by Dean James
But not a very welcome one, I could tell from her body language. Jessamy was stuck, however, with Vi watching us both avidly. She couldn’t ask me to leave, because no doubt she feared Vi would soon have it all over the village how rude she had been to that nice American bloke from Laurel Cottage. I hid a smile, grateful after all for Vi’s presence.
“I beg your pardon for calling upon you in such a cavalier fashion, dear lady,” I said in my smoothest tones. “I know you keep quite busy, but I did hope you might spare me a few minutes of your time.”
“Certainly, Professor,” Jessamy said. She turned to her daily, who had a hand hovering over the teakettle. “Yes, Vi, I do think a spot of tea would be lovely. I think we’ll go to the sun room, and you may serve us there.” She strode out of the room from a door near the table where she had been working, and I followed while Vi busied herself making the tea.
We stepped through what looked like a mud room, replete with old shoes, boots, and other odds and ends, into a chamber that no doubt had been advertised as a sun room. The outside wall was lined floor to ceiling with thick glass panes, looking out upon a small garden. The architect had neglected one important factor, however: this room was on the south side of the house, so it would catch neither the morning nor the evening sun. That was just fine with me, because having to talk with Jessamy while I wore a hat, gloves, and sunglasses would have appeared most peculiar.
“What a lovely room,” I said, and I meant it. Despite the lack of sun, the chamber was comfortable and, moreover, tastefully appointed. What a conundrum. Looking at Jessamy, as usual attired in her signature fabric and sporting outrageously fluffy, high-heeled mules, I couldn’t get the decor to jibe with her own taste in clothing. That was not my concern at the moment though, and I forced myself to focus on the task at hand.
“Thank you, Professor,” Jessamy said. “Won’t you sit down?” She indicated a chair across from where she perched on an overstuffed sofa.
“I’ll be quite candid,” I lied, “and won’t beat around the bush with you, Mrs. Cholmondley-Pease. I need the help of someone who has her finger on the pulse of the village, so to speak, and naturally I thought of you.” That flattery did its work, I could see. “You don’t need to be so formal with me, Professor,” she said, beaming. “Do call me Jessamy.”
“And I’m Simon.” I smiled back at her.
“Now what can I do for you?”
“Well, no doubt you already know that I’m a writer?”
She nodded. “History books, or something like that. I’m not much for history, I’m afraid, unless it’s a love story.” She giggled. “If you ever write one of them, let me know.”
I smiled politely. I couldn’t tell her outright that I wrote historical romances under the name of Dorinda Darlington, because I preferred to keep that under wraps. Perhaps I could hint, though. I leaned forward, as if about to confide in her. “Actually, Jessamy, I do write other things, things that I am persuaded you would enjoy, but my publisher prefers that I keep my identity a secret. You understand, I’m sure.”
She appeared a bit confused at first but then she nodded. A knowing look passed across her face. “Got you, Simon. Your secret’s safe with me.”
In a pig’s eye, I thought. It would be all over the village by this afternoon that I probably wrote erotica. Oh, well.
“Thank you, Jessamy. Now, this is what I need your help with. I want to write a true crime book about this latest murder in our village. Since the victim is someone so prominent I think it’s bound to be a bestseller, don’t you?”
Eyes widening in alarm, Jessamy shrank back against the sofa. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, Simon.”
“I know it might seem quite shocking at first Jessamy, but think of it this way. Someone else is bound to write about it if I don’t and that someone will be from outside the village. Someone who doesn’t have a clue about who the really important people in the village are. Someone who might easily misinterpret things people have said and done.”
She considered that for a moment. “That’s a very good point. It wouldn’t do to have someone make us all look bad, would it?”
“Most assuredly not,” I said, fervently sincere. “We must protect our good names, don’t you think?”
“Oh yes,” she said, her head bobbing up and down with great emphasis.
