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

Giles’s face flushed pink. “What do you want, Tiffany?” he asked.

Molly felt her eyebrows shoot up. This was Tiffany? The jilted girlfriend?

Tiffany made a pouty face. “Giles, honeybun, you really do need to lighten up.” She laughed lightly, and then for the first time seemed to notice Tessa. “What are you doing here?”

Tessa pursed her lips. Molly could tell she wasn’t pleased by the interruption. “I told you the other day Brenda had invited us to tea,” she said. “Why are you here?”

Tiffany ignored the question. “I’d quite forgotten about your niece,” she said. She reached out her hand to Molly. “It’s Molly, right? And this must be your husband, Matt. I do apologize. I’m Tiffany Hadley. I’ve heard so much about you.”

Molly said, “We met your cat this morning.”

“Naughty kitty,” Tiffany said. “She’s always running over to Tessa’s.”

Brenda cleared her throat. “What do you want, Tiffany?”

“Typical Brenda, always getting to the point,” Tiffany said. She had a Gucci bag slung over her shoulder and rummaged through it, taking out a small wooden jewelry box. “I’ve been thinking about what to do with my lover’s eye,” she said. “What do you think, Giles? Shall I sell it?”

Giles’s face went from pink to fire engine red. “How dare you barge in here,” he said angrily. “This is a private matter between us, and has nothing to do with anyone else.”

Silence descended on the room, and it soon became awkward. Molly tried breaking the ice. “I’ve heard about lover’s eyes,” she said, “but I’ve never seen one in person. May I?”

Tiffany handed her the box. It was old, like the Minton china, and in equally excellent condition. Inside she found a small ivory brooch, an inch long and a half inch wide, resting on a purple velvet cushion. The brooch was framed with two rows of purple amethyst stones and pearls, and on its ivory surface a miniature portrait of a single eye was painted in very fine detail.

Molly showed it to Matt. “You can see it’s a woman’s eye in the portrait,” she said “See the small tendril of hair over her brow? It’s lovely.”

“Why would anyone want to paint a portrait of their eye?” he asked.

“Most often for sentimental reasons,” Molly said. “People gave them to family members or friends, and often to secret lovers. That’s why in more modern times they’ve been called lover’s eyes, but traditionally they’re called eye miniatures. There are mourning eyes, too.”

He looked horrified. “Of dead people?”

Molly nodded. “You have to remember, they were popular in a time before photography. It was a way to remember someone.”

“No offense,” Matt said, “but I think it’s a little creepy.”

“Well, don’t worry, the lady in this portrait was alive when it was painted,” Molly said. She closed the lid and handed the box back to Tiffany. “Have you had it appraised?”

“No. Should I?”

“Yes, if you want to sell it, you should,” Molly said.

Tiffany glanced at Giles, who looked furious. “Giles wants me to give it to him, but I’ve refused. I don’t see why I should give it to him. He gave it to me as a gift, and that means it’s mine. I have every right to keep it, sell it, or throw it away. Don’t you agree?”

Molly kept her mouth firmly shut. The last thing she wanted to do was get in the middle of what appeared to be an ongoing argument.

Giles said, “Excuse me, I’m standing right here. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t talk about me as if I’m not in the room.” He paused. “I’m tired of arguing about this. Get it appraised, if you want, and name the price. I’ll pay it.”

Tiffany smiled triumphantly and slipped the box into her purse. “I’ll stop by the shop to discuss the price. Have your checkbook ready,” she said. “And don’t pout. It’s an ugly look on you.”

“You’ve gotten exactly what you want,” Giles said. “So take a bow and go away.”

“Why should I? I’d love some tea and cake.”

Brenda clapped her hands, startling everyone. “Enough,” she said. “Tiffany, I will not allow my guests to be subjected any longer to your rantings and uncouth behavior. You should be ashamed of yourself. If you don’t leave right now, I will call the police.”

Tiffany laughed. “You have a lot of nerve calling me uncouth. You’ve always been a nasty piece of work. You wouldn’t even be living in this house if your husband hadn’t ripped off so many gullible people with his crappy cars. You live in a make-believe world, Brenda, and one of these days, it’s all going to come crashing down around you.”

Giles took a step toward her. “Leave now, before I throw you out!” he yelled.

