It reminded me of the old adage from the few years I worked in Human Resources: “Once you’ve heard the two sides of the story, you’ll find the truth somewhere in the middle.”
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“Dickens,” I called as I came down the stairs, “Let’s go to the Cotswolds Way by the cricket pavilion. We never did get to walk there.” “I’d like to see the sheep, but are you sure you want to go back where we found Alice?” “No. In fact, I’m pretty sure I don’t, but we’ve got to face it someday— the sooner the better. Let me get my backpack, a water bottle, and your collapsible bowl, and we should be good to go.” Dickens barked. “I love it when you mention my special bowl. That tells me we’re going on an extra-long walk. Woo hoo!” “We’ll see how ready we both are,” I said as I latched his harness in the car. “We haven’t been on many long walks lately. Hmmm, could be that Bev took you on some really long ones when you stayed with her, but I haven’t done much more than the two miles to the inn.” Dickens barked, “Bev liked to walk for an hour or two, but we made lots of stops. As she said, unless it was during one of the miserable Atlanta heat waves, we hardly broke a sweat. We stopped for questions like, ‘What kind of dog is that? Does he bite? Can I pet him?’ And, of course, we’d stop for the tiny humans to hug me and rub my belly.” “Let’s hope you have as many admirers here,” I said, “so we get plenty of rest stops along the way.”
When I parked, I kept glancing at the pavilion as I unlatched Dickens and let him do his preliminary sniffing at the entrance to the Cotswolds Way. Should we go right to the building and get it over with, or should we walk first? Do we even need to go over there? Or want to? I could see the crime scene tape fluttering in the breeze. I’d thought that after a week, it’d be gone. I knelt to ruffle Dickens’s fur. “Aw heck, let’s just do it, as they say in the shoe commercial.” I went up to the tape and wondered about ducking beneath it to get closer, and while I was wondering, Dickens beat me to it. “Not much has changed. Except I don’t smell Alice anymore.” “Probably not,” I mumbled. “But I still see her lying there. What an awful sight that was. I guess I should be thankful I’m not dreaming about it the way I dream about Henry’s accident.
That’s enough, Dickens. I’ve faced my fears, and we can take our walk now. The real test will come when Peter next has a cricket match. Will I be able to sit through that?” I teared up as I wondered whether there’d be any cricket in Peter’s future. It was a beautiful fall morning. The air was crisp and cool but not too cold, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. We met lots of walkers and ramblers, as long-distance walkers were called in the UK. Dickens finally got to see some sheep up close, and he could easily have gotten lost in their midst. “Dickens, I bet you didn’t know that in the Pyrenees mountains, Pyr puppies are raised with herds of sheep and blend right in with their new families. From the time they’re pups, they protect their herds. All it takes is that deep, throaty bark to scare away wolves or anything else. Are you my protector?” “You know it, Leta,” he barked. “I’ve got the bark thing down, right?” “That’s for sure. I wish you weren’t quite so good at it, though. You realize you sometimes make me crazy with your barking, right?” “Sounds like a personal problem to me. Barking’s part of my winning personality, right along with my love of roaming and the way I can think for myself.”
“Think for yourself. Is that how you describe your tendency to ignore my commands? Your tendency to come only when you feel like it?” “Harrumph,” he huffed. “And your point is?”
