Murder at the B&B

CHAPTER ONE

Eleanor Pigeon, owner of Pigeon Bed and Breakfast in Worthing, a quaint

village on the east coast, had cooked dinner for herself and Jim Pollock, a

middle-aged man who was at present suffering from severe depression. Jim

wasn’t a tenant at her bed and breakfast, but he was a troubled local man who

Eleanor liked to look after now and then. Today, his doting parents, Anne and

Clive, had dropped him off at the bed and breakfast before going on a

weekend break in the country. He would be staying here for a few nights.

“It will be good to get away for a few days,” said Anne to Eleanor as Jim

placed a bottle of whiskey on the kitchen table. He was a big man with broad

shoulders and an unkempt beard. He had a friendly face and was, indeed, a

friendly enough man, but he was becoming ever more dependent on his

parents. Since depression had really set in a few years earlier, he relied on his

parents for everything. Sometimes, his illness got so bad that it even took

them some effort to convince him to bathe. Outsiders thought he was strange

and assumed that he had learning difficulties, but those who knew him knew

that he just couldn’t shake off the death of his best friend which had occurred

a decade ago. Since then, he had become remarkably insular, and there were

even rumors that he had developed an invisible friend.

“Now, Jim, you just make yourself comfortable,” said the always kind and

caring Eleanor, who was by now reaching the age of retirement. Jim sat down

at the table and took hold of his knife and fork. He was already ready to eat.

“You just be good for Eleanor, Jim,” said his mother. She kissed him on the

forehead. He didn’t react. “You be just as good as you have been for these past

few days, Jim. He has been good, hasn’t he, Clive?”

“Oh, aye,” said Clive, flickering his gaze between the oven - where the most

sensual of smells were emitting - and Eleanor. His forehead was drenched in

sweat, and he seemed like a bag of nerves. “Aye, he’s been good, Mrs.

Blackbird.”

“It’s Pigeon, Clive. Mrs. Pigeon,” said Anne.

“Oh, Jim’s never any trouble, are you?” said Eleanor, rubbing his shoulders

affectionately. “We’re always happy to have him here.”

Anne smiled.

“Now, Anne,” began Eleanor, “you’re off to visit the country for a few days,

then?”

Anne broke into the most relieved of smiles. Her whole body relaxed, her

shoulders dropped.

“I just can’t tell you how much I need this break,” she said. “Honestly, El,

Clive and I have been looking forward to this for months. Haven’t we, Clive?”

Clive was too busy dabbing the sweat off his forehead. His wife nudged him.

“I was just saying to El that we’ve been looking forward to this break for

months?”

“Oh, aye. These last few months have been tough. Especially these last few

days. Haven’t they?”

Anne grimaced.

“No, Clive, these last few days with Jim have been lovely,” she said, glaring at

her husband with a certain insolence.

“Oh, aye. Lovely,” he said nervously, before dabbing his forehead again.

“Anyway,” said Eleanor, clapping her hands together. “I suspect you two

should be on your way?”

Once Anne and Clive had left the bed and breakfast, Eleanor got to work with

laying the scrumptious food on the table. She was proud to be able to say that

she was entirely self-sufficient, which meant that she grew her own

vegetables. She always included these veggies in the guests’ dinner and they

all loved them. Indeed, many people who weren’t even staying at the bed and

breakfast visited and paid for dinner just so they could delight in her

homegrown vegetables that were famous throughout the entire village.

Today, she had prepared carrots, sprouts and broccoli to go alongside pieces

of chicken for herself and Jim. Both plates were coated in thick gravy, and she

also provided them both with homemade bread. It was a feast, and one which

Jim had evidently been looking forward to all day. He tucked in as soon as she

placed the food in front of him, despite her warnings that it would be piping

hot.

“Take your jacket off, love,” she recommended.

He did so without saying a word, and without taking a pause from eating. He

was loving the food and opened his bottle of whiskey. He offered Eleanor a

drink, but she turned it down, stating that she didn’t drink anymore. He

poured his glass and continued to impale his food with his fork, before

guzzling it down. Eleanor always delighted in watching her guests enjoy her

home cooking. Her bed and breakfast was the sole reason she hadn’t yet

retired, despite approaching her sixty-fifth birthday, and despite being very

well to-do. At the moment, there were only 2 of the 5 bedrooms vacated; a

Christian couple were staying in one room and a young student, Henrietta,

was staying in another whilst her flat was being fumigated. Business at the

moment was not fantastic, and Eleanor had been starting to wonder whether

it really was time to call it a day.

“So, how are things, Jim?” she asked.

“So-so,” he said in-between chewing. “So-so,” he repeated, nodding.

“Do you still go down to the pub regularly?”

“Oh, aye. Oh, aye.”

He slapped some food onto a slice of bread and soaked it in gravy, which

began to seep through.

“Are you still playing dominos?” asked Eleanor.

“Oh, yeah. Still playing.”

Using a tissue, he mopped up some gravy that had found its way onto his

chin.

“Oh, that is good news,” she said, pleased for Jim.

“Keep losing, though,” he said indifferently, as though it mattered not

whether he won or lost.

“Oh dear.”

He drank some whiskey and seemed as happy as a sand-boy as he munched

his food. He looked content, and this made Eleanor happy. She was

approaching old age and had no family left in the village. They had either

moved away or, as often happened, passed on. And so her friends in the

village were people she termed family these days; she hated to be on her own,

and just cooking for others made her appreciate life. Although Jim was a

marginalized figure in the town, with adults telling their children not to go

near him because he was ‘weird’, Eleanor knew that he was just a troubled

man who had fallen on bad times. He wasn’t a nasty, strange person at all; he

was a good soul who needed some help, and she was glad to take him off his

parents’ hands for a few days. She knew, after all, how tiresome he was

proving to be there for them. He practically needed 24 hour care lest he do

something stupid, such as disappear.

Just then, Jim made a croaking sound. Eleanor looked across at him, and saw

that his eyes were bulging. He dropped his knife and fork onto the table and

looked distressed.

“Jim? Jim, are you okay?”

Jim clutched his throat with one hand and the tablecloth with the other. He

had begun to choke. Alarmed, Eleanor rushed over to his side of the table and

tried to help him out.

“Jim!” she kept screaming, as she struggled with him. He now had both hands

on his throat and had stood up. She was begging him to let her help him, but

he thrashed around the kitchen like a wild beast. He barged into the table and

almost collapsed onto the sideboard.

