by Ellen Riggs
“Well, if her husband’s blatantly cheating, she must be furious,” Jilly said. “Did Lottie know, too?”
“Oh yes. It was such common knowledge she didn’t bother including it in her newsletter. She liked to do these anonymous teasers to keep people guessing. Called it ‘Tarot Talk’.”
“So Shirley, Vaughan, Ford and Alba can go on the suspect list,” I said. “They may have been worried about being exposed.”
“I wish more people worried about being exposed here,” Bridie said. “I learned within a week of arrival to stay out of the romance arena.” She smoothed her long hair and smiled. “Not that I haven’t had opportunities.”
“What else, Gran?” Jilly pressed.
“Well, pets are a constant source of tension. The rules allow one cat or one dog under twenty pounds, and they’re only grandfathered for new residents. That gives rise to jealousy and resentment. Lottie probably knew about every petty quarrel, pardon my pun.”
Keats gave a deep rumble that I felt rather than heard. He was still disgruntled at having to shelter between my calves. Adept as he was at negotiating clumsy feet and hooves, a room full of canes, walkers, wheelchairs and scooters added complexity and I was glad I’d left Percy behind at Bridie’s.
Catching my eye, Keats flattened his ears. There was more bothering him than unpredictable devices. If I had to guess, I’d say Lottie’s killer was in the room with us right now.
The thought sent a shiver down my back. It felt like a year since we’d left the farm on what I hoped was a vacation. Now here we were in the middle of yet another murder investigation. One I should probably avoid.
Keats shot me a look with his blue eye and I said, “What? I could stay out of it. Really.”
“Pardon me?” Bridie said.
“Nothing. Sorry. Please go on. What other battles are brewing?”
Her lips pursed for a moment and she held up a finger to silence Jilly. “As I said, the issue of magic causes plenty of spats. Lottie liked to use tarot cards or her antique crystal ball for readings. Maybe someone didn’t like what they heard and killed the messenger.”
“Huh. Interesting,” I said.
“Not interesting,” Jilly countered.
Bridie wrung her hands until her bangles tinkled. “The more I think about it, the more I realize you girls need to keep your distance. Even helping with the swan is risky.”
“She’s right, Ivy. We should let the police do the heavy lifting.” Jilly gave me a pleading look. “We’re out of our depth here.”
“It’s so nice when family agree, isn’t it?” Bridie said.
Before Jilly could answer, Chief Gillock joined the Briars’ executive committee on stage.
“Good morning, everyone,” he said. “I’m Andrew Gillock, the new chief of police in Strathmore County. I’m sorry to confirm what you’ve likely already heard. Today you lost a valued member of your community.”
I wondered if he naturally projected like that or had dialed up the volume for the hard of hearing. Even so, there were mutterings of, “What did he say?”
“Charlotte Greenwich passed away in the pond this morning.”
“It was that dang swan,” Shirley Mills shouted. “You’d better wring its neck before it gets more of us.”
Others chimed in with various suggestions of how to rid the Briars of the swan. Keats grumbled between my legs over the unfairness of the swan’s being convicted without a trial.
Luckily Chief Gillock appeared to agree because he raised a hand to silence the room. “At the moment there’s no evidence the swan is to blame. It’s quite possible Miss Greenwich fell into the pond and drowned.”
“She visited that pond every day, twice a day, to feed that swan.” The speaker was Alba Fletcher, the woman in the mint green suit. “I highly doubt she just fell in today.”
“Maybe she had a stroke,” Elsie Cornwall said.
“Or heart failure,” Alice Cheevers suggested.
“The surrounding turf is silty and unstable,” the chief said. “Anyone could slip.”
Casey Cox, the property manager, came up on the low stage, too. “I’m on this, folks. The swamp beyond the Briars has been encroaching on our little pond. It gets bigger and more boggy every year.”
“Fill it in,” someone muttered. I stood on tiptoe and saw Special Constable Doug leaning against the wall with a one-wheeled hoverboard clutched in his arms. That was an inspired way to get around the compound.
