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

Chapter 7.

I was at one of the cafés in town, having coffee with Cressida. The café was a cute little place with an interior design scheme modeled after an old-fashioned breakfast spot. “Do you think this place has been around longer than the boarding house?” I asked Cressida.

Cressida considered my question for a moment, and then shrugged. “Probably, though I can’t say for sure. It’s designed to look old, but it might’ve been here for a fraction of the time.”

Cressida had suggested we have coffee in town as a respite from the recent days’ events, but I couldn’t help but feel sad. I twirled a thin, red straw around in my coffee and thought about Lisa. No matter how hard I tried, erasing the memory seemed to be impossible. The list of every possible suspect reeled through my mind like an old film being pulled through a projector. I was unable to pinpoint a most likely suspect.

“So, Cressida,” I said, “do you have any idea as to who could be behind Lisa’s death?” I spoke in a soft tone, but loud enough for Cressida to hear. “Of course Mr. Buttons is sure it’s Dorothy, but he suspects her of every murder.” As soon as I said the words every murder, I felt sadder than ever. There had been several murders since I’d moved to Little Tatterford. I’d even forgotten the precise number.

Cressida tapped her chin. “I was kind of starting to suspect Dorothy myself. She did have that awful fight with Lisa the night before she died.”

I shot her a curious look. “Yes, I heard that, but with everything else going on, I forgot about it.”

“Lisa asked Dorothy to cook the meat a little bit longer than she had. I get complaints about Dorothy from time to time, but most people don’t go to the lengths of coming into the kitchen to complain to Dorothy in person,” she said. “Oh, speaking of complaints, it’s Cynthia Devonshire. Don’t look now.”

I looked up to see a young, attractive woman strolling into the café. She was overdressed for the local town, and flung her long, blonde hair extensions over her shoulder at least three times before she reached us.

“Shush. I said, Don’t look now.” Cressida pressed her lips against her finger.

Cynthia Devonshire approached our table. “Hello, Cressida. How have you been?” Her lips were tightly pursed, and she spoke in a posh, affected accent, drawing out her vowels.

Cressida shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Fine, thanks, and you?”

“I thought you would have been most upset after the dreadful accident at your establishment,” the pretentious woman continued.

“It was no accident,” Cressida retorted. “It was murder!”

The woman looked down her long, pointed nose at Cressida. “I do keep hearing that the police suspect foul play, but where is the proof of such a ridiculous claim?”

“Excuse me?” Cressida said. “The proof is in the fact that my building is completely up to date, and there haven’t been any reported code violations or injuries on my property.”

The woman smiled thinly, or sneered. I couldn’t tell which. “Oh come on. That’s preposterous. Who would know someone was going to be leaning against a specific railing on a specific balcony, and on a specific day? If this ends up being solved as a murder, we need to crown the suspect a genius. His planning abilities and level of strategic accuracy should be commended, if he managed to kill his target in such a clever way.”

Cressida’s frustration seemed to be boiling over. I kept nudging her with my elbow, but to no avail.

“When the police catch the guy and lock him away, I’ll be expecting an apology directly from you!” Cressida exclaimed. “You can applaud the murderer’s planning skills if you wish, but he or she’s a sick person and you’re a sick woman. It’s terrible that you’re using a tragedy such as this to get a financial advantage for your business!”

“Think what you wish,” Cynthia Devonshire barked. “I have taken no steps toward using that poor woman’s demise for my own benefit. If I’m guilty of anything at all, it’s of reporting a shoddy boarding house run by someone who doesn’t know how to keep her guests safe.”

“Reporting?” I repeated. “What are you talking about?”

The woman fixed her gaze upon me. “Well, I hear it’s been going around town that the boarding house will be inspected soon. After learning about that horrific accident, I felt it was my moral obligation to make sure the local council knew of the structural deficiencies of such an old, dirty facility.”

Cressida shook. “So, you’re admitting that you falsely reported my B&B?”

A smug look decorated the woman’s otherwise expressionless face. “I didn’t falsely report anything. You can tell from yards away that those balconies need to be renovated. I’ve spoken to former guests of yours who did nothing but complain about the lack of amenities and how things are always crazy over there.” The woman once again flipped her hair extensions from her face. “I don’t want there to be any animosity between us, Ms. Upthorpe, but I cannot approve of you cutting corners and endangering lives.”

“Thank you for your concern,” Cressida said in a syrupy, false voice. “I’ll make sure I look into your concerns and resolve them by any means necessary.” Cressida smiled so widely that crevices formed in her thick makeup.

Cynthia Devonshire stood silent for a moment, and then flipped her hair once more and stormed to the counter.

“Nice one,” I said.

