Pudding, Poison & Pie (A Marsden-Lacey Cozy Mystery Book 3)

by Sigrid Vansandt

  Johns perked up a bit at the thought of a piece of stilton and meat pie. Donna had it sitting on a deep blue pottery plate. She’d poured him a tall glass of cold milk to go with it and excused herself for a minute to grab laundry from the utility room. Johns’ mood brightened considerably. He sat down and with a boyish smile, put a fork in the pie.

  “Whatcha eating?” came a sweet, frail voice at his elbow.

  The Chief turned to see who was moving in on his meal. It was Adam, Johns’ earlier superhero greeter. Beside him sat Biscuit, with a knowing look in his dog eyes.

  “Lunch?” Johns said, giving the boy a weak smile. The older man knew from the tone of the younger one, that this was a flank attack on his pie.

  “Does it taste good?” the child asked, staring intently at the sizable, steaming, crusty piece of heaven on Johns’ plate. The Chief saw Biscuit licking his chops in anticipation.

  Not having much experience with kids or dogs, Johns, a man over six feet in height and able to bench press three hundred pounds, knew when he was out-classed when it came to real power.

  Johns reached down and picked the child up, who didn’t hesitate, and put him on his lap. Adam flung his plastic toy light saber on the table.

  “If my brother tries to take it,” he said looking Johns directly in the eye, “don’t let him, okay?”

  Johns nodded, “I’ll keep watch.”

  He handed Adam the fork. Biscuit waddled closer and sat down next to Johns’ chair. When Donna came back in, the pie was half gone, Adam had a milk mustache, Biscuit was snoozing across the Chief’s feet, and Johns, himself, looked ten years younger.

  She put her hand on her hip with a sigh.

  “You’ve been conned by two of the best, Chief. How much has Biscuit eaten of your pie, not to mention, Spider Man here?”

  “They’ve been sharing back and forth. It’s about two to one at the moment, I’d say. Adam says it’s good pie,” Johns said with a warm twinkle in his eye.

  “Adam should know. He’s already had a piece,” Donna gently scolded. “Run out and watch the game with your brother and Jeffery. I need to talk with Chief Johns.”

  Adam and Biscuit disengaged themselves from their meal train and headed for the living room. Before he turned the corner of the doorway, Donna cleared her throat in a motherly way, reminding Adam he’d forgotten something important. He looked over his shoulder at her questioningly.

  “Don’t you have something to say to Chief Johns?” she asked, her inflection rising at the end of the question.

  Adam made a full front and center turn and saluted the Chief with his light saber while grinning brightly. Using the back of his forearm, he wiped the milk and crumbs from his face. “Thank you for sharing your pie, sir, with Biscuit and me. It was tasty.”

  Johns nodded and returned the smile. “You’re welcome, Adam.”

  The two well-fed scalawags trotted off into another part of the house with Johns watching them go.

  “I’m sorry they ate your pie,” Donna apologized. “Here’s another piece. Now, let’s talk.”

  Over the next thirty minutes, Johns learned about Detective Inspector Knells’ moving into the Chief’s office, requisitioning all the back files on every case Johns had worked on in the last year, and the subtle attitude that he, Knells, was Acting-Chief.

  “About an hour ago, Sergeant Endicott sent me the video files from the television cameras. He said to pay close attention to a unique set of video frames,” Donna said, opening her laptop and pulling up her email. “What do you think of this?”

  Johns studied the video three times. Endicott had done an excellent job of enhancing the visibility. There, in the video, stood Martha and Polly with Saundra as seen from the back. Martha’s expression looked like she smelled something bad. Johns surmised Saundra was saying something vicious. Martha reached over and picked up a mug of tea and another, which she handed to Saundra. The rest of the video was a horrific visual of his wife’s gruesome death. Closing his eyes, Johns shut the laptop.

  “Martha actually drinks out of the cup Saundra gave to the hot water attendant. She hands Saundra her own cup,” Donna said excitedly.

  Johns nodded. “If it hadn’t been that Martha’s cup was darker, we wouldn’t have ever known the cups had been switched. Has anyone talked with that attendant yet?”

  “We think so. It’s hard to tell. They came and went all morning and no one actually remembers who handed Martha and Polly their cups.”

