A Matter of Wife and Death (A Sibyl Potts Cozy Mystery, Book 4) (7 page)

Chapter 13
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Mr. Buttons, Cressida, and I arrived in Little Tatterford, heading for the first of the many cafés that dotted the main street.

“And what will you ladies have for lunch today? My treat, of course,” Mr. Buttons said, as he held open the door for us to enter.

“You don’t have to do that, Mr. Buttons,” I responded, earning me a waved hand from the man in response.

“I insist.” Mr. Buttons’ tone was no-nonsense.

“Well then, if you insist,” Cressida said, nudging me to go along with it. “Thank you. I do appreciate it.”

I smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Buttons.”

We took our usual table at the front of the café. Cressida and I looked at the menus, while Mr. Buttons repositioned the menus throughout the café in the center of the tables.

“What will you ladies have?” he asked, upon his return to our table.

“I’ll have my usual, the macadamia apple crusted pork loin, please,” Cressida said.

Mr. Buttons furrowed his brow at Cressida. “Macadamia nuts give you heartburn.”

“Yes, but it’s worth it,” Cressida sighed contently. “It’s just too delicious.”

“Did you take your medication?”

“No, I forgot on the way out.”

“Well then, take one now,” Mr. Buttons insisted.

“Then I would have to wait thirty minutes to eat.” Cressida shook her head stubbornly. “I don’t want to wait.”

Mr. Buttons looked up from rearranging the lilies on the table. “Cressida, waiting a few minutes won’t kill you. You’ll swear those macadamia nuts are in an hour, though,” Mr. Buttons fussed at her.

I smiled as a light bickering session started up between them. Things were so normal today. It was such a refreshing change of pace compared to what we had been dealing with lately. I decided to have the bruschetta laden with sundried tomatoes, olives, basil, and parmesan cheese, and so turned my attention from the menu to the room.

As I did so, my stomach dropped.

Blake was sitting at a table. His back was to me, but I’d know him anywhere. He had not turned around to say hello to us, so I guessed he hadn’t even seen us come in. He seemed completely fixated on the person he was talking to, his ex-girlfriend, the gorgeous Rachel Winters.

They seemed comfortable together. Rachel was laughing, and Blake appeared to be hanging on her every word.

I tried not to feel the sharp pangs of hurt as I watched them chatter away like they were in their own little world. I couldn’t see Blake’s expression, but he seemed to be having a lovely time.

I was in the depths of despair. Maybe there’s a reason we never went out for a second dinner, I thought.

“Earth to Sibyl,” Cressida said, startling me back to the moment.

“Did you know what you wanted?” Mr. Buttons asked.

“Oh yes, the bruschetta laden with sundried tomatoes, olives, basil, and parmesan, please.” I forced a smile, and did my best not to allow the unexpected scene to throw me off my lunch. It was my fault I had assumed that Blake had been interested. I didn’t have a right to pout and turn our lunch into a soap opera.

“Is everything all right?” Cressida asked with concern, following my gaze. She looked surprised as she spied Blake and the woman. “Oh, don’t worry about any of that. That’s just his ex. It’s nothing to worry about.”

“They broke off on friendly terms.” Mr. Buttons gave me an encouraging, reassuring smile. “They figured out they were no good for each other, but managed to salvage a good friendship after the relationship went south.”

Cressida studied my face. “They’re just friends,” she insisted. “Whatever reason they met up, I’m sure it’s no big deal. How about we go over and say hi?”

“No, no, no!” I exclaimed. “That’s okay.” I shook my head. “You’re right. It’s probably nothing.”

I wished I believed my own words. It wasn’t my business who Blake saw, or why. I didn’t want to become that obsessed stalker with too many cats, or in my case, a dog and a trash-talking cockatoo.

I just wished I had not let myself think we had been building more than a friendship. I glanced back at the pair. My ex-husband, Andrew, had been friendly with many women, a lot friendlier than I had realized at the time. I’d stupidly trusted in our relationship, and that blind trust had nearly gotten me killed.

Oh, stop it, I silently rebuked myself. Blake wasn’t anything like that man. It was my own fault for making assumptions about an imaginary chemistry between us.

