by Shéa MacLeod
“Isn’t it just.” I pulled the sheet lower revealing the letter opener still stuck in the dead man’s back. I carefully inspected the wound without touching anything. “Just as I thought.” I re-covered the body and we both left the fridge.
“Let’s go find the colonel,” Lucas suggested, apparently forgetting his uneaten bacon.
I nodded. “Good plan.”
We found Colonel Frampton reading a two-day-old newspaper and sipping a cup of tea in the drawing room. Other than him, it was empty, Marilyn Toppenish having yet to put in an appearance.
“Colonel, we have a problem,” I said without preamble.
He carefully laid his paper aside and removed his reading glasses. “Problem?”
“The stab wound didn’t kill Jeffrey Blodgett.”
He lifted one white brow. “Pardon?”
I sat down on the chair facing him and leaned forward. “You see, it was the jam.”
He looked utterly confused. “I’m afraid you’ll have to explain.”
“Something’s been bothering me about this murder. I just couldn’t put my finger on it. Then this morning Martin Huxton-Barrington was carrying a crumpet with strawberry jam. He ran smack into Lavender Wu and got red jam all over her clean, white shirt. And that’s when it hit me.”
The colonel rubbed his forehead tiredly. “I still don’t follow.”
“When I found Jeffrey Blodgett, there was hardly any blood. The letter opener blade had to be at least six inches long. There should have been blood everywhere. At the very least, quite a bit of it around the wound. Possibly even some on the floor beneath him.”
The colonel was nodding. “Agreed. I’ve seen it myself on the battlefield.”
“Right, but there wasn’t any.”
“I thought the body was moved.”
“Which would explain the lack of blood on the floor, but not the lack of blood on the wound.” I watched him closely as the mist cleared. It was his turn to lean forward. His eyes glowed with excitement.
“Do you mean to tell me the man was dead before he was stabbed?”
“That’s what we think, sir,” said Lucas. He squeezed my shoulder. “There were bruises around his neck. Somebody strangled and killed him before he was stabbed. Perhaps twenty minutes or more.”
“Then—.”
“Then James Carsley is innocent,” I said. “Someone else killed Blodgett.”
Chapter 12
Haunted By the Ghost
I WAS HALF AFRAID JAMES was going to sue us for false arrest or kidnapping or something—which was how Lucas and I convinced the colonel to let him out—but he was so relieved he actually hugged the colonel. The colonel got a little blustery and gruff and told James to man up. Fortunately, James ignored him.
Monica cried all over James. He was kinder to her than I’d ever seen him. In fact, he looked...lighter somehow. As if the weight of being a murder suspect had somehow lightened the load of his need for revenge.
“I’m so relieved,” he said. “I really thought I’d killed him. I wanted him to pay for murdering my brother, but—.” He shook his head. “I’m glad I didn’t do it.”
“Will the police charge him?” I asked Lucas later over lunch. Rupert had steered us toward the sweet little tea room not far from St. Oswins. It was in a four hundred year old thatched cottage. The sign outside had an image of a Victorian lady’s boot with the inscription: “The Wrinkled Stocking: Cream Teas served.”
Inside, a fire burned in a woodstove set into the large fireplace. It made the room nice and toasty. Half a dozen little tables with white cotton cloths and mix-matched china settings were crammed into the room. The owner was a tall, raw-boned woman with clever eyes and heavy lines around her mouth marking her as a former smoker. She looked out of place in the delicate shop. I recognized her immediately as the woman with the yellow raincoat and green boots who’d give us directions the day we arrived in Chipping Poggs.
She introduced herself as Doris Simms and offered a menu with a stunning array of sandwiches, quiches, scones, and other delightful bits. “I bake everything myself,” she said with pride. Lucas and I ordered a full afternoon tea complete with sandwiches and cakes.
Murder might be a rather macabre conversation to have over tea, but the place was so warm and cozy and the food so delicious, I felt removed from the horror. Now I was worried about James Carsley. I didn’t want to see an innocent man pay for something he didn’t do.
