Berried Alive (Manor House Mystery) (19 page)

"I have to stay alert," Joe muttered, his lips barely moving.

"Oh, I think I can keep you alert, all right." Sadie's laugh gurgled out. "Just leave it to me."

Joe looked as if he was going to be sick. "Er . . . why don't we just talk."

"You're no bloody fun, you know that? What's the matter with me, then? Am I that ugly?"

"No, no," Joe assured her hastily. "You're . . . er . . . real pretty . . . I mean . . . you're a nice-looking woman. I think . . . er . . . any man would be . . . happy to be going out with you."

Sadie grinned. "Well, now, that's more like it." She leaned toward him. "Give 's a kiss, then."

Joe's eyes widened. "What? Oh, no. Not in front of everyone. No. I'm supposed to be . . . " he sent a haunted look at the mirror.

Disappointed, Sadie reached for her glass again. She wasn't going to chase him. If he wanted to be like that, well, it was his loss. But he certainly wasn't much of an actor. This whole evening was becoming a bit of a drag.

Maybe if she got him interested in talking about something it might loosen him up a bit. She pounced on a subject she thought might fascinate him. "Ere," she said, nudging his elbow. "Guess who I saw the other day."

Unfortunately, Joe had his glass in his hand and some of his beer spilt on his sleeve. It seemed to upset him a lot. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and began dabbing it until she thought he'd put a hole in the darn thing.

"Winston Churchill," she announced, in a last-bid
attempt to gain his attention. "I saw Old Winnie walking along the cliff tops, bold as brass. I said hello to him and he doffed his hat at me, he did."

She'd succeeded in her mission. Joe's hand stilled while he stared at her. "You saw Winston Churchill?"

Delighted to have finally caught his interest, she ignored the blatant disbelief in his voice. "Right there in front of me, he was," she declared with pride. "Almost ran him over with me bike, I did."

Joe's frown drew his fuzzy ginger brows together. "Are you nuts?"

That did it. It was bad enough that no one believed she'd seen the prime minister, but to call her bonkers was hitting below the belt. She picked up her glass and drained it in several loud gulps, then set it down hard on the counter.

Gathering up her purse, she said frigidly, "I think I'm going home now. You can look for the nasty buggers yourself. You don't need me."

Joe's mouth opened and closed, though nothing came out of it.

Sadie slid off the stool then stepped closer until she was right up against him. "Just in case they're in here and watching us," she said, making her voice low and husky like the film stars did, "Here's something to remember me by." With that she pressed her lips firmly against his, held them there for a second or two, then without waiting to see his reaction, marched out of the pub, amid a chorus of wolf whistles.

CHAPTER

13

Polly was in front of the mirror, doing her best to make herself look older with lipstick and rouge, when Marlene barged into the bedroom and flung herself on the bed.

"Where you going all dolled up like a Christmas tree?" she demanded. "You going down the pub again?"

"No I'm not." Polly added a dab of rouge to her cheeks and sat back to study the results. "I'm going to the pictures in North Horsham."

"By yourself?"

"Course not by meself." Deciding that she looked too much like a clown, Polly scrubbed her cheeks with her face flannel. "I'm going with Sam, aren't I."

"Go on!" Marlene bounced upright, making the bedsprings groan in protest. "When did this happen, then?"

"He asked me out yesterday." Polly drew the lipstick carefully across her top lip, then mashed her lips together to spread it evenly. "I would have told you last night but you were out." She swung around in her chair. "Where were you, anyway? You got a new boyfriend?"

Marlene laughed. "Not on your life. I've had it with boyfriends. I've got more important things to think about, haven't I."

Polly studied her older sister. Marlene's creamy skin seemed to be glowing, and her eyes were dancing with excitement. She hadn't seen Marlene this lit up about something in ages. "What's going on?" she demanded. "I know something's up. Why won't you tell me? What's the big secret?"

"It's not a secret anymore." Marlene swung her legs to the floor and began dancing around the room. "Everyone's going to know about it soon."

Polly felt a stab of alarm. "You're not in the family way, are you? Ma will kill you. If our dad doesn't get to you first."

