Two Birds with One Stone (A Marsden-Lacey Cozy Mystery Book 1) (17 page)

Chapter 29

HELEN AND MARTHA FOUND FLOWER Pot Cottage a welcoming
sanctuary. Sitting snugly along the canal with its ivy-covered stone walls and
wild, unkempt garden, it seemed to smile and beckon them to retreat within its
cozy, safe walls. They immediately took steaming hot showers, put on clean
flannel pajamas and dove into the tantalizing clam chowder and crusty french
bread they bought at Harriet
’
s Shop after leaving the
station.

They made themselves separate nests of blankets and bed
pillows, one on the sofa for Helen while Martha claimed her favorite big chair
and ottoman. Feeling drowsy and warm, they managed to find an old Peter Sellers
“Pink Panther”
movie
and were enjoying a few laughs when the phone rang.

“Don
’
t answer it.
”
Martha scratched
Gus
’
ears.

“What if it
’
s important? Could be your
daughter.”

“She would call my mobile. It’s not work either. I called in
to take the day off. Might be Johns though.”
Martha winked.

“
Then answer it.
”
Helen had a twinkle
in her eye.

“No. You get it. Don
’
t want to make it
easy for him.”

“
Oh, good Lord. I
’
ll
get it.”

Helen threw off her blanket and picked her way past the
pillows, tea mugs and soup bowls to find the phone still ringing but covered up
under a karate magazine.

“Do you read this stuff?”

Martha shrugged. “I
’
m learning to kill
with my bare hands. Remember? You might be surprised to know that I
’
m on my orange belt.”

Helen rolled her eyes and tapped the phone
’
s
“On”
button.
“
Hello?
”

She listened for a long time and Martha watched and listened
to her “Oh my
’
s”
and her “Oh terrible
’
s.”

Helen finally said, “Piers, come straight over to Martha
’
s cottage. We
’
ll put
on the tea. I think you could use a cup. Yes, Flower Pot Cottage. It
’
s near the canal not far from the first lock. We
’
ll
be here.”

Putting the phone down, she turned to Martha who sat in her
comfy chair with a sour look on her face petting both the dog and cat.

“There
’
s been a death, Martha. Louis
Devry is dead.”

Gus and Martha stared blankly back at Helen.

“Did you hear what I said? Louis Devry is dead. Piers is
terribly shaken up and is coming over.”

In a burst of irascibility, Martha said, “Great. With all
three of us here, the nut job who
’
s stalking us will have
one-stop shopping for lemmings. How do we know he didn’t kill Devry?”

“Martha, Piers didn’t kill Devry and you
’
re
being insensitive. The nut job won
’
t be coming here. Not
with that security dog of yours.”
Helen pointed at Amos who had rolled over and was sleeping with all four
legs in the air and snoring contentedly.

“I
’
m being extremely sensitive, Helen.
Sensitive to the reality that we need to find out who wants us dead. What if
Fancy Pants tells the wrong person where he
’
s off to? Then
they come over here, kill us all and leave our children and pets orphans,”
cried a
high-tempered and overly-tired Martha.

“Okay, okay. You need some rest. Take Gus and Amos and go
upstairs and have a nap. I
’
ll wait for Piers. Don
’
t worry about anything. Get a nice nap.”
Helen tried to soothe Martha while
wrestling her out of her chair and
nudg
ing her up the
stairs.

“I
’
m locking my door and
I
’
ve got a big club with a sharp nail in it that I
keep by my bed. If anyone tries to get into my room, I swear I
’
ll
let them have it,”
Martha
threatened from the landing.

“Yeah, yeah. Sounds good. You do that. Thought you knew how
to kill with your bare hands. Shouldn
’
t need a bat with a
nail. Now go to bed!”
Helen yelled back up the stairs.

As she walked down the small hall into the kitchen, she
asked herself, “Why do I feel like I
’
ve dropped into that
crazy, old movie we watched? I
’
m playing Clouseau to her
Dreyfus.”

She checked her appearance in the toaster and, finding it
tidy and acceptable, began boiling water for a private tea for two.

Chapter 30

PRIOR TO THE MURDER INVESTIGATION, Johns had known of Piers
Cousins but had never met him, and had thought of him as just another wealthy
playboy.

“So, tell me about why you came here today, Mr. Cousins?”
Johns asked in a
nonchalant manner, hoping to put Cousins at ease.

Piers shrugged his shoulders and fiddled with a pen. “I left
the hospital and was heading home and…”

Johns waited, giving him some time. Cousins might be in a
bit of shock. “Yes?”

“I thought maybe Louis was Sir Carstons
’
killer and
I wanted to offer him my help.”

“Really? What sort of help would you offer to Mr. Devry?”