“They won’t charge him with murder,” Lucas assured me. “Maybe violating a dead body or tampering with evidence, but likely they’ll let him go with a warning. It’s clear he’s remorseful. I’m sure they’ll be understanding of his grief. Who wouldn’t go a little crazy after being confronted with their brother’s killer?” There was something in his tone.
“You never talk about your family,” I said as I spread homemade strawberry jam and clotted cream over a fresh baked scone.
“Not much to tell.” He focused on his turkey and cranberry tea sandwich.
“You seem to understand what James is going through,” I pushed the issue. He was my boyfriend, for goodness sake. He should be able to share these things with me.
He set down his sandwich without taking a bite. “Anyone can have sympathy for another human being in pain.”
“Bull,” I snapped, irritated at his avoidance of the issue. “This is personal for you.”
“I assure you, my brother is quite alive.”
“But—.”
“Can’t we just let this drop?” He sounded tired.
I gave him a long look. Finally I said, “Why is it that I’m supposed to share my life with you? My innermost secrets? To let you in on my investigations and my hopes and dreams and everything in between? You get angry with me when I don’t share. When I do my own thing. But when it comes to you and your past? Nothing. We don’t talk about you. You get to hide whatever part of yourself you want. I mean look at you and the whole Israeli army thing. How long were we dating before you spilled that little gem? Well, forget it.”
I stood up, threw my napkin down, and marched from the tea shop. I was so mad I yanked open the door a little too hard and wacked myself in the forehead. I stormed out as fast as I could not wanting him to see me cry. Because I wasn’t sure he’d believe it was from the pain in my head.
AFTER SHOOTING A QUICK message to Cheryl ranting about idiot men, I spent the rest of the day ghost hunting with Jez at St. Oswin’s. She assured me that while spotting a ghost was highly unlikely in the middle of the day, she wanted to get some good readings and images so she could come back after dark. “I need a baseline,” she explained. “If you’ve got something to compare your readings to, it makes for more impressive evidence.”
“Sure. Makes sense.” I didn’t tell her I was avoiding Lucas. I was a little embarrassed over my outburst and had the insanely strong urge to go apologize. At the same time I knew I wasn’t entirely wrong and I needed him to acknowledge that.
The church was poorly heated and at least ten degrees cooler inside than out. I shivered in my jacket, wishing I had something heavier. Jez had me hold one of her gadgets and follow her around with the orders to notify her if I got any interesting readings. There weren’t. I was bored out of my skull.
At some point, after what seemed like hours, the vicar entered the church. “Oh! You’re still here.”
“Sorry, Father,” Jez said cheerfully. She glanced at the clock on her phone. “Is that the time? I lost track. My work is always so fascinating.”
That was one word for it. Not the word I’d use, though.
“I’m afraid I need to set up for tonight’s service. We’re having a small memorial for Curate Carsley. Ease his way off to heaven.”
If the curate was in heaven, he’d entered it quite some time ago. Still, I bit my tongue. These people probably needed some closure. A sense of normalcy. Who was I to spoil that for them?
“I hear his brother, James, killed that ghastly man up at the m
anor,” Father Thomas said as he began lighting candles up on the altar.
“Actually,” I said, “he didn’t. I mean, he did stab Blodgett, but it turns out Blodgett was already dead. Somebody strangled him earlier. James thought Blodgett was sleeping and stabbed him.”
“Oh, my. How shocking.”
I eyed the vicar. He was a small man, and frail. It was hard to imagine him killing anyone. But could he have slipped into the manor without anyone noticing and strangled Jeffrey Blodgett? Unlikely, unless he was stronger than he looked. And why would he do it? He hadn’t known at the time that the curate was dead. And surely he wouldn’t kill over the stolen goods. Although I’d heard of murders being committed over less, I couldn’t wrap my head around a vicar doing such a thing. Still, I mentally added him to my list of suspects.
It was getting dark outside and had started raining again, but this time it was a mere drizzle. “Don’t worry,” Jez said cheerfully. “I’ve got my brolly.”
