He hurried off into the kitchen.
Cyril took a swig of his beer. “Aye up, so old Chip fell off his perch, did he?”
I nodded. “In a manner of speaking.”
“Let me tell you, I am not planning on going away again for a very long time,” Martha declared. “Of course, I enjoyed being with my dear Cyril for those few precious days, but it’s just so hard to catch up.”
Cyril winked triumphantly at me and I stifled a chuckle.
Joe came back in, opened the champagne with a gentle hiss, and filled two flutes.
After everyone had their drinks, I had to repeat the whole story that I’d already told to the police and then again to Eleanor, while PJ took a notepad out of her back pocket and scribbled furiously. We still called her PJ in spite of the fact that her name was really Margaret Jane, but she seemed to prefer it.
Cyril made me tell the part twice about his cat diving in front of Ardine to distract her. “Good old His Nibs. Ah’m right chuffed about that.” He pointed his beer bottle at me. “And yer a jammy dodger.”
I wasn’t quite sure what he meant, but I think the gist of it was that I was lucky I’d dodged a bullet. Or a lethal syringe, to be precise.
“I allus thought that Ardine were a rum ’un.”
“Yeah, spooky,” PJ said.
“What about Marybeth?” I asked Serrano. “Did you get a chance to follow up on that?”
His bright blue eyes were full of amusement. “Daisy, I don’t think we even need a police chief now that we have you. Yes, I interviewed Marybeth Skelton this afternoon. Right after she got back to her office. At first she said she cut her hand while preparing a meal. But then one of our guys talked to the cleaning woman who couldn’t wait to rat on her. Marybeth mustn’t be very nice to the help. She said that Marybeth never cooks.”
He took a careful sip of his beer. “So while you and I were dealing with Ardine, they interviewed Marybeth again, and this time she folded like a cheap card table.”
“Why’d she do it?” PJ’s tone was razor sharp.
“Chip informed her, via a text message, no less, that he was cutting her out of the waterfront deal. He was giving the brokerage to a younger real estate agent. Some woman he was dating. Marybeth went down to the park because she knew he liked to hang out at the old mill. In a fury, she hit him with a wine bottle. Said she never meant to kill him, just knock some sense into him, but apparently her golf swing is pretty powerful. In the process, she managed to cut her hand.”
“Jeez,” I whispered. “She finally snapped. One last real estate deal gone wrong.”
“He managed to get away from her, ran bleeding through the woods, and eventually collapsed and died on the giant pumpkin. Marybeth drove to Millbury and threw a different wine bottle into the pumpkin patch. One that she’d carefully picked up using a plastic doggie bag from the supply container they provide at the park. None of her footprints would be in the pumpkin patch, either. Quite clever, if you think about it.”
“Class, today’s lesson is . . . be nice to your cleaning people,” I said.
Serrano chuckled as Joe came over and refilled Martha’s champagne glass.
“Thank you, Joe. Oh, impromptu parties are simply the best, aren’t they,” she declared, eyes sparkling. “Who knew murder could be such fun?”
PJ swiped at her eyes and downed the rest of her tequila in one swallow.
“Hey, PJ, are you okay?” I asked.