Tiffany hooked her Gucci purse over her shoulder. Molly noticed Penelope was sitting quietly on the settee, staring out the window, as if she wanted to jump right through it and run for the hills.

Tiffany sauntered past Giles, and Molly heard her say, “I’ll be in touch. Get ready to pay.”

Chapter 3

Early the next morning, Molly crept downstairs alone. She intended to read the newspaper and have a cup of coffee before anyone else got up. Opening the front door, the air smelled sweet and clean, and the bushes and trees were wet. It had rained overnight. The newspaper was wrapped in a plastic bag and thrown halfway up the path. Too far to reach without shoes. Leaving the door open, Molly turned to slip them on.

“Yow!”

Gingersnap ran into the foyer behind her. The cat’s paws and fur were wet, and her eyes looked huge.

“Well, good morning,” Molly said

“Yow!”

“Hush,” Molly scolded. “Not so loud. You’ll wake everyone.”

“Yow!Yow!”

“If you don’t stop, I’ll send you home.”

“Yow!”

“Okay, fine,” Molly huffed. “Have it your way.”

Gingersnap ran into the sitting room.

“Yow!”

Molly went in after her. “Really? You think you can escape? I hate to break it to you, but I’ve got a lot of experience with cats.” She got down on her knees and Gingersnap came over to her tentatively. The second she was within arm’s reach, Molly grabbed her and picked her up. “I warned you.” She took her outside and set her down on the path. But before she could close the door, Gingersnap ran back into the house.

Molly frowned. “What’s wrong with you?”

Gingersnap stared at her from the doorway.
“Yow!”

“Go home. Come back later, when everyone is awake.

Gingersnap sat down on her haunches and licked her paw. Molly picked up the newspaper and went into the house. The cat moved out of reach. She was a fast learner.

“Are you afraid to go home alone?” She looked out at the quiet street. She hadn’t seen a car, and no one was walking a dog. All she could see was White Dove Cottage down the road, and nothing stirred there. “If there’s a dog or fox on the loose, I can protect you,” Molly said. She got her jacket from the closet. Gingersnap was watching her skeptically. “Come on, scaredy-cat,” she said.

To her surprise, Gingersnap went out the door and trotted down the path. As Molly followed her to Tiffany’s cottage, the cat glanced over her shoulder from time to time, as if to make sure she was still there. When they reached the end of the driveway, she ran up it and around the side of the house. Molly found her standing by the back door.

“Yow!”

Molly knocked and waited. When no one answered, she turned the door handle. The door opened easily and Gingersnap pushed through and ran inside. Molly poked her head into the kitchen. It was neat and clean, but the green linoleum floor and pink appliances were dated.

“Hello? Is anyone home?” she called out, but there was no reply.

Feeling like an intruder, Molly hesitated to go in any further. She was about to leave the cat in the house when she heard Gingersnap yowl—a deep, frightening cry that sent a shiver down her spine. Molly knew she couldn’t leave without checking on her.

“This better not be a wild-goose chase,” she muttered. If Tiffany had gone out for milk and suddenly came home, how was she going to explain being in her house? “The cat made me do it” didn’t seem like a good excuse.

But it wasn’t a wild-goose chase. She found Gingersnap standing in the dining room doorway. The chandelier was lit. The table had a plate on it with a half-eaten sandwich and a mug that said
Hairstylist by Day, Diva by Night
. It took Molly’s brain a brief moment to register that a chair had toppled over on the floor, and Tiffany was lying beside it. She ran over and knelt beside her, lifting her hand, checking for a pulse. Tiffany’s eyes were wide open, but she stared sightlessly, and Molly knew she was dead. She looked at Gingersnap, who was still in the doorway, her tail tucked between her legs, her eyes half closed.

“I’m sorry, baby, she’s gone,” Molly said quietly.

She sat back on her heels, her mind reeling. How was this possible? Tiffany was too young to die suddenly. Looking around the room, she didn’t see any signs of a struggle, and Tiffany didn’t appear to have any marks or bruises. She got up and looked at the mug and plate. She’d been drinking tea and eating a fish filet sandwich with lettuce and tomato, and for some reason she’d toppled off her chair and died.

