by L. A. Nisula
Milly chewed on a bit of carrot. “I did think it was odd that he never wanted me to meet his mother.”
That didn’t sound helpful. It certainly wasn’t unusual. I nodded encouragingly and ate more fish so I would have an excuse not to talk.
Milly was not capable of keeping quiet for long. “And he was always going on about his job, but it didn’t make much sense. I mean, I know a little bit about banks; I do keep my money in one, but some of what he said didn’t sound like he knew much more. Or even as much.”
That was better. Maybe there would be something with the client he worked for, or didn’t work for.
“And then there’s his ridiculous friend.”
I waited for her to elaborate. When she didn’t, I asked, “Why do you call him ridiculous?”
“He was always showing up when we were out, wanting to talk to Randall. Chester Hargrove.”
“What did they talk about?”
“I don’t know. Randall would take him to a corner and get rid of him.”
“Do you know how they knew each other?”
“No. Work I assumed. He couldn’t have been very good at it.”
“Why do you say that?”
“He didn’t pay attention to anything Randall said. We were introduced more than once, and he still called me Miss Hayes on at least two occasions.”
“Wait, wasn’t the victim’s name Miss Hayes? So you did know her name.”
Milly sighed. “All right, I may have heard her name once or twice, but I hadn’t seen her before.”
“And didn’t tell Inspector Wainwright.”
“Of course not. That man couldn’t wait to arrest me.”
“Actually, I don’t think he wants to at all. He knows I’d feel obligated to help if he did.”
Milly snorted and pushed her chips around her plate.
I changed the subject. “Why do you think you’re a suspect anyway?”
“I was there, wasn’t I? And I was the one he was cheating on.”
“But if you didn’t know, why would it matter?”
“But I just told you I did, or suspected, or...” She took a large bite of her pie and gestured to show she couldn’t talk until she’d finished.
I gave her time to finish chewing then went on as if we hadn’t stopped. “How did you find out about Miss Hayes?”
“I just told you, Mr. Hargrove mentioned her.”
“And your mind immediately jumped to Randall seeing someone else?”
“It was the way Mr. Hargrove said it, like he was teasing Randall. How is that helpful?”
I wondered if it was teasing or threatening. “I don’t know, but Mr. Hargrove might be. Where do you think I would find him?”
“I have no idea, but I could ask Randall for you.”
I wasn’t in the mood to hear Randall’s opinions on Mr. Hargrove, but if it would help I supposed I had to. “That might work. Where did the two of you meet him?”
“At the pub on the corner of Fleet and Cheshire. Randall said it was his office, but that’s ridiculous, of course.”
“Of course.” I could easily see someone Randall associated with being the sort to have his office in a pub, but even Randall wouldn’t be stupid enough to go there if he was trying to avoid having Milly and Mr. Hargrove meet. At least I thought so. I was still trying to decide if I was overestimating Randall’s abilities when Milly pushed her plate away and started looking back towards the front of the restaurant.
Clearly she was done, so I folded my napkin and put it next to my half-finished plate. “Well, at least that’s over with. I’m going back to Paddington Street. I’m sure I’ll see you soon.”
Milly swallowed hurriedly, coughed, and grabbed at my arm until she could speak again. “You can’t go yet. We have to tell Randall I’m safe.”
“I thought you were upset with him over Miss Hayes.”
“I am, and that’s why you have to come with me. I don’t want him worrying about me, and I don’t want to see him alone.”
It made a certain sort of logic, and Randall had come to fetch me even if he had gotten the wrong end of things. “All right. Do you know where he is?”
“At home, I would think. He has rooms off Guilford Street.”
“All right, we’ll go and tell him you’re all right and see if he knows anything else he hasn’t shared with Inspector Wainwright.”
“Before dessert?”
I sighed, but the Bakewell tart did look good. “All right, what would you like?”
