I decided to speak up before Mabel or Freddy took over completely. “We’ll start in Sir Geoffrey’s study. Freddy, why don’t you grab a couple of chairs from the kitchen while Mabel and I bring in boxes from the car.”
I hadn’t expected to bring much home with me today but had come prepared. I was glad I had brought file boxes. Someone must have rifled through his desk. Sir Geoffrey never left his papers scattered all over the desktop like that. I could only hope he had kept his most important papers locked away safely.
I shuffled through the items on top of the desk. To my relief it appeared to be mostly mail. I saw no evidence that any of the envelopes had been opened. The envelopes, flyers, and other items on the desk had a certain order to them, seven or eight piles—the number of mail delivery days since Sir Geoffrey’s death? That sounded about right.
I found the library file catalog on Sir Geoffrey’s computer and printed out the list before handing it to Mabel. “Please check the books while I go through the desk.” Mabel is twenty years younger than me, so I didn’t feel guilty about asking her to climb on a step stool.
I tackled the mail first. Nothing unusual. I kept the personal mail to take home and put the bills in a separate bag to take to Paul.
I was aware of Freddy following my every move, so I didn’t react when I ran across an envelope from someone named L. Sussex in Durrow, England. I considered myself lucky that it hadn’t been opened.
I wanted to go through Sir Geoffrey’s file cabinets before I turned on his computer. I had wondered if locating the correct key would be a problem, but Sir Geoffrey had the cabinets well marked, each label corresponding to a key on my key ring.
I looked through the file drawers one folder at a time. I made a brief note of the contents of each and tried to imagine what could be missing. One by one, I slipped them into the box I was taking home. After about an hour, the first box was full.
After about an hour and a half, I found the file I knew must be there. With newspaper clippings, court documents, and doctor’s findings stacked in plastic sleeves, it wasn’t as thick as I had expected. I didn’t open it on the desk, not with Freddy watching our every move. Instead, I placed it in the second box and closed it. One more box should do it.
I poured myself a cup of tea from the thermos I had prepared for the morning and offered Mabel a cup. We ate our lunches. I gave Marshfield a treat for being so well behaved. He had spent the morning curled on the rug in front of the fireplace. He scrambled to his feet as if expecting to leave. I hugged his neck. “A little bit longer. That’s a good boy.”
“How much longer do you think it will be?” I startled when I heard Daisy’s voice from the doorway. “I’m supposed to have a hair appointment at two.”
“No one’s keeping you here.” I finished my tea. “We’ll be gone as soon as I finish going through the desk.”
“I guess I can wait.” She noticed a couple of photo albums Mabel had laid out. “I wondered where these had gotten to!” She grabbed the first one and held it close to her chest. “Surely you don’t object if we take these. They’re old family photos. Geoff didn’t tell me he was taking them.”
I felt a bit like Scrooge because I couldn’t agree to her request. Sir Geoffrey left them to me for a reason. “I want to look at them before I make a decision.” Even then, I might decide to keep them.
“Well, I never.” She stomped to the middle of the room and sat in a chair next to Freddy.
I felt cruel, which made me uncomfortable. Resolutely, I added the albums to the last box and decided to cut our losses. “That’s it for now. We’ll be going.”
Mabel waved the list in her hands. “Let me take that box,” she said, pointing to the first one I’d packed.
I appreciated it, because it was heavier than the others. I picked up another box.
“Let me take this one for you.” Freddy grabbed the third box, the one with the picture albums.
“Freddy,” Daisy warned. He shrugged her off.
When Freddy reached for the door handle, the box slid out of his hands, and he slipped and fell. An ornate ring tumbled out of his shirt pocket.
Marshfield jumped off his rug and barked, snarling in Freddy’s face, daring him to move. The situation had taken a frightening turn. I pulled the dog back sharply and punched in 911. I knew that ring well: the original Durrow family crest, which Sir Geoffrey wore with great pride. When the dispatcher answered, I reported a theft at Neptune’s Cottage.
Marshfield pulled against my grip. I wondered what was troubling him, Freddy’s fall, the sight of the ring, or a different memory?
The ring had unsettled me, but I’d worry about that later. I bent over him, asking, “Are you all right?”
“I think so.”
Mabel stared at the ring. “You must be the murderer.” She blurted out the words.
The scene froze for a long second.
Mabel found her voice again. “I mean, that’s Sir Geoffrey’s ring. He said it would never leave his finger—until he was dead.”
I warred inside. We had no business accusing anyone of murder, especially not as defenseless as we were.
Freddy protested, “This is all a dreadful misunderstanding.” He rose to a sitting position but stayed on the floor. Daisy stared off into space, as if she were deaf and dumb to everything that had just happened.
He picked up the ring and tossed it on the table. “I should never have touched it. But it’s mine by rights. I’m the Baron of Durrow.”
He sounded like someone who had achieved a lifelong dream, only to find that it was hollow inside.
“You should have waited.” I didn’t need to say any more. His posture showed deep regret for his actions.
For taking the ring—or for murder? I didn’t know.
In the distance, sirens approached in response to my 911 call. I didn’t know if it was the police or an ambulance from the Sea Side Infirmary for Sailing Folk.
Daisy’s eyes widened in disbelief when she heard the sirens, but Mabel, who had retreated into a corner after her accusation, brightened. “The police can sort it out.”
I had almost begun to believe Freddy’s protests about his innocence—of murder—until I saw the panic in his eyes.
The sirens grew louder.
“Freddy didn’t kill Geoff.” Daisy marched to her son’s side. “I did.”
A police car pulled up beside an ambulance. Tom and Enos came to the door. The detective’s eyes measured me.
I stood tall, reminding myself I had every right to be in the house. “Come in. We’ve had an incident.”
I didn’t say anything else. I was more confused about the murder than ever. Nothing added up.
Mabel had no doubts. She pointed to Daisy. “She killed Sir Geoffrey. She just confessed to us.”
Tom raised his eyebrows. “Is that so?”
Daisy drew herself to her full height, full of British starch and backbone. “Yes. I killed my brother-in-law.”
I felt the detective’s gaze drilling into me, as if asking me what role I played in this affair. Mabel preened herself as if she had solved the murder.
Even as they led Daisy away in handcuffs, I wasn’t convinced. We had a confession, but did we have the murderer?