Death by the Book

by Deering, Julianna

  “But whatever for? And why not come straight for me without all the preliminaries?”

  “Sort of a game, I suppose. ‘Catch me if you can’?”

  “But why me?”

  “Perhaps whoever it is didn’t like you putting Rushford behind bars.”

  “Nonsense. For one thing, I didn’t do all that much. The police would have sorted him out in time, I expect. Besides, he hasn’t any family. He hasn’t money anymore to pay to have me seen to.”

  “What about Clarke? The police don’t even know who he really was or much of anything about him. Who knows whom he may have left behind him? A grieving wife? A vengeful father or brother?”

  “I didn’t kill him or have him put away. I didn’t even know he was in on it until he was already dead. If our killer’s tied up with Clarke, he should be hounding Rushford, not me. I don’t know that they allow that sort of thing at Dartmoor. Besides, the hangman will be ending any idea of revenge against our Mr. Rushford before much longer.”

  “Regardless, I wish you’d carry the Webley with you until this is all over.”

  “So do I.”

  Drew and Nick both turned at the soft voice behind them.

  Drew smiled. “Madeline, darling, I didn’t know you were there.”

  Her face was pale with that tinge of pink that meant she’d been crying. Drew went to her.

  “What is it? Is your aunt all right?”

  Madeline nodded. “She’s running her bath.”

  “Come and sit down.”

  He led her to the sofa that faced the parlor fire and sat her down beside him. Immediately she curled up against him, her face pressed against his neck with one hand clasped in his lapel.

  He nuzzled her sweet-smelling hair and made his voice low and soothing. “Everything will be all right.”

  At a look from Drew, Nick quietly vanished, closing the door behind him, leaving the couple alone in the quiet.

  After a few moments, Madeline sat up. “I’m sorry, Drew.” She helped herself to the handkerchief in his breast pocket and then smoothed her hair. “I know I shouldn’t let all this get to me.”

  “Perfectly understandable, although you have nothing to fear. We are going to find him. Or them. Whoever is behind this, he can’t go on much longer. Not with everyone after him.” He paused and looked her in the eyes. “Not with me after him.”

  Madeline smiled. “I don’t know what I was thinking. He doesn’t have a chance, does he?”

  “Of course not.” He cuddled her close again. “And after I catch him, then Aunt Ruth will have to attest to my cleverness, and the chief inspector will have to admit that his department is helpless without me. And you, my darling, will have no choice but to fall even more hopelessly in love with me and beg me to marry you.”

  She laughed softly, and he felt some of the tenseness melt out of her. “Maybe I just will.”

  “There. You see? And we all live happily ever after.”

  “Not Freddie.” She pressed more tightly against him. “Poor Freddie. Who would want to kill him? He doesn’t even know anybody in the whole country.”

  “Right, and yet we still don’t know who invited him to our dinner party the day Clarice Deschner was killed.”

  “You don’t suppose that had anything to do with the murders, do you?”

  “I don’t know why our killer would have wanted him here that night. Clarice had been dead hours before the party.”

  “Maybe the invitation had to do with his own death, not hers.” Madeline thought for a moment. “And you’re sure none of your friends invited him? As a prank?”

  “No one’s owned up to it, at any rate. I suppose I could ask Bunny if he’s heard any tattle about it. And I’ll ring up Mrs. Burrish at the Queen Bess and see if she remembers anything about the person who left the message for Bell. Might be a clue there.”

  “I still don’t understand why the killer would have wanted him at the party that night. Was the plan to kill him then and not now?”

  Drew nodded. “And then there’s the question of his room key. How did that get in your handbag without you knowing it?”

  “You don’t think I was lying about that, do you?”

  “No, not at all. But someone wanted me to. Someone has been trying to put us at odds for some time now. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed it, too?”

  She bit her lip. “I . . . Oh, Drew, I just don’t know. Why would anyone do such a thing?”

