Delia Darling Mysteries Box Set, page 11
part #1 of Delia Darling Mystery Series
With dirt smeared on her forehead and a shovel in hand, this primary school teacher is hiding a secret and it’s buried in between her rose bushes.
Exercising caution, Delia and Betsy attempt to uncover what lies at the depths of Agatha’s garden before she even suspects they’re up to anything at all.
A cozy mystery set in a small English seaside town, featuring an ice cream stand owning amateur female sleuth, her best friend, and her quirky loyal customers.
THE ATROCIOUS AGATHA BELL
“An hour may destroy what an age was building.”
- English Proverb
ACT ONE
And She Dug Deep
Sitting in the garden, I embraced the cool breeze of the afternoon. My garden was—in the humblest opinion, the best garden in this entire village. I had a large garden, as did most people, with Betsy at one side and the quiet Agatha Bell to the other. I enjoyed the peace they both brought, neither of them too loud, and neither of them dirty.
Unless Agatha’s cat was outside.
In the centre of my garden was a small table and four chairs circling it. I placed a small pitcher of homemade lemonade in the centre and planted my book beside it. I was prepared for an afternoon of relaxation, just as the doctor had ordered. And he really had, my actual doctor, not the swoon-worthy heartthrob from TV, Doctor Manhattan.
My doctor, Doctor Peterwick was almost as old as me. I was under strict orders not to strain myself or else I could find my life made a whole lot worse by the craziness of doctors prodding me and nurses visiting every other day.
I only went in for a check-up.
“What did he say?” Betsy’s voice called, startling me.
I nodded to the lemonade and my book. “Rest and relaxation,” I said. “I would have booked myself into a hotel and spa, but unlike the people who can do that, I don’t seem to have an extra thousand pounds lying around in cash.”
We chuckled over it for a moment, sitting down at the table. I’d picked two cups up and had already prepared them in wait for Betsy’s arrival.
“Anything else you were told?” she asked.
“He mentioned that I shouldn’t be wearing myself out, he heard the rasp I have in my throat,” I said. “I’ve always had that, but all of a sudden it’s a cause for concern. Like he should be telling anyone how to live their life.”
“Oh?” she asked. “Which doctor was it? I hope it wasn’t Philips. He’s always on at Billy.”
“No. Peterwick. I’m surprised he hasn’t retired.”
She shook her head and shrugged. “Well, if there’s one thing I’ve learnt with making sure the doctor sees Billy, is that men don’t want to hear half of what you’ve got to say.”
I grumbled. “David was the same.”
Betsy picked up the pitcher and poured juice into the two cups. “Sugar-free?” she asked in a chuckle.
“It’s homemade,” I said. “But it’s got plenty of sugar.”
She sipped from her cup, her face winced in a tight squeeze. “Oh, goodness me,” she said. “It’s sour.”
“It’s lemon,” I laughed. “What else did you expect? Honey?”
She hummed at the comment, raising her brows in my direction. “I think it might have benefitted from a little more sweetness, but the kick is alright.”
“You can’t really complain about that,” I said. “Lemon water is good for you. That’s basically all this is.”
Another noise came from the back of her throat. The sound of judgment. I knew it all too well, and I knew Betsy. I tipped my head to her, if she had something to say, I wanted to hear it—not like I knew she could keep her tongue once she had a thought anyway.
“So?” I said.
“I know, I know,” she said. “Lemon water this, lemon water that.” She continued. “What doesn’t it do? Billy is constantly going on about it. Like it’s some miracle cure-all to every single ailment.”
I shrugged. “I’m thinking of growing some myself. I have a nice little space back—”
“Nope,” she cut me off, striking the air with both arms in an X formation. “I’ve already looked into it for him,” she said. “You’ve got to faff around. Outside in summer, inside in winter. We don’t have the climate for them to grow anyway, plus, they’re cheap enough from the supermarket, or even the newsagents, I’m sure Eileen has fresh produce in.”
