Deadhead and Buried Read online

  The ginger tom got up and stalked away with offended dignity. Poppy made her way to the kitchen, where she collected a bowl of water for Einstein, a mug of tea for herself, and several biscuits from the tin on the counter. Then she returned to the sitting room, picked up her grandmother’s plant encyclopaedia, and made herself comfortable on the sofa for the rare luxury of an afternoon reading.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The rest of the day passed in relative calm. Poppy made sure to keep the dog and cat apart, and aside from one heated argument through the sitting room door (in which Oren still got the last word), the two animals maintained a frosty stalemate. Poppy ploughed her way through her grandmother’s books, delighting in learning the names and habits of many flowers and plants she had previously only vaguely recognised or heard about.

  As the light faded and the evening began to draw in, however, she began to worry. Where was Bertie? Were the police going to keep him overnight? A phone call to the police station didn’t help much—all the duty sergeant would tell her was that Dr Noble was “still helping the police with enquiries”. As darkness fell outside and she went around drawing the curtains in the house, Poppy resigned herself to keeping Einstein with her overnight. She took the terrier out into the garden for a little walk, then brought him back into the house, cautiously keeping an eye out for the ginger tom. Thankfully, though, Oren seemed to have gone off on patrol at dusk and so she had the house to herself. She let the terrier loose and he rushed around, his nose to the floor, sniffing everything excitedly. Calling him after her, she walked to the kitchen, then realised her mistake when he dived instantly on the bowl of dried cat food in the corner and began gobbling the contents.

  “Hey! No, Einstein—stop that!” Poppy cried, rushing over to grab the bowl.

  Too late. Most of the little fish-shaped biscuits were gone, and Einstein was busily hoovering up any pieces which had fallen to the floor. Poppy was just looking around the cupboards for a box of cat food to refill the bowl when the sound of noisy slurping made her whirl around in dismay. Einstein was now attacking Oren’s water bowl with gusto, sloshing water and dog drool all over the kitchen floor.

  “Nooo…” Poppy groaned.

  It took her several minutes to clean up after the dog, but the kitchen was restored to order at last, this time with the cat bowls safely out of reach on the counter. Then she opened the fridge and pondered its contents. She didn’t really want to cook—the less mess she made in the kitchen, the better—so she settled for some cheese and fruit, accompanied by some fancy oat crackers she found in the pantry. As she prepared the simple meal, she glanced down and saw Einstein sitting at her feet, looking up hopefully.

  “You’ve already had a whole bowl of cat food and several of my biscuits this afternoon,” she told him severely. “Surely you can’t still be hungry?”

  The terrier jumped up on his hind legs and danced around, waving his front paws and wagging his tail. “Ruff! Ruff-ruff!”

  Poppy laughed in spite of herself. Suddenly, she was glad the little dog was here. It made the big house seem less empty. Then, for some reason, she thought of Nell and felt a pang of guilt. Her old friend would be wondering what was happening—she should really give her a ring. As soon as Poppy finished her dinner and had washed up and tidied the kitchen, she put the call through to London.

  “Poppy! Oh, my lordy Lord, I’m so glad you rang—I was beginning to get worried, especially after that thing on the news about South Oxfordshire Police Station—”

  “What thing?”

  “Haven’t you seen it, dear? It was on all the news channels and everyone’s talking about it.”

  “No, Nick hasn’t got a TV. What is it? What happened?”

  “Well, actually, no one is sure what happened exactly but… it seems like everyone at the police station suddenly got an attack of the giggles!”

  “Attack of the giggles?” said Poppy, perplexed.

  “Yes, apparently all the officers started giggling uncontrollably. Even the suspects in custody were laughing their heads off. And anyone who entered the station to see what was going on would fall about laughing as well. They had to evacuate the station in the end and several national security experts are now trying to work out what happened. They think it might have been some kind of gas released in the station… er… I can’t remember the name now… nitrogen something—”

  “Nitrous oxide? Laughing gas?” said Poppy, suddenly having an inkling what could have happened.

