Rules of Murder

by Julianna Deering

  Madeline took a quavering little breath and hugged her arms around herself.

  “Quiet, you brute,” Drew growled. “Why don’t you just make a general announcement?”

  “Sorry.”

  “Give me that.” Drew began to pull off Nick’s dinner jacket, intending to put it around Madeline, but Dennison interrupted.

  “No need of that, sir. I have just the thing. I’m certain Mrs. Devon won’t object.”

  The housekeeper had an old flannel wrapper she liked to warm at the kitchen hearth before she retired in the evening. Dennison handed it to Drew, who quickly swaddled Madeline in its capacious warmth.

  “Good work, Denny.” He knelt again at Madeline’s side. “Better now?”

  She managed a slight nod and a trembling smile.

  “Good girl. Sorry you had to see that. And sorry this cretin has upset you.”

  He glared at Nick.

  “Now, see here, Drew,” Nick protested, “I know this is no game anymore. A man’s been killed, and the guilty party is most likely in the next room drinking Bucks Fizz. I think we should start questioning everyone.”

  “We?” Drew felt a tingle of intrigue in spite of himself. “You mean—”

  “Please, boys.” Mason glanced at his niece. “I’ve sent for Mrs. Devon to look after Madeline until the police have had a chance to speak to her. We can let them see to things from here on in.”

  “But, sir,” Drew began, but he stopped when he saw the look on his stepfather’s face. “As you say, sir.”

  Nick heaved a sigh of disappointment. “I suppose we shall have to miss our opportunity to play Holmes and Watson, then, if the police are to see to things.”

  Drew grinned a little. “All for the best, my man, all for the best. Our Miss Parker wouldn’t love us anymore if I took up smoking a foul-smelling pipe and you had a Jezail bullet in your shoulder or your leg. The stories aren’t actually too clear on which it is, so perhaps you’d best have one of each. Just to be certain.”

  “Anything for our Miss Parker,” Nick agreed. “Still, it seems a shame. We could solve the thing and then see if Father Knox would approve of our methods.”

  “We’re more likely to break all of his fusty ten commandments,” Drew said, “and that will make him so cross he’ll never let you read another of his stories again.”

  “What shall I tell your guests, sir?” Dennison asked after he had given both young men a stern look.

  Mason shook his head. “Nothing yet. No need to spoil everyone’s good time, so long as no one tries to leave. If anyone does, ask him to step into my study, and I’ll have a word with him myself.”

  “I shall have the staff keep watch.”

  “And post Peterson outside the greenhouse, if you would, please,” Mason said. “Just to be certain.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  As it turned out, none of the guests, save the guilty party, realized anything was amiss. The drinking and dancing proceeded uninterrupted, Mrs. Devon came into the kitchen to fuss over Madeline, and soon there was a discreet tapping on the kitchen door.

  Drew answered it himself.

  “Evening, sir,” said Police Constable Applegate. “I understand there’s been a bit of trouble.”

  Drew peered into the darkness behind the constable’s gawky frame in disbelief. “They didn’t send anyone down from Winchester?”

  Applegate’s freckled face flushed red. “Chief Inspector Birdsong’s gone up to Skegness, sir. On holiday.”

  “So you’re, ummm . . . it.”

  “Well, Hodges had to stay back at the station,” Applegate said defensively. “But the chief inspector’s been wired. He’ll be down on the first train tomorrow.”

  Nick only partially concealed a chuckle, and Applegate lifted his chin.

  “I am a fully qualified police constable, you know.”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” Drew soothed. “Come in. It’s just we rather thought the chief inspector would come for this sort of thing. We don’t have much in the way of homicide round these parts, do we?”

  “No, sir. I thought we’d never—”

  Mason cleared his throat, and Applegate made his expression suitably solemn.

  “Evening, Mr. Parker. I’m sorry to hear there’s been an unfortunate incident.” Applegate took out his official notebook and pencil. “I understand a Mr. Lincoln was the victim. Your houseguest, was he, sir?”

  “That’s right,” Mason said. “And he was part owner at Farlinford. His father was one of my partners until he passed on.”