“Are sure you’re okay, Sibyl?” Cressida asked with concern.

“I’m okay. It’ll all be fine,” I said, as I waved my hand gently. “It just threw me off. It’s all good,” I lied.

Cressida persisted. “They really are just friends.”

“I’m happy they were able to stay friends,” I said quickly. It truly wasn’t any of my business. The last thing I wanted to do was get my friends worried about me, especially when friendship was probably all Blake and I would have as well. I thought back on the times when he’d rushed to my rescue. He’d looked so angry when I’d been arrested by mistake. He’d always gone out of his way to see if I was okay.

In hindsight, that’s what friends do. I was sure Blake would have done the same for Mr. Buttons or Cressida. It was just how he was. It was my own imagination fooling me into thinking it was turning into more than that.

“Our food will be out in about fifteen minutes,” Mr. Buttons said, as he returned to his seat after ordering. He shot Cressida a pleading look. “Dear Cressida, for all that is good and right in the world, take something before you eat those macadamia nuts. You’ll love it so much less by dinner. I beg you to take appropriate measures.”

Cressida sighed dramatically and dug through her bag for the pills for her heartburn, which had been flaring up quite a lot lately with all the stress. “All right. But only because you are begging.”

Mr. Buttons grinned at her. “I could beg on my knee if it will make you take it that much faster.”

Cressida laughed. “Go for it.” Her eyes widened in alarm as he rose and started to drop to the floor, snagging his sleeve. “I was kidding. Kidding. I’m taking it right now, look.”

“Are you sure?” Mr. Buttons asked, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I could sing my concerns for you if you like.”

“I’m taking the medicine - just don’t make a scene.” Cressida laughed nervously as she brandished her heartburn pills. “You’re tone deaf anyway.”

I found myself muffling a laugh as Mr. Buttons climbed back into his chair, looking pleased that he had taken Cressida by surprise. I loved these two. They always had a way of making me feel better by just being themselves.

“While we wait on our meals, shall we try to solve the mystery of Lisa’s death?” Mr. Buttons asked, as he leaned back, conveniently blocking my view of Blake’s table.

That sounded fine to me; I could do with a distraction. I’d sort out my heart and head later in a less public place, preferably over some salted caramel ice cream and a rerun of Monty Python or The Young Ones. I could do with some classic silliness.

“It had to be Greg,” Cressida said, after she took a sip of her soda to wash down the medicine. “I’m betting his new bride had a really nice life insurance policy.”

“Oh come now. You’ve seen how broken up he is over the whole thing,” Mr. Buttons pointed out. “Besides, if insurance was his motive, he would’ve waited until they had been married for much longer than a day or two.”

Cressida looked skeptical. “Money does weird things to people. He didn’t take time off his work to mourn.”

“People deal with grief differently,” Mr. Buttons said. “He might be burying himself in his work.”

I bit a fingernail. “Who else would have known Greg’s room number? Or been able to get into the room with no one noticing?” I asked. I had to side with Cressida on this one. Greg’s behavior was indeed strange, even for someone in mourning. He didn’t act like he had lost the love of his life when he was making land deals and chasing off protesters.

“My money is on our dear Dorothy.” Mr. Buttons grimaced as he brought up the woman’s name. “She knew Greg’s room number, of course. It would’ve been easy to go up there wielding a wrench. She’s a few bats short of a belfry.”

“Why would she do that, though?” Cressida asked, unconvinced. “I know you don’t like her, Mr. Buttons. But really, we can’t accuse someone just because she is unlikable.”

“How much do we really know about her, though?” Mr. Buttons asked. “Look at that time when the ghost hunters came to town. None of us saw her connection there, until it slapped us in the face.”

“And Dorothy was also on the suspect list then,” I said. “We can’t throw her on the list every time we get stumped on something.”

“We can if she is a mean woman who has the access and ability to do it,” Mr. Buttons countered.

Cressida raised her eyebrows. “But again, why would she do it? We don’t have any way to connect her to Greg. The only motive is her big fight with Lisa the night before the murder.”

I shrugged. “I suppose it’s possible that’s she related to one of the protesters, but that’s quite a stretch.”

