Two Birds with One Stone (A Marsden-Lacey Cozy Mystery Book 1) (14 page)

“We were already on our way. We have The Grange
electronically monitored now. The constable taking your call was asked to keep
you as long as possible on the phone.”
Johns was quiet for a moment. “You two must have been followed because
it was the side door that signaled to us first. That was the one you entered
through. It was the service entrance that signaled second which was about five
minutes after the side door had signaled.”

The Chief screwed up his forehead, pursed his lips, then
gave his verdict. “Someone is following you, girls. Someone either knows you
have something they want or thinks you know something they wish you didn
’
t. Either way, you
’
re in it deep and it
’
s deadly.”

Chapter 24

TO SEND HIS POINT HOME, Chief Johns returned Martha and
Helen to their cells. He told Constable Waters they would be spending another
night and not to allow them visitors. Besides, he needed the bookish one to
give him a briefing on the contents of the envelope which was supposedly
stuffed under a car seat in Martha
’
s Mini
Cooper.

He marched out to the back lot where they kept impounded
vehicles. There was Martha
’
s green car. Foresight along
with years of experience had told him not to leave anything behind last night.
He had not only collected the Mini Cooper but had also picked up Helen
’
s briefcase.

The car door was locked but that wasn
’
t
a problem for the person with the keys. He got them by threatening Martha with
a strip search if she didn
’
t hand them over. That had been
kind of fun, he thought to himself with a smile.

He dug under the driver
’
s seat.
Nothing. Sticking his arm under the passenger
’
s seat, he
felt something made out of material. He pulled it out and to his surprise found
himself holding a red, lacy bra. Johns
’
eyebrows arched
quizzically as he held the item out for inspection.

“What on earth does that woman do when she drives around in
her car?”
he
asked.

Thinking to himself he should probably have her monitored,
he shoved the bra back under the seat and stuck his head down close to the
floor board to get a better look. Nothing. Wait, there back behind what
appeared to be a box of feminine hygiene products, he saw a manila envelope.
She had definitely tried to booby-trap the hiding place.

He straightened up and opened the envelope. Peering inside,
he saw a thick bundle of bound papers enclosed in a heavy plastic bag.

“Better get back to the nice-tempered one and see what she
can make of this,”
he
thought to himself. With the envelope in hand, he walked back to the station
musing on the red lacy number he had found, completely unaware he was being
watched by two sets of curious eyes.

“
ALISTAIR,
”
PERIGRINE SAID, “YOU KNOW how I get
that itchy feeling in my palms when we
’
re close to
something deliciously valuable?”

“Yes, P. I know exactly what that itch means.”
Alistair lounged
comfortably, legs crossed at the knees in his Bergere chair and reading an E.F.
Benson anthology of ghost stories.

“Our dear Chief Inspector has something…”
Perigrine studied
the envelope dangling from Johns
’
hand as he walked
across the parking lot.

Alistair never interrupted Perigrine while he was tuning
into the universal money mind. Given enough time, P. would sift through the
incoming impulses which would guide him to an understanding of what was causing
his palms to itch. His intuition never missed the mark. Everyone had a talent
and Perigrine
’
s was feeling when he was close to something
off-the-charts valuable.

“I think it should be sussed out, Ally. I
’
m
on my way to Harriet
’
s to get a cake. I think you might
need to prune the roses near Chief
’
s window. They need to
be taken into hand. See you in a bit.”
Perigrine removed his work apron, flung it on an untidy desk and made
some quick adjustments to his bow tie in a mirror hung below a picture of The
Queen.

Confident his appearance was in order, he strode out of the
office towards the High Street and the best tea cakes one could buy in
Marsden-Lacey.

Chapter 25

“I CAN
’
T BE SURE OF course. We need to
have it looked at by an expert. Someone like Louis Devry obviously would know,”
Helen said. She had
been delicately studying the manuscript Johns had retrieved from Martha
’
s car.

“What does it look like in your less-expert opinion?”
Johns asked.

Martha rolled her eyes. “Nice.”

Johns winked at her like he knew something incriminating
about her.

Taken aback and a bit perplexed by his new tone, Martha
scowled.

Helen didn
’
t seem to take it as an
insult and replied, “It
’
s nineteenth century and in a
woman
’
s hand. There is negligible deterioration which
means it has been well cared for possibly in a collection where there were
proper environmental conditions maintained. It
’
s a novel.
Beautifully written. Almost poetic in its style. What I find curious is that
the envelope containing the manuscript is American made and the mylar casing is
museum grade but the style of writing is English. I
’
ve not
seen the entire list of The Grange
’
s holdings so I
’
m not sure whether this may be in their collection or not. We
need to show it to Mr. Devry.”

“That can be arranged,”
Johns said.

“Chief Inspector Johns,”
Martha began in an upbeat, professional tone, “Helen and I need to
negotiate our situation.”

