The Donaldson Case (8 page)

“Now, what can
I help you ladies with?” he asked, smiling vaguely in their direction after the
woman left.

“We just need
some headache tablets,” Janet said a bit desperately.

“Headache,
headache, headache,” the man muttered as he walked around the counter.
 
“This is what we have,” he told Janet,
gesturing to the appropriate shelf.
 

“We usually
shop in
Doveby
Dale,” Janet said as she looked over
the choices.
 
“But the store there
is shut for some reason.”

“Is it?”
George replied.
 
“I suppose there
must be a good reason.
 
Derby’s a
long drive for you, though.
 
Surely
you could have found headache tablets somewhere closer.”

“We were coming
up to visit a sick friend,” Janet told him.

“Oh, well, I
suppose that makes sense,” he said.
 

Janet selected
her usual brand and handed them to the man.
 
“I’ll take these,” she said.

“Very good,”
he replied.
 
He rang up her purchase
while still talking quietly to himself.
 
“Thank you,” he said loudly at the end.

“Thank you,”
Janet replied.
 
She glanced at Joan,
who shrugged, and then they exited the shop.

“Well, that
didn’t go well,”
Janet
said with a deep sigh as they
headed back to their car.

“On the other
hand, you won’t need to buy any more headache tablets for the next five years,”
Joan retorted.

Janet
chuckled.
 
“I know.
 
It was a dumb choice, but I couldn’t
think of anything else.
 
I suppose
I’m just not cut out to be a detective.”

“You did
better than I did,” Joan admitted.
 
“I didn’t do or say anything, after all.
 
And I’m the one who’s concerned about
Michael.”

“Yes, well, I think
we did our best.
 
Maybe we’ll have
to just leave everything up to the police,” Janet said.

“I really want
to meet Matthew Rogers,” Joan said in a thoughtful tone.
 
“Maybe he’s the one behind all of this.”

“He’s only
just arrived in the area,” Janet pointed out.

“Which makes
him the perfect suspect,” Joan replied.
 
“We don’t know him, so we don’t like him and we won’t mind if he’s
arrested.”

Janet
laughed.
 
“I suppose, when you put
it that way, he’s the perfect suspect.”

“Yes, he is,”
Joan
said.

Janet drove to
the restaurant they’d agreed to visit for lunch.
 
The food was excellent and Janet was
pleased to see her sister relaxing, at least a little bit.
 
The drive back to
Doveby
Dale was uneventful.

Chapter
Eight

“So what do we
do now?” Joan asked over their light evening meal.

“I suppose we
should be getting ready for our guests,” Janet replied.

“But what
about Michael?” Joan demanded.

“I don’t
know,” Janet said.
 
“We’ve talked to
all three of the suspects.
 
What did
you think of them?”

Joan’s reply
was interrupted by a knock on the door.
 

“I’ll go,”
Joan said, jumping up from the table.

“It must be
Michael,” Janet muttered as she took another bite of her sandwich.
 
Joan didn’t rush to the door unless she
was expecting him.

A few minutes
later Joan was back with Michael in tow.
 
“I really don’t want to interrupt your dinner,” he was protesting.

“It’s just a
light meal,” Janet told him.
 
“We
had a huge lunch in Derby.”

“Ah, yes, Owen
told me you’d visited when I rang him earlier,” Michael replied.

“We had a lovely
little visit with him,” Joan said.
 

“And did you
stop and see George as well?” Michael asked.

“We did,” Joan
confirmed.

“So, have you worked
out who has been stealing from the shop?” Michael asked eagerly.

Janet looked
at Joan and then both sisters shook their heads.

“They both
seem like nice men,” Janet said.
 
“I
find it hard to believe that either of them is capable of such a deplorable
thing.”

“Yes, I’m
finding it hard to believe anything bad about either of them,” Michael agreed.

“Has Robert
been back to see you?” Janet asked.

“He stopped by
with a few more questions earlier today,” Michael replied.
 
“Really, we just went back over the same
things again.”
 
He sighed deeply.
 
“I just feel so helpless.
 
There should be something I can do to
help Robert work this out.”

“Surely the
inspector from Derby is meant to be doing that,” Joan said.

“I suppose,”
Michael said with a shrug.
 
“But
they don’t seem to be getting very far, at least not yet.”

“It’s only
been a few days,” Janet said.
 
“Investigations take a long time.”

Joan shook her
head.
 
“On what are you basing that
assumption?” she demanded.

“In the books
I read, investigations take a long time,” Janet answered defensively.
 
