Dear Abby Cozy Mystery Collection 2 Page 6

  She didn’t make any effort to encourage Joshua to say more, taking advantage of the brief respite to get her thoughts into order. But Joshua didn’t need encouragement. On the contrary, he appeared to need a sounding board.

  “I thought this would be a straightforward death,” he said. “The local hospital takes care of doing toxicology screenings but they’re simple tests that look for the presence of drugs of abuse in the urine and the blood.”

  Abby cringed.

  “Sorry, is that too much information?” Joshua asked.

  “No. Go for it. I need to toughen up.”

  “It’s standard procedure to inform the next of kin of the death first before proceeding from there. If there needs to be an autopsy, the coroner then has to let them know.”

  Abby nodded. “And, in this case, there will be an autopsy because he died unexpectedly.”

  “Yes.”

  Abby knew there were exceptions. If there had been a pre-existing condition with no suspicious circumstances, then there wouldn’t be any need for an autopsy. “Did the next of kin have any issues with an autopsy being performed?” it occurred to ask.

  “Not exactly. There’s a forty-eight hour window of opportunity to lodge an objection and the son wanted the full forty-eight hours to decide. He claimed to be in shock, which is understandable.”

  “Has that raised suspicions?”

  Joshua brushed his hand along the light bristle on his chin. “Not really. In times of grief, people can act out of character. The pathologist ran basic tests and found enough evidence to proceed with an autopsy. That’s all we need for now.”

  “So, Bert Howington didn’t die of natural causes.” The thought hovered in Abby’s mind. She waited a moment to see if it would fade, but it remained in place.

  “At least we have a local hospital. Otherwise, the autopsy would have to be performed in Melbourne and that would take time. The evidence is not conclusive, but it’s enough to open an investigation.”

  “Joshua, I still get the feeling you’re trying to tell me something but you don’t really want to. Either that, or I’m too jet lagged to follow what you’re saying.”

  He leaned forward, his hands clasped, his head lowered. “The pathologist decided to send the samples to Melbourne for further testing.”

  Abby’s eyes widened. “And he did that because he’s suddenly in doubt of his abilities or because he thinks there is something suspicious?” Abby groaned. “I think I’m in denial.” In denial. Clinging to hope. Praying this would all go away.

  “Sorry.” Joshua nodded. “We have a murder on our hands.”

  Meaning…

  They had a killer on the loose.

  So much for trying to adjust to a different time zone again. Abby looked at her bedside clock. Two in the morning. She had managed to doze off for an hour but had sprung awake with a barrage of thoughts swimming around her mind.

  Unable to get back to sleep, she settled on the couch to drink a cup of chamomile tea and trawl through the internet searching for information on heart and blood pressure medicine.

  “I hope the police never have reason to look into my search history,” she murmured to herself.

  Taking a break, she checked her cell phone and read a message from Faith. “Where did you get to?” In the confusion of her mom finding out about Bert and Joshua telling her about the pathologist’s suspicions, she’d forgotten about Faith.

  Abby guessed Mitch had filled her in. She sent Faith a text apologizing for missing her the previous night and asking her to organize an extra cell phone, something she knew Faith would enjoy doing.

  She couldn’t cancel her mom’s virtual tour but she needed to stay in touch while doing her best to keep her mom in blissful ignorance of the real facts.

  Time to be creative, Abby thought.

  Closing her eyes for a moment, Abby tried meditating her way back to sleep. She had a flock of sheep parading around a paddock with an imaginary Doyle doing his best to herd them around. Then Abby remembered she lived in cattle territory, so she mentally replaced the sheep with cattle. Moments later, she felt a wet nose pressing against her cheek.

  “Hey, Doyle.” Abby stirred and lifted her hand up to her eyes. “Okay. I guess I actually fell asleep. It’s morning.” And she’d given herself a stiff neck. Sitting up, Abby tried to rub the kink out of her neck. She checked the time. Eight o’clock. Abby cringed and rubbed her neck again. When she tried to straightened, she yelped.

  She couldn’t straighten.

  “Great. I’m going to walk around looking lopsided.” All for nothing, she thought since she hadn’t come up with any new ideas to manage the out of control situation.

