by Sara Rosett
“You say that as if it’s a foregone conclusion,” Jasper said.
“Isn’t it?”
“While she’s attractive, she wasn’t interested in any kind of dalliance. The only thing that convinced her to part with this list of names was some cold hard cash. Rather humbling, dash it.”
“Shocking.”
“Happens more than I care to admit.”
“Somehow I doubt that.” We both turned serious as we bent over the paper. While the pub’s list was short, the list of golfers was much longer.
Jasper said, “The pub’s overnight clientele are golfers. They’d be on the course as much as they could during their holiday. They were probably on the course every day.”
I compared the two lists. “It looks like each one of the people staying at the pub was on the golf course Wednesday morning.” I turned and faced Jasper. “You’ve played the course. Would someone have been able to check in for a tee time, leave the course, and get around to the place where Mayhew died—all without someone noticing?”
Jasper’s eyebrows crinkled. “It would be difficult. Since the river separates the course from the grounds of Blackburn Hall, someone would have to backtrack all the way down to the village, cross the bridge, and then enter the grounds of Blackburn Hall. It would be a long trek. That’s not to say that someone couldn’t have done it. But players are usually grouped in pairs or foursomes, so the partners would have to agree to keep someone’s departure quiet.”
“And then there would be the bother of the golf bag,” I said. “It would look odd if someone toted a golf bag through the grounds of Blackburn Hall. Or they’d have to stow it somewhere, then pick it back up again before they rejoined their group on the golf course.”
“Or have someone from your group carry your bag for you,” Jasper said.
I leaned back against the seat. “Not to mention, how would someone know exactly what time Mayhew would be on the path from the cottage? Several people mentioned how reclusive Mayhew was. It sounds as if she was more of a homebody, not the type of person to take a morning walk at the same time every day.” I handed the paper back to Jasper. “It seems the golfers are a long shot as possible candidates for being involved in Mayhew’s death.”
He refolded the paper and came around to open my door. “It’s not as helpful as I’d hoped.”
We walked to the front door, and I pushed the bell. “No, but it’s a good idea to check who was in the area.”
The maid led us into the sitting room. A few moments later, Anna came in from the doors that opened into the garden. “Hello, Olive.” Her auburn hair was scraped back with combs into a style that emphasized the dark smudges shadowing her eyes. Her eyebrows flared slightly as she noticed Jasper. “. . . and Jasper, lovely to see you again. How is everyone at Blackburn Hall after . . . the events of last night?”
“Everything is quite the same at Blackburn Hall, actually,” I said.
Anna grimaced. “Yes, of course. What was I thinking? Lady Holt would make sure life carried on as if a man hadn’t been murdered. But it’s dreadful, no matter how much Lady Holt tries to brush over it.” She indicated a seating arrangement near an empty fireplace. “Won’t you have a seat? I’d invite you out to the garden, but Dad sent the wicker chairs off for a fresh coat of white paint.”
“No worries.” I sat down on a squashy Chesterfield sofa. Jasper took the other end of the sofa, and Anna perched on the edge of a club chair near me.
I looked through the doors into the garden. “Working outside again?”
“Yes, but not making much progress, I’m afraid. I can’t keep my mind on my work with everything that’s happened. Last night, when Dad finished his house call, we came back here. I didn’t know anything of Mr. Pearce’s death until Colonel Shaw stopped in this morning with the news. The colonel said it was obvious straightaway last night it was a crime scene and so he called the police surgeon and Inspector Longly.” She fiddled with one of her combs. “I suppose Longly will stay on to investigate Mr. Pearce’s death now as well. Do you know about the inquest verdict, that Mayhew’s death has been declared an accident?” I thought the news would have relieved her worries about her father and herself being suspects, but her shoulders hunched forward with tension.
“But that’s good news . . . isn’t it?”
“Yes, except I—” Her gaze darted to Jasper.
Jasper put his hands on his knees. “I believe that’s my cue to exit to the garden. You ladies would clearly like to chat alone.”
Anna flushed. “No, it’s not that—” Anna looked to me, her face the picture of indecision.
