Death by the Book (10 page)

“So you say you and Miss Deschner were in the village this afternoon?” Birdsong consulted his notes. “Shopping?”

“Yes.” Roger stared at the floor with his chin tucked well down.

“Did she buy anything?”

Roger shook his head. “We stopped to look at Bunny’s new motor car. He was at Price’s.”

“Bunny?” Birdsong turned to Drew, eyebrows raised.

“Clive Marsden-Brathwaite,” Drew told him. “Son of the Right Honorable Gervaise.”

“Oh, yes. I have met Mr. Marsden-Brathwaite. I’ll be speaking to him, as well.”

That overbred twit
, Birdsong’s expression added for him. Ah, well, Bunny did rather notoriously fit the type, Drew couldn’t deny it, but he was a good sort all the same and unfailingly sunny. Too bad he wouldn’t be able to help out poor Roger.

“What else did you do, Mr. Morris?” Birdsong asked.

“I don’t know. Just chatted and walked mostly. We had tea at the Rose Garden, there across from the church. That was last of all because, after that, I brought her here and told her I’d be back at a quarter till eight. It gave us both time to dress for dinner. Oh, and she wanted a newspaper, so I bought her one.”

“At the post office or at the bookshop?”

“Bookshop. I remember because she wanted a book on avant-garde painters, and the lady at the shop said they never had much call for such things in Farthering St. John, but she could have one sent from London if Clarice liked.”

Birdsong duly noted all this. “Anything else you’d like to tell me?”

“No.”

“Do you happen to know a Thomas Hodges? Goes by Tommy?”

“Who’s he?”

“Never you mind that for now. Do you know him?”

Roger merely shook his head, his chin on his chest now.

“Very well. Roger Earl Morris, I arrest you for the murder of Clarice Deschner. Now, if you’ll be good enough to go with the constable, sir . . .”

Roger turned to Drew, eyes pleading.

“Steady on.” Drew put his hand on his friend’s shoulder, then turned to the chief inspector. “You don’t really think he could have killed her, do you? Why would he?”

“We’ll just have to find that out, now, won’t we, Detective Farthering?”

Birdsong motioned to one of the constables, who escorted Roger out of the room.

Drew crossed his arms over his chest. “You know you haven’t any sort of a case here. A jury would acquit him in five minutes for lack of evidence and lack of motive.”

“There’s the cigarette case for a start.”

“Oscar Wilde says it’s a very ungentlemanly thing to read a private cigarette case.” Nick took the elegant item off the table, admiring its craftsmanship. “This is a very fine one, to be sure, but hardly motive for murder.”

Drew took it from him, studying it, too. “Any man would be a fool to murder someone and then carry something as easily identifiable as this about with him.”

Birdsong snatched it back and shoved it into the pocket of his overcoat, scowling at both of them. “That’s not my problem just yet, is it? For the moment, all I have to do is not give a suspicious character a chance to scarper before we’ve got a chance to see what’s what.”

“Really, Inspector—”

“Look here, this is the first real break we’ve had in these hatpin murders. Perhaps your friend here did just what he said and has nothing to do with this killing or the others, but I don’t know that. And until I do, Mr. Morris will be holidaying at the expense of His Majesty’s government.”

Poor Rog was for it. At least for the time being.

“Is it all right if we get the name of Roger’s solicitor before you cart him off? I’ll get hold of him and let him know what’s happened.” Drew gave the chief inspector a hopeful smile. “You wouldn’t mind if Nick and I stayed behind a bit and had another look round, would you? I promise we’ll lock up tight.”

Birdsong narrowed his eyes. “You wouldn’t have a bit of evidence you’d like to see to, would you? Keep your mate out of dutch?”

“Nothing of the sort, I assure you. Your men have already photographed and dusted everything in sight. And anyway, if there was something to hide, we had plenty of time to see to it before we called you.”

The chief inspector slowly nodded. “I suppose you did at that. All right, but don’t stay long. And P. C. Patterson will be just outside all night, so mind your manners.”