  “I’m going to stand under a hot shower. Hopefully, that will fix me.”

  An hour later, Abby tilted the cell phone and smiled. “Hey, Mom.”

  “I wondered when you’d connect me. I was just about to call Faith.”

  “No need. Here we are. Doyle and I, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.” Abby did her best to smile but, going by her mom’s expression, she had failed to look convincing.

  “Your smile is all crooked. What’s wrong, Abby?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I can see the ceiling beam behind you. Everything looks… tilted.”

  Making her way downstairs, Abby turned the cell phone around and tried to straighten it.

  “Now everything is tilting the other way,” her mom said. “Abby, what’s going on?”

  “Maybe it’s an earthquake.” Abby gave a silent groan.

  “All my eye and Betty Martin,” her mom said.

  Abby laughed as she recalled the game she sometimes played with her mom, each one trying to outdo the other with obscure sayings. “Huh?”

  “Now you’re trying to distract me,” her mom grumbled.

  “Honestly, I don’t remember.” But she knew it had to be an alternative way of saying nonsense. “You know the rules, I concede. Now you have to tell me.”

  “Fine. It’s a saying from the 1700s used to dismiss someone talking complete nonsense.”

  “And?”

  “And I don’t remember the rest… Hang on, it might have been the name of an eccentric Irish theater-owner and actress. Now, tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Nothing but a case of a stiff neck. I slept wrong on the plane and now I’m paying the price.” Abby peered inside the dining room and then remembered she no longer had to worry about the coast being clear. “Are you having breakfast too?”

  “Yes, and I can’t begin to tell you how strange it feels to eat cereal at six in the afternoon on a sweltering day when I’m craving a mimosa.” Her mom hummed. “You seem to forget the rules. Now it’s your turn to come up with an obscure saying.”

  Abby sat down by the window and tried to engage her brain. “Ah, Mitch.” She filled him in, explaining the game she played with her mom, and asked for suggestions.

  “That’s cheating,” her mom said.

  “No, it’s not. The rules allow for a helpline.”

  Mitch handed her the menu. “Here’s one. Flemington confetti. That should be a new one for you guys. Flemington is a suburb in Melbourne. It’s home to one of Australia’s oldest racecourses. That’s where the Melbourne Cup is held every year. You know, the race that stops a nation. The saying hails from the 1920s meaning worthless nonsense or gossip and has something to do with the mess of torn up betting slips left at the racecourse after a day’s racing.”

  “Flemington confetti,” her mom mused. “I can’t wait to use it. I could even tweak it to Kentucky Derby confetti.”

  “Oh, here comes Markus,” Abby said. “Maybe he has one too.”

  Hearing his name mentioned, Markus’ step faltered. He looked about ready to beat a hasty retreat when Mitch pulled him over. “A saying or word for nonsense.”

  Markus pushed out a breath. His eyebrows drew down as if in thought. “Moonshine on the water.”

  Abby and her mom were both familiar with it, but not
Mitch so Markus explained, “The moon doesn’t shine but actually reflects the light of the sun. The saying describes something fake or lacking real substance… Nonsense.”

  Abby’s mom added to that by saying, “I just looked it up. The saying dates back to 1468, so it’s probably one of the oldest ones.”

  Markus grinned. “So, what’s all this about?”

  “Abby is trying to pull the wool over my eyes,” her mom complained. “Again.”

  “I woke up with a stiff neck. What’s wrong with me not wanting you to worry about me?”

  Apparently, nothing. Unless Abby became so overprotective she ended up lying.

  Mitch handed the order book to Markus and sat down to join her for breakfast.

  “Ready to order?” Markus asked.

  “Toast, please.” Abby needed a break from all the big meals she’d been having or she’d suffer the consequences.

  “Could you be more specific?” Markus asked.

  “Bread. Sliced and toasted.”

  “We have some buttery croissants, fresh out of the oven,” Markus suggested. “If you really want toast, I’ll need you to tell me if you want white bread, whole meal, light rye, dark rye…”

  “The croissants sound tempting.”

  Markus grinned and strode off. “Coming right up.”

