Death by the Book (22 page)

“To be fair, I
did
step into the street when he was coming. I thought for certain he’d seen me. And with nobody about at that time of the morning, I thought he had plenty of room to go around.” Mrs. Harkness laughed. “Still, if he’d meant to turn himself black and blue, he couldn’t have done a better job of it. I don’t know how he didn’t see me in time to stop.”

Drew shook his head. “It’s nothing serious, I hope.”

“Only bumps and bruises, Mr. Farthering. I did feel bad for the old gentleman, though. Spry as he is, they get a bit fragile at that age.”

“He wasn’t hurt, was he?”

“Mrs. Christopher who does for him says it’s mostly a sprained ankle, and he’s got a good lump under one eye and another on his arm. Perhaps it’s all for the best. He’ll be off his bicycle for a while now.”

“And good thing too, if you ask me.” Mrs. Webster crossed her arms over her ample bosom. “Farthering St. John has grown much too rowdy these days. What’s the good of living the quiet country life when there’s goings-on that would make London blush for shame? It’s all over the village about what happened at Farthering Place two nights ago, you know. I do hope that American lady is all right now.”

Drew nodded. “Remarkably well, in fact, though I promised Madeline I’d pop round to Mr. Clarridge’s to get a little something to settle her aunt’s nerves. It was rather a shock.”

“I can imagine.” Mrs. Webster leaned closer. “Must have been terrifying for her, finding that body and having the killer spring out from the darkness.”

“Oh, Gladys, stop!” Mrs. Harkness put a trembling hand to her throat. “You make my blood run cold.”

“I don’t think you need worry,” Drew soothed. “But you
ladies make sure you lock up well at night and don’t open up for anyone you don’t know.”

Mrs. Harkness’s eyes were wide. “Sounds as if it may well be someone we
do
know.”

Drew hadn’t any answer for that. It seemed more and more likely that the murderer was someone nearby, someone who could go about the village and not be especially noticed.

“The police will be keeping an extra close watch out until the man is caught. Just keep your eyes open and let them know if you see anything out of the ordinary.”

“I doubt I’ll be able to keep my eyes closed for another week at least.” Mrs. Harkness shook her head. “That poor Mr. Bell. He seemed such a pleasant fellow.”

“Yes, it’s a tragedy. Madeline is quite upset by it. Oh, I say, we were trying to figure out a few things about what Bell may have been up to before he was killed. You don’t happen to remember when he was last in your shop, do you, Mrs. Harkness?”

“Dear me, let me think. He was in three or four times, I believe, but I’m not sure I could tell you exactly when. There was the day he and your young lady met, I remember that. He came in looking for a book on local sites, I believe. He was back that day the three of you went to the Queen Bess, as well.”

“Do you recall if he was in on the day of our dinner party?”

Mrs. Harkness thought for a moment. “No. Not that day, unless I’m mistaken. I remember your young lady and her aunt coming that day. They spent some while looking at books for some relatives in America. They said they were also going up to Winchester.”

“I see. Did they mention visiting any other shops here in the village?”

“Not that I remember, no. I can’t say, to tell the honest truth, where all they mentioned.”

“That’s all right, Mrs. Harkness. I think they put down all the places they went. I just wondered if perhaps they’d forgotten one or two. It could be important.”

“Really?”

“We think perhaps Mr. Bell was at one of the places they went and that’s how Madeline got his room key.” Drew deliberately ignored the significant glance the two women exchanged. “It’s rather muddled at the moment, I’m afraid.”

“Well, if I remember anything more, I’ll be sure to let you know,” Mrs. Harkness said. “As it is, it’s a wonder I can think at all, scared half out of my wits as I’ve been this fortnight. I wish Annalee was still here. With her Marcus in the house, I wouldn’t have to worry about anyone breaking in at night.”

Drew hadn’t much considered how it might be for a middle-aged lady living alone when there was a murderer about.

“Perhaps you should go for a holiday, Mrs. Harkness. I’m sure Annalee and the children would be pleased to have you.”

