Page 57 of And Then There Was the One
“Perhaps she prefers to write by hand and didn’t have any use for it.”
“But hiding it in a sack beneath the bed feels like a deliberate attempt to ensure no one would find it,” Sebastian pointed out. He reached for a loose piece of paper—Georgie glanced at it, and saw that it appeared to be a handwritten note fromDr. Severin, advising Mr. Penbaker to brew a tea of nettle and willow bark to help with his joint pain—and with a practiced hand, flipped up the paper lock, slid the blank side of the paper behind the roller, and turned the cylinder knob until the paper was aligned.
Typing quickly, he wrote,The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog.
Georgie raised an eyebrow. “Having fun?”
He ripped the piece of paper from the typewriter and smiled. “With you? Always.” He looked down at the paper, a frown creasing his brow.
Georgie sat back on her heels, assessing the contents of the crate. “Why do you think Mrs. Penbaker is getting rid of these?”
“I don’t know,” Sebastian said thoughtfully. “Not that unusual, is it? A wife clearing out after her husband’s death?”
“I suppose not,” Georgie admitted. “But it seems awfully… quick.”
“Doesn’t seem to have been the happiest marriage, does it, though?” Sebastian pointed out. “Can’t imagine she’s spending much time weeping over her husband’s typewriter.”
Georgie frowned. “Or her typewriter.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“We don’t know that the typewriter belonged to her husband. It could be hers—or they might have shared it.”
“But then, if it was hers, why on earth would she be hiding it?”
“I don’t know,” Georgie said, shaking her head. She felt as though she were missing something—some detail that wouldclarify things. She rose to her feet somewhat gracelessly, and tried not to be annoyed when Sebastian mirrored the movement with considerably more elegance.
“Come on,” she said reluctantly. “We need to keep searching.”
As Sebastian turned to the master bedroom, Georgie—on an impulse she didn’t entirely understand—reached out and seized one of the overstuffed manila envelopes. And, without thinking about it too hard, she tucked it under her arm and followed him from the room.
Unfortunately, the contents of the manila envelope were not nearly as thrilling as Georgie had hoped.
They had departed Mrs. Penbaker’s house in furtive fashion and made for the village hall, where they found Miss de Vere and Miss Singh with Mrs. Penbaker in the poison garden, a small, walled-in plot behind the hall. Mrs. Penbaker was explaining the effects of various doses, with what Georgie thought was more or less accuracy. She was, at the very least, considerably more knowledgeable than her husband had been on the topic.
“Miss Radcliffe!” Miss Singh said, brightening, when she spotted Georgie and Sebastian. She had her Detective Devotees notebook in hand and was scribbling away but lowered her pencil to wave at them. “Mrs. Penbaker was just telling us about the lily of the valley that was used to kill the vicar.” She nodded at the plant in question. “Your first case!” she added happily, as though Georgie needed reminding.
“I recall,” Georgie said, gazing around at the garden. It had awarning sign on the gate advising parents to keep children out, and a rather impressive padlock kept locked when the exhibition was closed. She cleared her throat. “Erm—Mr. Fletcher-Ford was hoping to discuss tomorrow’s book club with you both. I believe you’ve read the book?”
“We have,” Miss de Vere said. “It wasn’t my personal favorite, but Asha enjoyed it.”
“Stella solved the mystery too quickly,” Miss Singh said, with a nod at her friend. “She’s very clever, you know. Often outwits the authors!”
“I’ll leave you to Miss Radcliffe and Mr. Fletcher-Ford, then,” Mrs. Penbaker said with a small smile, and led them from the walled garden, shutting the gate carefully behind them before vanishing back inside the village hall.
Miss de Vere rounded on Georgie. “Did you find anything?”
“Nothing of note,” Georgie said, feeling the press of the manila envelope against her back, where it was tucked into the waistband of her skirt.
Miss Singh sighed, looking dejected. “Detective work is more frustrating than it seems in novels—or inThe Deathly Dispatch.” She brightened. “Perhaps another corpse will turn up and give you something more interesting to do!” She waved her notebook. “I shall be ready to take notes when that happens!”
“How… heartening,” Georgie managed, before bidding the Murder Tourists adieu.
Now, she and Sebastian found themselves in the Shorn Sheep; she had thought it might not be busy, as it was just pastnoon and the pub had only just opened, but it was already shockingly overrun with Murder Tourists. They had secreted themselves away in the most private corner booth, and Georgie had gone to the bar to use the telephone; she returned to the table with drinks to find Sebastian staring at a sheaf of papers with his brow furrowed.
“Anything interesting?” she asked, setting the half-pint glasses on the scarred wood of the table and sliding into the booth next to him. He lowered the stack of papers and proceeded to spread them out on the table before her. She leaned forward eagerly, already anticipating the incriminating evidence that would be presented, and saw…
Bills.
