2 Murder Most Fowl (5 page)

"Old dogs, like old shoes, are comfortable. They might be a bit out of shape and a little worn around the edges, but they fit well."
(Bonnie Wilcox - Old Dogs, Old Friends)

Chapter Nine
.

Cressida and I left the police station and set off at a brisk walk, heading a few blocks downtown in tense, simmering silence. Cressida was in the lead, and when she turned and entered a small café, I followed her.

We sat at a small, circular table with three chairs around it, dumping our coats and purses on the third chair. I hadn’t been in this café before. It was light, bright, and airy, and the walls were filled with signs: affirmations stenciled on whitewashed boards, such as, “Today is your lucky day;” “You are joyful every day;” “When life gives you showers, dance in the rain.” I found it all too cheerful and irritating. I wasn’t in the mood for nice.

A waitress came by and we both ordered coffee.

“They think I did it,” Cressida said, as soon as the waitress was out of earshot.

“They what?” I said.

“They think I did it.” Her voice broke. “Martin Bosworth and Colin Palmer.”

I shook my head. I had been concerned that the detectives suspected Cressida, given their lecture about not protecting a friend. “Why do they think it was you?”

“Well,” Cressida said, but then she stopped as the waitress returned and set our overfull mugs on the table. Coffee slopped out of them, and the waitress mopped the table and apologized. As soon as the waitress left, Cressida continued. “I used to date Colin Palmer,” she said in an exaggerated whisper that was almost as loud as her speaking voice.

“What?” My voice too, came out as a shriek, and I noticed that some of the patrons shot us sidelong glances.

“We dated, years ago, before I was married,” Cressida continued in her stage whisper.

I put three spoons of sugar in my latte, and stirred well. The whole situation was going downhill rapidly. “Did you tell the police that you knew him from before?”

“No, not until just now; they knew it already and asked me about my prior relationship with him. I know I should’ve told them.”

“Cressida, he was murdered; you should have said something before they came to you with the information,” I said, doing my best not to sound accusatory.

Cressida turned an even deeper shade of red than her blusher. “I was embarrassed that I had, you know, dated him without the benefit of marriage. A lady doesn’t reveal such dalliances from her past. I simply cannot see why the why the detectives didn’t understand that. These modern men.” She shook her head in disgust.

I had no idea what to say to that, so I added another spoonful of sugar to my coffee.

Cressida was still talking. “They said I had the means. I was the one who prepared the meals for Martin Bosworth. I was the one who looked after the poisoned quail. I had known Colin Palmer when I was a young woman. They said that he might have upset me and I was awaiting my chance.”

I shook my head. “What motive did they think you had for Martin Bosworth?”

“They don’t know, and that’s why they haven’t arrested me, yet, I guess. They told me to get a lawyer.”

“Shouldn’t you have gotten a lawyer before you spoke to them?”

Cressida shrugged. “They suggested I should get a lawyer, but I have nothing to hide.”

I sighed. “Cressida, my divorce lawyer is always saying,
The law has nothing to do with justice
. Please, promise me, you’ll call a lawyer today.”

“I will.” Cressida wrung her hands. She opened her mouth to say more, but Mr. Buttons arrived.

“This is the third café I’ve tried,” he said. “I’ve looked for the two of you everywhere.” His face was flushed and his hands appeared to be trembling.

Cressida and I hurried to remove our coats and purses from the seat so he could sit down.

He collapsed into the chair. “That was awful.”

I signaled the waitress and ordered a pot of English Breakfast tea for Mr. Buttons. “What did they ask you?”

He didn’t speak for a while, and his face turned from a deep red to a sickly shade of white. After a minute, Cressida spoke. “It’s all right; I know they suspect me.”

Mr. Buttons was visibly shaken. “They kept questioning me about you. They said if that I withheld information that would implicate you, I’d be charged with being an accessory after the fact.”

“The trouble is, I’m their only suspect,” Cressida said.

Mr. Buttons brightened a little. “They have all the boarders at the police station now; they’re about to question them. And I overheard one of them telling Blake that they’ll be questioning the whole philosophy department at the university. Perhaps they’ll turn up another suspect.”

I was relieved. “That’s great; that means that the cops will soon find the real murderer.”

“I’m not so sure,” Cressida said. “They didn’t listen to me; they seemed to have their minds made up that it’s me.”

Mr. Buttons and I looked at each other. “But surely Blake knows you didn’t do it?” I said.