“And who would mind my shop? Not all of us have the means to do as we please day in, day out. Me being all alone in the world, as well.”

“No, no. I hadn’t thought of that.”

Mrs. Webster crossed her arms and smiled at her friend. “Must be nice, mustn’t it? Young lord of the manor with nothing to worry him but playing detective now and again.”

“I think Mr. Farthering’s been a great help to the police in all this.” Mrs. Harkness gave Drew an indulgent smile. “And if you ask me, the police need all the help they can get.”

“The case is rather a poser, isn’t it?” Drew shook his head. “Nothing quite seems to fit.”

“Go on, Bobbie.” Mrs. Webster gave Mrs. Harkness’s shoulder a playful shove. “Tell him what you told me.”

Mrs. Harkness shrugged her off. “No. I couldn’t.”

“Go on.”

Drew smiled to himself. It was really rather charming to see her blushing like a girl at her first recital.

“Yes, do go on, Mrs. Harkness. Do you have a theory about the murders?”

“Not really a theory as such, Mr. Farthering.” Mrs. Harkness glanced at her friend, who pushed her forward again. “I just couldn’t help thinking, well . . .”

“What couldn’t you help thinking?”

“Well, what if the murderer actually
is
someone we know? Someone from right here in our village?”

“Do you suspect anyone in particular?”

“Oh, no. It’s hard to even imagine it would actually be one of us, and if it were, why he would do such things. It’s almost as if he were killing people at random. And I’ve read enough murder mysteries to know that, unless there’s some sort of method in the crimes, there’s no solving them. Without logic, it’s good night, Mr. Sherlock Holmes.”

“True enough.” He managed not to smile at the earnestness in her comments. “But I don’t think it’s random at all. There’s a definite key to it, if we could just find it.”

“Well.” She stepped back a bit, looking rather abashed by her own boldness. “Of course, I wouldn’t know enough about the particulars in this case to actually say.”

“Mrs. Harkness! Good morning again!”

Drew turned to see Mr. Llewellyn hobbling across the road with the aid of a cane, just as battered as Mrs. Harkness had described him. He had a sheaf of pink rhododendrons cradled in one arm.

“What are you doing up and about?” Drew hurried to him and took his arm. “Oughtn’t you to be in bed?”

The two women surrounded them, clucking and scolding.

“Now, now, ladies, don’t fuss. I’m not quite dead yet.” There was a roguish twinkle in the older gentleman’s bright blue eyes. “After all, it’s not how many times one’s knocked down that counts, but how many times he gets up, eh?”

Mrs. Harkness shook her head. “I’m sure Dr. Wallace must have told you to take it easy for a few days.”

“But that’s just the trouble, ma’am. I couldn’t possibly rest easy until I had offered you my apologies for yesterday morning’s unfortunate occurrence.” Mr. Llewellyn shifted the flowers into her arms. “I know it’s no compensation for your injuries, but I trust it will assure you of my sincere regrets.”

“Really, Mr. Llewellyn, you needn’t have troubled yourself. I’m not really hurt. Accidents happen. You’re the one who looks as if he’s been caned.” Mrs. Harkness smiled on the lush bouquet. “You didn’t go out on that sprained ankle and cut these yourself, did you?”

“No, I’m sorry to say. Mrs. Christopher brought them in from the garden. To cheer me up, she said, and I thought you were far more deserving of them.”

He made a gallant bow, and Mrs. Webster smirked. “Oooh, I think Bobbie has an admirer.”

Mrs. Harkness frowned. “Do hush up, Gladys, if you’re going to be silly. I’m sure Mr. Llewellyn is only being polite.”

“Nonsense. I know a handsome woman when I see one.” Mr. Llewellyn waggled his salt-and-pepper eyebrows at her. “I may be old and a bit out of practice, but I’m not blind.”

Mrs. Harkness shook her head. “You’re a flatterer, that’s what
you are. I know it when I hear it, though I can’t say I’ve heard it much since Mr. Harkness took to his heels.”

He grinned at her. “All’s forgiven, I hope?”

