“Do you have any idea why someone would have killed Ravenswood?”
“As I said, Mr. Farthering, I’m not much of one to get involved. I mind my business and do my job and leave them to theirs. Easier to stay out of trouble that way, that’s been my experience. I’m sure you’ve heard it already, but Mr. Ravenswood was one for the ladies. It may be one of them didn’t like being thrown over. It may be whatever that Fleur Hargreaves and he were arguing about. It may be one of the actors didn’t like how the theater was run. Whatever it was, nobody told me about it, so I can’t tell you. The last I saw Mr. Ravenswood, he was drinking champagne in his dressing room, surrounded by friends and loved ones. Beyond that, I can’t say.”
Drew stood and brought Madeline to her feet beside him. “You have my card. Mr. Zuraw, if you happen to think of anything else. Or, if you’d rather, telephone the police and let them know. Even the slightest bit of information may be the key to cracking the case.”
He offered the man his hand. After wiping his own hand on his sleeve, Zuraw took it and gave it a rather tentative shake. Zuraw then nodded at Madeline. “Miss.”
Drew escorted Madeline out of the office and back down the hallway to the stage door.
“Do you any good?” Grady asked, looking up from his dustpan.
“Not in any measurable amount, I’m afraid,” Drew told him. “But thank you for letting us in.”
“Ah, well, I might’ve saved you the trouble. Mr. Zuraw don’t pay much attention to folk. He might be able to tell you how much money’s in your pocket just from the jingle of the coins, but you could come in painted bright blue and never get anything out of him but a ‘good morning.’ ”
Madeline gave him a warm smile. “Thank you all the same. We’ll try not to bother you anymore.”
He touched his forehead in respect. “No bother, miss, to be sure. Always happy to oblige. We’d all sleep a sight sounder if you and your gentleman figured out who’d done for Mr. Ravenswood.”
“That’s just what we mean to do,” Drew assured him. “You keep your eyes open, you hear?”
“I’ll be doing that, sir,” Grady said, and then he opened the stage door to the street and made a bow to Madeline.
The next morning, Madeline kept Drew busy with planning their wedding.
“As long as, by the end of the thing, we are well and truly married, I don’t mind what you do, darling,” he said as he escorted her to the table at midday. “Between you and Aunt Ruth, I am certain the affair will be stylish and tasteful and just opulent enough to be taken notice of without being a local scandal.”
Madeline huffed. “Well, I thought you’d at least want to know about your own wedding. And I still don’t have anyone to walk me down the aisle.”
“We’ll figure it out, love.” He went over to the sideboard and started filling his plate with ham and game pie. “I know all I need to know, and that is that I will have the most glorious bride in the entire kingdom for my very own. What else matters?”
“I suppose you’d rather be looking into the Ravenswood murder,” she said as she filled her plate.
“He’s much better at that than figuring out seating arrangements and such,” Nick observed, helping himself to the poached trout before he sat.
Madeline’s expression softened. “Yes, I suppose he is. And this is what I get for agreeing to marry a mystery-reader-turned-amateur-sleuth.”
Drew grinned at the twinkle in her eye. “You can’t say you didn’t know ahead of time, darling.”
“You’re just as bad, Madeline,” her aunt added, joining them. “If it weren’t for the wedding, the three of you would be sitting together, thick as thieves, plotting where to search next for clues.”
Madeline laughed. “I suppose you’re right, Aunt Ruth. And I don’t suppose I will be able to get my groom to pay attention to our wedding plans until this case is over and done with. What do you boys think? After lunch, should we sit together, thick as thieves, and plot?”
Drew gave Aunt Ruth a grateful glance, and she nodded serenely in return. Then he nudged Nick with his elbow.
“What do you say, old man? Are you up to a bit of plotting? Or has old Padgett got you examining drains and checking fences for the day?”
“I think all is quiet on that front just now,” Nick said. “When it comes time to collect rents, I cannot call my soul my own, but that day is not today.”