  Johns sat back in his chair and put his napkin next to his plate. “I talked with Dr. Townsend, the Head of Forensics, last night. She must not have known that sharing information with me regarding the case was off limits. The amount in Saundra’s body was enough to drop a horse. Someone wanted her dead instantaneously.”

  “I’ve been looking into different resources where someone would be able to get their hands on cyanide. All the typical places don’t report a loss of any kind,” Donna said. The teakettle whined. “Want a nice cuppa, Chief?”

  “Yes, thank you.” Johns studied the dark beams in Donna’s kitchen ceiling. She had different things hanging along them like baskets, dried summer herbs, and antique cooking utensils. “Yesterday I called Saundra’s last live-in lover. He didn’t answer, but when I told him about Saundra’s death, he called me right back. He’s in Bombay, not even in England.”

  “How long has he been there?” Donna asked, pouring water over tea bags in a pretty Ainsley teapot.

  “It checked out. He’s been there for six months and didn’t know anything about Saundra’s personal life since they separated.”

  “Who would want her dead?” Donna mused.

  Johns regarded the ceiling again. He smiled. There, along one beam, hung two cornhusk dolls Donna had probably picked up at a summer fair. Whoever had made them had put a great deal of work into them. They each had yarn hair and white aprons. One was a redhead, which made him smile. His gaze locked on the dolls and dropped to Donna.

  “I don’t think anyone wanted Saundra dead, Donna,” Johns said like a man trying to talk underwater. “I think she was handed the wrong mug…the wrong mug. The tea with cyanide was meant for…Martha.”

  Chapter 25

  HELEN DROPPED MARTHA OFF, ALONG with Amos, Vera, and Gus at Polly’s farm and told them she’d be back around eight o’clock that evening. She put the car in drive and turned onto the narrow rural road that would take her around Marsden-Lacey’s outer limits and on to Piers’ home, Healy House.

  The sun was dipping below the horizon making for a glorious sunset over the Yorkshire countryside. The entire day had been beautiful for this time of year, clear and cold, with fast-moving clouds rolling across the vast, blue sky.

  Healy’s entrance was gated and usually closed. Once Helen knew she was within a mile of it, she called Piers.

  “Hi, I’m almost there,” she said, when he answered the phone.

  “Good, the gates are open. Pull on into the garage area. I’ll meet you there in about ten minutes,” Piers instructed.

  As she pulled through the entrance and onto the blacktopped driveway, Helen looked into her rearview mirror. The massive iron gates were swinging slowly closed. The grounds of Healy were a veritable fortress these days. It hadn’t always been so. Since the outrageous situation last fall with the three criminals and the abduction of Emerson, Piers had installed cameras, motion detectors, and hired two security men who patrolled the hundred-acre estate on horseback with dogs. If you wanted into Healy, you needed an invitation.

  Helen’s Mercedes rounded through the front courtyard area and she drove along a gravel drive to the side of the beautiful Elizabethan house. Toward the back where the stables and garages sat, there was an enclosed outdoor space. Piers stood waiting for her to arrive, looking handsome with his dark hair whipped by the evening wind. He strolled over to her car.

  Helen rolled down the window.

  “Do you see where the garage doors are open? Pull your car into that bay. It’s
supposed to snow tonight, and I don’t want your car outside,” Piers said.

  The car parked in the garage, Piers opened the driver’s door and helped her out. She smiled up at him through long lashes. As she reached back inside for her purse, he tugged at her free hand, pulling her into his arms. For what felt like an eternity, they kissed. Helen’s heart seemed to fill her entire being. She knew she was helplessly in love with him, and there was no going back. It would be what it would be. As she gently pulled back from him, she wondered how it was possible she was both terrified and joyful at the same time.

  “Follow me,” he said softly taking her by the hand.

  They walked through the garages and up a flight of concrete steps into the body of the main house. Healy wasn’t a house you walked through in a short time. Patience and fortitude for covering long interior distances were needed by anyone who wished to call it their home.

  After reaching a part of the house Helen recognized, they walked down a wainscoted hallway toward the main Hall. Piers opened a tall, heavy mahogany paneled door and waited for Helen to walk through in front of him.