  “You know why. I’m sorry, darling, and I don’t want to be unpleasant, but you do know why. And you know who.”

  “You think it’s Aunt Ruth trying to break us up.”

  “It’s the only thing that makes sense. She wants you to go back to America. She’s never liked me, obviously. She thinks I’m a menace to society in general and to you in particular. Perhaps she thought Bell would be enough to lure you away from me. At the very least she could make it look as though you were seeing him and lying to cover it up.”

  “And now he’s dead.”

  She blinked rapidly, but not before he was aware of the tears in her eyes.

  “You liked him, didn’t you?”

  “Yes. Yes, I did. I wasn’t interested in him, you know that, but he was a nice man. He didn’t deserve to die like that. None of these people deserved to die the way they did. They hadn’t hurt anybody. But Freddie, he was just in the wrong place at the very worst time.”

  “I don’t think he was at the cottage tonight by accident. He had seemed rather keen to know what was going on. With the key and the invitation and all. I wonder what all he found out. And who he talked to. No, tonight was no accidental encounter. Whoever murdered him lured him there. They drank tea together. The murderer knew you and your aunt were going to be out. It was well planned.”

  “But why?” She gnawed her lip. “Why would anyone want to kill him?”

  “Don’t forget the note. Clearly his inquiries into some of the recent goings-on were not met with approval.”

  “But if you think Aunt Ruth was the one who left his key in my bag or who invited him to the party . . .” Her eyes widened. “You can’t possibly think she’s involved in all this.”

  Drew couldn’t suppress a laugh. “No! Good heavens, no.”

  “And if she was the one behind things with Freddie, who else would have had a reason to kill him?”

  “Well, if she wasn’t behind them, who else would be?”

  Madeline dredged up a bit of a smile. “That Daphne Pomphrey-Hughes wouldn’t mind much if you were available.”

  “Perhaps not, but actually implementing this sort of campaign is far above little Daphne’s abilities. You may trust me absolutely on that. Besides, there may be someone who has his eye on you, you know.”

  She shrugged that off. “If there is, he’s worshiping from afar.”

  “Perhaps he is. Perhaps he thought Bell was another rival for your affections and made away with him.”

  “I guess it’s possible, however unlikely. Whatever the reason, someone was tampering with Freddie, and Freddie wanted to know who it was.”

  “Perhaps in trying to find out, he stumbled on to something else. Something the hatpin murderer would kill him over.” He hesitated for a moment, weighing his words. “But be honest now. Do you think your aunt’s been trying to get between us? Is it something she’d do?”

  Madeline sighed. “I don’t think so. As you might have noticed, she’s more likely to make straightforward demands, and if those don’t work she’ll try to make you feel guilty.”

  “I must admit, I had wondered about just such tactics with her. I hadn’t told you this, darling, but I asked Tessa where she found your purse that morning. It was in the armchair by the fire in the library, the one your aunt was sleeping in when I got back from seeing to Roger.”

  “Don’t be silly. That doesn’t mean anything at all and you know it. Nothing except . . .” She gasped. “Drew, if the key was put in my purse and left in that chair, do you think that means
the murderer was here? In the house?”

  “Might have been, but you can’t take that as absolute proof. Bell said the key went missing the morning of the party.”

  “No,” she corrected. “He said the last time he was sure he had it was that morning. We don’t know that it wasn’t taken from him while he was here. And we don’t know it wasn’t put into my purse during the party, either.”

  “Neither do we know that it was, darling. You and Auntie were in the village that day too, weren’t you?”

  Dejected, she let her breath out. “And in Winchester, just like Freddie. So it’s no help at all.”

  “Not necessarily. I tell you what. Tomorrow, you and your aunt have a chat about everything you did that day, near as you both can remember, and write it all down for me. Then we can see where you and Freddie may have crossed paths.”

  “But we don’t know everything Freddie did that day. I mean, he wouldn’t have left a list or anything.”