I laughed at his indignation. It was time to turn back. We’d done a brisk two to three miles out, only slowing down for Dickens to meet sheep and greet walkers who just had to hug him. As we approached the verge where my taxi was parked, we heard someone call, “Leta, Dickens, hi there.” I looked around to see Thom standing in front of the cricket pavilion with his bike. I wasn’t eager to go that way a second time, so I waved and motioned him our way. “Out for a ramble?” he asked as he scratched Dickens behind his ears. “Hardly,” I laughed. “Those long-distance walkers are hardcore. I think we may have gotten in five or six miles, which is gracious plenty for us. I suspect they average fifteen miles a day. What are you up to? No cycling tours today?” “No, a family canceled at the last minute. I’m sure going to miss the tip I would’ve gotten, but I’m making the most of a day off by getting in a ride on my own. This is one of my favorite routes. Have you done any cycling since you’ve moved here?” I hesitated. “No. Maybe someday I will.” I could hardly bring myself to utter the next sentence. “I haven’t been back on a bike since Henry died on his; just haven’t been able to bring myself to do it.” “Oh hell, Leta,” Thom said. “I knew about the accident. I just never thought about how it would impact you getting on a bike. Sorry I brought it up.” “It’s okay. It’s been nearly two years, and I thought I might be getting closer to trying. But, with Peter’s accident . . . let’s just say bicycling isn’t high on my list right now.” “I can only imagine. On a different topic, I’ve spoken with Professor Bartholomew about the letter. He’s digging to see what he can come up with as far as value and whether there’s any talk in the collector community about Barrie letters. And, oh, you haven’t sent me a picture yet.” “Oh, it slipped my mind. Maybe later today after I go to the hospital. Have you heard Peter has regained consciousness?” “No. That’s great news. Any prognosis on his recovery?” “Hopefully, I’ll hear good news when I get there. Gemma was going to try to talk to him this morning to see what he remembered about being run off the road. When he first woke up, he couldn’t remember anything about the accident.” Thom looked surprised. “Is that typical with head injuries?” “On all the television medical dramas, it is, though I don’t know if that means it’s so in real life. But he may be able to give Gemma some information about the break-in the night before, even if not about the accident. All this stuff seems somehow related.” “Interesting,” he said. “You know, you never did tell me where you found Belle’s book. Was it just buried somewhere in her cottage?” “Believe it or not, I found it on a bookshelf at the Olde Mill Inn.” “Blimey. What on earth was it doing there? Who would have put it there?” “I can only guess. Tell me what your young Oxford-educated brain thinks. How could it have gotten there?” He looked taken aback at my question. After a pause, he blurted, “Alice.” “Ah-ha,” I said. “And what makes you think that?” “Alice was in and out of everybody’s homes and a few businesses. Who else would have access to Sunshine Cottage and the inn, access no one would question?” He seemed to be putting it together. Hmmm. I never thought to ask Thom what he knew about Alice. It’s not like she cleaned his rooms above his uncle’s shop, and his name wasn’t in her notebook. He could have run into her at the Book Nook, though. And with his knowledge of rare books . . . “Thom, how well did you know Alice?” “Not all that well. Mostly I saw her at the Book Nook when I worked late to change out displays or place orders. Since I’ve graduated and I’m available for more hours, Beatrix has made a habit of going home as soon as the shop closes. Can’t say I blame her, but it was those nights I worked late that I’d see Alice. She cleaned once a week after we closed.” “Ever discuss rare books or collecting?” I asked. “Why do you ask?” “Like you, I think it could have been Alice who took Belle’s Peter and Wendy book, but why? Would she know how valuable it was? I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but Alice was stealing things like knickknacks from her clients. A rare book is a horse of a different color, though.” Thom frowned. “Um, as in it’s one thing to take a box of bric-a-brac to a flea market to hawk, but books are a step up?” “Exactly!” Thom confirmed my thoughts. “Hmmm. You know she used to sell used books in Manchester, right? Not in a shop, but in a flea market? She probably had some knowledge of books, but it’s hard to say how much.” “You’re right, she probably did. Good grief, I feel as though my brain is about to short-circuit. I’d best get home so we—or I—can get cleaned up and get to the hospital. I bet it would cheer Peter up to see Dickens, but that’s not gonna happen. “Thanks for listening. And again, I can’t wait to hear the update from your professor. Enjoy the rest of your ride.” I was explaining to Dickens once again why he couldn’t visit Peter when my phone rang. Wendy didn’t miss a beat after I said hello. “Leta, can you feed Tigger?” “Well, hello to you too,” I said. “And sure, I can feed Tigger.” “Mum and I completely forgot about the poor thing. Guess we haven’t had him long enough. And while you’re there, can you grab a jumper for Mum, please? It’s freezing up here.” “OK. Your timing is perfect. I was on my way out the door to drive to the hospital. See you in a