Death By Chocolate 6 (Mystery and Women Sleuths) (Josiah Reynolds Mysteries) (12 page)

Asa hurriedly punched in the code to the front door. Hearing the click, I pushed opened the door only to have Baby rush me and the cats leap across the threshold to hurry toward the barn.

I checked Baby while Asa ran into the house. Holding Baby’s collar, I stepped inside the house and sniffed the air. No smoke.

Outside I could hear the men putting ladders on the roof and opening the hoses. In the distance I could hear the wail of a fire truck.

I flipped a light switch. The electricity was still on. I checked the land phone. It was still working.

Asa came back with her gun holster on. “All the doors are locked. The windows are closed. I checked every room. There’s no sign of fire.”

Sighing relief, I let go of Baby, which was a bad idea because he went directly outside and started harassing everyone who was trying to put the fire out on the roof.

Asa put him on a leash and tapped his nose with her index finger when he wouldn’t listen. He hated to be reprimanded and sat in sulky silence. He had been having a wonderful time.

Matt and Boris climbed down the ladders looking disheveled. Boris shook his head at Asa. Charles and his grandsons finished surveying the immediate grounds of the house as his daughters began raking up the debris that Matt had pulled off the roof.

As Matt and Boris came up to us, Franklin drove up from checking on Matt’s house. “All clear,” Franklin said, getting out of his Smart car. “House is perfect.”

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“It looks like someone put debris on top of the roof and then set it on fire,” replied Matt, staring at the rooftop.

Charles and his grandsons hurried to our little group huddled in the driveway. “Look what we found,” announced Charles, showing us an empty gas can.

“Why would anyone do that? What’s the purpose?” I mulled.

Boris shrugged. “For a diversion?” he suggested.

Asa snapped her head up. “June and your wife, Charles. They’re alone in the Big House.”

“Tony and Giles are there with them,” responded one of the grandsons.

“And you trust those limeys with our women!” shouted Charles. “Get back in the cars. Something’s not right.”

I put Baby back in the house, locked the front doors and drove back to June’s with Franklin. We were the last to arrive.

Rushing into the Big House, I found everyone in the library with Asa and Boris pointing guns at Tony and his man, Giles aka Liam Doyle, as they reached for the sky.

June and Charles’ wife were sitting quite calmly in green leather chairs near the fire, sipping brandy. There was a derringer in June’s lap and a twinkle in her eyes.

The derringer would explain a teenage boy bleeding on her expensive oriental carpet and the twinkle would explain the thrill of shooting the teenager.

“That crazy old bitch shot me!” exclaimed the youth.

“Just be glad I shot you in the leg, young man,” said June.

“And that other bitch tried to cave my head in with a poker.”

June looked at Charles’ wife. “Mrs. DuPuy, being of a darker persuasion, (pronounced per-swaaay-shion) doesn’t like white males pointing guns at her.”

“I don’t like
anyone
pointing a gun at me. I don’t care what color,” scolded Mrs. DuPuy, pointing a finger at the boy. “It was very rude of you.” She looked up wide-eyed at us. “He tried to steal Josephine’s jewels. We just couldn’t allow that,” she stated matter of factly.

“So I shot him,” drawled June.

“That was after I tried to crack his head open with the poker,” concurred Mrs. Dupuy.

“It’s just a flesh wound,” claimed Boris, examining the bullet wound. “Put a band aid on it and he will be fine.”

“I’m in pain,” whined the boy.

“But why are Tony and Giles standing with their hands up in the air?” I asked.

“Because Mr. Tony tried to yank my necklace off after the boy was shot,” said Mrs. Dupuy.

“That makes us think that he might have had something to do with this,” claimed June.

“I was just trying to help,” spat Tony at Mrs. DuPuy.

She snorted in derision.

Boris kicked the boy’s bad leg. “Tell us what’s up or you’re going to prison for long time.”

“That man paid me one hundred dollars if I was to set fire to that weird house down yonder,” the boy said, pointing to Tony. “And I was to get five hundred more if I robbed this house. I was to steal a green and white necklace. The one that lady’s wearing,” he added.

“I’ve never seen this boy before in my life,” Tony scoffed, looking annoyed.

“Six hundred dollars to steal necklace worth millions?” uttered Boris.

“Boy, you’ve been had,” remarked Charles. He sat by his wife. “I hear the fire trucks.” Turning to his grandsons, he ordered, “One of you go down to the Butterfly and tell them to come up here,” he said to his grandsons. “Let them through the side property gate. We’ve got an injured boy.”