She screamed for help from Henrietta, the young student who was the only

other person present in the house.

“Henrietta! Jim Pollock is choking to death! Jim Pollock is dying!”

Frantically, and with tears in her eyes, Eleanor tried to perform the Heimlich

maneuver but Jim wasn’t listening to reason and, in his distress, he was still

stomping around the kitchen, desperately trying to remove whatever was in

his throat. It was at this point that he began to regurgitate before, finally,

slumping to the floor. Half his body was in the kitchen, the other half was in

the hallway. Eleanor was in tears of distress, and tried to give him the kiss of

life, but it was to no avail. Jim Pollock was dead.

CHAPTER TWO

“Poisoned, Mrs Pigeon, poisoned,” repeated Inspector Bleak noisily in the

questioning room. He slammed his fist on the table. With Constable Beecher

by his side, the inspector was preparing to charge Eleanor, who was seated

opposite him, with first degree murder for the killing of Jim Pollock. Eleanor

was in a state of alarm and panic, and couldn’t understand why on earth they

were preparing to charge her.

“Inspector Bleak, this just cannot be,” she said, shaking her head violently. “I

would - I would never harm a fly. Jim Pollock was my friend, a good friend of

mine, I - I would never do anything to hurt him, especially not poison him.”

Inspector Bleak sighed.

“You grow your own crops, don’t you, Mrs Pigeon?” he asked. Eleanor’s

lawyer, Greta Harrison, was taking notes next to her and at this question, her

ears pricked up.

“I don’t see what relevance this question has. My client is under no

obligation to answer this question. You don’t have to answer this, Eleanor.”

Eleanor, too caught up in the shock of what was happening to her, paid Greta

no attention.

“I do grow my own crops, Inspector,” she replied.

“And isn’t it true that just a week ago another of your guests got sick after

dinner?”

“Why, well, yes. But that was just a touch of food poisoning, and we all

agreed that it came from the turkey that I’d brought home from the market.

We - I - had agreed that it was the turkey, Inspector,” said Eleanor, babbling

incoherently, unable to condense her thoughts into anything that made much

sense. Inspector Bleak held up his hand as though to say ‘okay, enough.’

“Mrs. Pigeon, your crops are laced with poison, are they not?”

“Certainly not,” she replied emphatically, her tail now up.

“Mr Bleak, that is really too far,” interjected Greta. “You don’t have to reply to

his provocation,” she said to her client by way of advice.

“I really don’t appreciate you trying to stain my reputation in this way,” said

Eleanor. “I have been growing my own vegetables for years, and I enjoy

cooking for my guests. To insinuate that I would … ‘put down’ Jim Pollock is …

is abominable. It’s just monstrous, Inspector.”

Inspector Bleak put both hands on the table, stood up and leaned towards

Eleanor.

“Then how do you explain Mr. Pollock’s poisoning?” he asked maliciously.

“Come on, even his own parents think you had something to do with it!”

“They … they do?” asked Eleanor with great dismay.

There was a knock at the door. Inspector Bleak calmly told the knocker to

enter and returned to his seat. A constable entered and walked over to the

Inspector, before whispering something in his ear. Inspector Bleak nodded

and said quietly, “I see.” The constable then left the room, closing the door

behind him. Inspector Bleak tapped his fingers on the table and then sat back

in his chair, folding his arms.

“I’ve just been told the toxicology tests are in, Mrs. Pigeon. Arsenic.”

Eleanor gasped in horror. Even her lawyer, Greta, stopped what she was

writing momentarily as the reality of the situation hit her. Arsenic.

“Mr. Pollock was found with high levels of arsenic in his body,” said the

Inspector. “That can only mean one thing: The poison was definitely ingested

in your kitchen. And, since you attest that you were the only one present

during dinner, it can only mean one other thing: That YOU are the killer.”

“Inspector, really, that is completely inappropriate,” said Greta.

The Inspector again leaned forward towards Eleanor and said in her face:

“You killed him, didn’t you? Come on, admit it. You wanted to get rid of the

sideshow, didn’t you? Ha? Didn’t you?”

Retaining her composure, Eleanor asked the Inspector if she could speak to

him in private. At first, he refused but, seeing that something was clearly on

her mind, and suspecting that he was on the verge of a breakthrough that

would shock the whole village, he relented and asked his constable and her

lawyer to leave the room. Greta asked Eleanor if she was absolutely sure

she’d like her to leave; Eleanor said she was.

Once they were alone Eleanor decided to bargain with the Inspector.

“Listen, Inspector Bleak, I’ve helped you a lot over the last few years. In my

capacity as a part-time sleuth, I’ve helped you solve a few crimes. Crimes that,

without my intervention, would still be unsolved. To put it bluntly, I feel as

though - and I’m sure you’ll agree - I feel as though you owe me one.”

The Inspector laughed.

“You think I’d let you off the hook for murder because you’ve helped me

solve a few robberies?”

“No,” insisted Eleanor, remaining calm and dignified. “I’m asking you to give

me two full days to find the real killer. Two full days to find out who really did

this. If I fail to find the real killer in those two days, you can do what you like

with me.”

The Inspector thought it over.

“Two full days?”

Eleanor nodded.

“You owe me.”

The Inspector leaned back in his chair and twiddled his thumbs. He stroked

his chin. After some unnecessarily prolonged deliberation, he agreed to her

deal.

“Okay, Mrs. Pigeon. You’ve got two full days. After that, you’re ours.”

Eleanor kept her dignity as she left the room. She had only two days of

freedom left unless she could find out who was at the bottom of the

unfortunate Jim Pollock’s untimely demise.

CHAPTER THREE

It was evening when Eleanor arrived home from the police station, and she

was far too weak and tired to do anything that night. She tossed and turned in

her bed, mulling over in her mind how someone could have poisoned Jim

right in front of her eyes. According to the toxicology report, high levels of

arsenic had been found in the poor man’s body. It could only mean that he

had been poisoned that very afternoon. Indeed, according to the Inspector, he

had to have been poisoned in Eleanor’s kitchen. And since no one else was

present, all fingers pointed to herself and her crops.

Eleanor thought back to the events of the preceding day. There were only

two rooms currently occupied in her bed and breakfast; one was rented by a

Christian couple, Martin and Agatha - who were both out on the day of the

murder - whilst the other was the temporary dwelling of young student

Henrietta, who was waiting for her usual digs to be fumigated. Eleanor hadn’t

seen Henrietta since yesterday morning, though she knew from the music

emanating from her room that she was home at the time of Jim’s sudden

death.

