“You really are quite a good detective,” Edwina said. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her notebook. She carefully ripped a piece of paper out of it and folded it into a makeshift envelope. Using a second piece of paper as a brush, she scooped the ashes into the envelope and tucked it away in her pocket. “We can always ask at the tobacco shop in the village which sort of tobacco this came from.”
A broad smile broke out across Beryl’s face.
“You’re rather a good detective yourself,” she said.
Chapter 9
Jack and his family lived in an overcrowded, ramshackle cottage well outside the village. Without the use of the automobile, it was a hot, dusty trudge. Beryl noted she was even more in need of a conditioning regime than she had previously realized. By the time they arrived at the footpath leading to the cottage, she was overheated and slightly out of breath. Perhaps Edwina had done her a favor by putting the automobile temporarily out of commission.
“I hope we are not making a nuisance of ourselves,” Edwina said. “After all, it is Jack who hired us, not Mrs. Prentice.”
“We shall soon find out,” Beryl said.
They advanced on the front door, and Beryl proceeded to rap sharply upon it. After a moment it creaked open, and Beryl was surprised to see a small child, not more than four years old, appear in the opening. Beryl turned towards Edwina, hoping she would take the lead. Urchins were decidedly not her best audience.
“Is your mother at home?” Edwina asked.
The child nodded solemnly and opened the door wider. Edwina stepped across the threshold, and Beryl followed her. The small cottage was clean and resoundingly bare. A small wooden table with three chairs placed around it were the only pieces of furniture in the large first-floor room.
Beyond them what must have been considered the kitchen filled the back wall. A small window sat above a cracked trough. Beryl saw no evidence of an indoor pump. A small stove, which she expected did double duty for cooking and heating, sat against another wall.
At the table a faded woman of about Beryl’s own age sat slumped in one of the chairs. The small child who had opened the door went to her side and tugged on her sleeve. The woman looked up, as though startled from a sleep.
“Mrs. Prentice?” Beryl asked.
The woman nodded. Everything about her oozed a sense of defeat. Her mousy-brown hair fell slackly at either side of her face. If Beryl had to guess, she was wearing the same thing she had worn for many days previously. She had no shoes on her feet, and her soles were in need of a scrub with a stiff brush.
“Your son Jack has asked us to see if we can help with the trouble your husband has found himself in.”
The woman registered a flicker of surprise across her face. “Now, why would he do a thing like that?” she asked.
“Jack seems to believe that his father isn’t guilty,” Beryl said.
“Oh, Frank’s guilty, all right,” the woman said.
Beryl heard Edwina let out a small gasp. Beryl was a bit surprised herself that any wife would so confidently proclaim her husband’s guilt.
“Maybe not guilty of Hector Lomax’s murder, but he’s certainly guilty of being a wretch.”
“Do you mind if we sit?” Edwina asked.
“Suit yourself. Mind you, I can’t offer you any refreshments,” the woman said.
“We wouldn’t think of troubling you,” Edwina said. “We did want to ask you some questions, though.”
“What sorts of questions? Like where was Frank last night? Did he have a temper? Do I think he could have held a grudge against Hector?” Mrs. Prentice asked.
“That’s exactly the sort of thing we wanted to ask,” Beryl said.
“I’ve already answered the same questions from Constable Gibbs,” the woman said. “I don’t expect I’ll have any different answers for you. I am bone tired, and I hate to waste your time.” She slumped even deeper into the chair.
“We want to help. Anything that you can tell us about your husband’s whereabouts could help to prove his innocence,” Edwina said.
“As I’m sure you know, from gossip around the village, my Frank spends more time drinking at the pub and sleeping it off somewhere besides his own bed than he does here at home with the little ones and me,” Mrs. Prentice said. “I’m not sure that anything that I can tell you will make him look less guilty.” She shook her head sadly and let out a long sigh.
“Do you remember when the last time you saw him was?” Beryl asked.
“He came home around noontime yesterday, saying he wanted something to eat. That’s about the only reason he does come home unless I send Jack out to fetch him. I fixed him some beans on toast, and then he went back out again,” she said.
“Did he say where he was going?” Edwina asked.
“He mentioned wanting to see Hector Lomax to ask for his job back,” Mrs. Prentice said. “He said he was going to head back down to the pub after that. He promised me he wasn’t drinking but that he was going to listen to the results of the Derby on the wireless.”
“Did you believe him when he said he wasn’t going out drinking?” Beryl asked.
“What kind of a fool do you take me for? Of course I didn’t. We had a massive row about it, and he stormed out the door. I’m sure he used that as just another excuse to topple down into his cups,” Mrs. Prentice said.
“Most people with the drink problem tend to have a lot of excuses for it,” Beryl said. “I’ve known many men who came back from the war needing some way to forget what they saw.”
Mrs. Prentice looked up at Beryl with surprise. For the first time, a bit of softness crept into her face. Beryl realized that Mrs. Prentice was far younger than she had first appeared. The war had aged so many people beyond their years, and not just the men. The people who stayed behind had shouldered a great burden too. Sometimes it was hard to remember the things that used to seem normal, after all they had gone through.