Bridie raised her hand. “My granddaughter’s friend sank into the silt up to her knees this morning and we had to pull her out. Maybe Lottie had no one to help.”
At least three dozen gray, white or bald heads turned our way and Keats bristled. Clearly no one was going to throw down a welcome mat for us.
“You three were the first to find Lottie,” Cherise Heatherington said. “Maybe she didn’t fall in on her own.”
“Pardon me?” Bridie straightened and the words shot out. “Was that an accusation, Cherise? Please speak up so the chief can hear it.”
Cherise adjusted her green sparkly glasses, unfazed. “You and Lottie had words recently. Is it a coincidence that your young visitors arrived just in time for her passing?”
The mumble between my shins turned into a low growl and I squeezed Keats quiet. Bridie had fallen silent under a similar squeeze from Jilly, so I raised my hand. “Mrs. Heatherington, I’m sure the chief can confirm that Lottie passed long before Jilly and I arrived this morning.”
“I can’t confirm anything at the moment,” he said.
“Even if that were true,” Cherise said, “you two got here in time to help Bridie hide the body.”
“I highly doubt Mrs. Brighton is capable of doing as you’re alleging,” I said. “Miss Greenwich appeared to be considerably taller and more robust.”
“We don’t rely on brute strength around here,” Cherise said. “That’s what hexes are for.”
A ruggedly handsome man who looked like an aging movie star jerked her backward. Rollie Heatherington, I presumed, judging by the unusually dark hairpiece. “Stay out of this, Cherise.”
I tried to catch Chief Gillock’s eye and failed. He was staring into the crowd, and his auburn eyebrows had soared after the word “hexes” hit him in the kisser.
Alba gave Cherise a cold stare. “Tread carefully, Cherise. We have a lovely community and many of us value our privacy. There’s no reason to sling mud at the living, or the dead for that matter.”
“Lottie Greenwich had detractors, but don’t we all?” Alice Cheevers said. “For better or worse, she was one of us. Who knows who might be next?”
Now Officer Gillock spoke. “There’s never been another drowning here and Mr. Cox is looking to improve safety measures.” He turned to the board members. “I suggest fencing immediately.”
Special Constable Doug raised his hand. “I move for fencing.”
Vaughan shook his head. “That pond is our best view and fencing would ruin it. You don’t get a vote, Doug. Motion denied anyway.”
“Chief, we’re not senile,” Alba said. “Now that we know how hazardous the terrain is, we’ll avoid it.”
Casey Cox said to the police chief, “Welcome to my job. Trying to get agreement on anything is challenging.”
“I’m sure we all agree to get rid of the swan,” Ford Fletcher said. “I’ll call pest control today.”
There was a chorus of voices both in favor and against.
Chief Gillock raised his hand. “The swan stays until the investigation is complete,” he said. “That’s not open to a vote, either.”
“What are you going to do, question him?” Vaughan said, snickering.
“I’ll be studying him, yes,” the chief said. “At the moment, that swan is our only witness.”
“Except for Bridie Brighton,” someone muttered. This time I couldn’t place the voice but there were murmurs of agreement.
Keats looked up at me with a question in his eyes. “All right, fine,” I
whispered. “Obviously I can’t stay out of this now. Jilly’s family honor is at stake.”
Cherise called out, “Or Bridie’s guests with their suspicious timing.”
Keats rose on his hind legs to shoot a blue-eyed glare at Cherise and while she probably couldn’t see him, she backed off a couple of paces anyway.
“Add our honor to the equation, buddy,” I muttered. “What we’ve got here is a homicidal holiday.”
Chapter Nine
After Chief Gillock dispersed the crowd and returned to the pond, everyone reassembled in the courtyard and milled around. Walkers and wheelchairs collided like pinballs and hands reached out to steady others on canes. This day would end in more mishaps if someone didn’t take charge. I waited for Vaughan to speak up, and when he didn’t, I called out, “May I suggest we all take a moment of silence for Lottie Greenwich?”
“Lottie was never silent,” Cherise said. “Her mouth is what probably got her in trouble. Or her newsletter.”
