Mistletoe Mystery (11 page)

Mrs. Cunningham smiled. “I hardly think anyone is going to
kill me for it now. After fifty years there’s no one left to care about poor
Dominique … except me.”

“And me,” said Philly, with the pang of guilt that was
becoming all too familiar. She began to wonder whether using Dominique’s
disappearance as the basis for their story was a good idea. After all, it was a
human being they were dealing with. But mostly, Philly had become fond of Mrs.
Cunningham and did not want her to be distressed. It was a dangerous game,
playing around with the past. It was possible that the wrong people would be
hurt by it.

Almost as if she had wished for it, she felt a comforting
arm on her shoulder, and turned her head to see Matt smiling down at her. “I
think that went great,” he said, smiling.

Chapter Nine

“I wish I could stop liking him,” Philly said to Meg, later
that night. Meg had brought her a mug of cocoa. They sat on the edge of
Philly’s bed, chatting.  “And I should be getting you this,” she added,
pointing to the cocoa. “You’re the one who did all the hard work.”

“It wasn’t so hard,” said Meg, “talking in a lousy French
accent and behaving like a typical over-emotional teenager. It certainly takes
me back. Matt worked hard tonight, didn’t he?”

“Yes he did.” Philly struggled to erase the memory of his
bemused face when she had dashed up the stairs before he could kiss her
goodnight.

“We know what you mean about him though, love,” said Meg. “Me
and Puck were just saying that we like him despite anything. I suppose that’s
the mark of a true conman. People like them even whilst they’re being conned.”

“You don’t think I could have mistaken the phone call, do
you? Maybe he meant something different.”

“I thought you distinctly heard him say he wanted to get
into the attic and it would get the person on the other end of the phone what
they wanted.”

Philly sighed. “Yes, that’s what I heard, and it’s no good
fooling myself otherwise. We’ll have to try to find time to plant the attic
key.” She reached into the pocket of her blue satin nineteen fifties style
dress, and then in the other pocket, becoming frantic. “It’s gone.”

She jumped up off the bed and looked around the floor, then
threw some of the covers off the bed, also lifting the pillows.  “It’s
gone, Meg. I had it, I’m sure I did.”

“You didn’t take it out when you changed out of your jeans
then forgot to put it in your dress pocket?” said Meg. She also stood up and
began scouting the floor and the bed for the key.

“No, I didn’t. I knew these pockets were too shallow for
that key, but I liked the dress.” Actually, she had worn it in the hopes that
Matt would like it. And he had, whispering that she looked beautiful when she
arrived in the dining room, then adding that it would look even better with
pink plimsolls.

“Come on, we’ll retrace your steps. It’s bound to be around
somewhere.”

“He put his arm around me,” said Philly, sadly. “When I was
seeing to Mrs. Cunningham. He put his arm around me. Perhaps he saw it sticking
out from my pocket and took it.”

“It might not be that,” said Meg. “It’s not as if it was on
prominent display, like we intended to leave it. I’m sure you just dropped it.
Come on, let’s go and look for it, otherwise you won’t sleep for worrying.”

The two friends went downstairs. Most of the guests had gone
to bed but a couple were in the drawing room, having late night drinks. They
could hear them discussing the case and the clues found so far, and stood by
the door trying to work out the best time to go in and disturb them.

“So we have her trunk, thrown in the shrubbery,” said old
Mr. Graham.

“That’s not exactly disappearing without a trace, is it?”
said Mr. Bennett. Mrs. Bennett had retired some time ago.

“I suppose not,” said Mr. Graham, “but it’s interesting that
they have the actual trunk here, isn’t it? A real piece of criminal history
there. I wonder that the young lady doesn’t sell it to the Black Museum.”

“What is this Black Museum?” That was Monsieur De Lacey’s
voice.

“Oh it’s where the police keep all the gruesome finds from
murders,” said Frank Bennett, salaciously. “Got some right good stuff down
there, they have. I took our Irene down for our last wedding anniversary.”

“Very romantic,” said Monsieur De Lacey, dryly.

“Our Irene loves that sort of thing,” said Frank,
defensively. “You should see all the books she’s got on murders. Other women
read Mills and Boon. My wife reads about Jack the Ripper. That’s how I knew
she’d prefer this to Majorca.”

“How did you come to learn of this place?” asked De Lacey.
“I believe it is not your first visit.”