“You can speak about it in front of Jasper if you’d like.” I leaned forward and said in a low voice, “I haven’t told him anything, but he’s absolutely trustworthy. In fact, Mr. Hightower tried to enlist Jasper to come down and look for Mayhew.”
Jasper said, “I wasn’t able to take on his commission at the time, but now I’m assisting Olive—her ‘boy Friday,’ you might say. But if you’d rather speak to Olive alone . . .”
Anna’s cheeks went a deeper pink. “No. It’s—fine, I suppose. If Olive vouches for you, and Mr. Hightower trusts you . . .”
“I do vouch for him.” I flashed him a smile. “I’ve known him for years and years, and he’s never betrayed a secret.”
“Well, in that case . . .” Anna smoothed her palms over the skirt of her printed cotton dress. “I found the note from Mayhew.” She took a piece of paper from her pocket and handed it to me. I hesitated a moment before I took it, and she said, “I’m sure if there were any other fingerprints on it, I’ve completely blurred them by now.”
Jasper raised an eyebrow. “Fingerprints?”
The paper, a full-size sheet, had been folded into thirds. I opened the page. “Anna received a note from Mayhew shortly after she died.”
Jasper nodded. “Ah, I see.” He looked at Anna. “You’re wondering if it was actually from Mayhew.”
“I am now.” Anna said. “Ever since Olive asked me about it. It hadn’t occurred to me until then that someone else might have sent it. Even though it was typed—Mayhew usually handwrote notes—I didn’t think about it,” Anna shrugged. “I supposed Mayhew just dashed it off in a hurry and stuffed it in an envelope.”
Jasper scooted over to the sofa cushion beside me and looked over my shoulder as I read. Last Wednesday’s date headed the page. I read it aloud. “I’m off for a holiday. Carry on with the next book. I’ll be in touch. Mayhew.” Even the last line, the name, was typed.
“You didn’t save the envelope?” I asked.
“No, and I can’t remember exactly when it arrived either.” Anna clasped her hands together. “I didn’t realize it would be important.”
“Of course not,” I said. “Was it typed on Mayhew’s typewriter? Can you tell?”
Anna nodded. “Yes, it was.” She pointed to the last line of the note. “See the y, how it’s slightly raised? That’s how all Mayhew’s typed pages looked. It’s on all the drafts, well—on all the old drafts, the ones Mayhew used to send me before I began writing them—” Her gaze jumped from me to Jasper, then back to me. “Oh, I mean—” Jasper didn’t say anything, but his eyebrows flew up in a silent question.
Anna hesitated a moment, then said in a rush, “I helped Mayhew with her manuscripts.”
Jasper ironed out his expression to its usual blandness, except for his hooded eyes, which were alight with interest. “Working out the clues and whatnots?” he said, giving Anna an out, an opportunity to gloss over her slip of the tongue, but I was sure he’d worked out the implications of what she’d said.
“That’s how it started,” Anna said. She waved a hand. “But it became quite a bit more than that. I was her ghost.”
Jasper glanced from Anna to me. “As in, a ghostwriter?”
Anna nodded as I handed the typed note back to her.
“Oh.” Jasper ran a hand over his mouth. “I see. Yes, that does change things.”
/> I gestured to Anna’s pocket, where she’d tucked the letter. “You haven’t had any other letters—typed or otherwise?”
“No. This is all. I’ve been working on the next book, just as Mayhew instructed. I expected to hear more within a few days.”
“Why? Was that the usual time between your—um—communications?”
“I suppose so. I’ve never thought about it until now, but we did have some interaction about once a week. Either I dropped off a new chapter or Mayhew left notes for me, thoughts on what I’d already written.”
“And that’s why you broke into East Bank Cottage—to get the chapters you’d dropped through the slot in the door,” I said.
Anna’s eye widened. “How do you know about that?”
