A Devious Lot (Antiques & Collectibles Mysteries Book 5) (21 page)

They shook, and she said, “Molly Appleby. Sorry to interrupt your lunch. I was at Beauty Chic with my mother. Beth’s doing her hair.”

He looked amused. “So you were at Beauty Chic and decided I was a bloke you wanted to have lunch with?”

Molly leaned toward him and lowered her voice. “Actually, Inspector Boyle with the Keensburg police asked me to talk to you. He’s in charge of Tiffany’s murder investigation.”

“I heard about his visit to the salon yesterday,” Cecil said. “Everyone was talking about it this morning. But do I detect a southern American accent? Because I’m trying to put together how it is you’re working with the police.”

Molly laughed. “You’ve got a good ear,” she said. “I’m originally from North Carolina, but I moved to Vermont with my husband last April and we live there now. I’ve assisted the police back home, and I’m helping Inspector Boyle. My aunt is Tessa Paulson. She taught you years ago.”

Cecil smiled. “If it wasn’t for your aunt, I wouldn’t have an appreciation for literature or fine art. She’s a wonderful woman. I liked her husband, too. Jack was a math wiz and a very nice man. Does she still live in that pretty little cottage on Stony Creek Run? I forget the name.”

“Foxcoat Cottage,” Molly said. “And yes, she still lives there.”

“If she ever decides to sell, I’d love to buy it from her.” His hand flew to his mouth. “Please forgive me, that sounded terribly insensitive, given her age.”

“I understand,” Molly said. “Foxcoat Cottage is beautiful. You should see the kitchen. She renovated it after my uncle died, top-of-the-line everything.” She paused. “Tiffany was living at White Dove Cottage, right down the road. Her murder has hit Tessa hard.”

“Sometimes I think it never happened, that it was a terrible error in mistaken identity and it wasn’t her at all,” he said. “I’ll look over at the door and see her coming into work, all that lovely red hair billowing around her freckled face, that big smile. She was loud and pushy and could get on your nerves, but I miss her.”

“Sounds like you liked her.”

“I did like her,” he said. “I also admired her. She was young but had made a name for herself in London because she was talented. And before you jump to conclusions, I should tell you, I have a boyfriend. His name is Freddie.”

“Well, as her friend, did you talk to her about her ex, Giles?”

Cecil rolled his eyes. “You mean Lord of the Manor, King of Channing Hall.” He laughed. “Tiffany talked about him all the time. There were times I felt like I should be charging her for psychiatric services.”

“It was that bad?”

“Yeah, in the beginning anyway, not so much recently. In the last month or so, she’d started cooling off about him. She confided to me that she was thinking about going back to London.”

Troy returned at that moment with two large mugs of coffee and set them on the bar in front of them. “Lunch will be out shortly,” he said, and went away again.

Molly looked at Cecil. “What exactly did I order for lunch?”

He smiled. “A club sandwich with roast turkey, smoky bacon and a mango chutney. It’s fantastic, so don’t worry.”

“Sounds delicious.” She poured cream into her coffee. “Have you lived in the village all your life?”

“No, I left after high school to study at a hair design academy in London, same one Tiffany went to actually. I lived in the city fifteen years, but came back six years ago to be with my mum. She was ill, and I’m all she’s got.”

“I’m an only child, too,” Molly said.

“Ah, then you understand the responsibility.”

“I do,” Molly said. “Is she all right?”

“Yeah, she’s grand now,” he said. “I’d planned to go back to London, but while I was here, I met Freddie. He has no interest in city living, and I wanted to be with him, so I stayed. We plan on getting married soon. Mum’s thrilled, and so am I. It’s all worked out for the best.”

“I’m happy for you,” Molly said, and sipped her coffee. “I met Tiffany the day she died. Brenda invited us to Channing Hall for tea, and Giles was there with Penelope. Tiffany crashed the party.”

Cecil chuckled. “Sounds like something Tiffany would do. She didn’t always think before she acted.”

“She was rash?”

“She was fearless,” he said. “She took risks at work, always willing to try a new and complicated style or color, and had a way of convincing clients to go along with her ideas.” He looked into his coffee. “Is it true what they say on the news, that she was poisoned?”

