Good grief. Marigold doesn’t recommend Dick Peacock’s wine to them, does she?
“I don’t know if she recommends it,” I said, “but she doesn’t knock it out of their hands when Dick serves it to them. Banana chablis, Dimity! Christmas pudding pinot noir! What further proof do you need of Marigold’s duplicity?”
I eased Bess onto her back, gobbled her wiggly toes, and handed her the shark-shaped rattle Will and Rob had brought home from a trip to the baby boutique in Upper Deeping, then turned my attention to the new lines of handwriting that had appeared in the journal.
I refuse to believe that Grant Tavistock and Charles Bellingham would let Finch down. They’re conversant in art, music, literature, fine wine, and gourmet dining. If Marigold wished to emphasize Finch’s faults, she wouldn’t introduce her clients to its most sophisticated residents.
“Unfortunately,” I said, heaving a sigh, “Grant and Charles don’t discuss civilization’s high points with Marigold’s clients.”
What do they discuss?
“Finch’s low points,” I replied. “Their chosen topics include, but are not limited to, their break-in, Sally’s kitchen fire, and the Little Deeping’s spring floods. The exact list of crimes, disruptions, and natural disasters seems to vary, but Grant and Charles always finish up with their pièce de résistance or, as I prefer to think of it, their coup de grace: Pruneface Hooper’s death in Crabtree Cottage.”
Have they taken leave of their senses?
“I did tell you that I’d dredged up a net full of craziness,” I pointed out.
It’s imbecilic to present rare and isolated incidents as typical. Grant and Charles aren’t imbeciles. Were they, perhaps, attempting to engage their listeners in some form of dark humor?
“Nope,” I said. “They were trying to make Finch sound exciting.”
Roller coasters are exciting, but I wouldn’t care to live in one.
“After one of Marigold’s tours, you wouldn’t care to live in Finch, either,” I said.
A glance at the mantel clock told me that Bill and the boys would be home in about an hour. Although I could have rehashed my neighbors’ failings in even greater detail, I decided to wrap up my report.
“To summarize,” I said. “Today’s friendly chats proved to me that, unlike the Handmaidens, Marigold Edwards intends to harm Finch. She’s choreographed a dance between the villagers and her clients that drives buyers away and property values down. It’s only a matter of time before her secret developer boss swoops in to pick up the empty cottages for less than reasonable prices.”
It’s evident that Marigold introduces her clients to far too many villagers, far too quickly. Contrast their experiences with your own, my dear. You’ve gotten to know your neighbors gradually, over the course of many years. You’ve had numerous opportunities to observe their good qualities as well as their foibles. You’ve seen for yourself that, while they may be abrasive at times, they’re never cruel. More often than not, they’re helpful, generous, and kind.
“They’re good folk,” I agreed. “But if I were selling a house in Finch, I’d lock them in their cottages until the deal was done.”
There’d be no need to lock them in their cottages if you were selling a house because you, unlike Marigold, wouldn’t stage-manage their encounters with your buyers. You wouldn’t introduce your clients to everyone, all at once. You’d allow them to dip their toes into the village, so to speak. You’d warn them about Dick’s wine and Peggy’s manner and the Handmaidens’ insatiable curiosity. You’d charm Sally into producing a fruit salad or a watermelon sorbet for them. You’d let Mr. Barlow explain to them that a wobbly doorknob is of far less importance than a sound foundation.
“I’d also tell them that there’s been exactly one break-in, one small fire, and one minor flood in Finch since I moved here,” I said. “And I wouldn’t overdramatize Pruneface Hooper’s death, either.”
Of course you wouldn’t, because your only goal would be to sell your house. Marigold appears to have a quite different goal, but I’m less certain than you are of its precise nature. She may be working for a developer, she may be working for herself, or she may have a private score to settle with the empty cottages’ current owners.
“Maybe she’s from Tillcote,” I said, grinning. “Maybe she plans to avenge her village’s honor by ruining Finch.”
Stranger things have happened, Lori. Your next task will be to find out what Marigold’s real goal is. Once you’ve uncovered her hidden agenda, you’ll know what must be done to protect Finch.
“The showdown will commence at ten o’clock on Friday morning.” I looked from Bess to Reginald, then gazed slowly around the study. “I wish I could see her sooner. It’ll be weird to spend two whole days at home after so much hustle and bustle.”
I’m sure you’ll find something to do.