  “Yes, that’s exactly right! Laughing gas… although no one knows how so much could have got into the station to affect everyone like that. There’s even talk that it might have been some form of terrorist attack. But, really, why on earth would a small provincial police station be a target—”

  “I doubt it’s a terrorist attack—more likely a ‘mad scientist attack’,” said Poppy, chuckling and thinking of an old man carrying a battered leather suitcase containing his latest invention.

  “Eh? Mad scientist? What are you talking about?”

  “Never mind. Don’t worry—it’s definitely not a terrorist attack or anything really dangerous.”

  “Well, it all sounds very odd to me,” said Nell, tutting in disapproval. “And now there’s this murder as well! It sounds like all sorts of strange things are going on in Oxfordshire. Where are you now? Are you coming back soon, dear?”

  “I’m still in Bunnington—”

  “At the cottage?”’

  “No, in Nick’s house. The police haven’t released the crime scene yet.”

  “Hmm…”

  Poppy could almost see Nell pursing her lips and, to forestall another anxious lecture, she said quickly, “And he’s not trying to have his wicked way with me—in fact, he’s not even here. He’s gone away on a book tour, remember? There’s only his cat here with me.”

  “Hmm… And what about the murder? Have the police solved the case yet?”

  “Nell…!” Poppy gave a slightly exasperated laugh. “This isn’t a crime drama on TV—they can’t just solve the case in an hour! The body was only found yesterday. I don’t think the police even have any suspects yet—or at least, not any correct ones,” she added sourly, thinking of poor Bertie.

  “What do you mean?”

  She told Nell about meeting Bertie and the discovery of the bloodstained spade in his garden, followed by Sergeant Lee’s high-handed treatment of the old inventor.

  “Well, that’s a shame, but I’m sure the police know what they’re doing, dear.”

  “But I don’t think they do! It was terrible how Sergeant Lee was treating Bertie,” Poppy protested. “It was practically bullying! I couldn’t believe it. And he didn’t even let poor Bertie get a word in edgewise to defend himself. He should really have a lawyer before speaking to the police—Bertie, I mean. I tried to tell him that, but Sergeant Lee snapped my head off and told me to mind my own business.”

  “Well, he’s right,” said Nell primly. “You shouldn’t interfere with a murder investigation.”

  “I’m not! I’m just trying to make sure that Bertie is treated well. You know, I’ve been thinking… maybe I should ring the police station again and ask if he’s okay, see if he needs help finding a lawyer—”

  “I’m sure the police will advise him of his rights and contact his family.”

  “But what if he doesn’t have any family? He seemed so old and alone—”

  “Poppy, dear…” Nell’s voice was gentle. “Bertie isn’t your father, you know.”

  Poppy flushed. “I know that! I never thought of him that way.”

  Nell didn’t answer but her silence spoke volumes.

  Poppy continued doggedly, “Sergeant Lee is just fixated on poor Bertie and is determined to prove him guilty, instead of considering any other possible suspect. I mean, what about Pete’s wife? Jenny Sykes lied about her alibi—she was seen out having dinner with another man on the night of the murder, when she said she was at home the whole evening. I
n fact, I saw them together myself in Oxford earlier today. Jenny was flirting and laughing, and didn’t look remotely upset about her husband’s death.”

  “Maybe it wasn’t a happy marriage.”

  “Well, that’s exactly it! The villagers said that Jenny wanted a divorce and Pete wouldn’t give it to her. That would be a good reason—”

  “People don’t commit murder just because they want a divorce,” said Nell.

  “Aww, come on, Nell—you’re the one who’s always reading those romance novels. Don’t people do things in the heat of passion?”

  “Well, they don’t do those sort of things, dear,” said Nell. “My romances never have things like dead bodies.” Her voice turned dreamy. “Mmm… what would happen is that Jenny’s lover would be her true soul mate and he would be six foot tall, with rippling abs and eyes the colour of a stormy night… and he would fight Pete for her honour—oh, not kill Pete, but maybe just punch him in the face—and then he’d take Jenny away to a romantic little cottage with a four-poster bed and a roaring fire, and make love to her until she—”

  “NELL!” Poppy cried, not knowing whether to groan in disgust at the image conjured up or to laugh in exasperated disbelief. The latter urge won. “Honestly, you have no idea how far the reality is from what you’re imagining,” she said, thinking of the short, weaselly man that she had seen with Jenny. “Anyway, my point is, there are so many far more likely suspects than Bertie—like Jenny… or… or even Hubert Leach—”

  “Who’s Hubert Leach?”

