As James knocked on the door of Pippa’s studio apartment, a gesture he knew was futile, an older woman in her seventies stuck her head outside the doorframe of the next flat. She was holding a pair of knitting needles.
‘Dear, Pippa isn’t home. I haven’t seen her since yesterday. If you come in, I can make you a cup of tea, and I can call her on her mobile.’ She turned around and disappeared into her apartment.
‘Okay, that sounds great,’ James called from the corridor outside. He followed her into the apartment.
As James stepped inside, he almost tripped over a giant basket full of yarn. To his right, an incomplete patchwork quilt was thrown over the couch. Behind her sofa were rows of shelves crammed full of paperbacks.
‘Do you like Earl Grey? Pippa gave me this Extravagant Earl Grey blend from Whittard of Chelsea for my birthday,’ the lady said as she filled a small Russell Hobbs cordless kettle, placed it on its base, and flicked the switch.
‘When did you last see Pippa?’
‘Yesterday afternoon. Pippa was leaving wearing all black. She looked like she was in mourning. I saw her out my front window. I remember I was sitting over there on the couch knitting,’ the thin, elderly lady said as she faced James.
‘Do you know her well?’ He continued to probe, hoping he wouldn’t raise her suspicions.
‘I suppose. We have tea every day, but not yesterday. She was in a hurry,’ the old lady recalled as the kettle whistled away in the background. She poured the hot water into the teapot.
‘Was that unusual for her?’ James walked across the room towards the small, round kitchen table.
‘Who are you, and why are you asking these questions about Pippa? You better not be a crazy stalker.’ She shook her finger at him as he took a seat at her kitchen table.
James smiled at the little old lady, who was now standing over him and clutching a red ceramic teapot.
‘My name is James Lalonde. I’m the editor of the Northampton Tribune. I’m looking for information to help with an investigation.’
‘Is Pippa in trouble?’
‘I think you should sit down to hear this.’
She shook her finger at him once more. ‘Don’t you mollycoddle me, young man.’
‘Mollycoddle?’
‘You’re not from here, are you? You sound French.’
‘Yes, I’m from western France. A city called Poitiers.’
She leaned towards him. ‘The word first appeared in a Jane Austen novel, and it means you’re treating me like a baby.’
‘I’m just trying to tell you that what I’m about to say will be upsetting. I’m trying to be kind.’
He gestured towards the seat in front of him. She sat down. The older woman rested the teapot on a giant cork coaster, then looked across the table at James.
‘Early this morning, Pippa Baker was found murdered. I’m helping the police to track down her killer by retracing her steps. Anything you could tell me about her would be useful.’
‘The police have just left. They weren’t interested in talking to me.’ The older lady glanced at him with a hint of scepticism in her eyes.
‘You caught me. I’m not being entirely honest.’ James handed the older lady his card. ‘I’m looking into Pippa’s death for a contact of mine. They want to know what happened to her.’
‘To be honest, I was hoping you were a new suitor, boyfriend, lover, or whatever the kids are calling it these days.’ She stared at the card.
‘You don’t think I’m too old for her?’
‘Well, you’re younger than the last guy,’ she said as James raised his eyebrows at her. ‘He must have been at least thirty-five. I think he was American. He had a funny accent.’
‘Do you know his name? I want to ask him a few questions.’
‘No, she wasn’t comfortable talking about her male companions.’
‘Did he stay often?’
‘He never stayed the night, but he visited frequently. I think he stopped by a week ago.’
James reached into his grey jacket, pulled out his phone, and opened a note. On the screen he typed: Older boyfriend/lover? 35-ish.
‘Oh, poor Pippa.’ The old lady’s eyes glazed over as she continued to stare at the card. ‘Pippa was American. She went to an expensive university in Massachusetts and had a large debt. Pippa would never pay off that student loan on her current salary.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. Pippa was also enrolled in a master’s degree programme at the local university. Everything is so expensive these days. I don’t know how this generation will survive.’
‘Ah, Mrs—’
‘Oh, sorry, dear. I’m Pearl Whitehall. But you can call me Mrs Whitehall. My husband died five years ago. That’s why I live alone next to Pippa.’
Mrs Whitehall picked up the teapot and poured James a cup of tea. She placed the teapot down, then she looked up and stared right through him. James looked behind him. There was nothing but an empty corridor.
‘Mrs Whitehall, are you remembering something?’
‘Oh my. I almost forgot to tell you,’ she said as she continued to stare ahead. ‘A few hours before Pippa left, that woman from the museum turned up. They had a massive argument. They always argued.’
‘Do you remember her name? I need more to go on. Can you describe her to me?’
‘It was her boss.’ She continued to stare over his shoulder. ‘Yes, it was Elizabeth. She was married to that wealthy aristocrat. I think his name was something Carmichael.’
‘Did you overhear them?’ James pulled out his smartphone and tapped the screen, then he slipped it back into the inside pocket of his jacket.
‘Although these walls are thin, the conversation was hard to decipher. They often yelled over the top of each other, and Pippa had that Boston accent. It was often difficult to understand her. You had to listen carefully. But from what I understood, Pippa might have put Elizabeth’s research at risk.’
‘Oh.’ James brushed his hands through his hair.
‘Yes, Elizabeth and what’s his name?’ Mrs Whitehall stared into her tea. ‘Alistair,’ she said, as she looked up at James.
‘Elizabeth’s husband was Alistair Carmichael, as in the Alistair Carmichael?’
‘You’ve heard of him?’
‘He’s obsessed with the Arthurian legend. My grandfather is a fan. I remember he did a book signing and dinner at Pierrefonds. From memory, the book was about the Arthurian Mythology and it mentions the links to Charlemagne and a few other historical figures. My grandfather read the book twice.’ James tapped the edge of his teacup, then smiled.
‘Well, he and Elizabeth had a bitter divorce, according to Pippa. And they’re now rivals.’ She leaned in closer towards James. ‘They’re fighting over some research. And poor Pippa was always caught up in the crossfire. They broke the golden rule of a great marriage.’
‘What’s that?’ He looked up at her.
‘Never, ever work with your significant other. Though it worked out well for my Peter and me.’
James nodded to himself as he picked up the cup and took a long sip of his tea. A fruity aftertaste lingered in his mouth as he rested the cup on the kitchen table.
‘She was right out there.’ Pearl pointed over James’s shoulder.
‘You mean Elizabeth?’ James looked in the direction the old lady had pointed.
‘Yes, then two hours later, Pippa left all dressed in black.’
‘Have you ever met Elizabeth?’
‘No, but from what Pippa told me, she sounded controlling and had a bit of a temper. She was quick to fly off the handle and yell.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Whitehall. You’ve been helpful,’ he said as he got up from the table.
‘If you have any more questions, feel free to come back and ask. You should stay and finish your tea. Don’t be in such a hurry.’
James glanced at his cup. A few more minutes won’t hurt. And the Carmichael Estate isn’t too far away. There’s plenty of time before my appointment. Pippa’s flat will have to wait.
‘Actually, there is one more thing,’ James said as he looked up and stared at the wall between Mrs Whitehall’s and Pippa’s flats. ‘You don’t happen to have a key to Pippa’s apartment?’