“Reginald,” I said, as I turned on the mantel shelf lamps, “I’ve had a strangely satisfying day. It got off to a terrible start, but boy oh boy, did it get better!”
My pink bunny was all ears as I took the blue journal from its shelf and sat with it in one of the tall leather armchairs that faced the hearth.
“Dimity?” I said as I opened the journal. “I have so much to tell you that I don’t know where to begin.”
I smiled as Aunt Dimity’s elegant handwriting appeared, looping and curling gracefully across the blank page.
May I suggest a starting point?
“It might help,” I said.
Marigold Edwards.
“Marigold Edwards?” It felt as though a thousand years had passed since I’d spoken with the estate agent’s office manager, but after a moment’s thought, the main point of our conversation came back to me. “I have an appointment to see her on Friday.”
Very good. Were you able to ascertain Amelia’s opinion of her?
“I was,” I said. “As it turns out, Amelia’s opinion of Marigold Edwards jibes with Mr. Barlow’s and Lilian Bunting’s. In their view, Marigold is pure gold, but in mine, she’s pure tarnish.”
You were never one to mince words, Lori. Have you discovered a gold mine of evidence that supports your view?
I glanced at the baby monitor, then leaned back in my chair. I didn’t have a scrap of hard evidence to lay before Aunt Dimity, but the anecdotal evidence I’d amassed had bolstered my belief that there was something distinctly dodgy about Marigold Edwards.
“Marigold’s actions support my view,” I replied firmly. “When Amelia came to Finch to look at Pussywillows, Marigold didn’t just show her the cottage. She took her on a grand tour of the village and introduced her to Peggy Taxman and Sally Cook and anyone else they bumped into.”
It sounds like a sensible thing to do. One doesn’t simply move into a cottage. One moves into a community.
“It is a sensible thing to do,” I agreed, “if you’re trying to scare off potential home buyers.”
I’m afraid I don’t follow you, my dear.
“The villagers made a good impression on Amelia,” I said. “She came away from Marigold’s tour feeling as if she’d met a delightful array of colorful, candid characters who took pride in their small community. Which is great, right?”
I would think so.
“Unfortunately,” I said, “most people aren’t as tolerant as Amelia. Most people wouldn’t enjoy a run-in with Bossy Peggy and Gabby Sally. The tour would give most people the impression that the villagers are a bunch of opinionated blabbermouths who are too stiff-necked to get along with a neighboring village.”
A neighboring village . . . ? Did Marigold Edwards take it upon herself to tell Amelia about the Finch-Tillcote feud?
“Marigold gave Amelia an explicit warning about the feud,” I said. “Why would she even bring it up? If you were trying to sell a cottage in Finch, would you tell a prospective buyer that her future neighbors are actively pursuing a vendetta?”
If I were an estate agent, would I disclose the existence of a local feud to a client? Probably not.
“There you are,” I said triumphantly. “Marigold is sabotaging her own sales and I think I know why.” I made a wry face and continued reluctantly, “You may find it hard to believe, Dimity, but I got the idea from Bill’s aunts.”
I find it almost impossible to believe that you would agree with them on any point whatsoever, but I’m listening.
“Marigold is working for a developer.” I shuddered as I recalled the chilling scenario Charlotte and Honoria had outlined in the drawing room at Fairworth House. “Marigold’s job is to drive down property values in Finch so her big-shot developer client can buy up cottages cheaply. He’ll annoy the villagers by making a ridiculous amount of noise and mess refurbishing the cottages, and when they complain—”
Which they will.
“—he’ll plant the idea of living in a quieter place,” I went on. “He’ll wave a lot of money around and before you know it, the whole village will be in his hands, only it won’t be a village anymore. He’ll turn it into a . . . a summer retreat.” I spat out Honoria’s detestable phrase, but it still left a bad taste in my brain.
A bit of noise and dust wouldn’t drive the villagers out of Finch, Lori.
“A huge amount of noise and dust combined with a tempting offer might do the trick. Most of the villagers are living on fixed incomes,” I continued. Though it pained me to parrot Charlotte, I couldn’t deny the truth in her taunt. “People living on a fixed income might find it difficult to turn down a developer’s cold, hard cash.”
Mr. Barlow seemed to think that Peggy Taxman would purchase the empty cottages.
“Peggy won’t be able to compete with a professional developer,” I said scathingly. “No, Marigold Edwards is laying the groundwork for someone a lot richer and more experienced than Peggy Taxman. I’m going to find out who it is and put a spoke in his wheel. Or her wheel. It could be a woman.”