Delia Darling Mysteries Box Set, page 9
part #1 of Delia Darling Mystery Series
“Yorkshire puddings?” I asked, I knew it was a similar formula.
“Cookies, brownies, banana bread,” he listed. “Just need a little altering, but once you’ve got the base, you can make all sorts of stuff with a solid pancake mix.”
In all honesty, I don’t think I ate pancakes any other time of the year except for pancake day, and that was once a year. “Fancy.”
“I really did think she was up to something,” he said.
“Me too,” I said, moving towards the dining table. “I thought it was something more sinister.”
As Arthur made pancakes, I became lost in thought. Mona said it must have been her daughter, but surely when she came to my home she wouldn’t have referred to her mother by name. Although it had been years since I’d seen any of her children, and even if I did, I probably wouldn’t recognise any of them anyway.
“I’m still suspicious,” I told him as he plated chopped strawberries on the table. “I think she’s lying about her daughter.”
He sat opposite me, chewing at his bottom lip in thought. “I don’t think we went about this in the right way,” he said. “It could have been her--”
“No,” I said, wagging a finger. “She addressed her by first name, I’m sure.” Although at the rate of how sure, I wasn’t at one-hundred per cent, I just knew something didn’t sit well.
He shrugged at that remark. “People address their parents by first name all the time,” he said, adding a short pile of thin pancakes.
“I would never let my daughter address me as Delia,” I said. “It’s always mother or mum, nothing else.”
He piled an open face pancake with strawberries and a scattering of sugar. “The way she reacted, I believed her.”
I believed her as well, and that didn’t settle properly, especially when I had a hunch. I wanted to get to the bottom of this. I wanted to find out what she was hiding, and I knew there had to have been something—nobody has that many friends, especially not at our age. There were several cars, and if that was two per car, well, you had more people than fingers on hands.
My stomach grew tense when I was in the midst of a deep thought -- something I knew would break through and give me the answers I sought after. I cut through a piece of pancake with a knife and fork, it hovered on the fork beneath my nose, just moments from entering through my mouth. I pulled it away. “I think we should call Finley, see what he has to say about this whole situation.”
“Definitely not.”
“Betsy wou—”
He chuckled, swallowing the food in his mouth. “She’d say the same thing I’m saying, which is, don’t do it. I think he’s just about coming around to helping us, the last thing he wants is to be sent on a goose chase.”
“There are no geese,” I remarked. “Not a single one in sight. This is a woman who could lie directly to her neighbours’ faces.”
He laughed harder, wiping his mouth on a napkin. “Has anyone ever told you you’re incessant.”
“Constantly. It’s what made David fall so truly, madly, deeply in love with me.” Being incessant was one of my better qualities, admittedly—I knew when there was something worth chasing, even if it wasn’t as crazy as my imagination would like me to believe.
Arthur had really pulled out all the stops, as I took a closer look at all the toppings he’d provided, there was more than just the strawberries before my eyes. Chocolate sauce, nuts, lemon, honey, and sugar. The impending sugar rush hit my veins from the smell in the air alone.
“Is everything okay with you?” he asked as a silence fell between us.
“Oh, perfectly.”
“You’ve been off,” he said. “First with what happened to Maple, then Scarlet, and now Mona.”
I shook my head. “We’re not forgetting that each of them had secrets I uncovered.” It was true. “I’m basically a bloodhound for this stuff.”
“A bloodhound?” he grinned. “I don’t picture you sniffing the floor to pick scents. You love a conspiracy.”
“They keep the mind alert,” I said. I was, of course, a fan of a good conspiracy theory, like the belief that the Titanic sank for insurance purposes, or aliens are living in a secret facility near the Lake District, perhaps my favourite was the reptilian race living among us. Not all as believable, but I entertained them—mostly because the next most-watched TV show was about conspiracy theories. “It’s why I always go to the crazy scenarios first, that why I’m not shocked by whatever it is they’re hiding.”
He smiled, although I was unsure if it was one of those she’s crazy smiles or not.
I opened my mouth to say something, then shut it again immediately. I had some thoughts, but at that moment, they were best left in my head, and spoken aloud when I was alone, at home and with a phone in hand, preferably.
Ten minutes later, and I was in that same situation, thinking about what I was going to say. I dialled the speed dial on my telephone keypad and within three rings, an answer came.
A droning sigh answered. “What now, Delia?” DC Fletcher asked.
“Hear me out,” I said. “I’m sure you saw all those cars outside Mona’s house last night. Well—”
“Tell your friends your crazy theories,” he said.
“She’s lying,” I snapped. “She’s doing something awful, and I can’t say for certain, but you need to polygraph her.”
“Bye, Delia.”
I wasn’t being unreasonable. He should have done one of those detective things where they don’t need any equipment, just a moment of your time to look into your eyes and feel for your pulse. That’s what Doctor Manhattan did, and he was a doctor, he couldn’t have been wrong in his regards to detecting liars.
My next call was to my daughter. It took even longer for her to pick up.
“I’m at work,” she answered. “I can’t talk.”
“I just want something printing,” I said. “I’m sure you can find it on the internet there.”