“Greg is the one with the motive,” Cressida said. “His whole life involves the bottom line. Most of his opponents backed off out of respect for the loss of his wife, too. Maybe she was worth more to him dead than alive.”

“That’s a pretty grim picture to paint,” Mr. Buttons said doubtfully. “Killing his wife for sympathy? That’s the most tenuous motive I’ve ever heard.”

“Hi, Cressida and Mr. Buttons,” a feminine voice said, interrupting our debate.

To my horror, I turned my head to see an unhappy Blake and his overly cheerful and pretty ex-girlfriend standing by our table. “It’s been forever. How have you both been?”

Blake gave an awkward greeting as he stood there. I tried to push down a wave of anxiety as Blake avoided my gaze. It wasn’t like I was following him or anything. He didn’t have to act that upset I was there.

“Hi Blake,” I said, in an even tone.

Rachel stuck out her hand to shake mine. “Hi again, Sibyl.”

I mumbled a polite greeting as I shook the woman’s hand. Blake did not look at all pleased that the two of us were speaking. Unpleasant memories of my ex-husband flooded back. I reminded myself that Blake was nothing like him.

“Sorry, I have to get to a meeting, but I’ll leave you all to talk. Be good, Blake. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” The woman winked and waved to Cressida and Mr. Buttons, before making a rush out the door.

Blake shot me an apologetic look. Well, I thought it was apologetic. I didn’t know what he had to apologize to me about. Nothing changed the fact that we were only friends, and not a couple.

At least things couldn’t get any worse.

Chapter 14
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Mr. Buttons had I had been googling for hours, or at least it sure felt like it had been that long.

“So, what else do you want to look up?” Mr. Buttons asked me.

I was mentally exhausted; I couldn’t think of a single avenue that we had not pursued.

“Top ten men who murdered their wives,” Cressida interjected from her position behind the table. She shuffled her paperwork for a moment. “He might not be on those lists yet, but perhaps his motive is,” she added, before returning to her work.

I laughed, but I knew she might be right. “Go for it,” I said to Mr. Buttons. “Let’s see if there are any cases of men who murdered their wives for unusual motives.”

We got back to work sifting through the mountains of links.

“What about this one then?” Mr. Buttons asked, stabbing his finger at the screen. “This man killed his wife because she was going to turn him in for embezzling company funds.”

Cressida walked over and stuck her face toward the screen. “Hmm, something like that would definitely make sense,” she said. The three of us peered at the screen. Moments later, the door swung open and Greg strolled in, looking distraught.

Mr. Buttons slammed the laptop shut.

“Hello, everyone,” Greg said, his face pinched and white. His hands went to his face.

“We were just seeing what the weather was going to look like for the week,” Cressida said. She wasn’t a good liar, but Greg did not appear to notice.

“Thanks,” he said as he sat down. “The police held me for hours and hours, asking me the very same things over and over again. It’s all been so overwhelming and intense. Days after I lose my wife, and I’m dealing with all of this craziness. I’m about to lose my mind.”

“What did they ask you?” Mr. Buttons said.

“They just kept grilling me about times. What time did I shower that day? What time did I eat? When was the last time I saw Lisa that morning? Just a bunch of those types of things. Oh, and the one thing they really harped on about was a wrench.”

“A wrench?” Mr. Buttons asked.

“Apparently a man at that hardware store in town told some people that I was in his store a few days before my wife passed away. The police accused me of buying the wrench used to disable the railing, which ultimately killed Lisa.” He looked into his empty hands and sniffled. “I didn’t hurt my wife. I loved her and I miss her very much.”

I wasn’t sure what to believe, and by the look Cressida was giving me, I felt we were on the same page. I glanced over at Mr. Buttons and noticed he looked more sympathetic. He probably still thought Dorothy was the murderer. I shook my head at the idea.

Greg pulled his head from his palms and looked up. “It was just really exhausting, but at least it’s all cleared up.”

“What?” the three of us asked at once.

Greg fixed me with a look that I was sure was smug. “The police looked at the CCTV footage from the hardware store. They traced the buyer of a wrench back to a man named Alex Jefferson. He’s a tad older, but to an elderly man like the hardware store owner, he and I looked like twins.”

