A Matter of Wife and Death (A Sibyl Potts Cozy Mystery, Book 4) by Morgana Best Page A

“At least that would make Mr. Buttons happy.”
    I thought for a while. “I suppose we need to do what’s right,” I said.
    Cressida’s face softened. “Yes, that makes sense,” she said.
    Mr. Buttons hurried over to us. “What are you two gossiping about?”
    “Sibyl and I were talking about whether or not to inform the police about Dorothy stealing the shoes, and we came to the conclusion that we should tell them,” Cressida said.
    Mr. Buttons nodded. “Yes, the police need to know that she hid her theft from them,” he said. “It shows that she’s deceitful.”
    I was waiting for Cressida to disagree when a white truck pulled up suddenly, spraying gravel everywhere. Cressida stopped mid-sentence and looked panicked when Franklin Greer climbed out of the car.
    “Good afternoon, Ms. Upthorpe,” he said. “We’ve met before. As you know, my name is Franklin Greer, and I’m from the Little Tatterford and Shire Council. I’m here to inspect some of the key features of this establishment. I’m going to let you in on one little secret.” He smiled a thin smile.
    The man stood wordlessly for some length of time, so Cressida finally broke the silence. “What’s the secret?”
    Franklin Greer smiled in an evil manner. He reminded me of a villain from a comic book. He turned his head and spoke in a low voice. “We have some inside information that this boarding house is not operating under the correct procedural and structural guidelines and standards. Failure to comply with any of our requests, whether they be for information, documents, customer and guest information, or anything of the sort that we deem necessary, will lead to the temporary closure of this establishment for an indefinite period of time, or until the issue is resolved in a satisfactory manner set forth by the Little Tatterford and Shire Council.”
    “Yes,” Cressida finally said. Her voice was filled with fear and concern. “Give me a few moments to make sure that the guests vacate their rooms for your inspection.”
    “That won’t be necessary,” Franklin Greer said, his smirk spreading. “I’m stopping all operations of this establishment at this time. All guests will need to vacate their rooms until further notice. We will not evict you, the owner, or your family, but that is all we’ll allow here until the business license is restored. That will happen upon one of two things, when a complete and lengthy inspection reveals no proof or signs of structural or procedural violations, or when violations are discovered, but fines and repairs are made by the offender as ordered by the Little Tatterford and Shire Council.” He smiled in a smug, threatening way. “I believe that means you will be one of the guests vacating your room,” he said, looking at me.
    I resisted the urge to stomp on his foot. “Actually, I live in the cottage out back. I don’t board here, so I get to stay, too,” I said.
    Franklin Greer ignored me. “Excuse me, sir,” he said to Mr. Buttons.
    Mr. Buttons glared at him. “Yes?”
    “Are you a guest here?”
    Mr. Buttons looked like a deer in headlights, frozen and unsure of what to do. I wondered if time was at a stand-still in his mind, while little gears spun around, trying to come up with the right solution to his quandary.
    Cressida walked to position herself between Franklin Greer and Mr. Buttons. “What are you talking about?” she said. “Mr. Buttons is my boyfriend. He lives with me,” she said, defiantly.
    I was surprised that Franklin Greer fell for such a blatant lie, but he did. His face fell with disappointment, but then soon lighted up when one of the young environmentalists hurried out the front door.
    “Who is that?” he asked Cressida.
    “He’s Peter Steele, one of our guests,” Cressida said, honestly. “There are others.”
    “All right, thank you for your cooperation.” He smiled in a sadistic way as he approached the guest. The young man then went back into the