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Murder at Teatime Page 2


  “I have to admit that nothing about this case is simple. Mrs. Tamarland lived in the country, she did not have nearby neighbors to see her visitor or hear the gunshot. She has a maid but the woman comes once a week and was not working that day. It was the maid that discovered the body the following morning when she reported to work.”

  “Was anything missing, taken from the house, anything of value?” asked Diane.

  “Nothing at all, Mrs. Tamarland’s purse was on the table in the foyer, her jewelry box on her dresser upstairs in her bedroom. It appears that the person was at her residence for one reason and one reason only, to kill her.”

  “Inspector, what can I do to help?” asked Albert.

  “Mr. Moreland, as Mrs. Tamarland was a widow with almost no family or friends, I was hoping you might be able to provide some information. I am aware that you represented her over the years, your card was found in a prominent position in her wallet.”

  “What kind of information did you require?” Albert asked.

  “Are you aware of any business dealings, any changes to her will, or any other information that may prove useful to this investigation?”

  “Not that I am aware of. I completed a will for her many years ago. I cannot recall any other information that would be relevant.”

  “Even information that would seem irrelevant would be helpful at this stage in the investigation,” admitted the Inspector as he reached for a second chicken sandwich.

  “I have been retired for several years but if I can recall anything that may be useful to your investigation I will be sure to pass it along.”

  “Thank you Mr. Moreland, I am grateful for your help,” said the Inspector.

  “Inspector, what about the will? Who stood to gain from Mrs. Tamarland’s death?” asked Diane.

  “A nephew, a Mr. Thomas Tamarland lately of York.”

  “Lately of York?” asked Diane.

  “I say lately because he has been incarcerated for several years.”

  “Incarcerated? That seems like a good place to start,” said Diane.

  “Perhaps, but he has been charged with petty thievery, money laundering and scams targeting pensioners. He seems to be content to be a garden variety low life.”

  “You mean that he does not have a history of violent crime, not even a bar brawl or a fight?” asked Albert.

  “Not one incident of violence, so for him to step up to killing his aunt would be a drastic escalation.”

  “But it is possible, isn’t it?” asked Diane as she poured a second cup of tea, her interest piqued.

  “Possible but unlikely. As far as I have been able to ascertain, he didn’t even realize he was her sole heir until after her death. The only people that knew of her will were Mrs. Tamarland and your office, Mr. Moreland. For a petty criminal like her nephew, her wallet, television, and jewelry would have proven to be tempting targets,” said the Inspector.

  “Unless he’s smarter than you think, he may have known about the will. She may have told him and he’s lying,” said Diane.

  “Maybe so, but he just doesn’t strike me as being that smart or that cold-blooded, which leaves me with no other suspect,” the Inspector said as he sighed.

  “Sounds like you need some help,” said Diane.

  “Thank you, you know I could always use your help,” he said as he appeared to perk up, “May I have a bit more tea?” asked the Inspector as Diane poured tea into his empty cup and realized that her holiday was over. She was home.

  Chapter 3

  It was two in the morning and Diane found it impossible to sleep. The rain thundered onto the stone pavers outside the kitchen window as she waited for the water to boil in the kettle. The death of Mrs. Tamarland was unexpected and Diane could not stop thinking about the circumstances of the woman’s murder. Diane had seen people come to violent ends before this case, but there was something about this murder that was very unsettling.

  The kettle whistled, startling Diane. Reaching for the kettle, she turned the burner off and poured the water in her cup. Cold shivers ran along her spine as she thought about the killer finishing his or her cup of tea as Mrs. Tamarland was taking her last breath. There was something about that scenario that felt disturbing. The murderer knew Mrs. Tamarland and was in no hurry to leave the scene. Diane agreed with the Inspector; this was not a random act of violence, this was personal.

