Murder in the Neighbourhood: A Diane Dimbleby Cozy Mystery (5 page)

Darrell shines the torch so Diane can find the ladder she had climbed up, then climbs down his.

In the master bedroom, Diane starts searching through the dresser. All of the drawers are empty except for one with postcards. She flips them over to see they are still blank.
That’s no fun,
she thinks, although one looks awfully similar to one of the photographs still hanging in Carys’ Apple Mews home.

Now in the master room too, Darrell opens the wardrobe only to find a handful of hangers and a layer of dust on the bottom.

Diane – distracted by the lustrous sunrays, particularly vibrant for this time of year – looks outside. She stops what she is doing and walks to the bed. She then lies down on top of the large white sheet covering the mattress and duvet.

Noticing immediately that Diane is no longer standing, Darrell rushes to ‘her bedside’.

“Diane, are you alright? I can take you back to the rental cottage if you would like to take a rest.”

Giggling, Diane stands up immediately as if nothing is the matter with her, body and soul.

“Now just trust me,” says Diane, still giggling. “I want you to lie down, right where I was, and to look out the window.”

“Are you having a laugh?”

“I promise Darrell, this is pertinent to the case,” says Diane, more seriously this time.

Grumbling to himself, the inspector complies and lies down on the bed. He takes a moment to look outside the window. As soon as his eyes zero in on the object Diane is surely meaning for him to see, Darrell bursts into laughter and bolts up from the bed.

“You miserable old woman!” he exclaims, rushing out of the room and down the stairs. Diane resumes her guffawing. She cannot remember the last time she’s laughed this much, but is glad her years have not stolen her youthful spirit.

Darrell swings open the front door, which finally makes Rufus release his bone. He and Diane both chase after the inspector around to the other side of the house.

Darrell stops under an oak tree that must be at least 100 years old. They would not have seen the tree when they arrived at the house since they were coming from the other direction.

Diane gazes up at the long, wise, leafy branches, some of which extend so they provide shade to the inside of the master bedroom. One of the branches appears to have a round deformation, an enlarged knot perhaps, or a bur. She stares at it further to realize its texture looks softer, its appearance a little more haphazard than tree bark. Whatever it is, it is quite camouflaged among the branches and sticks.

“Darrell, do you suppose that looks like a nest?” Diane asks.

The inspector stares up to where Diane is pointing for a good minute. He nods his head. He notices that the branch the nest is on also lines up with the master bedroom’s window.

“I think you’re right, Diane Dimbleby. And was it just me, or was there something coming from that branch that was blinding?”

Diane agrees that in retrospect, lying on the bed, it did seem that something from where the nest is located was so scintillating. It is their amazingly good fortune that they were in the master bedroom at this very time of day when the sun would shine and reflect off this… this… whatever this is… perfectly to capture their attention.

“We need to find out what is in that nest!” Diane says adamantly.

As Diane attempts to jump and grip the branch lowest to the ground, Darrell runs to the garden shed and fortuitously finds a ladder inside. He would have been willing to scale up the tree trunk and then climb branch by branch like he did many a time as a child, but, being a little rusty, he’s relieved to find the apparatus.

With Diane still attempting to jump to a branch, Darrell sets the ladder up against the tree and asks her to hold it steady. Still being in prime athletic shape, Darrell quickly and effortlessly climbs up the ladder and then the branches that rise up beyond the last rung. He then pulls himself up to sit on the thick branch where the nest is resting.

“What do you see?!” Diane calls out with Rufus barking beside her.

“I see a wire mesh!”

“A wire mesh!?! That’s it???” Diane yells. “Or is it to protect the treasure underneath perhaps!?! Protect it from birds and other predators?”

Ignoring Diane’s line of inquiry, Darrell carefully removes the fine mesh. His eyes widen. He stares at what is before him in shock. He then carefully grabs a glove from his pocket and picks the object up.

It is the most splendid diamond ring he has ever seen – and that’s including the ones he’s seen in adverts.
This indeed could be a motive for murder
.

Darrell carefully places the ring in his pocket. Although the pocket is zippered, Darrell does not hastily climb down the tree like how he climbed up. Diane is still holding the base of the ladder when his feet touch the ground.

