“Aw, Chief, please don’t. I promise not to run again. Don’t take me away from my Penny.” Sam finally gave Johns his full attention.
“You had better not ever get me out of bed again, Sam, or I’ll thrash you myself. Do you understand me?” Johns shook the kid again by the back of his collar.
“I do. I do. I’ll be the soul of goodness, I will,” Sam promised, sounding more like a rattled doll than an ardent, misguided lover.
“Good. Get in.” Johns dropped him again and shoved him toward the back door of the car.
“Good night, Penny!” Sam yelled. “Don’t marry that clod, Jeffrey. I’ll be out soon and I’ll be back to marry you!”
“Come on Casanova, get in the car.” Johns pushed the kid into the back seat.
Michael was in the driver’s seat and when Johns finally got in, Michael flopped the manuscript into his lap with a mischievous smile on his face. “Looks like someone left you a present, Chief.”
“What the Hell?” Johns asked.
He studied the manuscript in the dark. “This is the manuscript that went missing this morning. What the bloody Hell is it doing out here? Sam, look at this. Do you know anything at all about it?”
“Nah,” Sam said sullenly, still sending wistful looks up at the second floor of the house.
“Constable, did you see anything…anyone?”
“Sir, I didn’t see anything. Inside with you of course the whole time.”
“Well, I’ll be…I’ll be.”
Meanwhile, Perigrine was using the GPS on his phone to find his way back home. He had a pretty good walk ahead of him, but his step was light with the pleasant knowledge that he had performed a great deed. His thirst for adventure was satiated. Well, at least for the time being.
Chapter 32
MORNING DAWNED IN MARSDEN-LACEY and it was lovely and crisp. The summer was getting on and some of the trees showed signs of turning. Dew made the grass and hedges glisten. Birds sang their songs and did their dances in appreciation of the plentitude of mother nature.
Humans emerged from their homes in different forms of attire. Some were dressed more professionally than others. Milkman, publican, solicitor, farmer, teacher, tradesman and so on. But it was Martha, in her flannel valentine pajamas, matching fluffy red robe and Garfield house shoes, tending to her overgrown garden with a cup of coffee in her hand that brought a smile to the occasional passerby's face.
“You want some breakfast, Martha?” Helen called out the kitchen window.
Martha called back happily. “I’m starving. Look in the refrigerator. You’ll find all sorts of bacon, sausages, potatoes and eggs. I’m coming in to help.”
She watched a wide beam canal boat glide quietly along the canal as the mist rose over the water creating a mystical feeling. The boat had a little chimney stack puffing out clouds of smoke hinting at a warm, cozy interior cabin. The man guiding it tipped his hat to Martha and smiled. She in turn gave him a bright wave and thought about what he would see today and how by tonight he would have his boat moored in a new village or maybe out in the lovely English countryside. She let her heart fill with absolute pleasure as she thought about how much she loved her home.
Amos barked at her from the doorstep which meant she should come inside and give the pint-sized dog a bit of bacon. The aroma filled the air with the best breakfast smell in the world and Amos was terribly insistent to receive her fair share any time bacon was cooked in the house. Kate, Martha’s daughter, spoiled Amos rotten, treating her from Kate’s own plate with any goody she might savor.
“Oh, hi handsome,” Martha said to Piers as she came into the kitchen. “Hope you slept comfortably last night.”
Helen rolled her eyes at Martha’s impersonation of Mae West.
“Slept like a baby.” Piers rubbed Amos between her ears. “Didn’t have a nurse poking me or waking me up to take my vitals. Could have done without that dog of yours jumping on me at three o’clock in the morning though.”
Martha buttered the toast to put in the oven. “She wanted you to take her outside. Should we put sugar and cinnamon on these?” She dug in the cabinet and found the cinnamon and handed it to Helen then picked up a piece of bacon and chewed on it.
“I took her out and she sniffed at every bush while my bare feet were freezing.”