It left only two people who were present during the time Jim arrived and

expired - his parents. Eleanor was aghast at such a thought. Surely his parents

didn’t sprinkle some poison in his meal? Surely not! She couldn’t even

remember whether they had been present when she had taken the food out of

the oven, or whether they had already left. There was no doubt that they were

struggling to cope with the demand of taking care of their severely depressed

son, but Eleanor knew they were good people. The very idea that they would

murder their own flesh and blood was simply incomprehensible. It just wasn’t

worth thinking about.

She then thought back to what Inspector Bleak to had told her during her

questioning: Even Jim’s parents had pointed the finger at her. And, indeed, if

she were to rule out his parents, it really did leave all the fingers pointed at

her.

In the middle of the night, she got up to get some water from the bathroom

and a new resolve overcame her. She was determined to find the real culprit.

No one, not even Jim’s own parents, could be ruled out. If it was a case of

fighting for her own survival, Eleanor, a savvy amateur sleuth, would not be

left wanting.

In the morning, as though in an act of proud defiance, she cooked herself a

stew for breakfast, composed of vegetables she had grown herself. The very

vegetables that Inspector Bleak had said were the cause of Jim Pollock’s

death! The meal was positively scrumptious, and she took great delight in

starting the day in the right way. Henrietta ambled tiredly down the stairs

just before half past 9, and was evidently unaware that where she decided to

sit and eat her cornflakes was the same place a man had collapsed and died

just a few hours before. There was still encrusted vomit on the fridge and his

gigantic handprint was still imprinted on the wall.

Eleanor wasn’t going to say anything, largely because she didn’t want to get

bogged down in conversation before heading off, but Henrietta asked a very

strange question:

“No news to report?”

“News?” replied Eleanor. “What kind of news?”

The penniless and evidently worn-out student shrugged before shivering.

“Just any news. Any news at all. Just wondering.”

Eleanor refrained from mentioning Jim’s death and high-tailed it out of the

house, telling Henrietta she was perfectly welcome to the leftovers of her

stew. Henrietta made a face as she looked at the stewing vegetables, and

rather nervously - or, at least, Eleanor detected nerves - said that she didn’t

feel like any stew today.

“That’s funny,” said Eleanor. “You normally love it.”

“Maybe tomorrow.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Eleanor’s first port of call this morning was Steve’s Convenient Store in the

center of the village. It wasn’t really a convenient store in the general

definition, but was more a bric-a-brac odds ’n’ ends shop where people who

wanted anything from a bolt to a lampshade could go to. It was ramshackle

and shabby, and it stunk to high heavens of rust and metal. It was like a maze

inside, and was poorly lit. Finding your way through its narrow corridors that

were lined on each side by shelves bursting with all kinds of objects and

items, from saucepans to liquor, was a chore. Eleanor had lost count the

amount of times she had got lost in there and had to ask Steve for directions.

She was surprised the store was even still in business, and indeed there had

been rumors that Steve was massively in debt. Literally nobody seemed to

pop in for anything these days.

This morning, as always, the store was empty, save for Steve who was sitting

at the counter, leaning back on a chair and fiddling with a small lamp that he

was fixing. With rows and rows of bottles of whiskey and rum behind him, he

looked like an alcoholic. He was a corpulent, gruff and heavyset man who

must have weighed more than a bus. His shabby grey hair was tied into a

ponytail, and he would never be seen dead without his denim waistcoat.

Bearded and tattooed, he was notorious for having perennially greasy hair

and dirt encrusted fingernails. But there was one thing people loved him for -

he was a machine when it came to general knowledge. Today, Eleanor

required some of that inexhaustible knowledge.

“Steve, I require your assistance this morning,” she said, with clouds of dust

surrounding her. She coughed.

Steve didn’t flinch, nor did he stop what he was doing. Leant back in his

chair, he was so casually going about his business that it would be harder to

imagine a more laid-back man trying to fix an amp.

“Did you hear that Jim Pollock died yesterday?” she asked.

Steve nodded.

“Yup. I heard. That guy owed me a bit of money too. Ah well.”

“Have you heard what was the cause of death?”

Steve shook his head before grimacing. The needle he was applying on the

amp had just nicked his finger.

“He died of arsenic.”

“No kidding.”

“Arsenic poisoning.”

“Well, isn’t that something.”

Eleanor was bereft at Steve’s lack of interest, though this was his general

demeanor and she knew she would have to get used to it.

“Steve, you seem to know everything about everything. What do you know

about arsenic?”

Steve continued to fiddle with the amp.

“I know it kills you. I know that much.”

“Yes, well, I know it kills you. But, see, well, I might as well tell you. Cards on

the table, Steve. You see, the police are accusing me of poisoning Jim. They

think I did it!”

For the first time, Steve looked at Eleanor.

“No kidding?”

“They think the arsenic was found in my crops and they say that I have laced

my crops with arsenic, or, well, I don’t know. Something like that. My lawyer

thinks I could get charged with manslaughter at best. Manslaughter! But,

Steve, I didn’t lace my crops with arsenic. I didn’t.”

She struggled to compose herself, realizing that she was becoming highly

animated.

“I guess what I’m hoping to find out, and what I’m hoping you can help me

with, is whether arsenic can … accidentally find its way into homegrown

crops. I mean, it surely can’t, can it? Because that’s what Inspector Bleak

seems to think. He’s got it into his head that there is a possibility arsenic

‘found its way’ into my crops of its own accord. I mean, that’s ridiculous, isn’t

it? The arsenic must have come from another source, right? He’s essentially

accusing me of not looking after my crops properly, and therefore I’m guilty

of criminal neglect.”

Steve continued to jab at the amp.

“Nope. The Inspector is right.”

“Pardon?”

“Arsenic can enter the food chain via crops. Many of us have eaten small

doses of the stuff. Just don’t realize it, is all. But sure, it’s possible that your

crops became contaminated.”

Eleanor went weak at the knees. She thought she was going to collapse. She

trembled. Steve raised an eyebrow.

“You alright?”

“I may have killed an innocent man,” she said. “Oh, Good God.”

“It’s possible,” continued Steve in an indifferent tone. “Mind, the biggest

problem you’ll have now is whether you’ve killed anyone else. After all, if

everyone’s been enjoying many hearty meals of yours, you gotta wonder how

many others are going to die soon.”