This time, Rufus, with his eager bark, is the first to ask Darrell what he found.

“I need to find out where it came from and how much it’s worth…” says the inspector to himself.

“Of what? You need to find out the value and provenance of what!?!” asks Diane restlessly.

Darrell unzips his pocket and reveals the treasure that he found in the nest of the oak tree on Bardsey Island.

Diane gasps and is silent for several seconds. “That’s incredible!” she finally says, admiring the gorgeous diamond radiating in the afternoon sun.

Walking to their rental cottage, Diane and Darrell agree that they better not tell the few people they might run into on the island about the diamond ring. In fact, they decide that after they place the jewel securely inside Diane’s portable lock box – something she wisely packed among the rain gear and snacks – they will not talk of the jewel again until they are safely back in Apple Mews.

They arrive at the cottage in silence; both Diane and Darrell are lost in thought. There is much to think about.
How long has the diamond ring been hiding in the oak tree? Did Carys hide it herself? Who else knew about the diamond ring? Was the diamond the killer’s motive for murder?

Diane knows they have no choice, but she would really like to head back home right away instead of staying the night. There’s a murder to solve… her close friend’s murder. Still, from the outside, the cottage looks quite charming with its slate roof, its bright green door and with the smoke invitingly coming out of the chimney.

But why is there a fire going when they hadn’t been to the cottage yet? Diane nudges Darrell and points to the smoky plume floating up into the sky. Darrell nods his head. He carefully walks to the closest window and peers inside.

“Do you see someone?” Diane whispers.

Darrell shakes his head. He starts to walk to the next window and then stops suddenly when a voice starts to sing:

♪Dear Blackbird, I’ll list why thou singest. My harp for awhile shall be still…♪

“I believe I recognize that voice,” says Diane.

“I believe I do as well,” says Darrell with a knock on the door.

Captain Cai Jernigan stops singing and opens the door.

“I didn’t expect to see you still on the island,” says Diane, laughing.

“Aye, I didn’t think I’d be
'ere
so long either!” Cai says with a twinkle in his eye. “Deris asked me to see that everything was in working order here for
youer
. I had to get some new lamps and matches, but she’s tidy now.”

“So you’re the ferry captain
and
Bardsey’s hospitality agent as well… is there anything you don’t do?” Diane says with a wink.

“My lady, I wasn’t brought up under a tub, that’s for certain!” says the captain. “I must be going now before the sun goes to sleep.”

Captain Cai starts off towards the ferry. Diane and Darrell both stare after him for a moment and then turn to each other. “Hadn’t we better get back?” they both say at the same time.

“Oh, Captain Cai!” Diane yells. “Wait for us!”

♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠

After dropping Diane and Rufus back home in Apple Mews, Darrell decides he better head to the station for a little while, even though it’s a Sunday night. It’s better for him to place the diamond ring in evidence right away.

“Good evening Julia,” Darrell says to the desk sergeant as he walks into the station.

“Oh sir, I’m glad you’re here,” says the desk sergeant. “There’s a lady here waiting for you. She’s been here all day. We’ve told her you weren’t in Shrewsbury today, but she still insisted on staying. I expect she would have stayed the whole night if she had to.”

“Did she say what she wanted?”

“She says it’s about Carys Jones. She’s in the visitors’ lounge.”

“Thank you, Julia.”

Double-checking the diamond ring is still safely secured in his pocket, Darrell heads to the visitors’ lounge. Inside he sees a frail-looking woman – not overly elderly though, possibly in her 60s – sipping coffee. Although she’s apparently been there all day, her eyes look as alert and determined as if she has just arrived.

Before Darrell can even get a word in, she stands and says, “You must be Inspector Crothers!”

“Yes I —”

“I’m sorry to intrude on your Sunday, but I thought it important that I have a word with you before you go any further with your investigation of Carys Jones’ death.”

“Oh? And what is your interest in the case, Mrs. …”

“Mrs. Thomas, Mrs. Rosalyn Thomas,” the woman responds. “I heard about Carys’ death on the news late last night. Carys Jones was my cousin, you see.”

