"I'm sorry," I said quietly. There just wasn't anything else for me to say. I'd been feeling victorious, excited, proud that I'd helped solve the double murder but as I walked back toward Briggs' car, where I intended to sit and get warm, I felt pretty miserable. The justice system hadn't worked the first time, so Heather took matters into her own hands. Listening to her story, it was hard to blame her.
I sat huddled in my own arms, my face buried in the collar of my coat as Briggs finished up. The police put Heather into the back of the squad car for transportation to the precinct. Briggs walked back to his car and climbed in. Being a wonderful boyfriend, he instantly sensed that something was off.
He took hold of my hand. "I saw you talking to Heather. Are you all right?"
I sniffled to assure him I wasn't. "Maybe I shouldn't have pursued this one. But I didn't know the motive." I swiped at a tear and turned to him. Again, wonderful boyfriend and friend that he was, he just listened instead of talking me out of my notions. "It was a really good motive. I don't know what I'd do if someone destroyed my mom's life, driving her to suicide. It all seems justified. The system didn't work for her. Michael Plesser committed terrible crimes and got almost no jail time."
Briggs reached across for an awkward hug over the console. It was still effective. I always felt better with his arms around me. "I know it doesn't seem fair, Lacey, but she killed two people. She played judge, jury and executioner in this." He straightened. "As rotten as the two victims might have been, they didn't deserve this."
I nodded, reluctantly. "You're right, of course." I sniffled again. "I guess that's why I wouldn't make a great detective. I let my emotions get in the way."
"Wrong, a good detective always keeps that human side handy. It's just as important as the cold, official side. And the way you ferreted out this suspect, with no help from the police, was nothing short of amazing. I'm proud of you, Miss Pinkerton." He leaned over for a kiss. That darn console was in the way again.
"I've realized something with this last case," I said. "Sometimes it's better to just have a pair of eyes and ears hanging around town. It's amazing what you can discover just talking to the lighthouse keeper or visiting the local bakery. But don't forget, I did have one visit to the evidence room to look at the photo. I just got lucky when the print quality matched the quality of Heather's lighthouse photo."
"Which you wouldn't have seen if you hadn't been hanging around town."
"Yep, my point, exactly."
"Well, I'm starved," Briggs said. "How about dropping by Franki's for some late night pancakes?"
"Yes, after this evening, I think I deserve some pancakes."
Chapter 36
I stuck the herbal remedy handbook into a plastic bag in case it rained on our hike up to the Hawksworth house. The old book with its yellowed pages had belonged to Marty's mother. She had kept it with her few treasures, so I needed to take good care of it.
Briggs put on his fedora and picked up the umbrella I pulled out for our walk. We opened the front door of my house and we were pelted with cold windblown drops of rain. The sky was so dark, it could have been midnight rather than three in the afternoon.
"Tell me again, why are we walking in the rain up the hill to that dilapidated old house when we could be right here, snuggled on the couch, watching movies?" Briggs asked.
"I told you I have something very important to do, and this is a good time. The rain means no one else will be up there." I pushed open the umbrella. His big hand wrapped around mine when a gust of wind nearly took me off on a Mary Poppins' style flight.
We headed down my driveway. "So we're going to be breaking into the gardener's shed to snoop around in dusty artifacts."
"Boy, you get kind of grumpy when you don't get your snuggle and movie time in," I said.
"You bet I do." His arm slid around my back, and he squeezed me closer to his side as he held the umbrella over his head. "Guess I'll have to steal some snuggle time right now under the umbrella."
I inched even closer to him. "It is kind of romantic, walking in the rain, sharing an umbrella."
"Can't think of any other person on this earth I'd rather share an umbrella with," he said.
The sharp climb up to Maple Hill was considerably harder in the cold drizzle and intermittent wind. Briggs had to use both hands to keep the umbrella from taking off like a jet fueled kite. Once we reached the site, the wind was gusting around the house, and we were taking a less direct hit.
"Just like you said, no one comes up here in the rain," he noted.
We stopped and gazed up at the empty house. It grew more dilapidated and looked considerably more haunted with each visit. The dark, brooding sky behind it only added to the dark, grim look of the home.