I shrugged. “It was just a thought.” I sipped from the lemonade, my face immediately clenched into a squeeze as the sour lemon touched my tongue. As it went down my throat, I let out a little shimmy.
“See,” she chuckled. “Maybe stick to the boxed stuff.”
“I’ll get used to it,” I replied.
It was the one thing I’d agreed to try on the doctor’s recommendation, except he didn’t approve of the added sugar. I just wanted to have something that would boost my immune system and add extra vitamin C into my life. I’d never counted that stuff before, but it’s all the doctor did nowadays. You were always in a deficiency of something.
“Bet!” a loud voice called out. “Bet!”
“Oh goodness,” she grumbled.
We scaled the walls of her house with our eyes until we came upon Billy’s face, it was pressed against the window on the second floor.
“Come down, the sun’s out,” I called back.
“No,” he snapped.
“That was barely even five minutes.” Betsy tapped at her forehead with a finger. “I wonder what he’s got himself into now.”
“Betsy,” he called again, his fleshy white face against the window. “I need you to take a look at something.”
She rolled her eyes, trying not to let her husband see. “It’s probably a mole,” she said. “No matter how many times I look at them and tell him he’s had them forever, he thinks he’s getting more.”
“It’s better safe than sorry,” I said with a nod. “You best go check on him. God knows what he’d do if I didn’t live next door.”
“Move,” she laughed. “Wherever you go, I think we’ll be joining.”
Betsy left, taking her cup of lemonade.
I sat back and relaxed, gulping down my drink like it was medicine. It was still quite bitter with a tang, but there was now a sweetness to the tangy aftertaste and it wasn’t quite as repulsive as it first had been.
I dug into my book. Oliver Twist, the classics never failed to keep me entertained, and they were enjoyable without the need of learning about new characters with each new book—instead, I could stick to the same books and find myself getting to know them a little bit better with each read through.
Fifteen-pages into my book and a thud sounded from Agatha’s house. It came again. Thud. Like the blunt end of a shovel breaking into dry dirt, a sound I knew all too well from gardens that weren’t watered often.
I placed my book open face down and immediately stood, my brain whirred in thought about how nobody had asked for permission to be doing any work on their gardens. It had to be timed to absolute perfection.
My first thought was to call out to her, but I’d learned a lesson or two from previously acting before thinking, and so this time, I approached the fence with caution. The fence was large enough that it blocked my view even when standing on my tiptoes. I moved along the garden quietly, listening as the sound of dirt was upheaved from the ground.
I was directly parallel to the sound. I faced the fence and stepped into the planting beds I’d just watered, wetting my open-toe sandals with dirt. I glanced through a space where two slats of wood didn’t fit quite perfectly. And there, I saw it, Agatha Bell, the reclusive primary school teacher, manoeuvring a shovel with her gloved hands, digging a hole at the end of her garden.
It definitely hadn’t been signed off by me, nor anyone else.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she whimpered.
A thud crashed to the bottom of the small hole she’d dug. The air in my throat stopped as I gasped. “Fudge,” I whispered back softly.
“I wish I could just burn you,” her voice, soft again, came in a sob. “What did I do to deserve this?”
I stepped backwards, this time falling over my feet and landing on my backside with a dud, the sound muffled by Agatha as she scooped dirt.
“Ouch,” I grumbled, looking around at the space I was in. I tried to be quiet, I couldn’t have Agatha seeing me, least of all on the ground. I turned myself around and stood, dusting my hands off on my knees. I needed to see what she was up to. I stepped forward again into my bushes, peeping through the space in the two slats of wood.
Agatha stood above the small mound of dirt. It definitely wasn’t something I’d approve of her doing, she would only harm the poor roots of the rose bushes by digging up the soil around them. I scoffed slightly. Agatha turned on a heel—her eyes darting around the garden. For a second, I thought we clocked eyes, as she glanced in my direction. She turned away again. My heart throbbed in my limbs, sending tingles through them.