bit.” Tigger was understandably happy to see me and was full of grumbles. “Where are my new humans? I’m hungry, and I’m lonely. Please tell me they’re coming back.” I fed him and freshened his water bowl and told him Wendy and Belle would be back soon. He probably wasn’t accustomed to being on his own overnight, and now he’d been by himself two nights, the night Alice was murdered and again last night. Poor little guy’s world had been turned upside down. I locked up and drove to the hospital and was parking when my phone rang. It was Thom. That was quick. “Leta,” he said. “I’m working to dig up the information you requested, but I need a bit more detail from you. I don’t think I can explain to you what to look for, so is it possible for me to meet with you to look at the book again?” “I guess so,” I replied. “I’m hesitating because I’m at the hospital now and not sure when I’ll get home. How flexible can you be about time?” “Since the cycling tour was canceled, I’m free all day. Why don’t you ring me when you’re on your way home, and I’ll meet you at your cottage?” I agreed and hung up as I spotted Wendy in the waiting room. I hugged her and asked for the latest. “Peter’s getting stronger but still doesn’t remember the accident. He was able to tell Gemma that the intruder from the night before wore a hoodie, but how helpful can that be? Seems as though every bad guy these days wears a hoodie, along with every school kid.” “Shoot, Wendy,” I said. “You’re right. Even I have a hoodie. Of course, I’d be easily identifiable because mine says ‘GRITS, Girls Raised in the South’ in bright bold letters. I daresay it may be the only hoodie of its kind in the UK.” “Leta, it never ceases to amaze me the things we have in common. I once had a sweatshirt with the GRITS logo. I think I got it on a beach trip.” We were laughing over that coincidence when Belle returned to the waiting room. The hospital would only allow one visitor at a time in Peter’s room in ICU, so Wendy and Belle were taking turns. “His broken collarbone is pretty painful, but other than that, he’s in pretty good shape and may get to go home tomorrow,” said Belle. “Oh, that’s great news,” I exclaimed. “Shall I see if I can organize a schedule for a few of us to bring meals? I’m sure Toby, Rhiannon, Beatrix, and Libby will sign on.” Wendy laughed at my suggestion. “Leta, I know people do that in the States, but I’ve never known anyone to do it here.” “Well then, it’s time our friends learned some new tricks.” Belle piped up. “Sounds like a grand idea to me. Wendy and I can certainly cook, but we’ve got our hands full contacting Peter’s customers and trying to find someone to fill in for him at his garage. So far, the customers we’ve called have been understanding, but their patience will wear thin if they can’t get their cars repaired soon.” “No worries,” I said. “I’m on it. By the way, Tigger sends his regards and says hurry home.” I showed her a photo of him curled up in her chair in the sitting room. “Looks like he’s keeping my seat warm. I’ll be happy to get back to him.” We chatted a bit longer, and then Wendy and Belle let me take a turn with Peter. “Boy, you’re a sight for sore eyes,” I said as I entered his room. His voice was weak. “I’m a lucky bloke. Could easily have been a goner. Thanks for looking out for Mum and Wendy.” “Don’t mention it. They’d do the same for me. Rumor has it you may get home Sunday, and I’m pretty sure folks will be lined up to wish you well. Everyone wants to see for themselves that you’re going to be fine. Think you’ll be healed by cricket season?” “Since it won’t start until April, my collarbone should be fine. It’ll be getting back in shape that will be the challenge. Got to get back on my bike.” “Well, perhaps we can do that together. You can be my inspiration to face my fears. If you can get back up, surely I can,” I murmured. His eyes were at half-mast, so I took my leave. I told Belle and Wendy that Thom was coming by my house later to take a look at her copy of Peter and Wendy and the letter I’d found in it so that he’d have all the information he needed to continue his research. “Ladies, I haven’t told him about The Family at Sunshine Cottage, but do you want me to show him that book too?” I asked. Belle and Wendy looked at each other and then back at me. It was Belle who answered. “If learning more about the books can help us figure out what happened to Alice, then I think we should. It’s kind of the lad to offer his assistance.” “Well, I’m clueless as to how exactly the books and letters connect to Alice’s murder and Peter’s accident, but I think they do. I just wish I knew what Alice was doing at the cricket pavilion,” I said. “And I sure hope Gemma is having better luck coming up with a theory of the case than I am.” In the parking lot, I leaned against my car and called Gemma. I was eager to speak with her and find out what progress she’d made, but I got her voicemail. Next, I called Thom. He said he could be at my house in an hour. If he was lucky, I might still be coherent by then. I was fading fast. “Finally, you’re home,” meowed Christie. “Can we sit in the garden, purty please?” “Why yes, little girl." I rubbed her head. “Let me make a cup of tea, and we’ll both sit in the sun.” I’d already let Dickens out, and he was contentedly rolling in the grass. I was carrying my cup to the garden when I heard Timmy calling my name. He was running toward the school bell by the front