“Oh, I say, Inspector.”

“Well?”

“Who’s this Tommy Hodges you were asking about?”

There was a touch of sly satisfaction in the chief inspector’s grudging smile. “One behind me for a change, eh?”

Drew put his hand over his heart. “Ever and only your humble pupil, sir.”

Birdsong looked unimpressed. “Our Mr. Hodges is a caddy at your golf course. He carried Dr. Corneau’s clubs every Wednesday afternoon from May of 1927 until his death.”

“I see. You don’t suspect him, do you?”

“No, but you remember he was called away that day the doctor was murdered. He had a telegram saying his grandmother was dying up in Inverness and asking him to come at once.”

“A fraud, I suppose.”

“The old lady was on a cycling tour in the Lake District
with several other old-age pensioners from her street. Took this Hodges some time to trace her whereabouts and satisfy himself she was all right. Meanwhile it took our men a while to track him down and make certain he wasn’t involved in Corneau’s murder.”

“You’re satisfied with that?”

Birdsong nodded. “He has solid alibis for the other killings, and we know he was on his way to Scotland when Corneau was killed.”

“And no trace of who may have sent the telegram?”

“No such luck. It was phoned in. With all the messages they take, the operator couldn’t even remember if it was a man or a woman on the other end of the line. But it was most certainly not phoned in from Inverness.”

“No surprise there. Did your men find out where the call was made from?”

“Local call. Winchester. We couldn’t get any nearer than that, I’m afraid.”

“I’m sorry neither of us has made any headway, Inspector, but there has to be some connection here.”

“That may be, Mr. Farthering, and then again it may not. It’s been my experience that what seems a sound line of reasoning to one man might be pure madness to another.” Birdsong settled his hat on his head and pulled his battered overcoat more snugly around himself. “Good night, sir. Oh, and mind what I said about P. C. Patterson.”

Soon Drew and Nick were alone in the cottage. Clarice Deschner’s body had been taken away and so had Roger Morris, and Drew had placed a call to a Mr. Barlow, Roger’s solicitor.

“I don’t suppose there’s much else to be done here, Nick, old man. Still, it couldn’t hurt to have another look round, maybe
figure out what she did during the afternoon.” Drew ran his hand over the back of the zebra chair. “Obviously she changed her clothes from what she was wearing earlier in the day.”

“The outfit Roger described is in a hamper in the bathroom.”

“Right, she put on her dressing gown and had a cup of tea, but what else did she do?” He scanned the room. “Listen to the wireless? Read? There had to be something. No one takes that long just to dress.”

Nick turned over a book that lay on the end table next to the chair where the body had been found. “
Art and
the Avant-Garde: A Survey
by Professor A. C. Esterbrooke.” He made a face. “Perhaps she died from boredom.”

“A bit more to the purpose, if you please.”

“Why do you suppose she asked Mrs. Harkness for a book on this modern stuff if she already had this?”

“Smells and looks new, too.” Drew shrugged. “I don’t know. Perhaps she wanted something a bit livelier. Or maybe she asked just to impress Roger. From what I heard, she did rather enjoy making people uncomfortable with her modern ideas. See what else you can find.”

“There’s a fashion magazine under it.” Nick flipped through a few pages and then snorted. “Seems she liked to add a bit of drama to the photos.”

He handed Drew the magazine, open to an advert showing a young couple drinking with straws from the same frothy glass, their eyes dreamily on each other. In a bubble over the man’s head, Clarice had written,
Won’t she make the sweetest little wife?
Over the head of the girl, the caption said,
Drink
up, mate. I’ve got another date at—

Drew studied it for a moment. “I wonder what interrupted her?”

“Could have been anything.” Nick glanced at the picture again. “Might have done that a month ago as much as today.”

“I don’t know. The magazine looks new, latest issue and all. And if I don’t mistake myself—” Drew picked up a fountain pen from the end table where the book and magazine had been and made a small mark at the bottom of the page Clarice had embellished—“that’s the pen she used. Besides, if she didn’t do this today, then why didn’t she finish it? She would’ve had plenty of time.”

