Murder Near Slaughter

by L. A. Nisula

  “I’ll go to the pub, thanks.”

  He laughed. “I thought I’d offer.” He gave me a jaunty sort of wave as he left, making me wonder if he had actually been worried about being blamed for poking around the shed at Mulberry Cottage, and if so, by Miss Dyer or Inspector Wainwright?

  I hadn’t reached a conclusion by the time I got back to Mrs. Albright in the kitchen, not surprising as I was able to go straight through the cottage rather than walking outside.

  “Who was it, Cassie?”

  “Lord Hector.”

  “Really?” Mrs. Albright sounded even more surprised than I had been. “What did he want?”

  “He thinks Miss Dyer suspects him of poking around their garden shed, so I’m going to go over and tell them I was investigating.”

  “Oh dear, well, I suppose he shouldn’t be blamed for things he didn’t do.” Her tone suggested he had plenty of things he had done to be blamed for, which was no doubt right.

  “I might be a little while. I think Inspector Wainwright’s there.”

  “Better there than here, I suppose. I may go into the village, so if I’m not here, don’t worry.”

  Avoiding Inspector Wainwright if he followed me home, no doubt. We finished the last of the tea and tidied up, then I left for the cottages.

  It was a lovely day for walking, sunny and not too hot, and I didn’t need to worry about investigating a murder or anything beyond explaining to Miss Dyer I’d been the one poking around by her shed, which wasn’t particularly worrying as I was fairly sure she would understand why I’d been doing it. So it was quite an enjoyable walk to the cottages. Perhaps a good day to walk back to Lower Slaughter and watch the sheep, as I’d thought the day we arrived, maybe even buy a sketchbook in the village and try drawing some of the lambs.

  I spent the short walk considering whether to try the village for art supplies or see if I could go to one of the larger towns and buy yarn while I was at it. As I passed Trillwell Lodge, I noticed the front curtain twitch. Just a little movement that could quite easily have been a trick of the light, but it did make me wonder if Lord Hector was that concerned about being suspected. Well, if he was, he would see me going to Mulberry Cottage, and that should satisfy him.

  When I knocked on the door to Mulberry Cottage, it was opened quite promptly by Miss Hayworth. “Miss Pengear, hello. Were you looking for me or Helen? If it’s her, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait a few minutes. She’s out back with Inspector Wainwright.”

  “Not about the shed, I hope.”

  She seemed genuinely confused. “The shed? No, he wanted to see the wheelbarrow again.”

  It seemed best to tell her the whole thing and be done with it. “It’s just that I was trying to re-create Mr. Hoyt’s journey from Mr. Elliott’s shop to Oakwood Cottage in case there were any clues anyone missed.” I didn’t think it prudent to tell anyone about the wallet, if for no other reason than so I could honestly tell Inspector Wainwright I hadn’t. “And when Lord Hector came by this morning, saying you thought he was poking around your shed...”

  “Oh, I hope he didn’t disturb you. We’d thought it was something rather like that when Helen noticed things had been moved this morning, only we suspected the police, not you, I’m afraid. But when Lord Hector came by almost before breakfast was finished, apologizing for the damage he’d caused, and he is not the sort to apologize, so we thought there must have been something quite dire wrong that we hadn’t noticed yet, and Helen does keep some of her art back there, things that aren’t quite up to her standards, drafts and sketches and experiments and such, like that watercolor over there.” She pointed to a watercolor study of a hillside that was clearly a color test for some other project. “Nothing valuable, but still important to her, well, I’m afraid she got rather upset. But if he wasn’t in the shed, what was he apologizing for?”

  “He and Mr. Briggs used your yard as a shortcut to get home last night and trampled a flower bed.”

  She laughed. “If it was anyone else, I would point out that going to Trillwell Lodge through our garden is certainly no shorter, and is probably a little longer, than the lane, but of course they were drunk. And it wasn’t our flower bed they trampled, but the Brooks’. If it had been ours, they’d be covered in rose thorns. Oh well, I suppose we should give him credit for trying, at least. Would you like to come in? The inspector is here, but we have some very nice biscuits to make up for it.”