“Nah, we come to the last one. It wasn’t as good as this
time, I’ll tell you. They seem to have got their act together. Anyway, our
Irene used to go to school here.”

“Here?”

“Well, no, not here at Bedlington Hall. In the village at
Midchester.”

Philly and Meg exchanged surprised glances. That was
something they did not know.

“Did she know Dominique?” De Lacey asked Frank.

“No, she were a bit younger. Our Irene, that is. Only about
five years old. But she knew about the case and reckons she remembers seeing
the girl. I don’t know how much a five year old would remember. Mind you, she
didn’t want me to tell folks that.”

“Why not?”

“Oh, well the thing is, our Irene’s brother, Harry, used to
hang around this school a lot. Got into trouble for it and ended up in prison.”

“He was seeing a girl?”

“Oh, no,” said Frank. “Nothing like that. He used to come up
and nick stuff. Vegetables from the garden, sports equipment, what have you. He
was only a petty thief. Not much older than fourteen, but he knew his way
around a door lock. Anyway, one night they caught him on the premises with some
money that didn’t belong to him. He swore it had been given to him by some
bloke, loitering at the school that night, who wanted Harry to keep quiet. But
no one believed him. He couldn’t name the bloke and couldn’t really say what
the fella looked like, it being dark and all that. All he knew was that the
other chap was meeting a really pretty girl. One of the girls from the school
maybe, though Harry says that from what he saw of her, she was too
sophisticated to be a schoolgirl. More like one of the young teachers. Maybe
that Mrs. Cunningham when she worked here. I reckon she was a bit of a looker
in her day. Still got a naughty sparkle in her eyes. Anyway, our Irene doesn’t
like to talk about it. She always says Harry were set up like.”

“What happened to the brother of your wife?” asked De Lacey.

“He kept getting into trouble all through the sixties. Then
do you know what?”

“What?”

“He emigrated to Australia, turned over a new leaf and he’s
as rich as King blooming Midas now. Not that he even bothers to send us a
Christmas card. Our Irene was farmed out to relatives when her mam and dad
died, yet Harry’s never lifted a finger to help her. Ah well, I’d better be
getting to bed. It’s a long day of sleuthing tomorrow and I think I have to
cook blooming dinner an’ all. Who ever heard of coming to stay in a hotel and
having to cook your own dinner?”

Philly and Meg jumped back into the shadows, whilst the
three men came out of the drawing room and went up the stairs to bed.

“Do you think…” Meg started to say, before Philly silenced
her.

“We don’t know who else is around,” she whispered. “Wait
till we’re back upstairs.”

As Philly feared, Mr. Graham, Frank Bennett and Monsieur De
Lacey were not the only ones in the drawing room. A minute or so later, Mr.
Scattergood left the room. He stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking up
thoughtfully. Philly was terrified he would turn around and see them, but all
his attention was elsewhere. With a deep sigh, he climbed the stairs.

When he had gone out of sight, they searched the drawing
room, the kitchen, the main hall and the dining room, to no avail. “Someone
must have it,” said Philly. “And if we don’t get upstairs soon, we might miss
them.”

The two girls crept up the dimly lit staircase, even though
there was no real reason they should not be walking around their own home. It
merely felt like that sort of an adventure. Meg went to tell Puck that she
would be sitting with Philly for a while, then the two girls sat in Philly’s
darkened bedroom, waiting to see if anything happened.

Philly got an extra duvet out of her wardrobe, so Meg could
wrap herself up and they huddled at either end of Philly’s bed, chatting
quietly.

“Mrs. Bennett’s brother,” Meg said. “There’s something funny
there.

“Yes, I thought exactly the same. What was he up to? If he
didn’t meet a man, that means he was up to no good here. If he did meet a
stranger, why did the stranger pay him off? I wonder if Dominique saw young
Harry and he silenced her later.”

“I wish we could find out exactly when it happened,” said
Meg.

“We’ll try to get it out of Mrs. Bennett. Assuming she
remembers the date. She was very young at the time.”

“But even if she only knows it was around the time Dominique
went missing, it might be relevant.” Meg smiled widely. “I can’t believe that
we’re actually talking about a real live mystery. Oh, I know we chose the
Dominique story, but the fact that we may have another link to her besides Mrs.
Cunningham…”

“I know,” Philly replied. “It’s turning out to be exciting.
I just hope… well I hope that Matt isn’t involved.”