“Perhaps she couldn’t think of what to end with,” Nick said. “Or maybe she simply got bored with the idea.”

“Well, even without an ending, it says what she meant it to. Not a romantic, our Miss Deschner.”

I
t was well past midnight by the time Drew arrived home to Farthering Place.

“Hullo, darling.”

“Oh, Drew.”

Madeline tossed down her book and hurried to him with open arms. She then glanced back at Aunt Ruth, who was sleeping soundly in the armchair by the library fire with Mr. Chambers curled up in her lap. Madeline put one finger to her lips, and Drew took her hand and led her into the hall.

She pulled the library door silently closed and then kissed him. “I’m so glad you’re finally home.”

“So am I.”

She stroked the hair back from his forehead. “You look exhausted. Don’t you want some coffee or something?”

“I am a bit done up, I confess it, but I hate to roust out any of the staff at this time of night. Nick’s already headed up to bed. This business with Roger’s an awful mess.”

“Poor thing. Would it be improper if we sneaked out to the kitchen and got some coffee ourselves?”

He smiled. “You are the most perceptive creature.”

“Someone has to take care of you,” she said, taking his arm as they walked. “And Denny can’t always be around.”

“We’ve got to be quiet,” he warned as he turned on one light in the kitchen. “If Mrs. Devon finds us here, she’ll insist on making cake or biscuits to go along with the coffee. Or sandwiches or an eight-course meal.”

Madeline looked around, unsure of which of the myriad cabinets to open first. “I don’t suppose you know where the coffeepot is kept.”

“Not really, but Mrs. D is a logical woman, so I expect it would be in a logical place.”

They found it in a cupboard above the sink, next to the tea things, just where it ought to be. The coffee grinder was next to it, along with freshly roasted coffee beans.

“Maybe tea would be easier,” Madeline said.

“Nonsense, darling. You like coffee, so we’ll have coffee. We don’t need any help. Besides, I don’t want anyone here but you right now.”

He ground the beans while she poured water into the pot, and somehow they ended up with two decent cups of coffee. A few hot sips seemed to take some of the weariness out of him.

“This is lovely,” Drew said. “Thank you.” He reached across the kitchen table to take her hand.

Madeline smiled. “You’re very welcome. Now, don’t you think you’d better catch me up on what’s going on?”

The light in his eyes faded, making him look tired again and a little bewildered. “I suppose so.” He took another drink of his coffee, lingering over it, reluctant to go on. “I rather hate
pulling you back into this sort of thing, though. I mean it hasn’t been very long since your uncle—”

“You’re terribly sweet, Drew. I miss Uncle Mason. It still hurts to remember him dead there in the study with that knife . . .” She bit her lip and hated the tears that welled up in her eyes. “It still hurts. But if we can spare someone else that pain, then it’s a good thing, isn’t it? A right thing?”

“Yes, darling, it is. I don’t know how I keep getting pulled into these situations, but maybe it’s what I’m meant to do. I don’t know that for certain, but I want to find out. And more than anything, as long as you’re out of danger, I want you in it with me.”

She swallowed hard and then nodded. Those tears would never go away if he kept talking to her like that.

“So then, down to business, as they say.” He winked at her. “Tell me what happened here after Nick and I left.”

“The party didn’t last long after dinner. Bunny and some of the others decided to drive up to London, to some of the nightclubs there. Freddie went, too. Then Mr. and Mrs. Allison went home. I wish I could have come with you and Nick.”

“It was a grim scene. The woman was poisoned or something. It’s all so terribly sad.”

“And how is your friend Roger?”

“He’s always been a bit high-strung. You can imagine him finding her dead there with that ghastly note pinned into her. I thought he’d lose his wits when he realized he had Dr. Corneau’s cigarette case on him.”

“How do you suppose he came by that? Did he know the doctor?”

“No. At least he says not. I can’t imagine why he’d lie about it unless he’s behind all the murders.”

