Two Birds with One Stone (A Marsden-Lacey Cozy Mystery Book 1)

by Sigrid Vansandt

  “Why are you here?”

  “I wanted to talk with him about something.”

  “What?”

  Piers’ rattled brain wouldn’t process. He forced it to focus. Johns was staring at him, waiting. Finally, he found himself wondering if it was the right moment to say he suspected Louis of killing Carstons. “I…I…Well, you see, I wanted to ask Louis if he killed Carstons.”

  There it was. The truth he had kept in his mind but had not wanted to say out loud. It was said in the same manner as a child, blurting out his thoughts and then wondering at the audibility of his statement.

  “Oh?” was all Johns said in return. He scrutinized Piers’ face and waited for more.

  “I mean that I came by out of concern. I needed to know what Carstons had on him.”

  Johns cocked his head and regarded the affluent, well-dressed man. Then as abruptly as he entered, he walked back out.

  PIERS STOOD STILL. HE HEARD people coming and going in the house, and other vehicles’ tires crunching to a stop outside the cottage. He wondered if he should leave the room. It was beginning to make him feel claustrophobic and nauseous.

  Johns bustled back into the room and addressed Piers. “Need you to come outside Mr. Cousins, if you would. We need to get our forensic team in here and I need to find a quiet place for us to talk. I’m sure you have some things you would like to get off your chest.”

  “Yes. Thank you,” Piers said like a man waking from a dream. But then he asked with force, “May I make a phone call?”

  “Sure. Come find me in the front hall when you’re finished and we can start.”

  Johns turned and began talking with the forensic team’s leader.

  Piers walked free of the tight bedroom. He could actually feel something tugging, clinging and pulling on his spirit as if it wasn’t ready for him to leave yet. As he walked towards the open door leading to the outside world humming with life, he could feel the band stretching to its breaking point. It snapped, releasing him as he stepped out through the front door of the cottage and into the summer sunlight.

  He took a deep breath and as he let it out, he could hear birds singing and bees humming in the flowering shrubs. The air smelled of rain and, needing to talk to someone kind, he dialed Helen’s number.

  Chapter 28

  CONSTABLE WATERS HAD BEEN LEFT in charge of the constabulary while the rest of the team was either on lunch or working the situation at Potter Cottage. Her morning had been spent dealing with the young man, Sam Berry, who had mugged Martha Littleword in the market place.

  He’d been complaining non-stop to use his phone. His aunt and guardian, Harriet Berry, the owner of the best tea shop in Marsden-Lacey, had received his only allowed call from the police station and promptly hung up on him. Sam had run out of sympathetic women for the time being.

  In the reception area, Donna was preparing the duty roster while at the same time updating her Facebook page. An “arumph” sound and a shadow on her left hand side startled her. Looking up, she saw Perigrine Clarke smiling like a Cheshire cat while humbly proffering a delicious-looking tea cake across the reception desk.

  “Hi, Perigrine,” she said warmly with a big smile. “What is this lovely piece of confection?”

  Perigrine leaned in over the reception desk with the familiar air of a conspiratorial suburban housewife trading savory secrets with the next-door neighbor and said, “Donna, I’ve had one of my feelings today. It’s driving me crazy. Do you have time for tea? It’s one of Harriet’s cakes.”

  While Perigrine and Alistair were “guests” at the constabulary, Donna had spent a great deal of time discussing with P. his special ability to sense things or guess the future. They had built a nice friendship. On P.’s part he could warn Donna when one of the boys might be doing something they shouldn’t or if her mother-in-law was about to call to announce a visit. Donna reciprocated by convincing Johns that P. and Alistair should have more freedom about the constabulary or maybe a day-out pass to visit their favorite haunts.

  “Well, you had better tell me all about it, Perigrine. Best to get it off your chest. Please say it isn’t about one of the children.”

  “Oh no. Not the boys, dear.” He made a waving motion of his hand like he was shooing away a nasty thought.

  Then in a theatrical manner meant to elicit a modicum amount of sympathy, he put his right hand up and drummed his fingers above his ear while shaking his hand lightly enough to convince anyone watching that he was a tiny bit distraught.