Darrell stares at the woman for at least a minute, maybe two. He’s tired and being in this state, he feels like he’s more apt to miss any cues revealing the woman is a sham. It wouldn’t be the first time someone came forward falsely claiming to be a relative of a deceased person. It happens for a number of reasons, usually greedy ones. There was also that time a sick bloke came in pretending he was the son of a victim, just so he could view a corpse “in the flesh.”

Darrell shudders at the thought. “Is that so?” he says finally responding to Mrs. Thomas’ statement.

“Aye,” the woman tells him. “Carys and I grew up together in Wales, in Aberystwyth… she was only a few years older than me, and we did everything together. It was like we were sisters… best friends really.”

What Mrs. Thomas did not say, or even bring herself to admit, is that she had always been a tad jealous of Carys. Carys had good looks and lots of friends and was popular with the boys. Rosalyn’s mother would always say things like, “Now why can’t you be as helpful as Carys around the house?” or, “Isn’t Carys’ voice just beautiful?” Even when Carys became a graphic designer, everyone gushed about how exciting her career was. Still, Mrs. Thomas liked to think she came to terms with her jealousy long ago. She had raised a wonderful son, and sure, her career hadn’t been as glamorous as Carys’, but she had still worked as a bank teller for many years. Plus, she and Carys had shared many fond memories in childhood too.

“Had you seen Mrs. Jones recently?” Darrell asks.

“No.” Mrs. Thomas explains that Carys married when she was very young. She had met this wealthy entrepreneur, a lot older than she, but they genuinely seemed madly in love. They moved to Bardsey Island and seemed to enjoy their life there. Carys would sometimes write Mrs. Thomas letters telling her about the isolating but magical winters and exciting summers there on the island. But when her husband passed away, Carys felt she could not keep on living in the house they had once shared. That’s why she ended up moving away from Bardsey to Apple Mews. Mrs. Thomas adds that she hasn’t seen Carys since she left Wales and they hadn’t written many letters to each other.

What Mrs. Thomas is not comfortable admitting to the inspector, however, is that about six months ago she wrote to Carys asking if she could borrow some money. Mrs. Thomas had been having some financial problems after some bad investments, an honest mistake of course.

“Thank you for telling me about Carys’ background, Mrs. Thomas,” the inspector says. “It’s very helpful for our inquiry. And I’m truly sorry for your loss. We knew Carys had no children; we hadn’t been able to track down any relatives yet.”

“I’m her closest living relative,” says Mrs. Thomas. “So I thought it important for me to be here–”

“To help find the person responsible?”

“Oh yes Inspector, of course, that’s a given! And also for the reading of the will – I didn’t want to hold up that process.”

In cases like these, Darrell had observed it to be quite common for certain family members to be focused on the possibility of a valuable inheritance rather than the passing of their so-called loved one. It’s a cruel occurrence, but hardly surprising.

“Mrs. Thomas, up to now I have no knowledge of Mrs. Jones having a will,” says Darrell, “but I shall inform you as soon as I have more information about whether a will exists or not.”

“But surely everyone has a will,” says Mrs. Thomas.

Darrell shoots her a stern look, convincing Mrs. Thomas that she has taken up more than enough of his time. After she leaves, Darrell shakes his head. He feels bad that Carys’ closest relation is so money-hungry. Still, desperation can take away a person’s manners, and it’s possible Mrs. Thomas is in desperate need of some cash. But he cannot focus on helping Mrs. Thomas’ financial situation right now – he had a murder to solve.

Still, she had been helpful. Carys’ late husband had probably bought Carys the expensive ring and also left her with a sizeable inheritance if the husband was in fact as wealthy as Mrs. Thomas described. Money may have been the killer’s motive.

Had the murderer also raided a secret stash of notes or jewels in Carys’ home after killing her? It didn’t appear that way, but if the killer knew where she kept her valuables, he could have taken them without making a mess.

Before leaving the visitors’ lounge, Darrell notices Mrs. Thomas’ plastic coffee cup. He picks it up and throws it in the bin. Walking down the hallway, he stops and thinks:
Everyone is a suspect at this point.
He returns to the lounge and takes the cup out of the bin. He doubts Mrs. Thomas committed the murder – her biggest fault is probably wanting to cash in on her cousin’s death – but just to be sure he will drop the cup off to the forensics lab for analysis.