“One minute, mum,” she said. “What do you need?” her voice was hushed and low.
“Okay, type into the thingy, how to know if someone is lying, and then send it all in the mail,” I said. “You still have my address?”
“Mother, I lived there for almost nineteen years,” she said. “I know your address. Anything else?”
“Maybe if you don’t get chance to send it, phone me and tell me what the steps are.”
“Okay,” she said.
“Love you, sweetie.”
“Love you too.”
“And don’t forget—”
She cut me off.
“Don’t forget to come and visit me soon,” I continued in a sigh as if she was still on the receiving end of my call.
My calls to my daughter usually lasted longer than the three seconds of communication we just had, but I she was a working woman, married and with a child. She was busy—we were all busy.
The next time I’d come face-to-face with Ms. Mona Wilson I would definitely have an edge over whether or not she was telling the truth. Lying came easy to some people, and she was most likely one of them, lying without even a second thought—definitely cult mentality.
“Brought some cake,” Betsy called out, entering through the back door.
It was the middle of the afternoon at this point, and I’d managed to find myself caught up in a marathon of crime television, the channel was stylised as CRME, and they hosted a whole roster of shows from police chases to an American judge, pounding a gavel after three seconds for one thing or another.
“Cake?” I asked, craning my neck over the sofa to see her enter.
“Chocolate,” she said, joining me in the living room. She placed the plate of cake slices in the centre of the table. “Billy made it.”
“He’s a feeder,” I scoffed with a chuckle.
She waved a hand at the thought. “Just because he can’t eat it, but it occupies his time,” she said. “This is his second attempt this morning, this first one went straight into the bin, for reasons undisclosed.” She tapped the centre of her forehead with the palm of her hand.
“Is it infused?” I asked, peeling away the plastic wrap.
“Coffee,” she shrugged. “Maybe.”
“I have something to tell you,” I said.
Betsy’s back perked up straight. She looked at me with furrowed brows and inhaled deeply. “I don’t like that,” she replied. “Well, then—” she rapped a closed fist against the arm of the sofa. “—tell me.”
“I phoned Finley. I asked him to polygraph Mona. I mean, the woman lied to us, we need to get the real information. Whatever it is, she’s kept it hidden for far too long.”
“Lies. Information. Hiding,” Betsy laughed, glancing at the TV screen. “I think she was telling the truth.”
“But she said it was her daughter,” I said, the main point of my focus. “My daughter would certainly never refer to me by first name, unless it was something official, like say—if I was in the hospital and she needed to know where I was.”
She grumbled. “I don’t think you can focus on that, but if she’s crowding or hogging the streets again, then we’ll go over right away; because I’m pretty sure you can’t have two recently divorced parties.”
“I figured we could watch her home until someone goes in,” I said.
“Normally, I’d agree,” she said. “But I don’t think she’s suspicious.”
“She’s a liar, and liars are a menace to the community around us.” I grabbed the largest slice of cake and picked it at from the palm of my hand. Betsy rolled her eyes at my commentary, but it only meant I’d have to prove her wrong about the whole thing. A smile crossed my face, stretching from cheek-to-cheek. “Do you have much cake left?”
“Plenty.”
“Well, I—”
“What are you planning, Delia?” she asked.
For a moment, I debated telling her—she was my best friend, but usually she would support me in any crazed decision I’d made, except for this one. “I wanted to take some over to Mona, as a peace offering, for the way I acted.”
She laughed. “I highly doubt that,” she said. “What’s your true motive?”
And like the best friend she was, and had been for a number of years, she knew exactly that I didn’t do anything without an underlying motive—mostly to reap gossip. My current motive was to be invited inside Mona’s house, have a coffee, perhaps snoop around. I had to find the smoking gun, as most TV detectives would put it. I needed to know what she was doing so I could prove my sanity to the rest of the people in my life. “Gain her trust,” I said, “if she’s running a secret cult, I want to know.”
“I think you might just be looking for an invite into her cult,” she chuckled.
I turned my head slightly, shoving squeezed pieces of cake from between my thumb and forefinger into my mouth. “With my leadership skills, I’m offended I was invited already.”
“Oh, Delia,” she laughed. “While I don’t approve, I can’t let you do it alone,” she said. “So, I’ll do it with you, and if she is in a cult, we may end up being those sacrificial lambs.”
“That’s the spirit,” I chuckled. “It would go well with a coffee this.” I nodded to the crumbs in my hand.
“Then put the kettle on,” she said. “I wouldn’t mind a tea.”
“Fine.”
I carried the crumbs into the kitchen, dusting them off my hand and into the bin beneath the kitchen side. The kettle was full of water, now warm from when I’d boiled it earlier and forgot to actually make myself a drink. I flicked the switch for it to boil once again.
“I want the cupcake cup,” she called out from the living room.
The cupcake cup was a large yellow cup that had been previously used as a soup cup because of the amount of liquid it could hold. It never overflowed, no matter how much bread I pushed inside.
“Fine, but only because you’re helping me.”
“I’m not helping you,” she shouted back. “I’m just making sure you don’t dig yourself into a deeper hole.”