Both Cressida and Mr. Buttons shook their heads. “Blake would know,” Cressida said with a catch in her voice, “but those detectives, well, I think they just want to pin the murders on me and then get out of Little Tatterford and back to the city as fast as they can.”

“Cressida’s right,” Mr. Buttons said. “Blake will have no say in it. He’s just the local cop, and he’ll have no influence whatsoever over the detectives.”

I rubbed my forehead in dismay. Things looked bad for Cressida.

“There’s only one thing to do,” Mr. Buttons said. “The three of us will have to solve the murders. Blake confided in me that those detectives are none too bright.”

I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. “I suppose you’re right, but I don’t like it.”

Cressida took a pen from her purse and opened up a paper napkin. “Okay, we need a list of suspects. We know it wasn’t us, so anyone else is fair game.”

I nodded. “Well, there’s the new cleaner, Susan.”

Cressida shook her head vehemently. “No, no, Susan is not a suspect. Lord Farringdon sat in on the interviews, and he selected her.”

Mr. Buttons and I exchanged glances. Mr. Buttons picked up the chrome salt shaker and proceeded to polish it with a paper napkin, so I figured I should say something. “Well, all the boarders have to be the main suspects, of course. And then there’s the philosophy staff up at the university. And the new gardener. Anyone else?”

Cressida and Mr. Buttons shook their heads. “I can’t think of anyone else,” Cressida said, scribbling on the napkin. “It has to be someone we’ve already mentioned.” She pulled a face and scrunched up the napkin. “This is no good at all; I’m just going to have to paint the house.”

Mr. Buttons leaned over to me. “When Cressida gets upset, she paints something or engages in comfort buying,” he said in a low tone. “She becomes a little strange.”

“I’m right here; I can hear you, Mr. Buttons,” Cressida snapped. “And I didn’t mean I would paint oils on canvas; I meant paint the house itself.”

“The house itself?” Mr. Buttons exclaimed in horror. “People might not pay to board at a house painted in primary colors.”

I held my breath, supposing that Cressida would be highly offended by that remark, but she appeared to take it well. “I can’t afford to paint the outside of the house. I thought I’d start small, with one of the inside rooms. Now that there’ve been so many philosophy professors boarding and paying a good rate, I can finally afford some repairs around the house.”

“Shouldn’t you have the pipes fixed first?” Mr. Buttons suggested gently. “The pipes make a horrible hammering sound every time water is turned on.”

Cressida pursed her lips. “I don't like to use the local plumbers because I've been told they're too expensive.”

Mr. Buttons looked exasperated. “Well then, Cressida, don't use them.”

Cressida pouted. “But I don’t know of any other plumbers.”

Mr. Buttons mumbled something to himself; I think he said, “Oh no, not again,” but I couldn’t be sure. To Cressida, he said, “Who told you they were too expensive?”

“No one.”

I stared at Cressida in disbelief. Hadn’t she just said someone told her that the local plumbers were too expensive?

Mr. Buttons’ words echoed my thoughts. “Cressida, you just said that someone told you they were too expensive.” I could tell Mr. Buttons’ frustration was growing by the second.

“Yes,” Cressida said.

I thought I had better chip in. Mr. Buttons’ face was turning redder. “Cressida, who told you they were too expensive?”

“The painters.”

“I see,” I said. “And can they recommend any plumbers?”

Cressida shook her head. “No.”

I looked at Mr. Buttons, but his face was swelling up like a cane toad. I thought it prudent to leave. “Perhaps we should head back now.”

“You two go on without me,” Mr. Buttons said through clenched teeth. “I have a few things to do.”

* * *

The taxi stopped outside my cottage, on the way to the boarding house, and Cressida got out too. “May I come in please, Sibyl? I don’t want to be alone right now.”

“Sure.” I was a little concerned about Cressida. Being the detectives’ main suspect was obviously stressing her no end. I was wondering how to cheer her up, when I threw the front door open, and caught sight of the destruction in front of me.

The old, leather sofa hadn’t been in good shape, but at least it used to have a shape. Now what was left of it was lying in pieces all over the floor. Two of the cushions were ripped to shreds.

The culprit was lying in the middle of all the mess.

"Whoever said you can't buy happiness forgot little puppies."

(Gene Hill)

Chapter Ten
.

“How could you, Sandy?” I said.

Sandy just wagged her tail and spat out a piece of foam. She didn’t look the slightest bit guilty.

My first thought was that I had rented the cottage furnished. “Oh, Cressida, I’m so, so sorry. I’ll replace the sofa, of course.”