Marlene laughed and dropped onto the bed once more. "No, silly. It's nothing like that. I've joined up, haven't I. I'm going to be an ambulance driver."

Polly felt as if someone had thrown a bucket of cold water at her. "What, in London? In all them air raids? You'll get killed."

"Better than that." Marlene grinned happily at her. "I'm going to the battlefield. I'm going abroad. I don't know where yet. It might be France, or even Italy. Just think. Me, Marlene Barnett, driving around Italy."

Unexpected tears spilled unheeded down Polly's cheeks. "No, Marl, you can't go! Ma won't let you go!"

"She can't do nothing about it. I joined up, didn't I."
Marlene got up from the bed and put her arms around her sister. "Don't cry, Polly. I'll be all right. They don't bomb ambulances. I'll be safer than anyone else out there."

"But why?" Polly wailed. "Why'd you want to leave Ma and me and go away?"

"I'm going crazy washing people's hair all day." Marlene went back to the bed and sank down. "I keep hearing the news on the wireless about all those men out there getting hurt and I keep thinking, what if it was our dad? I'd want someone to be there to help him. Then I got thinking about how great it would feel to be the one helping him, and all the other blokes out there, and one thing led to another and I ended up signing up."

Polly gulped down a sob. "But you don't know how to drive an ambulance!"

"Well, I had a taste of it when I met Pete that time. You remember, the newspaper reporter from London? He showed me how to drive his car and I liked it. Ever since then I kept dreaming about driving me own car. And now I'll be driving all the time and I'll be doing something for our boys overseas as well."

Polly suddenly realized that Sam was picking her up in about twenty minutes and if she didn't stop crying she'd have red swollen eyeballs. She snatched a handkerchief out of her dresser drawer and blew her nose. "Have you told Ma?"

"I told her just now." Marlene's grin faded. "She cried, too."

"I should think so." Polly looked hopefully at her sister. "What if you change your mind? Can you get out of it?"

"Not once you sign up." Marlene got up again and took the handkerchief out of Polly's hand. "I don't want to get
out of it, Polly. I'm not going to change my mind so you might as well get used to it. Now let's see if we can make you pretty for Sam."

Polly did her best to recapture the excitement she'd felt about being with Sam, but it was hard. Marlene's news had put a damper on the evening. She just hoped she could forget it long enough to enjoy her time with him. She just couldn't believe that Marlene was leaving home and going into terrible danger where all the fighting was. Right now, she needed Sam more than ever before.

Second Lieutenant Joe Hanson finished his beer and glanced at his watch. Almost closing time. He'd wasted a whole evening sitting at a bar when he could have been training in the ring. These guys weren't going to show, and what's worse, he'd upset a very nice young lady. It wasn't her fault he'd panicked when she started coming on to him. She was right about one thing. He hadn't had a girlfriend. Not a real one anyway. Most of the girls he'd taken out spent one evening with him and decided he wasn't fast enough for them.

Joe hauled himself off the stool and headed for the door. Trouble was, he wasn't like most of these guys. He was shy, especially around girls. They made him nervous, and when he got nervous he stuttered. Just because he was good at boxing, girls expected him to act like Clark Gable, when he felt more like Jimmy Stewart. He wished he could be more passionate with a girl, but every time he thought about it, his insides started twisting around and his hands started shaking and it was all he could do just to put his arm around her.

Joe pushed the door open and stepped outside into a cool night breeze. After the haze of smoke inside, it smelled good. Nice and fresh.

He started across the car park to where his Jeep was parked, and was almost there when he heard a quiet moan. The moon was partly hidden by a passing cloud and it was too dark to see properly.

Squinting into the darkness, Joe called out, "Is someone there?"

A wavery woman's voice wafted out of the shadows. "I'm here. I think I've twisted my ankle."

He headed in the direction of the voice. The moon slid out from behind the cloud and he saw her. She was sitting on the ground, her hands clutched around one of her ankles. To his relief she was old, like his mom. For a moment he'd been afraid it was one of the local young girls waiting to trap a GI. He didn't want to be rude to someone else.

Reaching the woman, he held out his hand. "Can you stand?"

"I think so."