When we had finished tea and sweets—the Bakewell tart was not as good as it had looked, with far too many cherries and not enough marzipan—we made our way to Randall’s flat, which was above a wine shop. The door to the flats was squeezed into the narrow space between the wine shop and a cobbler. There was a very modern pneumatic tube set up for contacting the flats. “Do you know which is his?”
“He’s on the second floor.”
“American or British?” I was never quite certain which Milly would use.
“British, of course. I’m not a fool.”
I decided we’d had enough difficulties that day without arguing about that premise, so I turned to the list of residents. “It says ‘Mr. Lanebridge’ for the second floor.” To be certain, I glanced at the first-floor name. Mr. Biddle, which was also listed on the shop window as the proprietor.
“Oh, Randall does that. He said his mother always says it’s best not to give your real name if you can help it.”
“So he just made one up and put it on his mailbox?”
Milly shrugged.
I turned back to the box. There was a small dial beside the name that residents could turn with their key as they came in and out to show if they were at home. Mr. Lanebridge’s was set to black, not at home. “It seems we won’t be able to have our discussion now anyway.”
“You could leave him a note.”
I shook my head. I wasn’t completely convinced Milly was right about the address, or that Randall had given her the correct one to begin with. “I don’t like the idea of leaving my card at strange men’s flats.”
“And I don’t have any with me.”
I wondered if that were true, or if she had realized what I said made sense. In either case, I wasn’t going to argue. “Would you like to share a cab back, then?”
“No, I’m not going back to my rooms just yet. Thank you for the lunch.”
I was tempted to ask where she was going—the fact that she didn’t volunteer made me suspicious—but I decided I really didn’t want to know. Then I’d be obligated to intervene if it was something foolish. I went to the cab stand on the corner and asked the driver to take me to Paddington Street.
I was halfway home when I started to feel guilty. Someone really ought to tell Randall that Milly wasn’t in prison. He had gone looking for help for her when he’d thought she’d been arrested. That was a mark in his favor, at least. And it wasn’t something Milly would think to do. She often seemed to think that if she knew something, everyone else must as well. I didn’t want to return to the wine shop just in case Mr. Lanebridge really did live there. That left me only one way to get in touch with him. I sighed and knocked on the roof of the cab. “24 Rusham Street, please.”
When I got to Rusham Street, I was surprised to see no one out front. I had expected there to be a police officer guarding the crime scene or something similar, but I was able to walk right up to the door and knock without having to state my business or persuade anyone to let me approach.
Nora opened the door when I knocked, peering around the edge before she opened it all the way to admit me. “Sorry, miss. I didn’t want to let in a murderer or the police.”
Inspector Wainwright would not be amused to find himself in the same class as the murderer, but under the circumstances, I did sympathize. “I wanted to leave a message for Mr. Fetherton.”
“Who is it, Nora?” Mrs. Fetherton came out of the sitting room. “Oh, Miss Pengear, right? Come in. I was afraid
it was the police again. It seems like I just got rid of the last of them. They wanted to leave someone to guard the door, but I put my foot down. Nora, some tea, please. I hope you don’t have any bad news about Randall.”
There didn’t seem to be a polite way to get out of the tea, so I followed her into the sitting room. “No, actually I wanted to leave him a message, and I didn’t know how else to do it. Milly and I went to his flat...” The explanation seemed too ridiculous to repeat in the sitting room, so I colored the truth a bit. “Or what she thought was his flat. The name on the letterbox was ‘Lanebridge,’ so we weren’t certain if she’d misremembered the address or if the box was mislabeled, and I didn’t like to leave a personal message if we weren’t certain.”
Mrs. Fetherton looked surprised at that. Perhaps she hadn’t been the one to tell him not to use his real name. “Where were you looking?”
I gave the address.
“That is his flat. Very naughty of him to play such a trick with the letter box. I’ll have a word with him. What was the message?”
“That Milly is fine. He came to my flat this morning thinking she had been arrested, but really Inspector Wainwright had simply asked her to go in and answer a few questions about last night.”