Helen brought the cinnamon to the table and plunked it down on the table indicating Martha could do the toast. “Yes. I haven’t had cinnamon toast since I was a child in Arkansas. I’ll let you do the honors.” She playfully poked at Martha’s shoulder to get her to start working.
“Are you both Southerners?” Piers asked.
The girls looked at each other and laughed.
“Why, Piers, darling, you should come over for my red beans and rice some evening. It's a slice of home-made heaven,” Martha said in a long, drawn-out, southern accent.
He chuckled and asked Helen, “What about you Mrs. Ryes? Are you going to offer me a truly southern meal sometime?”
Helen put a heaping plate of bacon, toast, eggs and grits in front of him. The flirtatious grin he gave her made her toes wiggle. In return she gave him a sweet smile and said in her best Scarlet O’Hara voice, “Why Mr. Cousins, I just did. When was the last time you had real grits like that?”
“Is that what they’re called?” He took a bite. “Those are incredible. I want Mrs. Thyme to learn to make these.” He mixed the eggs together with the grits.
Helen put a plate down in front of Martha who happily picked up the toast and began pulling off the crust.
“That dog of yours, Martha, is the best dog ever,” Helen said while she turned more bacon in the skillet. “She barks at every person who even gets within twenty feet of this house.”
To underscore her affection for the great protector of hearth and home, she gave Amos an entire piece of bacon.
Amos looked as thunderstruck as a dog can at the enormity of the woman’s recognition. But not taking any chances on the whims of humans, she clamped down on the slice of bacon which was almost as long as she was and hustled out of the room to parts unknown.
“Great, now she’ll wake one of us up in the middle of the night to reheat it. Spoiled dog.” Martha laughed.
“Not me. I’m going home. I miss the old heap and want to see what damage has been done since I’ve been incapacitated,” Piers said. “What are you doing today?”
His question made Martha realize she hadn’t been to work for two days. Her immediate reaction was panic and she blurted out, “Helen, I probably don’t have a job anymore. I haven’t been to work in days. I haven’t even called in today.”
She looked down at her plate and continued, “It’s funny, though, how I still have my appetite. Darn thing never goes away.”
Helen and Piers watched Martha swirl her scrambled eggs around on her plate.
Impulsively, Martha said, “What if I come to work for you, Helen? I excel at research and I bet you could train me to be an excellent assistant. Normally, I’m very conscientious.”
Helen laid down her spatula and gave her a penetrating look. “Would you, Martha? I would love it if you would come to work with me. Don’t say that to be smart. We would make a great team.”
Martha flushed pink and for a moment was completely without words. She had spoken without thinking. Helen’s warmth, true joy at having her for a work mate, and the fact they shared a common heritage, made Martha start to tear up.
“I’ll do it if you’ll have me,” Martha said starting to cry. “Helen, if you are serious, I would love to try something new. Thank you.” She got up and gave Helen a big hug.
They took stock of each other. One in a strange-looking red robe and the other in pajamas with ice-cream cones all over them (an old pair of Kate’s), they laughed through their happy tears.
“Good.” Piers dabbed at the corners of his mouth with a napkin. “Now that you are both settled, I have a job for you. I need my entire library gone over and when you girls can fit me in,
I would be glad to have your expert opinions on my collection.”
Once Helen and Martha were done doing their happy hopping and hugging each other, they gave Piers a big kiss on both his cheeks which made the Englishman blush. He wasn’t exactly accustomed to high emotional American female outbursts.
“May we come by this afternoon, Mr. Cousins, to do a small assessment of your collection?” Helen asked in a put-on professional tone.
“Delighted to have you. How about three, tea time?” Piers said in his best Etonian accent.
“We’ll be there,” Martha and Helen said in perfect unison.
Chapter 33
CHIEF JOHNS WAS ON HIS way to Oxton to visit with Devry’s stepmother. The events of the previous evening kept nagging at him. He could not unravel why anyone living along last night’s road would be remotely interested in an old manuscript. Most people living in the area wouldn’t cross the road to visit the library let alone crawl into the police station to steal a book.