Before Cressida could reply, I saw my one good pair of heels, chewed into tiny pieces. I tried not to cry. These had been highly expensive. They also had great sentimental value for me as they were all I had managed to buy with my then husband’s credit card, in the very short space of time from when I found out he was having affairs to when he had canceled the credit card.

I ran into my bedroom, but everything in there was intact. However, the closet door was slightly open, revealing where Sandy had selected the precious shoes she had wanted to destroy.

I hurried back out of the bedroom, worried about Cressida’s possible reaction to my Labrador eating her furniture. To my surprise, she was smiling.

“You know what we need, Sibyl? Retail therapy! Let’s go and buy a new couch.”

I did some mental math. “Could we go next month, Cressida? I don’t think I could afford a couch right now.”

Cressida, still smiling, took me by the arm. “Put your naughty dog in the yard, and then we’ll go shopping. I’ll buy a new couch.” I made to protest, but she waved a hand at me. “I insist. It will cheer me up. Let’s go at once.”

“What, now?” I was exhausted; I just wanted to lie down and take a nap. Still, Cressida would not take no for an answer, and soon hustled me up to the boarding house where she refreshed her makeup, as she put it.

I had all but drifted off to sleep on the elaborately brocaded Victorian period
chaise longue
in the entrance hall, when Cressida reappeared, a fresh coat of make up on her face. She had chosen a combination of bright blue and sparkling, gold eye shadow, and had drawn on a thick line of eyeliner which extended from the side of her eyes like old film versions of Cleopatra. She had drawn in her eyebrows with, I suspected, a black marker pen. Bright red lipstick and matching bright red blush completed the picture.

“I tried to disguise the fact that I’ve been crying,” Cressida said, gesturing to her face. “Do you think I’ve put on enough make up?”

“Yes,” I said emphatically.

I followed Cressida to her car, and she drove us all the way to Pharmidale, where she parked outside a paint store. “I’ll just buy some paint before we buy your couch, Sibyl,” she said, hurrying into the store.

Cressida wasted no time consulting the color cards. She held up a bright red sample next to a navy blue sample. “What do you think, Sibyl? I’ll start with the dining room; it could do with some brightening up. I was thinking of having a feature wall, so how about Hot Bombay Red for the feature wall, and the other walls in Blue Night Sky?”

“Cressida, I think the idea of a feature wall is that you have one wall as a feature, and the other walls in a neutral color.”

Cressida laughed. “Oh you’re so funny, Sibyl. Such a sense of humor. But seriously, do you think the dark blue is too much with the red?”

I nodded. “Yes, I do.”

Cressida looked through the color samples again, and then held up a lime green one. “Here you are, Fluoro Lime. That would be a better contrast, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes,” I said. I had given up. I shuddered to think how the dining room would look, with one wall painted bright red and the other walls lime green.

Cressida bought several tins of paint, and the assistant carried out the paint cans and put them in the trunk. At least the shopping spree had, by all appearances, cheered her up. “Now we must replace those dingy, old curtains in the dining room.”

“Yes, faded, yellowing lace won’t go with bright red and lime green walls,” I said, seriously considering the fact that Cressida might be color blind.

“Exactly!” Cressida said cheerfully.

I was worried what she would choose. Nevertheless, when we reached the store, I was comforted by the fact that there were some lovely blinds and curtains there, in every pattern and design. Surely Cressida couldn’t go wrong in this store.

Cressida stopped in front of a display that read,
New Colorful Blockout Eyelet Curtains
. “Oh, Sibyl, aren’t these simply lovely!”

With some relief, I agreed that they were. There were five curtains hanging in a row, each in a different color: gold, pink, green, blue, and black. “Which color do you like, Cressida?”

Cressida looked at me as if I were mad. “What do you mean, Sibyl? You’re supposed to buy the five of them and hang them together.”

I decided to hold my tongue. I had always thought the dining room was drab, but now I realized that there were some things worse than drab.

After Cressida bought one pair of each colored curtain, confusing the store assistant, she insisted that we go to the pet store so she could buy a rawhide bone for Sandy.

By now I had decided to do whatever Cressida wanted. I had been to the sole pet store in Pharmidale before, and had left some of my pet grooming business cards there. We had just walked in the door when we met Blake walking out, carrying a large bag of dog food. Cressida turned and winked at me, much to my embarrassment.

“We’re here to buy Sandy a rawhide bone,” Cressida told him, “in the hopes that it will stop her eating furniture and shoes.”

Blake adjusted his grip on the dog food. “Is she bored? Usually dogs chew up stuff when they’re bored, but you walk her every morning, don’t you?”