“Yes, it is,” Molly said.

“I hope the police catch who did it. It’s sick.”

Troy returned with their lunches and set down napkins wrapped around silverware. “Do either of you need anything else?” he asked.

“Sparkling water, please,” Molly said.

Troy brought Molly her water, and she waited until he was out of earshot before she turned back to Cecil.

“Do you have an opinion about who killed Tiffany?” she asked.

Cecil didn’t answer right away. He chewed his food and sipped his coffee. Finally, he said, “I can think of a few people who weren’t wild about her. Some of the women who work at the salon thought she’d steal their clients away. It did happen a few times, but on the flip side, Tiffany’s reputation was bringing new people in and we all ended up with more clients. They got over their petty jealousy.” He took another bite of his sandwich. “I suppose the police are looking hard at Giles.”

“Did you know Tiffany was harassing him and Penelope?”

“The stalking? Yeah, I knew about it. I told her it was juvenile and she should cool it.” He looked at Molly. “About six weeks ago, I caught Tiffany snooping in my client book.”

“What’s a client book?”

“The book I use to make notes about my clients’ preferences,” he said. “Tiffany was reading Penelope’s page.”

Molly stared at him. “Penelope’s your client?”

“She has been since she moved here,” he said. “Anyway, I came back early from lunch, and Tiffany was reading her page. She broke into my workstation to read my book. I asked her what she was doing, and she told me someone called to ask what color I used on Penelope’s hair. I asked her for the person’s name, and she wouldn’t tell me. I knew she was lying.”

“What did you do?”

“I took the book away from her and told her not to go through my stuff again.”

“What kind of notes do you have on Penelope?”

“Basic things like contact information, preferences in hairstyle and products I’m using on her hair. She gave me the name of the salon where she got her hair done in London, and insisted I consult with her former stylist before I touched her hair. She wanted me to use the same color and brand.”

“Where did she get her hair done in London?”

“A salon called Best of Locks. It’s in Kensington.” He wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Look, I’m beginning to feel uncomfortable talking to you about Penelope behind her back. If you want to know anything else about her, you should ask her.”

“I guess you haven’t heard she’s missing.”

Cecil’s eyebrows shot up. “What?”

“She drove away the day Tiffany died. Giles has no idea where she is, and the police haven’t been able to find her.”

Cecil looked shocked. “How can I not know this? I work in a bloody hair salon, for God’s sake!”

“Giles and Brenda are trying to keep it quiet. I guess the gossip mill didn’t get wind of it yet. How often do you see Penelope?”

He ran a hand through his hair. “She comes in every six weeks. We schedule her appointments on Tiffany’s day off, so they won’t see each other.”

“It was that bad between them?”

“Yeah, it was,” he said. “Tiffany was obsessed with Penelope, and if you ask me, Penelope was a little afraid of her.”

Molly couldn’t blame her. Tiffany was stalking her and Giles, and digging around for dirt on her. Had she gotten so fed up with it she hightailed it out of town? Or had a woman who named her antique shop the Gentle Dealer snapped under pressure, and killed Tiffany to stop the harassment? That was not a happy thought.

“Did Penelope ever seem sad or depressed to you?” she asked.

“No, I don’t think so. She was making plans to get married. I thought she looked happy.”

“Did she tell you about her friend who died?”

He looked astonished. “She had a friend who died? I had no idea. She never let on.”

“The name Dora Lang doesn’t ring any bells?”

“No, not at all.” He sighed deeply. “In truth, I think it was Tiffany who was sad. And now we’re all sad for her.”

Chapter 24

Later that night, Molly curled up on the sofa with Gingersnap to watch an episode of
Midsomer Murder,
but she was barely watching the program. She was thinking about her theory that Penelope was grieving Dora so badly that it had affected her ability to think and act rationally. Of course, she could have been putting on a brave face when she was sitting in Cecil’s chair having her hair cut and colored. But it was possible that over the many months since Dora had died, she’d come to accept her death. Selling her home, closing her business, and starting over with Giles might have been part of her healing process.

Clara came into the room carrying two cups of chamomile tea and handed her one.

“Something to soothe your nerves,” she said.

Molly sat up. “Thanks, Ma.”

