by Joan Lambert
If nothing terrifying awaited her in the alley, she ought to go back for the clothes and the wig. They could be valuable evidence. The thought was appalling.
“If you will tell me where you live, or are staying,” her companion said in the same polite tone, “I shall be happy walk you back. Lucy is small but she’s fearsome when she wants to be.” As if to confirm his statement, the dog, an irascible looking terrier, growled at something unseen down the street.
Laura grasped at the excuse. She would go back to the alley early in the morning, when she could see but no one would be around. “That’s good of you,” she agreed.
Her rescuer cast her still another ambivalent glance, and it occurred to Laura that she should at least try to explain her unusual attire.
“We had a kind of fancy dress routine this evening,” she ventured. This time the man’s look was frankly skeptical.
“I mean, that’s why I’m dressed like this,” Laura stumbled on. “I… I came out for a breath of air, you see…”
“Quite,” he agreed, sounding unconvinced. “Sounds jolly, I must say.”
Discouraged, Laura provided the name of her hotel and after that the conversation flagged. Her breathing slowly returned to normal, and she was grateful that he seemed to be as lost in his thoughts as she was in hers. Then, once again, she heard footsteps behind her. The dog growled, more ferociously this time. Laura felt a flutter of panic.
“Someone else out here, definitely,” the man remarked mildly. “Just another dog-walker, I imagine.”
Laura took a quick look behind her. Not a dog walker, she saw, but a tall man wearing a long pale trench coat. It flapped as he walked rapidly toward them.
The cloth she had seen in the alley; she was positive. Laura hesitated. Half of her wanted to confront the man, the other half wanted to run. She did neither. The unruffled presence of her companion gave her courage, and she walked on with him at the same unhurried pace. The man in the trench coat caught up with them, nodded brusquely, and sped on.
Laura stiffened. His face was familiar – not someone she knew, but someone she had seen recently. But where? All the way back to the hotel she pondered the question, but she was unable to place him.
To her relief, no one was around when they arrived. “Thank you so much,” she said with unfeigned gratitude. “Even if it was just a cat making that noise, it frightened the wits out of me.”
“My pleasure,” her rescuer assured her, but he didn’t turn away as Laura had expected. Instead, he lingered on the sidewalk beside her, looking embarrassed. Clearing his throat, he opened his mouth to speak.
A horrifying idea popped into Laura’s mind. Maybe he thought she really was a prostitute and was working up the courage to proposition her.
She quickly forestalled the possibility. “I’d love to treat you to coffee tomorrow morning, to thank you for coming to my rescue,” she babbled with a bright smile. “It would have to be early, though. I’m with a tour group, and we have to be at the Abbey ruins at nine,” she added, wanting to make her position clear. “Would eight be too early?”
Consternation flooded the man’s face, but he recovered quickly. “That would be grand,” he agreed.
“We could meet at Hazel’s café,” Laura suggested, recalling the name of a small café she had seen on a side street.
“Excellent,” he said with a smile. “I’m an early bird anyway. I can make it seven-thirty if you prefer.” Laura smiled back. He was a very pleasant looking man now that she’d had a chance to look at him. He might have seen something while he was walking his dog, too. Any snippet of information she could get was welcome, however she got it.
“Seven-thirty would be great,” she assured him.
“I’ll see you tomorrow then, at Hazel’s,” he answered, and strolled away, his steps jaunty now.
Laura hurried inside before anyone turned up. To her surprise, Violet wasn’t in the room. She had said she kept unusual hours, but it was well past midnight. Still, Violet was perfectly capable of looking after herself.
Stripping off her clothes, Laura folded them into her suitcase, scrubbed her face free of the cloying make-up, set her alarm for six thirty to allow time for the alley, and tumbled into bed. Two hours later she sat up suddenly. The man in the trench coat was the man with whom she had almost collided at the top of the stairs in the Bed and Breakfast in Bath – the elegantly dressed man who had looked at her filthy clothes with such disdain after she’d rescued the baby.