  “Oh, sorry… I never told you about him,” said Poppy, recalling that she’d only met her cousin the night before, after she’d spoken to Nell. “You know the lawyer Charles Mannering? Well, he invited me over to his house for dinner last night, so that I wouldn’t have to spend the evening alone.”

  “That was nice of him,” said Nell, sounding impressed.

  Poppy smiled. “Yes, Mr Mannering is so nice. I mean, I know he’s sort of my lawyer—but I feel like he’s really trying to take care of me. Anyway, Hubert Leach turned up on the doorstep just as we were about to start dinner. He’s the son of Mary Lancaster’s first cousin, you know, which makes us second cousins, I think.”

  Nell gasped in delight. “I never knew that you had a cousin! Why, that’s lovely, Poppy; some family for you to get to know at last—”

  “Yes, except… I’m not sure he’s that thrilled about my existence. I mean, he acted super-friendly—smarmy, even—but I got the impression…”

  “What?”

  “Well, he made a comment suggesting that the final will might not have been valid—you know, like I might be an imposter or something.”

  “Oh, I’m sure he was joking, dear—”

  “Maybe. He did try to pass it off as a joke—but I got the impression that inside, he was being serious. Mr Mannering got quite offended, actually.”

  “Was there a previous will where Hubert got everything?”

  “Yes, actually, there was,” said Poppy. “How did you know?”

  “Then I’m not surprised that he’s bitter. The sale of the cottage and land would bring in a lot of money, and it would all have been his if you hadn’t turned up. He probably resents you, but that’s not your fault, dear, and you mustn’t feel guilty about it.”

  “I’m not, really. At least… I did feel guilty at first for not liking him more—because he is my cousin, after all—but to be honest, Nell, he… well, he’s a bit of an obnoxious git. He practically invited himself to dinner and really took advantage of Mr Mannering’s hospitality; I’d never seen anyone with so much chutzpah!”

  Nell sighed. “Well, people who are loud and demanding often get what they want, so they continue behaving that way.” She paused, then added: “But I don’t see what this has to do with the murder?”

  “Oh… well, I had this thought… See, during dinner, Hubert started talking about how much he’s into bulbs—”

  “Bulbs? What, like light bulbs?”

  “No, silly!” Poppy laughed. “Flower bulbs. You know, like tulips and daffodils and things like that. Both he and Mr Mannering are really into gardening, and they started talking about their plants and… and then this morning, when I was in Oxford, I happened to walk past Hubert’s property agency and I noticed that his company logo is a snowdrop.”

  Nell sounded puzzled. “So what, dear? I don’t understand—lots of people like flowers and put them in designs and things.”

  “Yes, but Mr Mannering said there’s a name for people who are into snowdrops—they’re called ‘galanthophiles’ and they do crazy things, just to get a plant they want.”

  Nell began to laugh. “You’re not telling me that you think your cousin murdered Pete Sykes for some snowdrops?”

  Poppy laughed sheepishly. “Well… when you put it like that, it does sound a bit stupid. But… but I still think there’s something dodgy about Hubert. I don’t know what it is—it’s just a feeling I’ve got.”

  “If you have any suspicions, you should tell them to the police,” said Nell.

  Poppy made a face at the thought of having to speak to Sergeant Lee. If her own friend had laughed at her “snowdrop theory”, what would the sneering detective sergeant do?

  “I don’t know… I haven’t got all the details worked out yet. Maybe I need to find some more supporting evidence first before I go to the authorities—”

  “Poppy…” Nell’s voice was stern. “Investigating a murder is the police’s job. Don’t get involved.”