The surveillance videos from the police station last night showed a few prowlers around the place. Two teenagers on bikes using the back lot to access the bike path, someone stumbling around in the bushes, probably a drunk looking for a place to relieve himself, and Sam making a break for it down the bike path. Nothing unexpected. So, it meant that someone must have followed their police vehicle, waited until they were inside and put the manuscript in the car.
He thought on it for a while but finally gave it up. No harm, no foul. One thing he could check off his list. The trip to Oxton would take at least an hour with traffic. He had plenty of time to focus on the Carstons case in his mind.
The report had come back on Devry’s death. Johns wouldn’t release the information to the public yet. He would first talk with Devry’s stepmother but it was obvious Devry had been killed and someone wanted it to look like a suicide.
There were too many factors pointing to it being a murder. His mobile phone calendar showed he had a vacation planned for Majorca in only two weeks. Depressed people don’t usually kill themselves before going to an exotic locale.
The alarm on Devry’s mobile had been set for eleven a.m. which meant he intended to be at the station to meet Johns regarding the manuscript. People who commit suicide don’t set alarms for later in their day and then hit the booze and Klonopin.
But the best reason for Devry not killing himself came from the hard evidence. Most of the medicine he had swallowed was in his stomach but two pills were found still in his mouth. People who want to kill themselves swallow all their pills.
The medicine Devry had swallowed would have taken time to stop his respiration, plenty of time for him to swallow every pill. The autopsy found Scotch in his mouth and his stomach. Someone had shoved those pills into his mouth and followed it with Scotch. But, because Devry was asleep when it was administered, he hadn’t swallowed everything.
No glass by his bed. No glass in the sink either. Someone had washed the glass to get rid of their fingerprints. This meant the murderer hadn’t visited expecting to kill Devry and maybe couldn’t pass up the golden opportunity when it was presented. Someone wanted it to look like a suicide.
The pills found in Devry’s stomach and mouth were for anxiety. Devry’s doctor had weighed in on the death as well. According to the doctor, Devry had been suffering from severe anxiety attacks in the last three months. New job, new country, but mostly because of something weighing on his mind that he wouldn’t discuss with the doctor.
Whoever killed Devry had found an opportune moment and made the most of it. There hadn’t been a struggle and no prints were found anywhere. Devry looked as peaceful as a baby when he saw him. No suffering, no pain, either mental or physical. Only peace.
Were the two murders connected? Why would Carstons’ killer want Devry dead, too? And Johns couldn’t forget the attempt on Cousins life. The three men had two things in common. One was The Grange and the other was a woman. Money, jealousy, and power: three reasons to kill.
Cousins definitely wanted Sir Carstons out of the way because of the trouble he was causing at The Grange. However, he also wanted custody of his love child with Carstons’ wife.
Piers Cousins was still alive. He might have had them both killed. He had rock solid alibis for both murders. He could have had someone make a fake attempt on his life to throw the police off his trail.
Carstons, Cousins and Devry shared the love of a woman or maybe they loved her but she didn’t return the feeling. What about this Emilia? Did she have many lovers?
Also, there was the card with Cousins’ name that was found on the rock door stop used to kill Carstons. If Cousins had Sir Carstons killed, he wouldn’t have let his name be literally on the murder weapon.
Johns’ musings came to an abrupt end as he entered the outskirts of Oxton. He easily found the address of Devry’s stepmother. She lived in a small retirement housing village.
The name on her house read “Rose Bungalow” and with a look around to the other small domiciles, he realized each was named after an English flower. He rang the doorbell.
It took some time but finally a small white-haired woman came to the door and without taking the chain from the latch asked feebly, “Yes?”
“Mrs. Devry, I am Chief Inspector Johns from the Marsden-Lacey Police Department.” He showed her his badge. “May I have a moment of your time?”
The diminutive woman gave him a hard look. “One moment, please. I will go get my daughter.”
She shut the door completely. He grimaced. You never knew at this point if you would have to ring again.