Laura blinked, unable to process this startling information in her foggy state, and fell back into dreamless slumber.
She awoke just in time to disarm the alarm. Scribbling a hasty note for Violet, now soundly asleep in her bed, she dressed and went quietly out the door.
When she reached the alley, she crept toward the bin where she had found Maisie. Footsteps sounded again, hurrying ones this time. Laura was almost certain they weren’t the same ones she had heard last night. These were lighter, faster. A woman?
A cat slithered in front of her and she stifled a gasp. The muted sound was enough to frighten her quarry. The person was running now, hurrying away from her in the same direction Maisie had fled.
Laura sprinted after the receding footsteps and spotted a slender dark-haired woman in a blue jacket and pale slacks running up an adjoining alley. She had a fleeting impression of lightness and grace; then her quarry turned into a busier street and disappeared. By the time Laura got there, she was nowhere to be seen.
Feeling cheated, Laura retraced her steps to the alley. There was still the garbage can, she consoled herself, which might contain something useful.
She leaned over the smelly can, nerving herself to grope around in the rotting contents. Tentatively, she thrust in an arm. She was immediately rewarded. A large bundle of stained cloth emerged with her filthy hand. When shaken out, it turned into a voluminous, very grubby skirt. Stuck to it by a wad of chewing gum was a scarf, not the one Laura had handed back to Maisie but a smaller silky one. A single long red hair that shone in a brief glimmer of sunlight dangled from it.
Holding it high, Laura performed a little jig, as Maisie had done. The woman she had seen last night sneaking into Alan Mansfield’s room!
A chuckle behind her made her drop the skirt. “You seem to have found an article of clothing that pleases you,” a masculine voice observed.
Laura whirled. Last night’s dog-walker was behind her. His dog was at his side.
The humor vanished from his face, and he stared at her in consternation. “Good heavens!” he stammered. “I didn’t know that was you. You look quite different. I fear I’d thought… Or rather I wasn’t sure….”
He stopped abruptly, looking mortified again. Laura hastened to reassure him. “If you mistook me for a woman of the night, as the old novels call them, it just shows my disguise was more effective than I’d thought,” she assured him.
He continued to stare at her; then his face relaxed into a charming, lop-sided smile. “I like you a good deal better this way,” he said candidly. “You have to admit, though, that you did give cause for other interpretations.”
Laura laughed. “I certainly did. I had to duck into one of the local bars last night to elude someone, and I wonder now if they had the same thought.”
“No doubt they did,” he observed dryly. “They probably didn’t like it either, if you went into the King’s Head. You were trespassing on someone else’s turf. Gladys, our local prostitute, usually haunts that bar, and the locals feel protective about her.”
“So that was it! They did seem unwelcoming.” Laura sighed. “How naïve I am.”
“Good,” he replied firmly. “I find that a relief. You do seem to have an unusual interest in this alley, however, and I can’t help wondering why. Or why you were trying to elude someone by going into the King’s Head, or why you were dressed like that in the first place,” he added, regarding her with interest.
Laura hesitated. “It’s rather a long story
,” she demurred.
“And an absorbing one, I deduce,” he countered. “You were so engrossed that you didn’t even see me.”
“Fine sleuth I make,” Laura answered gloomily.
“Lucy’s a jolly good one, however,” he replied. “She came up with this. Does it interest you too?” In his hand was a wig.
“That is fantastic!” Laura told him, her eyes glowing with triumph.
“Excellent,” he said, handing it over. “The timely contribution will, I hope, persuade you of my deservedness in terms of explanations. You owe me one, as they say in America. And now I believe it is time for our coffee date.”
“I’m aching for a cup of coffee,” Laura agreed, “or even better, a pot of tea, maybe a couple of scones as well.”
Her companion produced a grocery bag that he said he often used to collect trash on the streets. “Put those unsightly things in here,” he instructed, pointing at the wig and the skirt. “Otherwise Hazel at the coffee shop will think we’ve both gone mad.”