“Your what?”
She pulled a bright red umbrella out of her backpack. “It’s what the British call their umbrellas. Don’t you love it? Why don’t we have a nickname for the things? Umbrella is such an unwieldy word, don’t you think?”
I blinked. The girl could talk for Texas. Frankly all I wanted was a hot shower and a bed. But the idea of sleeping next to Lucas when I wanted to wring his neck was anything but restful. My stomach let out an unholy growl.
“Let’s grab something to eat at the pub,” Jez suggested. “It’ll be quicker than going back to the hotel.”
“Sure.” Why not? I figured I should text Lucas so he wouldn’t worry. I might be mad at him, but I wasn’t a jerk. He replied with one word: Fine. I scowled at my phone screen. I might not be a jerk, but someone in this relationship sure was.
After a quick dinner of soup and sandwiches in the warmth of the pub, we walked back to the church. The congregation was just filtering out, and the vicar let us in before heading off to Mavis’s house.
“They say midnight is the best time for ghosts,” Jez informed me as she set up her equipment inside. “Truth is, ghosts are around all the time, so it doesn’t really matter. Easier to spot variances in the dark, though. So, this is good. You heard the story of that poor woman that killed herself back in the day?”
“Mattie Doon? Sure. Simon, one of the old guys at the pub, told us when we first arrived.” I remembered his story of the old woman who spotted Mattie’s ghost ten years ago while she was out walking her dog. I still wondered if the ghost spotting had anything to do with the curate’s murder. Maybe Mrs. Tillicum hadn’t seen a ghost at all, but Blodgett hiding Robbie Carsley’s body. Interesting.
“Well, I’d like to get in touch with Mattie,” Jez was saying. “Can you imagine if she answered?”
“Uh, sure. Pretty exciting.”
“You better believe it.” She fiddled a little more with the camera she’d set up on a tripod. “Okay, ready. You stand here.” She dragged me to a spot behind the camera and handed me the same device she had me use before. “It’s on. No need to do anything. Just let me know if you get any interesting readings. Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
She grinned, a dimple flashing in her left cheek. “Then let’s do this thing.” She spun around, clutching some other gadget that had all kinds of lights and dials on it. “Mattie Doon,” she shouted. “Show yourself!”
I wasn’t sure that was how one got a ghost to appear. I mean, if I were a ghost, I’d be pretty pissed if some idiot ran around yelling at me. But this was Jez’s show, so I let her shout away.
An hour later Mattie hadn’t shown herself and Jez was hoarse.
“Maybe we should try another ghost,” I suggested. I had an inspiration. “What about Robbie Carsley?”
“The curate? Wasn’t he found in the rectory?”
“Sure. But we’re pretty sure he caught Blodgett stealing, so he was probably killed in or near the church, then dragged to the rectory.”
She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “It might work. I mean, if he died on the grounds...” she spun around and started bellowing Robbie’s name. Another hour ticked by and still nothing. Which didn’t surprise me. I was relieved when she finally gave up.
“I guess we should head back to the hotel,” she said, her expression crestfallen. “It’s getting late. I can come back tomorrow.”
I helped her pack up her gear and we drove back to the hotel. Lights streamed from the mullioned windows like beacons in the dark. It looked so cheerful and welcoming, yet inside lurked a cold blooded killer.
Chapter 13
Suddenly A Scream
RUPERT WAS IN THE MIDDLE of serving sherry when Jez and I arrived back at the hotel. Jez took her gear upstairs and I wandered into the drawing room. I could use a glass of sherry. Or twelve.
I ignored Lucas, which wasn’t easy. He was looking particularly tasty in soft, worn jeans and a snug heather gray Henley. Lavender Wu stood nearby eyeballing him like he was a chocolate cupcake and tossing her hair. If she wasn’t careful she was going to give herself a neck spasm.
The only empty seat was near Marilyn, so I sank down into the cozy armchair and took the glass of sherry Rupert offered me. It was strong, sweet, and a touch fruity. I could get used to this.
