SAY GOODBYE TO ARCHIE: A Rex Graves Mini-Mystery (9 page)

Rex knew all about the “if
only’s.” How many times would Patricia recreate in her mind the events of that night so she could have prevented Archie’s death?

“You said you usually put out Archie’s food at six?”

“That’s right. We were running late. I think I must have called him and then left for the book club. Felicity was our guest of honour.”

“Did anyone leave during the book club?”

“Leave? No. We were all there until the end.”

“No temporary absences?”

“None, apart from the usual bathroom breaks.”

“Think hard now,” Rex coaxed, hoping
against hope his theory was correct.

Patricia screwed up her face in concentration, pushing her lopsided glasses back up her nose with two fingers.

“Take yourself back and recount events in order as best you can.”

“We arrived at the B&B. Madeline greeted us at the door. I introduced Felicity to everyone. Dot, she had already met. Katrina is a young mum with a toddler at home, but she never misses the book club. Says it keeps her sane, although I don’t know when she finds the time to read the books. She’s married to an architect and lives in one of the converted barns.”

Rex grit his teeth, waiting for useful information, yet not wishing to interrupt Patricia’s train of thought.

“Jackie writes roman
tic mysteries and was keen to meet Felicity. They’re about the same age, that’s to say mid-fifties. They seemed to hit it off, and Jackie was very excited when Felicity agreed to look at some of her work. Then there’s Cecilia, who lives in the first cottage you come to in the village. She’s well into her nineties, but still likes to garden. And Cheryl. She runs a lunch place in Seaford. Late thirties, married, has a step-son.”

Rex was mentally knocking his head against the table by this point.

“That’s seven, plus Felicity.” Patricia did a count on her fingers. “Yes, all present and accounted for. After wine and hors-d’oeuvres, we discussed the current book, a mystery set in the Shetlands, and then Felicity answered questions about her role as a literary agent and how best to submit,
et cetera
. That’s it, really.”

“Felicity had read the book you were discussing?”

“Actually, no. She had to take an important call and left us to it. Unless it was a pretext to smoke. She smokes rather more than she should.”

“She left the room?”

“I believe so.”

“How long was she gone?”

“I’m not sure. Not more than ten or fifteen minutes.”

“Enough time to run back to your house. It’s only a wee village. Was she wearing heels?”

“Boots, I think. It was windy and raining on Wednesday. Are you suggesting it was Felicity who murdered Archie?”

“At what point did she disappear?”

“We got into the book discussion about half an hour after we arrived.”

“Six-thirty?”

“Thereabouts.”

Rex sat back in his chair. “Can you remember what else she was wearing on Wednesday?”

“Business attire. Much the same as today, but maybe slacks? She was wearing a red raincoat and had an umbrella. But it wasn’t raining when we walked to Madeline’s. It felt good to be out, I remember. The air felt very fresh after the rain. I also remember thinking Archie might be out in the garden after being cooped inside all day. His fur always smelled so good after he’d been outdoors.” Patricia lost herself in a moment of nostalgia, and then came to again. “But, seriously, Reginald. Felicity can’t be your suspect.”

“Why not?”

“Because it doesn’t make any sense! She made a living off Archie, same as me and Roger, though to a lesser extent.”

“Did she ever show Archie any affection?”

“Not especially. She’s allergic to cats. Sometimes I had to put him outside the study when she was visiting, as her eyes would start to get irritated.” Patricia stared at him through her lenses, her pupils dilated. “That is no reason to get rid of my cat!”

“Well, there’s a bit more to it than that. I’m sorry to have to inform you that it was probably her who murdered Archie. Not that anyone on your list would have been good news.”

“I never really suspected Felicity. She offered to come when I called her with the news of Archie’s death. Felicity Parker? Can you prove it?”

“I have a wee trick up my sleeve. It was on Felicity’s sleeve, actually. I picked it off her jacket yesterday when Charles almost knocked her off her feet.”

“He can be very clumsy, that boy. But I’m not sure I follow.”

“If you could boil the kettle and bring me the Say Goodbye to Archie note and some glue, I’ll show you. And I’ll need Felicity’s home address so I can pay her a personal
visit.”

*

As Rex got off the train at Victoria Station he wondered if he would catch Felicity at home on a Sunday morning. Yet he felt it unlikely she’d be at church. After all, murdering poor Archie wasn’t a very Christian thing to do. Fortunately, she didn’t live far away, and if he took a taxi he would have enough time to see her and get to King’s Cross for his scheduled train back to Edinburgh.

When he arrived at her address in a nondescript block of flats located in a mainly residential
neighbourhood, with an Indian restaurant on the corner, he asked the cabbie to wait while he went to see if the person he was calling on was home. Hoping and praying that she was, he rang on her bell at the front entrance. Felicity’s voice answered on the intercom. He gestured to the cabbie that he would be fifteen minutes, and the man nodded and opened a newspaper.

The agent sounded surprised and pleased when he announced himself, and invited him up to her flat. At the door she glanced down at his hands as though expecting flowers. It appeared she had applied a fresh layer of lipstick in the time it had taken him to reach her floor in the lift.

