Two Birds with One Stone (A Marsden-Lacey Cozy Mystery Book 1) (9 page)

Chapter 19

“DO YOU THINK HE MIGHT have killed Sir Carstons?”
Martha asked while
she busily unwrapped a sandwich from Harriet
’
s Tea Shop.

“He certainly has a motive, don
’
t you
think? But he says he didn’t do it.”

“Yeah. I can
’
t imagine how hard it
would have been to restrain myself from attacking Sir Carstons, if I had been
in Piers
’
shoes,
”
Martha agreed as she settled into her avocado and bacon sandwich.

“
I don
’
t think he
killed him though. I wouldn
’
t be running an errand for a
killer.”

Martha gave Helen a sideways look. “Oh, sure you wouldn
’
t. Not even for an extremely good-looking killer?”

Helen arched her eyebrows. “Martha, you don
’
t
know me very well. I
’
m not a desperate woman.”

“Okay, sweetie. I was teasing you. I know you have
principles. But you have to admit that your gut feeling isn
’
t
much to go on. Besides, if we were to find those security videos on his
computer before he got hold of his laptop, then we would know whether or not he
knocked off Carstons.”

Helen
’
s reaction to this extremely
brazen, if not unlawful, suggestion was subdued. She was driving Martha
’
s green Mini Cooper while Martha ate her sandwich. Bringing the
car to a respectable stop, she turned and faced a munching Martha.

“Martha,”
Helen snapped. “Are you saying we should snoop through Piers
’
laptop?”

Martha dabbed daintily at the corners of her mouth and
swallowed. “I
’
m trying to dispel any worries you might
have about Piers by suggesting a possible way to find out if he
’
s
a killer or not.”

Helen put the car back into gear and drove again. “You have
got to be kidding me? Martha, Piers had plenty of time to delete any videos of
himself if he was the killer. But if you recall, he only remembered the
security tapes after he was interviewed by the Chief Inspector.”

“That
’
s true but it might have been an
act.”
Martha
looked out into the grey day. “Okay, I guess we could always ask him if we can
see them. If he gets touchy about it, then he
’
s probably
hiding something. What do you say?”

“I like it. Let
’
s do it,
”
Helen said as she
pulled up in front of Healy House.

The front door was open, so
they
went
inside. The house was quiet even
though guests were still scattered about.

“An attempted killing hasn
’
t run off
too many of them,”
Martha
said under her breath.

“The tournament is still going on so they probably have to
stay,”
Helen
said as they walked towards the library which Piers used as his study and
office.

Once inside, they shut the door and located the laptop.
Putting it into a satchel along with a power cord, they scanned the room but
didn
’
t see anything else Piers might need.

The next item on their list was to find Mrs. Thyme. They
decided the best way to find her was to follow their
nose
s
which led them straight to the kitchen.

There they found her in a heated conversation with the head
chef, a small, portly gentleman of Mediterranean heritage. His white uniform
and apron were immaculate and he stood proudly like a statue upon a riser
allowing him to work at one of the huge, steel tables.

“Senior Agosto, you must decide tonight
’
s
desserts,”
Mrs.
Thyme said, stamping her foot. “I absolutely cannot put off knowing any longer.
I have nine guests staying tonight and one couple is extremely fussy about the
menu. It must be decided.”

Looking down his proud, aquiline nose at her from his
advantageous position on the riser, he said with haughty dignity, “I will not
be bullied, Madam. Not by you and certainly not by one of your fussy guests.”

Then at the end of his speech, his voice rose in a dramatic
crescendo giving the impression of a martyred culinary saint. “I decide the
dessert when it is time and it is not the time!”

To put an absolute stop to any attempts at further
discussion, he hopped down and hurriedly headed for the walk-in refrigerators.
He stepped inside, turned around, and glared at her like a small irascible
badger.

“Senior Agosto. You are trying my last nerve. Come back here
this minute!”
Mrs.
Thyme yelled after him.

“No!”
he yelled back. “You
’
re a pushy woman and you're
disturbing my thoughts. The whole meal is threatened by your aggressive
behavior. Leave me, woman, while there is still time for me to regain my
composure.”
With
a flourish, he pulled the refrigerator door closed with a slam, effectively
ending the debate.

“I
’
m going to kill that mushroom of a
man,”
Mrs.
Thyme said under her breath. Then she yelled at the closed door, “Good! I hope
you freeze in there! I
’
m not going to let you out, you
short cretin from Spain!”

All they could hear in response was a muffled yell. “Leave
me woman!”

Mrs. Thyme turned abruptly to see Helen and Martha staring
at her with amused expressions. “The man is a swine. I
’
d
like to toss him into the river out front but Piers loves him and thinks he
walks on water. I bet he would sink instead of float.”

She walked toward the girls. “You
’
re
here for the soup,”
she
said, her temper waning.

“Yes, he wanted us to pick it up because we
’
re
heading back to The Grange and can drop it off on the way,”
Martha explained
with a smile.

“I have it waiting up in my office.”
Mrs. Thyme walked with a deliberate
stride towards the front of the house.

“What about Senior Agosto? Will he be okay in there?”
Helen asked.

“Him? Oh, he will be just fine.”
She waved one arm in the direction of
the kitchen. “He loves it in there because he can act like a mule and then
stomp off into his refrigerator. Oh, don
’
t worry, lasses,
the door has a safety latch inside. Unfortunately.”

Once in her office, Mrs. Thyme handed the girls a heavy
plastic container full of potato soup. She pointed out the bag she had packed
for Piers.