“He could hardly be involved in the disappearance of a girl nearly
fifty years ago, Philly. It had to have been twenty years before he was born.”

“But maybe his parents were. Or some people he knows. You
know these mafia types. They bear a grudge for a long time.”

“Oh, so we’ve decided he’s the mafia now, have we? 
He’s a bit tall for Al Pacino, and a bit too un-Italian looking for that
matter.”

“Russian mafia?”

“As wonderful as Matt’s cheekbones undoubtedly are, I don’t
think they’re Slavic.”

“Polish?” Philly offered.

“Yeah, maybe. Or perhaps even Welsh.”

“Is there a Welsh mafia?”

“Of course. You should see my aunties if anyone upsets them.
You wouldn’t want to cross them, I can tell you. Mind you, they only ply people
with cups of tea, fruit cake and a good talking to, basically mothering them to
death. It’s not up there with a horse’s head in the bed, but it is much nicer
to wake up to.”

Philly laughed. “I’m glad you’re here, talking to me. It
stops me worrying about stuff.”

“Things will work out, one way or another, Philly, I’m sure
of it.”

It was in the early hours, and they had both started to
doze, when Philly heard footsteps overhead. Philly’s eyes snapped open. “Meg,”
she hissed. She nudged her friend with her foot. “Meg, did you hear that?”

“Wha…huh?” Meg’s eyes half opened. “Not now, Puck. I’ve got
a headache.”

Philly giggled and kicked her friend again. “It’s me you
idiot!”

“Oh.” Meg sat up, more awake. “Sorry, forgot where I was for
a moment. What is it?”

“I heard someone upstairs and if we don’t get moving, we’ll
miss them.”

The girls tiptoed to the bedroom door, which made a
prodigious amount of noise when Philly opened it, as did their footsteps.

Every floorboard made its own unique sound as they walked
along the hallway towards the staircase leading to the upper rooms. Every step
they took sounded like a dinosaur tramping through the house and every breath
was like the wind section of an orchestra warming up.  

“I reckon,” Meg whispered, “if we stop trying to be quiet,
we won’t make nearly as much noise.”

“Shh.” Philly put her finger to her lips, trying not to
laugh. She had a desperate need to giggle, because the situation seemed so
ridiculous.  Yet it was not funny. Any minute now, she might come face to
face with Matt, and by the same token, face to face with her fears about his
motives.

She had no idea how she would deal with it. The most obvious
thing to do would be to throw him out of the house, yet her typical British
good manners almost forbade it.

She hated the idea of a confrontation and was sorely tempted
to turn around and go straight back to bed, pulling the duvet over her head and
pretending none of it had ever happened. If she did that how could she face him
the next day? Assuming he hung around once he found what he was looking for.

She paused at the bottom of the staircase. “What is it?” whispered
Meg.

“I’m not sure I want to know,” Philly murmured back. “I
mean, what if it is him?”

“Who else could it be? Puck wouldn’t go up there at night.
He has access to it all day if he’s bothered. None of the other guests could
possibly know what’s in the attic. If there is anything up there.”

“No, I suppose not.”

“Look,” said Meg, “If it’s him, I’ll throw him out. You
don’t have to. I don’t care if I offend him.”

“Neither do I!” Philly hissed.

“Darling, you’re the sort of person who says ‘sorry’ when someone
else treads on your toe. I can easily imagine you saying ‘I’m so sorry I caught
you trying to steal from my house. Let’s have a cup of tea and talk about it.’”
Meg affected a very good impersonation of Philly’s soft vocal tones.

“I’m not that much of a pushover.”

“Yeah, actually, you are. Especially where he’s concerned.”

“You’re right. I know you are. I just wish it didn’t have to
hurt so much.”

“I know, sweetie, but the sooner it’s over the better. I’ll
give him what for, don’t you worry. Come on, otherwise he’ll hear us and be
gone before we get there.”

“He’d have to come past us,” said Philly. “There’s no other
way down, apart from through the dormer window in the attic, and it’s a long
drop to the ground.”

They took the stairs slowly, but as with the floorboards,
each step creaked insanely, almost as if they were waking a sleeping animal.
They reached the top and looked along the hallway to the attic. The door was
open, and they could hear someone moving about inside.