“Nothing to forgive,” she assured him. “It likely was all my fault, stepping out into the street without looking.”

“The fault was entirely mine, madam.” He took her hand and bowed over it. “But you’re a lady right through, Mrs. Harkness. I don’t mind who knows it.”

Drew gave Mrs. Harkness a wink, and she looked away, blushing.

“You really should be lying down, shouldn’t you, Mr. Llewellyn?” She wagged one finger at the old man. “What did Dr. Wallace say?”

Mr. Llewellyn made some blustery huffing noises. “You don’t get to be my age lying about with your feet up.”

“Please, Mr. Farthering, can’t you make him see reason?”

“I can try, Mrs. Harkness. No guarantees, of course.” Drew moved to take the gentleman’s arm again and was immediately shaken off.

“I can get along without help, young man.”

“To be sure, but I thought you might take me round to your house and show me your new bicycle. I didn’t get to see it before, not up close. I hope it wasn’t damaged in the collision.”

A light came into the older man’s eyes. “No. Not in the least. The old girl’s a battle tank.” He cleared his throat hastily. “I mean the bicycle, of course. Would you really like to come see her?”

“Very much.” Drew raised his hat to the two shopkeepers. “If you ladies will excuse us.”

“Do be careful,” Mrs. Harkness called as they crossed the
road. “I’ll bring you over some of my bread pudding this afternoon, shall I, Mr. Llewellyn?”

“That would be lovely,” he called back, and then he stumbled over the curb and had to hold on to Drew to keep from falling. “Confounded nuisance, this ankle. It’s not sprained, you know. Just turned a bit. Wallace says I’ll soon be healed up and back on my bicycle.”

“Ah, splendid.”

“Never saw the like of it, though. Women, God love ’em, haven’t a brain among the lot of them. Granted, it was hardly light yet and neither of us was expecting anyone to be about, but she stepped right in front of me. Couldn’t possibly pull up in time. Heaven knows what she was thinking.”

“Perhaps her mind was on opening up her shop for the day.”

Mr. Llewellyn harrumphed. “Fascinating, actually, the workings of the human mind. Not like a well-built machine. You can count on machines. The brain, sometimes it just goes haywire. There’s no accounting for it.”

“I suppose not.”

“If you’re going to carry on playing detective, young man, you’d be wise to study up. Read a good book on abnormal psychology.”

Drew glanced at him, not liking the idea that had worried its way into his head. “Funny you should say so, but Mrs. Harkness sold me the most interesting book last week.”

“Really? What was it?”

“About murderesses. Lurid stuff, really.” Drew watched the man’s face. He was certainly battered enough.

“If he’d meant to turn himself
black and blue, he couldn’t have done a better
job of it.”

Mr. Llewellyn nodded. “Deadlier than the male. You can bank on it.”

“She said someone local had ordered it and never picked it up.”

“Did she? Rum luck for our lady shopkeeper, eh? Sounds a fascinating read, if you ask me.”

“Yes, I thought so. A bit grim, but certainly riveting,” Drew said, still watching. “Why do you suppose people kill? I mean, not the obvious ones, the ones with something to gain, but the ones who seem to do it because . . . I don’t know, perhaps because it just pleases them.”

“A game, I daresay,” Mr. Llewellyn replied. “You take this hatpin murderer we have now. Monstrous, clever fellow, wouldn’t you say?”

“Seems so at this point, anyway. You didn’t happen to be about the evening before last, did you? I mean, perhaps you saw—”

“I do generally take a ride down the lane on my bicycle before turning in for the night, but I didn’t see anything out of place that evening. What time did you say this last killing took place?”

“About a quarter of ten, perhaps a bit before.”

“I’d just have been coming in. This hatpin blighter is likely sitting back in plain sight, having a bit of a laugh at all the fuss being made over him. Showing who’s master, eh?”

“Yes,” Drew pressed, “but why?”

“Not enough time out in the fresh air, if you ask me.” By then they had reached Llewellyn’s cottage and the flame-red bicycle leaning against the garden shed. “Cycling. It’s the nearest way to a sound body and a sound mind. Now tell me you’ve seen a finer machine, and I’ll likely ask you to leave my premises.”

