From Coffee Mugs to Convicts

A Lydia Brook Mystery

By Sophistication

I returned home from shopping, carrying in two full sacks of groceries when I found the body. I walked in humming and set the sacks on the kitchen table. Turning around, I froze. All of my coffee mugs were smashed on the floor, the glass on the two hutches in the kitchen cracked. Lying in the corner was the body of a tall young man with brown hair and brown eyes. The scariest part, though, was that two of my most precious coffee mugs were missing; the first tin mug ever made, and a solid gold mug from the seventeenth century.

I’m Lydia Brook, I’m not a detective by any means but, I knew I was going to have to figure out who killed this man and, if I wanted my coffee mugs back who took them. I had a secret that I knew was probably the key to this crime but, if I told the police I knew I would be sitting next to the murderer in jail. The mugs that where stolen weren’t mine. I had paid someone 60 thousand pounds to steal them for me.

I waited for my husband to get home and tried to think rationally telling myself again and again that going and burying the body in the backyard would not help my cause. Finally Aaron (my husband) came home bringing my poodle Sophie with him. As Aaron started to let Sophie off her leash, I closed the kitchen door.

“You don’t want to go in there.” I said trying to laugh lightly

“Why?” he said, not really paying attention

“Well, umm, for starters there are groceries all over the kitchen table and umm, my hutch broke and there are kind of broken mugs everywhere.” I mumbled trying to figure out how to tell him there was a dead body on our floor.

“And there’s a dead body on the floor! A man! He was stabbed to death!” I yelled hysterically finally blurting out the truth. I have never been the best at communication skills.

“What?” Aaron said looking puzzled

“Just look in the kitchen for yourself” I mumbled taking Sophie and pulling her down the hall out into the back yard were she couldn’t track mud everywhere.

As I stepped out on to the back porch I noticed a library card lying faced down on the porch. I leaned down and picked it up, nearly slipping on the rain slicked wood. The library card was issued by the library system of London. This was odd; no one should have been in my backyard. I pocketed the card and turned around.

As I turned Aaron walked out of the house his green eyes harsh with annoyance.

“Lydia, when did you find him? Why didn’t you call the police?” he whispered worried the neighbors may hear.

“Umm…..” I mumbled, “I thought it may be better to tell you in person?”

“The police?” Aaron said, raising his eyebrows and prompting me to say more.

I followed behind him into the house

“I didn’t know what to say. Plus, he was already dead. It’s not like if I called, it would save him. In fact there really is no reason to call the police.” I stated quite reasonably closing the door with a snap.

“Lydia, we have to call the police.” Aaron said, looking at me like I had said something absurd. Which, I hadn’t.

“What will we tell them? What’s the point? They can’t save the man. I can’t tell them about my mugs so, they can’t retrieve those.” I stated sure he would agree.

“Lydia, I’ll call the police. If we don’t, which by the way is a very stupid idea, they would suspect me or you. Which is the last thing I want, trust me.” Aaron walked into the kitchen to make the call.

“Wait! Let me make sure there is nothing here that could point to me having stolen mugs.”

“Fine,” Aaron said, looking exasperated.

I leafed through the remnants of rainbow colored china with my foot and looked for anything that may lead the police to me. I didn’t find anything but I did notice my husband’s antique knife that he kept in the hutch was missing.

Aaron called the police. When they arrived two cops went into the kitchen with Aaron and another cop took me into the dining room to fill out a report of what happened. He sat down on the couch and I sat on a chair in the corner. He was in his fifties with a big mustache.

“Name?”

“Lydia S. Brook”.

The police officer muttered to himself as he filled out the paperwork:

“Lydia L. Brook. Average height, about 130 pounds, brown hair, grey eyes, rather eccentric,”

“Excuse me but, I don’t think eccentric really fits my personality” I snapped angrily.

“Well I think it does. Age?” The cop continued working ignoring my comment

“27.”

“ When did you find the body?”

“Oh, a few hours ago,”

“Hours? Why didn’t you call the police right away?”

“Well I wanted to wait for my husband to get home. Plus, I couldn’t just leave the groceries on the table; I had to put them away of course.” I would have kept on telling him my list of perfectly good excuses but, he interrupted me.

