by Blythe Baker
I folded my arms. “You are going to scold me for coming out here. You are going to tell me to keep my nose out of police business, and to stay away from everything to do with this case.”
Sam considered my words, pursing his lips thoughtfully. He nodded a moment later. “Not terribly far off, but I’ve learned that my frustration does little to dissuade you. To be honest, I’m not all that surprised to see you around here. And in a way, I’m almost glad I ran into you.”
I blinked up at him. Sam Graves is glad to have run into me?
“So, what, then? Are you going to try and sweet talk me into staying away?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No, not at all. I’ve come to realize that instead of trying to shove you away, it might be in my best interest to utilize your help…if you are interested, that is.”
My eyes narrowed as I regarded him carefully. “This feels like a trap,” I said.
“No trap,” he said. “In the past, you have proven to be surprisingly perceptive, and you have been able to root out information that the police never could, purely because of who we are and what we stand for. We frighten people. You, though? You are charismatic, and that helps others to be comfortable answering your questions.”
“Are you telling me that you want me to…what? Go undercover for you?” I asked. “Isn’t that breaking some sort of law, somewhere? I am just a civilian, after all.”
He studied me carefully for a moment. “How would you feel about getting something to eat with me?” he asked, sliding his hands into his pockets. “My treat, of course.”
It took a great deal of self control to not let my jaw hit the cobblestones beneath me.
His expression was blank, though, so I couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
“That is rather unexpected coming from you,” I said.
He shrugged. “Yes, well, I suppose you really only know the side of me that has to deal with murderers and thieves for a living. So, what do you say?”
Something still felt strange, but I couldn’t put my finger on what it was, exactly.
“I suppose there’s no harm in it…” I said.
“Good,” Sam said, turning to step back out of the alleyway. “Let’s get going, then.”
He ended up taking me to the inn run by Mr. and Mrs. Diggory, which was somewhat quiet for the middle of the summer. The dining room had more than a few empty tables, and Mr. Diggory seemed eager for customers.
“You don’t have to worry about a thing this evening, Mr. Graves,” Mr. Diggory said. “I will ensure that you have the best service.”
“Thank you very much, Mr. Diggory,” Sam said as we found ourselves at a table beside one of the two large bay windows overlooking the front street.
Mr. Diggory smiled at me, too, a kind smile that I hadn’t seen him wear, before hurrying away to fetch us some water.
“I’m confused,” I said. “The last time I saw Mr. Diggory, he seemed to be an entirely different person. Devastated over the loss of his son, and really quite sour to anyone he came across.”
“Yes, I was rather troubled by that change in character, as well,” Sam said, his gaze following after Mr. Diggory. “But I think his behavior was turning many people away from the inn…”
I thought back to that afternoon in the cemetery, when the rain had been falling hard, and the air had a bite to it.
“I saw him paying his respects to the Polish refugee some weeks ago,” I said. “I’d gone to do the same, and he told me how awful he felt for treating the deceased so poorly, just because of what had happened to his son.”
“It made perfect sense to me,” Sam said, his dark eyebrows knitting together. “That beggar brought more trouble on himself than necessary.”
Mr. Diggory returned with some glasses of water, and a basket with a napkin folded over inside. “Freshly baked bread from the kitchens,” he said, setting it down between us. “And my wife’s famous garlic herb butter.”
The bread smelled heavenly as he pulled aside the napkin, revealing the crusty, golden loaf beneath.
“I’ll be right back with the meal,” he said, hurrying off.
Sam peered at the bread, and then at me. “You go on ahead. Too much bread makes me feel sick.”
“That’s unfortunate,” I said.
He shrugged. “Been that way since I was a kid.”
I picked out a thickly cut piece, and slathered some of the garlic butter across it. “So, you were saying about the beggar?” I asked.
“Yes,” Sam said, picking up his water and swirling the glass around as if it were some fine wine. “He asked for a lot of the trouble he got into. I met his daughter, you see. Found out some very interesting things about him and his past…it seems our Polish beggar was not all that innocent, after all.”
With a sinking feeling in my stomach, I looked away, losing a lot of the pleasure in eating the bread. I swallowed, my mouth tasting more like sawdust now. “Not so innocent? Why do you say that?”
Sam arched an eyebrow at me before leaning forward onto the table. “Helen…why are you so interested in all these bizarre happenings in Brookminster?” he asked.
The bluntness of the question caught me completely off guard, yet suddenly I understood why he’d asked me to join him for dinner in the first place.
From the hard look in his eyes, it was clear he’d been waiting to ask me this for some time now.
I lifted my own glass of water, taking a few hesitant sips in order to collect my thoughts. That was rather difficult to do underneath his scrutinizing stare.
I decided the truth was best, in the end.
I brushed some hair from my eyes. “All of these cases…these deaths that have happened since my arrival…they’ve all moved me in some way,” I said. “The first one I had absolutely no interest in getting involved with. If anything, I was terrified. The idea that someone had killed my own aunt, it was almost too much to bear. But I knew that if I was to ever sleep another night underneath that roof, I needed to know the truth. And so I dug and dug until I learned everything…and I’m quite glad I did.”
