Two Birds with One Stone (A Marsden-Lacey Cozy Mystery Book 1) (7 page)

Chapter 15

AFTER GETTING LANA SETTLED ON a sofa beside another woman
who said she would keep an eye on her, Martha and Helen rushed back to the
garden. Most of the guests had fled the area but for a few people and one man
in his early thirties was bent over Piers.

Martha and Helen pushed their way into the small circle of
people surrounding Piers.

“Are you a doctor?”
Helen asked in a fearful but hopeful voice.

“Yes. I am,”
he said.

“Will he be okay?”

“He’s been shot in the upper shoulder. We’ve called and the
ambulance is on its way. He
’
s losing a lot of blood.”

They watched as he continued his ministrations. Martha felt
she must do something.

“Did anyone see who shot him?”
She looked around at the guests still in the garden.

A man stepped forward and, in a German accent, said, “The
shot came from over there.”
He pointed toward a section of the garden
’
s rock wall.

Looking at the wall, cast in shadows, Martha realized there
was something unusual about its formation. She crossed over to get a better
look.

Built into the wall was a perfectly round circle which
opened upon the extensive lawn beyond. During the day it would be a lovely
framed vista for garden visitors to look through but if you were intent on
killing someone, it made a perfect place to shoot someone without being seen.

One thing was for certain, Martha hadn
’
t
noticed the circle in the wall during the night
’
s
entertainment because of the intimate lighting, so whoever shot Piers was
familiar with Healy House.

They finally heard sirens. The young doctor who had been
keeping watch over Piers gave way to the paramedics and watched over their
efforts.

Within ten minutes a second set of sirens pushed their way
towards Healy and shortly afterward, a rumpled DCI Johns stomped into the
garden. His mouth was in a grim hard line and his hair was more rigid than
ever.

The paramedics placed Piers on a gurney and into the
ambulance, then left Healy at breakneck speed. Johns turned his attention to
the crime scene. His officers had cordoned off the area and were waiting for
Johns to address the guests.

“I
’
ll need everyone to stay put for a
while until we do some interviewing and some forensic tests,”
Johns said. “Start
bagging people
’
s hands, sergeant. Make sure you don
’
t miss a soul.”

IT HAD BEEN TWO HOURS since the ambulance left with Piers
and during that time, the police were busy interviewing the guests. Johns
commandeered a sitting room as his special place to do interviews and Mrs.
Thyme, the housekeeper, was his current prey. In his estimation though, she
wasn
’
t playing fair because all she was able to do was
sniffle, cry and occasionally babble incoherently into her handkerchief.

“I
’
ll need your full name, please, for
the statement, and your position here,”
Johns said.

“
Mrs. Hilda Thyme and I
’
m
the housekeeper for Mr. Cousins.”

“Mrs. Thyme, how many guests were invited to the dinner
party?”

“I think it was thirty-five but not everyone could make it,
you see?”

She looked up at him in a way as if to ask if he did see.

Unfortunately for Johns, he didn
’
t see
anything at that moment but the heavy, mahogany door gently opening and a bunch
of red hair poking around the door
’
s edge.

“Who
’
s there?”
he called out.

“Um, Chief Inspector, it
’
s
me, Martha Littleword.
”

“Oh, my God. Are you here, too?”
Johns said. “Littleword, do you attend
every violent criminal act in this village?”

“Yes. I mean, no,”
Martha said. “I might be able to offer you some help, though, if you
would try and be a little nicer.”

She put her left hand on her hip and pursed her lips at him.

Johns
’
blood pressure began to rise. What was
the connection between this woman and all the disasters unleashed on
Marsden-Lacey in the last forty-eight hours?

Remembering to try and be polite, his professionalism
returned with a great force of effort. “What did you see, Mrs. Littleword?”

“There was someone in Piers
’
office
earlier this evening. Whoever it was had rifled through his desk and I came in
on them. It was dark so I couldn
’
t see who it was but
possibly it was the murderer,”
Martha said with a glint of excitement in her eyes.

“What makes you think it was the murderer? With this crowd
it could have been someone trying to lift something. Probably knew Cousins was
a wealthy man and wanted to take home their own version of a memento of the
evening.”

“I think the person was trying to access Piers
’
computer
for some reason,”
Martha
offered.

Johns turned to his sergeant. “Cross, get the forensic team
into Cousin
’
s office. Go through it and yell if you find
anything important.”

“As for you, Mrs. Littleword, thank you for your information
and by the way, where were you when Cousins was shot?”
Johns asked. His tone implied he was
teasing her a bit.

Martha
’
s face flushed. Johns
’
expression showed he was waiting for a reply.