“A good thing they caught their mistake before it was too late or something. You poor man,” Mr. Buttons said, with genuine feeling.

Greg nodded vehemently. “Yes, that’s the only thing that made them let me go home. Once they found out it wasn’t me, they had nothing to hold me on. They still went over a few questions and oddities in the case, but from how they were treating me near the end and such, I feel confident they’ll be looking for the actual killer now, instead of wasting their time barking up the wrong trees.” Greg slammed a clenched fist onto the table in front of him. “I just want to finish this expansion, have the case closed and solved, and get on with my life. Me being here right now is not good for any of us.”

Greg shot me a look when he said that, and for some reason, I felt it was a threat.

“I’m going to go rest for a bit and then get back to work,” Greg said. He nodded to us and then left.

Cressida shook her head. “Can you believe that?”

“What?” Mr. Buttons said.

“Was Nathan wrong? It wasn’t even Greg? He seemed so sure,” I said. “Anyway, just as well you handed the footage straight over to the police, Mr. Buttons.”

We all fell silent as Greg poked his head back around the door.

“Oh, one more thing,” Greg said. “Have any of you seen a pair of black, high heel pumps? The designer is Burch. They were Lisa’s favorite formal shoes, but I can’t find them anywhere, and I know she brought them for our honeymoon.”

“Oh, that’s the first I’ve heard of any missing items. I’ll ask the staff if they’ve found any shoes,” Cressida said.

Greg thanked her and disappeared.

“It’s kind of weird that he’d even be looking for his wife’s shoes, isn’t it?” Mr. Buttons asked.

“Not if he just wants to make sure he doesn’t lose anything he has left of her,” I said.

Cressida left the room in search of the missing shoes, while Mr. Buttons and I went back to googling motives for murder.

“Would you believe it?”

I jumped and looked back at Cressida. I hadn’t heard her return to the room. “Lisa’s shoes were sitting right in the Lost and Found bin. Someone turned them in yesterday, but the log wasn’t filled out properly. It just says, kitchen staff,” Cressida said.

“How would kitchen staff find shoes missing from a guest’s room?” I asked.

Cressida shrugged.

“I was right!” Mr. Buttons exclaimed. “It was Dorothy! She’s the only kitchen staff we have.”

“What are you talking about? You think Dorothy stole Lisa’s shoes?” I asked him.

Mr. Buttons was unable to hide his enthusiasm. “It fits,” he said gleefully. “Maybe that was why the poor woman went out on the balcony. She probably wanted to ask Greg, whom she knew was outside in the yard smoking, if he knew where they were.”

I thought about it for a moment. “Well, that makes sense, but still, I really can’t believe it was Dorothy who took the shoes, let alone hurt Lisa.”

Cressida stood up. “I’ll speak with her about it.”

“What? You’re just going to walk up to Dorothy and ask her about it?” I asked.

“Yes, why not? If she did, the police will want to be made aware of it.” Cressida hurried off, and I hurried after her.

We were met at the kitchen door by the grumpy woman. “What is it? I’m behind as it is!”

Cressida stepped forward. “Dorothy, I’m here about an important matter. A pair of shoes went missing from a guest, and the entry says they were turned into Lost and Found by kitchen staff. You’re the only kitchen staff here. We need to know who found the shoes.”

“What does it matter?” Dorothy snapped.

“The shoes belong to the guest who died. The police are investigating it as a homicide, so they will want to know how someone came to have the woman’s possessions, and why,” Cressida said sternly.

Dorothy frowned, and crossed her arms over her chest. “I know it looks bad, but that’s why I turned them in. That argument I had with her the night before, I know people are thinking I did something to harm her because I was angry, but I didn’t.”

“Dorothy, you have a history of losing your temper with guests,” Cressida said.

Dorothy narrowed her eyes, but her tone was even. “I did lose my temper, but not enough to kill someone. I stole the shoes because I was going to line them with some small slices of fish, so they’d stink the next time she wore them. Then, she ended up getting murdered. I cleaned the shoes and then threw them in the Lost and Found, hoping they’d be returned and nobody would ask questions.”