Molly Grey Cozy Mystery Collection

by Donna Doyle

  Molly Gertrude arched her brows. "What do you mean?"

  Dora gave Molly Gertrude a mysterious smile. "If you and Charmayne are right, it behooves us to warn Deborah before she gets hoodwinked. But if you are wrong, " she shrugged her shoulders, "…maybe it helps you to have a little more faith in humanity. Not everyone is a crook."

  Molly Gertrude stared at Dora for a while and at last gave her a gentle smile. "You really do like Bloomsteyn, don't you?"

  Dora pressed her lips into a fine line and without answering the question she softly spoke, "Sometimes I am a bit concerned about you, Miss Molly…"

  "About me?"

  "A little bit." Dora's eyes held a tender expression. "You told me yourself you read crime novel after crime novel every day, and the only section in the Calmhaven Clarion you really study is the crime page. When there's a report about something trivial as a stolen bicycle, I see your mind churning around in an effort to see if you can figure out who did it, and why."

  "So?" Molly Gertrude asked a little surprised.

  "Not everythingis a crime, Miss Molly, and not everyoneis a criminal. Sure, there's a lot of bad going on, but we must have a little faith in the goodness of people. Good people. People like you and me, and JJ Barnes and his assistant Digby. Dear folks like Mrs. Marmelotte and Deborah Smythe… and even someone like Bernard Bloomsteyn. And that's only the beginning of a long list."

  Molly Gertrude nodded and gave Dora the sweetest smile. "You are a real sweetheart, Dora," she said. "That's why I treasure your company so much. And I agree, there are a lot of people that wouldn't think of even hurting a fly. But I cannot agree with you about your statement of the goodness of people. As far as I have understood the Good Book, only God is good, and the human race falls hopelessly short of the standard."

  Dora shifted uneasily in her chair. "I hope I didn't upset you, Miss Molly? That's the last thing I wanted to do."

  Molly Gertrude shook her head. "No dear, you are a true angel. But tell me, how are you going to snoop around? Are you going to the hen party?"

  "The hen party? No… I am not that close to Deborah. I have heard they are having it one of these nights. Could even be tonight, but I have not been invited."

  "You probably won't miss much," Molly Gertrude chuckled. "Such parties are usually full of silly stuff and a lot of drinking."

  Dora rearranged the glasses on her nose and thought for a while. "I was thinking to talk to Charmayne first. She must have some sort of reason to think Bloomsteyn is just after Deborah's money. And then I will pay deputy Digby a visit. Maybe he can find out if Bloomsteyn has a record or something like that." She shrugged her shoulders. "I have to start somewhere."

  Molly Gertrude couldn't help but chuckle. "You sound like a regular detective. Maybe the investigation virus has affected you more than you are willing to admit, Dora."

  "Maybe," Dora answered, "but if it turns out Bloomsteyn is just who he says he is then…"

  "Then I will eat humble pie," Molly Gertrude said with a chuckle.

  "Good." Dora seemed pleased. "Then it's time for me to get going, and you can hide yourself in your crime novels. I will pick you up tomorrow at nine."

  "Good night, Dora."

  "Good night, Molly Gertrude."

  When the door closed behind Dora, and Molly was left alone in her room together with Misty, she let out a deep sigh and whispered a little prayer. Dear God, I don't mind being wrong… but there's something not right about Bernard Bloomsteyn.

  3

  A man with his secrets

  Bernard Bloomsteyn readjusted the heavy, brown rim of his glasses for the third time in a minute and cleared his throat for the second time. Had Sheriff Barnes not heard him? Such incompetency was to be expected in such a small town as Calmhaven. It seemed like the whole town worked and walked with the speed of retired snails, but he had no time for such inaptitude. The harsh light of the neon lamp overhead glimmered on the balding part of his head and that, coupled with the stern scowl on his face and the angry lips he had pressed together made him look like a ferocious beast, ready to devour whoever dared stand in his way.

  But JJ Barnes, the husky Sheriff of Calmhaven, was not the least bit impressed and wasn't about to become Bloomsteyn's next meal, and continued perusing through the paperwork before him. He only acknowledged Bloomsteyn's presence with a short "Uh-huh."

