A Matter of Wife and Death (A Sibyl Potts Cozy Mystery, Book 4) (9 page)

Chapter 17
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Jeeves was a model client: polite, well-mannered, and easy to talk to. And his owner was a dear as well. Rebecca Williams was the wife of the only lawyer in Little Tatterford. Jed, her husband, had a well-deserved reputation as an ambulance chaser. Cressida had to block his numbers after he habitually called her after every crisis. I could count myself lucky that I’d been fortunate enough not to run into Jed during Jeeves’s grooming sessions.

Rebecca, unlike her husband, was quiet and shy. She was sweet and absolutely doted on her bulldog, Jeeves. The dog was like a son to her. Rebecca arranged play dates and even baked him organic dog treats from a recipe she had found online. She even paid me extra for a special order of a specific brand of shampoo, meant for humans, for Jeeves’s grooming sessions. The shampoo I had in stock was in fact better, but I had found out long ago that many animal owners preferred their own unsubstantiated beliefs to proven facts.

Rebecca liked to chat while I groomed Jeeves, and I always allowed her to do so. It was difficult to groom long haired dogs when owners wanted to stay and talk, but as Jeeves was short haired, his regular treatment was simply a shampoo, condition, and toe nail clip.

“Jeeves looks so happy,” Rebecca said, as she offered me a glass. “I hope you like strawberry lemonade. I found an all-natural recipe I was dying to try out.”

“Thanks,” I said, as I accepted the glass and took a small sip before setting it down to finish brushing Jeeves. Rebecca was handy with home made things, although I always thought that she might be trying a little too hard to impress. I imagined it got lonely in her big house while her husband was working long hours. “How have things been?” I asked her.

“Great!” Rebecca said quickly, although she gave a wistful sigh. “I just hope that Jed remembers to take time off for our anniversary next week. He’s always so busy. I really don’t know how he keeps up with it all. It makes my head swim.”

“I can imagine,” I said with sympathy. “I’m sure he has a dozen reminders around everywhere to take a break for your anniversary.”

“I’m sure you’re right.” Rebecca chewed on her bottom lip and then gave a dry laugh. “Ah well, just as long as the whole thing with that land development deal doesn’t give him any wild ideas. That man is going to make millions off his wife’s death.”

“Greg?” I gasped and nearly dropped the expensive bottle of shampoo. I swung around to look at Rebecca in surprise. The woman blinked and gasped as her mind caught up with her chatter.

“Oh, don’t pay me any mind. I shouldn’t be saying anything about that.” Rebecca waved her hand in a nervous flurry.

“But how is Greg going to make millions off his wife’s death?” I asked in confusion.

Rebecca stared at me in fright. “I don’t know any details, Sibyl.” She made a half laughing, half choking sound. “Please, Sibyl, please, please don’t mention anything about it. Everything clients tell my husband is supposed to be confidential. Jed would be furious if he found out that I blabbed. You’re just so easy to talk to and, and, well, I...” Her voice trailed away.

I waved a hand at Rebecca in reassurance. “I understand. It’s all right.”

“Thank you, Sibyl.”

Jeeves whined and started to fidget in the tub, apparently picking up on his owner’s distress.

Rebecca refused to give any further details, but it was clear to me that there was a lot more to the slip. I tried to piece it together as I finished grooming Jeeves. Why would Greg make millions on his wife’s death? Insurance? That was beyond my comprehension. Even if his wife carried that kind of policy, why would Greg be talking to a small town lawyer about it? Why not his own? I imagined Greg had a whole team of lawyers. Why Jed?

Whatever was going on, Rebecca had been dying to say something to somebody about it. It sounded like more than an insurance matter to me. But what?

After I’d finished grooming Jeeves and had left the property, I pulled out my phone and called Blake’s cell phone. To my relief he picked up on the second ring.

“Hey, Sibyl.”

“Hi.” I felt sick to my stomach. Perhaps it was simply my imagination, but he had sounded a little annoyed that I had called. “Sorry if I caught you at a bad time, but have you heard that Greg would make millions from his wife’s death?”