She had a surprisingly strong grasp for an old woman. He hauled her to her feet and watched while she tried her weight on the ankle. When she cried out and stumbled, he grabbed her arm. "Where do you live? How are you getting home?"

"I was going to walk." She looked up at him, the pale moonlight making her wrinkles stand out like cracks in an eggshell. "I don't think I can, though."

"My Jeep is over here. I'll take you home."

She started to protest, but he insisted, gently steering her across the car park in the murky darkness. He got her into the passenger's seat with a bit of pushing and shoving, then rounded the hood to his own seat.

The engine split the silence with a loud roar, and they were off. She uttered a small shriek, as if startled by the
speed, and he slowed down a little. "You'll have to tell me how to get there."

"Oh, it's not far. Just down this road until you reach the crossroads, then turn left." He sensed her looking at him. "What's your name, young man?"

He told her, then good manners compelled him to add, "So what's your name?"

"I'm Maisie Parsons. This is so awfully good of you. I don't know how I would have got home without you."

He nodded, unwilling to carry on a conversation. It was too hard to be heard over the roar of the engine. The wind caught them head on as they rounded the curve and he glanced at her. "You might want to hold on to your hat. You could lose it in this wind."

She lifted a hand and clutched the felt hat she wore. She didn't say any more until they were about half a mile down the lane, and she pointed to a row of cottages set back off the road. "There," she shouted. "Third one down."

He slowed to a halt and cut the engine. "Wait there and I'll help you out."

She gave him her hand again and he helped her down, then waited at her door until she found her key. "Thank you again, Lieutenant. This was most kind of you. I'd like to give you a little something for your trouble."

"No, ma'am. Thank you, but that's not necessary." He started backing away. "I'm just glad to help. You take care of yourself. Good night."

"Oh, no, I insist." She'd sounded really upset and he paused. "I'd never forgive myself if I let you go off empty-handed after you've been so very kind. Please, just wait here. I won't be a moment."

Considering she was in pain, she hopped inside the house pretty fast. He waited, hating to take anything from her, yet
reluctant to just walk away. His mother had raised him to respect his elders.

The old woman reappeared in a matter of minutes, carrying a tin box in her hands. "Here," she said, thrusting it into his hands. "It's my specialty. The best gingerbread you've ever tasted. Anyone in the village will tell you so."

He took the tin from her, feeling awkward. "Well, thank you, ma'am. I sure appreciate this."

"It's the least I can do. I hope you enjoy it." She started to close the door, then added, "Don't share it with anyone, or they'll all be at my door clamoring for my gingerbread."

He smiled. "I promise, ma'am. I'll eat it all myself."

"Good. Good." She nodded. "Well, good-bye, young man."

"Night, ma'am." Touching his cap, Joe turned away and headed back to the Jeep. He felt better. His encounter with Sadie Buttons had left him feeling guilty, and doing something nice for that old lady had helped ease his conscience.

He climbed into the Jeep and laid the tin on the seat next to him. Gingerbread. Make a great midnight snack. With a roar, he took off into the night.

Maisie Parsons heard him go. And she was smiling.

Polly sat in the darkened cinema, fighting a bout of acute resentment. Although she'd pressed herself against Sam's arm throughout the whole film, he hadn't made one move to put his arm around her.

She tried to tell herself it was because they weren't in the back row. To her intense disappointment, Sam had headed down to the middle of the aisle before ushering her into the seats on the edge of the row.

Having already seen the film once, her attention wandered, focusing on various visions of her life with Sam in
America. She saw herself sailing across the ocean and arriving in New York, right in front of the Statue of Liberty. She knew all about that from the films.

She saw herself sitting by a swimming pool under a palm tree, or riding a lift up one of those tall buildings. She saw a house and a big garden, lots of trees and flowers. She saw herself driving a big car down a winding road toward the ocean.

That reminded her of Marlene and her news about being an ambulance driver. She didn't want to think about that. Not tonight. Not when she was with Sam.

She glanced up at him. He'd made her sit on his good side, so she couldn't see the scars from there. He looked like the old Sam, the laughing, joking Sam who'd made her so happy. The Sam who had bought her presents and teased her and kissed her good night.