  Of course, it was partly his own fault, as he had stormed into the sheriff's office, bypassed deputy Digby, and had barged into JJ Barnes's private office without even as much as a knock. But he needed help, and he needed it fast.

  Bloomsteyn impatiently tapped with his Parker pen on the desk. "Excuse me, Sir…? I've got more to do today than sitting in your office."

  JJ Barnes looked up from the paperwork and tilted his head. "Nothing is keeping you here, Mr. Bloomsteyn. I just got to finish this report. You'll just have to wait." He turned back to his papers, scribbled a few notes and then, finally, he put down his pen, cracked his knuckles, and nodded slightly at Bloomsteyn. "Well, Mr. Bloomsteyn, what can we do for you."

  "It's my wife," Bloomsteyn huffed. "I am here because of my wife."

  JJ Barnes frowned. "I thought you weren't married yet?"

  "I will be," Bloomsteyn shot back, "in just a few days. Therefore, technically speaking Deborah Smythe is my wife. And I need youto find her."

  The policeman leaned back in his desk chair and scratched his forehead. "Technically speaking, Mr. Bloomsteyn, she is not yet your wife, but I do not imagine you are here to argue with me about that. So, what's wrong with Mrs. Smythe?"

  Bloomsteyn fumbled with the shiny cufflink on his striped Battistoni shirt, worth $200, and considered what would happen if he called the sheriff a clown or an idiot, but he decided against such a course of action, swallowed hard and forced a worried look on his face. "Mrs. Smythe, I mean Deborah, is gone and I do not know where she is." Was that a grin on JJ Barnes' face?

  "Maybe she's at Miss Marmelotte's drinking coffee and eating pies." Barnes replied while he studied his nails. "Or maybe she's at the store doing some shopping for your wedding party. My wife is gone half the time too. That's just the way women are, Mr. Bloomsteyn."

  "Not my Deborah," Bloomsteyn hissed. "She is not eating pies and she is not doing any shopping. She doesn't need to as we hired the Cozy Bridal Agency for all the details."

  JJ Barnes leaned forward. "Why should I know where she is?"

  "Because you are the Sheriff, for crying out loud."

  Barnes wrinkled his nose. "There's no need to get all excited, Mr. Bloomsteyn. Almost 100 % of missing girls, cats, dogs and even rabbits show up again after a few days. There's no need to worry." He narrowed one of his eyes as he thought hard and tried to remember similar instances. He licked his lips, satisfied that he had found a case, and said, "The only case that had us worried was that of Janice Bell. She's the wife of Robert Bell, the caretaker of Papa Julian's church. She supposedly disappeared once, but it was nothing." The sheriff cast Bloomsteyn a toothy grin. "She had gone to a birthday party in Beckersville and Robert Bell had simply forgotten. She showed up three days later, fit as a fiddle."

  "I don't care about Janice Bell, cats or rabbits…" Bloomsteyn barked. "…I needmy wife."

  JJ Barnes shrugged his shoulders. "How long has she been missing? A day? A week? Can't be that long, as my wife saw her at Miss Marmelotte's the other day with that friend of hers…" He tried to remember the name. "…you know, Charmayne Mortimer."

  "She went missing last night," Bloomsteyn muttered.

  "Only last night?" JJ Barnes arched his heavy brows. "That's how long…? Just about seven or eight hours? Really, Mr. Bloomsteyn, do yourself and us a favor; go home, drink a glass of Port wine, and prepare a table for a romantic dinner tonight. This is all a storm in a glass of water."

  "It is not," Bloomsteyn roared. He could no longer control the rage he felt burning within. "I know Deborah probably better than you know your own wife." He could tell his last st
atement hit home. Good, that fat police man needed a little bit of a shakeup. "She had her hen party last night," he continued in a loud voice. "You know, a silly party were all the girls get together and the men are not allowed, just so they can celebrate their so-called freedom before they get married…" He stopped to check if Barnes was still listening. The man was, although there was a scowl on his face. "… They drink, play games… and… I don't know what all they do, but her best friend, the one whose name you already mentioned, organized it."

  "So?" Barnes asked while he looked at his papers again.

  "She never showed up."

  Barnes shrugged his shoulders without looking up. "Maybe she didn't want to go."