“Say what?” Blake asked in a distracted tone.

“I heard around town that Greg stands to make millions from his wife’s death. Is that possible?”

“Sibyl, I’m sorry.” Blake cut me off. “I’ll call you back shortly. Something’s come up.”

“Oh, oh, right, sorry,” I stammered as I felt my face burn. “Sorry I bothered you.”

“It’s no bother. Sorry ‘bout this. Talk to you later,” Blake said quickly, and the line went silent as he cut the connection.

I swallowed, tasting a sour tang in the back of my throat as the drink Rebecca had made me threatened to come back up. Blake and I hadn’t really talked since the incident at the café, and I knew he hadn’t been happy to see me there. However, I didn’t think he would be annoyed with me. I tried to rationalize the situation. Perhaps I had called him in the middle of a job.

Blake also could have been visiting his ex-girlfriend. I stared at the steering wheel as I clenched and unclenched my hands, trying to calm my thoughts. I blinked my eyes rapidly to clear them, replaying the call over and over again in my mind. Maybe he had just been working, or maybe he found the pretty ex-girlfriend better company?

By the time I got home that night, I was no closer to an answer. I fed Sandy and my cockatoo, Max, and then took a bath. I had intended to have a nice, long bath, but my stomach was churning over Blake, so I soon hopped out.

I’d lost my appetite, so instead of dinner, I made a vegemite and cheese sandwich and gobbled it down. Just as I was about to pour myself a glass of wine, there was a knock at the door. I smiled. A visit from Cressida or Mr. Buttons would certainly cheer me up.

It wasn’t Cressida or Mr. Buttons on the other side of the door. It was Blake, and he was clutching a large bag. “Sorry,” Blake said. “I haven’t been able to return your call, so thought I should come in person. My phone was accidentally smashed.”

“Your phone was accidentally smashed?” I said.

“The accident part is probably a stretch. It’s a long story.” Blake paused. “Mind if I come in?”

“Oh yes, of course.” I stood aside to let him in. “Wine? Or are you on duty?”

Blake gestured to his everyday clothes. “Finished for the day. Yes, please.” I handed him a glass of wine, and he continued. “What were you saying about Greg and millions? Sorry, I didn’t hear it so well. I was dealing with a miniature apocalypse in the park.”

To say I was relieved was somewhat of an understatement. So he wasn’t avoiding me after all? Blake had already taken a seat on my sofa, so I sat opposite him, my wine in hand. I took a large gulp and then told Blake everything that Rebecca had told me. “And so there’s a chance Greg did have a motive for murdering his wife after all,” I concluded, “but then again, Rebecca might’ve got the whole thing mixed up.”

Blake rubbed his chin. “I’ll certainly look into it.”

“So what happened today? You said your phone was accidentally smashed?”

“Rachel threw it onto the highway while we were arguing in the main street,” Blake said, before finishing the last of his wine. His brows furrowed into an annoyed expression.

“Oh.” My stomach churned. Why was Blake arguing with his ex-girlfriend?

“Yes,” Blake continued. “She’s one of the protesters, but, I suspect, not for the right reasons. I’m all for everyone having their different beliefs, but she says that ghosts of deceased people appear and tell her things.”

I waved my hand. “I do believe in that sort of thing, though,” I said.

Blake held up his hands in a gesture of hopelessness. “To be specific, back when we were dating, she told me that my grandfather appeared to her and said he had a cat called Patches. I told her that my grandfather and his parents were all allergic to cats, and none of them ever owned a single cat. She insisted that I was wrong.”

I nodded. “I see what you mean. I’m sure some people can hear from ghosts, but I’m just as sure that some people think they can, but can’t.”

Blake rubbed his forehead. “She took a bunch of essential oils out to the wilderness and poured them on bushes. I told her that type of thing would harm the environment, but she said that a spirit of a wombat told her to do it.”

