Mrs. Jeffries Weeds the Plot (14 page)

Witherspoon and Barnes were soon seated in almost the exact same spots as Mrs. Jeffries and Wiggins had been a minute earlier. Barnes whipped open his little brown notebook and looked expectantly at the inspector.

“Do forgive us for coming so late, ma’am,” Witherspoon said. “But we saw your lights on and thought that perhaps you wouldn’t mind answering a few questions.”

“About that poor man from next door?” She shook her head sympathetically. “He wasn’t a very nice person, but he certainly didn’t deserve to be murdered.”

The inspector watched her carefully. “You knew Mr. McIntosh, then?”

“I didn’t really know him, Inspector,” she replied. “We’d met. But it wasn’t a particularly pleasant meeting. As a matter of fact, I had words with him on the day before he died.”

“Words, ma’am, you mean in the sense of an argument?” Barnes asked.

“Quite.” She smiled at the constable and then patted Miranda on the head. “He chased me off the school’s property and he wouldn’t listen when I tried to tell him what I was doing there and why it was so important I have a look at the back wall.”

Witherspoon sat up straighter. “Would you mind explaining yourself, ma’am?”

“Not at all, Inspector. There’s a wall that separates my property from the school.”

“Yes, ma’am, we know that. The uniformed officers did come around and ask you if you’d seen or heard anything unusual at the time of Mr. McIntosh’s death.”

Annabeth flushed in embarrassment. “I know. I ought to have told you about it then, but honestly, the police constable that came around asking questions was very rude.”

“Rude, ma’am?” Witherspoon was genuinely surprised. The lads were trained to always be polite. Especially to women. “I’m sorry to hear that. I assure you, we’ll look into it. Do please continue.”

“As I said, there’s a wall that separates my garden from the school. I’d gone over there to have a look at it and Mr. McIntosh caught me. He ordered me off the property. Apparently I didn’t move as quickly as he wanted because he grabbed my arm and began physically shoving me toward the front gate. When he did that, Miranda raised a terrible fuss. She’d have gone for him if I hadn’t called her off. McIntosh let me go and I left. That’s all there was to it.”

Witherspoon glanced at Barnes. Eddington hadn’t mentioned the dog. “Why did you want to look at the wall? Is there some sort of property dispute?”

“Oh no, not at all. As a matter of fact, I rather liked having the school there. But I needed to look at the wall to see if there were any marks along the top where the bricks had come loose.”

“I don’t quite follow.”

“Of course you don’t.” She smiled. “It doesn’t make a lot of sense until you know the whole story. But you see, I wanted to see for myself if there was evidence that the bricks had been pried loose or if the assassin was clever enough to loosen them without leaving any marks.”

Witherspoon gaped at her. “Assassin?”

“That’s right. Someone is trying to kill me.”

“Cor blimey, all of a sudden there ’e was, big as life at the front door. Mrs. Jeffries and I ’ad to scarper, that
was for sure.” Wiggins was once again telling the others about their close call. Now that they were safely back in the kitchen of Upper Edmonton Gardens, he thought the whole affair quite an adventure.

“Seems to me you two were lucky.” Mrs. Goodge clucked her tongue.

“Indeed we were,” Mrs. Jeffries said. She cocked her head to one side and looked at Fred, who’d curled up on the floor beside Wiggins’s chair. “We almost got caught because of Fred.”

As if to apologize, Fred thumped his tail.

“But all’s well that ends well,” Wiggins said happily.

“Are you goin’ to wait up for the inspector?” Betsy asked.

“Absolutely. I want to know what he thinks about the attempts on Annabeth Gentry’s life.”

“You think he’ll take ’em seriously?” Smythe asked.

“Yes, I do.” Mrs. Jeffries drummed her fingers lightly against the table. “At least I hope he’ll take her seriously. It will make our task so much easier if he sees that there must be some connection between Stan McIntosh’s murder and the attempts on Annabeth’s life.”

“Let’s not be forgettin’ the murder of Tim Porter,” Wiggins put in. “Seems to me that’s what started the whole mess.”

Mrs. Jeffries frowned. “Oh dear, I didn’t tell Miss Gentry to mention that fact to the inspector.”

“You can do that if she forgets to mention it,” Mrs. Goodge said easily. “Remember, her dog finding Porter’s body was in the newspapers. Once her name is mentioned, you can tell him you read about it.”

“You’re right, of course.”

“Seein’ as we’re all ’ere, I might as well tell ya what I found out this evenin’.” Smythe kept his tone casual, but he was watching Betsy out of the corner of his eye.

“What do you mean?” Betsy cuffed him lightly on the
arm. “Is that why you were so late getting home? You were supposed to be at the stables, not snooping about.” She considered it most unfair that just because he was male he could go out investigating in the evenings, while she was stuck in the house until morning.

“I did go to Howards, but the stable lad ’ad already taken the horses for their run, and as I knew you weren’t expectin’ me back anytime soon…” He let his voice trail off.

“Oh, just tell us what you found out,” Betsy said irritably.