“All right then.” Drew took another helping of steamed carrots and then escorted Madeline to the table. “If we’re to investigate further, where shall we start?”
“We ought to write down what we know,” Madeline suggested as she settled into her chair, “and what we’re wondering about.”
Nick chuckled and recited, “ ‘I’ve got a little list—I’ve got a little list.’ ”
Madeline tried to look stern but failed. “Gilbert and Sullivan aside, we really should make one, unless you have a better idea.”
“It’s a capital idea, darling,” Drew said. “And I know what I’d put on it first. I want to know what Ravenswood and this lady reporter were chatting about right before he was killed.”
“I don’t suppose she ever telephoned,” Nick said, and Drew shook his head.
“I rang up the Winchester Tattletale yesterday, but she still wasn’t in.”
Nick dabbed his mouth with his napkin. “Do you suppose she’s doing some sleuthing of her own?”
“It would make sense,” Drew agreed. “She is a reporter after all, and Ravenswood was a particular friend of hers.”
“She may not want to talk to you, you know,” Madeline said.
Drew feigned horror and said, “That couldn’t possibly be.”
“No, really. As you say, she is a reporter. She might not want to tell you anything before she’s had a chance to get the story into print herself. An exclusive, as they say.”
“Maybe so,” Drew said. “Well, I don’t care about her deuced story. We’ll keep it quiet, except for the police of course, whatever she might tell us. She may well be the key to this whole thing. I believe another visit to the Winchester Tattletale is in order. The elusive Miss Tracy has to be in sometime, and if she refuses to come to us, then we will go to her.”
“Bustling as usual,” Nick half shouted over the din of telephones and typewriters at the Tattletale. “Do you suppose she’s in here somewhere?”
Drew shook his head. “Apart from you,” he said to Madeline, “I don’t see another female.”
Audrey Sherman, the redhead they had spoken to before, looked up from the filing cabinet she was rummaging in. “Well, I like that!”
“Ah, Miss Sherman. Didn’t see you there.” Drew bowed slightly. “Good afternoon. You might remember us from the other day. Drew Farthering?”
“I remember,” the woman said, glancing again at the open drawer. “I’m rather busy just now.”
“We just wanted to speak to Miss Tracy if she’s available,” Madeline said. “Did you give her Mr. Farthering’s card?”
The redhead slammed the drawer shut. “No, I didn’t, because Miss Tracy hasn’t been in since she left that morning after Ravenswood was killed.”
Drew glanced at Nick. “Not at all?”
“Not at all.”
“Is she out investigating a story?” Nick asked.
“Could be,” Audrey said, “but she generally calls in if she’s not coming to the office. I’ve never known her not to after this long, and I’ve worked for her for six years. Well, nearly six. I’ve had to write up her column for her for the past five days now. Good thing that duchess has been making a right fool of herself with her chauffeur. That will give us plenty to put in the paper until Miss Tracy comes back.”
“Did you try her home?” Madeline asked.
“Did I try her home?” The other woman gave her a disgusted glance. “Of course I tried her home. Off and on all day yesterday and today. About every twenty minutes for the past three hours. I was looking just now to see if we had a number
for her mother or someone like that. In case there’s a problem.”
Drew nodded. “And do you?”
“Nothing. Just her landlady. She says she hasn’t seen Miss Tracy since Friday week, but she says she doesn’t pay much mind to her comings and goings. Her rent’s on time, and that’s fairly much all she asks.”
“Have you called the police?” Nick asked. “If she’s missing, perhaps they ought to know.”
“I did.” Audrey sniffed. “They said they would send someone round to her flat to check into it, but they didn’t sound any too keen, if you ask me.”
Drew nodded slowly. “Who did you speak to? Was it the chief inspector?”
“No, just the constable at the desk. Might have been a sergeant, I don’t know.”
“Did you tell them it was connected to the Ravenswood murder?”
The woman’s eyes went wide. “No. Should I have? You don’t think Miss Tracy has something to do with that, do you?”
“Weren’t she and Ravenswood friends?” Madeline asked.
