A Murder at Thimblewick Hall: A delightfully British cozy murder mystery novella (Purl and Poison Cozy Mysteries Book 1) by Frieda Buchanan

Author:Frieda Buchanan [Buchanan, Frieda]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: anonymous
Published: 2025-09-03T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

Needling the Sergeant

The small satellite office of the Cirencester police station looked more like a converted post office than a centre of law enforcement. A worn wooden sign above the door read Thimblewick Division, and inside, a desk overloaded with paperwork greeted the three women. Sergeant Wills was seated behind it, brow furrowed, while PC Jones typed laboriously at a computer that seemed at least a decade past retirement.

“Ah. Ladies,” Sergeant Wills said, sitting up straighter, though not without a hint of dread.

Jean beamed, tucking her dyed blonde hair behind her ears. This morning, she looked remarkably like Joanna Lumley. A comparison Edith knew she’d be thrilled with.

“Morning, Sergeant,” Jean said, sending a blindingly white smile in his direction. “We thought we’d pop by and see what was happening with this sad business about Sir Archibald. And share a few of our observations, of course. You know. Community spirit and all that.”

Wills gave the long-suffering sigh a man who had plenty of experience dealing with meddling village ladies. “I had a feeling. Sit down, if you must.”

Edith, Dotty, and Jean arranged themselves neatly in the mismatched chairs opposite his desk. Dotty was already fishing in her handbag for her notebook, and Jean was casually smoothing her blouse that was buttoned indecently low, showing off her surgically enhanced chest. Her eyes were twinkling far too brightly for someone merely stopping by.

“We won’t take up much of your time, Sergeant,” Edith said. “We were just wondering if the post-mortem had been concluded yet.”

Wills folded his arms. “Just so happens you’ve picked the right moment. The toxicology report came in this morning.”

All three women leaned forward, eyebrows raised in unison.

“I can’t tell you what it said,” he added firmly. “But I can confirm the death of Sir Archibald Trench is now being treated as suspicious. An official investigation has been opened.”

“I knew it!” said Dotty, her voice thick with smugness. “So it was digitalis, then?”

Sergeant Wills gave a start—just a flicker, but enough to confirm what he wasn’t saying. Dotty gave a self-satisfied sniff and scribbled something down.

“I never said that,” Wills muttered, but the damage was done.

“Of course not, dear,” Jean said sweetly. “But your left eyebrow did.”

His cheeks pinkened and Edith wasn’t sure whether it was in frustration or if he was blushing because of Jean. She could make even the most innocent remark sound flirty.

Edith leaned forward slightly. “You may want to send someone to the church garden. There are foxgloves growing there and Flo had noticed a few had gone missing on the Sunday. And I think it would be prudent to test the residue in the glass on Sir Archibald’s desk—and the brandy in the decanter.”

Sergeant Wills blinked at her.

“Don’t worry. Beatrice locked up the study after the police left the first time,” Edith added. “We had our suspicions.”

Behind them, PC Jones stifled a cough that might’ve been a laugh. Wills gave him a glare before turning back to the trio.

“Look. I’ll pass that on to the team—who are, as we speak, on their way to Thimblewick Hall.

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