“The detective always follows a few
false leads and suspects the wrong person for a while before he or she works it
all out.”

“Maybe they do
suspect me, then,” Michael said.
 
“As I’m the wrong person.”

“They always
catch the criminal in the end,” Janet said reassuringly.

“If only we
lived in a fictional world,” Joan said dryly.

Janet
flushed.
 
“I’m sure there are
similarities,” she muttered.

The trio
chatted about nothing much for several minutes while Janet and Joan finished
their meal.
 
Joan fixed tea for
everyone and put out biscuits, but it was clear that everyone was distracted.
 
Michael didn’t stay long.

“I’m sorry,
but I’m not very good company tonight,” he told the sisters as they walked him
to the door.
 
“Anyway, you’ll want
an early night with guests coming tomorrow.”

“What time are
you expecting our guests?” Janet asked her sister before she headed up to bed.

“Sometime
after midday and before three,” Joan replied.
 
“Mr. Nicholson was a bit vague when I
talked to him.
 
I suppose a lot will
depend on traffic.”

“I think I’ll
have a very lazy start tomorrow, then,” Janet said.
 
“Since we’ll have to be up early while
the guests are here.”

“That’s a good
idea.
 
Maybe I’ll try to lie in as
well,” Joan replied.

Janet knew
that her sister would probably be up at six, just as she nearly always
was.
 
Even in childhood Joan had never
been very good at having lazy mornings.
 
As she climbed the stairs, Janet was again reminded of how much she
loved
Doveby
House.
 
In their old cottage, with its single
bathroom situated between the two small bedrooms, Janet had always been woken
when Joan got up for the day.
 
Now,
the sisters were on separate floors and each had
her own
bathroom.
 
Janet could sleep even
when her sister couldn’t.

It was nearly
midday before Janet made it down the stairs the next morning.
 
She felt refreshed after several extra
hours of sleep and a long shower.
 
She found her sister in the kitchen.

“You look
terrible,” she greeted Joan, who didn’t look as if she’d slept at all.

“I couldn’t
sleep,” Joan replied, refilling her coffee mug as she spoke.

“Oh, I am
sorry,”
Janet
said.
 
She gave her sister a quick hug.
 
“Why don’t you go and lie down for an
hour or two before the guests arrive?” she suggested.
 
“I’ll do some work in the library where
I’ll hear the door if they arrive early.”

Joan shook her
head.
 
“I’ve had too much coffee
now,” she said with a small laugh.
 
“I’m just hoping the guests have an early night.”

“I’ll stay up
with them,” Janet said quickly.
 
“You can have an early night, regardless.”

“We’ll see,”
Joan replied.

Joan nearly
always insisted on doing most of the work for the bed and breakfast, and Janet
knew that was because Joan was the one who’d wanted to buy
Doveby
House in the first place.
 
For the
most part, Janet was happy to let her sister do the lion’s share of the
cooking, cleaning, and sitting up late with the guests, but now she felt guilty
as she looked at her sister’s tired face.
 
She didn’t argue, but she was determined that Joan was going to have an
early night.

“Are you still
hoping our guests might do some artwork for us?” Janet asked.

“It would be
wonderful,” Joan said.
 
“But after
our previous experiences with guests, I’m not getting my hopes up.”

Janet
nodded.
  
It was best not to
have any expectations of guests.
 
That way they wouldn’t be disappointed.

After an early
lunch that was also a late breakfast for Janet, the sisters did a last minute
tidy up of the house.
 
Janet
vacuumed down the
centre
of each room while Joan
dusted and plumped pillows.
 
They
were seated in front of the
telly
, trying not to
watch the clock, when someone knocked.

Joan rushed to
the door, while Janet followed at a more leisurely pace.

“Welcome to
Doveby
House,” Joan said.

Janet reached
the door and added her own welcome while she took a good look at the new
arrivals.

“I’m Fred,”
the man with long blonde hair and a ring through his nose said.
 
He nodded at the girl next to him.
 
“This is Molly.”

Molly’s head
was shaved and she also had a ring through her nose.
 
“Hey,” she said quietly.

Joan stepped
back to let the couple in.
 
Fred
dragged a large suitcase in behind him.
 
He was very thin, in skin-tight jeans and a T-shirt that had seen better
days.
 
Janet wondered if he could
actually lift the case that looked very heavy.
 

Molly was very
slender as well and was wearing an almost identical outfit, except her T-shirt
had long sleeves.
 
Janet could see
various tattoos on Fred’s arms and she wondered if Molly also had some.
 
