by Nancy Warren
“No. She’s a head teacher at a local school. She hasn’t taken a day off in more than a year.” He forestalled my next question. “And the brother works on an oil rig in Edmonton, in Canada. He hasn’t been back to England in two years.”
“So, all we know is that Gerald Pettigrew was a big, fat liar, a terrible father, and a worse husband.” I bit my lip. “Did you find any connection between him and Colonel Montague?”
“No.”
I GLANCED AT THE DOOR. For a cool shiver was tickling the back of my neck. Sure enough, it opened and in came Rafe. His gaze went straight to mine. “Lucy, are you all right?”
I smiled faintly. “I’ve been better.”
Sylvia walked forward. “I thought you were in Liverpool.”
“I cut the trip short. The collection wasn’t much. The Dickens wasn’t a first edition and badly foxed. I came back as soon as I heard about the murder.”
“That was nice of you.”
“I’ve just come from the coroner’s office. I have a—” he paused for a moment—“friend on the inside. They put Gerald Pettigrew’s time of death between eleven a.m. and two p.m. With the body being inside the fridge but the fridge door open they can’t be more exact. They do know, however, that he was killed in the kitchen. The body hadn’t been moved.”
I said, “I can help narrow down the time of death even further. Because I saw Gerald Pettigrew with my own eyes at noon.” I glanced at Rafe who always seemed to know everything the police did. “I saw him with a library book, at least I think it was a library book, did anyone check to see if he returned it?”
“You’re right. His library book was returned and time stamped at eleven minutes past noon. The book, if you’re interested, was a guide to living aboard a cruise ship full-time.”
“Florence said they were planning to get married and travel.”
One moment they’d been planning to enjoy their golden years as newlyweds aboard a cruise ship, and now one of them lay in the morgue while the other was being treated by her doctor for shock. Even if he wasn’t the man Florence had believed he was, it was still very sad.
Rafe came and stood very close to me and his eyes held mine. “You are very sure, are you, Lucy, that you saw Gerald Pettigrew at noon? It couldn’t have been another old gentleman who looked like him?”
I tried to cast my mind back to the moment I’d looked outside and seen the old gentlemen. I said, “Until you asked me, I would have said I was certain it was him. He had the right clothes, right hair and moustache, and I recognized his way of walking.”
“But you didn’t actually see his face?”
Had I? I closed my eyes. “No. Just the side of his face. He wore a cap on his head, but I’m sure it was him. Besides, I saw the dead body. He was wearing the same clothes.”
“Then I’d say that narrows your suspects to Katie and Mary Watt unless we add in person or persons unknown who may have had a key and wanted Gerald Pettigrew dead.”
I didn’t want the killer to be either of those lovely women. “I think you must be right. The sleuthing trip do Leeds didn’t turn up anything.” I was getting tired of amateur sleuthing, tired of being suspicious of everyone. I’d learned that nearly everyone had a dark and deadly secret. Something they’d kill for.
Sylvia yawned. “I’m afraid we’ve missed our day’s sleep. I must have a nap before I go out tonight. So should you, Agnes.”
I took the hint. “I’ll go, but thank you very much for taking the trip. At least we know more.”
Rafe walked out with me and Nyx and we climbed together up into the back room of Cardinal Woolsey’s.
“Don’t take it too hard, Lucy. We all have to accept the consequences of our own actions.”
“I know. I just hate to see those nice old ladies made unhappy.”
He smiled slightly. “I’ve become so used to being surrounded by darkness, being with you is like a glimpse of the sun.” To my surprise he put the palm of his hand against my cheek. It was cool, but not unpleasant. He said, “Don’t ever let the darkness win.”
For a moment he looked at my face so intently I thought he was planning to kiss me. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. He was definitely one of the most attractive men I’d ever known but, if he saw my light, I also saw his darkness.