  “If you don’t mind.” I rather wanted to hear Inspector Wainwright’s reason for coming. I didn’t think he’d missed anything in the wheelbarrow.

  “Come through to the kitchen, then. Have you gotten yours back yet?” Miss Hayworth led me through Mulberry Cottage as she spoke.

  “We did. Constable Edwards and Constable Kittering were over yesterday to move the crime tapes and clear a path. The sitting room’s still blocked off, but considering...”

  “Under the circumstances, I wouldn’t think it would be a very relaxing place to sit, no.”

  I tried to get a look at the cottage as we walked without being obvious. What would have been the sitting room had been set up as a workspace, with a desk and typewriter and a large bookshelf set up on one side and an easel and paints on the other. I got a quick glimpse of Miss Dyer’s current project, which seemed to be a landscape with a stormy sky although it wasn’t finished enough for me to be able to tell. Still, I could see why she was shown in London. The color work was beautiful, even half-finished. We were through to the kitchen before I could see anything else. I only got a quick glance, enough to see that it was a small, sunny room, rather like the one at Oakwood Cottage with a modern stove and icebox, and judging by the stacked plates near the sink, they had indeed just finished breakfast.

  In the back garden, Miss Dyer was standing near the shed, leaning against the side wall, watching Inspector Wainwright, who was kneeling by the wheelbarrow, looking it over in quite a cursory manner. I suspected the wheelbarrow was an excuse and not what he had really come about. Had it been important, he would have been going over every inch of it and quite possibly disassembling bits to get between the frame and the bed.

  Miss Dyer looked up when she heard the kitchen door open and waved. “Miss Pengear, hello. Have you had tea?”

  Unsurprisingly, Inspector Wainwright ignored me.

  Miss Hayworth answered for me, “I was just going to make us all a pot. And we’ve solved the mystery of Lord Hector’s apology and the Brooks’ trampled flowerbed. Seems his sense of place was off a bit last night.”

  Miss Dyer snorted. “That would only be remarkable if he occasionally knew where he was at any given moment. So the two are connected? I suppose that’s a relief, then. I was quite concerned about what he might have done.”

  Inspector Wainwright chose that moment to stand up.

  “You’ve finished? I suppose you won’t be wanting tea, then.” Miss Hayworth asked.

  “I still have some questions.”

  “Of course.” Miss Hayworth leaned against the kitchen door frame, waiting to hear them.

  While I knew Inspector Wainwright would prefer that I left, I also knew he wouldn’t expect it. And I was very curious to know what had brought him to the cottage to begin with, so I stayed where I was to listen.

  “First, I wanted to know where you were Monday morning.”

  That seemed like something he would already know, but they both answered promptly.

  “I was at my typewriter for most of the morning,” Miss Hayworth told him, “making a copy of an article I was sending out.”

  “And I was at the other end of the room, making some sketches for a painting,” Miss Dyer added.

  “And a bit before one, we decided to walk to the village to post my article. That’s when we found Mr. Hoyt.”

  Inspector Wainwright didn’t take any notes, so he must have known all of that. “And what were you wearing when you took it upon yourselves to disturb a crime scene?”

  That caught my attention. It was
a very specific question, one he would only ask if he had a reason to.

  “Is that important?” Miss Dyer asked.

  “Everything is important until I know what happened.”

  Miss Dyer did not look convinced, but she did answer. “My slate-grey serge suit with the Payne’s grey trim, wasn’t it, Nora?”

  “It was, and you had your painting smock on when we found him. And I was wearing a blue dress with a navy jacket over it. Do you need us to bring them down?”

  “Not necessary.”

  So something about that description told him something useful. I wondered what.

  Miss Dyer pointed towards the kitchen door. “Then you should come inside. We have something to show you. It was really quite good of you to save us the trip into town.”

