Constantine Capers: The Pennington Perplexity Natalie Brianne (best summer reads of all time .txt) 📖

The medical examiner agreed with Byron on the timeline. It was declared that Mr. Graham had been dead for three days. However, in order to determine the cause of death, an autopsy would have to be performed. The medical examiner, chief inspector, Fred Wensley, and the other constables took the body and returned to Scotland Yard. Mr. Morrison returned to his rooms to arrange for the new vacant residence to be cleaned. Mira and Byron were alone in the front room. They sat in silence for some time, she on the couch they had occupied a week or so before, and he in the chair Mr. Graham had taken. He broke the silence.

“It was nice to deduct with Fred again. He really does have the makings of a chief inspector.”

Mira remained silent, encased in her thoughts. He looked around from his seat as the vibrations from his voice dissipated. He cleared his throat and tried again.

“It is a pity. He was a nice old man and probably would have lived several more years if it weren’t for this.”

“I know.” She stared at her feet.

“I rather liked him, even if he was grumpy at first acquaintance.”

“I did too.”

“I can only hope that whoever did this made a mistake in their haste to cover their tracks from the first murder.”

“Are you saying it would be worth it then? If we get our evidence, and solve this crime, then that makes up for his death?” She looked up at him in disbelief.

“Of course not. I would rather neither of them died. Pennington or Mr. Graham. I would love nothing more than for there to be no crime, even if it does mean I’m out of a job. But that’s not the way the world is, Mira. Mr. Graham died, but that doesn’t mean it has to be in vain.”

She looked down. He softened and moved over next to her on the couch. He placed his hand on hers.

“I’m sorry. I can see this has really upset you.”

“This is personal to me. He knew my parents, after all.”

“I don’t think I knew that.”

“You did. You’ve just forgotten,” she said, knowing she was twisting the knife. He winced, but for the moment she didn’t care.

“I’ll write that down.” His voice was softer too. “And I’ll try to remember.”

She looked up at him, he gave her a reassuring smile and squeezed her hand. She looked down again and composed herself. Then she stood and turned, gazing about the room.

“Perhaps we should take a look around the place and see if we can find anything.” Her voice cracked as she spoke.

“Yes. Let’s.” He stood to sleuth again. She watched him for a moment or so before looking around herself.

She started in the living room. Same overstuffed chair, same couch, carpet completely clean. The mums were looking a bit better with the water, although their colors were still faded from their original glory. She determined to take at least one of them home with her. She looked at the door. No sign of forced entry. Just several deadbolts left unused. She hoped his death was natural, but something in the pit of her stomach told her otherwise. The same something that told her that her parents had been murdered. She continued to search.

In the kitchen, she found that the counters were mostly clear, other than a tea tray with the usual things. Teapot, sugar bowl, creamer, two saucers. She paused. There were no teacups. She looked at the rack of teacups hanging above the hob. There were two missing. She furrowed her brow. They weren’t in the living room. She checked the cupboards in the kitchen. No teacups. She went to find Byron.

He was in the bedroom, checking the closets, the dresser drawers, and under the bed. She cleared her throat.

“Byron.”

“Yes Mira?” He appeared kneeling behind the bed.

“I found something that’s off.”

“Brilliant! Show me.”

She walked into the kitchen and showed him the tea tray and the missing teacups.

“They have to be around here somewhere, but they aren’t in the living room or the kitchen.”

“And I didn’t see any in the bedroom either,” he said.

“Well if he was entertaining, I would venture to guess the cups would be in one of those two places.”

“Are you always this observant?”

“You’ve trained me well.”

“Then continue. Please. I enjoy watching you conjecture.”

“Alright. He must have been entertaining the murderer, who perhaps poisoned his tea and then helped Mr. Graham into bed before stealing the evidence of the teacups.”

“Definitely a logical conclusion.”

“But if the teacups are gone, what do we do?”

“First, we make sure they are actually gone.” He moved over to the rubbish bin and looked inside.

“Well, it was worth a shot.” He closed the lid.

“I think the murderer is smart enough not to leave the teacups at the scene of the crime.”

“Like I said, it was worth a shot. Let’s talk with the landlord. Hopefully the dust cart hasn’t come recently, and the rubbish will still be around here somewhere. And even if it isn’t, perhaps Mr. Morrison will have seen who came to visit Mr. Graham.”

“Rubbish? Why would you care about the rubbish?”

Doyle Morrison was certainly not a gentleman. Even if Mira had never talked to him before, one could simply tell from his living circumstances. Papers here, tables and chairs piled with this, that, or the other, and the distinct smell of mold greeted them. Even though he wasn’t a gentleman he tried desperately to imitate one. The fabrics used in his carpets and furniture looked to be more expensive, but by one touch you could easily tell they were cheaply made. The stains on them didn’t help, either. Mira imagined that this room might have once been nice if it weren’t for the person living in it. It was a matter of irony that the line of questioning went the way it did.

“We just want to know if the dust cart has come in the last four days.” Byron rubbed