Two Birds with One Stone (A Marsden-Lacey Cozy Mystery Book 1) (10 page)

They stared up at the wall and the circular opening. Then
both turned slowly around to view the fields stretching out behind the gardens.
The answer hit them both at the same time. The field was actually an enclosed
area. Down near the opposite edge of the field, they could see small wooden
buildings resembling kennels.

“Dogs. Of course,”
Helen said.

As if on cue, three German Shepherds rounded the corner of
the far edge of the kitchen garden and charged toward Helen and Martha.

“Oh, my God! Let
’
s get out of here!”
Martha screamed.

Helen jumped back into the round opening and used it as a
step to scramble onto the stone wall. Martha followed her and in less than a
minute both women were working their way along the top of the wall while the
three massive dogs growled and bounded beneath them.

“Why don
’
t they bark?”
Martha yelled at
Helen.

“How should I know?”
Helen yelled back. “Maybe they
’
re trained to stalk
their quarry quietly and then rip out their throats.”

“Lovely visualization, Helen,”
Martha said, trying to keep her balance on the wall.

They reached the kitchen section of the gardens and found
the cat squinting at them from the safety of the roof.

Martha glowered at the cat. “I think that rascal knew
exactly where he was taking us.”

They found a ladder leaning against the inside of the wall
and made their way down into the safety of the kitchen garden.

“No, Martha. The cat was showing us a clue and how the
person must have managed to circumvent the dogs last night,”
Helen said.

She gave a short salute to the cat who responded with an
indifferent yawn before flopping onto his side with his back to them. Ignoring
them completely, he began his daily ablutions focusing on his right hind leg.

“You never know who to thank in this business, do you?”
Martha laughed,
looking at the cat
’
s backside.

“Come on. Let
’
s get out of here,”
Helen said. “All
this excitement is making me hungry. That sandwich didn
’
t fill me up.
”

Martha, delighted with the idea of eating again, added, “Danger
makes me hungry. I know the place. The cook is partial to comfort food. Sound
good?”

Helen nodded. “Let
’
s do it. We better
eat quickly. Louis Devry is meeting you at The Grange at three. Don
’
t want to keep the boss waiting.”

Chapter 20

THE TRAVELLER
’
S INN WAS ALWAYS a busy
hostelry in Marsden-Lacey on a Sunday afternoon. Church was over and so was
Sunday dinner. The local villagers who were interested in football liked to
congregate at The Traveller
’
s to watch the game, drink a
few pints and yell at the television. Of course, it was also a great place to
enjoy a good meal and to slip away from one
’
s nearest and
dearest.

DCI Johns hastened down the High Street toward The Traveller
’
s intending to have a bottle of Fullers porter and a nice plate
of pie and mash. He sensed that something in his comfortable and established
reality had shifted and he needed a nurturing environment and a good meal to
settle his thoughts. This slight shift in what he had always known, had come
out of the blue and, more irritatingly, without his consent. As he pushed the
old, iron-studded door with a heave, his gaze rested on Lilly serving Doc
Whithersby at the bar.

Johns plumbed the depths of that deviation again and found
something had moved and wasn
’
t likely to realign itself
anytime soon. He no sooner averted his eyes from Lilly and Whithersby
’
s cozy t
ê
te-
à
-t
ê
te, when his gaze fell on the tasseled mane of a red-haired
woman.

His heart took a leap and banged against the fault line
which he was now certain had moved irrevocably. Quickly doing an about face and
heading for the opposite side of the pub, he joined the old men who liked to
sit by the fire and talk about how the government was testing their faith in
the future of England. Johns sat down with a huff and glared at the back of
that fluffy, red pile of hair.

What in the world had gotten into him? Lilly was the type of
woman he had always imagined for himself. She was slim, dark-haired with
almond-shaped eyes and a serenity he had always admired. From his old-man
corner, he watched Whithersby flirt with Lilly while she laughed at his
probably feeble attempts at humor.