“You don’t think . . . ?”

“Old Roger? Hardly. He couldn’t bear even being in the same room with the poor woman’s body. I could never see him actually committing a murder.”

“What about the note?”

He sighed. “I wrote it down.”

He gave her the slip of paper he’d used to copy down the cryptic message.

She puzzled over it for a moment and then shook her head. “You don’t think the murderer’s just writing these to confuse things, do you? I mean, maybe they don’t mean anything at all.”

“No, there’s some method in it, I’d lay odds on that. We just have to figure out the key. Nothing for it but to let the little gray cells do their work.” He squeezed her hand. “Sorry to have left you and Mrs. Allison to see to the guests here, darling. Must have been deuced awkward for you.”

“Well, I knew you were in a jam, and Freddie kindly agreed to be my escort. He even spent a while chatting with Aunt Ruth.”

He was silent until she looked up at him. He was staring off into the darkness outside the windows.

“That was good of him.”

He didn’t say anything more.

“What are you thinking?” she asked after a few moments.

This time he turned to her, a wistful smile on his face. “Lots of things. I don’t know if Roger actually loved Clarice. More than likely just a pash. But it had to be a great shock to him for her to be suddenly gone forever like that, someone he’d been with just a few hours before.”

He squeezed her hand and was silent again, but she knew what he was thinking.

“I’m still not ready to make a decision,” she said.

He pulled back from her, the melancholy in his expression replaced with puzzlement and a touch of irritation. “I didn’t ask you to.”

“Not in so many words, no, but I could tell where you were headed when you were talking about Roger and about losing someone suddenly.”

“All right, I was thinking of you. I was thinking how rotten it would be to lose you like that. Is that a crime?”

“No, of course not.” She stroked his cheek. “I love that you feel that way about me. I love that you want me to marry you. I want that, too. You don’t understand how very much I do and how very much that scares me.”

His expression softened. “Is being married to me such a terrifying prospect?”

She smiled, ignoring the lump that forced its way into her throat. “No, it’s wonderful, more wonderful than I can believe. But we’ve known each other such a short time.”

He sighed. “I see you’ve been listening to your aunt Ruth again.”

“I haven’t talked to her about you all day, and she never said a word about us getting married.”

“I don’t mean just now. I mean all your life. Certainly, much of what she says is very wise. One shouldn’t just leap into something without counting the cost. But one oughtn’t be afraid of life, either. Anything worth doing involves risk, marriage most especially. We could spend the next decade getting better acquainted, and that still wouldn’t guarantee a happy marriage.”

“I realize that. It’s just that I’ve had such a sheltered life really. I want to make sure . . .” But she let the words trail off, not knowing what else to say.

“You want to look about a bit before tying yourself down.
I suppose spending the evening with Bell has made you think more along those lines.”

“I hardly know him.”

“But you’d like to find out more.”

“Don’t be silly. He’s a nice boy, but I’m not interested in him. I mean, it
is
good to talk to someone from home, but that’s all it is.”

He studied her face for a long moment. Then his eyes warmed, and he brought her hand to his lips, pressing it with a gentle kiss. “I understand. Really, I do. And I wasn’t trying to press you into a decision before you’re ready to make one. I love you, and I want the honor of having you for my wife, but only if that’s what you want, too. And if it takes a while for you to be sure that’s what you want, it’s well worth the waiting. In the meantime, we have a puzzle to keep us occupied, as well as the winning of your aunt.”

Madeline laughed softly. “It’s a toss-up which one is going to be more difficult.”

“Nonsense. Your dear auntie won’t be able to resist the Farthering charm much longer.”

“Don’t bet on it,” she teased. “But that was awfully sweet of you, Drew, bringing her that doll.”

“Do you think she liked it?”

“Very much so. She doesn’t quite know what to make of you yet, and you keep refusing to be what she expects.”

Laughing, he stood and extended a hand to her. “Come along, darling. It’s late, and your aunt will be cross.”

She put both dirty cups in the sink. “Why should she be cross?”