  Diane sat down at the kitchen table and held the steaming cup in her hands. There was a detail about the murder that she was certain that the Inspector and she were overlooking. A murderer that stayed for tea did not seem to be overly concerned about getting caught? Was it overconfidence, or some other reason? Perhaps, thought Diane, it was that grimly casual attitude that may provide a clue or a lead.

  In her experience, people that committed murders typically tried to get away with the crime. This person did too, but only to a point; wearing gloves and wiping the teacup rim were indicators that the killer did not want to be discovered, but the murderer did not flee immediately after firing the gun. Did the killer want to gloat over Mrs. Tamarland or be sure she was dead? It was a grisly affair, to imagine a member of the church coming to such a cold, terrible end.

  Diane did not know much about Mrs. Tamarland’s earlier years, but the woman that she knew hardly seemed the type that would arouse a deep hatred in other people. She kept to herself, was not unkind or rude and when she did speak, she seemed to be a pleasant person. Diane did not recall ever thinking that Mrs. Tamarland was anything other than what she seemed - a quiet, reclusive widow.

  Although Diane was not a close acquaintance of the victim, she recalled Mrs. Tamarland as being generous when it came to supporting charities and church benefits. In all her years in the congregation, Diane did not remember a single person saying one bad word about the murdered woman. The knowledge that the deceased was well regarded, quiet and possessed a generous nature made her manner of death even more perplexing.

  The hands on the clock on the wall slowly moved and the rain continued to beat against the windows as Diane sat at the table, lost in thought. Her cup of tea turned cold before she remembered it. She detested cold tea but was not raised to be wasteful. Drinking the beverage, she glanced at the clock; it was still far too early, or too late depending on perspective, to rouse Inspector Crothers from his sleep.

  Diane wanted to view the crime scene for herself, a method she found helped tremendously when she didn’t have any other leads to follow. For two hours, Diane sat in the kitchen, her mind turning like gears as she tried to make sense of Mrs. Tamarland’s murder. There was no doubt about it, she needed to visit the woman’s house. Only then would Diane be certain that she would be able to offer sound advice to Inspector Crothers.

  After the clock struck four in the morning, Diane left the kitchen and made her way quietly up the stairs. She was tired from her sleepless night and decided that she would attempt to get a few hours of rest. Crawling into bed, she was surprised to find Albert awake.

  “Darling, are you still up?” he said.

  “Yes, I couldn’t sleep. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

  “No, you didn’t, I have been lying here, listening to the rain.”

  “I made a cup of tea, but that was two hours ago,” Diane said as she lay back on the pillows.

  “Mrs. Tamarland? Is that why you can’t sleep?” he asked as he rolled over on his side.

  “Yes, Albert it is. I can’t make sense of it, can you? She was your client; can you think of any reason why someone would kill her and then have tea?”

  Albert frowned, “I honestly can’t. The firm represented many clients and she was one that I don’t recall ever giving anyone at the office a moment’s trouble. She seemed rather ordinary and quiet if you ask me.”

  “That is my dilemma. I am having difficulty imagining that she ever upset anyone to the point of cold-blooded murder.”

  “She must have upset someone to end up murdered,” Albert concluded.

&nb
sp; “I agree, but it doesn’t make sense. Did she lead a double life? Who would want to kill a sweet, quiet widow and not take anything?” said Diane, “If this was random, I could understand, but it clearly wasn’t and that is what I find to be so frustrating.”

  “Diane, don’t let it frustrate you, try to get some sleep,” Albert said as he kissed her cheek.

  Diane turned off the lamp on the bedside table and stared into the darkness. Closing her eyes, she drifted into a restless sleep until morning. The alarm rang only a few hours later, Diane reached over to turn it off as Albert wished her good morning. She was exhausted and wanted to sleep until lunch, but she had an important call to make after breakfast.

  Slowly dragging herself out of bed, Diane showered and dressed for the day. Staring at her reflection in the mirror, she could see dark circles under his eyes. She looked like she felt, tired. Resisting the urge to lay back down, she waited for Albert to finish dressing for breakfast.