  "She did," Bloomsteyn grunted. "That's just the thing. She was talking about it every day, for weeks already. She didn't want to miss her hen party for the world. But then, at ten at night, Charmayne Mortimer knocked on my door at Greenacre Manor."

  Barnes finally looked up. "And?"

  "She asked me if I knew where Deborah was. She was supposed to have been there at seven. All her friends were waiting for her arrival. The cakes, the cookies, the drinks, the games… everything was ready, but my dear Deborah never made it to the party."

  Barnes became a little bit more interested. He shifted to an easier position on his chair and asked, "And her house… Did you check her own place? Maybe she got sick or something."

  "Of course I checked her own place," Bloomsteyn thundered, just in time swallowing the word stupid. "It was the first place I went to after Charmayne Mortimer came to the door."

  "And… what did you find there?"

  "What do you mean, what did I find there? Are you not hearing me?" Bloomsteyn had always prided himself in his ability to keep control, but whether it was the stress of not knowing what had happened to his wife-to-be, or if it was because of the attitude of JJ Barnes, Bloomsteyn felt he was fast reaching his boiling point. Thus he hissed through gritted teeth, "I did not find anything of course, otherwise I wouldn't be here, would I?"

  "I hear you," Barnes replied while he rubbed the side of his nose and thought for some time. At last he reached over to a drawer in his desk, pulled it open, and fished out a form. "Here," he said. "You fill out this form. It's an official B35 declaration form, the one we use for such occasions. Name, address, age… you know, the whole works. When you are done, you can turn it in to my deputy Digby next door, and then we'll start a small scale investigation."

  Bloomsteyn curled his lip, trying to suppress his rage. "You want me to fill out a form so you can start a small scale investigation? For crying out loud, for all I know my dear wife is murdered."

  Barnes made a soft sound with his lips. "Tssk, Tssk… I hardly think so, Mr. Bloomsteyn. Most likely she'll be having that romantic dinner with you tonight. Who knows, maybe she's already home by the time you have filled out your B35 declaration form. Usually, we are not required to investigate until a person has gone missing for 48 hours, but for you, Mr. Bloomsteyn, we'll make a small exception." He tapped his chin and added, "Just fill out the form, and if you have no pen, just ask my deputy Digby for one. We just received a whole new box of pens, with the name, telephone number and the website of the Calmhaven police force printed on them."

  Bloomsteyn jumped up, snatched the declaration form out of Barnes' hand, and pushed his chair away with such force that it tumbled over and fell to the ground. "I'll fill in this stupid form, Barnes… but I want you to take a serious look at the disappearance of my wife… do you understand?"

  "We will," Barnes nodded, not in the least impressed.

  Bloomsteyn moved towards the door. Right before he stormed out, he turned around and glared at Barnes while he raged, "Just so you know, I am a man of considerable wealth and influence, so it would behoove you to keep me as a friend."

  "Tssk, Tssk…" Barnes repeated. "I was just telling you that we were making an exception for you, out of respect."

  But Bloomsteyn did not want to hear any more.

  He was already gone and had slammed the door shut behind him.

  Only seconds later there was a soft knock on the door and when Barnes gave a growl of admission, the door opened again. This time it was deputy Digby. JJ Barnes looked up, feeling tired, irritated and not in the mood. The fresh young face of his deputy stared at him with a look of insecurity in his eyes.

  "What is it, Digby?"

  "That was Bernard Bloomsteyn," Digby said in a whisper. "He seemed very angry."

  "So?" Barnes fired back. "I don't care if he was the President of the United States. That man just barged into my office, claiming that his fiancée went missing, insisting we move heaven and earth to find her. She's not even gone for eight hours…" A thought came to him and he couldn't resist a chuckle. "She probably got cold feet and ran off. I would probably do the same thing if my spouse would be so demanding and ill-mannered." He shook his head and mumbled, "Luckily, my Annabelle knows better than that." Then he focused on Digby. "Why did you knock, Digby? Do you have anything worthwhile to add?"

  Digby bit his lower lip. "Well… eh… maybe."

  "Okay, what is it?"

  "Miss Dora came to see me yesterday."

  "You mean that young lady from the Cozy Bridal, Molly Gertrude Grey's assistant?"

  Digby gave him a small nod.