Her companion waited until Laura had downed her first cup of tea and then looked at her expectantly. Lucy, who was apparently well known at Hazel’s and allowed in without question, looked up at her with an almost identical expression. Laura grinned. Dog and master were both curious but polite about it, and very tenacious.
“It’s a complicated situation,” she began. “I’m afraid I’ve got myself into a hornet’s nest of intrigue. Quite unintentionally,” she added, lest he think she was some kind of an undercover agent. “I’m just an innocent American tourist, but I guess I was in the wrong place at the right time. Or is it the opposite?”
“I think it is. Maybe I can help,” he offered cheerfully. “I’d be glad to if I can. I’m a journalist and accustomed to doing investigations. First, though, perhaps we should introduce ourselves. My name’s Burtin. Richard Burtin.”
Laura’s eyebrows lifted at the familiar name. “I get a lot of flak from my daughter about it,” he confessed. “He’s her favorite actor. I act in local theatre productions and that makes it worse. I can’t measure up.”
Laura laughed. “Well, I’m very fond of amateur theatre,” she told him. “I do it too, or did. And I’m Laura Morland. Thanks again for your help.”
She reached out to shake his hand, and he took it in a strong grip. “I didn’t do much except almost put my foot in my mouth,” he said wryly.
“Yes you did,” Laura assured him, studying his face. His features were a bit too large and his face a bit too crooked for conventional good looks, but there was a friendly gleam in his astute gray eyes that she really liked.
Richard frowned. “Now that I’ve seen you looking what I surmise is normal, you look familiar. Weren’t you the woman who almost got run over yesterday?”
Laura brightened. Another witness. Was there anyone in Glastonbury who hadn’t seen her? “Yes, that was me. Did you see anything that might help?”
Richard shook his head. “All I saw was somebody walking away from you quite fast, a woman in a long skirt, but I thought she was chasing a child, trying to catch him before he got to the corner. I also saw the young man who joined you later at the table lurking at the head of the alley.”
He frowned. “He looks familiar, but I can’t place him.”
“Did you see the woman’s face?” Laura asked eagerly.
“No, only her back. She looked sturdy, had brownish hair and a long stride. She was almost running, which is why I thought she was chasing a child.”
“Was the hair the color of that wig?” Laura’s voice was sharp.
Richard’s eyebrows rose. “Come to think of it, it was,” he admitted. “What made you ask? Do you think the woman I saw was wearing a wig?”
Laura grinned. “Yes, and the skirt in your bag too, except I’m not sure she was a woman. That’s part of the unlikely story you want to hear. It’s also what caused me to try to search the alley last night and this morning.”
Richard whistled softly, impressed. “Well, that’s one for the books. Now you’ve made me really curious. Fire away, for goodness sake!”
Laura paused to take a bite of scone. If she was going to confide in Richard, she should start at the beginning and tell him the whole story, including a description of the tour members. On the other hand, she knew nothing about Richard except his name and that he was a journalist - and an actor. Even amateur actors could put on an excellent performance. Last year’s experience had taught her that.
Richard seemed to intuit her thoughts. He handed her a business card. “I’ll give you names of people who can verify my credentials, too,” he offered. “I might be able to help by doing background research on whatever this hornet’s nest of intrigue is. I’d enjoy it. I came here from London, and things seem a bit dull by comparison.”
Laura considered. She really would like to talk to someone who wasn’t involved in the tour, and Richard seemed like a heaven-sent candidate. Besides, her intuition told her she could trust him, and that had to count for something.
“Thanks,” she agreed. “I could do with some help and I’d be interested in your reactions to the story.” She began with the twins in the airport and mentioned everything she could think of that seemed relevant, right up to the conversation about babies she’d overheard in the pub.
“I also keep wondering if any of the tours members could be involved,” she finished.
“Why do you think that?” Richard asked.
