Dressed for Death

by Julianna Deering

  “Billy!” Carrie scolded. “What have you been doing? How did you find out, Drew?”

  Drew held up Sweet Danger. “I’d just come down for this, and Adkins told me I’d ought to have a word with young Master Holland about his ill-considered ways.”

  “It was nothing, sis,” Will said, his voice overly earnest. “I was just poking around the house, and he was all high-and-mighty and told me to stay out of the way.”

  Carrie shook her head in disgust.” And you couldn’t possibly have listened.”

  “I didn’t hurt anything.” He grinned at Drew. “I got into that pantry and out again without the cook even noticing.”

  “Billy!” Carrie turned to Nick, eyes blazing. “Did you know about this?”

  “Not until now,” Nick said. “But I’d say you ought to take Mr. Adkins’s advice to heart, Will.”

  Will wrinkled his nose. “You’re not my dad.” He glanced at Carrie. “Or my brother.”

  Carrie shook her finger in his face. “You be nice, Billy Holland, or I swear this is the last time I take you with me anyplace. I mean it. And I don’t care what Daddy says.”

  “All right, all right.” Will gave Nick a sullen apology. “I don’t know why you guys get to have all the fun.”

  “You listen to your sister, Will,” Drew said. “I know this seems quite exciting at the moment, but it’s serious business and not something to trifle with.”

  “I was just watching the police investigate. The fellow doing the fingerprinting was pretty nice about letting me tag along with him, but then that inspector guy told me to clear off.”

  Drew chuckled. “He’s told us that a time or two, in point of fact, eh, Nick?”

  “And neither of you ever listened to him, either.” Carrie shook her head, lips pursed. “Boys.”

  Nick squeezed her hand. “Will you forgive us if we promise to lead blameless lives evermore?”

  “I guess there’s no harm done.” Fighting a smile, Carrie stood on tiptoe to give Nick a peck on the cheek. “You two behave yourselves. Come on, Billy, it’s past your bedtime.” She took Will’s arm, tugging him toward the stairs. “You boys can play detective in the morning.”

  “I’d like a private word with you, Will,” Drew said. “If you and your sister don’t mind. Nick, perhaps you could escort the ladies upstairs.”

  Carrie put her arm through Madeline’s. “Come on. I’ll tell you about the picture we just saw. Oooh, that Cary Grant.”

  Drew waited until they were out of hearing before he turned to Will. “I’m serious about what I told you. This isn’t a game anymore.”

  Will huffed. “All right, I get it. I just don’t know why you let that Nick in on everything and not me.”

  “I thought you two were getting along nicely now.”

  Will was silent for a moment, and then he huffed again. “Why does he have to be after my sister all the time?”

  Drew fought a smile. “She doesn’t seem to mind, does she?”

  “Aw, her head’s full of rocks. She doesn’t even think about things. I mean, it’s just me and her and Dad as it is, and I’m going off to college in the fall. Then what’s Dad going to do all by himself? And what’s she going to do if she’s not home where he can look after her?”

  “You had to expect she’d leave home sometime. I can’t imagine the fellows over on your side of the pond haven’t noticed her.”

  “Well, sure. I don’t expect her to stay an old maid or anything. But she can’t come all the way over here and live. We’d never see her! Besides, she’s supposed to marry Kip Moran.”

  Surely Nick didn’t know about this.

  Drew kept his expression mild. “Who’s this Moran fellow?”

  Will beamed at him. “He was the captain of the varsity football team at the college. His dad’s a state representative, and he drives one of those new MG Midgets, orange with tiger stripes and everything.”

  Drew refrained from rolling his eyes. “And he and your sister are engaged?”

  “Heck no. They went out some. Carrie says he’s a swell fellow and all, but I don’t think he ever proposed.” Will scowled again. “Now she’ll hardly give him the time of day.”

  Drew exhaled mentally. “I see. And was this recently? This spring?”

  “Nah. About a year ago, I guess. Right after she was over here the first time.”

  After she’d met Nick, then. That was definitely a good sign.

  “Well, Nick’s a good fellow, you know, even without a tiger-striped car. And ladies’ preferences must be taken into consideration.”

  “I guess so, but would it hurt her to marry someone keen?”

  Drew gave Will a searching look. “You do realize Nick’s the reason she’s come, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, I guess,” Will said, looking as if he’d just agreed to take a dose of castor oil. “I just don’t know why she can’t get together with Kip Moran.”

  “Suppose your sister decided to choose someone for you,” Drew said, trying not to smirk. “You wouldn’t stand for it for a moment.”