Eleanor shook with terror.

“Why, you might be next,” said Steve with his cold indifference, as though he

was explaining the result of last night’s ball game to her. “Course, it’s a slow

death.”

“Slow death?” she asked quietly, her frail voice lowered to that almost of a

whisper.

“Ye. Folk who have accumulated small doses of arsenic over a sustained

period of time usually die of something like cancer or some such.”

“But Jim didn’t die of cancer,” she said with a hint of animation in her voice.

“He died suddenly. On the spot. Dropped dead.”

She imitated Jim’s sudden death. Steve looked at her quizzically.

“So, is it possible, Steve, that the arsenic Jim consumed had been planted

deliberately that day? And that it killed him suddenly because it had been

planted that day and had not been consumed over a sustained period of

time?”

The hefty man shrugged.

“It’s possible. Not likely, though.”

“But possible?”

He looked her in the eyes.

“Anything’s possible, El. Wouldn’t rule nothing out, me. No, sir. It’s just highly

unlikely is all. Sure, the man had many enemies. Many enemies. But if I were

you, it sounds like I’d be working hard to make sure I get me a manslaughter

charge. If you get murder, why, you’ll be put away for years.”

Eleanor felt a little sense of relief, but still a lot of despair. Steve was a

depressing chap at the best of times. He was unmarried, approaching sixty,

and spent his days cooped up in his grimy place, where he was sealed off from

the world, and his nights in the pub playing cards of silly stakes.

But at least he had given her something to go off. It was possible that

someone had entered her bed and breakfast that day and laced Jim’s food

with arsenic. She decided that she would have to go and visit his parents next.

They should be home by now, having cut their vacation short.

“I’ll have a bottle of your finest rum,” she said, knowing how much Anne and

Clive enjoyed a bottle of the Jamaican stuff. Perhaps it would appease them as

she opened questions about their difficult relationship with their son.

“Take this bottle of whiskey,” offered Steve, gesturing with his eyes to a

bottle that was already on the counter. “Say it’s from me. My condolences for

them losing their kid.”

Eleanor considered it but she knew how much Anne and Clive liked rum. She

bought the rum.

“Just take the whiskey too. Free gift.”

Eleanor didn’t want the whiskey and told Steve that it was fine.

CHAPTER FIVE

“We were just a little surprised to see you is all,” explained Anne, as herself,

her husband and Eleanor sat themselves around the dining room table in

their comfortable and respectable suburban home. “Weren’t we, Clive?”

Clive was dabbing the rivulets of sweat that were dripping from his

forehead. He was unconscionably hot, and loosened his tie to let some cool air

into his body. His wife nudged him when he didn’t reply.

“Oh. Oh, yes. Yes, very surprised to see you, Mrs. Parrot.”

“Pigeon,” said Eleanor in a tone that was almost reprimanding. She had no

time for Clive’s forgetfulness today.

“We thought,” began Anne, before trailing off. “Well, we heard you’d been

called in for questioning in regards our son’s … murder.”

“I can assure you both, Mr. and Mrs. Pollock, that I had absolutely nothing to

do with your son’s death.”

Anne lowered her eyes, and Eleanor got the impression that the couple really

did suspect her of poisoning their son.

“I’m sorry,” said Anne, “I just don’t see how it could have been anyone else.

The toxicology report did say poisoning, and you were the only one present

during dinner. I’m sorry. I just don’t know what to think right now. I’m just

surprised to see you out and about.”

“I made a deal with the Inspector,” said Eleanor. “He said he’d give me two

days to find the real culprit. If I fail, well, I’ll be charged, I suppose. But I’m

convinced the killer is from this village, and I’m convinced they had a bigger

motive than I do. Than I did. What I mean is, I don’t have a motive.”

Anne looked suspicious at Eleanor’s rambling incoherency.

“Do you or do you not have a motive, Mrs. Eagle?” asked a flustered Clive, his

face drenched in sweat. Eleanor looked at him with a hint of disgust and

shook her head.

“I don’t. Why are you sweating so much, Clive?”

“He’s not very well,” said Anne quickly, answering for her husband who she

told to trot off to the bathroom to sort himself out. He needed to cool down.

When he had left the room, Anne poured herself and Eleanor another cup of

tea, and reassured Eleanor that she didn’t suspect her of killing her son. “But

it’s just a complete mystery, isn’t it?”

Eleanor nodded and watched Anne with a degree of consternation.

“How would you describe your relationship with your son?” she asked.

“I would describe it as beautiful,” she said as she took a sip from her tea,

hiding her mouth.

“Beautiful? In the way that a relationship with any difficult man-child is

beautiful?”

Anne shot Eleanor a piercing glance.

“Jim was not difficult. Sure, he had his problems - as you well know - but

what outsiders don’t realize is what a harmonizing relationship the three of

us had here. Yes, I would use the word beautiful to describe our relationship.”

“Not difficult at all?”

“In what way?”

Anne offered Eleanor a biscuit, which the sleuth refused.

“Jim was a thirty-eight year-old man who had slumped into a severe

depression since the death of his best friend. He had retreated into himself,

invented an invisible friend. He relied on you and Clive to sustain him

financially. You’ve been cooking meals for him for the past five years, doing

his laundry, driving him back and forth to the clinic, giving him medication

when he refused to take it. Jim was also an angry man at times, prone to bouts

of violence. He was arrested last year for striking Clive and setting fire to his

toy train set. There was even a newspaper article a few months ago that

claimed he put you all under house arrest and thought that aliens were about

to invade. I’m not saying these things to upset you, Anne, but the truth is that

your relationship with Jim was not as beautiful as you make out.”

Anne shrugged and tried to put a brave face on matters. She tried to smile

but found it difficult.

“No relationship is completely perfect. Perhaps I would describe it as

beautifully flawed.”

“It was difficult, Anne,” affirmed Eleanor sternly. “It was a difficult

relationship that was filled with problems. The reason you and Clive were

taking a break yesterday was because you had to get away from Jim. You told

me as much yourself. You couldn’t take it anymore. He was weighing you

down, Anne. He was ruining your twilight years. He was stopping you and

Clive from retiring to Florida. You’re sixty now. Jim, if he had continued to

live, would have put an end to the best years of your life.”

Anne grimaced but she refused to take the bait, which surprised Eleanor.

Instead, she dusted the biscuit crumbs off her hands and took another sip of

her tea.