For the next ten minutes the older man waxed poetical about
his beloved machine, until Drew finally made his excuses and went back to his car. He still didn’t like what he was thinking. The very idea was ridiculous. He wasn’t going to mention it to Madeline or Nick. Certainly not to Chief Inspector Birdsong. Not till he’d had a chance to turn things over in his mind for a bit.

T
he next day, leaving Madeline and her aunt in the parlor with their lace making, Drew went to talk to Roger Morris again about what and, more important, whom he might have seen around Clarice Deschner’s cottage the day of her murder. He drove up to the jail in Winchester and then, finding Roger had been released, dropped in at the chief inspector’s office.

“Couldn’t hold him,” Birdsong admitted. “The incident at your cottage makes him quite unlikely to be our man.”

Drew just narrowly refrained from smirking. “Quite.”

The chief inspector scowled. “He’s not out of the woods yet, mind you. But it may interest you to know he did identify that black-and-white belt as belonging to the Deschner girl. Said it was across the back of the sofa with the dress when he and the girl quarreled. Wasn’t sure about whether it was there when he found her later.”

“No,” Drew said. “Mightn’t be something he’d notice at that point in time. So, one less suspect, eh? Now what?”

“Two less, actually. Daniel Montford was definitely at home at the time of the murder.”

“Oh, yes? Not just his mother saying so?”

Birdsong looked faintly disgusted. “From five minutes past ten until ten twenty-seven, young Mr. Montford was sitting on the doorstep in his back garden, smoking approximately two and a half cigarettes before retiring into the house. If the murder was done between nine thirty and nine forty-five, as we suspect, he couldn’t possibly have gotten back to London by ten.”

“More and more, I think we’re on the wrong track. It’s got to be someone near to hand, someone no one pays much mind, who can get in and out everywhere rather unnoticed, someone we’re used to seeing about, perhaps.”

Birdsong narrowed his eyes. “Anyone come to mind, Detective Farthering?”

Drew only shrugged. “Could be anyone. Nick had rather an interesting idea. He thinks the killings are somehow moving closer to Farthering Place. And yes, geographically I suppose they are.”

“Does he now? What’s he reckon the reason for that might be?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it? Maybe it’s something you lads ought to have a go at. If it’s convenient, of course.”

Birdsong looked him over contemplatively. “You, perhaps?”

Drew grinned at him. “Modesty forbids . . .”

“Yes, well, I can’t see your modesty being much use if our killer comes after you.”

“As I told Nick, Inspector, I just can’t see why anyone would target me. I’m nobody.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. If you’re the target, someone at least
thinks
you’re somebody.”

“But why? What would anyone gain from killing me?”

Birdsong pursed his lips. “Hard to say. Privileged young lord of the manor? All the advantages of money and position? Might breed a bit of resentment in someone not so smiled upon. Dare I say jealousy?”

“Nick and I were wondering if it mightn’t be a game.”

“I’ve wondered myself. You’re rather celebrated locally, aren’t you? Just at the moment, I mean. Perhaps someone, jealous again, would like to do you one better, eh?”

Before Drew could even think what to say in reply, a young constable popped his head into the room.

“Beg pardon, sir. A Miss Forest to see you. About her hatpins.”

Birdsong and Drew exchanged glances, and then they both stood at the entrance of a tiny, birdlike creature, prim and faded and wizened as an old apple. She accepted the straight-backed chair the constable offered her and peered at Drew.

“Mr. Farthering, isn’t it? I’ve heard you’ve been in and out of trouble with the police for some while now, though I didn’t expect to find you here in Winchester of all places.”

He managed to look repentant. “Yes, ma’am, but the chief inspector here has done his best to teach me the error of my ways.”

Birdsong grimaced. “Mr. Farthering is helping us in our investigation, madam. That’ll be all, Parkins.”

The constable vanished, and Birdsong sat down at his desk, his hands folded expectantly. “Now, how can we be of service, madam?”