He grinned. “I ’ad a bit of luck tonight. I went over to Miss Gentry’s house on Forest Street just as the workmen were comin’ out. I managed to strike up a conversation with one of ’em and we went to a pub. Not the one I’d gone to before,” he added hastily. “Anyway, like I said, I got this bloke to talkin’ and he gave me an earful about what’s been goin’ on at Miss Gentry’s new ’ouse.” He told them everything that he’d learned from Ned.

“So the workmen don’t think the fire or the flood was an accident,” Mrs. Jeffries mused.

“Ned’s guv was certain the fire was deliberately started.”

“But why?” Wiggins asked. “It don’t make sense…if someone was tryin’ to kill Miss Gentry, why try and burn down ’er ’ouse when she’s not even in it?”

“Nothing about these cases makes sense,” Betsy agreed. “Not yet, anyway. But they will. There’s something here that connects everything. Something that we’ll find if we just keep looking.”

Mrs. Goodge looked skeptical. “I hope you’re right. But for the life of me, I can’t see what it could be.”

“Good evening, sir,” Mrs. Jeffries said cheerfully.

“Gracious, Mrs. Jeffries, you certainly didn’t have to
wait up for me,” he said, handing her his hat. “It’s terribly late. It must be after ten. You really ought to have retired for the evening.”

“I’m not in the least tired, sir,” she replied. But he looked exhausted. “Would you care for a cup of tea?”

“Not tonight,” he replied. He headed for the staircase. “I’m quite tired. I believe I’ll go right up.”

“Are you sure, sir?” she hurried after him. “Perhaps you’d like some warm milk to help you fall asleep.”

“Oh, I shan’t have any trouble falling asleep tonight,” Witherspoon called over his shoulder. “I shall see you in the morning.”

Mrs. Jeffries gave in gracefully. The poor man was tired, so she’d let him have his rest. She checked that all the doors were locked and then she went up to her rooms. As was her custom, she didn’t light the lamps, but instead went over to the window. In the darkness, she stared at the gas lamp across the road. The light glowed softly, casting pale shadows into the night. This was the strangest case. She was sure the murder of Stan McIntosh was connected to the attempts on Annabeth Gentry’s life and Porter’s murder. But how? That was the critical question.

She made a mental note to drop a hint to the inspector pointing out that the events must be connected. She frowned. If the inspector started asking questions about the Porter case, he’d draw Inspector Nivens’s wrath. That was simply something they’d have to deal with if it happened. And what about the accidents at Annabeth’s new home? Wiggins had made a good point. Annabeth hadn’t been there when the fire and the flood happened, so one could safely say that neither incident was part of the continued attempt on her life. But what was the point if they were not accidents—if, instead, they were deliberate attempts to destroy the house? But why do that? Surely there was nothing hidden in the house. It had
been empty since Mrs. Dempsey’s death, six months ago. If there was something incriminating to someone in the house, there’d been ample time to get it out. Mrs. Jeffries sighed. Nothing made sense as yet. But she wasn’t giving up. They’d find the connection. She was sure of it.

“Kippers, how delightful.” The inspector sat down at the dining table and fluffed his serviette onto his lap. He picked up his knife and spread butter on the steaming fish on his plate.

Mrs. Jeffries poured him a cup of tea. “Mrs. Goodge thought you’d need an especially good breakfast this morning. You had such a long day yesterday. Did you have a good meeting with the chief inspector?”

“I didn’t meet with him at all.” Witherspoon spiked a large piece of kipper with his fork. “He got called away at the last minute, so I went along and took a statement from Annabeth Gentry. She’s the woman Mr. Eddington saw having words with Stan McIntosh shortly before McIntosh was murdered.”

“Really, sir? How very interesting. Was she able to give you any useful information?”

Witherspoon swallowed his food and reached for his teacup. “Actually, it was quite extraordinary. She readily admitted to talking to McIntosh and, I might add, she claims she was handled most rudely by the fellow, then she told me she was a victim herself. She said someone’s been trying to kill her for the past two weeks.”

As Mrs. Jeffries wasn’t supposed to know anything about Miss Gentry, she feigned surprise. “Goodness, sir, that is extraordinary. Did you believe her?”

“Well…” He looked doubtful. “I’m not sure what to believe. The way she described the attempts on her life could lead one to think she’s simply imagining that a few accidents are really quite sinister attempts to kill her.
Except for one thing. There have been some corresponding accidents at her new home, a home, by the way, that she’s not even moved into as yet.”

Mrs. Jeffries couldn’t believe her ears. The inspector was willing to believe Annabeth Gentry because of the accidents at her house? “Goodness, sir, it sounds as if the poor woman has had a string of bad luck.”

“Yes, extraordinary, isn’t it. She had a flood and a fire in the new place.” He waved a piece of toast for emphasis. “Mark my words, Mrs. Jeffries, something sinister is afoot. If it were simply those incidents which have happened to her, it would be one thing, but to also have the additional burden of having your home almost destroyed twice at the same time. Mark my words, something is terribly, terribly wrong. I’m determined to get to the bottom of it.”

Mrs. Jeffries smiled politely. She’d have to bring another fact to his attention. She was sure Miss Gentry must have mentioned Miranda finding that corpse. It was a very pertinent fact. Surely the inspector would see the connection. Surely.

“And of course, the investigation on McIntosh isn’t going all that well,” he continued. “No one, not even the board of governors at the school, seems to know much about the fellow.”