  “Looks like you’re not getting any breakfast,” Abby whispered.

  Mitch sighed. “Oh, I will get breakfast but it’ll be up to Markus to decide what he brings me.” Mitch nudged her under the table with his foot and signaled with his eyes.

  Abby turned toward the window and saw Faith striding toward the Gazette, her attention on the cell phone in her hand. Abby knew the precise moment Faith read the message she’d sent in the early hours of the morning. Faith swung on her feet and headed in the opposite direction, presumably to purchase another cell phone.

  Half an hour later, Mitch received a text. He looked up and smiled. “If you had to buy a new phone, would you care about the brand?”

  Abby shook her head. “Not particularly. Why do you ask?”

  Mitch bobbed his eyebrows up and down.

  Oh… Right. Faith had found a way to communicate with her through Mitch. “I think I’d be happy with anything I don’t have to spend too much time learning how to use.”

  “In other words, keep it simple,” Mitch said as he keyed in a text message forwarding the instructions to Faith.

  Sitting back, Abby sipped her coffee. For a moment, she forgot about the last twenty-four hours and enjoyed the peaceful silence.

  The Gloriana’s coffee had never been as good as Joyce’s. Made from the same beans, the Faydon brothers just hadn’t quite been able to pull it off. Abby knew they’d switched off when Joyce had shown them how to brew the perfect cup. At one point, Abby had suspected Joyce of leaving out a key step in the process, but she knew better now. “Is Frankie not working today?” The latest addition to Eden had recently started working at the pub. Her vast experience had included working as a barista and her skills were beyond compare. Even Joyce had been impressed.

  “She’s taking a couple of days off. Why do you ask?” Mitch grinned. “Is the coffee not up to scratch?”

  “I guess she hasn’t had time to train you.”

  “This is disturbing,” her mom said.

  Abby glanced down at her cup of coffee. It remained half full. Two more minutes and she would have finished it. Now it wouldn’t taste the same.

  “What is?” she asked.

  “While you were having breakfast, I decided to check my email. There’s one from Bert’s daughter. It’s an order to cease and desist.”

  Abby straightened. “Tommy-rot.”

  “It looks official,” her mom said.

  “Not if it’s an email. I’m sure an official cease and desist document has to come from a lawyer.” Abby leaned down and tried to read the printout her mom held up.

  Mitch cleared his throat. “Can you back up a bit and explain Tommy-rot.”

  Without taking her eyes off the cell phone, Abby said, “Tommy was a nickname for the poor-quality bread doled out to soldiers in the 18th century. In the Victorian era, it eventually came to mean nonsense.” Abby finished scanning the page and growled. “How did his daughter get Bert’s email?”

  “What does it say?” Mitch asked.

  “Bert Howington’s daughter is asking my mom to stop pestering him for that Beatrix Potter illustration he promised to give her.” According to her mom, Bert had sent the email the previous morning. That had been quick work on the daughter’s part. “How did she gain access to his emails so quickly?” And how could she take such prompt action? She’d only recently heard about her dad’s heart attack. “This is so wrong, on so many levels.”

  “Yeah, Tommy-rot,” Mitch said.

  “Disregard it, Mom. Bert’s email to you can count as a last wish. He wanted you to have the drawing.”

  “I won’t push for it,” her mom said. “This must be her way of dealing with her loss.”

  “Doesn’t it strike you as cold-blooded and calculating?” If Abby lost her mom, she would be catatonic. She picked up her cup of coffee but couldn’t bring herself to drink it. Bound to leave a bad taste in her mouth, Abby thought.

  Sitting back, she looked out the window and thought about Sebastian Cavendish, the current owner of the Eden Rise Gazette. She’d met him when she’d first arrived in Eden, but she hadn’t seen him since. It didn’t surprise Abby. The man had bigger fish to fry. As the owner of a national daily newspaper and stakeholder in other international businesses, he spent little time in the country. If anyone had a way of getting their hands on an original Beatrix Potter illustration, he would. She’d seen her mom’s eyes brighten at the prospect of owning one. If she wanted one, she would have one…

  “Mom, don’t worry about it. In fact, don’t even answer the email. If she gets in touch with you again, let me know. I’m sure there are other Beatrix Potter illustrations floating around the place.”