“I have already been speaking with Sir Giles and Lady Prunella Blitherington,” I went on. “They have assured me of their fullest cooperation in my project, because they understand the value of having one of their own take charge of it.” I had slightly underlined the words “one of their own,” and Jessamy’s eyes gleamed at the thought of being included in the same group with the village’s first family. “Just as I am quite certain you do.”
I really should be ashamed of myself, I sometimes thought. But I usually wasn’t.
“Now, you understand I must ask quite a lot of questions in order to get as much background as possible?”
“Oh, certainly,” Jessamy said. She was so caught up in the idea that she didn’t even ask me why I wasn’t taking notes, nor did she seem overly concerned that I would ask her about our little encounter in the bushes outside Blitherington Hall last night. She could of course already have prepared her story.
Before I could continue, Vi came in with the tea tray and plunked it down on a table near Jessamy. “You want I should play mother, mum?”
Suppressing a pained look, Jessamy said, “Thank you, Vi, but that won’t be necessary. I don’t want to keep you from your work.”
That was certainly pointed enough, but Vi seemed to take no offense. With a little wave, she departed for the kitchen.
“The woman really is a treasure, Simon,” Jessamy said, as she bent over the tea tray, “but she is the tiniest bit encroaching, don’t you think?”
Aware that Vi even now was probably standing with her ear to the door, I replied, “Oh, she is certainly a treasure, Jessamy. I’ve been quite pleased with her work thus far.”
Fortunately, Jessamy did not take that for a snub. “How do you take your tea, Simon?”
“A dash of milk and no sugar, please,” I said, knowing that if I managed three sips, I would have had plenty.
I accepted the proffered tea and settled back to begin my questioning.
“I don’t know whether you’ve read many mystery novels, Jessamy, but I rather adore them,” I said. “I quite fancy myself as Hercule Poirot, exercising the ‘leetle grey cells,’ as he always says.”
Jessamy tittered. “I read one or two of them, but they’re ever so much better on the telly, don’t you think, Simon?”
“Yes, they are delightful, aren’t they? Well, you see, Jessamy, if I’m going to write this book, I have to gather evidence the way Poirot does. In my case, of course, the police aren’t going to ask me to consult with them, so I have to do it on my own.”
She was listening with fierce concentration, nodding as I babbled along.
“Giles did tell me how helpful you had been, assisting at Blitherington Hall, and of course the fact that you were there and no doubt might have seen something of significance is extremely helpful. I imagine that you’re quite an observant sort of person, aren’t you?”
I could feel the unease and the doubt beginning to stir. She was torn between wanting to be known as an observant person and not wanting to be questioned too closely about that little episode in the bushes. Softly, softly, catchee monkey, as the old saying went.
“I do notice things, Simon, things that often slip by other people,” she said with caution. “Naturally, with such a celebrity in the village, I wanted to do my part to help Snupperton Mumsley put its best foot forward. I do have a certain position to uphold.”
“Naturally,” I said, echoing her. “Now, Jessamy, I want you to think back to yesterday. Did you notice anything out of the ordinary? Or did you happen to hear anything at all odd?”
Jessamy’s eyes grew round with excitement. “Now that I come to think of it
Simon, I did hear something that could turn out to be very important.”
“And what did you hear?” I asked with what I thought was commendable patience when the pause went on a bit too long.
“I heard that dishy director say, ‘I’m warning you, Zeke, I’ll make you pay for this!’ ”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
That did sound promising, and she wasn’t lying. I had feared she might make something up to deflect my attention, but I felt she was telling me the truth.
“That is most interesting, Jessamy,” I said approvingly. “Tell me more. When and where did you happen to overhear this?”
She beamed like a child who had just earned a gold star from her teacher. “Happen I was passing by the billiard room, Simon, and I heard loud voices.” She wrinkled her nose. “Lady Prunella had told everyone that if they must smoke inside Blitherington Hall, then they were allowed to do so in the billiard room. I don’t think she meant them to leave the door open, because as I happened by, the hallway was simply reeking of smoke.” Lady Prunella was well known in the village as an anti-smoking crusader. Her late husband, a man addicted to his cigars and pipes, had died of lung cancer.