“You wouldn’t know it to see him now, but my Frank was a hardworking and conscientious man before he went to France. He doesn’t talk about what he saw over there, and I don’t ask. I know before he took to sleeping rough, with a bottle clutched in his hands, he would cry out in his sleep. Many’s the night he would wake me with his thrashing and moaning.”
“It’s not an unfamiliar story, although it is a tragic one,” Beryl said.
“It sounds hardhearted to say it, but in some ways it’s a relief the nights that Jack can’t find his father to bring him home. Even with the drink, he still cries out in the night and disturbs all the household. Ever since he came back, it’s as though I have another child to take care of. And to think I was so happy when he first got home and seemed to be all in one piece, unlike so many others.”
“So much of the damage to our soldiers isn’t easy to see on the surface, is it?” Edwina said. “Even the ones who look like they were the luckiest oftentimes feel tremendous guilt, on top of all their other difficulties.”
“Perhaps that’s the cause of it. Frank has seemed bent on destroying himself ever since he got home. He never used to have a temper, and now every little thing sets him off. I was afraid of what he might do, to tell the truth, when he announced that he was going to confront Hector. Even when he hasn’t been drinking, he’s become unpredictable,” Mrs. Prentice said.
Beryl exchanged a glance with Edwina. Things were looking worse all the time for Frank.
“Do you know if he actually saw Hector at his own property?” Edwina asked.
“I have no idea. I hadn’t seen him since he left after lunch. I was so angry, I didn’t even bother to send Jack out to find him that evening. The whole house got a decent night’s sleep for a change,” Mrs. Prentice said.
“Do you think he might have actually killed Hector?” Edwina asked.
“I won’t go so far as to say that. But I will say not much would surprise me anymore,” Mrs. Prentice said.
* * *
Edwina longed for her bicycle.
It was hot, and she felt rather far from home. How much easier it would be if Beryl had one of her own and the two of them could cycle together to some of the far-flung locations their investigations always seemed to require visiting.
Besides the convenience cycling offered, she found it uplifting to swoop down hills and around corners. Whilst on her bicycle, her cares seemed to glide off behind her, and she felt the desire for such comfort. She had been deeply affected by the bleak circumstances at the Prentice home.
Edwina wondered if there was some way that the village could be more help to the soldiers who had returned with so much damage. It was a difficult thing to even consider. Scarring and amputations visible on the body of a returned soldier were hard enough to know how to acknowledge without causing insult or further injury. Traumas and difficulties to the mind and spirit were an even more delicate matter.
Beryl’s words to Mrs. Prentice had given Edwina pause. She wondered if her dear friend had spoken only of the secondhand experiences of others or if she herself had reasons why she so enthusiastically imbibed cocktails in the evening. Edwina was not one to pry, but she suddenly was surprised to realize she had applied the same reticence to questioning Beryl’s wartime years as she did everyone else’s.
What had her friend been up to? Her position as a celebrity might have provided her many opportunities to assist various organizations in the war effort. Perhaps Beryl’s offhand comments about working with and making the acquaintance of luminaries such as the king might have more basis in fact than Edwina had previously considered. She glanced at Beryl from the corner of her eye and allowed herself to imagine her friend dropping behind enemy lines or smuggling maps or secret communications from one location to another.
It was not difficult in the least to imagine Beryl breezily entering enemy headquarters and charming a high-level dignitary out of his secrets. Edwina rather thought that Beryl had much more to give in terms of storytelling than advice for lady adventurers. She probably would be better suited to writing a spy novel. She was brought back to the present by the sound of Beryl’s voice.
“It certainly doesn’t look very good for Frank, does it?” Beryl said a little breathlessly. Edwina suddenly thought her friend might benefit from a bit more time spent wandering the highways and byways of Walmsley Parva on foot rather than in her motorcar. She might just mention purchasing a second bicycle, should the funds miraculously appear.
“No, I suppose it doesn’t. If it comes to trial, it’s a good thing Mrs. Prentice cannot be forced to testify against her husband,” Edwina said. “I shouldn’t like to think what would become of them all if he does go to prison, or worse.”
“I don’t know about that, Ed. They may be better off without him,” Beryl said. “After all, he’s drinking up the housekeeping money and providing very little of it into the coffers in the first place.”
“When you put it like that, I suppose you’re right. I hate to think what we shall have to report to young Jack if we don’t turn up anything more promising than we already have,” Edwina said.
“I suppose the best thing we could do at this point is to go directly to the source,” Beryl said.
“The source being who, pray tell?” Edwina said.
“Frank himself, of course,” Beryl said. “I’m very much afraid one of us will have to go down to the police station and interview him.”
“And how do you suggest we will be able to do that? After all, it isn’t as though Doris Gibbs is inclined to do either of us any favors,” Edwina said.
“Now, that’s just the sort of attitude a private enquiry agent does not need, Ed. There’s no sense in being defeatist. I always believe that where there is a will, there is a way,” Beryl said. “How do you think I managed to bob about the globe with nothing more than a picnic hamper and a hot-air balloon?”
Edwina had been stirred to admiration the first few times she had heard this speech. But sadly, she had become used to Beryl’s admonishments and had developed a remarkable tolerance for them. There was only one way to deal with such boasting.