  Donna wasn’t taken in by the performance, but she did love P. for making the effort to give her a taste of his dramatic abilities, so she applied a mask of deep concern and asked what he thought the feeling meant.

  “I know something has been brought in here that is extremely valuable. I sensed it yesterday and it’s in danger. It traveled a long way and it has been lost for a long time. I can feel it in my bones, dear. It’s talking to me and I know it’s beyond special. Is there any way I can see it?” Perigrine begged.

  The look on Donna’s face would have been “Liked” by at least ten of her closest friends because rarely did she look so completely shocked. Her mouth slack-jawed and her eyes wide with disbelief, she mentally processed whether Perigrine was trying to get information or if he was actually on the up and up. Donna wasn’t the type to be at a loss for words, but Perigrine’s timing was unbelievable. Was it possible he actually knew something?

  “Perigrine,” she began in the pedantic, firm tone of an exasperated schoolmarm, “you better tell me what you know because you could be in a terrible amount of trouble walking in here and making a statement like that right now.”

  With an honest look of confusion, Perigrine stopped the theatrics and straightened his tie. Her reaction was completely the opposite of what he had hoped for. “What do you mean? Is something amiss?”

  Poorer choice of words had rarely been used than the last three of P.’s choosing. Donna got up and came around the reception desk and grabbed the astonished six foot, tweed-wearing dandy and dragged him back to the interview room.

  Initially, Perigrine put up no resistance and only when he found himself sitting in a metal chair across the desk from Donna did he raise his eyebrows in an effort to regain his composure. He smiled weakly. “Donna? Did I say something wrong?”

  “You better come clean, Perigrine. What do you think this something is that is lost? And don’t play games with me. This is serious,” she said.

  P. looked down at the tea cake he had managed to hang on to while he was being dragged back to the break room for questioning. His mind went back to the scene of Johns walking across the car park with the envelope. With his eyes shut, he searched the impression for what secrets it held. That envelope radiated such a powerful energy to Perigrine that he simply tingled all over. His eyes snapped open and he locked on to Donna’s searching gaze.

  “Donna,” he said with an honest simplicity, “I saw an envelope in Chief Johns’ hands while he walked across the car park. Something in it is terribly priceless. I wanted to get my hands on it and probably for all the wrong reasons which is always a sign it must be fabulously valuable. Has something happened surrounding it?”

  Donna knew when he was sincere. “Perigrine, I can’t discuss anything with you but if you have a connection with this item, will you please be forthcoming and give us any information you might have?” She leaned into the table they shared.

  “My dear Donna, what happened? Is it not here anymore?” he asked, horrified, mimicking her movement toward the center of the table.

  “Oh, P., it went missing this morning about eleven. Don’t breathe a word of this to anyone. We have someone on video climbing out of one of the windows. He’ll be caught but it might take some time.”

  On hearing the word “he,” to Perigrine’s credit, he managed not to express on his face what his mind was flashing in large neon letters. Instead he looked down into his upturned palms and then back into Donna’s face. As if s
he were his confessor, he took a deep sigh and made a clean breast of it.

  “Donna, as God is my witness, I did lust after whatever it was Johns had in that envelope. But I didn’t take it. I didn’t. Let me try and help find it. Okay? If I had taken it, you can bet I wouldn’t be here. I’d be half way to a shady London dealer.”

  Donna considered his face. What he said was true about the dealer. If he had it, he wouldn’t be showing up with a cake and a tale about his feelings. She gave him the benefit of the doubt.

  “Okay. That’s true, P. Keep it quiet what I told you and let me know what you find out.”

  PERIGRINE LEFT THE TEA CAKE behind to bring succor to the over-worked constables and to make a small atonement for almost being enticed again down the path of perdition. He left through the front entrance and made a good show of walking towards the High Street but once out of sight of the station, he made a quick detour down Peddlers Alley and back toward the Garden Centre and home.

  Grateful no one was in the shop, he made a beeline to the back. There in the corner of the office sat Alistair, calmly brushing their contented schnauzer, Comstock, whose tail wagged a friendly hello at Perigrine’s arrival.