There was no polite way to ask, of
course.

“You have your
choice of two guest rooms,” Joan said.
 
“I would suggest the larger one, but you can choose.”

“We’ll have to
see which one feels right,” Molly told her seriously.
 
“We’re creative.
 
The energy has to be right.”

“Yes, well, if
you’d like to follow me, I’ll show you the rooms,” Joan replied.

Janet followed
the trio up the stairs.
 
Fred
half-carried and half-dragged the case along as they went, bumping it up the
stairs.
 
Joan opened both guest
rooms and let the couple inspect them.

“This one,”
Fred said after several minutes.
 
He
pointed to the east room.
 
“It feels
better.”

“Of course,”
Joan murmured, handing him the key.
 
She locked up the west room.
 
“We’ll just leave you to freshen up,” she said.
 
“I’ll put the kettle on if you’d like
some tea in a short while.”

“Great,” Molly
muttered.
 
“We’ll be down.”

In the kitchen,
Joan looked at Janet and shrugged.
 
“They seem nice, I suppose,” she said hesitantly.

“I’ve never
met artists before,” Janet whispered.
 
“They’re sort of what I expected and sort of not.”

“I know what
you mean,” Joan replied.

It wasn’t long
before the couple joined them in the kitchen.
 
Joan quickly made the tea and set out a
large plate of biscuits.

“So you’re
both artists,” she said once everyone was settled in.

“We are,” Fred
confirmed.

“We’re quite
eager to find some paintings of local scenes for the guest rooms,” Joan
said.
 
“If either of you does
anything like that, we’d love to see it.”

Molly
snickered and shook her head.
 
“That
sort of art isn’t for us,” she told Joan.
 
“We didn’t come up here to paint the scenery.”

“So why are
you here?” Janet asked.
 
As soon as
the words were out of her mouth she felt as if it was a rude question, but the
couple didn’t seem to mind.

“We’re looking
for inspiration,” Fred told her.
 
“A
change of scenery always helps inspire our work.
 
A week here should recharge our creative
batteries.”

“What sort of
art do you do?” Janet couldn’t help but ask.

“I’m a poet,”
Molly said proudly.

“Really?
 
I’ve heard it’s frightfully hard to get
poetry published,” Janet said.

“I don’t worry
about such things,” Molly said airily.
 
“I write for myself, not for others.”

Janet bit her
tongue before she asked how the woman paid her bills.
 
Even she knew that was a question too
far.

“Let me share
something with you,” Molly said.
 
“A
poem that I wrote on our drive here.”
 
She shut her eyes and then cleared her throat.
 
“I’ve called it The Drive;

Long

Tedious

Tiring

Inspiring

Trees

Dogs

Soil

Snails

Biscuits

Darkness.”

She sat back
and took a sip of tea.
 

Janet looked
at Joan and then smiled brightly.
 
“That was lovely,” she said with as much enthusiasm as she could
muster.
 
It wasn’t much different to
her tone when she’d told her class of eight-year-olds how talented they all
were when they’d had their first attempt at writing a poem.

“Thank you,”
Molly said.
 
“But I’m quite
exhausted.
 
I think I might just go
and lie down for a bit.”

“She’s always
worn out after she has these creative bursts,” Fred told them.
 

“Are you a
poet, too?” Janet asked.
 
As soon as
the words were out of her mouth, she was sorry she’d asked.
 
What if he wanted to share something
with them as well?

“No,” he
said.
 
“I’m a sculptor.
 
I work with natural materials.”

“Like marble?”
Janet asked.

Fred
laughed.
 
“Like soil and twigs and
rocks,” he told them.
 

“How
interesting,” Janet managed to say.
 
She didn’t dare look at her sister.
 
She could only hope that the couple had paid in advance.
 
She couldn’t begin to imagine where
their income came from.

“So, do you
have a
telly
?” Fred asked as the sisters tidied away
the tea things.

“I can show
you to the television lounge,” Janet offered.

“Great.
 
I’ll just hang out there until Molly’s
feeling better.
 
Then we can head
out and explore
Doveby
Dale.
 
I’m sure it will be inspiring.”

With the man
happily settled in with the remote in hand, Janet headed back to the kitchen to
make sure Joan didn’t need any help.

“Well, we
could always try putting a copy of one of her poems on the wall, instead of a
painting,” Janet suggested as Joan started the dishwasher.

“I couldn’t
even manage to say anything,” Joan said with a shudder.
 
“It was just so, well,
incomprehensible.”