  “No, but we can talk to people at all the places on your list, show round Freddie’s picture, and see if they remember seeing him that day.” He drew her head down to his shoulder and put both arms around her. “How would that be?”

  “Do we have a picture of him?”

  “I expect there’s one in his passport. Perhaps the chief inspector will let us borrow it for a short while.”

  Madeline considered this. “Won’t he want some of his men doing this kind of investigation?”

  “That depends. If he thinks the invitation and the key have anything to do with the murders, he will. If he thinks Bell was merely trying to insinuate himself into an acquaintance with you, he’ll likely decide they have better things to look into at the moment. Best to make up your list, and then we’ll have a word with him. Fair enough?”

  “I’ll get Aunt Ruth to help me with it tomorrow. She won’t like it, of course, but she’ll help.” Madeline sighed, and then her expression brightened. “She brought it with her, you know. The doll.”

  Drew chuckled. “Did she now.”

  “Most of her things are still at the cottage, but she made sure to bring that.”

  “Well, well.”

  Madeline’s tone turned sober again. “I wish we could get all this investigating done and over with right now.”

  Drew cupped her face with one hand. “Right now, my love, you need to get some sleep. You’ll remember everything that much better in the morning.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” She closed her eyes and leaned into him. “I just wish I could wake up in the morning and find all these terrible things hadn’t happened.”

  He took her to her bedroom door, wishing he didn’t have to leave her there, wishing she could stay with him that night and every night thereafter. But wishing wouldn’t make it so. Until she was ready to make up her mind about marrying him, their nights would end this way.

  “Sleep well.” He kissed her soft lips, and she clung to him, saying nothing but clearly not ready to leave him.

  As he held her, the memory of their first embrace came back to him, along with the rightness of how she felt in his arms that day as they stood in the meadow overlooking Farthering St. John. He’d known then that he loved her, known in a swift, wonderful, terrifying way, but it meant nothing if she didn’t return that feeling. If she wasn’t sure.

  She murmured something against his shirt, and he lifted her face to him. “What was that, darling?”

  She hesitated a moment, and then a hint of a smile passed over her face. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  She nestled against him once more. “For loving me.”

  He pressed his lips to the top of her head. “You can rely on that always, Madeline. Whatever you decide.”

  He felt a shudder run through her. Whether it was laughter or something else, he couldn’t tell. When she looked up at him again, she was smiling, but her lips were trembling.

  She caught his face in both hands, bringing it close to hers, and her voice when she spoke was hardly more than a whisper. “I love you more than I know how to say.” Then she kissed him with electrifying passion and, just as suddenly, broke from him and disappeared into her room.

  He stood there for a moment, stunned and breathless, unable to do anything but stare stupidly at the door she’d just gone through. Then he shook his head and walked to his own room, laughing half under his breath.

  She was still maddening.

  Sixteen

  Madeline shut the bedroom door as silently as she could manage and leaned back against it. She put both hands over her mouth, trying to muffle the sound of her shuddering breath in the dark room. There was nothing she could do to hush the racing of her heart. One or the other was sure to wake Aunt Ruth.

  After a minute or so, she felt as if she could make her way to the dresser and get her nightgown. She could undress in the dark and slip into bed and not have to make any explanations. She didn’t know how to explain things to herself, much less to her aunt.

  Once she had changed, she felt her way over to the bed, suppressed a cry when her bare foot made contact with the sharp high heel of the shoe she had just discarded, and climbed between the sheets.

  She was just congratulating herself on her success when she felt the mattress shift beside her.

  “About time you were in bed.”

  Madeline pressed her lips together, biting back the first response that sprang to them. “I’m sorry, Aunt Ruth. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

  “Not a fit time of night for decent folk.”

  Madeline didn’t have to see her aunt’s face to know the expression of disapproval that would be on it. “Drew and I were talking.”

  Aunt Ruth sniffed. “Must have been some mighty exciting talk to make you draw your breath that hard.”

