by Rachel Green
Jean glanced up from the paper and smiled. “Much better.”
She read the lead story and followed it to page five. Much of the article was stock background on Robert and his books and political work. One phrase stood out. “Listen,” she said. “‘Police are looking for a member of the household to assist them in their enquiries but are unwilling to release any names at present.’”
“Richard, I suppose, ma’am, though he’s not been here all week.”
“I doubt the boy would have the balls.” Jean folded the paper and took the plate of toast. “Robert never wanted me to be his submissive. Being Anthony’s widow made it too close for comfort, too much like a hint of incest, though we were never even slightly related. I didn’t even know him very well before Anthony died, though I recognized that look in his eye.” She glanced down the bed, catching Amanda’s eye. “You know the one.”
She finished the tea and replaced it on the tray. “I shall have to put on a show that I’m upset by his death.” She began buttering the toast. “Set out the black for today. It will at least please Father Brande that I wear mourning black for a while.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Amanda rose to stand, the single movement graceful and obviously well practiced.
“Did you kill him?” Jean asked.
Amanda looked up, her bright eyes glistening in the single ray of sunlight that danced between the closed curtains. “No, ma’am, I did not.”
Jean nodded. “We’ll see. Though I’m inclined to believe you.”
* * * *
“I’m back.” Simon’s voice echoed from the hall as the door slammed.
“There’s tea in the pot.” Jennifer went to the kitchen doorway and watched as he dropped his coat and briefcase on the pew in the hall. “We have a visitor.”
He strode into the kitchen and stopped, a look of surprise on his face. “Mary? What are you doing here?”
“I come to ask you for your help, Father.” Mary twisted a paper napkin in her fingers. “I want you to come with me to The Herbage.”
“Next door?” Simon sat. “Whatever for?”
Jennifer got up to fetch him a cup. “Now don’t have a coronary but she wants to ask the witch who killed Robert.” She patted him on the arm as she set the cup down, “She’s afraid you’ll excommunicate her for it.”
Mary blushed, which clashed terribly with her hair.
Simon reached out and patted her hand. “I chatted with Miss Jones yesterday and she’s actually very nice. We may have opposing theologies but she’s an intelligent woman who can put forward a convincing argument.”
“She’s psychic as well.” Mary’s eyes were wide, her words breathy. “She can find out everything and tell us who the killer is.”
Simon laughed. “I’m not sure I’d go that far. If she was, though, would you be willing to hear the truth? What if it turns out that Richard is guilty? How would you feel then?”
Mary smiled. “Richard is no saint but he’s not a killer. He wouldn’t hurt a fly if it didn’t beg him first.”
“I don’t understand.” Simon frowned. “What does that have to do with anything? This was a crime of passion. Men do strange things in a fit of passion.”
“Not Richard.” Mary shook her head. “He might like it rough, but he would never be violent. Especially not with his stepfather.”
Jennifer poured the tea, trying to be unobtrusive but relishing every moment. Wait until she told the girls.
Simon glanced at her before turning back to Mary. “I’m not saying I think Richard did it, just that there’s the possibility. He did stand to inherit the estate, after all.”
Jennifer frowned. “Did he? I thought Jean…”
Simon interrupted. “He’ll have left her a generous stipend but the bulk will go to Richard, surely? He is Sir Robert's stepson, after all. He’ll be a very rich young man.”
“If you don’t suspect him,” said Mary, “why did you go to warn him this morning?”
“You saw me?” Simon shook his head. “That wasn’t to warn him. That was to tell him the bad news before the police did.”
Mary held the napkin to the corners of her eyes. “I went to see him as well. He stopped answering my phone texts and his cell just goes straight to voicemail. He left last night, didn’t he?”
Simon nodded. “In the early hours. He’s made it worse for himself by leaving. It looks as if he’s fleeing the scene of the crime.”
“I know.” Mary clutched his hand. “Susan Pargeter told me the police went looking for him after you went home but he’d already done a runner.”
