A Matter of Wife and Death (A Sibyl Potts Cozy Mystery, Book 4) (3 page)

BOOK: A Matter of Wife and Death (A Sibyl Potts Cozy Mystery, Book 4)
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Chapter 5
.

 

I strolled up to the boarding house, wondering why Mr. Buttons had not turned up to walk Sandy with me that morning. Our arrangement was that if he wasn’t there on time, I would proceed without him, but he was there most days.

As soon as I walked through the front door, Cressida hurried over to me. “Greg woke up to find his car vandalized. I was just on the phone with Blake. He’s coming right over.”

While I was pleased that I would see Blake again so soon, I wasn’t happy that Greg’s car had been vandalized. The poor man, after everything he’d been through.

Cressida pointed out the front door and slightly to the right. “Go and take a look for yourself. He parks over in that corner. It’s the silver BMW.”

I walked out the door with Cressida, and over to the parking area. “Wow,” I said. “Wow.” There was no other word for it, really.

The front driver-side tire was flattened, and what appeared to be the handle of a switchblade jutted from the rubber. I walked around the car and saw that all four tires had been slashed.

The most dramatic vandalism was in the form of large, red letters which were scrawled across the side of the car. The dark red, blood-like color filled me with a sense of dread. I squinted to try to understand the word. “What does that even mean?” I asked myself aloud. A single word filled the length of the sedan: HOOW.

“What does HOOW mean?” I asked Cressida.

Cressida shrugged. “I don’t have a clue. Mr. Buttons seems to think it’s some sort of acronym or abbreviation or something of the sort.”

“He thinks each letter represents a separate word?” I thought about it. What could each of the letters mean? H. O. O. W. “Could it be it a typo?” I asked Cressida.

Cressida chuckled. “People only make typos on computers,” she said.

“Oh, yes.” I felt silly for saying it, but I was caffeine-deprived.

I leaned over and peered at the letters, trying to think what the acronym could spell. There were so many possibilities for H alone: Hearts, Honor, Honesty, Hate, Hands.

“Hands Off Our Wilderness,” a familiar voice said.

I swung around to see Blake walking up to me. “That’s what HOOW means? So it’s the protesters Greg mentioned?”

“That’s the likely conclusion, that it has something to do with that environmental protest against the wilderness area being developed. It’s probably their group name.”

“Do you think this vandalism might be connected to Lisa’s, err, fall?”

Blake looked grim. “Anything is possible, Sibyl. We’re going to take some photographs of the vehicle, and then have it towed to the impound lot for testing.”

“Testing? What kind of testing?” I prodded.

“Fingerprints mainly. If the knife doesn’t have any, the car itself might. We just need a name, anything to jumpstart this investigation.”

Mr. Buttons walked up, with Greg following at a short distance. “Hello, Blake.”

Blake greeted him with a nod. “Like I was just telling Sibyl, we’re going to see if we can find some leads, and then we’ll take it from there.”

“Do you think the same person that did this could have tampered with that balcony railing?” Mr. Buttons asked.

Blake nodded. “It’s definitely possible, but until we have a suspect in our sights, it’s impossible to know for sure either way. I’ll need to speak to Greg.”

Blake took Greg aside and the two of them spoke. I stood with Cressida and Mr. Buttons as the three of us watched the conversation from afar. Their words were unintelligible at this distance, but I got the impression that it wasn’t a fun chat. Greg threw his arms around, and a deep frown was on his face. Every now and then, Greg yelled. Blake had his back to me, but I could tell that his shoulders were tense.

“Look at him,” Cressida said. “I understand Greg’s having a very bad time, but he can’t just go around treating everyone like that, simply because he’s frustrated.” Cressida was clearly beyond annoyed at the situation.

“I feel sorry for him,” I said. “He’s just trying to cope. Then, on top of everything else, his car gets damaged. I hope they catch whoever did it. This is really starting to make me believe that Lisa’s fall was deliberate.”

Greg hurried to the house, half walking and half running, and Blake headed back to the three of us.

“It took a bit, but he’s finally calm,” Blake said. “I explained to him what we’ll be testing the car and knife for, and that we’re trying to rule out any possibility that the property damage and death of his wife are related. I feel for the guy. It must be tough to deal with.”

“I bet,” I added.