Just to cover all his bases he should get Sergeant Webster to run a background check on Mrs. Thomas too – the sergeant is always incredibly thorough. But it’s Sunday night, so he won’t disturb him now. He sits at the sergeant’s desk and writes him a note asking him to run the check first thing Monday.

After dropping the coffee cup off to the lab, Darrell heads to the evidence locker. He looks over his shoulder to see if anyone is present before he takes the diamond ring out of his pocket. He does not think any corrupt officers work out of Shrewsbury – in that way the force is exceptional – but when a diamond this size is present, who knows who may be tempted to turn crooked. After locking up the ring and the other items they retrieved from Bardsey Island, Darrell heads back out of the station, wishing the desk sergeant a good night.

Anxious to get home and kiss each of his kids and his wife, something stops him from going into his Range Rover – that uncomfortable but knowing feeling of being watched.

Darrell bends down and pretends to tie his shoe while surreptitiously looking around. Then he sees her, about 60 feet away. It’s Mrs. Thomas parked across the street, and she is definitely watching him.

“Is there something else, Mrs. Thomas?” Darrell shouts.

Mrs. Thomas quickly looks elsewhere, turns on the engine and drives away.

Darrell wonders what the woman really wants.
The diamond, probably,
he thinks. Being once very close to Carys, she must know about it. It had probably been her cousin’s wedding ring. And now Mrs. Thomas must think she’s bound to inherit it. The inspector will find out more about Mrs. Thomas’ financial situation after Sergeant Webster runs the background check tomorrow.

Inside his Range Rover, before Darrell turns the key in the ignition, he thinks of Diane. He suddenly realizes that it may not be safe for Diane to be alone with the killer at large, especially because her curiosity generally veers her towards, and not away from, danger. Darrell had made a near-fatal mistake when Diane was left to her own devices on a previous case. He will never forgive himself for Diane getting kidnapped and nearly killed by the so-called “Sergeant Benedek.”

Darrell takes out his phone and quickly dials Diane’s number.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Diane… Darrell here… where are you?”

“Why Inspector Crothers, do you miss me already?” she giggles.

“Diane, seriously, where are you?”

“I’m just taking Rufus for a walk around the village green. Then we’re going to the pub for a late supper.”

“Diane, I’m ordering you to go home this instant and to lock all of your doors and windows.”

Diane cracks up laughing. She doesn’t remember the last time she’s locked her door. Plus she’s a grown woman, old enough to be the inspector’s mum.

“What’s gotten into you Darrell?” she asks, still laughing.

“I just think you’re probably the most vulnerable person connected to the case right now. The killer is still at large and might very well know that you’ve been helping me with the investigation. I know you’re a force to be reckoned with, but you still could be in danger. Plus, you’re one of Carys’ closest friends.”

Darrell then goes on to tell Diane about Mrs. Thomas and how he feels like there’s something fishy about her.

“Do you think she’s responsible for Carys’ death?” asks Diane, no longer laughing.

“No. I have a feeling she’s just waiting to see what Carys left her in her will… if there is a will. Had Carys ever mentioned she had a cousin Rosalyn from Aberystwyth?”

“No, I never heard her talk of any cousins,” says Diane, walking Rufus back to the cottage. “Are you sure she’s telling the truth about being Carys’ relative?”

Diane reminds Darrell that anybody could pretend to be a sister or cousin or uncle or son. It would be quite easy for that someone to find out information about marriages, deaths and places of residence, especially when it came to high-profile individuals like wealthy entrepreneurs.

“Though if she is just pretending to be a cousin, I wonder under what pretext she was able to ascertain all of this information,” Diane thinks aloud.

“We will be running a background check first thing tomorrow morning, and we should be able to confirm whether or not this woman is, in fact, Mrs. Rosalyn Thomas,” says Darrell. “Now go straight home and lock all the doors.”

“I will. Good night Darrell.”

“Good night.”

Darrell’s mind drifts back to Mrs. Thomas’ glare he had witnessed just a few minutes ago. For a split second, he thinks that maybe this woman is putting on an act, but what the
act
is he cannot be certain of right now.