by Carola Dunn
“Nice people. You never know.”
“I expect they knew the Grays. Will the inspector talk to them?”
“I imagine so. Where’s Daisy? I know prevarication when I see it. I don’t believe for a moment that she’s too tired to come and have a drink!”
“It was the first excuse that came to mind. And true, besides. Vera said she kept nodding off, though she seemed quite alert when I was interviewed.”
Alec groaned. “Great Scott, how the deuce does she do it? And what the deuce is Underwood thinking of to let her?”
“Does she make a habit of sitting in on police interrogations?”
“Yes. Give her an inch … My fault, I suppose. When I first met her, I was short of men, and I let her help me. She took shorthand notes and typed them up for me.”
“Nothing so formal for Inspector Underwood. Vera wanted her hand held, which he allowed. Then she stayed to see if I needed support. I didn’t, but she looked so comfortably ensconced in her chair that I couldn’t bear to oust her! Not that I minded her being present. She must have stayed with Izzie, too, or she’d be here by now.”
“Where’s Vera?”
“She went upstairs. She was pretty upset in spite of Daisy’s support.”
“Not everyone can be as blasé about a police ‘interrogation’ as you appear to be.”
“It’s not just that.” Willie frowned in thought. “She’s been—”
“Hold on a minute. Someone’s coming over.”
A corn-blond young man had just walked in, scanned the room, and spotted Willie. After a moment’s hesitation, he headed for Alec’s table. In spite of his cocky stride and a gleaming smile, he looked worried.
As he came closer, Alec saw that he wasn’t as young as he’d appeared through the haze of smoke in the bar. Thirty, or even thirty-five. Nonetheless, he was extremely good-looking. His navy suit was in the latest style, double-breasted, with pencil stripes, wide trousers and sleeves, slightly tailored waistline, and wide lapels with rounded tips. His tie was striped with a hideous shade of mauve.
Alec said in a low voice, “A secret admirer?”
“Certainly not!” Willie snapped.
“Miss Chandler. I’ve been hoping to run across you.”
“Hello, Mr. Vaughn,” she greeted him, coldly polite.
The estate agent, Alec recalled.
“Sorry to butt in, old chap. I won’t be a moment. How are you liking the house, Miss Chandler? No problems?”
“None that we can blame on you,” Willie said sarcastically.
“Oh. I … Good. Heard from Judith yet? Mrs. Gray?”
“No, and we hardly expect to.”
“She might send her address, so that you could forward anything she left behind.”
“She didn’t leave anything that wasn’t included in the contract of sale, and she hasn’t sent her address. Sorry.” Willie didn’t sound in the least apologetic.
“Sorry to bother you. You will let me know if you get her address?”
She sighed. “I’ll tell Miss Sutcliffe you’re asking for it. She’s the one who sorts the post.”
“Thanks ever so. It’s just—”
“I’m sure you want to go and join your friends, Mr. Vaughn. Good-bye.”
He went off at last, disconsolate.
“What was that all about?” Alec asked.
“I’m not sure. He came to the house one evening. I was the only one at home—I was tired and the others went to the cinema. I didn’t invite him in.”
“You don’t like him, do you?” It was more of a statement than a question.
“I don’t think you should ask me that.”
“You’re right. I apologise.”
Willie waved away his apology. “I forgot to tell the inspector he called. Does it matter?”
“Shouldn’t think so, but do tell him when you get a chance. Vaughn asked the same questions at that time?”
“Yes, but I don’t remember that I bothered to mention it to Izzie. For all I know, she did find something from Mrs. Gray in the post and chucked it away, not having any use for it.”
“I’ll ask—I’ll suggest that Underwood ask her. No, I’ve got to keep my finger out of this pie! You ask Isabel and if she says yes, advise her to report it to Underwood.”
“It would eliminate Mrs. Gray as victim and possibly save a lot of effort, I suppose.”
“Especially if she remembered the address, or could find the paper. The Sûreté—No! Stop me meddling.”