“Well, I’m going to head back to the station and see what’s up. It should only be a few hours or so until we find out if there are any usable prints.”

After Blake left, I returned to my cottage to fuel with caffeine. “You’re an ugly fool,” my sulfur-crested cockatoo squawked at me as I walked in the door.

I pulled a face at him and took him outside. “You’re depriving a village of an idiot,” he said, as I firmly shut the back door on him.

I switched on my coffee machine, and leaned over it to inhale the heavenly scent of coffee. I had the beginnings of a headache, but nothing that two Nurofen, three cups of coffee, and six large spoons of sugar all up wouldn’t fix.

I propped myself up on the cushions on my sofa and sipped my coffee. Aha. I sighed blissfully as my caffeine levels rose to the required minimum. My bliss turned to irritation as I thought about my rude, trash-talking cockatoo. He had been such a lovely cockatoo before my horrible ex-husband, Andrew, had taught him to say rude things. What’s more, Andrew had plotted to murder me, and was managing to delay my property settlement from his jail cell.

My stomach clenched when my phone rang. I jumped and spilled some coffee on my jeans. “Is anyone else dead?” I blurted into the phone.

“Hello,” a disembodied voice said. “Does your roof need cladding? We have a special on at the moment and can offer you a very good deal. Our product is visually attractive and has timeless appeal, and comes in a range of colors.”

I groaned. Not another sales call. I tried to interrupt two or three times, but then hung up.

The phone rang immediately, and this time, I checked the caller I.D. before answering. Cressida.

“Hello,” I said politely. “I hope this isn’t bad news.”

“No,” came Cressida’s voice. “Blake’s here, and he’s arrested someone for the vandalism. Do you want to come up?”

I arrived in the sitting room at the boarding house at the same time as Mr. Buttons.

“Who did it?” Mr. Buttons asked.

“Quinten Masters,” Blake said. “He goes by the name, The Environmentalist, online. The guy runs a website that’s dedicated to this sort of thing.” Blake looked around before continuing. “He has a popular blog about the destruction of wilderness areas. The guy’s one of those protesters we keep hearing about, just like I suspected.”

“Did Quinten confess or make any statements?” I asked.

Blake shook his head. “None at all. He lawyered up right away, but that’s not all too surprising. He’s young and has a clean record. Hitting him with the vandalism charges won’t be tough, but trying to connect him to a murder is another matter entirely. At this stage in the game it is, at least.”

“Are you sure his motive for the damage to Greg’s car involves the wilderness preservation and all that?” Mr. Buttons asked, producing a spray bottle and a cleaning rag from a plastic bag and scrubbing at a dirty mark on the window.

“We’re not positive, but we can’t see any other possible motive. He has a popular blog with thousands of followers. My tech guy was telling me that Quinten Masters posted about the vandalism earlier today and said that Greg had gotten what he deserved, but deleted the post once a few people commented to complain about his attitude. Luckily, when someone deletes information in the digital age, there are always ways to retrieve it.”

“So, if these people are trying to stop Greg’s destruction of the wilderness area, why would they be personally attacking him instead of tying themselves to trees or something more productive?” I asked. “He’s not the only one in the company.”

“That’s a good question, Sibyl,” Blake said. “I wish I knew the answer. All I was told was that the blog has been mentioning Greg for the last couple months at least, saying he’s the one responsible for the company’s plans to destroy the wilderness area. If these crimes are related to this whole environmental issue, I have a feeling HOOW and this website have been playing a large role in what the perpetrator or perpetrators have been doing.”

“It seems possible, but overly complicated,” Mr. Buttons added, “but would someone want to murder someone to protect a wilderness area?”

“Welcome to law enforcement,” Blake said with a smile. “You never know what you’re going to have to deal with when you wake up and come into work.”

“That sounds like my job,” Cressida said.

Blake shrugged. “I’m going to head back and look at the evidence from both cases. I want to see if there aren’t some points of comparison or any clues that can link Lisa’s fall to Quinten’s wilderness movement.” He winked at me, and then made his way toward the exit.

“I can kind of understand trashing someone’s car and painting your slogan on their window, but removing some bolts so someone gets killed? It just seems a bit on the extreme side of things, don’t you think?” I said.

Mr. Buttons and Cressida both looked at me, but no one spoke for a while.

