A Debt Is Finally Paid (A Marsden-Lacey Cozy Mystery Book 2)

by Sigrid Vansandt

  Polly tugged on Perigrine’s jacket. “Come on. I might need some back-up. I want to check on my chickens.”

  The group followed the short, but stalwart Polly out to the old timbered barn. It was empty except the cats. In the farm yard, the chickens pecked around and scampered off in different directions as the humans came tramping through.

  “I’ll check my hen house,” Polly said.

  Once inside she realized she wouldn’t have fresh eggs for breakfast tomorrow. “I’ve been cleaned out. Probably also need to check my brewery. Eggs are one thing but if someone’s been thieving from my brewery…”

  The brewhouse was undisturbed. Whoever took the eggs wasn’t interested in the beer.

  “Merriam will need to know about this,” Polly said irritably. “Did you see which way the woman went, Martha?”

  “Oh, yes. She went over the pasture.” Martha pointed toward the area she saw Miri travel.

  “There’s nothing in that direction except the river Calder. I might hike down that way and see what I can see,” Polly said. With a wave to the others still standing in a semi-circle, she headed off across the farm yard and to the unseen river lying below the rise in the land.

  They watched her go. Helen and Martha said they would see the others tonight and waved goodbye as well.

  Left alone in the farmyard with Perigrine, Alistair toed one of the curious advancing chickens with one of his timelessly fashionable Grenson brogues. The nosey chicken arched her neck in readiness to peck the leather obstacle but instead halted her forward motion and cocked her head to one side for a better view of the boot’s elegant lines and perforations. Acknowledging the shoe’s good breeding, the peckish hen turned around abruptly and toddled off seemingly abashed as a chicken can be at her own lack of footwear.

  “P. do you remember the Romani people we met in Poland a few years ago?” Alistair asked.

  Perigrine kicked an imaginary clod of dirt with the toe of his shoe and contemplated the miniature figure of the retreating Polly. “I do, Ally. I remember them quite well. We discussed this yesterday.”

  “Do you remember the story they told us?”

  “Been trying to remember the exact details since breakfast,” Perigrine said.

  “Thought so.”

  “The letter in Russian must be the key, Perigrine,” Alistair said walking out of the yard with Perigrine following him. “I think we should get all the information we can. I don’t want there to be murder number three. I wonder if our good Chief of Police would welcome some assistance with the letter?”

  They were quiet for a while as they found their way into the walled garden where Polly wished to grow a variety of plants to improve her beer brewing.

  “Offering your assistance is the only way you’ll be able to lay eyes on it,” Perigrine said. He used a digital laser machine to measure the enclosure, writing numbers down in a small sketch book.

  Alistair, using a small spade, scooped up some of the garden’s dirt and put it into a bag for testing later.

  “Yes, and I think we should move on this today. Better we take care of this, Perigrine, than letting it get out of hand. I think you know who’s probably involved. Uncivilized brutes masquerading as heroes. Worst kind of people. You heard what Helen said about calling Albright in Nottingham.”

  Neither talked for a while. They were busy mulling over in their minds the best way to proceed.

  “By the way, what did you have in mind to bring for tonight’s dinner party?” Perigrine asked.

  “Oh, I thought a cocktail of Death in the Afternoon,” Alistair smiled knowingly and turned away.

  “Daring drink, my friend.”

  Perigrine studied the back of Alistair’s head wondering whether Alistair’s good taste dictated the choice of cocktail or if something more dark was the motivation.

  Alistair headed to where their car was parked but halted his stride. He turned around to see Perigrine studying him. Alistair smiled in that enigmatic way he had when he meant exactly the opposite of what he said.

  “P., dear, it’s purely a question of the drink complementing the meal. No double entendres. Only an attempt at living the best life possible. I’m sure it’s what we both want, of course.”

  “Of course,” Perigrine agreed and being done with their measurements, they headed to the village. Alistair wanted to have a chat with Chief Johns.