I shook my head. “I’m beginning to get the picture.”

Blake let out an irritated sigh. “She’s the type of person who would release budgerigars from their cages, despite the fact that they wouldn’t survive in the wild. Next she’ll probably try to free the animals from the zoo back at her hometown. Today she told me that she planned to climb a tree in the wilderness area and live in it. She threw my phone onto the highway when I went to call her boyfriend to come and take her back home.”

“She has a boyfriend?” I asked in surprise. I didn’t know what part of that story surprised me more. The mental image of the girl swinging around branches like a monkey, sweaty and her hair tangled like a feminine Tarzan, did not fit the image of the attractive woman I had seen, nor did the fact she had a boyfriend who apparently went along with this kind of stuff. A boyfriend who was not Blake, I thought, as my face broke into a wide smile.

Blake nodded. “Todd used to live here in Little Tatterford too,” he explained. “Todd has a lot of patience for Rachel’s high maintenance, speak-to-the-ghosts-of-wombats thing. I must say, I wasn’t happy when she hijacked my lunch table the other day. I tried to convince her not to cause this place trouble and just go home. I’ve told her several times this nonsense was affecting people I care about.”

I smiled in relief. So that’s what all this was about? I wasn’t sure I understood the whole thing with ghost wombats and trees and such, but Blake hadn’t been trying to avoid me. I understood that much.

I walked over to the kitchen to find something to eat with the wine. A quick look through the cupboards revealed cockatoo food and dog treats, but not much else. My eyes fell on the large bag that Blake had placed on the countertop. “Is that food?” I asked.

Blake stood up, and walked over to me. “It’s for you,” he said.

The first thing I saw when I opened the bag was a splash of color. I blinked in surprise. I reached into the bag and pulled out a lush bouquet of exotic, purple dendrobium orchids surrounded by tropical leaves.

I turned to Blake, who was smiling nervously as he watched my stunned reaction.

“Thanks, Blake. They’re gorgeous.”

Blake took a step closer to me.

“I was starting to think you were fed up with me.”

“What would make you think that?” he demanded, with genuine surprise on his face. There was no faking that expression.

“Well, you’re always having to save me from trouble.” I touched a delicate petal on the bouquet, blinking away a misty haze that clouded my vision. “And I thought perhaps, well, you’ve been so irritated lately. Um, I thought that you might have gotten tired of my meddling in the town’s unsolved mysteries.”

I looked back up, and saw nothing but Blake’s eyes staring right into mine. He had leaned in so close that I could feel his breath on my cheek. I took a short breath; my heart was beating out of my chest.

“Never,” he said softly, as he slowly leaned closer. He hesitated, as if giving me a chance to push him away.

I closed my eyes as he pressed his lips against mine. I leaned into the kiss as the entire world seemed to light up. Everything melted away into that one moment, until only the feel of his lips on mine remained.

Chapter 18
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The boarding house had been a ghostly sight of late, with most of the guests gone. I was sitting at the kitchen table with Cressida, who was going over some paperwork, when Mr. Buttons served us steaming coffee. “Here you go, ladies,” he said, extending the mugs to each of us. “I have lowered my standards and served you coffee instead of tea. I figured you could use some caffeine if you’re going to spend another day going through all those records and whatnot.”

Cressida looked up at him, her eyes slowly transitioning from the papers that were sprawled out across the table, to Mr. Buttons’ looming presence. “Records and whatnot?” she said. “I’m trying to find proof of every previous inspection we’ve had done. I know they should have this information somewhere in their systems, but maybe if I can show that awful Franklin Greer proof that we have no history of complaints or failed inspections, he might just close the investigation and let us reopen.” She looked away, clearly upset. “If we remain closed too much longer, it could end up being a permanent closure. I’m losing too much income right now, and still incurring most of the normal operating costs.”