Sam folded his arms, his eyes narrowing as he listened. “Go on,” he said.
I swallowed hard, not having the courage to look away. “With the beggar, I felt tied to him because Sidney Mason and I had met him when he arrived in town – ”
“Yes, I know all this,” Sam said, waving me on. “That doesn’t explain why you felt the need to find his killer, though.”
“He had no one, as far as I could tell. He needed help, and I know what that’s like. It was clear he was desperate, and after learning that he was looking for his wife, I knew that – ”
Sam’s eyes narrowed even further. “How did you know he was looking for his wife?”
It was as if I’d swallowed my tongue. There was no way I could have known that information unless I’d overheard the conversation he’d had with the dead man’s daughter.
Sam shook his head, leaning back in his chair. And to my surprise, he laughed.
“I should have known the waitress at the teahouse that day was you,” he said. “Who else would have taken nearly five minutes to clear a table?”
My face flooded with color. “I’m sorry. I realize that I was in the wrong, and I should have respected both yours and the family’s privacy, but I – ”
“It’s all right,” Sam said, still chuckling somewhat. “I should just expect you to show up at the scene of the crime from now on…which was why I wasn’t all that surprised to see you tonight. So…tell me what it is about this case that has you so interested?”
“Well…” I said. “It’s because I feel like I had things in common with Mrs. Lowell. She wasn’t much younger than I am, and she lost her husband to the war…just like I did.”
Sam’s smile fell, and he cleared his throat, sitting up a little straighter. “I…had forgotten you two had that in common. My deepest condolences.”
I folded my arms, my face burning as I stared down at the ta
ble. “It’s…well, it is what it is. And so I wanted to understand this case because…well, I feel a certain kinship with the woman. And anyway, what if she was killed by someone targeting widows or women living alone? Women like me?”
“That’s possible, I suppose,” Sam said. “But don’t you think it’s a bit of a stretch? There’s no evidence this was anything but personal and specific to the victim.”
“Perhaps,” I said. “But it still concerns me.”
I half expected Sam to simply dismiss my fears, much like Mr. Georgianna had. But he was full of surprises, it seemed… He just sat there, thinking.
I wasn’t quite sure how to address it once again, wondering if he’d even heard me in the first place.
“While I believe your fears are likely unnecessary, I will say that I can perfectly understand your reasoning behind them. These are frightening times we live in. Not only because of the happenings in Brookminster either, but the goings on in the greater world. I understand in my own way how difficult it is to go through what you have recently…” Sam stared intently at the basket of bread. “I…lost a brother in the war. About a year ago now, though it still feels like it just happened yesterday.”
He lifted his gaze, which settled on me, sharp and intent.
“I know how terribly tragic it all is.”
I was surprised by his transparency. “I’m very sorry to hear that,” I said.
He nodded. “Yes, well, perhaps we have even more in common than we had originally thought.”
“Perhaps we do,” I said.
I wasn’t quite sure what to make of this newfound shift in our relationship. I was used to his anger, his scolding, his scrutiny. Yet, here sitting in front of me, was a very different sort of man, one with more depth than I had originally seen.
“Now, I was serious before when I said that I would be happy to have some help,” Sam said, his gravelly tone returning. “However…just like I always do, I still think there is something to be said about you keeping your distance. At least a little. For your own safety.”
I looked at him, noticing the sincerity in his gaze this time. It wasn’t just demanding, anger about me stepping into his territory. This time it was concern, fear for my wellbeing.
I could tell that he really wanted me to be careful.
“I do think that it is wise to keep distance between myself and these cases, of course,” I said. “Especially with this one, as I have no direct connection to it.”
Sam’s face hardened when I did not outright agree to his request, but he said nothing.
“There is one thing I’ve been wondering, though,” I said, hoping to change the subject. “What about the girl? The victim’s daughter? What is going to happen to her?”
Sam rubbed his cheek with his palm. “Right now, she is staying with a member of the police force and his family; they have some young kids, too, and we felt it was the best place to keep her safe until we are able to find her a more permanent home.”
“She doesn’t have any family?” I asked.
“She does, but many of them live halfway across the country and have never met the poor girl,” Sam said. “We are in discussion with some of them, but the officer’s family seems eager to adopt her if no one in her family claims her.”
“That’s sad,” I said. “She is family.”
“That’s what I’ve thought,” he said. “Though it seems their family comes from some money, and her mother married someone outside of wealth, and they shunned her for it.”
“How cruel,” I said.
He nodded. “I’m going to see her first thing tomorrow morning. Hopefully we will have more information by then.”
A sudden thought struck me. “Would it be all right if I came with you?” I asked.
He regarded me for a moment. “You want to come along?”
“Well, yes,” I said. “You said you wanted my help, right? As a civilian, maybe it would be easier for me to speak with the girl.”
It was clear he was reluctant about the idea, and was looking for an excuse to refuse me.
After a few moments, though, he sighed. Clearly he couldn’t think of anything against it.