“You’ve been ghost hunting with that other American, I hear,” Marilyn said, giving me a knowing look.
“Seemed like something to do since we’re more or less trapped here.”
“I would think,” she said, “that you’d be more interested in solving the crime.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “What do you mean?” Surely she hadn’t heard of my penchant for getting involved in murder investigations. It wasn’t like I’d been in any major papers or anything. Maybe the odd internet blog post.
“You seemed to enjoy questioning everyone. Finding clues.”
“Oh. Well. I read a lot of Agatha Christie.” And watched a lot of Murder, She Wrote.
“I see you’ve cleared Carsley.”
“Yeah. Blodgett was already dead when James stabbed him. Hard to get around the facts.”
“It is, isn’t it?” She gave me a meaningful look as she popped one of her chocolates in her mouth and chewed slowly. She didn’t offer me one, which I thought was rude. I could use some chocolate. Maybe I’d sneak some later, though she’d likely notice.
“Do you know something, Marilyn? Something you didn’t tell us about the murder?”
“Maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t.” She selected another chocolate.
I leaned forward. “If you know something, you need to tell us.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t need to do any such thing. I will tell the police when they get here.”
“Marilyn—.”
She ignored me and held up her glass for a refill. Rupert obliged and she downed it in one gulp.
I sighed. “Marilyn, you could be putting your life at risk. What if the killer knows that you have information and decides to...”
“What? Silence me? Good luck to him.” Her laugh was more than a little creepy.
I SAT BOLT UPRIGHT in bed. According to my phone it was past two in the morning. Something woke me from a dead sleep, but I couldn’t figure out what. Lucas was already reaching for his robe. A scream rent the air.
Without a word, Lucas flung open the door and charged down the hall with me hot on his heels. I didn’t even bother wasting time on a robe. Though the minute I left the room I wished I had. The hall was chilly.
“It’s Marilyn’s room,” I said. Her door was standing wide open and a shadowy figure stood in the doorway. I realized it was Jez, her face deathly pale.
“Sh-she’s dead,” she stammered. “S-sorry I screamed.”
Lucas eased her out of the doorway and toward me. I steered her toward one of the antique benches that lined the hallway then went to join Lucas. No way was I being left out of this.
The layout of Marilyn’s room was almost identical to ours except it
lacked a bay window and the color scheme was burgundy and tan. She also appeared to be less organized than either Lucas or myself. There was clothing strewn everywhere around the room. The desk had been turned into a vanity of sorts with enough bottles, tubes, and pots to supply a makeup store. Her knitting bag had been dropped in the middle of one of the armchairs next to the fireplace. And in the center of the queen size bed lay Marilyn Toppenish.
She lay curled in on herself like she’d been in pain. Her eyes stared glassily into nothing. There was a trail of vomit from her mouth, down the side of the bed, and to a pool on the floor. The stench was almost overwhelming.
“What’s going on here?” Colonel Frampton boomed from the doorway. Voices echoed down the hall. Great. We were going to have a crowd in a moment.
Lucas turned to address the colonel. “It’s Marilyn. She’s dead. Looks like she’s maybe been poisoned.”
The colonel closed his eyes a moment as if drawing strength. Then he opened them and, after closing the door firmly, strode toward the bed with a determined expression. “The rest of the guests do not need to see this. The poor woman. Yes, it does appear poison was the method, was it not? Who found her?”
“I did.” Jez raised her hand. “Her door was open...”
“There now,” the colonel clucked, giving her an awkward pat on the back. The man wasn’t exactly stellar at comforting those in shock.
“How do you suppose the poison was administered?” Lucas mused.
“Could it have been in the sherry?” I asked. “It’s pretty strong. It would mask the flavor of just about anything.”
The colonel glanced at me. “We all drank the sherry.”
“Someone could have slipped it in just her glass.”
“Unlikely,” Lucas said. “I watched Rupert pour the first glass and hand it to her. You were there for the other glasses.” Of which there’d been many. No one but Rupert and Marilyn had touched her glass and there’d been no time for Rupert to slip anything into it.