“Yes I do,” I said, “but she’s a Labrador, and only young. I’ve heard that Labradors never grow up.”

Blake nodded. “You know, you should take her to dog training classes. It’s Saturday tomorrow, so there’s one on at 9, in Little Tatterford. They have a class for beginners.”

“Wouldn’t it be too late to sign up now?” I asked.

“No, for the beginner class, anyone can join in at any time, and then you can register for the ongoing classes, which are more structured, later. It’s done my dog a lot of good. He was quite badly mannered when I got him from the shelter last year.”

“Okay, I will. That’s a good idea; thanks, Blake.”

Blake smiled. “I’ll see you there.”

He must have gone only two steps from me, when Cressida announced loudly, “He likes you, Sibyl.”

I was mortified. “Shush, Cressida; he’ll hear you.”

“He won’t know what we’re talking about,” she said, even more loudly.

I cringed and turned my attention to the rows and rows of goldfish in glass tanks, and waited for my face to stop burning.

“What type of dog do you think Blake has, Sibyl?”

I turned around. “A large dog, maybe a Rottweiler or a German Shepherd. What do you think?”

Cressida rubbed her chin. “I was thinking more like a Pit Bull. Anyway, you’ll find out tomorrow, when you meet him at Dog Training.” She winked at me, and I rolled my eyes.

After we had bought rawhide bones for Sandy, and Cressida had told the store assistant the lengthy tale of my naughty dog, we headed for the furniture store.

I saw plenty of sofas I liked, but Cressida found fault with all of them. “They’re all too plain,” she said. “I really don’t like any of them; do you?”

“I do like most of them.”

Cressida did not agree. “They’re all too boring, Sibyl. I know another store we can try.”

The other store was next door, and to my dismay, it was an antique store. I had already figured that Sandy could not be left inside in the house on her own, but even so, I did not want to risk her chewing the leg or the upholstery of a valuable antique.

Cressida, on the other hand, had not seemed to consider the drawbacks of putting an antique sofa in my cottage. She clasped her hands in delight over a Victorian, red, mohair chaise longue, and a salmon pink, mahogany settee. All of a sudden, she slapped herself on the side of the head. “Silly me! I know what to do, Sibyl. I’ll lend you the couch from the dining room, since I’m painting the room anyway, and it’ll clash with my color scheme. That will help us both out. I’ll ask two of the boarders to carry it to your cottage tomorrow.”

I thanked Cressida, thinking that my throw rug would cover a multitude of sins. The sofa in the dining room was from the early 1800s, and was upholstered in the most unusual shade of orange I have ever seen. The wood was walnut, and had grapes and roses carved into it. It was not the slightest bit comfortable, and was rather an imposing piece. Still, that’s what I got for owning a furniture-eating dog.

We were about to leave when Cressida exchanged greetings with a lady who had just entered the store, the owner of one of the cafés in Little Tatterford. They chatted for a while, so I wandered off to look at the antiques. When I finally walked back to Cressida, I heard the lady saying, “I didn’t know your cleaner had such an interest in weeds.”

“What do you mean?”

“The other week, I saw her out on Gostywk Road, picking armfuls of the hemlock that was growing wild on the side of the road. I thought she must be studying botany at the university.”

“No, she isn’t, not as far as I know,” Cressida said, shooting me a significant look.

As soon as we were out of the store, Cressida turned to me. “What do you think of that? Quick, get in the car.”

By the time I was in the car, Cressida had already called the detectives. “Constable Andrews has gone to fetch Detective Henderson,” she said to me. After a moment, she spoke again. “Hello, Detective. It’s Cressida Upthorpe. Sibyl and I are in Pharmidale, and we just happened to meet Janine Templeton who owns the Top Hill Café in Little Tatterford. She told us that she saw my cleaner, Susan Woods, gathering hemlock the other week, where it grows wild on Gostywk Road.”

Cressida listened, and then said, “Okay, goodbye.”

“What did he say?”

She shrugged. “He just said, ‘Thank you; we’ll be in touch.’”

I bit my lip. “That doesn’t sound good, but I suppose the police always say that when handed evidence. Surely those two detectives would have to consider it seriously. Are you excited, Cressida? This means you’re no longer the main suspect.” I looked at Cressida, but she was hunched over the steering wheel.

“No, Sibyl, it can’t be Susan. I just remembered something.”

My heart sank. “What?”

“Lord Farringdon selected her for the cleaning position. He’s a good judge of character.”

I raised my eyebrows, but managed to keep my opinions to myself.