I frowned and looked into my coffee mug. I swirled my finger around the rim and thought about what it would mean if the boarding house had to close. Mr. Buttons and Cressida continued their conversation; I heard their voices, but the words were jumbled and only my own anxiety could be heard clearly. Would I have to move and find a new place to live? Would my close friendships with these people be damaged in any way by such a devastating event?

I came back to the present when I heard Mr. Buttons asking about Dorothy again. He was persistent, that was for sure.

“No, I’m sure it isn’t Dorothy,” Cressida said calmly. She had set her papers aside and was staring at her laptop, her fingers tapping the keys in rapid succession. All of a sudden, she gasped.

“What is it?” I asked, as Mr. Buttons and I moved to look over her shoulder.

“Cynthia Greer!” Cressida exclaimed, jabbing one finger at the screen. “I googled Franklin Greer and Little Tatterford, and a link to an old photo of Cynthia Devonshire just came up, under the name Cynthia Greer!”

“Greer,” I said. “So the rival B&B owner’s maiden name is Greer, just like that horrible council man, Franklin Greer.”

Mr. Buttons stepped back and gasped. “Does that mean that Franklin Greer from the Little Tatterford and Shire Council is that woman’s brother?”

I nodded. “Most likely.”

Cressida remained silent for some time. When she finally spoke, her voice sounded frustrated, as well as angry. “So that’s why they’re making such a big deal about the balcony. They’re using that poor woman’s death as an excuse to shut us down so they can get an unfair advantage and steal our customers. We need to do something.”

I looked at her sympathetically. “If Franklin Greer is her brother, then the case against the boarding house will be thrown out,” I said.

Mr. Buttons shook his head. “We don’t even know for sure that they’re related. Maybe it’s just a coincidence that they share the same last name.”

“It would be a bit too much of a coincidence,” I said, “and it gives us another suspect. A new B&B moves into town; a murder happens at the leading business in the same field, and then the rival business owner has her brother shut down her rival for a building code violation.” I shook my head. “Now that I’ve said it, it actually doesn’t sound like a viable motive for murder,” I finished lamely.

Cressida nodded. “I have to agree. It’s not as if this is a million dollar business or anything. It’s a stretch to think that the murder was the catalyst for this entire financial sabotage. However, who’s to say that one or both of them weren’t involved? Maybe that was part of their plan all along.”

I shook my head. “Cynthia and Franklin Greer had no motive for murdering Greg’s wife. Everything does fit, except the motive. Why would they single out Greg or his wife if their goal was to disable your business?”

“Maybe there wasn’t a specific target, and they just wanted to hurt and not kill someone. That would make sense, if their motive was simply to hurt someone,” Mr. Buttons said. “But my money is still on the cook.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Lord Farringdon says it wasn’t Dorothy,” Cressida insisted, and right on cue, the fat cat appeared and purred around her legs.

“Why don’t you ask Lord Farringdon who the murderer is, then?” I asked. The words were out before I could stop them. I didn’t mean to sound sarcastic.

Thankfully, Cressida did not appear to have taken offense. “It doesn’t work like that,” she explained patiently. “Lord Farringdon is a cat.”

I felt the beginnings of a headache, but Cressida pressed on. “I think Greg could still have something to do with it, but it all makes you wonder, that’s for sure.” Cressida sighed, and went back to sorting through the layers of papers that littered the large table’s entire surface.

Mr. Buttons and I looked on quietly. After a few minutes of silence and coffee sipping, Greg walked into the kitchen. “Good morning, everyone,” he said.

“Morning,” we replied in unison.

“How are you this morning?’ Cressida asked him.

“I can’t help thinking about poor Lisa.” Greg turned away and covered most of his face with his hands. Sobs could be heard through his makeshift blindfold. “Bless her soul.” His hands fell from his face. “First the balcony, then the vandalism, and then they followed that up by trying to kill me with a car.”

Greg wiped away the invisible tears, and then poured himself some coffee. I watched as heat escaped his cup and thought of the steam as the pile of lies that he was letting escape from his mouth. I felt his grief was nothing more than a case of terrible acting. Mr. Buttons suspected Dorothy of the murder, and Cressida suspected Greg, but was now also considering Cynthia Devonshire as a suspect, but I just could not evade one nagging sensation. Every time something happened with Greg, the hairs on the back of my neck stood tall.