I suspected he’d done terrible things and was capable of doing many more. The notion sent a shiver of fear down my spine. Perhaps he saw that in my face for he dropped his hand and stepped back. Then he raised his head and said, sounding as sarcastic as a disgruntled lover, “And if I’m not mistaken, here comes your equally sunny detective.”
He’d already lifted the trapdoor and was halfway back down into the tunnel when I heard the rap on the front door of the shop.
Rafe might have excellent hearing, but he didn’t have x-ray vision. When I went to the front door I discovered not Ian but Mary Watt. I opened the door wondering whether I was greeting a murderer. I wasn’t sure I had the stamina for any more drama. “Miss Watt. How are you?”
I knew it was a completely inadequate thing to say but really, what was the correct greeting? How does it feel to be a murderer? Do you know your sister hates you? ‘How are you’ would have to do. Anyway, she seemed perfectly happy to tell me how she was. She stepped inside my shop and said, “I feel like poor Job, wondering what next will be sent to try me.”
“What do you mean? Don’t tell me someone else has been killed?”
“Oh nothing as bad as that. But Florence has gone to stay with Elspeth Montague. They were in a book club together for some years. And now they’ve got their tragedies in common.”
I realized the vampire cop was right. If you looked, connections were everywhere.
“Florence won’t even look at me. I thought, when she poured out all that anger and bitterness it was just an emotional reaction to the horror of finding Gerald’s body. But, you know, I’m beginning to think she really believes I killed him.”
I decided, since we were the only two in this lonely building, that asking her if it was true would not be the smartest idea. Instead I said, “She’s had a terrible shock. And you wouldn’t want her to have to sleep in the building where her lover was killed.”
“I suppose not. I don’t fancy sleeping there, either. Especially not alone.”
And so I found myself offering up my spare room, to the other Miss Watt than the one I planned. To my relief she shook her head. “Oh, that’s so sweet of you. And exactly what your grandmother would have done. But I’ve booked myself into a hotel.”
“A hotel? What, here in Oxford?”
“Yes. A very nice hotel. It’s full-service. For the first time in years, I shall not be shopping for food, preparing food, or selling food. I’m going to sleep late in the morning. Eat breakfast in bed if I so wish. And, they have a spa.”
“Exactly what you need.”
“Do you know I’ve never even been to a spa? I shall have facial. And,” she added with the air of one going all the way into the dark side of decadence, “a massage.”
I found it hard to imagine this woman who was taking such delight in breakfast in bed and a spa massage could have killed a man. Mary Watt did not strike me as the cold-blooded sort who would kill and then go off to have her pores exfoliated. But what did I know of killers?
She said, “And tomorrow I shall go shopping and buy some new clothes. When you next see me, I should look like a completely different person.”
I went upstairs and fed Nyx, who seemed restless and out of sorts. She wouldn’t settle on my lap but kept pacing up and down and making that burp noise. I didn’t know if I was communicating my restlessness to the cat or it was communicating it to me but I also felt unsettled and slightly jumpy. Something was nagging at me.
I decided to practice one of my spells. There must be something in the grimoire for soothing and restoring peace.
Nyx accompanied me to the kitchen and jumped up onto the counter, which, normally, I tried to discourage. How
ever, I felt that having my familiar present while I tried to brew up a potion could only be a benefit. She didn’t seem interested in helping, though, she was still restless and continued making those annoying burp noises. “Do you want to go out?” I asked her, pointing at the open window. She looked at the window and back at me and went burp.
“Well, try and focus, then.” I laid my hand on the front of that beautiful heavy book, closed my eyes and recited the words that would open it. A warm musty scent greeted me, something I associated with the Miss Watts. I realized I was smelling mothballs. My eyes flew open. Mothballs? What on earth?
The cat’s green eyes widened at the strange smell emanating from the book and she turned and leapt for the top of the fridge. As she did, she managed to knock one of the photographs that Gran always kept stuck on the fridge with a magnet. I leaned to down to the floor and picked up the old snapshot. Gran liked to look at them when she came up here.