Johns shifted his glance again to look at the mess of red
hair bobbing about with every move of the woman
’
s head. He
wondered at its curls and the way it glowed from the soft sunbeams streaming
through the windows. Probably smelled good, too, he thought.

The head turned around and he stiffened. He immediately
focused intently on his beer bottle. Without looking up, he heard the two women
chatting and getting nearer to his table. Raising his gaze from his bottle, he
gave the two arrivals at his table a slim smile.

“DCI Johns. What a nice surprise. We might have a clue to
share with you,”
Helen
said, practically bubbling with good humor.

Martha stood behind her, looking through her purse.

“A clue? What have you two been up to?”
Johns tried to
mimic Helen’s pleasant tone.

Martha looked up and squinted in the dusky light as if to
make sure they were addressing Johns and it wasn
’
t a case
of mistaken identity.

“We were at Healy picking up some things for Piers and
decided to look around near the spot where we thought the shooter might have
been hiding,”
Helen
said. “We found a torn piece of a glove.”
She took the plastic bag Martha had finally retrieved from her purse and
handed it to Johns.

“Ladies,”
he asked in a low, gravelly voice, “you didn
’
t
cross the pretty yellow tape we have wrapped around the entire garden, did you?”
And then, in a “how
I talk to idiots”
tone,
he added, “There is an attempted murder investigation going on and tampering
with the site will get you arrested.”

Both Helen and Martha, seemingly indifferent to his barbed
sarcasm, pulled out chairs and sat down. This took Johns by surprise, confused
by their apparent chumminess. His gaze darted back and forth between the two of
them.

“We think,”
Helen said, “the video files hold the answer to who killed Sir Carstons.
We would like to see them.”

“What? No.”
Johns pulled himself upright and looked at them like they were crazy. “What
on God
’
s green Earth makes you think I
’
m
in the habit of sharing evidence or teaming up with…with…the general public on
an investigation?”

“Why not?”
Martha reached over and took a swig out of his beer bottle.

Grabbing the bottle back from her with a shocked look, he
said, “Because the police are not in the habit of confiding and sharing
evidence with the public. That
’
s why.”

Martha leaned back in her chair with a twinkle in her eye and
crossed her arms. “You don
’
t have the files, do you? In
fact, I bet you
’
re having to wait until Piers is deemed
okay by his doctor before he can be interviewed and you can check out those
files.”

Johns found himself suddenly attuned to Martha
’
s
closeness and at the same time thrilled with her nerve. How dare she taunt him
with the truth about how he didn
’
t have the files yet? How
dare she try and steal his beer? Was the woman baiting him or was she simply
crazy?

“Mrs. Littleword and Mrs. Ryes, if I find out you are in any
way messing about in either of my investigations, I will lock you up. Do you
understand?”
He
tried to sound in command.

Helen, sitting in her usual straight-back, debutante manner,
gave Johns a look that would have wilted a weaker man. She remained silent.

Martha responded. “We
’
re only trying to
help because we feel personally involved in both incidents. If you wish to
throw us in jail, then you had better get on with it because we have no
intention of ignoring our duty to our friends or this community.”

Martha rose from her chair in a regal hauteur. “Come, Helen.
We
’
re not getting anywhere with the big commandant who
likes to throw his weight around. We were just trying to be helpful and he
doesn’t appreciate our efforts. We
’
ve got places to be.”

Helen and Martha exited The Traveller
’
s
Inn, leaving Johns to ponder his newly-arrived plate of pie and mash. He wasn
’
t sure whether to arrest them or to eat his dinner. The food
won out.

While he ate, his mood lifted and he found himself secretly
pleased with the notion of himself as a commandant. He studied the fabric
through the plastic bag. Better give it to forensics.

His mind went back to the shocking moment when Martha had
actually taken a drink out of his beer bottle. The act was brash and audacious
yet somehow enticing.

There was definitely something about that woman he was
finding hard to ignore.

THE MINI COOPER HUMMED ALONG the main road toward Wayford.
Louis Devry had stood up Martha again. He hadn
’
t made the
meeting at three so the girls decided to drive to the hospital to drop off
Piers
’
things. With the car
’
s top down and the rolling
English pastures in lush summer finery, they couldn
’
t help
admiring the views in the hazy, soft evening light.