“I had nothing to do with this!” protested Giles. “I didn’t know anything about it.”

“Shut up!” demanded Tony.

“I’m not going to prison for you. I like it here. I like my room. I like the food. I like the bourbon.” Giles turned toward June. “Lady Elsmere, I’d nothing to do with this. I will do anything to stay. Help Charles around the house. I’ll even shovel shi… horse poop if you will let me stay. I’m begging you. I’ve got nowhere else to go.”

“Tony, did Giles have any prior knowledge of your little faux pas?” asked Lady Elsmere. “Don’t bother to deny it. This has your fingerprints all over it. Think of the English gentleman’s code before you speak.”

Tony considered for a moment. “No.”

Giles looked relieved.

June picked the derringer off her lap and pointed it at Tony. “Everyone leave the room but Tony and this boy. Stall the firemen and the police. Now scoot.”

Before I left the room, I asked, “Where did you get the derringer?”

June grinned. “In my décolletage, where all ladies of quality keep their weapons.”

“Always?”

“Always.”

“Just when you think you know someone.” I left the room, shutting the door quietly behind me. Of course, everyone was standing in the hallway straining to hear.

Franklin brought glasses so we could amplify our hearing with our ears pressed against the bottom of the glass that was pressed against the door.

Boris asked, “What’s she saying? I don’t understand her English.”

“Shush!” went everyone.

Charles put down his glass. “She’s going old school country girl on them. There’s no Lady Elsmere there. Just June Webster from Monkey’s Eyebrow.”

“Those words even make me blush. Salty isn’t the word,” stated Franklin.

Asa looked at me. “Mother, what’s a . . .?”

“Hush. I’ll tell you when we get home.”

Mrs. DuPuy could not longer hold off the firemen and the police.

The authorities tramped down the hallway, scattering our little party. They were in no mood for our silliness.

I didn’t blame them for being in a bad mood. We had gotten them out on Christmas Day.

Charles and his wife hurried to the kitchen to fix them something to eat. That would certainly take the edge off their foul humor.

After coming out of the library looking confused but elated at the promise of a large donation to their favorite charity by Lady Elsmere, the police waited until the boy was ensconced in an ambulance and then took off without taking our statements. The firemen, loaded with baskets of food and wine, happily returned to their fire station.

Matt gave Asa, Boris, Franklin and me a ride home. Matt and Franklin went back to Matt’s place with Franklin still showing his pinky ring to Matt every five seconds.

“Boris, can you stay tonight?” I asked. I knew if he didn’t stay, Asa would be up all night guarding. She needed to get some sleep.

“Yes. I’ve got my gear in the SUV.”

“I’m feel very blessed tonight,” I confessed to Asa.

“How can you say that, Mom?”

“No one got seriously hurt. The fire didn’t damage the house. You and I got some fabulous bling. And June got to shoot someone. I would say that is a good day.”

Asa shot a kiss at me. “Merry Christmas, Mother.”

“Merry Christmas, Daughter.”

It was a sunny morning and I was reading the newspaper by the back windows where the light was best.

There was the curious story on the front page about a young guest of Lady Elsmere’s who opened her gun collection without permission and accidentally shot himself with an antique women’s derringer on Christmas Day. It also stated that Lady Elsmere’s nephew, Sir Anthony, would be returning to London after the holidays.

So that old bird covered everything up. I had to laugh and was still chuckling when the phone rang.

“Mrs. Reynolds?”

“This is she.”

“This is Charlotte. Remember me? The lab technician.”

I straightened up in my chair. “Yes, I do, Charlotte.”

“I’ve finished the lab report. In fact, I did it twice just to be sure.”

“Just put it in the mail, dear.”

“I think you’d better come and get it personally. I wouldn’t want it to get lost.”

There was silence on my end as I tried to process what she was saying to me. “Okay. Can I pick it up tomorrow?”

“Yes ma’am. Anytime between noon and five. I want to explain some things to you.”

“I’ll be there at one thirty.”

“That’s fine.” She hung up.

What did she find that she couldn’t tell me on the phone?

I didn’t like the sound of it.

Charlotte showed me into the conference room. She had a sealed container with the chocolate horse and a lengthy report. She turned the file toward me. There were many areas highlighted with a yellow marker. She pointed to these areas with her pencil.

“The report conclusively states that the hair on the horse was the same as the DNA in the hair sample that you supplied.”

“You’re positive?”