  “Would you like Deidre to bring a tray up so that you can rest?” Albert said as he looked at Diane, an expression of concern on his face.

  “I look exhausted, I am sure of it, but I will be fine after a good breakfast. I hope Deirdre hasn’t made anything healthy this morning, I need a plate filled with unhealthy fried foods and sausages.”

  “That sounds delicious, although I am not so sure your doctor would approve,” teased Albert. “Shall we go down and find out what it shall be? Porridge with fresh fruit, egg white omelet or a decent breakfast?”

  “Deidre tries to look after us, I would expect a boiled egg, slices of melon and a piece of dry toast if we are lucky.”

  Diane was not wrong about Deidre’s motives, although she was slightly incorrect about the breakfast, as the yogurt with fresh fruit and toast were the main course. The tea was hot and strong and to Diane, that was far more important than a decadent fried breakfast with sausages and mushrooms.

  After two cups of tea, and a generous portion of healthy yogurt, Diane felt as though she was prepared to face the daunting task that lay in front of her. As Albert read the morning paper, she called the Inspector. Leaving a message, she waited for him to return her call. She did not have long to wait, as he called less than five minutes later.

  “Inspector, you must be busy this morning.”

  “I am, but never too busy for your call, so to what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “I don’t know if this is possible at this stage in the investigation, but I would like to view the crime scene for myself.”

  “You are in luck, forensics is finished with the preliminaries. I don’t see why you can’t view it if you choose. When did you have in mind?”

  “That is entirely dependent upon your schedule.”

  “I have this afternoon free after three, do you have the address?”

  “Mrs. Tamarland lived in Greenfield, is that correct? Which end, north or south?”

  “North, you won’t be able to miss her house. It is at the end of the lane, a large red brick place, used to be a parsonage.”

  “Oh yes, I know the one, how does half past three sound?”

  “I will see you then,” the Inspector replied.

  Albert smiled at his wife and slipped his hand into hers. “You are going to the Tamarland residence, would you like for me to accompany you?”

  “Only if you would like to go, I won’t be long,” Diane answered.

  “Be home for dinner?” he asked with a smile.

  “I wouldn’t miss it,” she said.

  Chapter 4

  After breakfast, Diane drove into town and attended her yoga class and stopped by the church. The doors were unlocked and the sanctuary was empty. It was quiet inside as she walked towards the pew that Mrs. Tamarland liked to occupy during services. Sitting where the late widow sat for so many Sundays, Diane tried to think about life from the woman’s perspective. Did she have any enemies, anyone that would benefit from her death? As Diane sat in the pew, she could not recall any disharmony or discord in the woman’s life. If it existed, it was like the woman herself, quiet and well hidden from the public.

  Diane left the church and returned home, Albert was occupied by his speech that he was to deliver that Friday. Diane sat down at her laptop to write a few pages before her meeting with the Inspector. Finding it difficult to concentrate, Diane was relieved when she glanced at her watch and saw the time; she was due to meet the Inspector in half an hour. Kissing Albert goodbye, she walked outside to the car, troubled by her lack of concentration.

  This was not like her, she thought as she turned the key in the ignition and shifted the car into reverse. Of all the cases she had ever worked on with Inspector Crothers, she could not recall being consumed by facts but without a solid lead to follow. It had been less than twenty hours since she became aware of the mystery surrounding Mrs. Tamarland’s death, but it felt like much longer for Diane. Hoping that the Inspector would have new information to share, she drove towards the widow’s residence.

  Diane pulled into the driveway behind the car that she easily recognized. The Inspector was already there when she arrived. Parking the car, she walked towards the house, carefully inspecting the residence. The brick two-story house appeared to be plain but well built. Two chimneys rose from opposite ends of the roof, a green vine climbed past a front window. A modest garden wall was shaded by trees and birds sang in the branches. It was a comfortable, peaceful place, rather like the woman that once called it home.