  I could tell Inspector Wainwright was confused by that request from the way he followed without complaining. In the kitchen, the kettle was whistling, and Miss Hayworth hurried to get it off the hob and the tea started while Miss Dyer went back into the main room. I could tell Inspector Wainwright still wasn’t sure what was going on. He didn’t follow either of them but leaned against the door between the two rooms glaring at some unspecified spot on the hallway wainscoting that seemed to have annoyed him. I surprised myself by going to lean on the against the cabinet across from him so he wouldn’t be so obviously out of place.

  Miss Dyer returned quickly enough that the pair of us trying not to stare at each other hadn’t become too awkward. She brushed past both of us as she went to the kitchen table and opened the folder she was carrying. “Now, Inspector, I’ve drawn what we remember of when we found Mr. Hoyt and also what he looked like when we left him in the river. As you can see, I’ve done overall studies of both, and then a few detail drawings of bits we remembered noticing. Nora’s labeled everything relevant. I could add color if you needed me to, but I thought I’d see if this was sufficient.”

  Inspector Wainwright looked like he wanted to say several things at once and couldn’t decide where to start. Miss Dyer ignored him and spread four sheets of paper out on the table. I pushed away from the cabinet and went to have a look. They were indeed pencil sketches of Mr. Hoyt, one of him facedown in the river by Lord Hector’s cottage and the other of him slumped over in their front garden. The full sketches had small arrows labeled with letters that seemed to correspond to the two pages of detail sketches. “These are very complete,” I said to encourage Inspector Wainwright to join me. He muttered something but did cross to the table and stare down at the pictures.

  Miss Dyer slid them towards Inspector Wainwright. “I’m not sure about their artistic merit, but I did strive for accuracy. Now, this is how he was positioned when we found him by our front gate. You can see he was slumped at a rather odd angle, which was why we were concerned at once.”

  Inspector Wainwright leaned in to look in spite of himself. Miss Dyer seemed to take his attention as a good sign. She used the end of a paintbrush to point to the various parts of the sketches, keeping up a constant commentary of what they’d found and how they’d found it.

  Mr. Hoyt had been left just inside their front gate. They probably wouldn’t have seen him from the cottage windows. He was almost sitting upright, with his arms at an odd angle that made me think Mr. Reynolds must have grabbed him around his chest, under his arms, to drag him. Miss Dyer had labeled a few scratches they’d noticed around his neck, but no head wounds, I noticed.

  I turned my attention to the sketch of the river by Trillwell Lodge. The first thing I noticed was that I had been searching the right area by the terrace. Mr. Hoyt had been dumped in the water facedown, with the water barely reaching the side seams of his trousers and his feet mostly on the bank. That must have been how Lord Hector got him out of the water, dragging him by his feet. The body hitting against the rocks on the riverbank would account for some of the wounds Inspector Wainwright had taken for a beating around the head and face. Still no head wound labeled, but his head was quite close to the rocks. That was something I ought to ask Lord Hector about, if I’d been investigating, I reminded myself. Still, I could mention it to Inspector Wainwright.

  I was prevented from further speculation by Inspector Wainwright saying, “I will be taking these with me.”

  From Miss Dyer’s lack of protest, I assumed she’d known that was the likely outcome.

  Inspector Wainwright abruptly turned away, which I took to mean he’d finished questioning them. From the way Miss Hayworth seemed to relax and Miss Dyer began collecting up the sketches, it seemed they’d taken it the same way. What I did not expect was for him to turn and address me. “Miss Pengear, what color is your hearth rug?”

  It took me a moment to connect that question to the case. “You mean in the cottage? I don’t really know. It isn’t my hearth rug, of course, and as I haven’t been allowed in the sitting room... Although I should thank you for the kitchen access. It is much more convenient.”

  “And I was hoping your presence would save me some inconvenience. It seems not.” With that, he walked out of the cottage.

  “Is he always like that?” Miss Hayworth asked.

  “I’ve only seen him working on cases, but yes, that does seem to be his normal state. I’d better go back to Oakwood Cottage and warn Mrs. Albright that he needs to see the hearth rug.” And find out exactly why he needed to. I assumed he’d found some fibers that didn’t match anything else, and he was checking our rug for the source.

  “A warning is definitely helpful when dealing with him,” Miss Dyer said.