Clara sat in a chair by the fire and sipped her tea. “Have you decided on your next step?”

“I want to drive to Rimstock tomorrow and ask around about Penelope,” Molly said. “It seems like the logical thing to do. If Dora still has a friend living there, and she knew about the person, she could be staying with them.”

Clara picked up the TV remote and muted the sound. “It’s not a little village like Marlow Crossing. Your chances of bumping into Penelope, or meeting someone who knew Dora, are slim.”

“I know, but I feel like I have to try,” Molly said.

“I had a terrible thought earlier today,” Clara said. “I almost hate to say it out loud.”

“Well, now that you’ve put it out there, you have to tell me. What is it?”

Clara sighed. “I keep wondering if Penelope had some kind of mental breakdown and pushed Dora down the stairs.”

“Lombardi said the police ruled it an accident,” Molly said. “But even if it wasn’t, why would she do that?”

“I don’t know, maybe it had something to do with the shop. Dora was working for her. She could have been skimming money off the books or something.”

“But Penelope has millions. Even if Dora stole from her, the monetary amount wouldn’t have bankrupted her. Killing her for the deed is a bit extreme. I keep thinking about Tiffany poring over those pictures Kofi took. If it was me, I would have examined every nook and cranny of my enemy’s face. I think that’s why she was rifling through Cecil’s notebook. She wanted to know everything about Penelope.”

“Cecil told you Tiffany was obsessed with her. The stalking alone confirms that.”

“Yes, but the question remains: was the stalking enough of a reason for Penelope to commit murder? That’s why I’ve decided to go to Rimstock tomorrow. If I can track her down, and talk to her, I can get to the bottom of this.”

“Why not let the police handle it?”

“They don’t have time to go door to door, but I can show her picture around at the shops and restaurants, and I can ask people if they’ve seen her. I’ll use one of the photos Kofi took.”

“I think you should tell Boyle what you’re planning,” Clara said.

“Why? Like you said, the chances are slim anyone will recognize her. I’d rather go and see what I can find out on my own.”

“I can see you’re determined to do things your own way, as usual,” Clara said. “That’s why, if you insist on going to Rimstock, I’m going with you. ”

“I’d rather go alone,” Molly said.

“There’s strength in numbers.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You said it yourself, Penelope might have snapped and killed Tiffany. She could be dangerous. And don’t forget, Reggie is still missing. He could be with her.”

Molly nodded. Her mother was right. Reggie was still out there, and God only knew what role he might have played in Tiffany’s death. “Okay, you can come with me,” she said. “If we split up, we can reach more people.”

The Cotswolds, England

July 22, 1851

Lillian sat across from her parents in the family’s barouche. In the tightly confined space, she was forced to listen to her father prattle on about Victor’s manor house and what a lucky girl she was to be engaged to marry him. Her mother was silent, as usual. Her mother was a beautiful woman, dressed in a beautiful dress, with a sweet smile on her lips, and she was absolutely no help to Lillian in her time of need.

“Victor was telling me about his plans to expand the house and gardens,” her father was saying. “You’ll be able to make it your own. No expense will be spared.”

Lillian felt on the verge of crying, and bit her lip. She was engaged to a man she loathed, and there was nothing she could do about it. If only she could hide somewhere. She felt like she was in a nightmare she couldn’t wake up from.

She looked out the window at the heather-strewn meadows and lush farmland and her father’s voice drifted away. She would have to find solace in the beauty of the land, the sheep dotting the hillside, the blue sky and soft white clouds. She wished she could lay her weary head down and sleep. Her heart felt heavy, and she wondered if it would grow smaller and darker each day she was married to Victor. She thought about the Greek statue at the Great Exhibition, how the slave wore a single chain around her waist. She looked at the ring Victor had placed on her finger, a beautiful ruby surrounded by diamonds. It was a lovely ring, but it was her chain. She vaguely wondered if she would go mad before or after the wedding.

The carriage rounded a corner, and the manor house came into view. Large and stately, it was everything a woman of Lillian’s class dreamed of. But to her, it was a prison. As they rode up the circular drive, she saw Victor standing by the door, hands clasped behind his back. Even from a distance, she could see his thick ugly lips grinning at her.