  Chapter 13

  ONCE THEY LEFT THE JOHNS’ farm, the girls went to Flower Pot Cottage to quickly change cars. Martha wanted to be behind the wheel for a while and Helen wanted some time to look over the data base they’d been working on for The Grange.

  As Martha’s Mini Cooper, which she called the Green Bean, zipped along Marsden-Lacey’s quaint back streets, the sky began to turn cloudy. Reaching the High Street, she shifted down into third gear, hit the accelerator and practically catapulted their craft up the old cobblestone road toward the summit.

  With driving panache, Martha expertly maneuvered the compact vehicle in between a few pedestrians, two lorries parked awkwardly along the entrance area and one motorcyclist wearing an egg-shaped helmet towing a small cart with what appeared to be his laundry. She pulled into the parking lot of The Grange and with incredibly deft handling of her steering wheel, parked the Green Bean neatly between a posh BMW and a sedate, but respectable sedan.

  “Perfect timing. Exactly nine o’clock on the dot,” Martha said.

  “I would ask why you have to drive that way every single place we go, but honestly, I’m beginning to think it’s because you have a death wish,” Helen said after she extricated herself from the tiny toy-mobile. Wobbling slightly, she adjusted her collar, made sure her pearls were hanging evenly and pulled down her sleeves inside her blue Chanel style jacket.

  “It’s good for your brain. Snaps you out of the blahs,” Martha said, standing beside the car and facing Helen across the vehicle’s low roof. Making some gyrations like she was massaging the air with her hands beside her ears, she said. “It gets the blood flowing.”

  “Straight to that one weak capillary in my head most likely to explode from a stroke induced from high amounts of gut-wrenching stress,” Helen said as she walked toward the entrance to The Grange.

  “You’ve been so crabby this morning,” Martha said to Helen’s back. “Try some deep breathing. It will relax you.”

  “Sure but riding with a sane driver would also be relaxing.”

  Martha shrugged. “But not as much fun. Right, buddy?”

  No answer came from Helen as they rounded the corner path and walked under the portico of The Grange’s main doors.

  They always shuddered when they entered the old Elizabethan manor home, turned museum for rare books. Not more than two months ago, they’d stumbled onto a body in the reception area. Granted, it was the way they met and became good friends, but both girls, whenever they crossed The Grange’s threshold, experienced a tinge of nervousness. It was the spot where they found their first body. Granted it was still alive at the time but they didn’t know that.

  Nevertheless, for the last two months, The Grange being also one of their clients, meant they’d been working on a project to assess its collection for conservation needs. There was a new curator in place, Aaron Blackwell, due to the fact that the last one had been murdered. Fresh from finishing his degree, he’d been hired by The Grange’s governing board to bring some youthful energy to the “old pile” as Piers, the museum’s board president, like to call it.

  Once through the main entranceway, Helen and Martha moved down the dimly lit wainscoted hall to the library. They knew the route well, or thought they did.

  “Mrs. Littleword?” asked an unexpected, loud male voice from a dark recess they didn’t know existed in the paneling.

  Helen and Martha screamed together in unison and jumped back against the far wall. Their nerves were always a trifle rough traveling down this hall due to their recent history of being stalked down its length by a crazed woman. Today was no e
xception.

  A booming guffaw followed by a tall, young man in his late twenties, exploded out of the small recess. The new curator stood clutching his stomach in the hall laughing.

  “Oh, that was a terrible thing to do. I’m so sorry but it was…” The attractive Mr. Aaron Blackwell was partially bent over giggling like a prankster teenager half his age.

  “Mr. Blackwell,” Helen, back straight with indignation, said hotly emphasizing each word in a staccato tone while staring at him like he was insane. “You have no idea how particularly frightening that was for Martha and I.”

  Martha put down her shoulder bag and said, “We clobbered the last person who sprung a surprise on us.”

  The young man’s chortling slowly subsided as he caught the glint of steel in Martha’s eyes.