Johns asked with a smile, “Oh?”

“Yes, you see, we
’
ll stay out of your
investigation if you would please let us return to work. As you can well
imagine, being held by the police doesn
’
t do well with my
employer or Helen
’
s clients.”

“Mrs. Littleword, you may not realize the danger you are in
at this moment. Someone has a bone to pick with both of you.”

“We realize the danger but we plan to stay at my house and
if you might consider our arrest to be more of the house variety, then I might
get to keep my job and Helen can arrange to do her work from there.”

“Are you suggesting I should find it in my operating budget
to pay for personal police protection for two American ladies who don
’
t know how to keep their noses out of trouble?”

Helen spoke up. “Okay, Chief Inspector but we would like to
see all the paper work you
’
ve done so far regarding our
offenses and our incarceration.”

Johns frowned. If they were going to play that card, he
would have to let them go. He hadn
’
t created any
documentation regarding their supposed offenses because he knew they were
harmless. But being too nosey was turning out to be dangerous and he wanted to
put some fear into them.

He put on a grave face. “Ok. You can go. But if
you poke a tiny toe into my
investigation again, you
’
ll be serving your time at Broadmore in North Yorkshire. Not a
fun vacation destination for nice ladies like yourselves.”
He smiled wickedly
and blinked a number of times staring directly at them.

Helen lifted herself regally and smiled warmly. Her rigid
shoulders and composed pleasantness made her look like an ice princess who was
ready to dismiss the commoners from her presence. “Thank you Chief Inspector.
We will be respectful of your case and if anything should come our way, we
promise to come to you directly.”

Martha was busy spraying perfume that she found in her
jacket pocket on her neck. Johns smelled the wafting rose scent and turned to
see her squirt a shot down her shirt and into her bosom.

He felt his mind soar aloft like a balloon released by a
child at the park. Martha looked up and saw instantly how his eyes had glazed
over. With typical Martha flair, she tossed him the same impish smile he had
given her earlier except she added a knowing wink.

An electric shock hit Johns in the chest then sizzled around
his whole being until it discharged through each individual rigid hair on his
buzzed head.

Martha waited for the most opportune moment then coyly
tucked the perfume back into her favorite place, her cleavage, and watched with
obvious glee as Johns shuffled papers hurriedly.

“Okay then,”
he said hoarsely, “I will have Constable Waters assist you with
gathering your things and getting your car out of the impound lot.”

The Chief pushed the thought of the red, lacy item under the
car seat out of his mind. He knew without any hesitation that he was crazy
about this Southern redhead and he couldn
’
t be in the room
with her one more second.

Chapter 26

ALISTAIR HAD HEARD THE ENTIRE conversation, hidden as he
was behind the magnificent English rose bushes flanking the west side of the
Constabulary. He also saw the manuscript laying on the table, left
tantalizingly unprotected by the departing Chief and the two women.

While Alistair and Perigrine had worked all those months on
the Constabulary, they learned many curiosities about the place, things like
how Chief Johns
’
office was a treasure trove of fine whiskeys secreted in ladies
handbags, and how windows weren
’
t regularly locked.

The window to the interrogation/lunch room or better known
to the constables as the “
break room,
”
was opened in less
than a second and Alistair slid down the side of the inside wall. Being an
affectionate soul, Alistair decided to give Perigrine something nice like a
manuscript. He lifted it, still neatly enclosed in its mylar bag, and left the
same way he came.

With a jaunty high step, Alistair crossed the back lot of
the Constabulary and made his way towards the Garden Centre and the attached home
he shared with Perigrine.

“YES, CHIEF, I WILL SEE the manuscript and give you my
opinion,”
Louis
Devry said softly into the phone.

“Well, Helen Ryes believes you would be the perfect person
to tell us what we have or if it is already a piece of The Grange
’
s
collection. I feel certain it may be an important part of our story regarding
Sir Carstons,”
Johns
said.

Devry assured him he would be at the station by midday and
put the phone down on the side table beside his bed. A crippling pressure crept
up his legs and arms. Squeezing each joint vengefully and knowingly like a
cruel devil bent on torturing him incrementally, it finally reached the center
of his body plunging him into a complete and petrifying anxiety attack.

They had found the manuscript. How in the world had they
found it? He had gone crazy looking for it the night of the garden party.
Someone had removed it from under his mattress. How would he answer for it?

Breathing rapidly with his heart pounding and the muscles of
his chest tightening, he forced himself to think about her: Emilia. The anxiety
attacks always made him feel like he was dying. Slipping away into madness.

He focused again on the manuscript. Who took it from his
room? If only Carstons hadn’t shown up Friday then he would have had more time
to situate it into The Grange
’
s collection. Last week had
been hell. The trip to the States, terrified he would be caught removing the
manuscript from the Harvard archives and then there was Carissa’s health.
Carstons’
threat
to expose him almost put an end to his plan but someone fortunately killed him
instead.