“I shall be very glad to hear your report on the matter. I propose to head to the Beeches while you visit the police station by yourself,” Edwina said.
“You don’t wish to accompany me to see how it’s done?” Beryl asked.
“I’m sure you will be more than happy to tell me about it later,” Edwina said. “Besides, after all this jaunting around, I expect you would enjoy a decent meal. And while you may be adept at going on adventures with a picnic hamper, I have never known you to be someone who is capable of filling one.”
Chapter 10
Beryl could not be quite sure, but she thought she had detected the slightest tone of derision in Edwina’s voice. While she generally thought of Ed as receptive to her pep talks, perhaps she had been laying it on a bit thick. The fact of the matter was, Beryl was concerned. The possibility that Jack’s father might be guilty of murder weighed heavily upon her heart.
Sometimes she was apt to behave a bit too breezily to counteract any feelings of heavyheartedness. Her conversation with Jack’s mother about the chilling effects the war had had upon the soldiers had bothered her more than she cared to admit. It was far easier to spend energy and thought on the past when one recollected only the triumphs rather than the tragedies.
She made her way into town on foot, more sure than ever that she needed to undertake some decisive action concerning her fitness. It was beastly to greet passersby while one was out of breath. The small brick police station came as a welcome sight as she trudged up the high street. She could almost feel Prudence Rathbone’s eyes boring into the back of her neck as she mounted the steps and let herself into the station. Prudence would be sure to spread the news that Beryl had been there before she even managed to get into the constable’s good graces, Beryl was sure.
She stepped up to the counter and was surprised not to see Constable Gibbs glowering from the other side. In fact, there seemed to be no one manning the police station at all. Hardly daring to believe her luck, Beryl backed away from the window and headed for the corridor that led to the only cell the police station housed.
Before she had taken three steps down the passageway, a door to another room creaked open. Retired constable Lyndon Wilkes stood tucking his non-uniform shirt into his trousers. Beryl was glad she had not brought Edwina with her, after all. They had encountered former constable Wilkes at an earlier crime scene. Beryl had not enjoyed making his acquaintance but was quite sure he had enjoyed making hers. Edwina would not approve of Beryl applying her feminine wiles to the former constable’s considerable weakness when it came to the fairer sex, but Beryl had no such compunctions. She turned up the flame on her already bright smile and commenced to look delighted to see him.
“Constable Wilkes, I should have realized you would be asked to assist with the goings-on,” Beryl said. She stepped forward and looped her gloved hand through the constable’s arm and gave it a squeeze. “Still keeping fit, I see. I seem to remember you having a great deal of strength in these hands and arms of yours when you wrapped your fingers around my ankle the last time we met.”
She shamelessly batted her eyelashes at the poor man and spared a thought to any preexisting cardiac conditions he might have. Although, if he were to drop on the floor in some sort of a fit, she would be hard pressed not to step over him in order to interview Frank. Still, it might be best to modulate the effect of her charms. She had not been exaggerating the strength of his grasp. She had no intention of putting herself in a position where she would need to find her way out of a firm embrace.
“What brings you in here, missy?” Constable Wilkes said. “Doris didn’t say she expected you in for questioning.” Beryl noticed that although his tone was gruff, he made no effort to withdraw his arm.
She steered him ever so slightly around to face the end of the hall where the holding cell could be found. It was an easy enough thing to manage. She simply kept turning slightly to face him.
He really was quite elderly. Beryl thought it likely he had become a bit duffer headed in his old age. She took a small step towards the far end of the corridor and felt him move alongside her with ease.
“I’m here to speak with the suspect, of course,” Beryl said. “I’m sure you’ve heard from many sources how instrumental my friend and business partner, Edwina, and I have been in bringing criminals to justice in the recent past,” Beryl said, bathing him in the radiance of her smile.
“Doris has mentioned your meddling now and again,” Constable Wilkes said. “You say she asked you to stop by and question the suspect?”
Beryl shrugged elegantly. “If Constable Gibbs did not see fit to share such information with you herself, I’m not sure that I am authorized to do so. You know how she likes to keep things close to her vest.”
“Are you sure you ought to be here? Perhaps I should try to find Doris before you go in to see him,” the former constable said.
“I suppose you could do that, if you’re the sort of man who needs to double-check on every little thing. I shouldn’t have thought a man of your experience and wisdom would need to ask for permission. After all, it’s not as though I’m trying to escort him out of the station. I’m just here to confirm a few facts in the case,” Beryl said. She shrugged again and turned, as though she were about to leave.
“Not so hasty there, missy,” Wilkes said. “I don’t need Doris’s permission to act on police business. If I did, she would not have left me in charge of the station while she was away.”
He reached down to his belt and jangled a set of keys. He strode to the room at the end of the hall and fitted a heavy iron key into a sturdy lock. With a flourish, he pressed open the door and stepped out of the way for Beryl to pass through. She once again bestowed a brilliant smile on him, then stepped into the cell, where Frank Prentice lay curled up on the narrow bunk built into the wall.
Murder Cuts the Mustard Page 7