  The room she entered was nothing short of magical. Like a jewel, into which one stares deeply to see what lies at its core, this beautiful room was Healy’s heart: noble, good and full of grace. No matter where Helen’s gaze fell, it was met by something enchanting, something timeless or something loved.

  A massive Christmas tree bedecked in glass ornaments and tiny white lights stood regally in front of a diamond-paned, twelve-foot mullioned window. On the room’s left, a Gothic stone fireplace played host to a well-stoked roaring fire and a round, intimate dining table dressed for two.

  “This is beautiful, Piers,” Helen said breathlessly.

  Coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her, he said, “I thought it would be nice, if we had some quiet time, just the two of us. You and I have been running non-stop.”

  Helen studied the room more attentively. A diminutive silver candelabra sat center stage on the intimate table. Three twinkling candles, along with the glow of the fire, illuminated the Waterford champagne glasses, gold-rimmed Haviland china plates, and two lace-edged napkins. The tablecloth of exquisite ecru-colored damask linen cascaded down into lavish puddles on the floor.

  “Come sit down,” Piers said, guiding her over to the sofa. Once they were ensconced comfortably, Piers put his arm around her shoulder. Shutting her eyes, she lay her head against his chest and listened to the fire crackle and pop. They sat quietly for some time until a light knock came at the door.

  “Come in,” Piers said, raising his voice enough to be heard. Both of them rose as the door opened. Agosto, decked out in a black chef’s uniform and black skullcap, denoting his high rank among England’s culinary guild, wheeled in a cart with a silver domed covered plate.

  “Please, Helen, come and be seated,” Piers said, holding out her chair for her.

  In time, they enjoyed Agosto’s pièce de résistance, Hereford Ribeye with seared scallops, and for dessert, flaming mint ice cream. Lingering at the table and sipping champagne, they talked about work, about how Piers’ adopted son, Emerson, was liking his new life at Healy, and about how much fun she was having living and working with Martha.

  “Agosto is truly an artist. I’m a bit ashamed of our pie today after eating his magnificent meal. If I don’t stand up, I may never move again after that ribeye,” Helen said, rising and walking over to inspect the Christmas tree better.

  Its massive girth was amazing. She tilted her head back to take in the full scope of the tall fir tree and smiled privately to herself. This tree was something out of a child’s dream. It soared up into the heavens.

  “Come here and sit by me,” Piers coaxed from across the room. Helen joined him on the sofa as before. They sat enjoying the fire. He leaned in and kissed her neck. She closed her eyes as the effects of the Champagne, the warm room, and the light touch of his lips on her skin lulled her senses onto a heavenly plane. With a sudden knee-jerk reaction, though, Helen found herself standing up on the floor and looking back at Piers.

  “What?” he said, totally befuddled.

  “I…I am not sure about this, Piers,” she stuttered, looking at him like his head was on fire.

  “Not sure about what, Helen? We’re two consenting adults. It’s pretty natural stuff,” he said, his tone tinged with confusion.

  Helen walked over to a Wedgwood vase filled with carnations and roses and breathed deeply from them. They filled the air with a heavenly intoxicating scent, making Helen wish that time might stand still, if only for the rest of the evening.

  “Piers, I’ve only ever been with one man. I’m not sure I can go any further. I want to. I really do, but I don’t want to be hurt again.” She stopped, horrified by her confession, not wanting to look him in the face. “I don’t understand why you want…me?”

  “Because I love you,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. Getting up, he came over to her. “I’ve spent a lifetime running after everything that didn’t matter. I thought I loved Emilia, Emerson’s mother, but she never loved me back. I didn’t know what love was until I met you, Helen. I didn’t know the man I could be until you came into my life. You’re making me crazy. I can’t work. I can’t think about anything, but you. All I want to do is hold you…kiss you.”

  Helen hadn’t expected anything like this from Piers. She stared at him. Without thinking, she blurted out, “I love you, too.”

  Piers walked with a deliberate stride over to the tree and plucked from one of its boughs an exquisitely petite, black box wrapped with a white silk ribbon. He handed it to her.

  “This is for you. Open it,” he said softly.