Just then, the door flew open and Greg’s personal assistant, Julie, walked in, taking long strides as she approached her boss. Greg rose to greet her. “Julie, what are you doing here?”

“Oh my gosh, are you okay?” she said in a way that reminded me of the annoying, popular girls from high school. “It’s going all around town that you were almost killed! One of those crazy people tried to run you over? Did they catch him? Is he in prison yet?”

Judging by his reaction, the barrage of frenzied questions had caught Greg completely off guard. “Listen, you need to calm down,” Greg said in a soothing, serious tone.

The woman ignored him. “Just tell me what happened,” she continued, “and why haven’t you even called me to tell me what happened? I thought we were friends, not just colleagues!”

“Julie, you’re my employee, and that’s as far as anything goes between us,” Greg said. His face had turned bright red, and I could see he was having trouble keeping himself under control. “I was going to explain what happened to you once things cooled down and this place opened back up.”

“Employee?” she yelled. “How dare you! You’ve certainly changed your tune!”

I watched with interest; this was more entertaining than an episode of The Real Housewives of Melbourne.

The young woman’s voice steadily increased in volume, until she was yelling at the top of her lungs. Lord Farringdon let out a loud yowl and ran from the room, his tail fluffed out like a toilet brush. Greg tried to lead Julie out of the kitchen, but she was having none of that. “Please, calm down,” he said for the umpteenth time. “Let’s go outside and we can talk about this in private.”

“In private?” she yelled, pointing to us. “Are you afraid that they might hear something incriminating? Are you worried some of your little secrets might get out and see the light of day?”

Oh boy. I glanced at Cressida, who returned my look of astonishment. Mr. Buttons’ eyes were glued to the scene unfolding before our eyes.

“Julie, I’m warning you. Keep your mouth shut, right now.”

The personal assistant didn’t respond, but it was obvious that holding her tongue wasn’t an easy feat.

“Let’s go upstairs and talk about everything,” Greg said, in a now calm voice. He gently put his hand behind Julie and nudged her in the right direction. They had only reached the door when things fell apart again.

“I just don’t understand why you didn’t call or even message me about it. I was worried about you. I found out from a random person at work that my boss, someone I care about deeply, was nearly killed. I’m just hurt and upset.” The young woman’s words sounded truthful and full of pain.

Greg did not respond, but guided Julie through the door and shut it.

“You just don’t get it,” he yelled. By now, they were both out of sight, but their voices were as loud as ever. “You’re nothing but an employee, and that was only until someone better came along. You’re jeopardizing everything, and you need to remove yourself from this.”

“What? What does that even mean?” The woman’s voice sounded desperate. “What are you saying?”

“It means that you’re fired,” Greg yelled. “Get out, go! I didn’t call or text you about it, because I don’t want or need you around me anymore. Please, just go. Find yourself a new job. I’ll give you a good reference.”

Suddenly, the young woman’s voice erupted, causing me to flinch at the startling shriek. “You know what? You’re nothing but a con artist, a liar, a cheat, and a huge jerk! All of this craziness is happening just because you wanted all of your wife’s money, and now you’re getting rid of me to cover it up further. This is all insane. Actually no, you’re insane!”

I could hear her footsteps thumping away from our direction, but the sound was soon interrupted by Greg’s loud voice. “Julie, stop this. Just wait, I’m sorry! Wait!”

“No!” her voice yelled back. “You made your decision, and that’s fine, but now I’m going to make mine.” Her voice faded.

Cressida leaned forward and looked over at us. “What money? Greg’s wealthy. He has no need of his wife’s money.”

“Obviously we missed something,” I said. I hadn’t told Cressida or Mr. Buttons about what Rebecca had said, as I had practically promised her to keep it to myself, but it was all starting to add up.