“So you didn’t call because you where putting away groceries?”

Before I could answer Aaron and the two other Cops walked into the room. Aaron replied instead.

“When I got home she was very traumatized and I think she may be a little overwhelmed.”

“I can tell,” muttered the cop as he finished got up and walked over to the other cops. They muttered to each other for a few minutes, and then turned around to talk to us.

“I think you have told us all you can” Said the police officer who had been interviewing me.

“You will need to leave the house for a few hours while we clean up this mess,”

Another cop said chiming in.

“Okay,” I said and headed out the door I’d had enough of those judgmental cops. Me, eccentric? I don’t think so.

I headed outside and began to walk into the main part of town thinking about who could have possibly done this. All of a sudden Florence, the neighbor boy jumped out of the bushes. He was twelve and overly hyper.

“Hey, Lydia!”

“Hello Florence.”

“Why are there two police officers at your house?”

I contemplated telling him a lie but, decided that I needed an accomplice if I was ever going to get my Coffee mugs back.

“Florence, can you keep a secret?”

“Of course, why?” he asked setting his stride with mine.

I stopped and turned to him, looking around the deserted lane as I pulled him into the old overgrown vacant lot across the street. I stepped behind a bush.

“Okay, well there was a murder.”

“A murder?” Florence’s eyes grew wide.

“Shush, the thing is…..” I told him everything about how the man had been stabbed, my husbands missing knife, my coffee mugs, how my coffee mugs where stolen, even the library card on the back porch.

Florence agreed to help me, he is one of those smart, nerdy kids, who gets all excited of unimportant things like a new microscope but doesn’t care about the important things like coffee mugs.

I decided to head into town and try to figure out as much as I could about the man whose body I had found in my kitchen. Florence agreed to help too. We started walking towards the small row of shops in the center of town. When we arrived Florence split off and took one side of the street. I took the other.

In the first two shops I went into the shop owners could tell me nothing. The third shop owner had seen the man, but had not talked to him and could only give me a physical description, which was no help. I walked into the fourth shop on the street. It was a gas station. When I opened the door a bell jingled alerting the casher of my entrance.

“Hello, how can I help you?” said the teenager behind the counter, obviously having been told to by the store owner. She was tall and pale with a trendy brand name sweatshirt on over her uniform. Her name tag said Sandy, I did not think “Sandy” really fit her though her hair was dark and cut in a bob.

“Well, first of all, you could get rid of that annoying bell on the door.” I said sourly. I hate it when people in stores greet you like a programmed robot.

“Secondly, You could tell me if you have seen a touristy type of man around, light brown hair, brown eyes, tall, clean shaven, in his early thirties or middle to late twenties?” I tried to sound nicer, knowing that rudeness would get me no where.

“Yeah, actually I did, why?” Said the girl puzzled.

“Oh, well umm…” I froze, realizing I had no good reason for asking.

“I’m an undercover cop and he was involved in a murder. Please just tell me what you can about him.” I blurted, saying the first half lie that came to mind.

“Well, he came in here bought a Coca-Cola and a bag of chips with cash and left. He mentioned something about how expensive our prices were and how flying here had been over priced. He spoke with an American accent.” She said this with her brow furrowed, obviously not believing my explanation. As long has she had told me I didn’t really care though.

I went outside and found Florence. He had found out nothing of importance when he questioned the other shop owners. I gave Florence the library card because he said he could go to the library website and some how figure out who the card belonged to. I am not that computer savvy so I decided to not interfere there.

I left Florence in town and began the fifteen minute walk home.

When I arrived home the cornier had left and my broken mugs had been swept away. Aaron was placing my non broken mugs back into their hutches when I returned. There where only about seven mugs left. Sophie was curled up in her bed in the corner sleeping. Just as I sat down at the table the phone wrung. Aaron picked it up and walked into the living room. I sat down and pulled a notepad out of my purse. I began listing all of my clues.

The man killed was a tourist

The man killed was American

I stopped realizing that those two clues where all I knew. Just then Aaron came back into the room.

“Who was that on the phone?” I inquired, looking up from my pathetic list of clues.

“The police,” Aaron replied dryly.