  Applegate made the appropriate notations. “I see, sir. And Mr. Drew found the body?”

  Mason nodded. “That’s right.”

  Drew went to Madeline’s side. “Miss Parker and I.”

  “Miss Parker is my niece,” Mason added.

  “And the scene of the murder?” Applegate asked.

  “The greenhouse.” Mason gestured toward the kitchen door. “This way.”

  “If you’ll come along, sir.” Applegate motioned to Drew and then to Madeline. “And you, miss.”

  “I should say not!” Mrs. Devon kept her arm around her charge’s damp shoulders. “And I will thank you, Jimmy Applegate, to ask the poor girl your questions straightaway so I can get her into some dry things and a warm bed. I fancy your mum would like to hear how you do your job without a thought for a young girl’s sensibilities.”

  “It’s all right, Mrs. Devon,” Madeline said. “If they need me to—”

  “Is it absolutely necessary for her to go back out there?” Mason asked.

  The constable glanced at the uncooperative faces surrounding him. Mrs. Devon was positively bristling.

  “No, I don’t suppose so, sir,” he conceded. “Perhaps just a few questions and then I don’t suppose there would be any harm in just you and Mr. Drew going out with me. Has someone been watching the greenhouse to see it’s not tampered with?”

  “Our gardener,” Mason said.

  “That’s all right then. Now, miss.”

  “I really don’t know what to tell you,” Madeline admitted. “We watched the fireworks and then it started to rain, so we ran into the greenhouse. Drew—Mr. Farthering was going to get me a raincoat from the pile there, but when we looked at them, we found . . .” She bit her lip. “We found Mr. Lincoln.”

  “And you knew Mr. Lincoln, did you?”

  “Not really. I met him tonight. At the party.”

  “But you recognized him when you saw him there? In the greenhouse?”

  She shook her head rapidly, closing her eyes as if to block out the gruesome sight. “Not really. His face . . . his head . . .”

  She clung to Mrs. Devon, who was stroking her hair, making little soothing noises even as she stared daggers into P. C. Applegate.

  Drew knelt by Madeline’s chair once more and took her hand. The poor kid. “Come on, Jimmy. She really didn’t see any more than that.”

  Applegate sighed. “All right then, Mrs. Devon. I suppose that will be all.”

  “I should say,” Mrs. Devon muttered as she led Madeline up the back stairs.

  Drew watched after them until they were out of sight, then turned back to the young constable. “Shall we press on?”

  “Right,” Applegate said. “The greenhouse, was it?”

  “This way.” Nick hurried to the kitchen door to usher them all out, but Applegate held up his hand.

  “Just Mr. Parker and Mr. Farthering, if you please.”

  “Don’t be such a stick, Jimmy,” Nick said. “Just one good look, eh? You know you’re just aching to see. Why keep it all to yourself?”

  “The chief inspector would never—”

  “Oh, let him,” Drew said with an air of sage resignation. “He’ll only badger you until you do anyway.”

  “I will,” Nick confirmed.

  Applegate looked heavenward and heaved a great sigh. “Come on then.”

  “You’re a positive ghoul, you know that,” Drew told Nick as they f
ollowed the faint light of P. C. Applegate’s torch through the dark garden.

  “Evidence, man, evidence. How are we to find the murderer if we don’t see the evidence?”

  “The chief inspector will be up here in the morning. You know you’ll never be able to push him about the way you do Jimmy.”

  Nick grinned. “That’s why we have to have a look tonight.”

  Everything at the scene of the crime was just as Drew and Madeline had left it. The lantern still burned, the air was still thick with the sickly sweet smell of blood, and the body on the floor was still quite dead.

  Nick crowded in to look over Applegate’s shoulder as he pulled the soiled mackintosh away from the victim’s mangled head. Then he turned away with a quick intake of breath.

  “Too much for you, old man?” Drew asked with a smirk.

  Nick gulped. “Not at all. It just doesn’t take me long to look at a dead body.” He gulped again and gave Drew an anemic smile. “He is rather a mess, isn’t he?”

  Applegate covered the body again and jotted down a few notes.

  “I beg your pardon, Mr. Drew, but how is it you know this is Mr. Lincoln?”

