“Well, if that’s her idea of ‘clear and simple,’ I dread to think what her ‘cryptic’ would be like.”
Laura was walking hand in hand with Freddy and they were mulling over the mystery of Anthony’s pen. Carrot was trotting along in front of them, sniffing and marking his territory at alternate lampposts. They had been to the Moon Is Missing for a few drinks. Freddy had thought it might take Laura’s mind off Therese for a bit, but the entire cast of Blithe Spirit was reliving the triumph of their first night in the bar. Marjory Wadscallop was still in full Madame Arcati hair and makeup and wasted no time in pointing out to Winnie the arrival of Laura and Freddy together. It had hardly been the quiet drink that Freddy had been hoping for.
“Are you sure that Sunshine put the pen back in the drawer?”
“Well, I didn’t actually see her do it, but I’m sure she would have. Why? You don’t think she’s playing games, do you?”
Freddy smiled and shook his head.
“No, I don’t. I really don’t. Sunshine’s probably the most honest out of all of us, including you,” he said to Carrot as he clipped the lead to his collar, ready to cross the road.
Back at Padua, Laura poured them both another drink and Freddy livened up the fire that was barely smoldering in the garden room.
“Now,” said Freddy, snuggling up to Laura on the sofa, “let’s see if the wine has aroused our deductive juices.”
Laura giggled.
“That sounds positively smutty.”
Freddy raised his eyes in feigned surprise and took a swig from his glass.
“Right. Let’s look at the clue again—a pen in a biscuit tin.”
“Not just any pen—Anthony’s best, beloved Conway Stewart fountain pen; red-and-black marbled shaft with an eighteen-karat gold nib,” Laura added.
“Thank you, Miss Marple, but does that really help our investigation?”
“Well, it was the pen that Anthony used to write his stories.”
They sat in contemplative silence, listening to the spit and crackle of the fire. Carrot groaned blissfully as he stretched his spindly legs nearer to the hearth. Freddy nudged him with his toe.
“Watch it, mister. If you get any closer, you’ll roast your toes.”
Carrot ignored him and wriggled infinitesimally nearer.
“Have you read all of Anthony’s stories? Maybe the clue is in one of them.”
Laura shook her head.
“I told her I wasn’t any good at clues. I specifically asked her to make it clear and simple.”
Freddy drained his glass and set it down on the floor.
“Well, maybe it is clear and simple to her.”
Laura resisted the temptation to point out that of course it was because Therese already knew the answer.
“I read everything he asked me to type, obviously, and certainly all of the short stories. But that was years ago now. I can’t possibly remember all of them.”
“What about that book you showed me? The collection of short stories?”
“That was only the first of several that were published. I suppose he must have kept copies of the others somewhere, but I don’t remember seeing them.”
Freddy grinned.
“I bet they’re in the attic.”
“Why?”
Freddy pulled the face that Sunshine always pulled when she thought that they were being particularly obtuse.
“Because that’s where everyone always puts the stuff they don’t know what else to do with,” he said triumphantly. “Although if I’d had a book published, I’d have it on my bookshelf in pride of place.”
Laura thought about it for a moment.
“But he wasn’t proud of all the short stories that were published. Remember, I told you? His publisher wanted insipid, simple happy-ever-afters and they fell out over it in the end.”
Freddy nodded.
“I do remember. Bruce wanted lemonade and Anthony gave him absinthe.”
Laura smiled.
“You would remember that. Anything to do with alcohol . . .” she teased.
“But I suppose it’s worth a try. I haven’t really had a proper look in the attic, and even if the books aren’t there, there might be something else . . .”
“Tomorrow,” said Freddy, standing up and dragging her to her feet. “We’ll look tomorrow.”
He kissed her firmly on the lips.