“As long as you don’t actually get in touch with the Sûreté or tell Underwood what to do, it’s not meddling,” Willie assured him. “One can’t help thinking about it.”
“But I shouldn’t be talking about it.”
“Let’s talk about something else, then. When do you think we’ll be able to move back—”
“I don’t think you should ask me that,” he quoted her own words.
She laughed. “Oh dear, there really isn’t any other topic of conversation at the moment, is there?”
“Would you like another sherry?”
“What I’d like is a large B and S. I’m not sure mixing the two is a good idea, though.”
“It won’t hurt you. One B and S coming up.”
While he was at the bar, Daisy and Isabel came in. Daisy did look tired, as Willie had claimed. Barely convalescent, yet she couldn’t keep her nose out of a murder investigation, he thought with exasperated fondness. No point in trying to exact her promise not to get involved, but he would make her promise to take care of herself. He hoped her friends would keep an eye on her when he went back to London, if she insisted on staying.
Isabel saw him and they came over.
“What would you like?” he asked.
“Sherry, please,” said Isabel.
“Not something stronger?”
She grinned. “I was brought up Methodist. I still feel slightly guilty drinking sherry. I never developed a taste for cocktails, and beer is unladylike. I hope their sherry is better than what we offered you.”
“Mrs. Barnes, the doctor’s wife, seemed to find it acceptable. Daisy, the usual?”
“Yes, please, darling. But let’s take our drinks to the dining room. I asked them to reserve us a table. I’m so hungry I could eat a horse. Where are the others? Not still in that dismal parlour?”
“Willie’s over there.” Isabel nodded towards the corner. “I’ll fetch her.”
Alec added a sherry and a vermouth with soda to his order and asked the barman to have them brought to the dining room. The man grudgingly agreed.
“Vera’s gone upstairs,” Alec told Daisy. “Willie said she’s upset.”
Daisy frowned. “She was in quite a state, and I can’t work out why. I’ll go and see if she wants to come down for supper.”
“Let one of the others go, love. You’re not altogether yourself yet.”
“I do feel rather like a wet rag, but I’m sure it’s just missing lunch. Tea was good but didn’t make up for it.” She paused as the others came up, then said, “Sally Hedger is waiting in the dining room this evening. I’m sure she’d take a tray up to Vera if she doesn’t want to come down.”
“I’ll try to persuade her to come,” said Willie. “It’s not good for her, brooding alone. Besides, we need to talk.”
“No talk about the m—the case while we eat!” Alec commanded.
“All right, but I still think Vera should join us. If she hides herself away, Inspector Underwood is bound to find it suspicious.”
TWELVE
Willie went upstairs to talk Vera into coming down, while Daisy, Alec, and Isabel made their way to the dining room. Sally, a neat figure in her black frock and white apron, met them at the door with a smile and showed them to a table.
“Miss Leighton and Miss Chandler will be down in a minute,” Isabel told her.
“I heard you ladies are staying the night here, Miss Sutcliffe,” Sally said diffidently. More concerned than curious, she went
on, “I hope there’s nothing wrong at Cherry Trees, what with the police from Wycombe in the snug and all.”
“Don’t worry, Sally, nothing involving your aunt.”
“Auntie May can take care of herself, miss. It’s you I was worrying about. You’re all right, then?”
“Except that we’re hungry,” said Daisy. “What’s on the menu?”
“It’s cold roast beef or lamb, with salad and baked potatoes,” Sally said apologetically. “We don’t get that many people Sunday evenings.”
“It’s more choice than I’d be offering at home this evening,” said Isabel. “I’ll have the lamb. And I might as well order the same for the others.”
Daisy and Alec both chose the cold beef. Daisy offered to swap with Willie or Vera if they preferred it.
They arrived just as Sally went off to fetch the soup. Vera was red-eyed and subdued. She hardly ate anything and spoke only when directly addressed, though she appeared to be interested when Alec and Willie talked about making the acquaintance of Dr. and Mrs. Barnes.