The silence was finally broken by Mr. Buttons. “Maybe there’s more to it than just wilderness protection and preservation.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe the land is special to the person or something. I’m just saying that I think it’s possible that the perpetrator might hold a grudge of some sort. If there’s enough hatred toward something or someone, you’d be surprised at how far some people would go to eliminate it.”

Cressida interrupted him. “That’s crazy talk. I don’t think Lord Farringdon would agree with you.”

“I think we’re all just mentally exhausted,” I said, noticing an offended look on Mr. Buttons’ face. “I guess anything’s possible, Mr. Buttons, but until Blake catches a lead, we’re just barking up empty trees.”

Mr. Buttons smiled wanly. “All right. I have some reading I need to get done tonight, but if I’m needed for anything, I’m just a call away.”

“I might take you up on that, Mr. Buttons,” Cressida said.

“If you have any more problems with Greg, just give Mr. Buttons or me a call,” I said. “If Greg starts yelling, don’t try to calm him down. Just call me.” I addressed that comment to Cressida.

“Thank you. I don’t like trying to calm him down,” she said softly.

“I know. It does him no good to be so loud and aggressive, especially toward you and any of the others who are trying to help.”

“In all honesty, it’s not because I don’t want to listen to him rant and rave. It’s because he scares me at times.” Cressida leaned closer and her eyes widened. “And Lord Farringdon told me that Greg seemed more upset when he saw his car than when his wife fell from the balcony.”

 

Chapter 6
.

 

I sighed as I checked my watch. I’ve been in some traffic jams in my day, but this is ridiculous!

I leaned my head out the window and tried to see the road ahead. I didn’t see any signs of smoke or an accident, and there was no scream of emergency sirens. What else would bring the highway traffic to a complete standstill? This usually only happened once a year in Little Tatterford, at the Festival, but there were always detour signs then.

I checked my watch again as I leaned back into the car. Those fifteen seconds since the last watch check felt like two minutes, at least. I suppressed a groan and looked at the stack of folders on the seat beside me. I supposed I could attempt to go over my paperwork. There was definitely no shortage. I had my grooming schedule to organize, and my finances, such as they were, to balance.

The nearest coffee shop was only a car length away from me. Just a few feet separated me from the limbo of cars with their out of state license plates. If I could inch my way in, I could get coffee and wait for the traffic to start flowing again.

Firstly, I needed to get off the road and park. At this rate, it would be an hour before traffic moved enough for me to inch that close. I looked forlornly at the entrance of the coffee shop taunting me. Would I get into trouble if I just edged up that nice, grassy incline into the driveway? Yes, most likely; Blake would give me an earful for certain.

As I was contemplating my next move to escape traffic jam purgatory, the traffic started to move again, albeit ever so slowly.

I had no idea if whatever was blocking the traffic was gone, but regardless, I was now looking forward to a coffee fix, and this coffee shop had wonderful caramel slices.

No sooner had I gotten out of my car than I heard the sound of a ruckus. I was halfway across the parking lot when someone slammed into me, causing me to stumble several steps and drop my purse on the pavement. “Hey!” I exclaimed.

I whirled around as two people made a mad dash across the road. I crouched down and started to collect my things. I picked up my purse and the change that had fallen out of it, and stuffed it back in. They could have at least tried to avoid crashing into people if they didn’t plan to help clean up the mess. A quick sorry would have been nice.

I swung back around, when a uniformed police officer grabbed me by the arm. I hadn’t seen him before; he was from out of town. “You’re being taken in for disturbing the peace and blocking traffic,” he said.

I tried to pull away, out of instinct, but his grip tightened. “But I’m a local,” I said. “I got caught in traffic, so I parked, and went to get coffee. And those people ran past me and knocked my stuff all over the ground.”

The police officer’s expression was grim. “I’ve had enough of you protesters,” he said. “Your friends got away, but you won’t.” And with that, he firmly guided me down the road.

“I’m just an innocent bystander,” I said. “Those people ran into me. I didn’t even know there was a protest.”

The police officer stuffed me into his vehicle and drove me to the police station. It was all so surreal, and had happened so quickly. Next thing I knew, I was sitting opposite the man in an interview room, telling him yet again what had happened.