“They did,” Jennifer watched the swirl of her tea as she stirred it. “They searched his room as well.” She grinned at their expressions. “I have my sources.”
“You and your internet cronies.” Simon reached for the sugar. “Who’s favorite for the deed, then?”
Jennifer shrugged. “Actually it’s even-stevens between Richard and Jean. The figures will change when the will is read out, though, depending on who was named as his beneficiary.” She noticed Mary’s face and squeezed her hand to reassure her. “I don’t believe either of them did it. Richard is such a nice boy and Jean is comfortable as she is. She had no reason to rock the boat.”
“All the more reason to go to the witch.” Mary took a deep breath. “So we can clear his name before the police lock him up for good. I don’t for one moment think my mother did it. She wouldn’t have the guts.”
Simon sighed. “Very well. We’ll ask Miss Jones for help, though the police won’t like us interfering.”
“They should thank us.” Jennifer squeezed Mary’s hand again to chivvy her on. “I bet they don’t have a network like ours to help them get to the bottom of things.”
* * * *
Meinwen happened to glance out of the window as the trio opened her gate. Mary Markhew, the priest from next door and a woman she assumed to be the priest’s sister were already striding up the path.
She opened the door before they reached it. “Good morning. I felt you coming.”
“Saw us out of the window, more like.” Simon grinned. “We have a favor to ask, or at least Mary does. I’m not entirely certain I approve.”
“You’d better come in.” Meinwen stood back. “Enter freely, and of your own will.”
“Isn’t that for vampires?” Mary asked.
Meinwen laughed as she went past. “Perhaps. It is more a request that you accept what you find inside without judgment. I am stating I have not coerced you into entering.”
Simon nodded, his hands clasped at his chest. “Judge not, lest ye be judged.”
“Matthew seven, verse one.” Meinwen closed the door behind them. “But yes, that’s more or less it.”
“Stating to whom? The police?” Jennifer wrinkled her nose. “That’s an odd smell Have you been smoking pot?”
“No.” Meinwen led the way into the lounge. “It’s just incense on the altar of Kali.”
Mary looked at the statue of the six-armed goddess and shuddered. “Isn’t she the goddess of vengeance?”
“Sometimes,” Meinwen admitted, “though she is a mother as well. She gives aid when harsh tasks are to be performed, though she often demands a high payment.”
“What sort of payment?” Simon peered at the statue, noticing the stains on the brass. “Blood I suppose.”
“Sometimes,” Meinwen elaborated no further. “May I offer you something to drink?”
“Tea would be nice,” said Jennifer.
Simon nodded. “Everything seems brighter over a cup of tea.”
“Nothing for me though.” Mary was looking at the shelves. “This place is really cool.”
“I’ve not been here long, so mostly the coolness is the taste of the owner.” Meinwen headed to the small galley kitchen to brew tea. “Make yourselves at home.”
“I meant to ask you about that.” Simon sat on a high-backed dining chair. “I was surprised The Herbage had been let, bearing in mind that Grace only
died the day before yesterday. When was the rental agreement set in motion?”
“Last month.” Meinwen brought in the drinks on a tray and sat. “It took me this long to get organized and order stock for the shop.” She began handing out cups. “I hope you like chai. I generally have it at this time of day. It clears the chakras.”
Simon sniffed. “It smells like aniseed. Foreign.”
Meinwen forced what she hoped was a pleasant smile. “All tea is foreign. Now, what can I do for you? More love potions?”
Simon glanced at Mary, who nodded at him. “We’d like to ask you to help us with a murder.”
Meinwen’s face darkened. “I don’t do that sort of magic. Too much negative karma.”
Mary giggled. “Not perform a murder. Help solve one.”
“Whose?”
“Robert Markhew. He was stabbed last night in his study.”
“Sir Robert, murdered?” Meinwen put down her tea. “Oh.” She sank back in her chair remembering the feel of his hand against her cheek then choked back a tear. “I only met him once but I liked him. He was a very charismatic man.”