“It’s 99.97 percent correct.” Charlotte hesitated for a moment. “I did something I wasn’t suppose to do, but you said this hunk of chocolate might solve the mystery of that missing man.”

I nodded, waiting for her to continue.

“My boyfriend is studying to be a forensic anthropologist. His mentor is an expert in forensic osteology.”

“What’s that?”

“The study of the cause of death from bone fragments.”

“But there are no bone fragments.”

“Yes, there were . . . are. I found very tiny fragments stuck in the part of the horse where it looked like the leg had been melted and stuck back on.”

“And?” I was finding it hard to breathe.

“They are part of a human tooth.”

“Oh dear,” was all I could say.

“The tooth fragments are too small to do anything with other than identify them as an adult human. Here’s the report from my boyfriend’s mentor, but he won’t sign it as it is not official.” Charlotte placed it in front of me. “I hope you’re not angry with me.”

I quickly read the sparse report. “No, no. Not at all. Just stunned. I was so hoping that the results would be different.”

“This is about murder now, isn’t it?”

“It could be any number of things, but it doesn’t look good.” I gathered up the report.

Charlotte put the container on a cart and wheeled it out to my car. She helped me put it in the back seat. “I could get into a lot of trouble for taking the tooth sample out of the lab.”

“I’ll keep your name out of this if I can but if something should arise, the police might want to talk with you,” I replied.

“Let me know what happens.”

“You bet.” We shook hands and parted.

The problem was what do I do now?

I dumped the lab container on Goetz’s desk.

“And a Happy New Year to you too,” declared Goetz.

I placed a large hamper by his feet.

He kicked it under his desk and looked around to see if anyone had noticed.

“Two Cornish hens with wild rice and pecan stuffing, wilted swiss chard, old fashioned lettuce wedge with homemade blue cheese and bacon dressing and an Apple Betty for dessert.”

“Isn’t an Apple Betty a little humble to go with Cornish hens?”

“It’s what I had in the house.”

“What can I do you for?”

“For you to do your job.”

“I told you that a body was needed for further investigation.”

I pulled out the bag with the tooth fragments from the container and threw it at him. “You got it.”

Goetz picked up the bag, studying it.

“If you want the provenance of this chocolate, call up Ginny Wheelwright. I presume you have her number?”

“Do me a favor. Don’t call me. I’ll call you.”

I started to leave. “Oh, Goetz.”

“Yeah?”

“Happy New Year.”

Asa had flown back to London, while Boris stayed a few more days to keep an eye on Farley.

He rolled in around eight one morning. I got up to fix him breakfast before he went to bed.

“Just some milk and pastry, please,” requested Boris in his thick European accent. “No eggs or meat. Too heavy before I sleep.”

I poured some hot tea in a clear glass, poured another glass of milk and retrieved some Danish out of the freezer, which I quickly nuked. Putting the food on a tray, I took it to the dining room table where Boris was already nodding off.

“Just resting my eyes,” he muttered, jerking up in his seat.

I placed the food before him.

Boris smiled when he saw the glass of hot tea. “That is how we serve hot tea in my country. No fancy little cups.”

“I know.”

Boris hungrily tore at the pastry.

I waited until he had eaten.

Finishing his milk, he leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes again.

“Before you fall asleep, did you find out anything?”

Boris gave me a slippery smile. “Ya. Find out some things. Farley? He spends the night at his best friend Dwight’s house. Left at six.”

“That’s juicy. But he and Selena could have hooked up after Dwight’s disappearance. Doesn’t mean anything.”

“I think it does. He peeked through front curtains seeing if anyone was outside. Then he looks around coming out. He is pretending . . . no, the word is sneaking. Don’t want anyone to know he’s there.”

Boris pulled out a small digital camera and showed me the pictures.

It did indeed look like Farley was trying to leave the house undetected. But it still didn’t prove anything.

“And this.” Boris pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket. He handed it to me.

“That Susie Brinkman who said she lives in Houston now. Checked it out. No Susie Brinkman from Kentucky lives in Houston.

“I did more checking. There is a Susie Brinkman who lives in Waddy, Kentucky and works at insurance company in Frankfort. Here’s address. I don’t know if same Susie Brinkman but description matches.” Boris yawned. “I go to bed now. When I wake up, you take me to airport. I fly to London.”

I absent-mindedly nodded to Boris while looking at the information about Susie. Did that little button of a girl lie to me?

Tonight I would drive Boris to the Bluegrass Airport.

Tomorrow I would seek out one Susie Brinkman of Waddy, Kentucky.