“Yes,” Audrey said, drawing the word out reluctantly. “They had been for years as best I ever heard.”
“Had they quarreled?”
“Not that I knew of, and I think she would have told me. Not that they didn’t squabble off and on most of the time, but from what she says, he didn’t do much squabbling. Just said how he’d have things and then smiled and carried on doing everything his own way. That always irritated her, I’ll admit. She’s not shy about saying how she feels or who makes her mad.”
Nick gave the redhead an arch look. “Has a temper, does she?”
Audrey lifted her chin. “No more or less than anyone else.” She patted her too-brilliant hair. “Of course, we redheads are famous for our tempers, but not Miss Tracy. Not that she didn’t speak her mind when provoked.”
“First I heard of hair dye giving someone a temper,” Madeline whispered to Drew.
He gave her a wink and then looked at Audrey. “Miss Tracy wasn’t working on a story about him already, was she? I mean, before the murder?”
Audrey shook her head. “I’m almost certain she wasn’t. She’d done one in the summer, sort of a tell-all about his scandalous youth. It was one of her most popular pieces, I can tell you that. She got Mr. Beakins to give her a rise in her salary afterwards, too. She said she’d have it or go elsewhere with her work.”
“Bit of a risk, that,” Drew said. “Jobs being scarce and all.”
“Well, she wasn’t afraid. At least she wasn’t going to tell him that. Besides, he does pretty good business off what she writes, and they both know it. People like a nice scandal, if it’s not about themselves of course.”
“No doubt,” Drew said. “No doubt.”
“I say, Audrey, have you seen today’s Times anywhere?” Poste sauntered up to her, coffee cup in hand, and frowned when he noticed the trio of visitors. “Why are they here again? If you don’t have enough to do, then come and type up my column.”
“We’re looking into the Ravenswood murder,” Drew told him. “Do you have any idea where Miss Tracy might be right now?”
Poste’s frown deepened. “Not the slightest. Out getting a story?”
“We’re not exactly sure,” Drew said. “And you didn’t see her that morning before she left?”
“No.”
The redhead smirked. “He’s never in till ten most mornings.”
Nick smiled at her, then asked, “Did anyone else see Miss Tracy that morning, Miss Sherman?”
Audrey shrugged. “Anyone on the floor, I suppose. It’s bedlam round here most of the time. I can’t say who might have actually noticed her, though.”
“Did you see her speak to anyone else that morning?” Drew asked.
“No, but I asked if anyone had. Seems they were all busy with their own work. Nobody particularly remembers her coming in or leaving.”
“All right. You still have my card, I believe.”
The redhead nodded.
“Meanwhile, I’ll see if I can’t stir up a bit more interest in constabulary circles about her going missing.”
“I thought you said you weren’t with the police.”
“True, but I do happen to know the chief inspector will be quite keen to find out if there’s any connection between your Miss Tracy and the Ravenswood killing.”
“Oh, I say.” Poste looked awake for the first time Drew could remember. “You’re not saying she might have done for the old boy, are you?”
Audrey elbowed him. “Of course not. Don’t be daft, and don’t talk about things you know nothing about.” She looked at Nick. “If he minded that advice, we wouldn’t likely hear a peep out of him for days on end.”
Nick covered a laugh with a slight cough. “We’ll see what else we can find out, but do have Miss Tracy ring up Farthering Place when she gets back. We’d be much obliged.”
“If she gets back,” Madeline said once they had gotten to the ground floor again. “If she had something to do with the murder, she might have taken herself off to the Argentine by now.”
Drew nodded. It was entirely possible. “Come along. I think another visit with Chief Inspector Birdsong is in order.”
Nine
So this lady reporter’s gone missing, has she?” Birdsong drew his heavy brows together and leaned forward on his desk. “And no one thought to notify the police?”
“Actually, her secretary, a Miss Sherman, phoned this morning. The desk sergeant said someone would look into it.” Drew pulled up a chair for Madeline and, once she was seated, stood behind it. “I would have thought Miss Tracy would be on your list of people to speak to about Ravenswood. It seems they were great friends.”