“Someone broke into my shop last night, and I’d like to know what you mean to do about it.”

Birdsong’s gaze flickered between Drew and the older lady. “Just what sort of shop, may I ask?”

“I carry items for ladies of taste and refinement, Inspector.” Miss Forest’s stern expression dared him to insinuate anything different. “None of the trash you see in most shops these days.”

“I understand, madam.”

“Now, I told the young man at the desk that I had had some things taken. I don’t know why I’m required to repeat the information. Couldn’t he have seen to it? I don’t know why I’ve been made to come up here. The officer in Farthering St. John couldn’t be bothered, I expect. He was certainly eager enough to hand me off to you.”

“I’m sorry, madam,” Birdsong said. “But if you would just bear with us, perhaps we can find the thief and your stolen property. Just where is this shop?”

“It’s the one round the corner from the church, down at the end of the high street in Farthering St. John. Do you know it?”

“Forest’s Ladies’ Emporium,” Drew supplied.

She nodded. “Quite right. I should like to know what you are going to do about the theft, Inspector.”

“What exactly was taken, madam?”

“I have a list here.” She took a folded paper from her purse, opened it, and smoothed it out on the table in front of her. Then she opened her purse again and brought out her spectacles. Those in place, she began to read. “Two antique pearl brooches, four china teacups, a box of rhinestone Christmas ornaments, a pair of antique hatpins, half a dozen silver bracelets, and a lithograph of Trafalgar Square.” She looked over her glasses at the chief inspector. “That’s in addition to the display case that was damaged and the porcelain shepherd and shepherdess that were smashed to pieces.”

“Do you think the damage was deliberate?” Drew asked.

“Well, the display case was where the stolen items had been
kept, Mr. Farthering. I would say the thief was quite deliberate in breaking it to get them.”

“And the porcelain?”

She pushed her glasses further down her nose, studying Drew for a disdainful moment before turning her attention to Birdsong. “Really, Chief Inspector, whether or not the act was deliberate, I have been effectively robbed of those figures.”

“Certainly, madam. Have you noticed anyone unusual in your shop or hanging about in the street nearby?”

“Unusual? Hardly. I have my regular customers, respectable women, of course. A couple of other ladies with shops across the way sometimes come by for tea and a chat. I get a tourist now and again. That American girl and her aunt came in once or twice.” She glared at Drew. “Never bought so much as a handkerchief.”

Drew shook his head in commiseration. “But nothing out of the ordinary?”

She pursed her lips in thought. “Well, more amusing than extraordinary. That old gentleman who rides his bicycle around the village at all hours, Mr. Llewellyn, he’s come in two or three times to look at some of my ladies’ jewelry.” For the first time there was a spark of warmth in her faded blue eyes. “I think he has a sweetheart somewhere.”

Drew pressed his lips together, feeling something twisting in his insides.

The chief inspector cleared his throat. “If we could keep our discussion a little nearer the point, madam . . .”

The woman’s expression once again became severe. “As you say. I want to know what you plan to do to find whoever is responsible for the damage done to my property.”

“Certainly, madam. We’ll do everything in our power, but at the moment we’re most interested in your hatpins.”

“The hatpins? They were hardly worth anything. I told the man at the desk that they didn’t matter, but that was all he wanted to know about. He didn’t care that my shop had been vandalized. I shall never be able to feel secure about it again. Really, Inspector, it is the most outrageous—”

“The hatpins may have been used in the hatpin murders. I’m sure you’ve heard about them.”

She put one little claw of a hand to the cascade of lace at her throat. “Oh.”

“Don’t be alarmed, ma’am.” Drew gave her an encouraging smile. “There’s nothing to worry you about this, but you can be a tremendous help in the investigation.”

Birdsong took a small box from his desk drawer, removed the lid, and held it out for the lady to see.

“Look at this closely, Miss Forest. Is it one of yours?”

She reached out as if she would take the pin from him, but faltered and instead held her hands clasped in her lap. “Certainly one of mine. I recognize the little sparrow on the end. But it couldn’t have been taken yesterday. It’s one of my very old ones. I keep it—kept it, I should say—and one or two others in a box in the back room of the shop.”