door when I intercepted him. “Timmy, would you like to meet Christie?” “Oh, yes, yes, yes!” “Then I’m glad I caught you before you could ring the bell. Do you know why?” “Um, no.” “Christie’s scared of loud noises, so when you want to see her, you have to knock on the door, okay?” I hoped he’d understand this new rule. I’d enjoyed hearing the bell all these months, but he was never going to meet the cat if he continued ringing it every time he came over. He looked a bit crestfallen. “Yes, Mrs. Parker. Where is she?” I led him around to the garden, where Christie was sprawled on the warm stone patio washing her face. I cautioned Timmy to approach her slowly so she wouldn’t dart away, and I pleaded with Christie to stay put. “Is this the rascal who rang that awful bell?” she asked. “Yes, but give him a chance,” I cajoled. “He’s a sweet boy, and he and Dickens have become friends.” “Christie, he helps me feed Martha and Dylan,” said Dickens. “And, if you let him, I bet he’ll rub your little black belly.” Timmy sneezed and gently touched Christie with his fingertips, and when she responded by rolling and stretching, he laughed. “Oh, you’re pretty,” he said and sneezed again. “Timmy, you’re not allergic to cats, are you?” “No, Mummy says I’m getting a cold. I had to be good and ask nicely so she’d let me come out today.” Dickens bounded over and licked his face. Timmy quickly abandoned the cat, and soon, he and Dickens were both rolling in the grass as Christie looked on disdainfully. “Such immature behavior,” she said, “but I guess boys will be boys.”
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Okay, I admit it, I talk to my cats--one or two answers back... None of my cats actually talk to me and I can understand it in English... But in Bells, Trails & Murder a dog and a cat easily communicates. 'Cause the main character understands animal languages!
No, I am not kidding... But it is indeed one of the reasons I loved this book! Because of course it is a cozy mystery where all things are possible and the only sure thing you can count on is that a murder will take place, and an amateur detective will solve the mystery whodunit...
Rounding the corner of the pavilion, I saw the scene in flashes—Dickens licking an outstretched hand, a black dress, a white collar, red curly hair, a person sprawled facedown in the grass. Oh, no, no, no. Don’t let that be what I think it is. A body? Please, not a body. Oh my God, can it be Alice? I called Dickens to my side and coaxed him to sit before I moved closer. I’d watched enough BBC murder mysteries to know I shouldn’t disturb the scene, but I had to check for a pulse.
Alice was well-known around town... In fact she was in demand--for her hard work and, especially, baking. And, when she was found dead, word spread rapidly through the town...
Alice has been one of those who cleaned for people, cleaned homes, waited on people, or provided food, at local events sponsored by one of her clients... She had gathered up what remained that night, to take home with her that night, and was probably on her way home, but, instead, she had gone to Cotswolds Way Pavilion, apparently to meet someone... Was that the murderer?!
Leta was out walking with Dickens and had found the body. Leta had gone over to see if somebody had been injured, but was shocked when she saw it was Alice... She called Gemma, the local police officer who came and briefly talked to Leta, pulling her away from the body and then leaving her near her car to wait until somebody could come to take her statement... She couldn't hear what was said... But Dickens could! And he immediately shared all that was happening with Leta... Reminds me of that old saying, "don't you wish you could be a fly when that was happening?" Well, small towns are known for gossiping and sharing everybody's business, but this was not gossip! It was murder!
Of course, close friends of Leta immediately started asking her for details. So Leta shared what she was able and mentioned that she had seen something blue clasped in Alice's visible hand... Later she learned that it appeared to be the handle to a purse...coins on the ground had also been found...
And of everything that was discussed, little by little people were sharing their personal thoughts about Alice... Mainly about the possibility of her stealing while she was working in people's homes or businesses. Leta had been able to get into Alice's home and had found a piece of a collection which her late husband had given her! Another asked whether anybody else had noticed that she was dressing better, better clothing and wearing jewelry... Soon, everybody was realizing that Alice was not the loveable and friendly neighbor who just happened to help them out when they needed it...
Who was Alice really ? And who had caught her with something she'd done--bad enough to take her life? Leta figured she'd start talking to the animals around town to learn more! Humans included, LOL!
Cat (and dog) stories in cozies are among my favorite types of books... This is just book 2 of this series, so do think about starting with the beginning and see how much fun it is to talk to the animals...
What I liked best? How the killer was found and how Leta's dog and cat were part of the scuffle! Animals love us enough to protect their home mates!
GABixlerReviews
Thank you for the lovely review! So glad you enjoyed the book!
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