  “But, Nell, you don’t understand,” Poppy protested. “Sergeant Lee—the sergeant in charge of the case—is such a pompous arse! I know he won’t listen to me… not unless I’ve got something very convincing to show him.”

  “I thought you said there was a lady inspector in charge of the case? She seemed quite nice, from what you said.”

  “She is—but she’s been called away to another case, and in the meantime her sergeant’s in charge and he’s an absolute prat.”

  “Whatever he may be, he’s the detective in charge of the investigation. Now…” Nell’s voice turned brisk as she moved on to a subject that she considered far more important than mere murder. “Did you wash the pillows on the bed before using them, dear? Or at least take them out in the sun and give them a good beating? Most pillows are absolutely filthy, you know—full of dead skin and dust mite faeces—and Lord only knows how long those pillows have been sitting in that cottage…”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Poppy was woken up the next morning by a cold, wet nose snuffling in her face and, when she opened her eyes, she saw a small bundle of shaggy black fur jump off the bed, stretch, then trot to the door.

  “Ruff!” Einstein said, looking back at Poppy and wagging his tail.

  Poppy groaned and sat up, rubbing her eyes blearily. With Bertie not returning last night, she’d had no choice but to keep Einstein with her and this meant keeping the terrier shut up in her bedroom during the night. The dog had instantly jumped up and made himself comfortable on the bed, and she hadn’t had the heart to remove him. He had been sad and subdued all evening, obviously missing his master, and sleeping near her seemed to have given him some comfort.

  Now, though, she winced as she saw the dog hairs on the bedspread. Not only had she not got permission from Nick to bring a strange dog into his house, but she had let the uninvited guest sleep on the bed! I’ll make sure to wash and replace all the linen and bedding before I leave so no one can tell, she thought as she hurriedly dressed and opened the door to the hallway. Then she stopped in her tracks.

  Oren sat outside the bedroom door, his tail twitching up and down, like someone impatiently tapping their feet. He had been staring fixedly at the door and, as she opened it, his yellow eyes gleamed with triumph as he spied his nemesis in the room behind her. The ginger tom had been outraged last night when he had finally returned from his evening sojourn to discover that not only was the canine intruder still in his home, but had slobbered
all over his cat food and water bowl too!

  He had been furious and let Poppy know it, walking up and down the kitchen, yelling “N-ow! N-OW!” as he demanded the dog be removed. It was only after she had found some fillet steak in the fridge, and supplied him with several large helpings, that Oren had finally been mollified and stalked off to wash himself in Nick’s study. Still, Poppy wondered if the ginger tom had been waiting outside the door all night, plotting his revenge.

  She stepped into the hallway and slammed the door behind her before Einstein could follow. She heard the terrier whine in protest and scratch at the door, and saw the cat’s hackles rise in response to the sounds.

  “Er… hello, Oren! Looking for your breakfast?” she said brightly, scooping the cat up in her arms and hurrying away from her bedroom door. She bundled him into the kitchen and placated him with some fresh cat food in his bowl, then—as he was busy eating—she sneaked back to her bedroom. Making sure that Einstein was securely clipped to his leash, she took him the other way and breathed a sigh of relief as they stepped out of the front door without being intercepted.

  Once in the garden, Poppy released the terrier to do his business, then put a call through to Charles Mannering. In spite of what Nell had said last night, Poppy had been unable to stop worrying about Bertie. She didn’t know if the old inventor had called his own legal advisor but it wouldn’t hurt to get another lawyer on his side. And Mannering had invited her to call him whenever she needed help—she was sure his offer had been genuine.

  She smiled as she thought of the lawyer’s kindly, fatherly manner. He would be the perfect person to confide in, someone who would listen and advise and reassure her with his wisdom. The kind of figure she’d always wished she had, growing up…

  “Miss Lancaster—how lovely to hear from you… No, no, it’s not too early… I tend to arrive at the office quite early—I like to get here before the rush starts, you see… I was simply enjoying a cup of tea and perusing the morning papers…” He made a loud tutting sound. “Terrible goings-on in the House of Commons… I really don’t know what the Conservatives are thinking… Anyway, was there something in particular that you wanted to speak to me about, my dear?”