Free Murder in the Neighbourhood: A Diane Dimbleby Cozy Mystery by Penelope Sotheby

scrutiny, however, the empty beer bottles, the clothes strewn about, and the overflowing kitchen sink all seem to indicate a man who has “let his place, and himself, go”.
    Richard removes a pizza box and a pair of trousers from one of the chairs so the inspector can sit. He doesn’t even bother to move the heap on the couch where he’s now sitting.
    “I’m not going to ask how you’re getting on because clearly you’re going through a rough patch,” Darrell says, trying to infuse his voice with compassion. “But we need to clear some things up.”
    “Yes,” says Richard, meekly.
    “First, is it true you used to live at the Safe Refuge shelter in Shrewsbury?”
    Richard nods his head.
    “And is that how you met Mrs. Jones?”
    “Yes. I met her at the soup kitchen. She was nice to me from the get-go. We’d have all these wonderful talks. After a while, she told me she knew I was capable of holding down a job… of making a new life for myself… she hired me to be her caregiver… she believed in –” Richard stops, feeling a sob coming on. He closes his eyes and holds his breath.
    “Take your time Richard,” says Darrell considerately. “Now, about your accounts of what happened on Saturday—”
    “You mean the day Mrs. Jones died!?” cries Richard.
    “Yes, that day. It appears as though you may have got some of your facts mixed up… it’s understandable. You were probably in shock…”
    “It’s all my fault,” says Richard, now crying more explicitly.
    “What do you mean by that, Richard?” asks Darrell quietly, trying to maintain some composure in the conversation.
    After some minutes, when Richard is able to reach a calm state, he explains that he has been hiding something from the police. He did, in fact, arrive at Mrs. Jones’ place while she was still alive. They had chatted, and before she laid down for her nap, they decided Richard would indeed make lamb casserole for her dinner.
    But what Richard had been too ashamed to admit is that he had left Carys’ home for a short time to go to the grocer’s. He had realized he had no onions or rosemary – he didn’t think the casserole would taste half as good without onions and rosemary.
    “So when I went out to buy them ingredients, whoever must have killed Mrs. Jones did it while I was gone! And you see, I didn’t lock the door when I left. So it’s all my fault. I wasn’t there to protect her, and I let them in.”
    “Richard, it’s not your fault. I don’t expect anyone in Apple Mews locks their doors. It’s only the fault of those who committed the dirty deed. You remember that! Thank you for telling me.”
    For the first time in days, Richard feels a weight lift off his shoulders. It feels good to have finally “confessed his sins” to somebody.
     
    The inspector then asks him if Mrs. Jones had even mentioned a cousin named Rosalyn Thomas.
    “Oh yes, a couple of times. I remember because the day before she was talking on the phone to somebody and she seemed quite annoyed. I asked her if everything was all right… she said, ‘Oh, it’s just that cousin of mine… Rosalyn.’ The way she said ‘Rosalyn,’ I could tell her cousin must be a pain in the arse!”
    “Thank you Richard. You have been very helpful!”
    Darrell shakes Richard’s hand and rushes out the door. He is now ready to arrest Mrs. Thomas for the murder of her cousin. First though, he races over to Diane’s cottage just up the road.
    Diane’s writing session is interrupted by an incessant knocking at her front door. Both she and Rufus run towards the sound. Then Diane stops. It’s at times like this – when a murderer is lurking about – that she wishes she had a peephole in her door.
    “Who is it?” she asks assertively.
    “It’s me… Inspector Crothers… Darrell.”
    “Well why didn’t you say so?” she says jovially, opening the door. “Have you come to make sure Rufus and I haven’t succumbed to cabin fever?”
    Disregarding