The Keeper of Lost Things(57)
As Laura strolled aimlessly round the rose garden, puffing like a guilty schoolgirl, Sunshine’s words slipped back into her head.
“Why don’t we ask her?” It might not be very practical, but nothing about this whole situation was exactly run-of-the-mill and there was no point in Laura trying to deal with it as though it were. So maybe Sunshine was right. If it was Therese doing all these things—and some days Laura clung on to that “if” like a passenger on the Titanic to a life jacket—then leaving her to her own devices would only mean more and more trouble. “Why don’t we ask her?” Laura was embarrassed even to be considering it. But what else could she do? Put up or shut up until . . . Laura didn’t want to think about the possible endings to that sentence. She took a final puff on her cigarette and then, glancing round furtively to make sure that she couldn’t be seen or heard, she let her words escape out loud into the chill of the afternoon air.
“Therese,” she began, just to clarify whom she was talking to, and just in case any other ghosts happened to be listening, she joked to herself, “you and I need to have a serious chat. Anthony was my friend, and I know how desperately he longed to be with you again. I want to help, and if I possibly can I will, but wrecking the house, locking me out of my bedroom, and keeping me awake all night with your music isn’t exactly appealing to my better nature. Clearly ghostbusting isn’t my area of expertise, so if you know how I can help, then you’ll have to try and find a way of sharing that with me.”
Laura paused, not expecting an answer, but feeling somehow that she should leave a gap for one anyway.
“I don’t have the patience for puzzles and riddles, and I’m hopeless at Cluedo,” she continued, “so you’ll have to try and make it as clear and simple as you can. Preferably without breaking or setting fire to anything . . . or anyone,” she added, under her breath.
Once again, she waited. Nothing. Except for the cooing and canoodling of two amorous pigeons on the shed roof, practicing for spring. She shivered. It was getting colder.
“I meant what I said, Therese. I’ll do whatever I can.”
She marched back down the garden, feeling a little foolish and in need of a cup of tea and a consoling chocolate biscuit. Back in the kitchen, she put the kettle on and opened the biscuit tin. Inside was Anthony’s pen.
CHAPTER 37
“Well, if that’s her idea of ‘clear and simple,’ I dread to think what her ‘cryptic’ would be like.”
Laura was walking hand in hand with Freddy and they were mulling over the mystery of Anthony’s pen. Carrot was trotting along in front of them, sniffing and marking his territory at alternate lampposts. They had been to the Moon Is Missing for a few drinks. Freddy had thought it might take Laura’s mind off Therese for a bit, but the entire cast of Blithe Spirit was reliving the triumph of their first night in the bar. Marjory Wadscallop was still in full Madame Arcati hair and makeup and wasted no time in pointing out to Winnie the arrival of Laura and Freddy together. It had hardly been the quiet drink that Freddy had been hoping for.
“Are you sure that Sunshine put the pen back in the drawer?”
“Well, I didn’t actually see her do it, but I’m sure she would have. Why? You don’t think she’s playing games, do you?”
Freddy smiled and shook his head.
“No, I don’t. I really don’t. Sunshine’s probably the most honest out of all of us, including you,” he said to Carrot as he clipped the lead to his collar, ready to cross the road.
Back at Padua, Laura poured them both another drink and Freddy livened up the fire that was barely smoldering in the garden room.
“Now,” said Freddy, snuggling up to Laura on the sofa, “let’s see if the wine has aroused our deductive juices.”
Laura giggled.
“That sounds positively smutty.”
Freddy raised his eyes in feigned surprise and took a swig from his glass.
“Right. Let’s look at the clue again—a pen in a biscuit tin.”
“Not just any pen—Anthony’s best, beloved Conway Stewart fountain pen; red-and-black marbled shaft with an eighteen-karat gold nib,” Laura added.
“Thank you, Miss Marple, but does that really help our investigation?”
“Well, it was the pen that Anthony used to write his stories.”
They sat in contemplative silence, listening to the spit and crackle of the fire. Carrot groaned blissfully as he stretched his spindly legs nearer to the hearth. Freddy nudged him with his toe.
“Watch it, mister. If you get any closer, you’ll roast your toes.”
Carrot ignored him and wriggled infinitesimally nearer.
“Have you read all of Anthony’s stories? Maybe the clue is in one of them.”
Laura shook her head.
“I told her I wasn’t any good at clues. I specifically asked her to make it clear and simple.”
Freddy drained his glass and set it down on the floor.
“Well, maybe it is clear and simple to her.”
Laura resisted the temptation to point out that of course it was because Therese already knew the answer.
“I read everything he asked me to type, obviously, and certainly all of the short stories. But that was years ago now. I can’t possibly remember all of them.”