“I
’
ve put in some nice toiletries and a
few changes of clothes. His mobile is also in there. He is a sweet man, you
know?”
she
said to both of them while never taking her eyes off the container of soup. “He
doesn
’
t have anyone to watch over him except me and I
’
m a poor excuse for a mother. He so loved Emilia and I didn
’
t think he would ever get over her death. The child means
everything to him but the situation worries me.”

“What about it worries you, Mrs. Thyme?”
Martha asked.

She looked at the floor and then back at Martha. “I…
I don
’
t know if he has pushed it too far.”
Sinking down into
her pillowed, wing-back chair, she continued in a tired voice. “So many
horrible things have happened this last week. He
’
s in danger, isn
’
t he?
”

“Mrs. Thyme, you
’
re not to worry about
Piers, okay? He
’
s in safe hands at the hospital. But what
do you mean, ‘pushed it too far?
’”
Helen asked.

“He naturally wants his child. Any decent parent would. Do
you think someone is trying to stop him from getting custody? I know Sir
Carstons was such a brute and the child would inherit a fortune. Someone might
want Piers dead so he isn
’
t a threat with his suit
anymore.”
She
looked back and forth from Helen to Martha seeming to seek an answer from them.

“Mrs. Thyme, we think whoever murdered Carstons may have
tried to kill Piers. His computer has surveillance videos which may show who
the killer is,”
Martha
explained. “Do you know of anyone at the party last night who is a good shot
with a rifle?”

Mrs. Thyme considered Martha’s sincere face. “The police
asked that, too. So many of Piers
’
guests are regulars
at his shooting parties in the fall. Practically everyone who was invited has
been here before, so they would have a good idea of where the guns are kept,
but they
’
re always locked up. Louis Devry is an excellent
shot. He and Piers used to go grouse hunting as boys here on the estate.”

“The police took most of the guns with them last night,”
Mrs. Thyme added. “Wait,
here is something odd. This morning while I was looking for my cat out behind
the kitchen garden, I saw where the vines had been torn away from the wall.
That wall is wide, you know. The gardener
’
s son loves to
walk on top of it, but he hasn
’
t been home since the last
school holiday.”

“Do you mind if we take a look?”
Helen asked.

“Sure, lasses. You run along. I
’
ve got
lots of work to do and a mule to bring to harness.”
She lifted herself up from the
comfortable old chair with a sigh. “Oh, by the way, please take this package to
Piers. I found it this morning in the strangest place. The old linen cupboard
in the cellar. I thought about putting it on his desk but with all the weird
happenings going on, I wasn
’
t sure what to do with it. It
might need to be at The Grange. He
’
ll know what should be
done.”

She handed them a sizable manila envelope. Something clicked
in Martha
’
s mind. Hadn
’
t she seen
something like that before? But where?

Managing their parcels for Piers, they made their way out to
the car.

“Let
’
s put this in the Green Bean,”
Martha said
referring to her Mini Cooper, “and then we can go check out the garden wall.
Might be a clue.”

The girls locked the car doors and went around the back of
the house.

The kitchen garden connected to the enclosed garden where
the party had been the night before, and both were situated behind Healy House.
Along the face of the wall, many vines and flowering plants had created
comfortable homes. The girls could see where some of the vines had recently
been pulled away.

Sunning himself on the top of the wall was a black tabby
Maine Coon cat. He lifted his head and yawned luxuriously.

“Must be Mrs. Thyme
’
s cat,”
Helen said.

The cat opened his eyes widely and then went back to
squinting in the bright sunlight. He rolled over and showed his soft, furry
tummy as if trying to entice them into a nice scratch.

“Look at him, the scoundrel. I wonder if he
’
ll
actually let me pet him?”
Helen moved towards the posing cat. She reached up as high as she could
and gently scratched the top of his head between his two black ears. The cat
purred loudly.

“He
’
s a friendly old fellow,”
Martha said joining
in the scratching but on the cat
’
s tummy.

The cat, satisfied with their dutiful homage, rolled over on
his side and put his back to them. Flicking his tail, he got up on all fours,
did a deep back stretch, and sauntered off toward the top of the wall of the
adjoining garden. He turned around, looked at them and artfully composed his
tail in the shape of a shepherd
’
s crook.

Martha and Helen took the bait and followed him along the
wall until they came to the round opening in the stone work pointed out by the
German guest the previous night.

“This is the spot where the gunshot may have come from,”
Martha said.

“Look. The police have put up their tape to keep everyone
out. If someone wanted to shoot Piers, this would have been an excellent spot.”
Helen stuck her
head and shoulders through the circle. “Hey. Look here, Martha. There
’
s some kind of fabric hanging along the inside of the wall. I
bet I can just reach it if I…”

Helen leaned in farther to grab the cloth. “Martha!”
Helen screamed as
she lost her balance and fell forward head first through the hole.

Martha gawked as Helen
’
s feet flew
straight up into the air. With a quick lunge toward the up-ended legs, Martha
grabbed the flailing ankles and pulled hard. She reached for Helen
’
s belt and held it tightly until Helen could steady herself
along the inside of the stone wall. Helen inched her hands upwards until they
reached the bottom of the opening. Twisting herself around, she sat down inside
the circular window for a minute and took a few deep breaths.

“Hey. You okay?”
Martha asked, trying to catch her own breath.

Helen panted. “Whew. That
’
s a steep
drop on the other side. The ground is lower over there by probably two feet.
Look what was hanging there. It looks like a torn piece of a glove. You can see
the shape of a finger section.”

“Let
’
s keep it and show it to Chief
Johns when we get back to the village. Might be a good clue,”
Martha said,
delighted with actually finding something the police had missed.

“Why would anyone scramble along the edge of the garden wall
then drop down and shoot someone from this opening? All they would have to do
is walk around. Right?”
Martha pointed out.

“True. Why indeed?”
Helen dropped back down to the ground to stand by Martha.