“I’ll be sure to let him know. Have the police any suspects?”
“I don’t think so,” I said, moving out of Nora’s way so she could put down the tea tray and the slices of cake, which seemed to be the same coffee walnut cake I’d bought the night before. “Not that Inspector Wainwright would have told me if they had, but did all seem to be very preliminary.”
“I suppose it’s quite difficult to find some random stranger who comes in off the street and does something like that. Careful, Nora. We don’t want to spill tea on Miss Pengear.”
“Sorry, miss.” Nora stopped pouring the tea abruptly and put the pot and almost-overflowing cup down on the table. “I’ll just go see to the kitchen.”
I saw my way out. “I didn’t mean to call while you were eating.”
“Nonsense. It’s nice to have a bit of company after such an ordeal.”
I supposed it probably was, so I dutifully sipped my tea and tried to think of something to ask. “Have the police finished with the room?”
“They said they have, but they left such a mess.”
“They do seem to.” I took a large bite of cake, both to finish it quickly so I could leave and stop myself from having to speak more than absolutely necessary.
Mrs. Fetherton sipped her tea. “And so many questions. On and on about Randall’s habits and his relationships. Really, I wasn’t able to tell them much as I barely knew the girl, but when romance is involved, particularly with a successful young gentleman like my Randall, well, young ladies do become so emotional. And they did seem very interested in her emotional state when she arrived. I’m sure they’ll ask you about it too, if she seemed agitated or upset.”
Mrs. Fetherton hadn’t seen Miss Hayes when she’d arrived, so she couldn’t know her emotional state. That had to mean it was Milly’s emotional state she was discussing with the police. Of course Milly was agitated when she arrived; we all were. Randall the Idiot hadn’t told his mother we were coming and almost started a fight on all sides. I washed the rest of the cake down with a quick swallow of tea so I could cut her off. “I can assure you my cousin had nothing to do with Miss Hayes’s murder.”
Mrs. Fetherton looked up sharply. “She was related to you, wasn’t she?” She sounded as if she had genuinely forgotten Milly was my cousin, although why she thought I had been with them in that case I had no idea. “I’m very sorry. I’m sure they didn’t mean anything by it.”
I was quite certain she wasn’t the least bit sorry. “I’m sure. They need to be thorough.” But what did she mean by it? And whose idea had it been to pursue that line of questioning? I took another swallow of tea and put the cup and mostly empty plate down. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. I’m certain you have so many things to sort out now that you’ve gotten rid of the police. They tend to leave a great deal of fingerprint dust behind them.” I picked up my handbag.
Mrs. Fetherton didn’t seem to mind my hasty exit. “I’ll have Nora show you out.”
Fortunately, Nora was in the front hall, so I didn’t need to make any more polite conversation before I could slip out the door.
When I left Mrs. Fetherton’s, I walked briskly down Rusham Street towards the shops. I was in too much of a temper to calmly hail a cab for home, and I thought a walk down the high street might calm me. Either Inspector Wainright had lied to me to get me out of his office, or Mrs. Fetherton was trying to steer the investigation away from her family and onto Milly. Either way, it seemed Milly had more reason to be worried and ask for my help than I’d thought. Perhaps someone on the high street had seen Miss Hayes arrive. There were plenty of shops if I wanted to try my hand at questioning people.
As I walked, I was able to calm myself enough to think clearly about the case. I had to admit that, even if Milly was still a suspect, Inspector Wainwright hadn’t lied to me exactly—I was quite certain he did not want to do anything that would involve me in his case, but if Mrs. Fetherton was right about the kinds of questions he was asking, then Milly was a serious suspect. Inspector Wainwright was a good detective. He would not ignore a possible suspect or lead simply he didn’t want to see someone, namely me. If Mrs. Fetherton was accurately relaying the questions she’d been asked, Milly was in more trouble than I’d thought. And if she wasn’t, why would she have implied Milly was a suspect unless she suspected Randall?
