SAY GOODBYE TO ARCHIE: A Rex Graves Mini-Mystery by C.S. Challinor Page A
Authors: C.S. Challinor
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the Elephant.”
“But Patricia is not as concerned about immortality as the here and now. She got Archie when her husband died, and he was a great solace to her. All she ever talked aboot was Archie and his latest escapade, although lately it was more his state of health. A stiffness in his joints, his getting more fussy aboot his food, that sort of thing. But nothing major.”
Getting on was no fun for man or beast, Rex reflected, himself middle-aged and showing the signs around his mid-section.
His mother shook her head sadly. “She’ll be at a complete loss now.”
“Perhaps getting another cat to replace him would help?”
“Och, noo!” she protested. “Patricia would never think of it. It would seem like a betrayal. And what makes it worse is she thinks he was murdered!”
Rex choked on a crumb from his scone. “Murdered?” he finally got out. He washed his throat down with tea.
“By someone in the village.”
Rex eyed his mother over the rim of his cup. Now he fully understood her insistence that he travel down to the Poplars in Woodley. He was expected to solve the mystery of a murdered cat! An allegedly murdered cat. Patricia Forsyth was not only batty but evidently possessed of a morbidly vivid imagination. He was, in effect, being assigned the role of pet detective. He gazed insistently at his mother demurely sipping her tea.
“Well, you needn’t look so cross, Reginald. It’s not as though you had anything important planned for the weekend.”
“That’s the whole point! I was planning to take the weekend off and relax with a good book. It’s been an exceptionally busy week in court and I was hoping to get a break from murders, even those of a feline nature.” He had a sudden thought. “Archie was killed by another cat, right? Or a dog? He got in a fight or was chased into the road and run over by a car?”
“Noo,” his mother exclaimed. “Patricia said he was poisoned. So the question is, who would wish him dead? I told her you’d be the one to find oot. You can take your book wi’ you on the train,” she said with finality.
Their housekeeper had cut a few slices of Battenberg cake bought from Marks & Spencer’s. Miss Bird didn’t bake as much now that her eyesight was failing. Too much salt had been inadvertently substituted for sugar on many an occasion with disastrous results. Rex cut a piece into four pink and yellow squares and began by licking off the marzipan.
“Och, Reggie, ye did that when ye were a bairn.” Miss Bird chuckled as she sat down to join them as she habitually did at the end of her work day.
Only at home was he called Reggie and Reginald, detestable names both. As soon as he started Latin in school and learned the declension of the noun “king,” the origin of his name, he had contrived to go by Rex. But Miss Bird apparently still saw the bulky redhead as a lad in short trousers. He wiped his mouth with the starched napkin and brushed away any crumbs on his beard.
“I suppose I had better pack for my trip,” he said pointedly. “See an old lady aboot a cat,” he explained to Miss Bird.
“Patricia will be so glad to see you, Reginald. She always said I had the prince of sons.”
His mother could be very manipulative. “I hope you did not raise her hopes, Mother. It’ll be hard, if not impossible, to prove anyone poisoned Archie.”
“I forgot to tell you! Patricia received a note through her letterbox. It was composed of capital letters cut out of a newspaper. Can ye credit it?” she asked Miss Bird. “This was the day before he was murdered. It said, ‘SAY GOODBYE TO ARCHIE’!”
*
Rex sat thoughtfully on the early morning train headed south from Waverley Station to Kings Cross in London. In spite of earlier reservations regarding the trip, he felt somewhat heartened by the news of the note. At least now he had a tangible piece of evidence to work with. The first clue. Hopefully, Patricia had kept the note. He wondered if she had
“But Patricia is not as concerned about immortality as the here and now. She got Archie when her husband died, and he was a great solace to her. All she ever talked aboot was Archie and his latest escapade, although lately it was more his state of health. A stiffness in his joints, his getting more fussy aboot his food, that sort of thing. But nothing major.”
Getting on was no fun for man or beast, Rex reflected, himself middle-aged and showing the signs around his mid-section.
His mother shook her head sadly. “She’ll be at a complete loss now.”
“Perhaps getting another cat to replace him would help?”
“Och, noo!” she protested. “Patricia would never think of it. It would seem like a betrayal. And what makes it worse is she thinks he was murdered!”
Rex choked on a crumb from his scone. “Murdered?” he finally got out. He washed his throat down with tea.
“By someone in the village.”
Rex eyed his mother over the rim of his cup. Now he fully understood her insistence that he travel down to the Poplars in Woodley. He was expected to solve the mystery of a murdered cat! An allegedly murdered cat. Patricia Forsyth was not only batty but evidently possessed of a morbidly vivid imagination. He was, in effect, being assigned the role of pet detective. He gazed insistently at his mother demurely sipping her tea.
“Well, you needn’t look so cross, Reginald. It’s not as though you had anything important planned for the weekend.”
“That’s the whole point! I was planning to take the weekend off and relax with a good book. It’s been an exceptionally busy week in court and I was hoping to get a break from murders, even those of a feline nature.” He had a sudden thought. “Archie was killed by another cat, right? Or a dog? He got in a fight or was chased into the road and run over by a car?”
“Noo,” his mother exclaimed. “Patricia said he was poisoned. So the question is, who would wish him dead? I told her you’d be the one to find oot. You can take your book wi’ you on the train,” she said with finality.
Their housekeeper had cut a few slices of Battenberg cake bought from Marks & Spencer’s. Miss Bird didn’t bake as much now that her eyesight was failing. Too much salt had been inadvertently substituted for sugar on many an occasion with disastrous results. Rex cut a piece into four pink and yellow squares and began by licking off the marzipan.
“Och, Reggie, ye did that when ye were a bairn.” Miss Bird chuckled as she sat down to join them as she habitually did at the end of her work day.
Only at home was he called Reggie and Reginald, detestable names both. As soon as he started Latin in school and learned the declension of the noun “king,” the origin of his name, he had contrived to go by Rex. But Miss Bird apparently still saw the bulky redhead as a lad in short trousers. He wiped his mouth with the starched napkin and brushed away any crumbs on his beard.
“I suppose I had better pack for my trip,” he said pointedly. “See an old lady aboot a cat,” he explained to Miss Bird.
“Patricia will be so glad to see you, Reginald. She always said I had the prince of sons.”
His mother could be very manipulative. “I hope you did not raise her hopes, Mother. It’ll be hard, if not impossible, to prove anyone poisoned Archie.”
“I forgot to tell you! Patricia received a note through her letterbox. It was composed of capital letters cut out of a newspaper. Can ye credit it?” she asked Miss Bird. “This was the day before he was murdered. It said, ‘SAY GOODBYE TO ARCHIE’!”
*
Rex sat thoughtfully on the early morning train headed south from Waverley Station to Kings Cross in London. In spite of earlier reservations regarding the trip, he felt somewhat heartened by the news of the note. At least now he had a tangible piece of evidence to work with. The first clue. Hopefully, Patricia had kept the note. He wondered if she had
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