“I thought I had better close the door,” Jessamy said, “because someone was smoking a cigar, and we all know how Lady R feels about that!”
I nodded.
With a girlish laugh she continued, “Well, naturally, I couldn’t resist the tiniest peek inside, and there was that very handsome director puffing away on a big cigar, and poor Mr. Harwood was smoking a cigarette.” She paused for dramatic emphasis. “And that was when I heard Mr. Weatherstone threaten him!”
“Did you see what happened?”
“Oh, my, yes,” she said. “Mr. Weatherstone was looming over Mr. Harwood and waving his cigar in a threatening manner. Mr. Harwood took a step back and said, ‘Don’t be such a tired drama queen, Cliffie darling. You’re simply not up to the American job, and that’s all there is to it Be grateful you’ve ridden my coattails for this long.’ ”
“My, my,” I said. “That was rather rude.”
Jessamy’s eyes grew rounder. “Oh yes, and I thought Mr. Weatherstone was going to stick his cigar right in Mr. Harwood’s face after that If you could only have seen the look on his face! I’m surprised he didn’t kill him right then and there.”
“What happened next?”
She colored slightly. “I must have made a sound of distress, because they both turned and saw me at the door.”
“That was unfortunate,” I said.
“They both glared at me in the most unfriendly manner,” Jessamy complained. “So I mumbled something at them about the smoke getting out into the hall and Lady R being upset and pulled the door shut I got away from that door as fast as I could, let me tell you!”
“Did you hear anything further?”
“No. Not long after, I had to leave the Hall to take care of some errands in the village.”
“Have you informed Detective Inspector Chase about this yet?”
“No,” she said, and I could hear the disappointment in her voice. “I’ve not had the opportunity yet.”
“I’m sure you’ll be able to talk to him soon,” I said. Now to go in for the kill, so to speak. “You did, of course, return to the Hall later that evening, didn’t you?”
She stiffened. “Well, yes, I did.” She wasn’t going to volunteer anything.
“When I saw you,” I said, trying to phrase it diplomatically, “you were outside, near the French windows.”
“Oh yes,” she said. “I had almost forgotten about that.” Her laugh failed to convince me that her errand had been innocuous. “Silly me. I’m forever losing things, and I had been out there at some point in the afternoon. I discovered that I had dropped an earring, and as it was one of a most expensive pair that Des had given me for our last anniversary, I simply had to find it. Des would have been livid. He’s always nattering on at me about losing things.” She was lying to me. I could tell by the change in her breathing and her heart rate. If her earring had been somewhere in the bushes near the French windows, I suspected it was because she had deliberately dropped it there so she would have an excuse to come back later and nose around.
I pretended to accept her story. “How long had you been searching for it when I encountered you?”
“Oh, just a few minutes,” she said carelessly. “Lucky for me, I found it almost straightaway.”
“That means you must have arrived after the police?” That caught her up. “Er, yes, I suppose so.”
That was too obvious a lie. She must have been there for quite some time. It’s a wonder the police didn’t spot her, but she must have hidden herself rather well. I hadn’t spotted her car anywhere, and if she had truly been on such an innocent errand, she would not have hesitated to park in the forecourt of the Hall. Her story didn’t add up.
“Then that also means that you didn’t observe anything of what went on in the drawing room?”
“Heavens, no,” she said, protesting a bit too loudly. She had seen something, I was sure, but what? And how would I convince her to confide in me? Had she seen the killer? Surely she wasn’t going to attempt a spot of blackmail; she would only find herself in a dangerous situation if she did.
Someone coughed behind me, and both Jessamy and I started. We turned to see Vi standing there.
“Begging your pardon, I’m sure, mum,” she said, “but the police is here. You want I should show them in here?”