Rushing back inside, I clamoured to grab a glass and fill it with water. My shaking fingers, slipping around it. I gulped back the entire glass of water before pulling away and holding a deep breath inside my lungs.
I didn’t know what to think, I didn’t know what she was doing. Her face had dirt across the forehead, and her gloves were completely blackened.
Whatever it was Ms. Bell had been up to, I needed to tell someone about it.
Lucky for me, Betsy only lived next door. Once the thrill had worn off, I peeked out of my back door and pushed my ear high into the air, trying to listen to anything from Agatha’s garden. If she had seen me, and she had been doing something demonic, I didn’t want any part of it—but what I did want, was to make sure people knew.
“Betsy, Betsy,” I ran into her home from the back door, panting and out of breath, my back arched and my hands resting on my thighs.
From the living room, she approached me, her hands flailing as she wrapped them around me. “Goodness. What’s wrong?”
“I saw something,” I said.
“Aliens?” Billy chuckled. “UFO?”
“No,” I snapped in my lack of breath. “This is serious. Agatha was burying something in her garden. The hole seemed deep.”
“It’s probably a plant,” she said.
I shook my head. “Definitely not.”
She smiled. “Planting bulbs sometimes means you’ve got to dig deep.”
“This wasn’t a bulb,” I told them in a gasp. “I think it might have been—been—”
“C’mon Delia, spit it out,” Billy said, rustling his newspaper from the living room.
“It might have been alive.”
I finally said it. I finally brought myself to admit it. I’d dealt with thieves, cults of women, and missing people, but never had I dealt with a murderer before, and that’s what my brain was telling my body, even if my lips wouldn’t quite admit it at the time.
A raging chill through my back, causing a shiver to ripple through my entire body with goosebumps.
“What?” Billy jumped from his chair.
Betsy ushered him down. “You know what the doctor said, Bill,” she grumbled. “Don’t exert yourself.”
He sat in a huff. “I don’t think she’s a murderer,” he said. “She’s a teacher. Of children. Didn’t she teach Caroline?”
“Well, yes,” I said. “But if it’s true, it’s true. Whatever she’s done, she doesn’t want anyone finding out about it.”
Billy sighed. “There you go then,” he said. “Best leave it well alone.”
“Or,” Betsy began. “I think we have every right to know if she’s doing something that could jeopardise this community.”
I nodded. “I just can’t believe someone so sweet could do something so evil.”
Billy mumbled under his breath.
It was strange to see Billy so pent up about something, and while he wasn’t always behind my crazy theories or actions, I could usually find him in a more pleasant manner.
“Look at you,” Betsy said. “Your shoes are covered in dirt.”
“Fudge,” I said. “Well, I had to go into the actual garden to see. I must have traipsed the stuff all the way back into my home as well. I bet the kitchen it pitted.”
“It’s fine,” she chuckled.
“It’s not,” Billy added. “I’m not cleaning it, that’s for sure.”
“Oh, Billy,” she scoffed. “Get back to your paper. Not like you’d ever get on your hands and knees to clean.”
“I can’t, can I? Not with my lower back,” he shouted back over the loud ruffle his newspaper made.
A plan had already formed in my mind; I would contact DC Fletcher. This time it was something I could call him about. This was something he’d have to take seriously. Agatha had buried something in her garden and it was something she felt bad for doing—he needed to know for my peace of mind. I didn’t want to mess with anyone capable of taking a life.
“I’ll leave you two,” I said, waving them off. “Come see me later.”
I found the path of dirt my shoes left, leading in through the back door and into the kitchen. It must have gone amiss earlier when I was hurrying around in shock. I grabbed the mop and bucket from behind the kitchen door.
I placed my shoes out on the garden before mopping, it would have been my luck to continue walking dirt around whilst I was cleaning. The act of mopping away dirt, the warm water and lavender detergent sloshing around in the bucket was soothing; relaxing me as I took my cleaning to the entire kitchen.