“He was my uncle.” Mary put her tea down. “Now my fiancé has disappeared as well. The police probably think he did it.”
“Why?” Meinwen could feel a headache coming on. “This is Richard Godwin you’re talking about, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Mary smiled. “Your potion worked perfectly.”
Meinwen didn’t contradict her. “If you want me to get involved then I must be involved fully. You might not like what I find out.”
Simon raised his palms. “I don’t have any secrets.”
Meinwen turned to him. “We all have secrets. Just be sure you won’t regret asking me to find them out.”
“We won’t.” Jennifer clasped her hands as if in prayer. “Does that mean you’ll do it?”
“Mae’n debyg felly.” Meinwen stood and crossed to the statue of Kali, then pressed a finger to the goddess’s forehead. “I suppose so.” She turned to face them. “Why not tell me the story from the beginning?”
“This is exciting.” Mary’s eyes were wide and shining. “It’s like having our own Miss Marple.”
Simon began to relate what they knew, with many interruptions from Jennifer and Mary. When he ground to a halt he found his tea had gone cold. He waved away Meinwen’s offer of a refill.
“Let me get this straight.” Meinwen snatched up a ribbon and tied back her hair. “Robert Markhew was stabbed between nine forty-five and midnight with a fantasy dagger Peter Numan had given him that was, up until seven o’clock, kept in a metal case in the study.”
“That’s the long and the short of it.” Jennifer looked at the other two but there was nothing they wished to add.
“The study was locked but the window was open with shoe prints below it. The chief suspects are the maid, Amanda, Richard and the mysterious stranger who asked for directions.”
“That’s right.” Jennifer avoided Simon’s eye. “And Jean Markhew. She might have done it to inherit the estate.”
“It’s not likely.” Meinwen considered it. “It’s more likely to be whoever blackmailed Grace Peters. They will have been afraid this letter incriminated them.” She looked at Simon. “Who else knew about the letter, besides yourself?”
“Robert, obviously, and Amanda. Perhaps one of the other staff? He seems to have an awful lot.”
“We think he has a harem.” Jennifer giggled.
“I can assure you he doesn’t.” Mary scowled at her. “I think I’d know.”
“Sorry.” Jennifer looked down at her hands. “It was only idle speculation.”
“Susan Pargeter is the housekeeper, yes?” Meinwen turned to Simon for confirmation. “And she was asking about drugs and poisons in church?” She tapped her temple as she sorted through the information Jennifer had related. “Why was she hurrying away before dinner?”
Mary spoke up. “I didn’t know she had. I’ll ask her if you like.”
Meinwen nodded. “Please do. Why did you both go to the White Art this morning?”
Simon glanced at Mary. “I went to tell Richard his stepfather had been murdered.”
“And I went to give him some womanly comfort.” Mary looked directly at Meinwen. “I knew he was in town although Uncle Robert thought he was still in London.”
“Was that your only reason for going there?” Meinwen asked Simon.
“Of course.” Simon looked affronted. “Have you got any aspirin? That incense is giving me a headache.”
“Certainly.” Meinwen went through to the little galley kitchen and took a bottle from one of the shelves. “I thought you High Church people used incense.” She emptied two tablets into Simon’s hand.
“We do, but that’s in a drafty church, not a cozy sitting room. “What are these? They’re not aspirin.” Simon swallowed them.
“They’re willow bark. It’s where aspirin comes from.” Meinwen winked at Jennifer. The older woman hid her smile behind her hand.
Meinwen drank her chai, not caring it had gone cold. “Now we must go to the police,” she said. “I don’t want to be arrested for obstructing their investigation.”
* * * *
“No. I will not have you intruding on my case. If I find you asking questions I’ll have you up for obstruction.” Inspector White was not pleased with their request. “If the papers got a hold of this, they’d have a field day and I’d get demoted to a beat copper.” He shook his head. “I can’t imagine what the super would say if he found out I’d hired a psychic.”