“Very well,” he said. “You can come along. Perhaps your presence will be of some comfort to the poor girl. I am not known for being the most approachable of people.”
“I can believe that,” I said with a small smirk.
He returned it, though somewhat sheepishly.
5
The next morning, I left a sign on my door saying that I was going to remain closed for the majority of the morning, but that I would likely be back before it was time to close up for the day. I was well aware of the few customers who would likely give me an earful the next day about their needs and my lack of understanding, given their dire situations, but I tried my best to brush those worries aside. Everyone would just have to wait for their buttons and be all right with it.
I met Sam Graves at the police station, though he’d asked me to stay outside the building. “I don’t want any of the boys to know about your involvement in this. Some might not take too kindly to it…especially the chief,” he’d said.
That I understood rather well, knowing that if they knew he had brought me in on the case, even just to meet with Evangeline, he might be breeching some sort of rule that would otherwise forbid him from doing just that.
He stepped out of the station just ten minutes past seven, and nodded toward his car alongside the building.
“Good morning,” he said to me over the roof of the car.
“Good morning to you,” I said.
He unlocked the doors and we both slipped inside.
“Are you certain this is all right?” I asked as he started the car.
“Well, I already made up my mind about it,” Sam said, his eyes glued to the road over his shoulder as he backed up. “No sense in going back on my word.”
So no, he is already regretting it…
“So what are we going to be talking to Evangeline about?” I asked. “Just checking in on her?”
“Unfortunately, not,” Sam said. “We have reason to believe that there may have been some tension between Mrs. Lowell and her landlady, Mrs. Douglas.”
My eyes widened. “I heard the same rumor yesterday. Something about a fight between the two women?”
“Precisely,” Sam said. “And until we have grounds to question Mrs. Douglas, our hands are tied. I hate to bring up difficult memories for the poor girl, but if we want to find out what happened to her mother…”
The officer’s house was just down the street from my own, which gave me a small sense of comfort. That might prove useful if there ever was another emergency…though I hated the thought of bothering him at home when he was off duty.
“Now, for story’s sake, you’re working as one of our understudy stenographers, all right?” Sam asked. “We’ll say it’s what you did in London before you moved here to Brookminster.”
“All right,” I agreed.
We walked up to the entrance and Sam rapped the bronze knocker against the door.
A woman with a pale, thin face opened the door a short time later, her vibrantly red hair pulled back in a long plait behind her head. “Oh, Inspector Graves. How do you do?”
“Just fine, Mrs. Vernon,” he said, inclining his head to her. “Did Phillip let you know we were coming over?”
“He did, yes,” Mrs. Vernon said, pulling the door open ever so slightly more. “Won’t you both come inside?”
We stepped through into the foyer, which was brightly lit and filled with family photographs on the walls. Through an archway to the right, the sounds of happy children playing could be heard.
“I’ll just go get Phillip,” Mrs. Vernon said. “He’s back in the kitchen.”
She hurried down the hall to a frosted glass door at the end, calling out to her husband as she went.
Her husband soon appeared, wearing his police uniform, though the top button of his shirt w
as undone. He had a kind face with sandy blonde hair that could do with a good trim, and a slightly long, bulbous nose.
“Inspector, good to see you,” he said as he walked toward us, holding out his hand for Sam to shake. His gaze shifted to me. “And I must admit that I’m surprised to see you. Aren’t you the one who took over the haberdashery some months ago?”
“Yes, she is, but she is also doing some work for us,” Sam said before I could answer. “She used to be a stenographer in London, so she’s offered to do some work for us now that she’s here.”
“How kind of her,” Phillip said with a smile. “So you brought her here for…what? Training?”
“To see what she’s capable of,” Sam said. “I thought interviewing the Lowell girl might be a good place to start.”
“Very well,” Phillip said. “The children are through the door in here.”
He led us through the doorway into the sitting room, which was cozy, furnished with all the things a family of their size might need; a chair beside the fire, a shelf full of books, and a toy chest beneath the window where three children were all huddled, scrambling for toys.
“Evangeline, someone is here to see you,” said Phillip.
The girl in the middle, the oldest of the three, slowly looked up at Phillip over her shoulder. She had lovely cornflower blonde hair, pin straight, that stretched nearly all the way down her back like a waterfall. Her eyes were crystal clear blue, bright and round. She looked at me first, and then her gaze shifted over to Sam, where her eyes widened.
“This is Inspector Sam Graves,” Phillip said, kneeling down beside her. “I work with him at the police station.”
“And who is she?” Evangeline asked, pointing at me.
“She is working with the police too, but she owns a little shop just down the road. You know the one that sells buttons and ribbons?”
Her face lit up with recognition.
“My name is Helen Lightholder,” I said, pointing to myself. “It’s nice to meet you, Evangeline.
She nodded nervously up at me.
“Evangeline, would it be all right if you were to come with Inspector Graves, Mrs. Lightholder, and I into the dining room? Just for a few minutes? I promise we won’t take you away from the others for very long.”