“I saw them.” It was time to admit my little indiscretion to another person. I took a breath. “I took a quick look around East Bank Cottage. It was before we knew about Mayhew’s death. I was trying to figure out if Mayhew had left Hadsworth. I saw the envelopes by the door when I went inside. I didn’t disturb them, but when Mayhew’s body was found, I had to confess my snooping to the police, and I mentioned the envelopes in my statement. Later, Inspector Longly went to East Bank Cottage, and they were gone. He accused me of taking them.”
Anna’s hand went to the pocket where she’d placed the note. “What did you say?”
“I set him straight. I didn’t take them.”
Anna jumped up and walked to the open door to the garden. Jasper stood as well, but she waved him back to his seat. “Please, have a seat. I’m too nervous to stay still.” Jasper perched on the arm of a chair as Anna said to me, “But you worked it out, that I took the envelopes.”
“Once I knew you were ghostwriting the books, you seemed to be the most likely candidate.” Although Zippy’s nighttime jaunts were still suspicious, I couldn’t imagine why he’d break a window to get some envelopes from a deserted cottage.
Anna fingered the flat collar of her dress nervously. “And he’s coming here.”
“Who?” I asked.
“Inspector Longly.” Anna moved around the edge of the room. “If I’d known Mayhew’s death would be ruled an accident, I wouldn’t have said anything.” Her grip tightened on the edge of her collar, stretching the fabric. She paced back to the chair. “I couldn’t sleep last night. I tossed and turned all night, thinking about the typed note and those envelopes.”
She released her grip on her collar and dropped back into her chair with a sigh. “I wish I hadn’t broken that window! I was so worried about losing those chapters. I didn’t have a carbon copy of them. I only make copies of the final draft. After such a horrible night last night, I decided to confess everything to the inspector.” She looked toward the door. “He was out, but I left a message for him this morning. He telephoned later, and I told him about taking the envelopes. He said he’d come by today. If only I’d kept quiet a little longer, it would have all gone away.”
“I don’t know about that,” I said. “Longly seems to be a stickler for details. He might have followed up on the envelopes anyway, despite the death being declared an accident.”
Anna jerked toward me. “Could he reopen the case?”
“I don’t know. I have no idea what the procedure is, but you should just tell him exactly what happened. You said you and your father were with a patient the morning Mayhew was killed—”
Jasper stood up and moved to the open door. “I believe I caught a glimpse of a Gadlington sparrow.” He glanced between Anna and me. “You’ve never heard of it? Extremely rare. Unusual to see one at this time of year too. May I?” He gestured at the garden.
“Of course,” Anna said.
I frowned at his well-tailored jacket as he stepped outside. Jasper had weak eyes. His poor vision was the reason he had spent the war at a desk, working for the Foreign Office instead of on the front lines.
Anna shifted over to sit beside me on the sofa. “Do you really think the inspector will believe me when I tell him I took the envelopes, but that was all I did? That he won’t take it any further?”
“I don’t know what Longly will do. I don’t know if he’ll want to reopen the case or if he’s even able to do that. He’s a thorough sort of chap, though. He’ll probably check to make sure you were at the farm with a patient.”
“And they’ll tell him we were there.” She fell back against the sofa. “Yes, you’re right. It will be fine.”
Jasper came back in the room. “False alarm. It was only a chaffinch.”
Anna said, “I had better gather up the envelopes before Inspector Longly arrives.”
I stood. “And we should be going.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Once Jasper and I were on our way back to the village, I slowed the motor and pointed into the woods. “Isn’t that a Gadlington sparrow?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“I thought not. It doesn’t exist, does it?”
“No.” Jasper shifted in the seat. “Do you think Anna realized it was all a ruse?”
I shook my head. “She was so wrapped up in her own thoughts, she didn’t even notice. You went outside to check the typewriter?”
Jasper grinned and took a piece of paper out of his pocket.
I pulled the Morris to the side of the road. “You are good at this.”
“I aim to please.” He’d typed Mayhew’s name on the first line, then a string of letters underneath. The letter y in Mayhew’s name was perfectly aligned, and it was the same in the line of random characters.
I gave the paper back to him. “So we know that Anna didn’t type the notes herself.”