  Madeline’s face turned hot, she was sure it was red as fire, but she didn’t say anything until she was sure she could keep hold of her temper and her sense of humor.

  “We were wondering if you’d like to help us catch a murderer tomorrow.” She grinned to herself as her aunt made sputtering noises from the darkness beside her.

  “Me? Don’t be absurd. It’s bad enough for you to go chasing around Europe with not even the sense God gave billy goats without me chasing after you. What do I know about solving murders?”

  “If you’ll help me make a list of where we went the day of the party, all the stores we went to and where we had lunch, we might be able to find out if Freddie Bell was at any of the same places that day. Then maybe we’ll figure out who put the key from the Queen Bess into my purse.”

  “And what does that have to do with these murders?”

  “Maybe it was the murderer.”

  “And maybe it doesn’t have anything to do with the murders. Did your supposed detective ever consider that?”

  “Why would anyone besides the murderer have put it in there?” Madeline paused and then plunged ahead. “Unless whoever it was, was trying to drive me and Drew apart. Who would want to do that?”

  “Besides me, you mean.” Aunt Ruth snorted. “No need to beat around the bush, missy. I think the man’s a mistake, for you or for any decent American girl, but if I was going to commit murder to save you from yourself, your Mr. Farthering would be my first and only victim.”

  “I don’t think you’d ever kill anybody, Aunt Ruth, but you didn’t—”

  “Don’t be silly. Do you really think I’d ruin your reputation or give any young man, foreign or not, improper ideas about you?”

  “No. I didn’t think you would in the first place, but I don’t know why someone else would, either.”

  There was a moment of silence, and then Aunt Ruth said, “You don’t suppose you have another admirer in this den of iniquity, do you? Somebody who’d like to see you and your Englishman part ways?”

  “I don’t know of anyone.”

  “You’d better just come home with me then. That’ll nip anything like that right in the bud.” Aunt Ruth sighed heavily
. “I know I’m just an old sourpuss sticking my nose in where it doesn’t belong.”

  “Aunt Ruth, I never said—”

  “You didn’t need to say it. But somebody’s got to look after you. We’d both better head on back home.”

  Madeline found her aunt’s hand in the darkness and squeezed it tightly. “Better yet, you can help me remember everywhere we went on the day of the party. Then maybe we’ll find out who’s doing all this and there’ll be no need for me to leave at all.”

  Aunt Ruth’s only answer was another derisive snort, but she squeezed Madeline’s hand in return. That was enormously comforting.

  The next morning, telling him it was as perfect as she and Aunt Ruth could make it, Madeline gave Drew her list of shops and other points of interest. He in turn passed it on to Chief Inspector Birdsong, who gave his assurances that the proper inquiries would be made. On his way back from Winchester, remembering the telephone call he’d received from Dr. Corneau’s nurse, Drew decided he would stop by Mrs. Chapman’s cottage and talk to the Allen girl. When Birdsong had interviewed her earlier, she had denied ever going to the doctor’s surgery. Had she lied? If so, had it been out of embarrassment due to her predicament or had there been a more sinister reason?

  Arms and legs like sticks, Madeline’s aunt had said. The Allen girl was tall and slim, and unlikely to be much of a match for the formidable Aunt Ruth. And Drew had made it possible for her to stay right here in Farthering St. John. Was that what had gotten Freddie Bell killed? No telling where the man had been snooping up until last night or who he’d set off.

  He pulled up in front of Lilac Cottage and found the girl sitting in the garden out front, fallen asleep over a book. He couldn’t help shaking his head. She looked terribly young. He took a peek at what she was reading and smiled to see it was a collection of fairy tales. Poor thing, her white knight had ended up more than a bit tarnished. Still, he could hardly blame her for wanting to bury herself in fantasy when her present reality was so very ugly.

  He stayed a pace or so back, not wanting to startle her. “Miss Allen?” She didn’t stir, so he raised his voice a fraction. “Miss Allen.”