  “It was such a bad thing to do, but I had to because it was such a perfect opportunity. Mr. Cousins was showing me this tiny hallway built between the front and back parts of the house. It was used by the servants so they wouldn’t be caught in the main part of the house. He thought it would be funny if…”

  “Mr. Cousins?” Helen asked. “Piers are you back in there somewhere?” Helen pushed past Blackwell to find Piers smiling like a ten-year-old boy hiding behind the door.

  “I can’t believe you put him up to that, Piers,” Helen said with fury in her eyes. She punched him brusquely on the shoulder. He winced but grinned impishly.

  She pushed on. “You knew it would scare the daylight out of us but you did it anyway?”

  “Yes and yes. Come here, Helen.” He grabbed her clinched fist. “I saw you and Martha coming and something of the kid got into me.”

  His eyes never left Helen’s. He pushed the door shut with Blackwell and Martha still standing on the other side and pulling Helen to him in the dark, he kissed her.

  When Helen finally pulled back, her mind was reeling and before she was able to grasp onto a solid thought, Piers pulled her to him again and kissed her more intently, bending her neck toward his shoulder.

  Blackwell knocked on the closed door and asked if they were okay. They pulled back from their embrace. Helen tried to find the door knob, but Piers took her hand and guided her away from the door and back down the tight hallway in the opposite direction.

  “Where are we going?” she asked still light-headed.

  “We’ll go around and meet them through the normal public way. I want to ask you something.”

  Helen didn’t argue. She followed him feeling like a balloon tied to someone’s wrist.

  Piers pushed a door open. They found themselves in a sunlit room with boxes stored along a wall and old office machines cluttering the floor. But for the poster of a man holding some sort of government issued employment card advertising the proper screening of job applicants, Helen and Piers were alone. Piers turned to Helen and pulled her into his arms. He took one hand and tipped her face up to see into her eyes. She didn’t resist. His beautiful blue eyes searched her face.

  “You saved my life, Helen. On the bridge, the men were going to kill me and you never hesitated. What if you’d been hurt?” Piers shook his head. His hold on her tightened.

  Helen wanted to get away from his embrace, the small room and the whole situation but at the same time she found his closeness intoxicating.

  “Of course, I…” she wasn’t sure what to say. Should she tell him her real feelings or say what was safe? Her mind wouldn’t think straight so she offered, “I care about you, Piers. I would have done that for anybody I…” Fear clamped down on her causing the last word to stop in her throat.

  “What Helen? Anybody you what?” Piers asked, trying to get her to finish her sentence.

  “Care for.” She let her tone carry the weight of her meaning.

  The minute it was out of her mouth, she regretted it. She saw the sting in the tiny muscle spasm at the corner of his eyes and the change in his gaze. They went from soft to hurt in a blink of his lids. He relaxed his hold on her and stepped away.

  “No, Helen. Your kiss said more.”

  Helen stood there with her arms dangling and her hands feeling like heavy dumbbells pulling downward to the floor. She was scared and unable to think straight. Too much had gone wrong in her life recently. Her husband’s leaving only a year ago caused her to be extremely suspicious of getting involved in another relationship, especially with someone like Piers who had women fawning over him all the time. She didn’t want to be hurt again and falling for Piers, if and when their relationship ended, would definitely hurt.

  With all this flooding through her mind and the gulf between her and Piers widening by the moment, Helen eyes started to burn. With every fiber of her will, she told herself she absolutely would not cry.

  Squaring her body to stare him straight in the eyes, Helen said, “Piers, I want you to listen to me.”

  Startled by her firmness, Piers peered down at her with a questioning gaze. She decided to be something she’d never been before in her life: extremely direct and honest with a man, even if it hurt him. If it backfired, fine, because she was tired of playing according to the rules of normal male-female interaction. Even her own ego was at play here. Her marriage had ended with her husband of twenty-five years running off with a girl half his age, so she’d try a different route this time.

  “I won’t be hurt again, Piers and I won’t toy with you either. Your typical date is a runway model and I’m pretty sure I’ve got a weak spot in me wanting to prove I’m desirable just for ego’s sake. You deserve better and I’m not interested in someone who sees me as a disposable commodity.”