Helen drove while Martha fiddled with the radio. Finding a
station playing old tunes from the Rat Pack
’
s heyday, the
girls sang “Fly Me To The Moon”
along with Frank Sinatra. They enjoyed reliving their adventure atop the
old garden wall and laughed at their conversation with Johns in The Traveller’s.
Neither had felt so alive in years.

Ten minutes later they pulled into a visitor parking place
at the hospital in Wayford. Piers was being allowed visitors so there was no
need to sneak past the nurse
’
s station. According to the
nurse who was busily doing paperwork, Piers was with a visitor and they would
have to wait their turn.

Soon, a tall, slim woman came sashaying down the corridor.
Lana Chason stopped mid-stride. Recognizing Helen and Martha, her face
brightened and she quickened her step toward them.

Martha and Helen offered her weak grins of acknowledgment
and waited to see where it would go from there.

“I
’
m so glad to see a pair of friendly
faces. There
’
s a nurse here who frightens me,”
Lana said looking
over her shoulder nervously. “Are you here to see Piers, too?”

Martha, clutching the huge bag packed by Mrs. Thyme, gave
one of her cheery smiles. “Yes, we
’
ve been given the job
of delivering Mrs. Thyme
’
s soup.
”

“Oh, he
’
ll be much happier to see you
then. I
’
ll warn you, he
’
s in a grumpy
mood.”
Lana
pouted. “Actually, I
’
ll be completely honest. He
’
s like a caged lion in there and I wouldn
’
t
be surprised if he tries to make a break for it.”
She shrugged and settled one perfectly-manicured hand on her hip. “He
’
s crazy if he tries. That nurse I mentioned is like one of my
brother
’
s old bloodhounds. She
’
s got
his scent and won
’
t tolerate him slipping away. You girls
be careful. I
’
m heading home tonight. Bye now, and when
you see him, open the conversation with the soup.”

Martha and Helen waved goodbye and watched Lana float like a
warm Louisiana breeze down the corridor and through the main doors.

“She
’
s definitely got charm,”
Helen said smiling
as the hospital doors slid shut.

“You know, I love that southern accent. It
’
s
delicious,”
Martha
said thoughtfully. “Hmm…Are you hungry?”

“
Oh for Pete
’
s
sake, Martha. We just ate. Twice. Come on. Let
’
s go see
Piers. We
’
re going to have to go to the museum again. I
left my briefcase. I don
’
t know where my head is these
days.”
Helen
stood up and walked towards the hallway and Piers
’
room.

“Let me get the soup out before we knock on the door. We
need to butter him up a little if we want to get a look at those videos.”
Martha riffled
through the substantial bag. “Helen, wasn
’
t there a
package or something Mrs. Thyme gave us to give to Piers? It
’
s
gone. Maybe it fell into the floorboard of the car. I hope it
’
s
there.”

The girls found the door to Piers
’
room and
began to knock but hesitated when they heard two men talking within. Martha
held her finger up to her lips in a hush signal and both women listened in on
the conversation.

Piers was talking. “I
’
m waiting for the
laptop. Helen and Martha are supposed to be dropping it by soon. No one has the
password but me, so I doubt if there
’
s any way the video
files could have been tampered with. Besides, why do you want to see them?
Please tell me, Louis, you didn’t off Carstons.”

Martha and Helen raised their eyebrows at each other but
kept their ears close to the door.

“
Piers,
”
Louis Devry said in a nervous voice, “of course I didn’t kill him but
those videos are going to be requested by the police and there may be something
in them I…well you see…Okay, Piers, I need to be frank with you about something
delicate.”

“What are you two doing out here with your ears pressed
against the door?”
came
a strong and commanding voice from behind Martha and Helen.

They jumped and went stiff. Slowly turning around, they
raised their gaze upward to find themselves staring slack-jawed into the
pugnacious face of Nurse Edda Davis.