  “Abby, that’s the least of my concerns. I’m not entirely comfortable being labeled a gold-digger.”

  Abby leaned forward. “She actually said that?”

  “In the postscript.”

  Abby had a good mind to sue the woman for defamation. Gold-digger, indeed. Bert Howington had wanted to give away the illustration. It had been his to give.

  “Here comes Faith,” Mitch murmured.

  Faith strode in, all smiles and cheerful greetings for a not so sunny morning. She waited until she knew Abby’s mom couldn’t see her to wave the new cell phone Abby had asked for.

  Sitting down opposite Abby, she scrawled the new number on a piece of paper and added a brief note.

  Good to go, Abby read.

  “Where is everyone?” Faith asked. “Usually, the dining room is buzzing at this time of morning.”

  Hearing a commotion coming from the bar, Abby turned.

  A woman burst into the dining room. “Where is she?”

  Markus appeared behind her and warned, “This is a hostile free environment. If you don’t behave, I’ll have to ask you to vacate the premises.”

  “Yeah, you and whose army?” the woman asked.

  Mitch surged to his feet and strode up to her, his stride easy and, Abby imagined, his smile in place. “Is there a problem here?”

  “She’s Mr. Howington’s daughter,” Markus said. “She’s demanding to get access to his room, but the police called a few minutes ago and asked me to keep it locked. Now she’s after a gold-digger. I told her we don’t have any of those around.”

  “I know she’s here,” the woman roared. “And she’s not the only one.”

  Chapter Six

  “The woman must have hit the road at the crack of dawn to get here so early.” None of the tourists staying at the pub had made an appearance downstairs. Abby could only assume they too had received threatening emails from Mr. Howington’s daughter.

  After accusing Abby’s mom of being a gol
d-digger, Denise Lowe had gone on a rampage, demanding to be allowed access to her dad’s room. Luckily the police had shown up and had taken control of the situation.

  “I’m trying to make allowances for her grief,” Faith said, “But the woman is scary.”

  “Let’s hope she gets everything sorted out today,” Abby mused. “I wouldn’t want her staying at the pub. Doyle appears to be taking a day off, so I’d have to look over my shoulder…”

  “Are we setting up our office at the pub?” Faith asked.

  Abby gave a small distracted nod. “It’s where the action seems to be.” She knew Faith had the office phone diverted to her cell phone so if any calls came in they would go straight to her. Right on cue, her cell rang.

  “Eden Rise Gazette,” Faith chirped. “Ah, detective. Top of the morning to you. You’re on your way to the pub? I see. Oh… Oh, my. Well, let me tell you, there’s been quite a commotion here this morning. Our star reporter is on the scene. Yes, I’ll pass on the message.”

  “Let me guess.” Abby bobbed her head from side to side and winced. Knowing Joshua, he would have further instructions for her, drawing lines in the sand and whatnot. “He wants me to hold back on printing a story.”

  Faith leaned forward and checked Abby’s cell. Her mom had taken a break to have a coffee with her neighbor so they were in the clear.

  “Joshua wanted to know if you’d had a chance to speak with your mom.”

  “He must be stepping up the investigation.” Her mom had spent an entire morning with the tourist group. Maybe she had overheard something. She’d definitely had her eyes peeled, noticing people’s odd behavior. If Abby asked the right questions, her mom might remember noticing something else. But she’d have to be careful how she phrased her questions.

  The jig was by no means up, Abby thought. If this turned out to be a murder, her mom would never come to visit.

  Mitch brought them each a fresh cup of coffee and pulled up a chair. “Any news?”

  Abby looked over her shoulder and toward the bar. “The police managed to corral Denise Lowe at the other end of the bar. A police officer is standing guard outside Bert Howington’s room, or so Markus tells me. I haven’t been upstairs yet. I assume Joshua is going to have another look through the room.” She also assumed he had more news from the pathologist. She closed her eyes and sipped her coffee. “You might as well know, Joshua has opened up an investigation.”