  Will’s eyes widened. “Well, I . . . I mean, uh, I guess people ought to pick for themselves.” He sighed, shoulders drooping. “But that MG is awful swell.”

  “Buck up, Will,” Drew said, clapping him on the back. “Maybe you’ll have one of your own someday, and you won’t have to trade your sister for it.”

  Will grinned. “Maybe I will. Besides, if Dad found out I wanted her to marry a guy just so I could drive his car, he’d probably take my license away.” Just then he saw Nick coming back down the stairs and went to him, hand extended. “Sorry I’ve been such a pill, Nick. You’re a good guy, and if Carrie likes you, I guess that’s okay with me.”

  He shook Nick’s hand and then hurried up the stairs and out of sight.

  Nick watched him, dumbfounded. “Whatever did you say to him?”

  “Oh, not much. I just told him to stay out of trouble and that Carrie ought to be the one to choose between you and your rival.”

  “Rival?” Nick frowned. “Who?”

  “Not here. Back in America. Will tells me his sister has been pursued by a star of American university football, who just happens to drive a rather natty tiger-striped car.”

  Nick huffed.

  “It probably plays the school fight song when one presses the horn as well,” Drew added.

  Nick glared. “Yes, that’s all very well, I’m sure. And why haven’t you told me this before now?”

  “Just found it out a minute ago.”

  Nick glanced up the stairs, a flicker of hurt in his eyes. “I would never have known it by the way she acts.”

  Drew chuckled, and the hurt became more than just a flicker.

  “No, no, Nick, old man, no need to fall on your sword quite yet. Will tells me that since she came back from her first trip over here, she won’t give the football chap the time of day.”

  Nick exhaled. “And if Carrie’s made up her mind, woe betide young Will if he tries to change it.”

  “Those fiery redheads.” Drew shook his head. “Are you sure you know what you’re letting yourself in for?”

  “Not exactly,” Nick said with a grin, “but I’m eager to find out.”

  “It’ll be good for you, I daresay. Keep you on your toes.” Drew tucked his book under his arm once more. “I’d better toddle along myself. Mrs. Farthering will think I’ve stopped to read this one rather than just coming down to fetch it.”

  Nick’s expression turned serious. “I came back to ask you about Adkins. He had a little word with you, did he?”

  “He didn’t say much, only that Will ought to leave things be, and my wife, being so nice a lady, shouldn’t be left a widow.”

  “Something you ought to let our chief inspector know about?” Nick asked, frowning.

  “I dunno, old man. Evidently Birdsong’s been told to leave Mr. Adkins to heaven, as it were. Scotland Yard would rather he be allowed to mature his felonious little plans, or rather abet
Laurent’s, until they can finally decide what the two of them are actually up to.”

  “He threatened you,” Nick protested.

  “I’m not so sure about that.” Drew thought back on the valet’s words, wondering if he should have noticed something more about them than he had. “He did seem grateful for our not pressing charges about the necklace. Maybe, rough as it was, it was just as he said—a friendly warning for my own good.”

  “Conveniently putting you out of the way while he goes about his business, as well.” Nick scoffed. “Very nice. I suppose there’s plenty of time to tell Birdsong about it after we’ve found you facedown in the Solent, eh?”

  “All right. If you feel it’s that important, I’ll tell him about it when I see him next. It’s not as if he and Scotland Yard aren’t keeping an eye on the fellow as it is.”

  “A rather lax eye, if you ask me.” Once more, Nick glanced toward the stairs. “I wish Carrie and Will had gone back to Farthering Place. And Madeline too, if you want the truth.”

  “Don’t think I don’t agree with you. At least here we can look after them.”

  “If they’ll let us,” Nick said. “I ought to go stand in front of Carrie’s door and keep watch all night.”

  “I’m sure she’d admire your chivalry, but it’s probably enough for tonight for her to lock her door. That’s not a bad idea for all of us, actually. At least until we figure out what’s going on here.”

  “Right. Well, come on then. If there are any more sinister valets lurking in the shadows, we can fend them off together.”

  Nine

  As planned, Drew made a visit to the local greengrocer, a little shop across the high street from The Knight and Lady. A plump woman in a flowered dress and apron was halfway up a ladder, stocking the shelves behind the counter. She turned at the jingle of the bell.

  “Oh, good morning, sir. Just half a moment.” She scurried down the ladder with surprising agility, quickly dusted off her hands, and turned to him with a smile. “Now then.”

  Drew removed his hat. “Good morning. I was wondering if you have any cat collars.”

  “Cat collars?”

  “The kind with bells.”

  The woman shook her head. “Don’t have much call for that sort of thing. We did have some collars for small dogs.” She began rummaging in a box on the shelf behind her. “I suppose they’re all gone now. Nothing with bells, I’m afraid.”