“I…I…was in the main hall with Helen.”

“Helen Ryes? Okay,”
he said looking down at his shoes and shaking his head. “I want both of
you to meet me in Cousins
’
office in ten minutes.”
He finished in a
commanding tone.

“Cross!”
he yelled, “Where is Cross? I need a strong cup of tea and has anybody
got an aspirin?”

Martha held up her index finger. “I do,”
she said. “It
’
s probably in my purse. I
’
ll run and get
it.”

Johns stood there looking at her like she was an oddity of
nature but he managed a simple grunt and a thank you. He turned to Mrs. Thyme
and thanked her for her statement, dismissing her. The weeping housekeeper left
the room and Johns called the sergeant to send in another person he could
interview. He had forgotten Martha
’
s offer completely.

MARTHA LEFT THE LIBRARY AND immediately wondered at her own
weird behavior. Why in the world was she going out of her way to get an aspirin
for that bad-tempered grump? She felt so funny and lightheaded in there. Better
get the aspirin and try not to think too much about it. The whole evening had
been so intense. Maybe everything was finally catching up with her.

The way to her room wasn
’
t lit so she
used the soft moonlight coming in from the multi-paned window near the end of
the hallway to find her door. She let herself in and turned on the small lamp
by the chair. The aspirin was in her purse so she grabbed it and let herself
back out of the room.

A soft breeze came gently down the hallway from the open
windows. As she reached the top of the stairwell, a strong push on her back
hurled her downwards. The last thing she remembered was falling. Then pain and
darkness.

Chapter 16

“MARTHA, ARE YOU OKAY? MARTHA, can you hear me?”

Martha could hear a man
’
s voice but her
eyes didn
’
t want to open to see who it belonged to. Then
the terrible headache swam up into her consciousness. Her throbbing head was
all her mind was able to process at first, but slowly she remembered falling.

With a great effort, she lifted her eyes open and the first
face she saw was DCI Johns
’
. He leaned over her with his
face close to hers. Giddiness fluttered up into her stomach but then pain tore
through her head, causing her to wince and shut her eyes.

“Can you hear me, Martha?”
he asked gently.

His voice reminded her of Martin
’
s when
he had been concerned. She tried to form words but all the air had been sucked
out of her lungs. She shut her eyes and heard people clamoring about on the
stairs. The vibrations from their movements melded with the hammering in her
head.

“What happened?”
a worried woman
’
s voice asked. Martha thought it
sounded like Helen. The voice was slipping away and Martha had to will herself
to stay conscious.

“She
’
s taken a tumble down the stairs,”
Johns said.

“Martha? She
seems
as sure-footed as a
goat.”

Martha flinched at the comparison.

“Oh, she must be in pain. See how she screwed up her face
right then. We need to get a doctor in here. I
’
ll go look
for him. Keep her comfortable.”
Helen jumped up and left the room.

“Martha, try and open your eyes,”
Johns said coaxingly.

Martha, with every physical effort available to her, lifted
her eyelids with a flutter and Johns
’
concerned face came
into focus. As she lifted up her arm and touched his chest, he looked down. He
stared at her hand, as she weakly opened it. There in her palm were the
aspirins she had gone to get for him. Her hand dropped and she lost
consciousness again.

“IF YOU WANT MY HONEST opinion, I think she needs to be in
hospital tonight,”
the
young doctor said after evaluating Martha who was now lying on the sofa in the
library.

It was now past twelve-o’clock midnight. The house was
quieting down and most of the guests had departed after their statements or had
gone upstairs to bed.

“I
’
m fine. I want to go home and rest,”
Martha said rubbing
her temples.

“Martha, you need to be completely checked out to make sure
nothing is wrong,”
Helen
said putting special emphasis on the word “wrong
”
and
pointing repeatedly at her own head.

“Helen, I get the point, but nothing is broken. My head can
be checked out tomorrow. All I want is some sleep.”

“I think it would be best if she didn
’
t
move much. Would it be possible for her to rest here tonight, Mrs. Thyme?”
the doctor asked.

“Oh, of course she
’
s perfectly welcome
to stay here tonight,”
Mrs. Thyme said. “There are a few other guests staying on even after
everything that
’
s happened. Mrs. Ryes, would you be
staying tonight as well?”

“If it wouldn
’
t be any trouble. Then in
the morning I
’
ll drive Martha into Wayford to the
hospital.”

“Mrs. Ryes, if you need anything tonight, please come and
get me,”
the
doctor offered. “My wife and I are in the last room on the second floor near
the tall grandfather clock. Goodnight.”