“I can see where you’re going with this,” she said softly, “but you’re barking

up completely the wrong tree, Eleanor. Of course, Jim had his problems. But

he was our son, El. We loved him. He was severely depressed. Cripplingly

depressed. Do you seriously think that Clive and I would abandon him? Do

you seriously think we would kill him? Come on, Eleanor. You know you

really don’t believe that. You know we are good people who loved our little

Jim. We would have looked after him and cared for him until the ends of the

earth. He was our only son. We prayed each day that he would get better, and

we know that one day - had he had the chance - he would have got better. He

would have.”

Eleanor was a touch moved by Anne’s defiant speech. She stared into the

doting mother’s eyes to see if she could spot an ounce of fraud. Anne stared

back. It became a stare-off. A tear slipped from Anne’s eye, and Eleanor

looked away. She took a sip of her tea.

“It’s easy to suspect Clive and I. We’re easy targets, sitting ducks,” said Anne.

“But, believe me, we are the last people who would take our son away.”

“Apart from me, though, you and Clive were the only ones who were present

in the kitchen yesterday afternoon.”

“I know.”

Anne put her teacup down.

“Look, I knew the police - or you - would suspect Clive and I of having some

involvement in all of this. I’ve got something to show you.”

Anne rose from her chair and left the room. Eleanor didn’t like being alone in

this dining room. The whole house gave her the creeps. Anne and Clive were

certainly something of an odd couple in the village. Clive was the oddest of the

pair. There was just something about him that sent shivers down Eleanor’s

spine. He had an odd side parting and he sweated buckets. Eleanor sensed the

pair had something to hide, and if it came down to a battle between herself

and them, she would have to fight tooth and nail. Her very freedom was at

stake.

It wasn’t long before Anne returned, with Clive behind her, still dabbing the

sweat from his forehead. He was breathing heavily, evidently unwell. Anne

had a piece of paper in her hand, which she handed to Eleanor.

“What’s this?”

“Read it.”

DEAR MR. POLLOCK,

REGRETFULLY, YOU DISCOVERED A “SECRET” OF MINE THE OTHER DAY. I

WOULD APPRECIATE IT MOST KINDLY IF YOU DIDN’T REVEAL IT TO

ANYONE. IF YOU DO, THERE WILL BE CONSEQUENCES.

SINCERELY,

HENRIETTA

“What do you think?” asked Anne.

Eleanor read the letter over again. It had hit her completely out of the blue.

Henrietta, of course, was one of her guests at the bed and breakfast; she was a

young student who always kept herself to herself. Many people had

commented that she was an oddball herself, a true eccentric, a feminist and a

“tree hugger.” Eleanor liked her precisely because she kept herself to herself;

she was quiet and absolutely no trouble at all. It shocked her to read that she

was threatening Jim because he had discovered a “secret” of hers. What was

this secret?

“When did you find this?”

“A few days ago. We were unsure about sending Jim over to your place once

we’d read it but he was insistent that he wanted to go.”

“You don’t … you don’t seriously think that Henrietta had something to do

with Jim’s death? Like, retribution?”

“Anything would seem to be possible,” said Anne. “After all, people say she’s

a bit of a weird one. A right loner, they say. Who knows what she gets up to in

that room of hers.”

Eleanor looked concerned as she read through the letter once more, rubbing

her temple with her left hand.

“Do you think we should hand it in to the police?” asked Anne.

“No. Not yet. I’d like to do a bit of prying myself first.”

Anne nodded.

“Do you reckon she done it?” asked Clive, practically panting.

“I’m not sure. But it certainly is odd. Still, I can’t see how it establishes much

motive.”

Anne shrugged.

“Jim discovered a secret of hers that she really didn’t want to come out in the

open.”

Eleanor nodded, but the letter continued to baffle her.

“I can’t even remember herself and Jim meeting. Certainly not in my place.”

“In the pub maybe?”

“It’s not like our Jim to get involved with something like this,” said Clive.

“You don’t know what he’s capable of,” said Anne coldly. “Besides, there

were some days when he hadn’t taken his medication. Oh, you’ve got to

understand, Eleanor, that none of this was Jim’s fault. As you know, he had a

crippling illness. Oh, my poor boy. If he hadn’t taken his medication, he was

capable of some terrible things. I would just prefer it if people like this

Henrietta understood this.”

Eleanor nodded gravely. She was still holding the letter and looking at it with

some concern.

“I just can’t believe that Henrietta would be capable of such threats. And a

secret? What secret?”

“I would check her room,” suggested Clive.

“Eleanor, why rule her out? Your own livelihood is at stake here. Why rule

her out? So she doesn’t ‘seem’ capable of such a thing. What does that tell

you? Truthfully, we don’t know what people can be driven to.”

Eleanor looked up at Anne, looked her in the eyes.

“No. No, we don’t, do we?”

She rose from her seat and said that she would have to return home and

speak to Henrietta. She admitted to Anne and Clive that Henrietta was at

home on the day of the murder, so it was possible that she could have -

somehow - slipped poison into the dinner. It was just that she couldn’t believe

it. Henrietta had never given her an ounce of trouble before.

CHAPTER SIX

Eleanor hadn’t been sure how she would broach the subject of the letter with

Henrietta, but in the end she decided that she would cook them both a

homemade soup. The kitchen was out of bounds, because forensics were still

conducting tests, so Eleanor and the young student had to eat their soup in

the small dining room, in which there were only 4 tables.

“I’m sorry for dragging you out of bed,” said Eleanor as Henrietta yawned

her way through her soup, “but I was just dying for you to try my new soup.

What do you think of it?”

Eleanor was ashamed of herself for using subterfuge in order to convince

Henrietta to get out of bed before 3PM, but it just had to be done. There was

simply nothing else for it. The crumpled letter was in her hand that she kept

underneath the table, hidden from view. She was too ashamed to bring it up

right away.

“It’s fine,” said Henrietta. “I know I have to start getting up earlier. It’s just

difficult.”

Eleanor smiled.

“Henrietta, I assume you’ve heard about Jim’s death?”

“Yes,” replied the student quietly, her voice emitting a real lack of empathy.

She blew on her hot soup. “He dropped dead in the kitchen, didn’t he?”

“Yes. In the kitchen. Well, he died half in the kitchen and half in the hallway.

He slumped onto the floor, you see. He was poisoned.”

Eleanor watched for a reaction from Henrietta, but there was nothing. She

just continued to blow on her piping hot soup before taking a sip and

grimacing at the heat.