“There’s something important I need to discuss with you,” he said, stepping into the narrow hallway.

“Oh.
Right. Well, come on through.” She led him into a small but comfortable sitting room where stacks of manuscripts bound in elastic bands weighed down a low coffee table. “I brought some work home for the weekend,” she explained. “Sometimes I don’t get time to read at the office.”

“I won’t detain you. I have a train to catch, so I’ll get straight to the point.”

She gave a flirty smile. “Not even time for a drink?”

“Thank you, no.”

Felicity indicated for him to take a seat in an armchair and sat facing him on the sofa, leaning forward with her hands in her lap, a blank look on her face.
She knows what I’ve come to say
, he thought.

“This is not pleasant,” he began. “For I have reason to believe you are responsible for the death of your client’s cat.”

Felicity jumped up, rather like a cat herself. “This is outrageous!”

“Please bear with me while I outline how I came to this conclusion. You will have an opportunity to refute anything I say at the end.”

She sat back down with an exaggerated sigh.

“As an agent of not only children’s literature, but also of mysteries and gardening books, you would know about the deadly properties of foxglove and, no doubt, reading loads of mysteries would have provided you with a few ideas. Your motive apparently was to silence Patricia’s muse and end the Claude series before it deteriorated too far. Sales were down
, you told me, and you could generate publicity from the cat’s death. Make a killing, so to speak.”

He stared Felicity down where she cowered on the sofa vehemently denying everything, her face
scarlet between her red hair and pink blouse.

“A newsworthy item,” he went on.
“ ‘Beloved Literary Cat’s Demise Under Suspicious Circumstances Ignites Indignation and Grief.’ Was that the sort of thing?”

“Of course not
!”

“Archie’s
murder was intended as a publicity stunt to garner attention from the legion of Claude fans.”

“How could I have carried out his murder?” she demanded.

“You came up from London on Wednesday to discuss some work with Patricia and to attend the book club. You left during the book club on the pretext of an important call and came through Patricia’s side gate. The foxglove was readily available in the garden. You used your umbrella to draw the bowl towards you. You mixed the poison with the tuna, and then went on your merry way back to London after the book club. The button yesterday was a red herring when you discovered Patricia suspected foul play. You threw it into the foxglove patch along with the crumbs, thinking to frame Roger. What did you use to cut up the foxglove? Nail scissors?” However, he saw from Felicity’s frigid expression that he was not going to get all the answers. “Patricia was no doubt a demanding and eccentric client, and you were stressed,” he allowed. “You presumably felt it was preferable to retire the cat and curtail the series rather than terminate your contract with Mrs. Forsyth.”

“Those are a lot of conclusions to jump to,” the agent scoffed, recovering some of her composure.

“Motive, means and opportunity, Felicity. And I have proof. Your guilty slip yesterday is what made me consider you more closely as a suspect.”

“What guilty slip?”

“When you said you never had a chance to say goodbye to Archie.”

“So?”

“It was the exact wording that was on the note.”

“It’s a common
enough thing to say, saying goodbye to someone.”

Rex looked insistently in her blanched face. “You didn’t even ask aboot the note just now.
Because you already knew aboot it.”

“Patricia told me.”

“She did not. You posted it through the front door as a warning. Perhaps you did not intend to kill Archie, just the series. But then something happened to make you snap. And what’s more, I have evidence of your guilt.”

Felicity licked her dry lips. “What evidence?”

Rex removed the note from its envelope, which he carried in his jacket pocket. “A sample of your hair is stuck behind one of the letters on this note.” He peeled back the “G” so she could see. “I don’t know anyone else with hair that colour. Not that is doesn’t become you,” he lied.

Felicity’s cheeks looked as though they could melt wax, her mouth frozen in the shape of an “O.” Although no words came out, her reaction spoke louder than words.

“In any case, the hair can be forensically proved to belong to you.”

“You’re going to the police?” she asked in shock.

“That will be up to Patricia. I would think a very public firing at least would be in order. I don’t think many authors would want to be represented by an animal killer, do you? Good day to you.”

Rex let himself out of the flat.

*

Once he was settled on the train to Edinburgh, he called Patricia on his mobile. “It’s her,” he confirmed. “She as good as confessed and fell for the false evidence. I recorded the whole conversation on my phone.”

“Oh, goodness. You came through for me, Reginald! I’m so very grateful.”

“You can thank Roger. Your illustrator was a fount of information.”

“Village life makes gossips of us all.”

They discussed suitable retribution for Archie’s murder. Nothing was too severe in Patricia’s view. “But I think today may be the turning point,” she said. “Dr. Strange came by shortly after you left, and you’ll never guess what he brought.”

“A kitten?”

“You knew!”

“He mentioned it in passing yesterday.”

“A little ginger tom.
His mother was hit by a car. Dr. Strange was able to save her, but she won’t regain her strength for a while. The litter is just about weaned. At first I refused. I thought it would be too soon, but he said the kittens urgently needed homes, so I let him persuade me.”

“I think it’s a splendid idea.”