Soon a middle-aged, pleasant-looking woman with light brown hair opened the door. “How may we help you?”
Again, Johns showed his badge and she gave it a cursory glance.
“I am Chief Inspector Johns with the Marsden-Lacey CID. May I come in and talk with you and your mother? It’s regarding her stepson, Louis Devry.”
“Yes, of course. Please come in. My name is Isabelle Benton. Mum will be in the back of the house. It has a nice sunny room she likes to sit in during the day.”
Isabelle Benton showed Johns to where her mother was sitting. The elderly lady motioned for him to join her and said, “Dear, would you please bring us some coffee? You would like something warm to drink, Inspector? I think fall is in the air. A bit chilly.”
“Yes, Ma’am. That would be nice.”
“I’ll be right back, Mum.”
Once the younger woman left the room, Mrs. Devry, wrapped in a fuzzy shawl, looked up and gave Johns a shy smile. “I don’t have many visitors from where my son lives. Why have you come such a long way today, Inspector?”
There, briefly, a tiny muscle spasm at the corner of her eye told him she sensed something was wrong with his visit. She pulled the shawl tighter around her shoulders trying to ward off the creeping coldness he brought into the room.
Isabelle returned and sat down by her mother. She gave Johns a concerned look. “Why have you come here, Chief Inspector?”
There wasn’t an easy way to say it. With a grimace, he jumped in. “I am sorry to be the one to bring this news to you…”
Mrs. Devry held up her small, white hand to stop him. She turned her head to the window and Johns could see the tremors begin in her frail, bird-like body.
“Oh, Mother,” the younger woman said reaching out to take the still upheld hand into her own. She gave Johns a pleading, unsure look. “It’s okay, Mum,” she said, trying to reassure them both.
This was the absolute worst part of Johns’ job. He told them of Louis’ death and then he sat with them for at least thirty minutes with his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped waiting for them to be ready for the rest of his story.
At one point the water began to boil so he went into the kitchen, made tea and brought it out to them. Johns poured them each a cup and handed tissues as needed.
“How did he die?” Isabelle asked finally.
Johns’ eyes flitted from one wo
man’s face to the other. Not sure how much he should attempt considering the elderly lady’s health, he said, “To be fair to you both, it’s still a matter of investigation. He passed away yesterday around midday.”
“Isabelle. I had just been there.” Mrs. Devry said. “Oh, my God, Isa, I had just been there. Oh, dear, dear Louis.”
The tiny woman began to cry again and tried to lift herself from her chair. Her daughter, with a look of concern quickly escalating to fear due to her mother’s reaction, helped Mrs. Devry out of her chair. She looked at Johns like he was a murderer.
“Help me get her to her room, please. She should lie down.”
Johns practically carried Mrs. Devry to her bedroom and while her daughter was quieting her down, he sat in the cheery sunroom and drank his tea. Soon Isabelle returned and sat on the sofa looking pale and tired.
She stared out the window. “Louis was fine when mum left yesterday. He was looking forward to his upcoming trip to Majorca. How did he die so suddenly? Was it a heart attack?”
“Ms. Benton, it’s too premature for us to know exactly how your brother died. I wanted to come today to tell your mother and to ask her a few questions.”
He hurried on before she could state the obvious. “Was your mother’s visit purely for pleasure? He had mentioned that she had been ill and he came to stay with her last week.”
“Well, yes, and no. A friend of my mother’s from church was going to Marsden-Lacey and invited mother. Mother was feeling stronger and wanted to surprise Louis.”
“Ms. Benton,” he began.
“It’s Mrs. Benton. So you know.” She smiled weakly.
“Mrs. Benton, had your brother been depressed or anxious about anything in the last couple of months?”
She hesitated. Johns waited.
“Louis was distracted but we knew he was under a great deal of pressure to succeed at this new post. You see, Louis lost his last job at Harvard for some type of indiscretion. He wouldn’t talk about it. Piers wanted him for the position at The Grange in Marsden-Lacey and mother was so happy to have him back here.”
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