  Barnes had seen the way his deputy looked at Dora Brightside, each time she came around, and as far as he could tell, the young lady seemed to take a shine to his deputy as well. Thus, he half expected that his deputy was about to announce he too was planning on getting married. "Are you fishing for some time off? That won't be possible, Digby. We have lots and lots of work to do."

  Digby shook his head, causing his blond curls to dance around. "No Sir, it's not about taking time off. It's about Bloomsteyn."

  "Oh?" Barnes was surprised. He decided to concentrate.

  "Miss Dora asked me if I could check the police computer to see if Bloomsteyn has a criminal record."

  Barnes frowned. "Why would she do such a thing? That isn't even her business," he observed, and a scowl appeared on his face. "I bet you, it's that old lady again. That Molly Gertrude… she's always snooping around, trying to prove she's some sort of Miss Marple."

  "She didhelp solve some complicated cases," Digby mumbled.

  "Don't get smart with me, Digby. And just for the record, that Dora Brightside has no right to be snooping around our police records. Did you give her the information she asked for?"

  "Well…" Digby stammered, "I-eh… I did."

  JJ Barnes grumbled under his breath and growled, "That's the last time, Digby. I told you before, journalists and people that are associated with the Cozy Bridal Agency are not allowed access to our records."

  "But," Digby tried to get Barnes to listen. "It turned out he did have a record."

  Barnes frowned and leaned forward as if he had not heard correctly. "Bernard Bloomsteyn has a criminal record?"

  "He does."

  "The owner of Greenacre Manor has… a record?"

  Digby nodded again.

  "So… eh, what did he do?"

  "He embezzled funds that were meant for a charity. He has also been accused of white-washing money, but apparently the local authorities couldn't prove it. There's been talk of domestic violence as well. He was married before."

  "I wonder if he told his fiancée that stuff," JJ Barnes scoffed. "Has he been doing time?"

  Digby shook his head. "From what I understand he had a good lawyer and he had to do community service. 150 hours, but he is not as crispy clean as he claims to be."

  "Hmm," Barnes grunted, "… I didn't like him from the beginning." He shifted position and leaned back in his chair, leaning his head on his arms. "So, it's clear. The lady really got cold feet. She just ran off, and I don't blame her."

  "Don't you think we should at least try to do some investigating," Digby asked. "You know, talk to some witnesses, find out if she really ran?"

  "Why?" Barnes frowned. "
If you want to have some time off to talk to Miss Dora Brightside, you can do it on your own time, but the office is not going to pay for it."

  Digby blushed. "I didn't mean that, boss. But what if she didn't run?"

  "She ran, Digby." Barnes veered back to his desk and picked up his pen. "This case is closed, even though it wasn't even a case to begin with. Deborah Smythe will show up somewhere else on this planet. She just didn't have the courage to tell Bloomsteyn in his face that she didn't want him. But we will keep a close eye on Bloomsteyn from now on." He whistled between his teeth; more to himself than to Digby. "Imagine that… the guy has a criminal record." He looked up at Digby and said, "We'll arrest him at the first sign of trouble, Digby. But now you need to leave. I’ve got reports to write."

  Digby nodded obediently and made himself scarce.

  "Your feeling was right, Miss Molly," Dora said. It felt a little awkward to have to admit, but after Dora's talk to Deputy Digby her views on Bernard Bloomsteyn had shifted a full 180 degrees. "The man has a criminal record."

  Miss Molly Gertrude didn't blink. "I am sad to hear that," she said in a soft voice. "I was hoping I was wrong, but there's just something dark about that fellow. I couldn't put my finger on it, but now it all makes sense. He doesn't take the law too seriously."

  Dora lowered her eyes. She felt rather silly. "My sixth sense doesn't seem to work very well," she mumbled at last. "I really thought that Bloomsteyn was quite the man."

  Molly Gertrude placed her hand on Dora's and began to squeeze it affectionately. "Don't you worry about it, Dora. It has a lot to do with experience. I made some bad mistakes in my life as well."

  "You did?"

  "I told you I was married to Bill Gates, and of course that wasn't true. I only used that as a silly example to show you how easily people can deceive each other."

  Dora nodded, feeling even more dumb. "And I even believed you."