  As she talked, her temper cooled and the stinging in her eyes melted away. She breathed easily. “I’m worth so much more than that and so are you.”

  Piers reached for her hand and she pushed it away.

  “Piers, I would like us to be friends…for now. I want more time to try new things. Things I didn’t take time for during the last thirty years. Do you understand?”

  Piers nodded. The room was quiet. After a long pause, he said, “Friends, it is. I’m disappointed, though.”

  Helen laughed with relief and said, “You’ll survive.”

  “You’re an odd woman, Helen. Save me from the jaws of death to toss me out like yesterday’s bathwater.”

  “Oh,” she said in a soothing tone. “Don’t be a drama king. I want you to come to a dinner party tonight to make up for last night. It’s a party. It wouldn’t be the same without the lord of the manor in attendance.”

  He laughed good-humoredly. “Well, in that case. I’ll be there. Should I bring a date?”

  Helen punched him in the ribs. “Do and I’ll set Martha on you! Besides, I invited you, so be a gentleman, Piers.”

  “Women,” Piers said shaking his head.

  “Indeed,” Helen answered.

  They left the tight room full of old leftover, defunct machines and found their way around to the brightly lit entrance hall and into a new day.

  Chapter 14

  THAT SAME MORNING CHIEF JOHNS walked briskly into the Marsden-Lacey Constabulary and checked the duty roster. “Did Mrs. Littleword call in this morning to have an officer escort them to their work place? She was supposed to but I’m not holding my breath.”

  Sam Berry, the young cadet who was working on some paperwork answered. “No one called requesting an officer, Chief. Do you want someone to be on security detail today because I’m totally available.”

  Noting the young man’s earnest desire to get away from the office and probably the ever-watchful eye of Donna, Johns scowled and thought for a moment. “Sam if you want to do something different today, go over to the soccer fields beside the canal and ask some of the kids if they saw anyone unusual hanging about yesterday. Don’t do anything else. Take one of the police phones and call me if you find anything out. Okay?”

  Total joy beamed from Sam’s youthful face. “I’ll be right on that, Sir.”

  “Do exactly what the Chief said, Sam, and nothing more.
If you don’t follow orders exactly, you won’t have this kind of opportunity again for a long time. Do you understand?” Donna asked with the sternness of a military sergeant.

  “I promise,” the young man replied and then he was gone before anyone else forced him to comply with another rule.

  Watching the teenager bounce out of the building, Chief Johns muttered to Donna, “I’ll be in my office. Send Sergeant Endicott and Detective Richards in when you see them. We’ll be out most of the morning. I am going over to Nottingham to talk with the forensic specialist on the case.”

  “Chief, a request has come in asking you to attend a Village Neighborhood Watch meeting tomorrow. Can you make it?” Donna called to his retreating back.

  “No! I’ve got an investigation to work. I don’t have time to tittle-tattle all evening with Grimsy and the ladies of Marsden-Lacy. Send Endicott. He’s good with all that schmoozy stuff.”

  Johns ambled down the long hall to his new office grumbling the entire way. One thing good came out of being moved three doors down, he was closer to the washroom. After stopping in for a brief visit, he headed to his office.

  Once settled at his desk, he leaned over and flipped the blinds up on the sunny windows. A steaming cup of black tea and the radiant heat from the sun made the room feel cozy and more familiar.

  Opening the Laura Rossar-mescro file, he rifled through its contents until he found the document given to Helen from Stephan Rossar-mescro. It was in a mylar bag to keep it from being damaged. Studying the file and the document, he wondered if it would be possible to go on the internet and use a Russian-English translation application. But as he decided to give it a try, a heavy knock sounded at his door. Detective Richards from Nottingham and Sergeant Michael Endicott walked in.

  “Ready to go, Johns?” Richards said with a big smile. “I’m counting on us eating at my favorite restaurant, Nandos.”