Murder in the Village: A Lady Margaret Turnbull Cozy Mystery Book (International Cozy Mysteries 2) by C T Mitchell Page A
Authors: C T Mitchell
Tags: Murder in the Village
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taking the saucer
from the older woman’s hands.
“Thanks, it’s been raining all night, and I just never dried
out. I appreciate the warm tea, Lady Turnbull.” He made a fake salute to her
with his small tea cup and hoped she would appreciate him using her proper
name.
“Well, hopefully you don’t catch pneumonia and die an old
fart. You really should take better care of yourself. Now what brings you
here? Do I need to call the Mrs. and let her know where you’re at.”
“No thanks, mam. I appreciate the sentiment. But I’m not
really speaking to anyone at the moment.”
Maggie’s eyes perked up and one eyebrow danced across her
forehead. “Oh really?”
“Yes, really. Don’t go getting all excited about it, it’s
nothing like that.”
Maggie grinned widely at her friend. “Oh I think it’s
exactly like that, Tom! You know me, and it’s nearing my birthday, even! This
must be your gift to me, a juicy secret case to be solved on the quiet. That’s
very kind of you.” She dipped her head to him and he half-chuckled, “Now what
have you got for me, here?”
“My socks are soaked through, Lady Margaret. I’m freezing
and I don’t want to be here all day, I’m knackered. I came to you because I
don’t want to be airing out my dirty laundry all over town. I’d much rather
come to you, since you have a way with these sorts of cases, than to have it
broadcast all over town. It’s from my Aunt in Byron Bay, she sent it in the
post and I wanted you to have a look at it before I took it to the Station.”
“Alright alright, cool your horses. Settle your spirit,
love. You look shaken, what’s going on? Why do you want me to look at it
first?” Maggie asked.
Tom handed her the box, and Maggie eyed him carefully.
Whatever was in the box has him pretty worked up. “It’s probably a book of
some sort, I’d imagine.”
She pried the lid off with one hand, and half expected there
to be an old sandwich or something inside of it. When the lid finally came
loose, Maggie swallowed hard. Nestled into a crimson-colored piece of fabric
was a jar. The jar was cloudy inside, and had a liquid in it, held securely by
a firm piece of cork. Inside the bottle, which Tom looked away from as soon as
she opened it, was a slender finger. It was floating in some sort of liquid,
and upon a quick smell of the bottle, Lady Margaret assured him that it was
formaldehyde. She could see the color in the Detective Inspector’s face grow
lighter, and he looked as if his stomach was a little queasy.
Lady Margaret regained her composure quickly and squared her
shoulders at the kitchen table. “This is not what you were expecting, I take
it?”
The Detective shook his head and brought a fist to his
mouth, looking as though he were about to be sick. “No!” He shouted, suddenly
upset. “I thought it was an old book or something that she’d gotten you for
your birthday!”
Only a few moments later, Maggie was showing him to the
front door. Detective Tom apologized profusely for the interruption and
confusion, and excused himself to the police station at Lismore to try and
figure out what the package was all about.
Maggie watched as he went back to his car, not quite fully
dried out yet, still holding the plastic bag under his arm. He had barely
wanted to wait for her to wrap it up, but she’d insisted, so that he could
maintain privacy. Those goons at the police department had no business asking
questions about a beat up old shoe box; just yet anyway.
Chapter 2
Lady Margaret Turnbull, beloved bed and breakfast owner and
part time sleuth of Bangalow, New South Wales, freshened her tea and returned
to her kitchen table. No sooner had she grabbed her pad of scratch paper and
begun to doodle on it, her mind raced with all the things she’d taken in.
She wasn’t given much time before the Detective had replaced
the lid on the box, but in that short
from the older woman’s hands.
“Thanks, it’s been raining all night, and I just never dried
out. I appreciate the warm tea, Lady Turnbull.” He made a fake salute to her
with his small tea cup and hoped she would appreciate him using her proper
name.
“Well, hopefully you don’t catch pneumonia and die an old
fart. You really should take better care of yourself. Now what brings you
here? Do I need to call the Mrs. and let her know where you’re at.”
“No thanks, mam. I appreciate the sentiment. But I’m not
really speaking to anyone at the moment.”
Maggie’s eyes perked up and one eyebrow danced across her
forehead. “Oh really?”
“Yes, really. Don’t go getting all excited about it, it’s
nothing like that.”
Maggie grinned widely at her friend. “Oh I think it’s
exactly like that, Tom! You know me, and it’s nearing my birthday, even! This
must be your gift to me, a juicy secret case to be solved on the quiet. That’s
very kind of you.” She dipped her head to him and he half-chuckled, “Now what
have you got for me, here?”
“My socks are soaked through, Lady Margaret. I’m freezing
and I don’t want to be here all day, I’m knackered. I came to you because I
don’t want to be airing out my dirty laundry all over town. I’d much rather
come to you, since you have a way with these sorts of cases, than to have it
broadcast all over town. It’s from my Aunt in Byron Bay, she sent it in the
post and I wanted you to have a look at it before I took it to the Station.”
“Alright alright, cool your horses. Settle your spirit,
love. You look shaken, what’s going on? Why do you want me to look at it
first?” Maggie asked.
Tom handed her the box, and Maggie eyed him carefully.
Whatever was in the box has him pretty worked up. “It’s probably a book of
some sort, I’d imagine.”
She pried the lid off with one hand, and half expected there
to be an old sandwich or something inside of it. When the lid finally came
loose, Maggie swallowed hard. Nestled into a crimson-colored piece of fabric
was a jar. The jar was cloudy inside, and had a liquid in it, held securely by
a firm piece of cork. Inside the bottle, which Tom looked away from as soon as
she opened it, was a slender finger. It was floating in some sort of liquid,
and upon a quick smell of the bottle, Lady Margaret assured him that it was
formaldehyde. She could see the color in the Detective Inspector’s face grow
lighter, and he looked as if his stomach was a little queasy.
Lady Margaret regained her composure quickly and squared her
shoulders at the kitchen table. “This is not what you were expecting, I take
it?”
The Detective shook his head and brought a fist to his
mouth, looking as though he were about to be sick. “No!” He shouted, suddenly
upset. “I thought it was an old book or something that she’d gotten you for
your birthday!”
Only a few moments later, Maggie was showing him to the
front door. Detective Tom apologized profusely for the interruption and
confusion, and excused himself to the police station at Lismore to try and
figure out what the package was all about.
Maggie watched as he went back to his car, not quite fully
dried out yet, still holding the plastic bag under his arm. He had barely
wanted to wait for her to wrap it up, but she’d insisted, so that he could
maintain privacy. Those goons at the police department had no business asking
questions about a beat up old shoe box; just yet anyway.
Chapter 2
Lady Margaret Turnbull, beloved bed and breakfast owner and
part time sleuth of Bangalow, New South Wales, freshened her tea and returned
to her kitchen table. No sooner had she grabbed her pad of scratch paper and
begun to doodle on it, her mind raced with all the things she’d taken in.
She wasn’t given much time before the Detective had replaced
the lid on the box, but in that short
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