The photograph was of me and my mother. I was probably about six or seven and we were standing, both wearing shorts. My dad had obviously sent the snap to Gran because he’d written on the back, “Look at those legs! Like mother like daughter.”
I felt like an electric shock had run up my arm and I gasped aloud. Rapidly, I put the picture back onto the fridge and closed the grimoire knowing the spell would reset immediately to keep it safe from prying eyes or hands.
I’d been such a fool. Now I knew what had been nagging at me. I ran down into the shop and grabbed a midrange wool blend that we often recommended for beginners. It was a nice blue color. Grabbed some needles, also good for beginners, and, making sure no one was looking in the windows, I uttered an incantation that I had just taken from the book.
The needles got busy knitting. It was a pleasure to watch them doing their work so effortlessly, without me getting in the way. I glanced at my watch, I didn’t have a great deal of time. I pointed to the knitting needles and commanded, “Velox”. And saw the speed increase so quickly the knitting needles were blurring before my eyes. I waited until there was about six inches of stocking stitch. I stopped the knitting needles and said, “Nodo chaos.” It was as though unseen fingers went into those perfectly knitted stitches and twisted and tangled every one of them. At the end of the destruction, the piece looked exactly as though I had knitted it myself.
I phoned Katie and was thankful that she picked up my call right away. “Katie, I’ve got a problem. I’ve been practising another piece of knitting and I’ve made the most awful mess of it. I really need the distraction, I’ve got to find a way to calm my nerves, and this tangle is only making me feel worse. Could I come over and get you to straighten it out for me?”
CHAPTER 22
T here was a slight pause. I’m sure she was trying to think of a way to turn me down, but I sounded so clearly distraught that she said, “All right. Yes, of course, come on over.”
I threw the mess into a bag, got onto my bicycle and rode to where they were living, in a basement flat in Summertown.
I realized I was being impulsive and probably foolish, still, before I went in, I sent a text to Ian telling him of my suspicions. No doubt he’d tell me to mind my own business.
I knocked on the door and Katie let me in right away. The flat was pretty grim even for student digs. The basement door opened directly into the main living room, which contained a shabby two-seater couch in front of a table with a small television. In the corner was an eating table that doubled as a desk. A fairly new looking laptop sat on top of it as well as salt-and-pepper shakers. Opening off this room was a tiny kitchen and another door that was presumably the bathroom. A further door was partly ajar and I could see a double bed, and a chest of drawers and what looked like an old wardrobe. Katie was alone. She held up her own piece of knitting and smiled. “I was doing the same thing. I find it very soothing, too.”
“It’s nice of you to let me come. I really wanted the distraction of knitting, but I made another mess of it.”
“Jim will be home soon. I’ve just got his dinner warming in the oven. Do you want a beer? Or tea?”
I needed to get rid of her for a few minutes to do some sleuthing. “Tea would be wonderful.”
“Of course,” she said. And went into the kitchen, saying over her shoulder, “Make yourself at home.”
“Thanks. I’ll just use the loo.”
Instead of going into the bathroom, however, I ducked into the bedroom. My heart pounded and I felt dreadful taking advantage of her hospitality in this way, but I had to know the truth. I had to know if my hunch was right.
I pulled open the wardrobe doors and saw a few pairs of jeans hanging on hangers, a couple of cotton dresses, a raincoat, an umbrella shoved in the back and what looked like extra bedding. Making sure she was still in the kitchen I dashed to the chest of drawers. They were cheap pressboard but new enough that the drawers opened soundlessly. The first contained nothing but socks and underwear. The second was packed with his and hers T-shirts, and two jumpers, one of which I remembered Jim wearing. I was about to try the third drawer when I heard Katie’s puzzled voice call, “Lucy?”
Damn.
I came out of the bedroom looking as nonchalant as I could. “Sorry. I was looking for the bathroom.”
Silently she pointed at the bathroom door and with a nervous giggle I went in. Please let her just think I was a harmless snoop, I thought, making a production of washing my hands. Over the sound of the running water I eased open the medicine cabinet and took a good look inside, I even checked out the tiny wastepaper basket.
