A Cozy Little Murder: A Violet Carlyle Cozy Historical Mystery (The Violet Carlyle Mysteries Book 24

right. The cramping stopped and Rita is sleeping.”
Vi breathed in weakly and then demanded, “But Nanny Jane is staying with Rita for now?”
“Of course,” Victor replied and Vi wiped a tear away quickly. “She thinks that Rita will be fine, but that she should be excessively careful.”
Relieved, Vi let Victor go to help with the twins, seeing as they had no nanny for the day. Vi ordered flowers and chocolates for Rita and then let Jack tuck her into a coat. They left their house and Vi found she needed to curl into his side while they drove. Without the words to pray, she poured her heart out and quietly begged that Rita and Ham’s baby would survive.
Her thoughts were fixated on Rita while they motored across London to a quiet little neighborhood. Jack stopped their auto near a small brick house just across the street from a park. Vi loved it immediately, as her own house was directly across from a park, and she’d discovered just what a great blessing that was. She took a deep breath in and tried to turn her thoughts from Rita.
The old woman opened the door for herself. She had long hair pulled back in a stringy bun that was a rainbow of grey hair. She frowned at Vi and then turned to Jack. “Where’s the other one?”
“A bit of a family emergency,” Jack said easily. “I thought you’d be more comfortable with my wife here.”
Vi tried to smile and wasn’t sure she accomplished anything more than a grimace.
Mrs. Meyers grimaced in return and then frowned even more deeply at Jack. “Why isn’t she home with your children?”
“Ah,” Jack cleared his throat. “We don’t have children yet, Mrs. Meyers. May we come in?”
She scowled as though she hadn’t hired him to do just that. Slowly, she stepped back and opened the door. The moment that Vi stepped through the doorway her eyes widened.
The hall had stairs to the second floor. The walls of both the hallway and the stairs were covered with cuckoo clock after cuckoo clock, broken only by doorways for a parlor and dining room and kitchen. The endless ticking sounds made Vi wince.
They stepped into the parlor and the old woman waved them to a settee near the window. As they approached, Vi saw that the upholstery was embroidered in very fine, even stitches of ivy and vines, but the name ‘Meyers’ was worked in larger stitches along the back cushion of the settee. Vi realized the woman had probably embroidered it herself.
They sat very, very carefully and then faced the woman, as a cat with long white hair entered the room. The first was followed by a second and then a third. As the old woman sat herself in a well-worn, plush chair whose color could not be determined under the crocheted doilies covering it, a trio of kittens came mewling into the room.
Vi turned from the number of cats to the room itself. It was full, bulging even, with an excess of cozy little crafts. Embroidered scenes, water-colored paintings, lace tatting, doilies, knitwear, and the like.
Vi contained her reaction and met Mrs. Meyers’s gaze again. “What a lovely home.”
“Thank you,” Mrs. Meyers said sourly. She sniffed loudly and then asked, “Have you found him?”
“Mrs. Meyers,” Jack said carefully, “in order to find your son, we do need information about him.”
“Grandson.” Mrs. Meyers sniffed again, dabbed at her nose with an embroidered and lace-edged handkerchief and then muttered, “I told you his name.”
“Perhaps his place of employment?”
Vi froze internally, hiding her reaction and marveling at Jack’s composure.
“He’s currently without work.”
“The names of friends,” Vi suggested.
“He often visits the evening Sunday school.” The words were sour and there was such a twist to her mouth that it seemed as though they were hunting up her grandchild to take him away to prison rather than at her request.
“Good, good,” Jack said patiently.
“May I ask why you’re looking for him?” Vi asked gently, trying to channel how she might have spoken to any elderly woman.
“He hasn’t been home.” It felt like an accusation and Vi carefully didn’t glance at Jack to look for his reaction.
“Are you concerned that something has happened to him?” Vi again was gentle, and she guessed that she must be getting more information than Jack and Ham did if Jack was letting her take the lead.
“Yes. Clearly.” Another of those deep sniffs, but this time Vi reached out and took her wrinkled hand.
“You must be so worried. I understand he’s all you have left? Is there a family member that he might be visiting?”
Mrs. Meyers pressed her fingers to her lips as though the empathy were so foreign to her she wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. She dabbed a tear away and then said, “Well, there’s my brother-in-law.”
“What is his name?”
“Reginald Meyers.”
Vi patted Mrs. Meyers’s hand. “Does he live in London too?”
Mrs. Meyers nodded and muttered, “Alfriston.”
“Thank you,” Vi said, carefully patting the woman’s hand. “Is he close to your grandson?”
The sharp shake of Mrs. Meyers’s head was so fierce Vi simply nodded as if she understood completely.
“What about friends? Does your grandson have friends that he would be likely to go to or spend time with?”
The pause was longer and then Mrs. Meyers said nothing.
“My dear Mrs. Meyers,” Vi soothed, “friends sometimes bring us into trouble out of our love for them, when our better nature would otherwise triumph.”
“Just so,” Mrs. Meyers snapped. Her lips trembled and she whispered, “My Jason is a good boy.”
“Of course he is,” Vi agreed in a low, tender voice. “Of course he is. Well-raised, well-loved, perhaps too kind for his own good.”
“Just so!” Mrs. Meyers repeated, “Just so. Too kind for his own good.”
“Tell me about these trouble friends of his,” Vi suggested.
“Ted Tapper and his sister, Tessa. Jason has known them since he was in short pants. Back then…” Mrs. Meyers shook her head, looking off into the distance. “Back then, one might not have liked their parents