“I thought I could help with the solicitor
’
s
fees. Louis was my friend and we had known each other since childhood. After
his visit to the hospital and knowing how Sir Carstons was blackmailing him…”

“Blackmail? That is news. Please enlighten me.”
Johns
’
interest
had been tweaked.

“Carstons had something on Louis about his last job at
Harvard. Martha, Helen and I saw the security videos. It appeared that Louis
was very angry with Carstons. I think there was more to the story and maybe
Louis was holding something back.”

“Like what?”

“
I don
’
t know.
Maybe he never forgave Carstons
’
terrible treatment
of Emilia.”

“He mentioned when I interviewed him, he had loved an
Emilia. What did you know about the woman?”

“
Well
…”
again a lengthy hesitation. “Chief Inspector, Emilia Carstons and I were
involved in a relationship when she died in childbirth. I believe the child she
had was mine and I
’
ve worked for years to get custody of
him.”

Johns kept his face as stoic as possible. He always got a
tingle in his chest when the net started to close. “What makes you think the
child was yours, Mr. Cousins?”

“We had been together. She cut off contact with me right
after she knew she was pregnant. I think she feared Sir Carstons and wanted a
divorce but he held it up. She died wanting to be free of him. Chief, if anyone
wanted Carstons dead all these years, it was me.”
Cousins looked the Chief directly in the eye.

“Gee, Mr. Cousins, are you trying to make it easy on me? Why
shouldn
’
t I take you in right now?”

“I didn
’
t kill him,”
Piers said flatly.

The two men stared at each other long enough to smell the
other
’
s solidness. On Johns
’
part, he
didn
’
t have a shred of evidence against Cousins yet. No
fingerprints, nothing. The taxi cab driver said he brought Cousins from the
hospital. The hospital gave a release time for Cousins. He had nothing.

“Mr. Cousins, thank you for your help. I am sorry about Mr.
Devry. Where are you planning to go now?”

“To Flower Pot Cottage. I
’
m going to
check on Helen and Martha.”

Johns gave Cousins a penetrating look. He immediately became
tense. All his instincts were on alert. He decided to buy some insurance.

“Don
’
t tell Mrs. Ryes and Mrs.
Littleword because I don
’
t want them to be nervous, but we
have had a constant police watch on them and the cottage. Safest place for
them. We don
’
t want anything happening to them, do we?”
He stared at
Cousins coldly.

Piers smiled. “We must both rise to the occasion then, Chief
Inspector. I shall make sure and stay with them tonight. To keep them safe, of
course.”

Johns might have punched Cousins if it hadn
’
t
been for his sergeant
’
s timely arrival with a request to
come talk with the medical examiner. He didn
’
t like the
smug toff.

The two men exchanged looks of restrained tension and then,
like two dogs who didn
’
t want to be the first to walk
away, they both turned their shoulders at angles and moved off in different
directions, Johns to watch a man be zipped into a black bag and Cousins to tea
at Flower Pot Cottage.

IT WAS SIX P.M. AND Johns was exhausted. He hadn
’
t slept well in two days and lack of sleep was wearing him
down. Phoning Constable Waters, he told her he was going home and that she
should not disturb him unless aliens landed in Marsden-Lacey. She promised to
let the others know and wished him a quiet evening free of Klingons.

Turning in through the gate to his home, he pulled up to the
front door, turned off the car
’
s motor and slumped into
his seat. Looking back over the last few days, it seemed as if some kind of
cosmic tap had been turned and all Hell had broken loose.

As he pondered the current barrage of murder and mayhem, he
couldn
’
t help coming back to the notion that it had all
begun with that devilish redhead
’
s assault on poor Sam
Berry in the High Street. That woman was the definition of difficult.

He hoped she could hold her own with Toffy Cousins. With a
smile on his lips imagining the havoc that woman could wreak, he thought maybe
he should have warned Cousins instead of threatening him earlier. Johns smiled
and watched the moon emerge from a cloud in the black nighttime sky. He thought
to himself finally, that she was actually rather exciting. Then, shaking his
head free of redheads and crime, he got out of the car.

The Johns family had always been civil servants of one kind
or another. They started out as bailiffs in the Hundred Courts in the
seventeenth century but as times changed, they transitioned into the
professions of police work and military service.

The family house had been lived in for over two hundred and
thirty years and had been a working farm up until sixty years ago. Johns
’
grandfather came back from World War II a Lieutenant Colonel and chose
to stay in the military instead of working the farm. From that point on, the
family leased out their land but continued living in the old house.

The front door to the stone farmhouse was unlocked and the
light was on down the low-ceilinged hall. He heard the radio playing Grieg
’
s “In the Hall of the Mountain King”
while he walked towards the back of
the house.