Cressida smiled weakly. “I always hate it when people who should be mad at me are nice. I figured it might work on her, so I tested it out.”

I smiled. “Looks like it worked like a charm. I know she’s purposely trying to provoke you, but with everything that’s going on, we need to be careful and worry about protecting ourselves.”

“I know that, Sibyl,” Cressida continued. “It’s just so irritating when you hear about accusations being made, and you know it’s all lies, but there’s nothing you can do to prove it.”

I nodded. “Anyway, back to Dorothy. Do you really think she could possibly harm someone?”

Cressida bit her bottom lip and frowned. “I think anything is possible. Sometimes, the least likely person is the most obvious culprit. People just don’t realize it because the clues are there to point you in the wrong direction.”

“Since when are you an amateur sleuth?” I asked.

“I’m far from that,” Cressida said. “I just know how far people are usually willing to go when they feel like everything is on the line. Sometimes nothing will stop them from achieving their goals.”

I understood only too well. After all, my ex-husband had plotted to kill me with the help of his mistress.

“Anyway,” Cressida continued, “I don’t really suspect Dorothy. I don’t know who else it could be, though. Well, other than that environmental activist or whatever he is, but murdering someone seems a bit extreme for such a noble cause.”

“That’s true,” I agreed.

Cynthia Devonshire, coffee in hand, walked back past our table. “I will be seeing you again in the near future, I would assume.”

“I look forward to it,” Cressida said evenly.

“I wouldn’t be looking forward to anything if I were you,” the woman said. “Either we’ll end up putting you out of business, or you’ll end up going bankrupt when your decrepit building falls apart and hurts someone again.”

Chapter 8
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“Leave it to us to have a paperwork party,” Cressida said as she took a sip of her drink, and then shuffled the files she was updating.

“We’re unconventional and adventurous like that.” I smiled and sighed as I looked at my own untamed tangle of forms and receipts.

Cressida and I were sitting in the dining room with our paperwork spread out around the table. We had both fallen behind, and so Cressida suggested we should sit together to catch up. It was ironic that trying to organize receipts was the most relaxing part of my week. Part of me hoped that Mr. Buttons would join us, but that wouldn’t help with the paperwork.

Greg poked his head around the door. “Good evening, ladies.”

I returned his greeting, while Cressida waved. Greg looked like the whole ordeal was wearing him down. While it did not show in his appearance, his manner was sad and less energetic than usual.

“How are things going?” I asked, as he walked into the room.

“The environmentalists have made it worse,” he said sadly.

While I certainly did not approve of Greg destroying the wilderness area, I could not help but feel sorry for him. His wife had just died, and he had possibly been the intended murder victim. To make matters worse, the media kept calling him for a statement, and then he had to contend with his aggressive personal assistant. Cressida had to put the six protesters in a separate wing and organize special meal times, all to keep them and Greg from running into each other.

No matter how frustrating life is, someone always has it worse, my grandfather used to say whenever I complained about anything. He was a wise man. I wouldn’t switch places with Greg for a million dollars.

“What are you ladies up to?” Greg nodded at the table full of scattered files and calculators.

“Paperwork party,” Cressida explained, as she waved a hand grandly over the spread out mess. “I’d ask if you wanted to join in,” she said as a joke.

“Actually, I might have to take you up on that offer.” Greg rubbed the back of his neck. “With what happened to Lisa, it’s been hard to stay on track with work.”

A knock interrupted our conversation. Cressida waved Greg to sit down, while she went to check on the door.

“So, how are you doing?” I asked in the awkward silence that followed Cressida’s departure.

“One day at a time.” Greg sighed. “Just a little bit more to go. Then I’ll take some time off.”

As I tried to find the right words to express my sympathy for his situation, two men made their way into the room. It was obvious by their manner that they were detectives.

I left the dining room to give Greg privacy, and Cressida was standing outside the door.

“Never a dull day.” Cressida sighed and rubbed the back of her neck.

“It will be all right,” a familiar voice assured her.

Blake! I couldn’t remember ever being so happy to see him. It felt so good to see him standing there with a cup of coffee in his hand.

“What are they here for?” I asked him, glancing in the direction of the dining room.

Before he could answer, Greg’s voice bellowed, making the three of us jump. “What do you mean, no suspects?”

The three of us exchanged glances, as Greg continued to yell. “How about twenty six environmentalists breathing down my neck? Half of them are so extreme they’d sell off their mother to save a wombat! What about the rival companies? The historic preservation group? Those loons claiming the land has been in their family for hundreds of years? Do I need to draw you idiots a map? What are my tax dollars paying you for? My wife is dead, and you think someone killed her. And you have no clue who might have done it?”

“Sir, please calm down.”

