Colin glared at her. “How do you know that? You weren’t even there.”
Laura said, “Pastry crumbs in your pocket, the obvious place to hide the killer pie. Our dog Wilbur found a pie in the garden and ate it. He survived, so it must have been a harmless one of ours that you chucked under a bush. I checked your coat for crumbs just now. That was what all the fuss was about. The vicar thought I was a thief.”
Rosemary said to Colin, “Thanks to Laura getting the poor man to hospital, the police were alerted. News of the poisoning went quickly around the village and at some point over Christmas, Ben Brown got suspicious enough to come and see you. He threatened to tell the police. You panicked, cracked him on the head and killed him.”
Laura said, “And transferred the body to Gertrude’s greenhouse in your pick-up and trailer. She was under suspicion, so you thought you’d add to it. While you were in church just now I checked under the tarpaulin in the trailer. Bloodstains. The police will match them to Ben’s blood group.”
Colin’s shoulders sagged. All the fight had gone out of him.
In all the excitement, Laura hadn’t given a thought to her main reason for being in the house. Over supper that evening, she dropped her knife and fork and said, “The orchids. I’ve completely forgotten about them.”
She had visions of dead and drooping plants in their dried-up trays.
“What am I going to say to Mike?” she said as she raced to the conservatory.
But the orchids were doing fine, better than when she’d taken over. The droopy ones were standing tall.
“They benefited from being left alone,” Rosemary said. “He’s a novice at this. The roots of an orchid are covered by a spongy material that holds water.”
“Like a camel’s hump?”
“Well... I’m saying he must have overwatered them.”
That evening Wilbur was rewarded with a supper of chopped turkey and baked ham. After he’d curled up in front of the fire, Rosemary and Laura slipped out of the front door to make a call on a neighbour.
Gertrude invited them in and poured large glasses of sherry.
“I’m so grateful to you both,” she said. “I must have had calls from half the village saying how sorry they are for all I’ve been through. I kept telling them you two are the heroes.”
“Far from it,” Rosemary said with modesty.
“But you are. And you, Laura, being mistaken for a thief and wrestling with the vicar.”
“That wasn’t so bad.”
Rosemary said, “He’s rather dishy. She enjoyed getting into a clinch.”
They all laughed.
“And now,” Gertrude said, looking happier than they’d seen her, “another Christmas tradition. To ensure good fortune for us all in the new year, I insist that you have a slice of my home made Christmas cake. You can make a wish.” She went out to the kitchen.
Rosemary said in confidence, “I’m going to wish that I survive this.”
Laura said, “I’m so glad I wore this cardigan. It’s got pockets.”