Coming into the expansive, newly-renovated kitchen/living
room, Johns saw the familiar form of his mother ensconced in the ratty
winged-back chair near the always warm Aga stove.

“Hi, Mum. You shouldn
’
t wait up this
late.”
He
lifted the lid on a steaming pot of beef stew and breathed in the tantalizing
smell.

“Oh come now, Merriam, you
’
d better get
a bowl and have a bite to eat. Besides, I
’
ve got something
interesting to tell you.”

Polly Johns was an extremely good-looking widow of
sixty-five. Her beautiful snow-white hair was cut in a fashionable short style
and with a flair for dressing herself in simple, elegant clothes, she was truly
a fine figure of a woman.

Making homemade beer which she brewed in a converted section
of the old family barn was her passion. Over the last ten years, Polly had made
such a profit off her brewing skills that she had renovated the old house,
giving it a second lease on life.

Johns filled his bowl with steaming hot stew and cut off a
good-sized piece of his mother
’
s homemade potato bread.
Opening one of her own pale ales, Polly poured it into a chilled pottery mug
and set it before her son.

For a few minutes all he did was eat, quietly savoring each
bite. Mother and son sat together in peaceful silence while Polly watched with
contentment as Johns ate what she had made especially for him.

Johns broke the spell of domestic bliss. “Better tell me the
hot gossip from Harriet
’
s, Mum. Let me guess. The crew at
Harriet
’
s shop and the Traveller
’
s
Inn have a raving maniac running loose on our streets and they are about to
have my badge recalled.”

Johns
’
mother was never so pleased as when
her detective inspector son was clueless and completely off the mark in his
assumptions. It tickled her Irish sense of humor.

“No, dear. Quite the opposite. You know how much they love
you. It was only yesterday that Mrs. White, your first grade teacher, stopped
me in the market and told me how proud she was of you. Even if you struggled
with mathematics she said, you had always been such a brilliant boy and
dedicated to your school work.”

Johns raised his eyebrows and shook his head in a gesture of
bemusement. “So that
’
s the news? Mrs. White remembers my
academic challenges?”

“Merriam, be patient and let me tell you.”
She refilled his
bowl with stew and gave him a flick on the back of his head. “Do you remember
how Angus Ruskin had that wife for two years and then she disappeared? Everyone
thought Angus sent her away to the sanitarium because she was always walking
around the village at night with only her nightdress on and a pair of wellies.
We were completely wrong. Actually, she had moved to Oxton to get away from
Angus who was quite difficult to live with after he had been drinking all night
at the pub. That
’
s why she was often outside, poor thing.
He would toss her out into the street. Good for her, for leaving the villain.”

She paused in her story to see if he was still listening. “Does
that town sound familiar to you?”

“Town? Uh, Oxton you mean? Yes, that
’
s
where Devry said he went to visit his stepmother. Why would you know anything
at all about the Oxton connection?”
Johns asked with a refreshed alertness in his voice.

“Well, you see that
’
s it. You will
never guess who walked into Harriet
’
s today and I might
say looked fit and put together?”

“Angus Ruskin
’
s wife? I hope she has a
name.”

Polly, with a gleam in her eye like a mongoose who has
cornered her prey, hesitated in order to build up the tension and expectation
of her audience.

“Mum, get to it. You know this kind of thing makes me crazy.
What was Ruskin
’
s wife doing in town?”

“Marsha is her name and she came to town because she brought
Devry
’
s stepmother to see him.”

“Yesterday?”
Johns couldn
’
t believe the timing of Devry
’
s stepmother
’
s visit.

“Thought you would like to know. I
’
m
off to bed but if you would like to know one more thing, I will need a kiss on
the cheek before I tell you.”

Johns sighed resignedly at the motherly blackmail but knew
better than to begrudge her winnings. She was likely to pull his ear, or worse—stop
cooking for a fortnight.

Polly proffered a cheek to her son who tenderly gave her a
gentle kiss.

“Martha Ruskin and the woman checked out of The Traveller
’
s Inn this morning according to Neil who manages the desk,”
Polly said and then
patted her son
’
s bristly head. “Well, good night, Merriam.
I love you. Sleep well.”

Johns watched his mother climb the back stairs and heard her
door shut. Putting his bowl in the sink and turning off the lights, he followed
her up the stairs and to his own room. Rest was all he could think of now but
tomorrow he would be making a much needed visit to Oxton.

THE TOWN OF MARSDEN-LACEY closed its shutters, locked its
doors and took comfort in the simple pleasures of bed and silence. Piers told
the girls he would sleep on the couch at Flower Pot to give them peace of mind.