Sally had just brought apple crumble and a pitcher of custard when DC Pennicuik entered and came over to their table.
“DI Underwood would like to see you, sir, when you’ve finished your supper.”
“In the snug?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Five minutes.”
“Thank you, sir.” The constable departed.
“Oh dear,” said Daisy. “I have a nasty feeling—”
“Daisy,” Willie exclaimed, “you don’t think Underwood suspects Alec, do you?”
“I doubt it. No, I have a feeling Alec’s going to end up more involved in the investigation than he claims to want to be.”
“I’ll do my very best to avoid such a fate,” Alec said dryly. “Daisy, make sure your friends’ meals are put on our tab.”
That provoked an outcry, but he insisted that it was a fair return for their offered hospitality at lunchtime. It wasn’t their fault they’d been unable to carry out the offer.
“It’s my fault,” Vera lamented. “I wish I’d never mentioned the locked cellar!”
Daisy had misremembered who had been the first to bring up the subject. She still couldn’t see why it mattered, but the inspector had asked her. Alec looked interested, though no one who didn’t know him extremely well could have guessed it.
Perhaps they both assumed the person who drew attention to the inaccessible cellar could not be aware of what would be found when it was opened. On the other hand, whoever had shoved the victim down the stairs—assuming that was what had killed her—must have been on tenterhooks, waiting for the body to be found, so perhaps she’d prefer the inevitable discovery to be hurried up. Daisy could imagine Vera being unable to stand the suspense. However, she could not imagine Vera doing the shoving.
Unless the victim had died of poison, or stabbing, or something else, and had then been dumped in the cellar.…
Of course, only Willie had had the slightest idea that Alec’s skills might include picking locks. Yet she was the one who had blithely fetched the wire for him to make the attempt. Even given her fundamentally cheerful disposition and the inevitability of eventual discovery, Daisy found it inconceivable that she would have shown no signs of uneasiness.
The likeliest culprit of the three was Isabel, without question. She spent more time in the house, so had more opportunity. Tall and sturdy, she was physically capable of the deed. Her choice to sell her family home in Yorkshire and move to Buckinghamshire showed her decisive and resolute. Daisy hadn’t witnessed her losing her temper, but it wasn’t difficult to envision.
Angry, Isabel would be formidable. But Daisy had no idea what, if anything, would make her angry enough to resort to violence.
Not that it mattered. Far more likely was that the murder had occurred before the friends moved in. Daisy hoped Detective Inspector Underwood was of the same mind.
At this point in her musings, Alec excused himself and stood up to leave. Daisy realised she’d consumed half her crumble without tasting a bite.
“Eating in your sleep, love?” Alec teased. “Better not stay up late.”
“How long do you think Underwood will keep you?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
“How annoyed is he about your being on the spot?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
“Darling, you must have some inkling!”
“Ambivalent, if you insist.”
“That’s no help.”
“Sooner or later, he’ll come down on one side or the other. I mustn’t keep him waiting.” He departed.
“Daisy, is there any chance Alec will be put in charge?” Willie asked.
“I very much doubt it, whether the inspector wants him or not.”
“Underwood can’t suspect him!”
“You never know. He’s a witness at least. He can’t very well investigate himself.”
Willie giggled. “No, it sounds ridiculous, and unethical, if not actually against the rules.”
“The press would have a heyday. I wonder how long it’ll be before they arrive.”
Vera quailed. “Oh, no! Not tonight, surely?”
“People must have seen the police at Cherry Trees. Someone will have notified the local paper by now.”
Vera heaved a sigh of relief. “The Bucks Free Press doesn’t come out till Friday, thank heaven.”
“If they have a single enterprising reporter, he’ll sell a tip to one of the nationals. But they’d have to get here tonight to publish the news in tomorrow’s morning papers.”
“Let’s go and have coffee in the parlour,” Isabel proposed. “Nobody can bother us there.”