“I’ve been calm! I’ve been sitting on my hands wondering when you were going to take care of this mess! Get out! Get out, and let me know when you actually have some answers!”

Cressida made a move toward the door, but Blake placed a hand on her shoulder and shook his head.

After Greg ranted and raved some more, the detectives walked out of the room and headed for the front door of the boarding house. As soon as the detectives left, there was banging in the room, followed by the sound of rustling papers. Cressida and I hurried into the room, followed by Blake.

“Greg!” Cressida snapped, as she crouched to gather the papers on the floor. “This isn’t your office!”

Greg stopped his frantic pacing of the room. He mumbled an apology, and then bent over to pick up our things and return them to the table.

“I know this is a hard time for you, Greg, but be more careful!” Cressida scolded, shaking her head as she tried to sort out our paperwork.

“I’m sorry. They came all the way here to tell me that my wife was murdered, and they haven’t a clue by whom.” Greg again paced the room furiously. “As if I didn’t already know that!”

I sighed and tried to get the paperwork organized without reading too much of Cressida’s personal information.

“There’s a strong likelihood that you were the target,” Blake said, as he helped collect the papers. “In fact, you could still be targeted as we speak.”

“Really, now?” Greg asked in mock surprise, earning him a look of warning as Cressida jabbed a finger in his direction.

“Yes, really,” Blake said calmly. If he was bothered by Greg’s behavior, he did not show it. “In fact, I came here to advise you to go under police protection.”

“Police protection?” Greg said skeptically as he crossed his arms. “Like bodyguards?”

Blake remained calm. “We can relocate you to a local hotel, and keep your location hidden. You can delegate this land deal to other members of your team.”

Greg gaped and moved his mouth wordlessly for a second. It didn’t take him long to recover. “That’s your grand plan? I go into hiding?”

Blake tapped a stack of papers on the desk. “You are the target, so it’s safer for everyone if no one knows your exact location.”

“Safer for everyone? Like my wife?” Greg demanded, his eyes blazing.

“Like Sibyl, Cressida, and Mr. Buttons.” Blake fixed Greg with a stern, critical glare. “People who are not part of your land deal. People who are involved because you had to bring work with you. People who are in the cross fires of anyone who might be aiming at you. No one else needs to be collateral damage.”

“And then what?” Greg demanded, as he slammed an open palm on the table. “What happens in the next deal if they think I can be chased off? The next? A family member is targeted? An accident at my house?”

He banged his fist on the table. “I need to finish this. Here, in the open, to show them there’s nothing they do can stop me, no matter how extreme!”

“Like killing your wife?” Blake glared at Greg.

“I can’t protect the dead,” Greg said, in a quieter voice.

“But I can protect the living,” Blake said at once. “And until we have a lead on why someone would try to kill you, how they knew where you would be, and when you would be there, and then managed to get to the room first, until we have this information, you and everyone here is in danger. You will be safer in a non-disclosed location.”

“Out of the question,” Greg snapped. “I’m not going to let them think they can chase me off this land deal.”

Blake crossed his arms over his chest. “How do you know it’s about the land deal?”

“What else could it be?” Greg demanded as he threw out his arms in exasperation. “It has to be someone connected to the land deal. Who else would come here?”

“Enemies, people who owe you money, blackmailers, a jealous ex, even someone who didn’t approve of the wedding. The list would probably be pretty long if you stopped blustering and gave us details beyond this land deal.”

“My personal life is no one’s business,” Greg said quickly.

“It is people’s business. Especially when your personal life could get someone killed,” Blake said levelly.

Greg shot Blake a killer glare, but Blake did not seem to care.

“Fine. I’m not going to give anyone the satisfaction of going into hiding.” Greg set his jaw stubbornly. “What if I allow the police to stay here at the boarding house and accompany me, then everything is fine. The whole building is under police protection, right? Problem solved.”

Cressida stood up and waved a hand in disagreement. “Wait! No. It’s bad enough that we’re in the news with all that’s happened. If there are police stomping around, then no one will feel comfortable staying here!”

“You want me to leave?” Greg demanded, as he turned his attention on Cressida.

“Of course not!” Cressida shook her head. “But you need to be safe, Greg. We do worry about you. But police all over the place?”

Something in Greg’s expression made me concerned. I figured that he would be a lot more rational about Blake’s encouragement to relocate if he were not distracted by the death of his wife.

Blake sighed and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “I’ll see if I can get clearance for surveillance, until the deal’s finalized, or the murderer is apprehended, whichever comes first.”

Greg gave a thin smile. “Good. Then everyone gets what they want.”

I shook my head. All I had wanted was a quiet night to catch up on my paperwork. Cressida wanted an end to the drama. Blake wanted Greg someplace else. I didn’t see any winners in this argument.