“Well, either she’s awake and wondering what mischief I’ve drawn you into, or she’s still asleep in the chair and will have a stiff neck when we wake her up.”

“I don’t wish her a stiff neck, but I hope she’s still asleep. I suppose I’d better go get her and head back to the cottage.”

Sure enough, Aunt Ruth was still sleeping when they returned to the library. They helped her to her feet, found her more groggy than cross, and escorted her back to the cottage. Drew stole a quick kiss from Madeline as the older woman tottered inside, and then he went up the moonlit path back to the house.

Breakfast the next morning was serene and pleasant. The August day was warm and windy, and the smell of rhododendrons wafted from the garden below the terrace, competing with the equally delicious aroma of rashers and eggs and Mrs. Devon’s homemade marmalade on toast.

“I thought Nick would be down by now,” Madeline said when the meal was almost over. “What’s he up to today?”

“Sleeping all hours, no doubt,” her aunt observed.

Drew offered her another slice of bacon. “Actually, ma’am, I understand that he and Mr. Padgett, the manager here at Farthering Place, went off quite early this morning to see to some business matters. Nick will be taking over here when the old gentleman decides to retire. He’s really quite industrious.”

“Well, you could learn from his example, young man.” Aunt Ruth speared two slices of bacon with her fork and slid them onto her plate, and he smiled in answer.

“No doubt. And I do have quite a lot to keep me occupied today.”

Madeline’s eyes met his, and he saw worry in them.

“Have you thought more about who could have killed that woman?” she asked.

Drew added another spoonful of honey to his tea. “I’ve
thought of little else. Poor Rog, sitting there in the jail in Winchester. I’ve got to drive over and see him this morning. I promised him cigarettes, and I’d like to talk to Birdsong if I can.”

“Pardon me, miss, but I believe this is yours.” With a curtsy, Anna set Madeline’s little beaded handbag on the corner of the table. “Tessa found it when she was cleaning this morning.”

“Oh, thank you.” Madeline smiled at the girl and then at Drew. “I didn’t even realize I didn’t have it. Come to think of it, I don’t remember taking it back to the cottage with me last night.”

“You’d better see if anything’s missing,” Aunt Ruth said.

Madeline laughed. “There’s nothing in it worth much of anything. Besides, Anna wouldn’t take anything, I’m sure.”

“Maybe not, but who knows about this Tessa she was talking about, or any of the other staff here.”

“I’m not worried, Aunt Ruth. They’re all good people.” Madeline turned to Drew once again. “Maybe Roger will have remembered something today that will help out. Do you think I could come with you?”

“I’d rather you didn’t, if you don’t mind, darling. The jail’s not at all a nice place, and I promise I’ll fill you in on every detail the moment I come back.”

Aunt Ruth pursed her lips. “I’m sure that nice Mr. Bell would think of something much more pleasant to talk to a young lady about, at breakfast or any other time.”

A gust of wind whipped a strand of hair into the older woman’s face. She swept it back with one hand, feeling with the other through the rest of her iron-gray locks.

“Oh, I’m losing hairpins left and right out here in the open air. I doubt I have three left. Run over to the cottage and get some for me, will you, Madeline?”

“Take some of mine.” Madeline slid her handbag over to her
aunt, then looked back at Drew. “They don’t really think Roger could have killed her, do they?”

“He’s their prime suspect at the moment. They just don’t have anyone else, and even he doesn’t seem very likely to have committed all three murders.”

Aunt Ruth rummaged in the bag and made a little huff of exasperation.

Madeline turned to her. “What’s wrong?”

The older woman glanced at Drew, a smirk curling her lip. “Are you sure you’d like me to say, Madeline? In company, I mean.”

“What are you talking about?”

Aunt Ruth reached into the bag and took out a large, heavy key. It was attached to a little wooden oval with a number four carved into it.

“Were you planning to visit someone, missy?”

“Where did you get that?”

“Straight out of your bag. I’m not so worried about where it was as how it got there.”