  Giving Alistair enough time to realize his entrance, Perigrine leaned up against the bookshelves and watched as a finished and fluffed Comstock shook himself all over and trotted off towards the garden and a likely dirt bath.

  Only then did he ask softly, “Ally, my dear, where the Hell is it?”

  “Why under the dog’s bed of course, Perry. Where else would it be?” Alistair smiled while pouring himself and Perigrine a brandy. “Thought it would make you a nice present. You do work so hard.”

  Accepting the brandy, Perigrine swirled it around in the tumbler. “Thank you for the thought, but unless you want to rekindle your relationship with the prison board, we’d better get it back somehow. They’ve got someone on video. Won’t take long to put their noses to the ground and find you.”

  “Oh. What a shame. I had such high hopes for it. How about we drop it into the mail slot and call it a day?” Alistair grinned like an imp then sipped his brandy.

  Shaking his head with an affectionate smile, Perigrine Clarke considered his options. The desire for the book had left him but he was still curious to see it. Lifting the dog’s bed, he saw an unexciting plastic bag with what appeared to be a bunch of papers inside. Knowing a bit about how to handle delicate works on paper, he gingerly opened the sleeve and peeked inside. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up and the smell of “old” wafted up to his nostrils.

  With great reverence he read the first few lines. There was no doubt in Perigrine’s mind who had written those words. It now became a question of national identity and if P. was anything, he was a proud defender of all things British.

  Like most good ideas that come from somewhere out of the blue or maybe in this case from providence, P. then had an epiphany and probably saved Alistair from another incarceration and the book from another century of obscurity.

  Chapter 29

  HELEN AND MARTHA FOUND FLOWER Pot Cottage a welcoming sanctuary. Sitting snugly along the canal with its ivy-covered stone walls and wild, unkempt garden, it seemed to smile and beckon them to retreat within its cozy, safe walls. They immediately took steaming hot showers, put on clean flannel pajamas and dove into the tantalizing clam chowder and crusty french bread they bought at Harriet’s Shop after leaving the station.

  They made themselves separate nests of blankets and bed pillows, one on the sofa for Helen while Martha claimed her favorite big chair and ottoman. Feeling drowsy and warm, they managed to find an old Peter Sellers “Pink Panther” movie and were enjoying a few laughs when the phone rang.

  “Don’t answer it.” Martha scratched Gus’ ears.

  “What if it’s important? Could be your daughter.”

  “She would call my mobile. It’s not work either. I called in to take the day off. Might be Johns though.” Martha winked.

  “Then answer it.” Helen had a twinkle in her eye.

  “No. You get it. Don’t want to make it easy for him.”

  “Oh, good Lord. I’ll get it.”

  Helen threw off her blanket and picked her way past the pillows, tea mugs and soup bowls to find the phone still ringing but covered up under a karate magazine.

  “Do you read this stuff?”

  Martha shrugged. “I’m learning to kill with my bare hands. Remember? You might be surprised to know that I’m on my orange belt.”

  Helen rolled her eyes and tapped the phone’s “On” button. “Hello?”

  She listened for a long time and Martha watched and listened to her “Oh my’s” and her “Oh terrible’s.”

  Helen finally said, “Piers, come straight over to Martha’s cottage. We’ll put on the tea. I think you could use a cup. Yes, Flower Pot Cottage. It’s near the canal not far from the first lock. We’ll be here.”

  Putting the phone down, she turned to Martha who sat in her comfy chair with a sour look on her face petting both the dog and cat.

  “There’s been a death, Martha. Louis Devry is dead.”

  Gus and Martha stared blankly back at Helen.

  “Did you hear what I said? Louis Devry is dead. Piers is terribly shaken up and is coming over.”

  In a burst of irascibility, Martha said, “Great. With all three of us here, the nut job who’s stalking us will have one-stop shopping for lemmings. How do we know he didn’t kill Devry?”

  “Martha, Piers didn’t kill Devry and you’re being insensitive. The nut job won’t be coming here. Not with that security dog of yours.” Helen pointed at Amos who had rolled over and was sleeping with all four legs in the air and snoring contentedly.