  Ringing the bell, Diane patiently stood on the porch enjoying the view of the fields and pastures across the road when the door opened to reveal Inspector Crothers. Like Diane, he had dark circles around his eyes, and looked haggard and tired.

  “Diane, please come in.”

  “Inspector, I don’t mean to sound rude, but you didn’t sleep very well last night, did you?”

  “No, and neither did you,” he smiled.

  “It’s this case, there are no solid leads and the way she died is disturbing,” said Diane as she walked inside the house, “unless you have some other details you would like to share with me.”

  “Nothing new to tell. I’m afraid that we are forced to work with no witnesses, no neighbors’ testimonies and very little evidence.”

  “Sounds like a challenge,” Diane answered. “Is this the room where Mrs. Tamarland was killed?”

  “It is, you will find it exactly as it was when she died. We have taken care not to disturb a single piece of furniture as this is still an ongoing investigation.”

  Diane slowly walked across the floor, her eyes scanning the room. The room, like the house, was modest but comfortable. A Chippendale sofa sat on a pastel Persian rug, a table set for afternoon tea sat in front of the sofa. The tea service was a simple white, blue and violet pattern that complemented the colors of the furnishings. The chairs matched the sofa in style and were a solid rose color with light blue accent pillows. A dark brown stain on the edge of the rug marked where Mrs. Tamarland had taken her final breath.

  Walking from the room where Mrs. Tamarland was killed, Diane went to the kitchen and the study on the ground floor. There were no drawers open in the desk, no papers shuffled through in a hurry. The room looked as peaceful as it had the day the killer arrived for afternoon tea. Sighing, Diane walked upstairs and toured the bedrooms. Clothes hung in the closet in the master bedroom, the bed neatly made, throw pillows arranged symmetrically.

  From her brief tour of the residence, she discovered that Mrs. Tamarland was organized, neat and was not a person that was prone to clutter. On the bedside table, a picture of the widow and her late husband taken many years ago, when they appeared to be in their twenties, was the only decoration. It was a touching detail and one that nearly brought a tear to her eye as she walked downstairs to join the Inspector.

  “What do you think?” he asked as she walked into the drawing room.

  “Everything seems to be in order, just as you described it to be. There is nothing out of place. If the kille
r was looking for something in this house, he or she was not in a rush.”

  “You are beginning to understand my dilemma, someone killed this woman in cold blood. Someone who may very well be living in our community. I have to find the killer and I have very little to go on.”

  “This may not be what you want to hear, but the nephew may be the best suspect you have. Just because we don’t think he would kill his aunt doesn’t mean he didn’t do it.”

  “I had thought of that, Sergeant Webster and I are going to interview him this evening. He works at a repair shop and he gets off work after six.”

  “With his history, he may have owed money or became involved with something other than petty theft, he may have graduated to hardcore drug use. It’s unlikely, but he is the only person that would have directly benefitted from her death.”

  “That we know of at this stage in the investigation. Even if he isn’t a strong candidate for suspect, he may be able to tell us some details about his aunt’s life. She was so secretive about her affairs that this case may be the most difficult of my career.”

  Diane was about to agree with his assessment when she thought of Mrs. Tamarland’s reclusive lifestyle. Thinking about how tidy the house was, she thought about Deirdre. Deidre knew details of her life that few outside the house would ever be aware of. Deidre saw the mail, made tea for guests, overheard snippets of conversations.

  “You may be forgetting a person that knows more about Mrs. Tamarland than her nephew or anyone else, her maid.”

  “Her maid worked one day a week,” answered the Inspector.

  “Yes, but she worked here every week and saw Mrs. Tamarland on a regular basis. She was the person that discovered the body.”

  “Diane, you may be onto something, I don’t know why I didn’t think of her. Sergeant Webster took a statement from her, but he didn’t interview her.”