I stood up quickly. “I had best be going along, Jessamy,” I said. “But I shall want to talk to you again. I feel certain there is so much you can tell me to help me with my project.”
She caught the meaning in my words, and her face flushed slightly. “That’s as may be,” she replied. “Yes, Vi, you can show the police in here.”
I inclined my head in her direction, and she averted her eyes, unable to look me in the face. I bade Vi good day and preceded her from the room. Near the front door Robin Chase and Sergeant Harper stood waiting. A pained expression crossed Robin’s face as he realized who Jessamy’s visitor had been.
“Already hard at work on the case, I see, Simon,” he said. “Or should I say, Miss Marple?”
“So very amusing, Robin,” I said as I picked up my hat and gloves from the table where Vi had placed them. “I can’t see why you should object to my paying social calls upon my neighbors.”
“If I thought you were merely paying a social call, I shouldn’t object in the least,” Robin observed mildly.
“But I fear I know you better than that, Simon.” The corners of his mouth twitched.
I forbore to respond to that as I pulled on my gloves and placed my hat on my head. “Good day, Robin, Sergeant.” I moved past them to the door.
“Ah, Simon,” Robin said, halting me. “If you will be at home in the next little while, I would like to talk to you.”
“Certainly, Robin,” I said, turning back for a moment. “My door is always open to you.”
One hand reached up to stroke his moustache. He always did that when he was nervous or disconcerted. I seemed to have that effect on him, quite regularly. I suppressed a smile. “I shall look forward to your visit, then.”
With that parting shot, I departed. Minutes later, I was back home. I went upstairs to change into my working togs, and once back downstairs in my office, I thought I had better do something about a fresh supply of my pills before I got lost in work.
I called the number in London and spoke to one of the staff, who offered profuse apologies when I explained my problem. He promised to see that I received a fresh supply as soon as possible, and I thanked him.
That task out of the way, I booted up the computer and sat staring at the screen. Instead of focusing on the work at hand, however, I found my mind wandering instead over the details of the murder of Zeke Harwood.
There were a number of interesting possibilities. The existence of a secret entrance to the drawing room presented certain di
fficulties. If the crime scene staff found no evidence that anyone other than Lady Prunella had made use of the secret stairway, then Lady Prunella’s position was invidious indeed. Her motive for killing Harwood seemed rather ridiculous, but unless the police were unable to uncover anything stronger, Lady Prunella might find herself in considerable hot water.
If, on the other hand, they found evidence that someone else had made use of it, that would take some of the pressure off Lady R. For the sake of Giles and his mother, I sincerely hoped that such evidence would indeed be found.
The secret stairway could be nothing more than a red herring, however. Zeke Harwood might have discovered its existence, but that didn’t mean he had told anyone else about it, or that anyone else had discovered it by accident. In that case, we were back to the locked room puzzle that wasn’t much of a locked room puzzle. Given that several people had laid hands on the victim once we were inside the drawing room, it would have been very easy for the murderer to slip the key to the drawing room back into Harwood’s pocket. The question, of course, was who?
Perhaps the police would turn up some evidence of that. In the haste of the moment, the killer might have been a bit careless and have left a fingerprint on the key. I rather doubted that, however, because this whole case smacked of cool deliberation. The way I read the situation, the killer had seized an opportunity and acted ruthlessly and quickly. That meant someone who could think and act fast.
Which brought me right back again to zero? Who had the most compelling motive? And who had the necessary coolness of thought and deed? I hadn’t spent enough time with the main suspects to be able to decide. I examined each of my main suspects in turn: Piers Limpley, Dittany Harwood, Moira Rhys-Morgan, and Cliff Weatherstone. None of them had impressed me thus far as having the qualities I deemed necessary.
I could easily see where they might all have motives for getting rid of Harwood, with the possible exception of Moira Rhys-Morgan. She was the only one of the group who seemed genuinely to mourn the man. He had been rather unpleasant and hadn’t treated his associates very well, but the motive for his death had to lie in something deeper than ill treatment.
