  She found him in the garden, wrapped in a blanket with his laptop on his knee, reading glasses perched on the end of his nose, and a bottle of beer in his hand. He opened his arm to her, and she slid under the blanket and against his warm side.

  “Manor stuff?” she asked.

  “The starts of.”

  “Was Katie onto something?”

  “Maybe.” He shut the laptop. “Maybe not. There’s a pattern emerging with this guy’s property portfolio that I want to take a closer look at, but it can wait. Where’s Olivia? It’s been the kind of strange day that only a snuggle will fix. The air hasn’t felt quite right.”

  “Not just me then.”

  “Did you hear about the new break-in?” he asked, pulling his phone from his pocket. “It was all over the Peridale Chat group this aftern
oon. A cottage near the Fern Moore end of the village.” He scrolled through his phone. “Strange. It was here earlier. Seems to have been deleted.”

  “Odd,” she said, yawning again. “I think I joined my gran’s group.”

  “Quelle surprise.” Barker kissed the top of her head. “Christie will have the murder wrapped up in no time, and you’ll be able to focus on stolen plants and late buses . . . or whatever it is neighbourhood watches do.”

  Julia laughed, though she didn’t think that’s quite what her gran had in mind. Another yawn interrupted her mid-laugh, and she found herself more than ready to crawl into bed, if only to escape the nagging, unsettled feeling hanging over the village.

  4

  I t wasn’t that Dot had forgotten that a photograph of her father hung in the entrance of St. Peter’s Church, but it had been a while since she’d been stood still in the right spot for long enough to actually look and not just glance at it.

  They were close when he was alive, but it wasn’t until years after her father’s death that Dot realised she hadn’t asked him enough questions about his life when she’d had the chance. Every year since, Dot forgot more of his stories. She’d loved her father deeply. Unlike her cold and callous mother, whose life’s work involved controlling Dot’s every decision, her father had been more laid back.

  “Everyone is the hero of their own story,” he’d say scratchily, lifting her onto his lap and washing her in his hot cigarette breath, “and nobody tries to be the hero more than you, Dorothy.”

  She’d never quite grasped his meaning, but she did miss him. He died far too young. Though, when her mother died at the same age, Dot had felt it was right on time.

  The photograph painted new details over the blurry blank face her memories had been working with since the last time she’d seen an image of him.

  It couldn’t have been that long, could it?

  A few years, at least.

  She still thought about him occasionally, but she might not have sought out the picture in the church if memories of him hadn’t pushed to the forefront of her mind as she gave the rousing speech required to unite her new team.

  Be your own hero, Dorothy.