“Cherise, stop. Just stop.” The voice came from Bridie’s friend, Alice Cheevers. “Lottie was one of us for more than a decade. Obviously we’re all unnerved but being uncivilized won’t help. We need to pull together in this crisis.”
“It’s bingo night,” Shirley Mills called out. “And tomorrow was supposed to be our trip to town. Now we’ve lost our social convenor. We might never leave these walls again.”
“Someone will step in, I’m sure,” Alba said, glancing around. “A show of hands, please.”
Not a single hand rose.
Correction. A single hand notched up jerkily.
It belonged to my best friend and was propelled by another heavily bejewelled and jangling hand. Jilly was being voluntold.
“Gran,” she whispered. “We’re only here for a few days.”
“Or a few weeks,” Bridie said. “We need you girls more than ever now.”
“The farm needs us, too. We have guests arriving in a week. And Ivy will combust without her manure pile. So make the most of our few days and don’t relegate us to bingo duty.”
I raised my own hand. “I volunteer. My friend Jilly and I are only here for a few days but we know a thing or two about entertaining. We run an inn back home.”
“Plus they’re former executives,” Bridie called. “My granddaughter owns a successful headhunting company in Boston.”
“Owned,” Jilly said. “Past tense. The sale closed last week.”
Bridie looked horrified. “Tell me you’re not going to live out your days in a barnyard, Jillian. What a waste of a good education.”
Jilly laughed. “Runaway Inn is about more than livestock. I’m a chef and a cooking instructor now, Gran, and I love my new life.”
“Perhaps you could give us a cooking lesson,” Alice said. “I’d love that.”
“You’re on,” Jilly said. “And I’ve got a great idea for today. How about everyone contributes some ingredients from home and I’ll make an early dinner. Potluck with a twist. We’ll raise a glass to Lottie and raise our spirits at the same time.”
Surprisingly, more than half the voices agreed. Once again, Jilly had used charm and food to soothe frayed nerves.
The idea caught enough fire that people dispersed. Bridie led us back inside the recreation center and then into the kitchen. Like the rest of the complex, it was well designed and equipped. Her eyes widened at the sight of two six-burner gas stoves.
“Two stoves and three dishwashers?” I said. “It’s like a TV set, my friend.”
“We have parties and banquets quite often,” Bridie said. “Lottie had a flair for making occasions special.” She forced a smile. “Thank you for volunteering to rally the troops, girls.”
I glanced around to make sure we were alone. “It wasn’t entirely selfless, Bridie. People were pointing fingers at all three of us and the swan. That’s not right.”
“They feel better having someone to blame,” Bridie said. “Anyway, Chief Ginger seems to have a handle on things.”
“We don’t trust cops,” I said, smiling at Keats, who smiled back with a sloppy pant.
“Don’t trust cops?” She stared at me and then Jilly. “You’re engaged to police officers.”
“Did we miss the proposals?” I asked, waggling the bare fingers of my left hand. Jilly did the same.
“Well, you’re as good as engaged,” Bridie said.
“It ain’t over till the bouquet’s tossed,” Jilly said, running her hand over the sleek stainless stove. “However, I’m willing to propose to this kitchen right now.”
“Here’s the thing, Bridie,” I said. “Jilly and I come from a corporate culture of distrust and self-reliance. I do trust the police to do the best they can. But I also trust Jilly, Keats and Percy to help me help the police when there’s murder on the table. Our record is pretty impressive.”
“No one’s even confirmed Lottie was killed,” Bridie said.
“In our world, it’s safer to assume that from the get-go. It can buy valuable time to flush out clues before people get their stories locked down.”
“Hence the potluck supper,” Jilly said. “Gran, you and I will take charge in the kitchen, while Ivy works the crowd with Keats and Percy. Do you still have your cooking chops?”
“Like riding a bike,” Bridie said. “Let’s do our old family favorite, chicken pot pie, for starters. I know my mother’s recipe by heart. Never had better, bless her sweet soul.”
Jilly turned away from nostalgia to greet the first arrival. Elsie Cornwall had come back with a large package of frozen chicken and two huge leeks.
“Excellent choice, Elsie. It’s like you read our minds,” Jilly said.
