SAY GOODBYE TO ARCHIE: A Rex Graves Mini-Mystery Read Online Free Page B

asked.
    “Yes. Charles said to lay out the paisley cloth and the Spode tea service.”
    “That’s fine.”
    “Felicity just got here. I told her you were busy catching up with an old friend.” Dot gave Rex an ingratiating smile.
    “I’ll be along in a minute.”
    Dot nodded and shut the door after her.
    “She means well,” Patricia said. Clearly she found Dot a trifle irritating, as evidenced by the set of her jaw.
    “Who is Felicity?” Rex asked, keeping a mental account of Patricia’s acquaintance.
    “My agent and publicist. She came down from London on Wednesday afternoon to discuss some business with me. And she’s down again for Archie’s send-off.”
    “That’s nice of her. Archie’s demise must be a blow to her.”
    “Of course. He was Claude, after all, and she did well out of him. Fifteen per cent of my earnings!”
    “Did she do the publicity for a fee?”
    “Yes. The publicist at my publishing firm doesn’t do very much. Alder Press is only a small publisher.” She gave a resigned sigh. “Well, I suppose we’d better join them. It’s almost four.”
    The clock on the mantelpiece confirmed this a minute later with a peal of chimes. Rex helped Patricia out of the sofa, but before they could make it to the door, a tall elderly gentleman sauntered into the room and introduced himself to Rex as Roger Dalrymple.
    “Aye, pleased to meet you,” Rex said. “My son enjoyed your illustrations growing up.”
    “Love the Scottish accent, old chum. Patricia’s lost a bit of hers.” Roger stooped slightly, but was in good shape for his age. He also had all his hair, white, and downy as plumage. He was dressed in a light cashmere cardigan, which he removed and draped carefully over a piece of furniture, as Rex had done with his jacket. Roger had likewise put on a black tie in keeping with the solemn occasion.
    “We’re taking tea outside.” Patricia led them to the kitchen where Dot and Connie, whom Rex recognized as his hostess’ middle-aged daughter, stood arranging items on a tray. Dot was looking down her pince-nez at a pile of teaspoons and small forks and counting them with nods of her head, while Connie stacked cups and saucers on the tray. Rex said hello and how nice it was to see her again. She gave a harassed smile and mumbled a greeting that trailed off mid-sentence as she continued fumbling with the crockery. A patchwork bag with a pair of needles sticking out of the opening sat on a kitchen chair.
    “We’re eight, is that right, Patricia?” Dot asked, diminutive next to her friend.
    “Yes. Where’s Charles?”
    “Setting out the table and chairs.”
    “Anything I can take?”
    “Perhaps Rex could take the tray?”
    “Be glad to,” he said.
    “Roger can take the cake.”
    “I always do!” he joked, nudging Rex’s arm.
    Patricia opened the kitchen door where a crazy-paving path continued around the house into an English cottage garden worthy of a picture postcard. A low wall of mellowed brick, matching that of the eighteenth century home, enclosed a border of flower beds surrounding a lush green lawn at whose centre stood an ornate bird bath carved in white stone. The word that came to Rex’s mind was “charming.”
    “I put a bell on Archie’s collar so he couldn’t get at the birds,” Patricia informed him as they made towards the table beneath the spreading oak tree. “They’d hear him coming and take off. He had more success with field mice, which he’d bring to the kitchen door before I had the conservatory put in.” Jutting from the back of her cottage, the glass extension housed a couple of recliners and some exotic plants in large earthenware pots. A rubber cat flap in a bottom pane had enabled Archie to come and go as he pleased. “And he used to terrorize the squirrels in his younger days, but couldn’t quite get up to the top of the trees.”
    On two sides of the garden stood a wood of birch and pine . To the right, looking out, Rex could see the