by Dean James
I accompanied Jane into the sitting room, where she chose everyone’s favorite chair and sat down. I dropped onto the sofa and stared at her. “Well, go ahead,” I told her after waiting in silence for nearly a minute.
“Go ahead?” she asked innocently. “Why, whatever do you mean, Simon?”
“Go ahead and ask me how Giles got his shirt torn and why he was upstairs in my bedroom,” I answered, starting to see the humor in the situation.
“Why, Simon,” Jane purred, “I never expected you to have such a dirty mind. I’m sure poor Giles somehow tore his shirt—most innocently, of course—and you simply offered him the use of another.”
I pretended to glower at her. “Very funny.”
“But that doesn’t quite answer what Giles meant about getting back to work,” Jane continued, ignoring my attempt at humor.
“I got the bright idea that I needed a secretary. Really, it started out as a dodge with which to approach some of the suspects and grill them without their realizing it,” I explained. “The trouble is, Lady Blitherington told Giles, and he came to me to apply for the job.” I paused for a moment. “And I hired him.”
I fully expected Jane to chide me for getting myself into such a situation, but she surprised me.
She looked quite thoughtful. “This may be just what Giles needs, Simon. How clever of you to have thought of it.”
Jane puzzled me. “From our earlier conversation, I had rather got the idea that you didn’t think much of Giles.”
She shook her head. “No, I’ve always thought he had potential, but I knew it was going to take the right person—a man, naturally—to bring it out in him.” She smiled wickedly. “And something tells me that you may be just the man to do it.”
Groaning, I leaned back into the sofa. “’Enry ’Iggins I’m not,” I protested in my best imitation cockney.
“The best part of it all,” Jane went on gleefully, “is Prunella’s reaction once she finds out I hope I’m somewhere nearby. This is going to be tremendous fun.”
“I’m delighted to be able to provide you with so much amusement,” I told her dryly. “Whatever did you do before I came to Snupperton Mumsley?”
Jane held up a hand, silencing me. Moments later, Giles’s head popped into the sitting room. “I’ve done all I can for now, Simon,” he informed me. “I have something I have to do this afternoon or I’d stay longer.” His tone expressed his regret at having to leave. “So I’ll just push off now if you don’t mind. What time would you like me to be here in the morning?”
I avoided looking at Jane. “How about ten o’clock?”
Giles beamed at me. “That’s fine. See you then. Your servant, Miss Hardwick.” He nodded at Jane and then was gone. The front door closed behind him seconds later.
“What on earth have I gotten myself into?” I asked the air around me.
The air steadfastly ignored me, as did Jane.
“Now tell me, Simon, what have you discovered about Abigail’s murder?” she asked.
I sighed. “Pitifully little thus far. Detective Inspector Chase told me that the police are indeed treating it as murder, but I’m sure you knew that already.”
Jane nodded impatiently.
“I’ve talked to Lady Prunella, the result of which is getting myself saddled with her son. I talked to the vicar and earned the undying enmity of his dearly beloved, and I spent a lot of money at Trevor Chase’s bookstore.” That reminded me. “I also overheard a bit of an argument between Trevor and Giles.” I repeated the little that I had heard. “So what’s the deal between those two?”
“I’ve never been entirely certain,” Jane admitted after a moment’s silence, “just who is chasing whom with those two. They seemed to go out of their way to avoid each other when Trevor first moved to the village. That was about a year after Giles got sent down from Cambridge. Or was it Oxford?” She shook her head. “Not that it matters greatly. But within a year or so they seemed to have overcome whatever initial antipathy there had been between them. They seem to blow hot and cold with each other. It’s rather a strange relationship, and I’ve not figured it out yet.”
That was quite an admission from her, I thought. “Very interesting,” I said. “Trevor seemed a bit jealous this morning when Giles talked to me, but I couldn’t figure out which way the feelings were directed. Did he want Giles to himself? Or did he fear that Giles might make a play for me?” I shook my head. “Rather odd vibes from him.”