“She did,” Bridie said, smirking as she accepted the contributions.
Ignoring that, Jilly grabbed an apron off a hook and started opening cupboard doors. “We’ll need butter, onions, flour, peas and carrots, for starters. I have a few other ideas to feed an army as well.”
Elsie pulled out her phone and texted. “I’ve sent an SOS. What more can I do?”
“Show me around?” I asked. “It’s best to stay out of Jilly’s way when she’s creating, and I’d love to know more about the Briars.”
Elsie led me away and Keats circled behind, making sure we went exactly where he wanted us to go. If Elsie realized she was being herded, she didn’t let on.
“I’m sorry you walked into a mess, Ivy,” Elsie said. “Or should I say, ‘waded.’ This place is never without drama, but nothing like this.” She paused and wrung her hands over the knob on her carved wooden cane. “Poor Lottie. She was very kind to me, you know. When I had surgery a few months back, she looked after my cat despite being on the anti-pet side of our voting members.”
“It sounds like she was really dedicated to the community.”
“That’s how I saw it,” Elsie said, letting Keats guide us through a lounge with leather couches and two fireplaces, and then down a hall with smaller meeting rooms and a library. There was even a good-sized auditorium for exercise classes and dancing.
Eventually we went outside to another beautifully landscaped courtyard that had a couple of hot tubs, a pool that was shaped like a teardrop, and several big sheds. Red and white wooden chairs were scattered around under matching, striped umbrellas. Though the day was gorgeous, the courtyard was empty. No one was in the mood for sunning after what had happened, I supposed.
“It seemed like opinion was divided on Lottie,” I said.
“That’s mainly because of her newsletter, I think.” Elsie checked over her shoulder. “I suppose we were all afraid of Lottie’s pen. She was a natural reporter and seemed to know things almost before they happened. She attributed that to tarot but you can’t discount old-fashioned legwork.”
“Seems like a lot of people claim to be psychic here,” I said.
Elsie buttoned up her cardigan to her neck despite the heat. “It’s hard to know who to believe. All I can say is that Lottie was first on the scene of anything unusua
l. It kept her fitter than many.”
“I heard she was aware of a romantic affair,” I said.
“I’m afraid so, and it wasn’t the first,” Elsie said. “Lucky for me, my Carlisle is a man of integrity. Never gives me a moment’s worry.” She caught my eyes with a steady gaze. “In a tiny community, people do bend more rules. Still, there were bigger scandals to worry about.”
“Oh? Like what?”
“The men and their silly golf carts, for starters. Vaughan Mills ran down a couple of people after drinking too much at the weekly poker games. Margo Sledge ended up on a walker and threatened to sue Casey Cox for not taking Vaughan off the road. Rollie Heatherington was another of Vaughan’s hit-and-runs. Got a concussion and threatened to press charges.”
“Oh my. I’ve had a hard knock to the head myself, so I get that.”
“The strange thing is that Rollie came out of the hospital a nicer man, so Cherise made him stand down.” Elsie unbuttoned her sweater again. “No one wants to go against Vaughan anyway. He holds the purse strings and makes decisions big and small. The votes are pretty much bogus, I’m afraid.”
“What an interesting community,” I said. “My small town is quirky, too.”
Keats offered a mumble of agreement and herded us right around the pool. I wasn’t sure what he wanted me to see but I did a mental inventory while keeping Elsie talking.
“The Briars is probably worse than most,” Elsie said. “Because we can’t come and go as we like. Every expedition needs to be supervised. Even hospital stays. I had a fulltime attendant after my surgery.”
“Why is that?” I said, sticking my head into the second shed at Keats’ urging. It was so dim I couldn’t see much without turning on my phone light and piquing Elsie’s curiosity with my own. “Everyone seems pretty healthy.”
“If we still have our faculties, it’s because Lottie ran a program for keeping our brains sharp. Music appreciation, debate club, crossword puzzles, you name it.”
“Then why so much supervision?” I checked another shed and found it stuffed with life jackets, oars and paddles, fishing poles and nets. There were boats around here.