“What did they want?” I asked

“They just wanted to inform us that the man killed in our house was a private detective from America named Rich Brew.” Aaron said sounding annoyed; about what I don’t know.

“Oh,” I said scribbling down the information next to my list of clues.

I got up and walked out of the kitchen and into the living room where Aaron had left the phone. I grabbed the phone book off the tall book case in the corner and wiped of the dust. I looked up the library of London’s telephone number. Finding it, I dialed. My plan was to say I had found a library card and try to trick some information out of a librarian. Before I had given Florence the card I had written down the card number. Just in case his high tech method failed. A woman answered the phone.

“Hello, this is Georgette at the Library of London. How can I help you?” She said in that typical librarian voice, sharp, yet kind.

“I found a library card and I was wondering how I could return it. Can you help me figure out who it belongs to please?” I said trying to be as polite as possible.

“Of course, can you read me the number on the card?” The library asked kindly

“The number is 1470369” I said, reading the number of the card.

“That card belongs to someone named Hadley Press.” The librarian replied.

“Thank you,” I replied and hung up.

As soon as I had put down the phone on the hook it rang. I picked up the phone.

“Hello, the Brook house,” I said into the receiver

“Hey Lydia! It’s Florence, I figured out how to get on to the library account.” Florence said enthusiastically from the other end.

“Perfect, I called the library and I found out the card belonged to a lady named Hadley Press.” I replied

“Hadley Press is actually a fourteen year old girl.” Florence said.

“How do you know that?” I said stunned.

“It said so on her account. I think it still may be a clue though. Get this, she had four books checked out on her account, The Coffee Table Book of Coffee, Mugs Through-out the Ages, From French Roast, to Instant, and Harry Potter. I’m pretty sure that Harry Potter has nothing to do with it but, the other three definitely seem suspicious.” Florence said, with a proud tone.

“Wow! You sure are smart Florence. I wonder if her mother or father uses her library card.” I said, completely stunned by how much Florence had been able to tell me.

“That is exactly what I thought” Said Florence

“Well, great minds think alike. Bye.” I said feeling glad I had entrusted Florence with my top secret information.

“Bye, Lydia,” Florence replied, hanging up.

I put down the phone and walked into the kitchen. I turned and looked at my now almost empty hutches, feeling sad. As I walked closer to the hutch and peered into the glass I noticed something strange, Aaron’s knife was back. I didn’t know what to make of this information since I thought it had been stolen. Had it been returned somehow? Had it been the weapon used to stab Rich Brew? All these questions bounced around inside my head as I grabbed my raincoat from the hook next to the door and sloshed my way through the mud to the mailbox.

I grabbed three pieces of mail from our mail box, two pieces of junk mail and our phone bill. I threw the two pieces of junk mail in the metal trash bins on the side of the drive way on my way into the house. I went into the kitchen and sat down at the old scratched up wood table and looked at our phone bill. I scanned down the list of calls like I usually did making sure everything added up right. That’s when I noticed something unusual with the calling sheet. Someone had made three calls to London in the last week, all at the same number. I hadn’t made the calls which meant Aaron must have.

What?! I thought to myself. I sat at the table staring at the beige green wall for ten minutes trying to comprehend what was going on. Had Aaron really made those phone calls? Who was he calling considering we know nobody in London? Was Aaron not telling me something? Finally I thought of what I could do to get to the bottom of this. I grabbed the phone and dialed the number on the phone bill.

A woman answered the phone.

“Hello, this is the Press residence. May I ask who is calling?” The women said in a cheery voice.

“This is Mary, is Elizabeth Smith there?” I said using my excellent lying skills to fake a wrong number.

“Sorry, there is no one there by that name.” The woman replied, slightly confused.

“I must have a wrong number I apologize for the inconvenience.” I said hanging up the phone.

I had a hunch that the London phone number belonged to the same person as the library card and now I knew it did. The women on the phone must have been Hadley’s mother. All this information confused me. I didn’t know exactly what was going on, but I knew who would. Just then I saw the porch light come on down the hall, lighting up the dark porch. Aaron opened the door and stepped inside. It had started raining out about an hour ago and he was soaked.