  She stared down at the gift. Her fingers trembled as she untied the ribbon. Lifting the box’s hinged top, her gaze fell upon the most brilliant diamond ring she’d ever seen in her life.

  “It took me three weeks, two trips to Antwerp and a serious scuffle with a love-sick sheikh who wanted that same diamond for his newest wife. Herr Zilberschlag was beside himself trying to appease the sheikh and I both, but once I saw that diamond, I knew it would only ever grace your hand, Helen.”

  Piers took her hands. “I want you to marry me. Tomorrow would be great. Whatever you want. Make me the happiest man alive. Marry me.”

  He took it from its pillow and waited for her to look up at him. Her eyes glistening with welling tears, Helen held out her trembling hand for Piers to take. He slipped the ring onto her finger, and she was dazzled by its sheer enormity, as he took her into his arms and kissed her.

  “You’re mine, Helen, now and for always,” he whispered, his words soft next to her ear. “As God is my witness, I’ll never let you wonder if you’re loved.” Piers held her tight. She nodded and said, “Yes, Piers, now and for always.”

  He took her hand and she followed him. The jewel-like room was left in peaceful silence, while out through the windows, a heavy snow was falling. No one could leave Healy tonight, but then, no one wanted to either.

  Chapter 26

  THE NEXT MORNING, MARTHA LOOKED out through Polly’s kitchen window. Snow clung to the corners of each pane. The farmyard was under at least a foot of snow.

  “Helen never made it last night, Martha,” Polly was saying as she was heating up water for their morning coffee. “I heard Merriam come home, though. He’ll be down for his breakfast.”

  “We’re going to need him to take us in to the competition,” Martha said, putting different food items into bags. “Did you decide on which china to use? We should have bought flowers, Polly, before we came home.”

  “I packed the dishes last night into boxes. Merriam can put it in the Range Rover. We’ll be fine driving ourselves. Don’t worry about flowers. Look what I have here.”

  Opening her refrigerator, Polly pulled out a luscious bouquet of yellow and red tea roses, baby’s breath and cuttings of holly with round red berries still clinging to the stems.

  Martha oohed and ahhe
d over the delicate flowers.

  “You never cease to surprise, Polly, m’dear,” Martha said giving her hostess a squeeze.

  “I am something special, aren’t I?” Polly said, sashaying in a silly walk back to the long kitchen work bar. Bending down, she picked up Pepper.

  “Would you like some chicken?” she cooed to the tiny dog.

  A rattling from the upper story of the house indicated that Johns was about to descend the stairs. Martha checked her hair in the hallway mirror. Polly, oblivious, put four small bowls on the floor filled with minced chicken and gently lowered Pepper to the floor so he could eat.

  “Amos! Gus! Vera!” Polly called. “Breakfast!”

  Never one to miss out on food, especially a meal involving turkey, bacon or chicken, Amos honed in on her bowl right away and was soon blissfully smacking alongside Pepper. The cats, however, sauntered in with tails aloft and mewed graciously. With refined manners, they ate slowly, with attention to not letting chicken soil their whiskers.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” Johns said, lumbering down the stairs and looking at Martha. “I can’t let you continue with the competition, and I’d like it if no one knows that you’ll be staying here until we catch the killer.”

  Both women blinked at him uncomprehendingly. Looking around the room to see if there was someone else her son was speaking to other than her and Martha, Polly finally hesitated a response.

  “Who are you talking to, son?”

  “I’m talking to Martha,” he said matter-of-factly, while taking a mug from the cabinet.

  Half-vexed, half-amused, Martha replied, “Is this a weak attempt at morning humor?”

  “No. Someone’s trying to kill you, not Saundra, not Mrs. Cuttlebirt…you,” Johns said, pouring a cup of coffee.

  Polly and Martha, both with their mouths slightly open from this shocking statement, didn’t speak for a moment. Pulling herself together, Martha asked, “Why would anyone want to kill me? I’m a nice person.”

  “True, you are a nice person, but someone wants you dead,” he said, smiling at her from across the kitchen bar. “You do have a way of working someone’s last nerve. Maybe, you’ve finally annoyed someone to the point of wanting you out of the way.” Johns chuckled at his own joke.