“She is on our list, Detective Farthering,” the chief inspector assured him. “However, we do have more than one case to see to and not all the money in the world at our disposal.” He sniffed. “Unlike some I know of.”
“No one is laying blame,” Drew said. “We just felt you ought to know Miss Tracy is not where she is generally expected to be and has not been since the morning Ravenswood was killed.”
Nick pulled up a chair for himself. “It does seem a bit odd that she would pop off just after reading the headline about the murder. I mean, if she’d actually done the thing, she shouldn’t have been surprised by the news, eh?”
“Maybe she was just surprised that the body had been found already,” Madeline offered. “It was Sunday night, and the theater is dark on Mondays. Maybe she thought Ravenswood wouldn’t be found until Tuesday afternoon at the earliest, when all the actors started coming in to get ready for the performance.”
Birdsong narrowed his eyes. “You say she popped off just after she read the morning’s headlines? How do you know?”
“Her secretary said so,” Nick told him. “She said as soon as she saw the paper, Miss Tracy grabbed up some notes from one of the drawers in her desk and was off like a shot.”
“And that was the last this secretary heard from her?” Birdsong chewed his lip, thinking. “Did you ask her what those papers were? The ones Miss Tracy had with her?”
“No,” Drew admitted. “I hadn’t actually thought about them till just now. When the secretary mentioned them, no one realized yet that Miss Tracy had disappeared. We thought she was just out.”
“Well then, there may be a need for my humble services after all,” Birdsong said. “I’ll send someone round to the Winchester Tattletale to speak to this secretary and see what she can tell us.”
“You’ll want to talk to Miss Tracy’s landlady as well, I expect,” Drew said. “Though the secretary says the woman doesn’t notice much beyond whether or not the rent is paid on time.”
“Not uncommon among those in her line.” The chief inspector nodded. “We will make inquiries. Is there anything else you’ve uncovered that might help us in our investigation, Detective Farthering?”
Drew thought for a moment. “Did you know Tess Davidson is in love with Conor Benton?”
&
nbsp; Birdsong pursed his lips. “She told you that, did she?”
“Not in so many words.”
“You only have to look at her to see it,” Nick put in. “The proverbial misty eyes and blushing cheeks.”
“I see.” Birdsong looked unimpressed. “What bearing does that have on the case?”
“Only in as much as Ravenswood played fast and loose with this Tess Davidson’s heart quite recently,” said Drew, “and Benton is rather protective of her.”
“So he returns the sentiment, does he?”
“He hasn’t actually said anything to her yet,” Madeline told the chief inspector. “He told us he wanted to just be a friend to her until she had recovered from her involvement with Ravenswood.”
Birdsong looked at Drew. “You’re saying he killed Ravenswood for the sake of the girl’s honor?”
“Might have done,” Drew said, shrugging. “Just a theory.”
“Any other theories?”
“I presume you know already that Ravenswood was a rake and didn’t care who knew about it. His wife claims she didn’t care, but that may or may not be the case.”
“Right. We’re looking into that. Anything else?”
Drew looked from Madeline to Nick and then back at the chief inspector. “Not in particular. But now you’ve got me wondering about those papers Miss Tracy took off with.”
Birdsong nodded. “And so am I. I suppose all we can do is keep working at it.”
“Precisely.” Drew put on his hat, tipping it as he settled it on his head, and then he offered his hand to Madeline. “You know, these papers may be as simple a thing as her notes for her latest column or a book she’s writing. Her secretary said she always wanted to write a book.”
Birdsong stood as Madeline did. Then he looked at Drew, his expression keen, something between warning and wariness. “Don’t you go poking about on your own without keeping us informed. Am I understood?”
“Most certainly,” Drew promised with a grin. “I’ll be the very model of a modern sleuthing amateur.”
Murder at the Mikado (A Drew Farthering Mystery Book #3) Page 11