So, who besides a wronged woman would want to murder Miss Hayes? The problem was, no one seemed to know anything about her. I assumed Randall did, but he didn’t seem inclined to be helpful in any practical way, and in any case I had serious doubts about his ability to accurately relay information. Milly had known Miss Hayes’s name, but even she wasn’t being completely honest with me. I knew I was in trouble when Inspector Wainwright was the most reliable contact I had.
Mr. Hargrove seemed to be my best chance at finding out more about Miss Hayes. He was the only name besides Randall’s that I could associate with her. If I could find someone else who had a motive to be rid of her, it might point suspicion away from both Milly and Randall. Milly had said they frequently met Mr. Hargrove at a particular pub, and Randall had joked that it was his office. Somehow I didn’t think Randall was very creative when it came to his jokes, so it was just possible that Mr. Hargrove really did see people there, or at least was a frequent visitor. That would make Randall particularly stupid for taking Milly there if he was trying to hide their relationship, but I hadn’t gone wrong yet by underestimating his intelligence. Now, if only I’d asked Milly for a description of Mr. Hargrove.
Chapter 6
THE PUB WAS MORE respectable than I had imagined it would be, and I wondered as I walked in if I had been mistaken. Perhaps Mr. Hargrove simply stopped in to eat lunch or for a distraction from his office. But when I asked the girl watching the bar if there was someone by the name of Hargrove there, she gave me a sort of are-you-certain-that’s-who-you-want look and directed me to a table in the center of the main dining room where a man in a loud waistcoat and a brown and red checked suit was sitting with a row of empty glasses arranged between the folders spread out in front of him. He looked like the sort of man Randall would know.
I crossed the dining room and stopped in front of his table. “Mr. Hargrove?”
He looked up and studied my face. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I need a reference for people who I haven’t met.” He had a thick Cockney accent plastered over with a decent imitation of a more educated one. I doubted he’d fool any Englishmen, but it could work on an unsuspecting tourist. “A reference, and you can’t place more than twenty on any one event.”
Another bookmaker then. How many did Randall have and was this his actual profession? I wondered if he meant twenty pounds or shillings. Pounds, most likely, but that seem
ed an enormous amount to put on one bet, but then Randall had owed Grelling £50. “I wasn’t here to—um, conduct business. I needed some information.”
“Information can be business too. Sit and tell me all about your troubles.”
I couldn’t think of a way to conduct the interview standing up, so I took the chair across from him. I didn’t want to upset any of Inspector Wainwright’s investigation, and not only because I’d never hear the end of it from him, so I said, “I’m a friend of Randall Fetherton. That is, my cousin has been stepping out with Mr. Randall Fetherton, and she suspects he’s got a bit on the side. I told her I’d help her find out if it was true. She told me you were a friend of his and a discerning gentleman, so I was hoping you could be of assistance?”
Mr. Hargrove laughed. “I always told old Randy he’d get himself in trouble. But your cousin doesn’t need to worry. Police were just here. Little Miss Hayes was murdered last night.”
“Oh dear.” So Wainwright had beaten me to Mr. Hargrove. I wondered how. I should have asked Milly if she’d told him about Mr. Hargrove. “I’m sure she would like to pay her condolences.”
“And check out what the competition looked like, eh?”
I smiled a little. “Perhaps.”
“He used to pick her up at a boarding house on Essex Street, but I don’t know which.”
“Thank you. Maybe we can find out.”
“She’s the American one, hmm?”
“Were there more than two?” Just how many ladies was Randall juggling, and could one of the others be a better suspect?
“He can’t handle more than two at a time, but as soon as one gets wise and moves on, he finds another.”
So no joy there.
“I don’t approve of it myself. The missus’d chase me out of town if I tried anything like that, not that I would, so I like to give the girls a little hint. Glad to hear she took it.”