Except a female reporter—but Daisy kept quiet not wanting to sow further alarm and despondency. If she were a newspaper editor, she’d consider the story of a murder in a house inhabited by three single women to call for the feminine point of view.
Sally arrived to clear the table. “Will you have coffee?” she offered.
“Could we have it in the parlour?” said Isabel.
“Yes, of course, Miss Sutcliffe.”
As the others trailed out, Daisy said, “Sally, put everyone’s dinner on our bill, please.”
“All right, Mrs. Fletcher. That’s ever so nice of you.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “That Sergeant Harris is in the public. He’s telling everyone the detective that’s in Mr. Whitford’s snug won’t let the ladies go home.”
“Has he said why?”
“Not outright, just nasty hints. That’s his way.”
“Oh dear! Thank you for telling me, Sally.”
Daisy hurried after her friends.
As soon as the door of the ladies’ parlour shut behind her, she warned them that rumours were already flying, no doubt growing more shocking with every repetition.
“Inevitable,” Isabel said. “We’re the obvious suspects. In fact, the only ones, as far as I can see.”
“Oh!” Vera moaned.
“We’ve got to face the facts, Vera. There isn’t anyone else.”
“I’m not so sure of that,” Willie argued. “What about Donald Vaughn?”
“Methinks the gentleman doth protest too much?” said Daisy.
“Yes, and he wasn’t his usual bumptious, obnoxious self this evening. All that show of enquiring after her could be a ruse to divert suspicion.”
“Could be. As far as the investigation is concerned, it’s very early days yet. The police don’t know yet what they’re looking for or whom to ask. For a start, we seem to be taking it for granted that the remains are Mrs. Gray’s. Admittedly, she doesn’t sound like a particularly pleasant person, though I don’t know enough about her to judge. When they begin to dig into her background, they may find she has dozens of enemies.”
Willie grinned. “Dozens?”
“All right, several. Not to mention friends who would know when she left town.”
“And whether she left town.”
“If they saw her off, or have heard from her since. When did you see her last?”
“We signed the papers on September the sixteenth. I didn’t see her after that.”
Vera nodded agreement.
“Neither did I,” Isabel confirmed, “nor hear from her. I was a bit surprised. I’d expected a few last-minute adjustments to what she wanted to leave for us.”
“Such as?” Daisy asked.
“Oh, for instance, in the linen cupboard there’s a set of initialled silver-plated napkin rings that look like a family heirloom. She might have forgotten those and decided she wanted to keep them after all. I didn’t really think too much about not hearing from her, just assumed she was satisfied.”
“From what little I saw of her,” said Willie, “she’s the sort who’s never satisfied.”
“That’s why I was a bit surprised. She was impatient, too, and liable to make up her mind without due consideration.”
“In any case, she’s not necessarily the victim,” Daisy reminded them. “We already decided she could have been the murderer. Or it could be someone else entirely, nothing to do with her, someone taking advantage of the house being empty to dispose of an inconvenient body.”
“Do you write fiction as well, Daisy?” Isabel enquired. “That sounds like a plot for a thriller.”
“No,” Daisy said crossly.
“I feel as if we’re stuck in a shilling shocker.” Vera’s voice was shaky. “I don’t know how you can be so calm about it.”
“Getting all het up doesn’t help,” Isabel pointed out. “In fact, it makes everything seem ten times worse than it really is.”
Willie stuck up for Vera. “She can’t help it. You have nerves of steel, and I can usually see the funny side. Daisy, do you think the police will seriously consider the theory of the empty house used as a dumping ground by strangers?”
“It’s not a theory, only a vague hypothesis. What Alec would call wild speculation. But they have to take all possibilities seriously, especially when they have so little to go on.”
Sally came in with a tray of coffee cups and a pot. “I brought a cup for Mr. Fletcher, too,” she said, “just in case.”
“He’s still with the inspector?”
“Yes, madam.”