  “I’m being extremely sensitive, Helen. Sensitive to the reality that we need to find out who wants us dead. What if Fancy Pants tells the wrong person where he’s off to? Then they come over here, kill us all and leave our children and pets orphans,” cried a high-tempered and overly-tired Martha.

  “Okay, okay. You need some rest. Take Gus and Amos and go upstairs and have a nap. I’ll wait for Piers. Don’t worry about anything. Get a nice nap.” Helen tried to soothe Martha while wrestling her out of her chair and nudging her up the stairs.

  “I’m locking my door and I’ve got a big club with a sharp nail in it that I keep by my bed. If anyone tries to get into my room, I swear I’ll let them have it,” Martha threatened from the landing.

  “Yeah, yeah. Sounds good. You do that. Thought you knew how to kill with your bare hands. Shouldn’t need a bat with a nail. Now go to bed!” Helen yelled back up the stairs.

  As she walked down the small hall into the kitchen, she asked herself, “Why do I feel like I’ve dropped into that crazy, old movie we watched? I’m playing Clouseau to her Dreyfus.”

  She checked her appearance in the toaster and, finding it tidy and acceptable, began boiling water for a private tea for two.

  Chapter 30

  PRIOR TO THE MURDER INVESTIGATION, Johns had known of Piers Cousins but had never met him, and had thought of him as just another wealthy playboy.

  “So, tell me about why you came here today, Mr. Cousins?” Johns asked in a nonchalant manner, hoping to put Cousins at ease.

  Piers shrugged his shoulders and fiddled with a pen. “I left the hospital and was heading home and…”

  Johns waited, giving him some time. Cousins might be in a bit of shock. “Yes?”

  “I thought maybe Louis was Sir Carstons’ killer and I wanted to offer him my help.”

  “Really? What sort of help would you offer to Mr. Devry?”

  “I thought I could help with the solicitor’s fees. Louis was my friend and we had known each other since childhood. After his visit to the hospital and knowing how Sir Carstons was blackmailing him…”

  “Blackmail? That is news. Please enlighten me.” Johns’ interest had been tweaked.

  “Carstons had something on Louis about his last job at Harvard. Ma
rtha, Helen and I saw the security videos. It appeared that Louis was very angry with Carstons. I think there was more to the story and maybe Louis was holding something back.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he never forgave Carstons’ terrible treatment of Emilia.”

  “He mentioned when I interviewed him, he had loved an Emilia. What did you know about the woman?”

  “Well…” again a lengthy hesitation. “Chief Inspector, Emilia Carstons and I were involved in a relationship when she died in childbirth. I believe the child she had was mine and I’ve worked for years to get custody of him.”

  Johns kept his face as stoic as possible. He always got a tingle in his chest when the net started to close. “What makes you think the child was yours, Mr. Cousins?”

  “We had been together. She cut off contact with me right after she knew she was pregnant. I think she feared Sir Carstons and wanted a divorce but he held it up. She died wanting to be free of him. Chief, if anyone wanted Carstons dead all these years, it was me.” Cousins looked the Chief directly in the eye.

  “Gee, Mr. Cousins, are you trying to make it easy on me? Why shouldn’t I take you in right now?”

  “I didn’t kill him,” Piers said flatly.

  The two men stared at each other long enough to smell the other’s solidness. On Johns’ part, he didn’t have a shred of evidence against Cousins yet. No fingerprints, nothing. The taxi cab driver said he brought Cousins from the hospital. The hospital gave a release time for Cousins. He had nothing.

  “Mr. Cousins, thank you for your help. I am sorry about Mr. Devry. Where are you planning to go now?”

  “To Flower Pot Cottage. I’m going to check on Helen and Martha.”

  Johns gave Cousins a penetrating look. He immediately became tense. All his instincts were on alert. He decided to buy some insurance.

  “Don’t tell Mrs. Ryes and Mrs. Littleword because I don’t want them to be nervous, but we have had a constant police watch on them and the cottage. Safest place for them. We don’t want anything happening to them, do we?” He stared at Cousins coldly.