Drew glanced at the chief inspector. “So you didn’t even know it had gone missing?”

She fidgeted with her small handbag. “Most everything in the back is packed up. How could I know?”

“Of course not,” Drew soothed. “And it would stand to reason that you might not know if any of the others in that box might—”

“Oh, dear. I hadn’t thought. Did you say all of these dreadful murders had been done with hatpins?”

“Not the murders precisely, no. But the hatpins were used at the scene of each one.”

“Used?” Her faded blue eyes flitted from Drew to the inspector and back again.

“We’re not releasing that information to the public at the moment, madam,” Birdsong said with a scowl at Drew. “And I will have to ask you to keep anything mentioned here in confidence, all right?”

“Oh, yes, Inspector. Certainly.”

Miss Forest eased herself out of the chair, preparing to take her leave, and Drew cleared his throat. “The other pins, sir?”

“I was just getting to that, if you don’t mind.” Birdsong made his expression a little more pleasant as he turned from Drew to the lady. “I will have to send an officer along with you back to your shop, madam, to have a look at the box of pins you say are kept in your back room. To see if any others are missing.”

“Yes, of course. But you realize I couldn’t possibly have known—”

“No one is laying blame, madam.” Birdsong took her elbow and ushered her to the door. “Parkins, will you see to this lady?”

The constable came back into the room, and after a few words of instruction from the chief inspector, he hurried the lady away.

“Well, well, well.” Birdsong looked smugly pleased. “It’s Farthering St. John again. What do you make of that, Detective?”

“What should I make of it? Clearly our man has a need for more pins.”

Birdsong looked grim at the idea. “Clearly. The other things were taken just to muddle things.”

Drew nodded. “And he makes his headquarters somewhere in or around the village.”

“
Your
village.”

“It’s not as though I own it, you know, even if it was named for my family.”

“Neither here nor there. The point is to find the man before he makes use of another of those pins.”

“I’ve been wondering about something,” Drew said after a moment’s silence.

The chief inspector lifted one heavy eyebrow. “Yes?”

“I don’t quite like to say yet. Could be nothing.”

“You’re to report any flashes of brilliance at once. Wasn’t that our agreement?”

Drew laughed. “So it was, but I’ve yet to be certain this is ‘brilliance’ and not just badgering a perfectly innocent neighbor of mine.”

“You ought to let the proper authorities decide that, oughtn’t you?”

“Your concern touches me, Chief Inspector. Truly.”

“You’re certainly touched,” Birdsong grumbled. “If you’re not going to be of any use, you may as well give me my peace and quiet. Someone ought to be working on this case.”

Drew put on his hat, tipping it slightly as he did. “To be sure. But I’m not giving over, either. The moment I’m sure I have my theory straight, I’ll make sure and share it with you. As it is, I don’t want to cast suspicion where it ought not be cast. Let me first find out one little thing, sir, before I start telling tales out of school.”

“Just one, eh?”

“Just one. I bought a book the other day, one someone else had ordered and never claimed. If that someone is who I think it might be, I’ll let you fellows carry on from there. Sound fair enough?”

“Maybe you’d best tell me your suspicions, just in case.”

Drew shook his head. “All in good time. I’ll certainly not put myself in harm’s way just making certain of this one thing.”

The chief inspector did not look pleased as Drew wished him farewell and left him to his work.

“It’s nearly time to dress for dinner. When do you suppose he’ll stop his gallivanting and grace us with his presence, this young man of yours?”

Aunt Ruth peered at Madeline over her glasses, her crochet hook still for once.

Madeline gave her a determined smile. “He has a name, Aunt Ruth. A rather nice name, in fact. Ellison Andrew Farthering.”

Aunt Ruth sniffed. “Fussy and foreign, if you ask me.”

“Maybe it is. Is that any reason to dislike him?”

“Obviously my opinion is of no consequence.”

“That’s not true. I value your opinion very much. You know I do.”