  Drew thought for a moment. “I suppose I just do. I mean, he’s got Lincoln’s build and fair hair and all. That’s his ring, I’m certain. No gentleman of style would wear such a vulgar thing. Of course, it’s a bit hard to tell one man from another in eveningwear.”

  “We’ll have fingerprints taken, naturally,” the constable said. “Is there family we should notify, Mr. Parker?”

  “Not that I know of,” Mason said. “His father died three years ago. His mother, some time before that. I don’t believe there were other children.”

  “He wasn’t married?”

  “I believe there was a Mrs. Lincoln for a short while. Remarried and living in Ibiza now, as I recall.” Mason rubbed his hands together. “I suppose we ought to have Dr. Wallace out. Or the mortuary.”

  “We’ve seen to that, Mr. Parker,” Applegate said. “They should be here anytime now to get everything put right. You did say Mr. Lincoln was staying the weekend?”

  “That’s right,” Mason told him, looking relieved to be going back into the house. “Would you like to see his room?”

  “In a moment, sir. First off, I have to ask if there was anyone in particular who would benefit from Mr. Lincoln’s death. Or anyone with a grudge?”

  “Of course not,” Mason said, his expression bland. “Not that I know of anyway.”

  Applegate looked at Mason narrowly, and Drew could tell what he was thinking. The rumors about Constance and Lincoln were well known in the village. Applegate couldn’t have missed hearing them.

  “I see, sir.” Applegate made a few more notes. “Now, as it’s rather late, if I can just have a list of your guests, as well as everyone living at Farthering Place, including staff, we’ll let you get to bed. Of course, we’ll have to lock up the room Mr. Lincoln was using. And leave your gardener out here to keep watch. P. C. Benson will be on duty at six. He can take over for your man then.”

  “Naturally. Naturally.”

  Mason led the constable out of the greenhouse, but Drew stayed behind, staring down at the body. Thinking.

  After a moment, Nick nudged his arm. “I say, Drew, hadn’t we best get back to the house? I mean, I’m sure old Birdsong won’t much like it if we’re out here mucking things up worse than they already are.”

  “Evidence, man, evidence.” Drew grinned. “Wasn’t that what you said?”

  Nick glanced at the stained mackintosh and grimaced. “Couldn’t we look for evidence in the house?”

  “I was just wondering about that ring of his,” Drew said.

  “You mean why the killer didn’t take it?”

  “No. Look at his hand.” Drew held the lantern close to the body. The right arm wasn’t completely covered up, and the third finger of the right hand had a band of flesh clearly lighter than the rest. The ruby ring glimmered just above the knuckle. “What would make it move up like that?”

  “Gentlemen, if you please.”

  Drew and Nick turned to see Applegate at the greenhouse door, looking disapprovingly at them.

  “Sorry, Jimmy,” Drew said.

  “We haven’t touched anything,” Nick added. “Just looking for evidence. Can’t solve the case without evidence.”

  “I’m sure we’ll thank you to leave the evidence to the proper authorities,” Applegate said, drawing himself up to his full, very official height. “I need to dust for fingerprints and take photographs before they come round for the body, so if you’ll kindly excuse me . . .”

  “But, Jimmy,” Drew said, “did you notice—?”

  “I am a highly trained observer, Mr. Drew.”

  “As you say,” Drew said with a sigh. “Come on, Nick. Let’s see what else there is to be seen.”

  The festive atmosphere inside the house had turned somber. The band were packing up their instruments, and the guests huddled in murmuring groups, most with a cigarette or a drink to soothe the nerves. Per Constable Applegate’s instructions, Dennison was dutifully taking the name of each of the guests, and Mason was at the back of the room talking to Rushford.

  “It’s horrible,” the old man said as Drew and Nick came up to them. He removed his spectacles and wiped them with his handkerchief. “My word. Lincoln. I mean, the man was a bit of a cad, but you know what young people are nowadays. We never had such things happen in the old days.”

  “Certainly not,” Mason soothed. “Are you sure you don’t want anything?”

  “Just some bicarbonate, if you don’t mind too much.”