  Miss Hayworth started leading me to the door. “We’ll come by later and let you know when we’re leaving for Mr. Hoyt’s memorial tomorrow if you were still interested in going?”

  “If the offer still stands. I’d like to have a look at the players.

  “Then that’s settled. Good luck with the inspector.”

  “Thanks.” I hurried down the path and started along the lane.

  Inspector Wainwright had not been walking very quickly. At least, I caught up with him not very far down the lane, past the cottages but just barely. It did make me wonder if he’d fancied a stroll or was trying to wait for me. In either case, I sped up until I caught up then fell into step beside him.

  Sometimes, it was best to not say anything to Inspector Wainwright and allow him to ignore my presence, but I had the feeling that this was not one of those times, so I said, “The hearth rug?”

  “Correct.”

  At least he was answering. That told me I could ask questions, so I did. “You found something, then?” When he didn’t answer, I tried a guess. “Threads from a carpet? Somewhere on Mr. Hoyt’s person, like in his trouser cuffs? And you want to see if the color matches the rug where he was found?”

  That got a single nod.

  “That’s why you wanted to know what they were wearing, in case their clothing matched the fibers.”

  No response, which meant no denial.

  “And if he didn’t pick them up somewhere in his postmortem adventures, then it’s quite likely they’re from the crime scene. Unless they’re from the pub or his home, but you would have checked those first.” So my idea of finding the original crime scene had been a sound one, although I didn’t say that out loud. I tried to think of any other questions, but none of them seemed worth bothering him about, so we spent the rest of the walk in silence.

  Chapter 15

  AT THE COTTAGE, INSPECTOR WAINWRIGHT went straight through to the sitting room and unfastened the tapes blocking it off. He did not immediately replace the tapes, so I took that as an invitation to follow him in, although I was careful to step only where Inspector Wainwright had, as I assumed he knew what had already been examined. Inspector Wainwright knelt by the hearth rug and removed a folded piece of white paper and a pair of tweezers from his pocket. When he unfolded the paper, I saw there were several short, fraying bits of yarn of the sort that would come from a carpet, all a sort of pale peachy-pink. Inspector Wainwright didn’t say anythi
ng, just rested on his ankles and stared at the rug with the bit of paper in his hand, slowly moving it back and forth. I leaned over, careful not to block his light, and got my first up-close look at the crime scene.

  The rug was a fairly generic: a sturdy, machine-made piece with a large cluster of roses on a tan background. I wouldn’t be surprised to find half the cottages in the village had one very like it. It didn’t seem to have suffered much from the water beyond a bit of matting, nothing a good brushing wouldn’t fix, and there was no blood that I could see. Also nothing that seemed particularly relevant, no identifiable tobacco dust or leaves from a plant that only grew in one yard. If there had been any, Inspector Wainwright had probably already removed them, although as they would most likely only point to Lord Hector or Mr. Briggs when they brought the body in, it didn’t really matter. I turned my attention to the fibers in Inspector Wainwright’s hand.

  “I think it’s from the yellowish roses in the center. The area down near the stem.”

  Inspector Wainwright didn’t complain about my assistance as he looked for the spot I’d mentioned then used the tweezers to hold a group of the fibers over the area. From where I was standing, I could see that the colors did indeed match. Inspector Wainwright put them back on the paper and shifted his weight to stand. I took a step back so I wouldn’t be in his way. “Another dead end, then?”

  “It would have been more helpful if they had come from the crime scene, yes.”

  Since he’d brought up the crime scene, I thought it might be safe to ask, “Do you have any thoughts on where the murder might have happened?”

  “To have thoughts, I’d have to have evidence.”

  “And to have evidence, you’d have to have clues. I see. Are there any suspects?”

  Inspector Wainwright crossed the sitting room and went back into the entryway. He stood with his hand on the tapes, waiting to reattach them. I took the hint and followed him out. When he saw I wasn’t going to try to stay in the crime scene, he answered, “Mrs. Hoyt, a few of the women he’d been seen with, an assorted variety of husbands, but none make a better suspect than any of the others.”