“There is some mystery attached to Trevor Chase,” Jane said. “He’s never talked that much about his background before he came to Snupperton Mumsley. From what I know, he was an English master at some minor public school before he came here. He inherited money from some aged relative, which enabled him to give up teaching and purchase the bookstore. He seems to do well enough at it.”
“So you never tried to find out more about his past,” I said.
“No,” Jane said. “There never seemed to be enough reason to warrant that much nosiness on my part.” She smiled wickedly. “But perhaps I was wrong. At this stage, the more we know about everyone’s past, the better.”
“And that includes the vicar and his overprotective wife,” I commented, then went on to relate to Jane the story of my encounters with the Butler-Melvilles.
“Perhaps I should have warned you about Letty,” Jane said. “But I had no idea you’d go right to Neville and burden him with such distressing news.” She laughed. “The poor man is so easily overset. Or at least he pretends to be.”
“Do you think it’s his way of avoiding the less pleasant aspects of his calling?”
“Wouldn’t surprise me in the least, Simon. Our vicar is not the world’s most energetic caretaker of souls.” I reprised my brief conversation with Letty Butler-Melville, and Jane looked very thoughtful. “Letty can be so prickly that it’s difficult to get much out of her. But we’ll have to try again. The question is, what would be the best approach?”
“I think I might leave that one to you,” I said. “The woman gives me a headache.” (No, before you ask, vampires don’t get headaches that easily, but old patterns of speech are hard to lose sometimes.)
“We’ve been thinking about motive,” Jane said, “but what about the method of murder?”
I nodded. “Yes, whoever did it had to be fairly strong. I imagine strangling someone takes a bit of strength.”
“Abigail was not a large woman, but she was quite active. She would not have been easy to overcome unless someone sneaked up on her from behind.”
Jane paused, and I knew we were both imagining the same scene in our minds. A rather unpleasant one it was. I shuddered. The poor woman! She had suffered a very nasty death, whatever her sins.
“If we get in the murderer’s way,” I said lightly, to break the sudden tension, “we could be targets as well.” I grinned. “Though we are impervious to most of the usual methods.”
Jane laughed. “You have to admit, Simon, that as amateur sleuths go, you and I are going to be disgustingly difficult to get rid of unless the murderer just happens to stumble upon our little secret.”
I shuddered at the thought of a stake through the heart. That’s the one thing that will still do away with us, irrevocably. Unless, of course, you take away our magic little pills for a few days and then expose us to the sun. Or maybe pump us full of garlic. Ye gads, I was giving myself the willies with such gruesome thoughts.
Turning my mind from such unpleasantness, I focused on the case at hand. “What we need,” I said to Jane, “is to find out more about the secrets that would have been worth killing for, things Abigail Winterton knew that were dangerous for someone.”
“That’s obvious, Simon,” Jane commented as I paused.
“Yes, quite,” I said a bit testily.
“I was thinking out loud. If I may continue”—Jane nodded, smiling sweetly— “the question is, how do we go about digging up the dirt?”
“I fancy,” Jane said, watching my face clo
sely, “that a little expedition to the post office is in order.”
“How on earth are you going to snoop around at the post office at this time of the day? I’m sure it’s sealed off as a crime scene, don’t you think?”
Jane shook her head. “I didn’t mean this very moment, Simon! In the dead of night, naturally, when the rest of Snupperton Mumsley is fast asleep. When creatures of the night are abroad.” Her voice dropped to a sepulchral whisper. “When vampires can break and enter and not get caught.”
“Oh, goody,” I said, delighted. “What time shall I meet you?”
“A bit after the witching hour should suffice, don’t you think? About one?” Jane said. “By that time we should be done with dinner at the Stevenses and the rest of the village is sound asleep.”
“So you’ve been invited to dinner as well,” I said, a bit surprised. I had thought I was the guest of honor.