“Wow,” she sad, at last.

“Henrietta, you study biology, don’t you?”

“Yes. This soup is good by the way.”

“So you know a thing or two about the way poisons work?”

Henrietta shrugged her shoulders.

“I suppose so.”

“What did you think of Jim Pollock?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, you met him once or twice. Did you like him?”

Henrietta switched her gaze to the inquisitive Eleanor.

“I honestly didn’t meet him for long enough to form an opinion.”

“He didn’t get along with a lot of people, was quite a nosey character,” said

Eleanor in a sympathetic tone. She stopped eating momentarily and lapsed

into thought, her eyes looking out of the window. “He had troubles. Lots of

troubles. He was a depressed, poor man. I think this is the reason people

couldn’t get along with him. He didn’t mean any harm, but sometimes he …

went too far with people, so to speak. He was just really inquisitive, but he

didn’t mean any great harm. Not really. ”

Henrietta broke off a piece of bread roll and dipped it into her soup.

“Henrietta, did Jim ever get on the wrong side of you?”

“Did he get on the wrong side of me?”

“Yes. Did he … did he do something to offend you? Perhaps, without realizing

that he got on your nerves? Perhaps heard something he shouldn’t have?”

Henrietta stared at Eleanor quizzically, as though she thought the landlord

had gone crazy. She didn’t understand the plethora of questions she was

being dealt so early in her day.

“No,” she responded. “As I said, I’ve only met him briefly.”

Eleanor’s hand that was holding the letter was still hanging limply

underneath the table. The letter made a creasing noise in her hand, which

Henrietta heard. She asked what it was.

“Why is your hand under the table?” she asked.

Eleanor reddened.

“No reason. Henrietta, can I see what your handwriting looks like?”

“Why?”

“Why?”

Eleanor didn’t have a reason. She was too ashamed to show Henrietta the

letter, and decided that if she could just see evidence of her handwriting first,

she would be able to eliminate the student from her list of suspects without

even having to bring up the issue of the letter.

“Why not?” asked Eleanor. “I’ve always wanted to see what your handwriting

looks like. I bet it looks pretty.”

Henrietta was foxed continued blowing on her soup. Eleanor decided to just

come out with it. She lifted up her arm and held out the letter to Henrietta.

“I was given this letter earlier today by Jim’s parents. They said it came from

you, addressed to Jim.”

Henrietta continued to stare with bafflement at Eleanor, chewing slowly as

she was handed the letter. She slowly reverted her gaze from Eleanor to the

piece of paper and took a sip of water as she read. Eleanor could tell from

Henrietta’s expression as she read the letter that she was bewildered.

“I didn’t write this letter.”

Eleanor watched Henrietta and didn’t say anything.

“I don’t understand what this is about?” asked Henrietta.

“I’m afraid I’ll need to see evidence of your handwriting.”

Henrietta laughed momentarily before realizing that Eleanor was being

serious.

“I don’t write in capital letters, Eleanor. This letter is crude, it’s … it’s

ridiculous. What is it? Who did you say gave it to you, Jim’s parents?”

“Yes. And it’s clearly alluding to a moment where Jim … found something out

that you didn’t want him to. Some secret. And clearly you took umbrage at

this. You thought he was going to talk. Henrietta, what secrets do you have?”

Henrietta continued to stare at Eleanor. She began to shake her head slowly,

before putting the letter down on the table.

“I did not write this letter.”

“That’s what I thought at the time, when Jim’s parents handed it to me. But I

need to see evidence of your handwriting to rule you out.”

“Rule me out? Of what?”

Eleanor blushed with embarrassment. She lifted her spoon to her lips and

said:

“My list of suspects,” before eating the contents from the spoon.

“Your list of …” Henrietta was shocked. “You honestly believe I wrote this

piece of junk? Look at it, it’s clearly been composed in less than a minute by a

bunch of rag tags. Capital letters? Who writes in capital letters these days?

Dear me, Eleanor I expected better from you!”

Henrietta was furious and rose from her seat. Eleanor got up too and tried to

calm the student down. She took hold of her and hugged her.

“I know, I’m sorry, I am. I know you didn’t kill Jim Pollock. I know it isn’t

possible, I know. I’m sorry. Okay? I’m sorry.”

Henrietta nodded appreciatively and accepted the apology.

“But I will need to see your handwriting,” said Eleanor with shame. After all,

her own preservation was at stake here, so she simply couldn’t hold back.

“Unbelievable!” cried Henrietta. She grabbed a pen and a wrote on the back

of the piece of paper in big capital letters:

I DIDN’T WRITE THIS STUPID LETTER

“There! You happy now?” asked the stropping student. “It’s nothing like it.”

Eleanor took hold of the letter and compared both sets of handwriting.

“It’s a bit similar.”

“Oh my God!” Henrietta, throwing a tantrum at being accused of first degree

murder, bolted out of the room and stormed up the stairs. Eleanor, distressed

and completely at a loss as to what to do next, continued to compare the sets

of handwriting. They were similar. They weren’t identical, but they were

definitely as crude as each other. Henrietta might be a brilliant scientist

someday, but she certainly had bad handwriting.

CHAPTER SEVEN

In the early evening, Eleanor got a phone call from Inspector Bleak who had

decided to remind her that the clock was ticking and that she now had less

than 24 hours to save her skin.

“Otherwise, it’s the slammer for you,” he said.

Eleanor sensed that he had some sort of personal vendetta against her and

clearly would love nothing more than to send her down for this crime. She

told him that she had good cause to suspect Jim’s parents of the murder.

“They certainly have motive - a depressed man-child still living at home,

showing no signs of fleeing the nest and fending for himself. They’d like to

retire in Florida, everyone in the village knows that’s Anne’s dream, but they

couldn’t whilst Jim was still around. And so they got rid of him.”

“Are you being serious?” asked the Inspector.

“Of course I am. Why? Listen, I went around there earlier today, and when I

pressed them on the subject, they got all defensive. Clive started to sweat - a

sure sign of guilt - before Anne disappeared for a few minutes, before

returning with a letter that she claimed was from Henrietta, one of my

tenants. This letter was accusing Jim of threatening to expose a secret that

Henrietta had - a big secret evidently - and was basically suggesting that

Henrietta was about to take matters into her own hands and … do something

to Jim. Quite what, no one can say for sure, but Anne was convinced it was a

death threat. I was unconvinced, and showed the letter to Henrietta, who, of

course, denied all knowledge of it. She says she’s only met Jim once or twice in

her life, and had no reason to compose the letter. Like me, she can tell it had

been hastily put together. I believe, Inspector, that Anne quickly wrote the

letter to put the blame for Jim’s murder onto the student.”