Sighing into my armchair forty-minutes later with a small plate of biscuits and a cup of coffee, I hesitated to pick up the receiver of my landline telephone. I was about to make the call.
Click. I pressed the speed dial digit.
“Delia,” his voice answered cheerfully. “How can I help you today? Has someone littered outside your home? Is someone organising a secret fight club?”
I scoffed at the thoughts. “No, don’t be absurd,” I said. “It’s neither of those.”
“Go on, entertain me,” he said.
“I’m calling to tell you that Agatha Bell from next door has buried something in her garden, and try as I may, but I couldn’t see what exactly, and she sounded awfully sorry for it.”
“You’re all gardeners,” he said. “You dig, right?”
I shook my head and my jaw wobbled slightly as I wanted to object but the stress of the situation pulled me slightly. “I—I—”
“What was it?” he asked.
“Alive,” I said. “It was alive.”
“You said you didn’t see it.”
“I didn’t, but she sounded like it had been alive,” I said. “And someone needs to come on over as soon as possible to see exactly what it is that she’s been up to, because I don’t feel comfortable in my own garden, or in fact, letting an inspector loose around the community.”
“Okay,” he said, softly. “I can tell you’re worked up about this whole situation.”
“Well—well, wouldn’t you?”
“I don’t think Ms. Bell, a primary school teacher, would do anything you’re claiming she’s done,” he said. “However—”
“Yes?” I asked in excitement, that meant there was a but somewhere. And I liked that to mean there was a chance something was amiss.
“It’s illegal to bury dead pets on your property,” he said.
I snapped my fingers. “There, it might have been a cat. I don’t know what it was, but—”
“But is this really something you want to occupy your time with, Ms. Darling?” he asked.
I had to take a moment to think about it. I should be taking my doctor’s advice; I shouldn’t be going the extra mile any time soon, but a dead pet on the property decreased its value, and it was bound to affect the bushes around whatever it was she had buried there. “Well, she did have a cat, so I will respect her privacy, but I can’t—” I paused to think. Was I about to admit to future acts of crime? I was.
“You can’t what?” he asked.
“Oh, no, nothing,” I replied. “I’ll leave well alone.”
“That was easy,” he chuckled. “Watch a film, read a book, but don’t insert yourself into anyone’s life on a hunch.”
I hung up. I didn’t know what he meant by that. I’d never inserted myself into anyone’s life before. If anything, I’d helped people, and everyone grew from my help, myself included. Maple’s life was made worse, of course, because she was committing a crime, Scarlet’s life increased because she knew we cared enough to search for her, and Mona actually smiled for the first time in forever, even if she was running a would-be cult around some very adult clothing.
After a short while, Betsy came over and I informed her about the call I’d had with Finley. I had yet to broach the topic about what I was planning, and whether or not she’d be involved, but it was Betsy—of course, she’d help.
We sat at the kitchen table with a pot of coffee and a small pot of milk. I offered a hand out to her and she took it, smiling back at me, her eyes were slightly pink like she was about to cry. Her lips trembled.
“Just tell me,” she said. “Tell me what’s happening.”
“What do you mean?”
She gestured to my hands with a nod. “You’re acting strange, Delia,” she said, a hiccup in her breath. “What did the doctor really tell you.”
“I have something to ask you.”
“So, it’s not about the doctor’s visit?” she asked.
I shook my head. “No, but I’m sure he wouldn’t approve of my active lifestyle.” I clasped a hand over her hand. “So?”
“So?” she asked. “You know I always have your back. Whatever it is, I’ll do it.”
A suppressed the smile on my cheeks. “There may or may not be a dead pet in Agatha’s garden.”
“Nope.” She pulled her hand from mine like a slippery eel. “Not a chance. I will not do whatever it is you’re thinking.” She shuddered. “I thought you were going to ask me something important. Like, will I be your emergency contact or power of life if you end up in hospital.”