When I came out Katie said, “I wasn’t sure if you liked milk and sugar, but I’m afraid we haven’t got any milk.”
“Clear’s fine. Really, I’m more worried about the knitting.”
“All right, then,” she said. “Let’s have a look.”
Katie pulled the tangled mess of knitting out of the bag and smoothed it carefully on her denim-clad knee. “You weren’t kidding. You did make a mess of this.”
“I think it was the stress. I don’t know what I was doing.”
She eased out the knitting needle and, as she’d done before, began to pull out all the stitches. She said, “The first thing you need to do is learn to lessen your tension. You pull the wool far too tight. Maybe you should just practice making a square, over and over until you get the hang of the right tension. And learn to keep track of your stitches.”
She sounded so patient I thought how much I’d like it if she’d offer knitting classes at my shop. Apart from my vampire knitting club I didn’t have any regular classes because I didn’t know how to knit. I needed someone like Katie, someone who could both knit and teach.
She began casting on a set of stitches. When I glanced at the clock I saw that it was nearly seven. I said, “Look, why don’t I take that home, and work on it myself? You’re quite right, I’d be much better to just do a couple of small squares. Perhaps you can take a look at them in the morning?”
“Don’t you want me to get you started now?” She seemed quite surprised, as well she might, as I had specifically come over to visit her so that she could do that for me. I told her the truth, “Jim will be home soon. And he won’t want to find me here.”
But it was already too late. Katie’s less acute ears soon picked up what mine had already registered. She said, “I think that’s him, now.”
Sure enough, through the window, I saw a pair of legs descending. She got up and went to the door, opening it so that she could say, almost as he walked in, “Hi, Jim. Lucy’s here. She needed some help with her knitting.”
Giving me a cheery wave, he said, “How ya goin’?”
But I couldn’t answer him. I was staring at those trousers, and the shoes. I had discovered that shock made people do very stupid things, and it made me off the scale stupid. “You didn’t bother to get rid of the shoes.”
His smile went rigid, but he decided to deliberately misunderstand me. “You’ve got a sharp eye. You’re right. These are my ch
aracter’s shoes, for the part I’m playing.” He still had a trace of make-up on his face, where he hadn’t cleaned it off properly.
“But that’s not the only part you played, is it?” I asked him.
“What are you getting at?”
“You know, you nearly got away with it. But that wasn’t Gerald Pettigrew I saw walking past so conveniently right when the noon bells were ringing, was it? It was you.”
He looked at Katie and said, “What’s she on about? Have you two been round the pub?”
Katie shook her head. “I don’t know. She got her knitting in a tangle. She was one of the people who found poor Miss Watt’s boyfriend murdered yesterday. I think it’s turned her head a bit.”
He looked at me with cold eyes. “Terrible end for the old bloke.”
I looked at his face, closely. “He wasn’t just an old bloke, was he? Gerald Pettigrew, or whatever he called himself in Australia, was your father.”
There was terrible silence. Katie said, sounding unsure, “Lucy, maybe you should go home.”
But Jim positioned himself in front of the door and crossed his arms over his chest. Thick arms. Thick chest. “No. I think Lucy’d better explain what she’s talking about.”
In my own defence, I don’t think I would have tackled him like this if Katie hadn’t been there. I didn’t really think he would try and hurt me in front of her, and I was fairly sure he wouldn’t try and do away with us both. It wasn’t not much of a defence, but it was all I had. The thing was, I saw exactly what had happened now and so clearly, but he was the only person who could confirm what I’d guessed.
“I thought when I first met you that you seemed vaguely familiar. Do you have his walk naturally? Or did you copy it like any good actor?”
He shrugged and said, “Bit of both, I imagine.”
“You have his teeth, too.”
He lifted his shoulders as though he couldn’t care less.
“Gerald Pettigrew abandoned you when you were a child. It destroyed your family, didn’t it?”