Inspector Bleak sniggered.

“What a load of baloney.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Eleanor, listen to me because if you continue with this line, I’m gonna come

down there now and arrest you instantly. Anne and Clive are good people.

They’re outstanding pillars of this community. They are not son-killers, or

baby-killers, or whatever it is we call that kind of crime. And there is no way I

am going over there to arrest them in their time of need. I know you’re

desperate, Eleanor, but you can do better than this.”

Eleanor began to tremble with anger. If she was to save her skin, it wasn’t

helping that the Inspector was blockading her escape path.

“But Clive was sweating profusely. You should have seen him, Inspector. It’s

a sign of guilt.”

“And I sweat all the time. “

“I am interested in this Henrietta thread, though,” said Inspector Bleak, much

to Eleanor’s surprise.

“No, Inspector, that really is the wrong way to go about things. It isn’t

Henrietta who is at the bottom of this. She didn’t write that letter.”

“How do you know? We’re calling her in.”

Eleanor was aghast. Half an hour later, the police knocked on her door to

arrest Henrietta, who refused to go quietly. The student was kicking up a fuss

as she was led out of the door in handcuffs. It wasn’t what Eleanor had

intended to happen, and she felt terrible. She watched from the window as

the young biology student was dumped into the back of a cop car, tossing and

turning like a wild animal all the while. Although it took her ages to wake up

and snap out of a lethargy, once she finally did, Henrietta had more energy

than a ten year-old. Eleanor thought it was wholly unnecessary when the

driver switched on the siren, and it added a touch of drama to the

proceedings as Henrietta was driven away.

It was now evening and Eleanor didn’t know what to do with herself. She

was convinced that her crops hadn’t killed Jim Pollock. After all, everyone else

who had eaten her food in the last few days were perfectly fine, and herself

and Henrietta had just enjoyed a wholesome homemade soup that hadn’t

done them any harm. Henrietta’s defensive reaction to being accused of the

killing was a cause for alarm, but Eleanor was mostly convinced that Anne

and Clive had done the deed. She was convinced they had poisoned their own

son.

CHAPTER EIGHT

That night, Eleanor decided to venture to the village pub, The Queen of The

South. Feeling low, she needed a drink, despite running desperately low on

time. The pub tonight was fairly quiet, with a dominos tournament taking

place in the center of the room. The usuals were there - Steve, Dwight and

Pete - but for Eleanor the scene had a touch of melancholy to it because Jim

was absent. His chair was lovingly in its usual place, but he wasn’t there.

Instead, someone had thrown a bag on it.

She watched the dominos tournament, something she had never really done

before. But she thought as though it would relax her tonight. It was strange,

though, because the trio of players were certainly taking it very seriously.

Steve was arguing with Dwight about something; from what Eleanor could

make out, he was accusing Dwight of “hiding some dominos in his pocket.”

Intrigued, she decided to lift up her chair and place it next to the dominos

table. She thought she would at least be entertained tonight, especially if it

was to be her last night of freedom.

“You damn well did bring your own dominos. Don’t you lie to me, boy, I’m

watching you,” said Steve aggressively.

Dwight, the perennial loser, was as thin as a rake. His face was gaunt and he

had a beak-like nose. His jacket was way too big for him, and in the face of

Steve’s intimidating tactics, he looked like a little boy lost. But he was a

veteran player, and Eleanor had seen him at this table for many years now.

Steve played his last domino and won the game.

“Pay up, boys,” he said.

Dwight and Pete dug their hands into their pockets and began to count wads

of dollar bills. Eleanor was shocked to see so much money. Is this what they

play for?

Dwight counted his out and handed over $100. Pete, who was much more

meticulous than Dwight, counted his over and over and over to make sure he

didn’t hand over more than was necessary.

“There. One-hundred,” he said, as he placed the money carefully on the table.

“Don’t place it there!” snapped Steve, and he quickly grabbed the money and

stuffed it down his trousers. “You know we not supposed to gamble in here.”

Eleanor was sitting open-mouthed, holding her drink aloft in mid-air. She

couldn’t believe the sums of money these guys played for.

“You found the killer yet?” asked Steve, his eyes fixed on the money he was

counting in his lap. Pete and Dwight turned to look at her.

“No,” she said. She then opened her mouth to elaborate on her suspicions,

but decided against it. Then she mentioned that Henrietta had been arrested.

None of the three gamblers expressed any surprise or huge interest.

“Well, he did have a lot of enemies,” said Steve.

“Yes. You said that earlier.”

Dwight collected all the dominos into a pile on the table and began to turn

them over one by one. Pete was shaking his cocktail and sucked it through a

straw. He was as thin as Dwight, but much tidier.

“You said this morning to me, Steve, that Jim Pollock owed you money. Is this

what he owed you money for? Domino matches?”

Steve stopped counting his money momentarily, whilst Pete stopped turning

over the dominos. The gamblers all took turns at looking at one another.

“Yeah,” said Steve after some hesitation. “Matter of fact, he owed us all.

Nothing we can do about it now, though. Just one of those things.”

“He owed you the most, though,” said Dwight.

“Well, that’s just ‘cause I won more. Matter of fact, that Jim was a bad player.”

Pete nodded.

“A very bad player,” he confirmed.

“So why did you let him continue playing with you?”

They all laughed between themselves, as though this was an in-joke.

“Because he was like a cash cow,” said Steve, looking at his mates. They all

sniggered.

Pete, seeing that Eleanor was slightly offended by their masculine joviality at

the expense of Jim, sought to set the record straight:

“He was a very poor player. But he liked to play with us. What could we say?

Could we say no?”

He shrugged and sucked up some of his cocktail.

“Of course not. He’d been playing with us for ten years. But when he became

ill, what were we going to do? Tell him we don’t want him playing anymore?

Of course not. We would have at fault for prejudice because of his change in …

nature, shall we say.”

Steve nodded.

“He wasn’t a half bad player before he changed. He just started getting very

angry and became irrational.”

“Very irrational,” confirmed Pete.

“Very,” said Dwight.

“How much did he owe you all?”

They all looked at one another again, as though consulting telephonically. No

one seemed to want to speak, until Steve took the reigns.