“Do you have anyone who can corroborate your story?” he asked, making me want to bang my head on the desk between us.

“How about half a town?” a familiar voice said with open irritation. “Sibyl Potts is a local resident.”

“That fact doesn’t explain her being at the scene.”

Blake pointed a finger under the man’s nose. “And so were fifty or so locals, and innocent people driving down the highway. You do realize that Little Tatterford is half way between Sydney and Brisbane, don’t you? You arrested at least three locals.” Blake walked around the table and helped me up. “She’s being released, effective immediately.”

“Now see here!”

That was all the man had time to say, before Blake lowered his face to the man’s. “I haven’t seen such incompetence in a long time. Rest assured, I will report your behavior. I don’t know how you do things where you come from, but you’re in the wrong jurisdiction to be doing it.”

I gawked as Blake escorted me toward the door. I had seen Blake upset before, when there had been a tough case, when I had poked my nose into police matters, even when umpires had unfairly awarded free kicks against his football team, but this made all those seem minor. I could not remember ever seeing him this angry. The out-of-town police officer did not seem ready to test his luck. He sat there mutely as Blake and I left.

As soon as we were out of the room, Blake took a long breath. “Are you all right? Sibyl?” Blake asked again, tilting his head to the side. “I asked if you were okay?”

“I just wanted a cup of coffee.” I felt tears well up the instant I spoke, making me turn red. I gave a short, nervous laugh, as I blotted my eyes with the back of my hand. “I’m fine; I’m fine,” I muttered.

Blake gave me a kind smile and put his arm around my shoulders. “Well, if you have a minute, I could treat you to some blacker-than-black coffee with extra sugar to hide the char. I’d take you to a café, but I’m too busy with the protest rally in town.”

I thanked him and sat on a blue, plastic chair in the police station staff room. “The protest rally, it’s HOOW, isn’t it?”

Blake nodded. “It’s them, all right. They started off peacefully enough, but then it quickly deteriorated into people sitting in the middle of the highway and choking traffic. The cops who were called in to help keep the peace weren’t organized for dealing with any real trouble.” Blake sighed. “They’ve made the situation worse by grabbing random people off the streets.”

I didn’t have long to talk to Blake as he was called back to the rally, and I hightailed it out of there as fast as I could. Luckily, the traffic was now moving, so I was able to drive back to my cottage. I parked, but instead of going inside, I hurried back to the boarding house in search of some friend therapy, which sounded pretty good to me right then. I’d even let Mr. Buttons make me some Earl Grey tea if he offered. That would certainly make his day. And if anyone could make me laugh about getting arrested when trying to get coffee, Cressida could.

As soon as I walked through the door, I heard the unhappy noise of Dorothy slamming cabinet doors and banging pots and pans. I knew that sound only too well; that was the sound of a special menu request. There must be a new guest tonight.

“Oh Sibyl,” Cressida called cheerfully as she made her way to me. “We have six travelers who just checked in. They’re here for some sort of community outreach rally.”

My face fell, and I let out a groan. “Oh, is that what they called it? No Cressida, they’re members of HOOW.”

I explained the situation in detail. By the time I was finished, Cressida was open mouthed, Mr. Buttons had joined us and was shaking his head, and even Dorothy had stopped banging to gawk in shock around the door.

“My goodness, you’d better get Blake something nice for coming to your rescue like that!” Cressida exclaimed. “So they were the ones who blocked up traffic today?”

“Yes, and they’re the ones who are opposing Greg destroying the wilderness.”

“Greg’s destruction of the wilderness area most certainly should be opposed,” Cressida said, and Mr. Buttons and I agreed. “Yet that’s no excuse for someone murdering Greg’s wife.”

“There’s one thing that concerns me though, ladies,” Mr. Buttons said, as he rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“That HOOW vandalized Greg’s car and blocked traffic?” I asked.

“Well, yes. That too.”

“That Blake got away with chewing out another cop?” Cressida asked hesitantly.

“I’m surprised he didn’t clock the man a good one, actually. But no.”

“Well what?” Cressida asked impatiently.

Mr. Buttons pointed up at the second floor. “We have the activists and the man they hate sleeping under the one roof.”

 

BOOK: A Matter of Wife and Death (A Sibyl Potts Cozy Mystery, Book 4)
13.96Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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