“Let
’
s get you into bed,”
Helen said to
Martha. “Chief Inspector, will you please help me get Martha up the stairs and
then I can do the rest?”

“Yes, of course. Come on Mrs. Littleword, let
’
s
get you into bed.”

Martha flushed red. Helen
’
s eyebrows
knitted together, perplexed by Martha
’
s reaction.

DCI Johns walked across the room and bent down, putting one
arm under Martha’s legs and one arm to support her back. He lifted Martha off the
sofa and prepared to carry her up the stairs.

He moved so fast, she didn’t realize it was happening until
he was holding her up against his chest. Taken completely off her guard, Martha
waved her hands in an effort to stop him from going anywhere.

“Oh, please. That isn
’
t necessary. I
can walk just fine,”
Martha
said trying to get her feet on the floor.

“Well, if you
’
re sure. I
’
ll put my arm here for you to hold on to,”
he said.

She took hold of his arm feeling the strength and solidness
of his being.

As the three of them made their way upstairs, Martha found
she kind of liked the way Johns smelled of pine and sandalwood. He was nice to
lean on, too.

Johns insisted on helping them to their door. Once in, they
said goodnight and thanked him.

THE GIRLS WENT ABOUT THEIR nighttime routines and Martha
managed hers without any help. They turned out all the lights except the little
lamp between their beds. Helen shoved a wingback chair under the door knob to
the bedroom. She wasn’t taking any chances.

Once they were finally tucked in under soft duvets and their
eyes were shut, Martha said softly, “Someone pushed me, Helen. Down the stairs.”

Helen sat bolt upright and looked at Martha who was still
lying down, eyes shut and her hands loosely gripping the top edge of the duvet.

“Really?”

“Yep, really.”

“Why didn
’
t you say anything to the
Chief Inspector?”

“I didn
’
t want any more fuss made.”

“Yeah, that
’
s fine, but we
’
re in a big house, in the dark, and a murderer is lurking
about. Helen’s voice rose with anxiety.

“I think it
’
s the same person who shot
Piers and whoever it is thinks I
’
ve seen something,”
Martha said with
her eyes still shut.

Helen flopped back down on her pillows. She pulled the duvet
up under her chin like a protective shield and closed her eyes. “Martha, we
’
re in it deep.”

“You said it, sister. Piers could be dying, I
’
ve
got a psychotic killer hunting me, and don
’
t you think
Johns is attractive?”

Helen’s eyelids flipped open. She turned her head to make
sure it was Martha who was actually talking. “Are you kidding me? You put those
three thoughts together in the same sentence?”

Then as an afterthought she mumbled, “Piers isn’t going to
die.”

The room was quiet for a few minutes while Helen mused on
what Martha had said. “You know, he is very strong and has a sense of power to
his persona. Johns, I mean.”

“I
’
ll say, and I’ve got dibs on him.
Did you see him try and pick me up? He didn
’
t even grunt
or show signs of straining himself.”
Martha laughed, causing Helen to shake her head.

“Oh, Martha. You
’
ve got one of those
womanly bodies. Men love that. By the way, I’m not looking for a new man in my
life right now. Still burned from the whole George and Fiona situation.”

They were both quiet again for a moment then Martha piped
up.

“Helen, we are going to find out who is behind all this. For
one, even though you won’t admit it, you have your eye on Cousins so you
probably don’t want him dead
. Secondly, I
’
m
afraid for my life because some nut job thinks I know something or saw
something. Maybe I have. I
’
m not sure what it might be
though. And lastly, I
’
m bored.”

Helen couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Bored? You
’
re lying there with a concussion. The last two days have been
more exciting than the last two decades of my life.”

“Exactly. I want some excitement in my life, some adventure.
You in?”

Helen thought about it. Her job and her personal life had
been slowly grinding to a dull nub lately. She had always loved a good mystery
book. Why not live one instead?

“I
’
m in. Besides, this is personal.
Somebody has tossed a corpse in my path and pushed my new best friend down the
stairs. I owe them a payback.”

“Aw, you
’
re so sweet, Rambo,”
Martha cooed with
her eyes still shut. “Let
’
s get some sleep and come up
with a plan tomorrow. Try to sleep with one ear open tonight. We
’
ve
got to keep our wits about us from now on.”

Less than five minutes later they were both completely
asleep. A soft rain tapped outside on the window panes and the wind had picked
up, whispering and seeking entry amid the eaves of the old house.

Shadows played along the bedroom
’
s
walls and under the door. The doorknob twisted but entry was denied. A
beautiful yet sturdy old wingback in a Colefax and Fowler chintz kept death at
bay behind the door until it lost patience, and retreated to its own room for
the night.