“Did you have any suspicion?”
“You mean, did I know that my uncle was a frightful Casanova?” Topaz said. “Auntie used to say he was one for the ladies, but actually it is quite normal for the upper classes to take a mistress or two.”
Not just the upper classes. Was there no man in England who was faithful?
“Do you realize what this means, Vicky?” cried Topaz. “Lieutenant Robin Berry is the direct heir to The Grange. Not me! It’s too humiliating for words.”
“Who else knows about this?” I said. “Apart from Robin’s mother.”
Topaz bit her fingernail. “Wouldn’t someone have tried to blackmail me by now?”
“Yes, you’re right. They would.” The odious Eunice Pratt for one and Dora Pike for another had she not been mown down by Mary’s traction engine. “I think you should burn it.” Though I wondered where the original could be.
Topaz gave a heavy sigh. “Really. This is most inconvenient.” She swept back down the path, acknowledging “her people” with a gracious bow as they parted for her like the Red Sea.
As the solitary bell tolled in the Norman church tower, accompanied by the various screeches and feedback from Barry Fir’s public address system, the gypsies filed into the church, and those who could not fit sat on the grass outside.
I moved to the rear of the crowd mainly because the awful audio system was giving me a headache.
To my delight, Steve was waiting for me at the bottom of the path with a manila envelope in his hand. My heart gave a little jump for joy. Perhaps I’d finally been forgiven for breaking his heart, and we could now be friends.
“Can we go and talk somewhere quiet?” he said. “Away from all that noise?”
“Of course!” He had forgiven me! I followed him out into Church Lane. “Where’s your car?”
“I followed the procession on foot.”
“It’s nice to see you again,” I said. “Doesn’t the pork smell delicious?”
“Got something for you, Vicky.” Still no “doll.” “Would you give this to Barbara?”
He handed me the envelope—gosh, everyone seemed to be giving me envelopes this morning! “It’s the coroner report you were asking about.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Maybe we could have a drink so I could thank you properly?”
“I don’t know.” Steve regarded me with his blue puppy-dog eyes. “Are you saying you want us to get back together?”
Looking at his earnest, honest face, I hesitated. Was I afraid of love and just using my parents as an excuse not to get close to anyone? Did I want to be alone forever? “Can I think about it?”
“Take all the time you need,” said Steve. “You can let me know in the morning, okay?”
Steve walked off with a spring in his step. My heart sank. What had I just done?
I tore open the envelope, glad to find the coroner report from 1963. It stated that Mildred Veysey had suffered an aneurism before her body hit the ground. The tire marks over her legs were caused five hours later. The only thing Barbara and Jimmy had been guilty of was failing to report and leaving the scene of an accident. I couldn’t wait to give Barbara the good news.
“You’ve got quite a job cut out for you here with all these mourners,” said Probes, startling me. I hadn’t heard him creep up. He was beginning to do that quite a lot. “Very nice front page exclusive by the way.”
“Thanks,” I said modestly. In fact, my story—HILL DOES IT AGAIN: SCAM SCANDAL SOLVED!—had run for four pages in last Saturday’s Gazette, garnering me a prime-time interview on Westward TV as well as coverage in all the national newspapers. Naturally I gave some credit to the Devon Police Constabulary, with a special mention to D.I. Probes’s part in the successful denouement of Operation Pike. Bill Trenfold turned witness for the prosecution and revealed that Jimmy, Dora, Ruby, and Noah had actually infiltrated the national postal system, offering small kickbacks in exchange for leaving the pillar boxes unlocked for an hour or two.
With regard to Dora’s coveted special report, Pete decided to run it alongside her obituary, which would come out in this Saturday’s edition.
“I thought you’d like to know that Jack Webster has been arrested for manslaughter for his part in persuading the Swamp Dogs to release the brake on The Gordon showman traction engine,” said Probes. “Apparently John Reeves was involved, too.”
“Stalk believed them?” I said, stunned.
“No, Mr. Leonard Evans stepped forward and said that Jack Webster had told him all about his plan to frighten Phil Burrows,” said Probes. “Speaking of Phil Burrows. We were able to get a sample of DNA from the anonymous note he received. The strange thing is that the DNA is very similar to his own. Quite possibly a family member? We want to run more tests, but apparently Phil has gone off to America. Something about being on a television show.”
“I shouldn’t worry in that case.” I’d suspected that Steve might have been responsible for that note. Was Brian Baker the only person who could spell confidential ? Apart from me, of course.
Probes started to fidget and clear his throat. “Vicky,” he said, “I don’t know how to say this, but you can’t run forever—”
“I don’t know what you mean,” I said, laughing heartily and swiftly changing the subject. “Whatever happened to Mary Berry?”
“She’s had her driver’s license taken away—for heaven’s sakes, why do you do that?” Probes sounded exasperated. He took a deep breath. “I don’t care who your father is. None of us can choose our parents—”
“My parents are dead,” I said, far more coldly than I intended, but truthfully, I was scared. “Excuse me. Is that the time? I really must go.”
“Vicky! Wait!”
But I couldn’t. I just had to get home. Probes’s words had shaken me to the core. How could he possibly know?
With everyone at the church, I was hoping the house would be deserted. When I pulled up outside 21 Factory Terrace, a red post van drew up alongside. It was a new postman—clean-shaven, bright-eyed, and with a big smile. “Got a package for a Vicky Hill?”
I joined him at the rear of his van as he handed me a tall box wrapped in brown paper. It was big and quite heavy, with my name and address written in a black Sharpie and marked CONFIDENTIAL.
I stared at it for several moments. It wasn’t my birthday, but maybe it was a gift from Steve—the get-back-together kind.
Up in my bedroom I tore into the wrapping with scissors. Inside were handfuls of packing straw. Delving down into the depths of the box, my fingers met something cold and hard.
I saw the gleam of a silver top. Then—a second one. I burrowed deeper, tossing out the paper straw. And there they were.
Topaz’s Georgian tea urns.
Inside one of them was a note.
“Welcome back into the fold, kiddo. Thanks for the tip-off. Will be in touch regarding the enclosed. Love D.”
Berkley Prime Crime titles by Hannah Dennison
A VICKY HILL EXCLUSIVE!
SCOOP!
EXPOSÉ!
THIEVES!
Thieves! Page 26