“Yes, Mrs. Stevens likes to have a balanced table, and you and I will join her and her husband and their little menage.”
She refused to answer my questions in response to her choice of words. “You’ll see what I mean tonight.” She stood up. “I must get back to my work. We are expected at seven-thirty for cocktails and dinner at eight. Shall I drive, or will you?”
Fascinated to find out what kind of car Jane drove, I said I’d ride with her and that I’d be at her door promptly at seven-fifteen. I showed her out and closed the door behind her with a sense of relief. After all the busyness of the morning and afternoon, I was more than ready for a bit of time to myself. As always, there was writing to be done, not to mention the fact that I had to figure out what I was going to have Giles do when he reported for work the next morning.
I had just changed into my comfortable and shabby working clothes when the doorbell rang yet again. “Drat!” I muttered over and over as I moved swiftly downstairs to the door. This was getting to be ridiculous.
I swung the door open, not quite having wiped the scowl off my face. There stood Trevor Chase, a book clasped in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other. Maybe this wasn’t so ridiculous, after all.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Do come in, Trevor.” I stood back to allow him in.
After all, the man had brought me flowers.
“What lovely flowers,” I commented as Trevor stepped into the hallway.
“Oh, dear,” Trevor said, turning to me with a small frown nestling in his beard. “I had forgotten these. They’re for my neighbor. She’s housebound at the moment, and fresh flowers do so cheer her.” His eyes expressed his apologies for unintentionally misleading me.
So much for my presumption! I smiled ruefully as Trevor thrust the book he had been carrying into my hands.
“This, however, is for you.”
I examined the book carefully. “Why, thank you, Trevor. How did you guess?” It was a lovely, bright copy of Cyril Hare’s An English Murder.
“Do you have it already?” he asked anxiously.
“Actually, no, I don’t.” And now I was stuck in one of those awkward moments. Was this intended as a gift? Or was Trevor simply bringing some of his wares on a house call?
“When I saw what you liked earlier today, I told myself, Simon must have this one, too.” Trevor smiled brightly. “A little gift from me to you. Consider it my personal welcome to the village.”
“Well, thank you very, very much, Trevor.” I gave him a warm smile, and his eyes dazzled a bit. “You’ll have to pardon my dishabille,” I said as I led him into the sitting room, “but these are my ‘working’ clothes. I can’t write unless I’m wearing something worn-out and comfortable.”
Trevor eyed me from his vantage point on the sofa. “Not at all, Simon, not at all. It suits you.” From the expression on his face, he was enjoying the view. Not that I was exposing anything private, mind you.
“I must apologize for interrupting your work,” Trevor continued.
I waved that away. “Not at all. I was just coming back downstairs from changing clothes. I haven’t started work, so you’ve not actually interrupted anything.” Trevor relaxed into the comfort of my sofa. “That’s good, then. I can imagine that you sometimes must be quite taxed by interruptions from those who don’t understand the necessities of the writer’s life.”
I inclined my head slightly. “That’s true, but I can assure you, few ever make the mistake of interrupting me a second time.” For a brief moment, I let him see my fiercest expression, and he shrank back a bit into the sofa.
“Yes, I quite see what you mean,” Trevor said faintly.
“Not to worry, though,” I continued. “I always make allowances for my friends.” I smiled again, and Trevor relaxed.
“What are you working on these days?” Trevor asked. “A new biography?”
I wasn’t ready to confide to Trevor the full extent of my literary endeavors, so I employed the truth selectively. “At the moment, I’m still deciding. Once I’ve settled in here, I’ll make up my mind. But one possibility is a biography of the Empress Maud.”
Trevor nodded enthusiastically. “I’ve always found her intriguing. One wonders what Henry the First was thinking, trying to force his barons into supporting her. I shall look forward to that book with great interest.” I dipped my head modestly. “Why, thank you, Trevor. I can only hope that the book will live up to your expectations.”