Announcing his find of the manuscript to the world would
have made Devry a celebrity. He would have been an overnight success story. The
world had no idea the manuscript even existed. It had never been catalogued
correctly all those years. When he had found it at Harvard while working in the
archives, he knew it was his ticket to a name for himself.

His chest constricted again. Everything had gone so wrong.
He made himself think of her. Like a tranquilizer, her memory turned the tide
on the thunderous fear eating at his mind and crippling his body.

That dream of making a name for himself was over. Someone
had taken the book from its hiding place and they would know he was a fraud. He
looked at the ceiling and wished for death. Loneliness and a quiet room were
the only echoes to his wish.

He reached for the Klonopin to calm himself down. The pill
would bring the anxiety attack under control and allow him to act normally
towards the Chief later when they met. On the bedside table, he set the alarm
on his phone to wake him in case he fell asleep. Then taking two pills, even
though he was only supposed to take one each day, he lay back on his pillows
and let his thoughts return to her.

One last thing passed through his mind before the drug took
affect: it was odd how the bedroom door had sucked shut. It only did that when
another door opened somewhere else in the house, but he didn
’
t
have time to consider it any further because the medicine sent him deep into a
sleep.

He was completely unaware when someone entered the room, saw
him sleeping, then read the label on his medicine bottle. The visitor helped
him take the rest of the pills and for good measure, washed them down with
Scotch.

A quick note saying, “I can
’
t go on. I
killed Carstons,”
was
scratched out in a rough hand to disguise its provenance.

With the gentleness of a kiss blown by a wicked fairy, Devry
got what he wished for and someone else got a scapegoat.

AFTER A DELICIOUS LUNCH AT Harriet
’
s,
Perigrine returned home with a poppy seed cake to deliver later to the
constabulary. He picked up his “English Home”
magazine and adjusted his bow tie.

Alistair watched how Perigrine was really enjoying himself
for the first time in two years. He knew P. was
feel
ing
his creative and analytical mind working on something tinged with adventure, or
larceny, depending on your perspective.

Once done mentally critiquing the houses in the magazine, he
turned to Alistair and said briskly, “Well, dear Ally, did you hear anything of
interest today?”

“No,”
was Alistair
’
s simple, flat
answer. Alistair had decided to keep his earlier acquisition a secret until
this coming Friday.

Friday was the day Perigrine did the financials. He was
always fussing about Ally
’
s “spending issues,”
as he liked to call
them. Alistair was bad this week. He had bought a gorgeous moonlit landscape
done in oil at an estate sale handled by Selkirks. It was an exquisite thing.
He truly believed he was saving the beautiful piece from the clutches of
riffraff who wouldn
’
t appreciate it properly. It was
completely out of Al
’
s budget and would, if P. found out
about it, send Perigrine on a tiresome rampage about money and self control.

So, Alistair decided to be coy about whether he heard anything
during his pruning time at the constabulary. He had managed to get hold of
something that would balance the budget completely with Perigrine and send him
into a whirlwind of delight, therefore forgiving the purchase of the costly
landscape. Alistair would wait for the right moment to spring it.

“I
’
m going to drop off the cake I
purchased from Harriet and talk to Donna about the item I saw Johns carrying
earlier,”
Perigrine
said.

“
Good.
”
Alistair pretended to add as an afterthought, “You know, Chief was
talking with two women while I was ‘pruning.
’”
He added
the two-handed gesture for quotation marks for effect. “They were in a meeting
of sorts studying a book. Didn
’
t look like anything
important though. Nothing you would be interested in.”
He trailed off while feigning to work
on a sudoku puzzle.

“Alistair. What did you see exactly?”
Perigrine jumped forward to sit on the
edge of the chair.

Alistair assumed the character of the oblivious cohort. “Johns
with two women talking about a book. One said it was 19th century, handwritten
and a novel. They thought the new curator at the museum, Devry somebody, should
look at it.”

Perigrine sat back in his chair with a thoughtful stare into
their small back garden. Something was causing him to be extremely agitated
today. He considered the delicate sculpture of the Grecian goddess, Melpomene,
holding a mask and gazing down into the quiet koi pond. He and Ally had plumbed
the mask so that water poured out of its mouth and into the pond. Melpomene
ruled her small kingdom with grace. His musing on the statue brought
enlightenment as he focused on her.

The manuscript must have been in the envelope he saw Johns
carrying across the parking lot and it must have been the same book Alistair
heard the women and Johns discussing. Nervousness took over him. The Muse in
the garden didn’t take her eyes off the ceaselessly swimming koi but she
nevertheless sent Perigrine a wordless message: “I have touched One who was
great. It will be revealed.”

Perigrine got up like a person hypnotized and floated out
the door. He left a bewildered Alistair watching him as he made his way through
the garden gate carrying a small cake and heading towards the Marsden-Lacey
Constabulary.