Molly took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Her legs were trembling, but she knew she had to stay calm and keep a straight head. She had to call the police. Realizing she’d left her cell phone at Tessa’s, she went back to the kitchen, where she’d seen a vintage yellow rotary phone on the wall, but when she lifted the receiver, there was no dial tone. It was all for show. Back in the hall, she found Tiffany’s Gucci bag on a table by the door, her cell phone inside.

Molly stared at the screen. What was the emergency number to dial in England? She knew it wasn’t 911 because she’d read about it in the guidebook before they’d left home, but her mind was a blank.

Gingersnap yelled, “Yow, yow,
yow!”

“That’s it!” Molly said, and dialed 999.

Chapter 4

As soon as Molly opened the door to let in the two emergency responders, Gingersnap shot past her like a bullet, running across the lawn before Molly could even call her name. She felt helpless as she watched the cat disappear into the woods. A few minutes after the ambulance crew arrived, a police car pulled up the driveway and a uniformed officer introduced himself as Constable Markesan. Molly told him where he could find the ambulance crew. She had no intention of going inside the house to watch what they were doing.

There was a little raggedy garden with an iron bench near the front door. The seat was still damp from the rain, but Molly had a wad of tissues in her pocket and dried it off. When Constable Markesan reappeared, he said bluntly, “The young lady is dead. If you don’t mind, I need to get some information.”

“Of course,” Molly said.

She answered all of his questions, from her name to how she’d ended up at the cottage and found Tiffany. Constable Markesan wrote everything down in his notebook, and when she’d finished, he said, “Do you need medical attention?”

“No. I’ll be all right,” Molly said. In truth, she felt chilled and shaky, but she wasn’t sure if it was from shock or because her jacket was too thin for the cold morning air. She realized she was still clutching Tiffany’s cell phone in her hand. She wanted to call Matt to let him know what had happened, but she didn’t want to use the phone in case the police needed it as evidence. “Do you know how she died?” she asked.

“A detective and the coroner will be here shortly,” he said, unwilling to voice an opinion.

She was about to ask if she could borrow his phone when a black four-door sedan pulled into the driveway and parked behind the police cruiser. An older man with thinning gray hair got out stiffly, and Constable Markesan went down to meet him. Molly couldn’t hear what was being said, but the man listened attentively and nodded his head a few times. Finally, he glanced at Molly and walked up the path toward her. She noticed he had a slight limp and favored his right leg. He had a pudgy waistline, a wide nose that reminded her of a bulldog, and on closer inspection, she saw his navy blue suit was wrinkled.

“Detective Inspector Devon Boyle,” he said, shaking her hand. “Constable Markesan tells me you’re American.”

“Yes, that’s right,” Molly said. “I’m visiting my great-aunt, Tessa Paulson. She lives down the street at Foxcoat Cottage.”

“I’m told the deceased is Tiffany Hadley. How do you know her?”

“Actually, I don’t know her,” she said. “I only met her briefly yesterday. We were invited to tea at Channing Hall. Her cat, Gingersnap, showed up at our front door this morning and led me to her.”

“Must have been a shock, finding her like that,” he said. “Where’s the cat?”

Molly was surprised he cared about the cat when there was a dead body in the house. “She ran into the woods when I opened the door,” she said.

“Well, who can blame her? Poor thing must have been frightened.”

“She was pretty scared,” Molly said. She didn’t want to admit she was a little scared herself. “I didn’t see any signs of struggle, but I didn’t check the entire house. You should know the back door was open when I got here.”

He looked at her curiously. “What do you do for a living, Ms. Appleby?”

“You can call me Molly,” she said. “I write for an antiques and collectibles magazine.”

“You’re a reporter?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm. I thought for a moment you might be in law enforcement.”

“I’ve had some experience with the police,” Molly said. “I helped out with a few murder investigations.”

“Writing about antiques? How interesting. Tell me about that.” Molly gave him a brief summation of the cases she’d worked on, and when she was done, he looked at her thoughtfully. “You have experience in these matters. What’s your opinion of what happened? Do you think Tiffany was murdered?”

Molly opened her mouth and quickly shut it. She wasn’t sure she wanted to give her opinion to a policeman in a foreign country. Could she be in some kind of trouble? He seemed inclined to wait for her to answer, however, so eventually she said, “She seemed healthy when I met her yesterday.”