“There’s nothing I can prove,” Laura admitted, “except that someone seems to want to get me out of the way, presumably because I found the baby. The tour members are the only people who know where I’ll be each day, although I really do think someone is following me. Then there’s the fact that the babies the pub man mentioned were taken from the two nurses’ hospital. That’s an odd coincidence, like the bomb scare and Joe, the old man who was run down.
“It’s also a feeling I have that some of the tour members are a bit off, not right for this particular tour. The Takaras, for instance, are interested in photography, so why didn’t they choose a tour with lots of different attractions to take pictures of instead of this one, which goes only to a few places? The Bernsteins don’t fit that well, either. He’s a pompous ass who may be interested in the occult, but I doubt he cares about gardens and manor houses. I doubt Claudine does, either, although she probably did hide the clothes in the alley. Even Lady Longtree and William, who are very helpful, don’t make sense. Why are they so determined to be involved despite the possible dangers? And why take a bus tour when they already know so much about the sites we visit?”
“I see what you mean,” Richard replied thoughtfully. “If you will provide the names of the tour members, I’ll check them out on my computer, as well as checking out the tour itself. I still have good connections in the city, too, and people there might know more, especially about the criminal organization you mentioned.”
“That would be a great help,” Laura said gratefully.
“I kept both articles about babies being taken,” Richard told her. “There will be plenty more, too. The whole country is in an uproar about it. I’ll save them for you and see if there’s anything in today’s papers. I’m on my way to the newsagent anyway.”
“There’s another wrinkle you don’t know,” he added.
“What’s that?”
“There is a bag lady of sorts in Glastonbury, but she’s in hospital right now and her name isn’t Maisie. It’s Peg.”
Laura stared. “No Maisie? But who was she then?”
“Maybe another bag lady but it seems unlikely - much more logical to think that Maisie is an imposter. I’ll try to find out.”
Richard paused for an appreciative sip of his coffee. “Do you have any other clues that might be helpful?”
“There’s the long red hair on the scarf I found that probably came from the woman I saw going into Alan Mansfield’s room,” Laura answered. “Violet is also a redhead but her hair is shorter, so I doubt it came
from her. Then there’s the woman with dark hair I saw in the alley this morning. I forgot to tell you about her. She had been looking in the garbage can; I’m almost certain of it, and I scared her off.”
“Could that one be the Maisie imposter?” Richard asked.
Laura shook her head. “I doubt it. The woman I saw this morning was quite graceful. Maisie was very lively for an old lady but certainly not graceful.
“None of it seems to help us much, or add up,” she added with a frown.
“Every bit helps,” Richard assured her. “What one must do in these cases is to keep gathering evidence, about who these people really are, who might want you out of the way because you found a baby, and so forth. It’s a methodical process. A computer is a great help. I’ll get on it right away.”
“You’re very good to offer all this,” Laura replied gratefully. “I don’t want to be a nuisance, though, so please don’t let me interrupt your schedule.”
“It is my pleasure to help,” Richard assured her. “The stories I’m working on now are hardly exhilarating, and this sounds a good deal more interesting.”
Belatedly, Laura glanced at her watch. “I’d better get moving. I should be at Glastonbury Abbey right now. I’ll look for that red hair and then I’m off.”
She pulled out the silken scarf and discovered not one but two long red hairs. “Alan’s lady must have worn this at some point, that’s clear,” she said in satisfaction.
“How about the wig?” Richard asked. “Have you checked that for hairs? They often get stuck to the lining.”
“Brilliant!” Laura answered, and pulled it out. “Something’s caught in there.”
Richard took the wig and brought it close to his eyes. “You’re right. There are a number of short dark hairs stuck to the lining, evenly distributed. Short and curly and coarse. Does that fit the head of anyone in the tour group?”
Laura shook her head. “Only Dr. Bernstein and the Takaras have dark hair. Hers is long and his is straight, and Dr. Bernstein only has a thin fringe. He’s pretty bald at the top.” She sighed. “That lets out my two favorite villains, I guess.”