“It’s not like that.” Meinwen frowned. “Think of it more as ‘integrating with the local community to further the investigation.’” She dropped her voice. “Now there’s a sound bite for you. I’m not looking for any publicity, here. I just want this town to get back to normal.”
“Hmm.” White pinched his lip, thinking. “That could work. An integrated, grassroots investigation. I like the sound of that.” He looked at Meinwen. “All right, but you must tell me anything that you find out and leave any arrests up to me.”
“Deal.” Meinwen held out her hand and he shook it.
“You haven’t been smoking any funny cigarettes, have you?” White sniffed cautiously. “I’d have to arrest you if I catch you with any.”
Maeinwen shook her head. “It’s just incense. Who’s chief on your suspect list then?”
“Richard Godwin.” White pulled out his notebook. “He was in Laverstone and staying at the White Art without his stepfather knowing. Why was that, do you think?”
“He was having problems with Robert. He told me that himself. He wouldn’t have mentioned it if he was about to go and kill him.” Simon pulled out his notebook. “Will this take much longer? I have an appointment.”
“Maybe, maybe not. He left in a hurry without paying his bill, he’s the right height, he’s right-handed and he knew where the dagger was kept.” White turned a page and picked up the phone. “Peters? Have you done that match on the shoes we found in Godwin’s room yet?”
He paused to listen to his sergeant and put the phone down. “The shoe prints that we found are the right size to have been Richard Godwin’s. Although we won’t know for certain until we find the shoes that made the prints.”
“That looks bad, Inspector, but I know Richard.” Simon stepped forward. “He wouldn’t have killed his stepfather. He’s a good lad.”
“He’s wanted for questioning at the very least.” White returned to his notebook. “Then there’s the maid, Amanda. She kept trying to get into the murder room. There’s something fishy about her.”
“Fishy or not, you’ll have to manage without me this afternoon.” Simon pulled on his overcoat. “I have to perform Mass at the hospital.”
“As you will, sir. We’ll just pray we find our murderer.”
* * * *
Nicole groaned.
The windowless room was hot, her skin hotter still from where the candle wax had dripped onto
it, making it redden under its new layer. Her hair, freed of its usual neat twist, hung limp with sweat and spit, trailing the floor. Her knees were twin fires of agony from supporting her weight for so long, though she couldn’t have moved them if she’d tried. Leather straps encased her wrists and ankles, each one attached to a spreader bar, and another ran up the center line of her body, forcing her to maintain a kneeling position.
She shrieked as the whip pulled off a piece of wax. “Who killed Robert?”
“I don’t know.”
The whip struck again, taking off another piece of wax and leaving a long welt in its place.
“Who killed Robert?”
Nicole shook her head. “I don’t know.”
The whip struck again and again, each blow eliciting a squeal of pain from the bound girl. “Who killed Robert?”
The twelfth strike made Nicole scream. “Yellow!” Tears streamed down her face. “Yellow.”
The cool of an ice cube replaced the heat of the wax and the Jean’s leather-clad hand brushed the sweat-matted hair from her eyes. “Drink.” Jean held a straw to her lips and Nicole sucked in cold water. “Good girl.”
* * * *
Later, after a shower, Nicole groaned again.
“What?” asked Jean. Nicole twisted the laptop around so she could see the screen.
“These are Sir Robert’s accounts.”
“What about them?” Jean put on her glasses and studied the figures. “Twenty thousand pounds withdrawn?”
“This morning. Only Robert, Richard and I had access to it and it wasn’t me.”
“Which makes my future son-in-law a thief at the very least,” said Jean.
* * * *
“So this is the murder room?” Meinwen closed her eyes and turned in a small circle. “It’s cold.”
“Can you feel the spirits?” asked White. “I think the heating’s off.”
“No, the window’s open.” Meinwen stepped over the stained carpet as she crossed to the casement. She avoided touching the glass. “Which way were the shoeprints facing?”