Trevor laughed. “I seriously doubt that you fail at anything you undertake, Simon.” He paused for a moment. “I trust that you are settling in well here in the village despite the rather strange goings-on of last night.”
“You mean the murder?” I asked him coolly.
He started. “Murder!”
“Yes,” I said. “Detective Inspector Chase came by to see me earlier today to ask more questions and to inform me that the police are now treating Miss Winterton’s death officially as a murder inquiry.” I watched his face closely. “Hasn’t he been by to see you?”
Trevor’s mouth twisted bitterly. “Not yet. My dear cousin always assumes that I am of the least importance in any group. I’ll hear from him at some point however.” Good grief, the man could sound quite nasty when he chose. I’d do well to remember that.
“Murder!” Trevor repeated. “How sordidly nasty! The woman could be quite annoying for no apparent reason, but that doesn’t explain why someone would murder her.”
“For someone unbalanced,” I observed mildly, “mere annoyance might be enough.”
“Snupperton Mumsley has perhaps more than its share of eccentrics,” Trevor said with a touch of frost in his voice, “but none of them seems quite the murdering type.”
I shrugged. “I’ve not been here long enough to know anyone that well. But I’ve already picked up hints from more than one quarter that the late, and largely unlamented, postmistress was decidedly inclined to poke her nose into other people’s business. Where it most assuredly was not wanted.”
Trevor laughed. “That’s an understatement if ever I heard one. The woman wasn’t satisfied until she knew where you came from, what your parents did, and so on. Like some self-appointed bloody social register.” And those with something to hide, I thought, would be greatly disconcerted by the woman’s nosiness. What was it that Trevor was hiding? His tone was too harsh to be merely a snide comment; there was something personal here. He gave every appearance of coming from a solidly middle class background, but was he hiding some shameful secret? That he grew up in the slums somewhere? That his mother dressed him in polyester when he was a child? That his father secretly did embroidery when he wasn’t driving a lorry?
I recalled the brief scene between Trevor and Giles Blitherington that I had overheard earlier today. Trevor must have something to hide or he wouldn’t have used such strong language with Giles. And had Giles threatened him with exposure? Could what Trevor had said to Giles be construed as an admission of guilt in the death of Abigail Winterton?
“Sometimes the secrets we find most painful,” I said with n
onchalance, “are terribly innocuous and downright uninteresting to other people. Having them broadcast around the village would be irritating, but sometimes it’s better to get things into the open, where they have no power to harm you any further.”
And if that wasn’t an invitation to unburden himself, I don’t know how much clearer I could make it I watched Trevor closely to see how he would react.
“Perhaps so,” Trevor said. At the moment, he gave little appearance of having taken my point to apply to his own case. “Tell me, if you will,” he went on, attempting to change the subject with little subtlety, “what it was that Giles was so intent on burdening you with earlier.”
I frowned slightly. He was definitely fishing for something or surely he wouldn’t have been so blatant.
“Giles can be quite a pest,” Trevor went on hurriedly when I didn’t respond immediately. “I know well from personal experience that he is very importunate when he wants something and one doesn’t yield right away.” Curiouser and curiouser. “I’ll admit that my first impression of him wasn’t very good,” I said. “But upon further acquaintance, I can see that he has some most interesting possibilities.” Should I tell Trevor the news that I had hired Giles as my secretary? What if Trevor were correct and Giles was a pest? I shrugged. I had no doubts about my ability to rid myself of any kind of pest; thus, I wasn’t unduly worried about Giles. But I was curious about Trevor and his motives in trying to discredit Giles with me.
“I grant you,” Trevor said in a studiedly casual tone, “that Giles can be very appealing whenever things are going his way, but the moment you tell him no, the situation changes dramatically.”
Despite his attempts to appear otherwise, Trevor was sounding more and more like someone with the proverbial ax to grind. I had expected better of him. What on earth had Giles done to him to warrant this kind of backbiting?