  “Seems everyone’s at sixes and sevens right now, Mr. Rushford,” Drew said. “Nick, old man, would you mind . . . ?”

  “Not at all,” Nick replied. “Just don’t start without me.”

  “Start?” Rushford asked once Nick had darted off to the kitchen.

  “Oh, nothing,” Drew told him. “This thing with Lincoln has everyone a bit rattled.”

  “Terrible business,” Rushford agreed. “What have the police said?”

  “Apparently they don’t answer questions,” Mason said. “They just ask them.”

  “Quite right.” P. C. Applegate joined them, notebook in hand. “First off, sir, I must ask where Mrs. Parker is at the moment.”

  “Mrs. Parker?”

  “Your wife, sir.”

  Mason almost concealed his annoyance at this unnecessary revelation. “According to her maid, she has retired for the evening. She was quite understandably upset by what’s happened.”

  “I see, sir. And were you the one to tell her about the, um, incident?”

  “No,” Mason said. “I don’t know how she found out.”

  “Perhaps I might speak to her, sir?”

  “Wouldn’t the morning do just as well?” Mason asked.

  Applegate eyed him narrowly and made some more notes. “That may be, sir. And when did you hear the news?”

  “Drew sent one of the maids for me. I was in my study making a list of a few more things I wanted my secretary to see to once he arrived at our office in Alberta.”

  “That would be in Canada, sir?”

  “When last I saw it, yes.”

  “Your secretary’s name, sir?”

  “Merton Clarke.”

  “And when was he expected to leave?”

  “He already has, I believe. He took the train to Southampton, sailing on from there.”

  “So he left before you wrote your list, did he, sir?”

  “Well, yes,” Mason admitted. “It was all very last minute. I was going to telegraph it to him at the dock.”

  “And were you with him when he made this so-called list, Mr. Rushford?”

  Rushford started. “Me? No. No, I don’t remember a list. Were you making a list, Parker?”

  “It was after you and Clarke had left the study,” Mason said. “I came out to the party for a bit, saw my wife was in no mood for my company, an
d thought I’d best take care of a few more things before I turned in.”

  “How about you, sir?” Applegate said to Rushford. “When you and this Mr. Clarke left Mr. Parker, where did you go?”

  “Why, Clarke went up to get his things together and call a taxi. I went into the library and played bridge with a Mr. and Mrs. Halloway and some foreign fellow called Adelante or some such until they called us all out here to tell us there’d been a murder.”

  “Was this before or after the fireworks, sir?”

  “Oh, before. Well before, I’m sure.”

  Rushford wiped his glasses again and looked relieved at the arrival of his bicarbonate.

  “Did I miss anything?” Nick asked as he handed Rushford the glass.

  “I have to ask where you were tonight, Nick,” the constable said.

  “Me? Here and there, I suppose. After we rescued Miss Parker from Lincoln’s unwanted attentions, I danced a bit, saw the fireworks on the front lawn, and then danced a bit more. It was Miss Parker’s friend, Miss Holland, who was with me. That is until they sent for me and Dad. After the body was found.”

  “There was an incident between the deceased and Miss Parker?”

  “Well, yes. Of a sort.”

  Nick glanced at Drew.

  “Not much of one,” Drew said. “He was coming on a bit too brash, and she let him know she wasn’t interested. That’s all it was.”

  “I understand you and Lincoln had something of a set-to yourselves last night, Mr. Drew. Is that so?”

  “That was less than nothing,” Mason put in. “Merely a misunderstanding about the room Lincoln was in. It was quickly sorted out.”

  “And the last time you saw Mr. Lincoln alive?” Applegate asked Drew.

  “It was when Miss Parker sent him packing. Nick and I made sure he understood she meant business. Last he said, he was off to have a word with my—”

  P. C. Applegate looked up from his notebook. “A word with whom, sir?”

  Drew bit his lip and glanced at Mason. “With my mother, I’m afraid.”

  “Pardon my asking, sir, but about Mrs. Parker.” Applegate looked at Mason, and his freckled face flushed scarlet. “Was Mrs. Parker . . . was she acquainted with Mr. Lincoln, sir? I mean . . .”