“About 5 grand.”

Eleanor spat out some of her drink in shock. She tried to mop it up, but a lot

of it had sprayed the dominos.

“5 grand? May I say, gentleman, that it was mighty irresponsible of you to

continue playing with Jim when it was clear that he wasn’t able to pay up.”

“Oh, he was able to. We knew we’d get it eventually,” said Pete.

“How?”

“Off his parents. They would cover his expenses, told us so themselves.”

“They were never going to pay,” said Steve. “That’s just one of your dumb

theories. Forget it, the money is gone.”

Pete shrugged.

“Well, at least you don’t have to lose to him anymore,” said Eleanor, still

cleaning some of her wine from the dominos.

“Trouble is, we’re all losing money now,” said Pete. “We could do with Jim

back.”

“Well, he isn’t coming back now, is he?” said Steve pointedly. “So you two are

just gonna have to keep paying up.”

“We don’t have enough money to keep playing you, Steve. So you’re just

gonna have to think of another way to raise funds. Sell that rundown old store

or something. It’s not making any money otherwise.”

Steve glared at Pete.

“It would have been just fine had his parents been able to pay his debts. I’m a

man of principle. I’d have paid mine for my kid.”

“There’s nothing we can do about it. As for me, I’m out for tonight.”

Pete rose, slurped the last bits of his cocktail, and put his jacket on. Dwight

rose too, said he was finished for the night as well. Eleanor, not wanting to be

left alone with the gargantuan Steve and his fiery moods, also called it a night

and left the pub.

CHAPTER NINE

When she returned home that night, she felt the lowest she had felt for a long

time. She sensed that the police just weren’t going to listen to reason when it

came to her suspicions of Anne and Clive. And the more she thought about it,

the more she thought it sounded ridiculous too. A doting mother and father

murdering their own son? It did sound stupid and it was an abominable

thought to have. They were good people - they were not murderers. But if

they weren’t, then who in the heck was?

She thought about the gamblers and how annoyed they seemed that Jim had

died owing them money. Could they have killed him? Eleanor wasn’t sure

whether to entertain the thought or not. Five thousand dollars split between

three people surely wasn’t enough for them to collectively kill somebody. And

in any case, how on earthy were they supposed to have slipped poison into

his dinner? It just wasn’t possible.

When she was at her absolute lowest, she spotted Jim’s bottle of whiskey on

the sideboard. It was eyeing her. It said “drink me! You’ll feel better!”

She grabbed it and unscrewed the lid. One sniff, though, was enough to bring

her to reason. Whiskey had the kind of strong smell that never pleased her. It

was almost pure alcohol. No, she could not have a drink tonight. That was

absolutely the wrong thing to do.

As she peered into the bottle, a thought came to her. Jim drank this whiskey

on the day of the murder. And, if she knew Jim as she did, he would have

bought the bottle from Steve’s store.

She began to piece together Steve’s relationship with Jim. They gambled a lot

together. Jim owed Steve money. Steve’s business had been suffering terrible

recently, and he was probably counting on the money that Jim owed him - the

money Jim promised Steve would get eventually off his parents. But when

Anne and Clive had refused to pay up, Steve got angry. He got desperate and

did a foolish, silly thing. He put arsenic in the whiskey!

Eleanor grabbed her coat. She was going to head to the police station and

demand they perform toxicology tests on the bottle of whiskey. As she was

heading for the door, she remembered Steve’s insistence earlier that morning

that she take a free bottle of whiskey for Anne and Clive. He wanted to bump

them off too!

CHAPTER TEN

Eleanor was at Anne and Clive’s as they all waited for the phone call from the

Inspector. The toxicology report on the bottle of whiskey was due today, and

Inspector Bleak had given Eleanor another few days of freedom until the

report was in. He had stubbornly refused to take the bottle in as evidence at

first, claiming, rather luridly, that Eleanor was drunk on the whiskey and had

sprinkled arsenic into the bottle herself. He ordered his “boys” to carry out a

thorough search of her place, but they found no traces of arsenic. Moreover,

the lab tests on her crops were in too, and no arsenic had been found there

either. To all intents and purposes, she had been completely exonerated. The

only thing that was on her mind was that Henrietta, who had been released

without charge after three days of questioning, was a shadow of her former

self. Chillingly, she had told Eleanor that she was going to sue her and claimed

that it was Eleanor who had hastily written that handwritten note to Steve.

“I’m going to sue you for everything you’ve got,” the student had said, before

her parents picked her up.

As Eleanor, Anne and Clive were nervously waiting for the phone call, they

sat in silence around the dinner table. Clive was still sweating, and today he

was even shaking.

“I don’t like Steve,” he said. “Steve is a scary man, Mrs. Kingfisher.”

Eleanor nodded.

Her phone rang.

It was Henrietta, telling her she was going to put a curse on her.

Then her phone rang again. This time it was the Inspector. He seemed almost

annoyed as he told her they were about to arrest Steve.

“The whiskey contained high levels of arsenic,” he admitted in despondent

tones. “We’ve carried out a search of his store and found a few bags of the

stuff.”

“Oh, thank God!” cried Eleanor. She repeated the news to Anne and Clive.

Anne hugged her husband, who then spilled his tea all over himself.

“Yes. Seems like you were right,” said the Inspector.

“Seems so,” said Eleanor, unable to stop herself from smiling. “Sometimes,

you’ve just gotta trust a hunch.”

“I did. My hunch was you.”

“That was more like a hunch-back, Inspector.”

When Eleanor hung up, she apologized to Jim’s parents for having suspected

them, but she also told them she was upset with them for trying to get

Henrietta into trouble.

“Why would you do that?”

“We knew everyone would be suspecting us,” explained Anne, “and so we

panicked. We acted irrationally, but we needed to shift attention elsewhere.

We weren’t guilty but … well, we looked it, didn’t we?”

“Is that why Clive keeps on sweating?”

“Oh no. Clive has been sweating ever since Steve threatened to take off of us

what Jim owed him. He wanted thousands of pounds, El.”

“Very nasty man, that Steve,” said Clive.

“Yes. Nasty man, indeed,” repeated Anne.

Eleanor nodded and agreed.

“It just shows you what money can do to people. It makes them crazy.”

“And now we’ve lost our son.”

That evening, Eleanor cooked for both Anne and Clive. Using her own

vegetables, she cooked them all a banquet.

“And let no one say a bad word about my crops ever again!” she said, raising

her glass for a toast.