Perhaps she’d be doing the digging, especially if Betsy’s thoughts of her killing us for her cult proved true. I didn’t think any of that was more than hogwash, but cults did exist, especially among people who didn’t have much to live for anymore—like women on their own, without a husband, and their children all grown up and moved out.
My body paused at the thought. I stood away from the kitchen side and looked out through the window overlooking the back garden. Perhaps I’d be inducted; I fit the criteria—I was both without a husband, and my only child lived in another country, technically.
“Everything okay in there?” she shouted in my silence. Usually, I would have replied to her earlier comment, but not this time. This time I forgot, I’d become lost in what I was thinking about, and now I was occupied in whether or not actually going to visit Mona was a good idea after all.
“Yes, yes,” I said. “Just wondering where I misplaced your beloved cup.” I lied, looking down at the cup in front of my eyes.
She laughed. “You had better not be misplacing anything.”
“I have Caroline sending me some documents down,” I said.
“Documents?” she asked, appearing at the kitchen door seconds later. “Now I’m worried. What’s she got you signing now?”
“Nothing like that,” I said. “I asked her to print me some stuff about catching a liar out, or spotting liars from the way they behave. You know the drill. Like, which way does a liar look, or you know, what ticks people have when they’re lying.”
She rolled her eyes. “Maybe you should have a tea too, might calm you a little.”
“I’m perfectly calm,” I replied. “Just a little excited.”
Leaning against the beam of the door frame, she hummed. “When were you thinking?” she asked, checking her watch. “I have the health visitor coming out today for Billy.”
“Whenever you’re free,” I said.
“She’s not coming for another hour yet, but I don’t want you going without me.”
The voice of reason, although I knew she was slowing me down with all her extra thinking. I shrugged. “You’re bringing the baked goods. Of course, I can’t go without you.”
“Let’s say five,” she said, looking at her watch. “Gives us an hour and a half.”
ACT THREE
One Last Ditch Attempt
On schedule, as always, Betsy arrived with a plate in hand, wrapped completely with plastic and smushing the cake into a mound.
“How’s everything with the visit?” I asked.
“Fine,” she said with a stern nod. “Took some blood, he offered her cake, she lectured him on a number of things, and he took it, even though he could’ve said it wasn’t for him.” She huffed. “I mean, I was going to call you, so you could come in and do that thing you do when you get a little glint in your eye.”
“I’m not going to get myself arrested.”
She smirked. “We’ll see after visiting Mona’s if you will or won’t end up getting yourself arrested.”
We hadn’t told Arthur of the plan, even though he lived just across the road from her, but he’d probably find out soon enough given he’d be sat in the living room looking out into his garden.
As we arrived at Mona’s house, she opened the door immediately. Her face sank from the smile into a deep-set wrinkle of a scowl. “Can I help you two ladies?”
“Peace offering,” I said, taking Betsy’s plate of cake.
“If you baked it then--”
Betsy gasped. “Billy baked this,” she said. “So, please accept this as a token of how sorry we are for intruding on you this morning.”
“I’m sorry,” I finally said. “I don’t know what came over me, but it won’t happen again.”
She accepted the plate. “I would invite you in, but I--”
“That would be wonderful,” I said, stepping forward.
Mona stood upright, expanding her chest slightly to fill the void in the door. “But I’m expecting my—my—my daughter,” she said. “She’s been having troubles, and I keep telling her to go for counselling. Something I should have done with my ex-husband, but I don’t think you can counsel a cheat from not cheating.”
“We’ll be off then,” Betsy said.
As soon as we turned around and her door slammed shut, I saw Arthur’s smiling face and head pop out of the front door. I had only a moment to process Mona’s actions and words before we were combated with Arthur shaking his head and tutting deeply into the crux of his neckline.
“Got what we—” Betsy began.
“I thought you weren’t going to do anything stupid,” Arthur said. “I didn’t think you’d be crazy enough to go back over today.”
“I gave her a peace offering,” I told him. “I’m not doing anything wrong.”
Arthur glanced to Betsy. “Did she tell you that I told her against it?”
“You didn’t quite tell me not to,” I replied. “But it wasn’t something I did maliciously.”
Betsy chuckled. “Oh, I tried,” she said. “But you know what she’s like. If you can’t stop her from doing it, you might as well join her and keep her out of damage.”
“Damage?” I asked.
“Trouble,” she corrected. “But yes, from causing damage.”
I laughed. “You wouldn’t mind if we came in,” I said.
He eyed us both. “So, you can both watch her house?”
Betsy grumbled. “She did say she was expecting guests.”
I hummed. “I think we should,” I added. “Her daughter, actually. Unless she wants to admit to lying.”
Arthur grinned. “I doubt she’ll admit to lying,” he said. “When she put her bins out late and complained to the council they were out in time. Well, I watched her put them out after they’d been and then all of a sudden, she’s screaming down the phone. I’ve seen her lie before, but that’s harmless.”
“Well, this isn’t harmless,” I said. “She’s running a cult from her living room.”
“A cult?” they both asked, their eyes rolling once again.