“Or at least she didn’t type it on her typewriter.”
“You catch on to this assistant thing quickly,” I said, wondering how difficult it would be to get another look at the typewriter in East Bank Cottage. Another unauthorized visit probably wasn’t a good idea, not with Longly already suspicious of me.
The sound of a motor coming up the lane broke the quiet of the forest. The motor halted as it drew even with us. Inspector Longly raised his hat as he leaned across his constable, who was driving. “Hello, Miss Belgrave, Mr. Rimington. Out for a drive?”
“Visiting a friend.”
His gaze ran over the Morris. “I didn’t realize you had a motor here, Miss Belgrave. You’re not intending to run up to London, are you?”
“No, I don’t have any plans of the sort.”
“Good. I want to speak with you later. Will I find you at Blackburn Hall?”
“I’m on my way there now.”
“Excellent.” He replaced his hat and nodded for the constable to drive on.
“He sounded pleasant enough, but I don’t like that he wants to talk to you again. Do you think it’s about Pearce?” Jasper asked.
My hands felt shaky. I gripped the steering wheel tighter as I put in the clutch and let the motor roll forward. “Probably. I just hope he’s not coming to arrest me.”
When we arrived at the pub, Jasper stepped out of the Morris and closed the door, but didn’t let go of it. “I should go with you to Blackburn Hall in case Longly gives you any trouble.”
“You don’t have an invitation to dinner at Blackburn Hall, and I couldn’t foist an unexpected guest on Lady Holt.” His posture was casual as he leaned against the door, but his hooded gaze was intense.
“If anything . . . distressing happens, I’ll telephone you immediately.” I was surprised at the warmth that edged through me as I made the statement. I savored my independence, but it was good to know Jasper was concerned.
Then Jasper ruined it. “Just don’t do anything rash,” he said as he tapped the door. He ambled into the pub.
Irritation zipped through me. I put the motor in gear and put Jasper’s namby-pamby warnings out of my mind. I was well able to take care of myself. Besides, I had plans for the evening, and I needed to concentrate on them—as long as I could manage to not be arrested.
I’d missed tea and went up to
my room to change for dinner, expecting Longly to arrive at any moment. To distract myself, I thought about the typewritten note Anna had received. Even though Anna said the note had been typed on Mayhew’s typewriter, I wished I could double check that. The off-line y should make it easy to identify the machine that had been used to type the notes, which could help narrow down the suspects. But the question was, how many typewriters were there in Hadsworth? Besides Anna’s, the police station had one, and Anna had mentioned the WI typed their minutes on their typewriter. And Dr. Finch, did he have one in his surgery?
It was rather a long list. Instead of trying to run down all the typewriters in the village, it would be much simpler to check Mayhew’s typewriter first, but that might prove difficult. I’d have to get into the cottage again—was the key still hidden over the window?—and the typewriter might not even be there. Longly might have carted it away with Mayhew’s possessions for the investigation.
I sighed and turned away from the window and saw the stack of Mayhew’s books on the bedside table. The typed letter that had been in the first book! Had I brought it with me? I snatched up the books and fanned the pages. I’d used the letter as a bookmark when I’d read the first book. Had I moved it—?
A folded sheet fell out of The Mystery of Newberry Close. No, I’d returned it to where I’d found it, between the cover and end pages of the first book. I twitched the page open and scanned the list of titles. The letter y was sprinkled through the list and across some of the lines. In every instance, it rode higher than the other letters. I checked the date again. Three years ago, which was before Anna had become Mayhew’s typist. So someone had used Mayhew’s typewriter to write the note to Anna.
When dinner was announced and Longly still hadn’t appeared, I began to hope that he wouldn't show up at all that evening. Perhaps he’d been unavoidably detained.
Despite the fact that the table was full at dinner, it was a subdued evening. Even Mr. Busby seemed withdrawn and preoccupied, and only managed to insert one barb aimed at me. Conversation was a disjointed affair, alternating between Lord Holt’s description of his round of golf and Lady Holt’s plans for dinner the next night.