“Hello, Lydia,” Aaron said, putting his rain coat in the closet and taking off his wet shoes.

“Aaron, can I talk to you?” I asked

“Sure,” He said, following me into the kitchen.

I sat down at the kitchen table and took the phone bill out of the envelope. I then got up and walked over to the two hutches against the wall behind the kitchen table. I opened the hutch door and pulled out the antique knife. Aaron looked up and saw me holding the knife.

“Lydia?” He said hesitantly, raising his eye brows.

“I just want to talk to you about the knife. Don’t be absurd.” I said, glaring.

“What about it?” He asked nervously.

“Well it’s just that when I came home from grocery shopping this morning and found the body, your knife was missing. It was still missing when I left this afternoon and went into town for a few hours. When I came back, however, it was in the hutch. How could that be? I have noticed a few other weird things. For example, someone has made three calls to London in the last week from our phone. I didn’t make any calls to London; in fact I don’t even know anyone who lives in London. Do you?” I said, staring at Aaron and watching him get more and more uncomfortable.

“Well, not really,” Aaron said in a forced light tone.

“I think you do. Who else would be making calls from our phone? I sure don’t know a Hadley Press or Ms. Press. I know you do.” I said, getting up and pacing back and forth across the old hard wood floors.

“I also know that the Presses are interested in antique coffee mugs. Isn’t that interesting? My two best antique coffee mugs are stolen and you happen to start talking to a coffee mug collector all in the same week?” I continued

“Lydia, I do know the Presses.” Aaron said, looking extremely uncomfortable.

“I know you know who stole my coffee mugs and who murdered Rich Brew so just tell me.” I said turning to face Aaron and raising my voice, something I usually don’t do. Considering how reasonable I am.

“Okay, I don’t know how I can keep this from you. You would find out later anyway.” Aaron said.

Aaron sat there and told me the most complicated story I have ever heard. By the time he was finished explaining it was nearly midnight and he had started explaining at seven. It turns out that Ms. Press is Aaron’s step sister. Aaron had not talked with her for nearly ten years but when they were little they were very close. Ms. Press, or Sharon as Aaron called her, phoned Aaron asking for money. Aaron for some reason doesn’t find my coffee mug collection a good way to spend money and has been trying to get rid of them forever. He figured that this was the perfect opportunity. Aaron and Sharon Press decided to fake a robbery and sell the coffee mugs. Sharon would get to keep half of the money because she had found a way to sell them for two hundred thousand Pounds. Aaron was going to add the one hundred thousand pounds he got into our savings account, since he managed the savings account and I managed the bills I would never have really noticed. The plan seemed flawless.

“Aaron, that doesn’t explain who killed Rich Brew.” I said after explaining what had happened to my mugs. I was angry at him for selling them but I was beginning to realize that I wasn’t really sad that they were gone. Plus now Aaron and I where one hundred pounds richer.

“This morning was the first time that neither Sophie, you, or I where in the house sense we have moved in. It turns out that your coffee mugs would have been stolen anyway. Rich Brew must have been hired by someone to steal your coffee mugs. He had been waiting until we where all out of the house before he broke in. Anyway, when Sharon and I came into the house to set up the fake robbery Rich Brew was in the kitchen stealing the coffee mugs. When he saw us he freaked out and grabbed the antique knife out of the hutch and yelled at us. He then tried to get out of the house, Lisa tried to stop him and he tried to hurt her. I grabbed the knife from him and he turned on me. I killed him, Lydia.” Aaron didn’t look me in the eye when he said this, but kept his eyes trained on the floor. I could tell he deeply regretted what he had done.

“Well, there is nothing we can do now. I see no point in turning you in. Rich Brew attacked you and you killed him in physical defense.” I said trying to be kind.

“I’m sorry I sold your mugs, Lydia.” Aaron said, looking like he felt terrible and would never feel happy again.

“It’s okay; I’ll just have to start a new collection, legal collection, of mugs this time.” I replied. Aaron smiled.

We stayed in our house for about a month then sold it and moved to London, near where Sharon lives. It was just too weird living in a house where someone was killed. The police never solved the murder, and I never told them. The only people who will ever know the truth is Me, Aaron, and Sharon.