We circled around to the gardener's shed, where the town kept the few treasured artifacts left behind in the manor. Given the tragic and macabre events that took place in the home just over a century earlier, the artifacts were a big tourist attraction. I personally found them lacking. I'd been the only person to have the privilege of viewing the contents of Bertram Hawksworth's personal trunk. It was the only relic in the shed with anything worth looking at.
I pulled on the permanently broken lock and took the flashlight out of my pocket. The dank, musty smell built up inside the shed was overpowering. I sneezed three times and waited for a fourth, but it seemed my nose had gotten used to the smell.
Briggs held the flashlight for me as I dropped to my knees and searched blindly beneath the trunk for the secret key compartment. It dropped into my palm, and I opened the lock.
"As a member of the police force, I'm going to forget everything I saw here today," Briggs said wryly.
"That's probably best. Now kneel down here next to me. I'm going to need your police force expertise in a second."
Briggs knelt down next to me. We opened the lid of the trunk, and I reached in for the letters. I pulled out one of Button's love letters to Teddy. Then I took out the herbal handbook with Jane's handwritten note to Elizabeth Tate.
"This book belongs to Marty. It was his mother's. Jane Price gave it to her, and she wrote a little note to her on the title page. If my hunch is right and it's still just a big hunch, then the handwriting in this book will match the love letters written to Bertram Hawksworth." I opened the creaky book cover to Jane's inscription. Then I carefully unfolded one of the letters.
"Do you think Jane Price was having a love affair with Bertram Hawksworth?" James asked. He positioned the flashlight beam so it glowed over the book and letter.
"Yes, that's my hunch, and there's more to it than that. But first let's compare the writing."
We both studied the handwriting for a good, long minute. The inscription was more hastily written, almost as an afterthought, whereas the letter looked as if it had been lovingly produced with a fresh pen dip for each word. Yet, there were similarities.
"Here." Briggs pointed to the capital T on both the letter and the book. "See this fancy curlicue at the end of the T? That is a unique way to write the letter T, and it appears on both handwriting samples."
"True but I wish it was more of a match. The book is sort of sloppy and scrawled, but the letter writer took more time."
"Each written under different circumstances. My writing looks way different on my reports than it does on my grocery list." He waved his finger over the letter. "See the slant and the size and shape of the letter? They are similar. I wouldn't say it's a hundred percent, but I think you might have a match."
"I suppose you're right. I think I'm on the right track anyhow. Marty also had a picture of Jane Price, and while the clothes didn't make it easy to see the baby bump, I'm almost certain that she was pregnant in the photo." I folded up the letters and placed them back into the trunk, then I placed the book back into its plastic bag.
We locked up the trunk, and I returned the key back to its secret compartment. Briggs offered me his hand and popped me to my feet. We landed together accidentally.
<
br /> "I kind of like the name Button," Briggs said. "Maybe I should start calling you that."
I squinted. "How about I just write you the occasional text signed off as Button?"
"Does that mean a love letter is out?" he asked.
We walked out and I held the umbrella as he locked up the shed.
"Actually, writing love letters should never have gone out of style." I took his arm. "But since I don't have pad and paper handy, I'll just recite one to you."
"Dear James, My love, My handsome detective, My—well, you get the picture.
So often I wake up and the first thing that pops into my head is your name. Well, occasionally the words Elsie's chocolate croissant comes first, but I promise you, my dear boyfriend, that your name pops up a close second. I would also like to thank you for putting up with my idiosyncrasies, my ridiculous sense of smell and the occasional sneeze fits that come with it and with my constant curiosity that quite often gets me into trouble. On that line of thought, thank you for somehow managing always to be there right when I need you the most. Which feels like all the time, lately, James Briggs."
I stopped and turned to him under the shelter of our shared umbrella. His brown eyes glittered with amusement and what I quickly convinced myself was total, abject love. "In conclusion, my love, thank you for coming into my life."
"Believe me, Lacey Pinkerton." He wrapped his arm around me and pulled me closer. "The pleasure is all mine." We kissed under the umbrella in the middle of a rainstorm. Most romantic kiss ever.
Port Danby Cozy Mystery #12
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About the Author
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London Lovett is the author of the Port Danby, Starfire and Firefly Junction Cozy Mystery series. She loves getting caught up in a good mystery and baking delicious, new treats!
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