  “Ah, well, bad luck then, eh?” Drew leaned on the counter with a touch of a confidential smile. “I don’t suppose you could help me with something else.”

  “I’ll certainly try, sir.”

  “I fancy you see a lot of labels in your line of work.” He opened his pocket watch and took out the sea-washed scrap of a label he’d found in the bottom of The Gull. “Do you recognize this one?”

  She took it from him, squinted, and then put on the glasses that were hanging from a chain around her neck. “Hmm . . . D. D.”

  She turned to scan the shelves behind her, and Drew did the same.

  “Dabney and Sons Jams?” She glanced again at the paper and then shook her head. “No. Daugherty Potted Meats? It’s close, but no.”

  She considered a can of Denton’s Delish Fish, which featured a drawing of an eager-eyed salmon complete with knife and fork and a napkin round its neck. “Not quite the same, and the background is green, not yellow.”

  “Right.” Drew gave her his most appealing and hopeful smile. “Might I come back there and look as well?

  “Well,” she said, stretching the word out like a cat’s wheedling meow, “I’m really not supposed to, you know.”

  “Just a quick look, then I pop back to my side and no harm done, eh?”

  She grinned, her freckled nose wrinkling and girlish. “Oh, all right. But if anyone comes in, you go, agreed?”

  “Agreed.”

  He slipped behind the counter before she could change her mind and started searching the lower shelves, the ones he couldn’t see from the customers’ side of the store, looking for anything that would be a less-faded shade of yellow than the paper he had found. Anything with a large letter D.

  “Have you lived in Armitage Landing long, er . . . forgive me, and allow me to introduce myself. I’m Drew Farthering. I come from Farthering—”

  “Farthering Place! Oooh, is that you then?” She clasped her hands over her heart. “Have you come here on a case? It’s the goings-on at Winteroak, isn’t it? Oh, poor, sweet Miss Henley. He used to bring her in here, you know. Not often, I suppose, but now and again for the Times and that. Such a charming young lady and him so sweet on her. He must be brokenhearted. And Mr. Cummins! Why, who’d’ve thought it? Next you’ll tell me old Mrs. Nesbitt who has the shop next door has poisoned someone.”

  “I’m afraid I wouldn’t know about that.”

  “Of course not,” the woman went on cheerfully. “What with her gout, she couldn’t get properly about even to buy the poison.”

  Drew managed an understanding nod. “I suppose you’ve lived here some while, Mrs. . . .”

  “It’s Marsrow.” She bobbed a curtsy. “And yes, all my life. The shop’s called Camworth’s. I was born a Camworth, you know, but with five sisters and all of ’em married, well, there wasn’t much chance of us passing down the name. Still, me and my Harold do all right for ourselves here. Did you have something you wanted to ask?”

  Drew blinked in the sudden absence of chatter. “Uh, not actually, no.”

  “Oh.” Her mouth went down in a pout. “And here I thought you’d come down to Armitage Landing to investigate about poor Miss Henley.”

  “Actually, I came for the party at Winteroak House.”

  “Oooh, I fancy it was ever so lovely. My friend Myrtle, she’s Mrs. Smythe-Brandon’s maid, she said it was just like stepping back a hundred years into one of those storybooks, all the ladies and gents in their fancy duds and dancing and all. Did you dance, Mr. Farthering? I mean those dances they did back then?”

  Drew cleared his throat. “As little as my wife would allow me to get by with.”

  Mrs. Marsrow chuckled. “It’s a wise husband who humors his wife when and how he can.”

  “So I’ve been told and well believe it. And does your husband humor you?”

  She smirked. “If he knows what’s good for him.”

  “And what does he do when he’s not at his job?” Drew shifted a few boxes of washing powder to one side, seeing if he could find a match for the label while watching the woman from the corner of his eye. “I’m wondering if he could tell me about the fishing in the area.”

  “No, not Harold. Can’t abide fish, my Harold. They give him a rash.”

  “Oh, that’s a pity.” Drew moved some jars of salmon paste. “It’s just I saw some men in a little boat a while back coming in with their catch, and I thought it looked rather jolly. With everything that’s gone on at the Cumminses’ house, I thought perhaps I’d take some friends and go out on the river and get away for a while.”

  “Probably Bert and Tom Kimlin and Bill Rinnie. Was one of them a great tall fellow with a red beard?”

  Drew nodded and pretended to be interested in comparing the D on a can of fruit to the one he’d brought with him. “I believe that’s who it was, yes. They pulled into the cove just east of here, below Winteroak House.”

  “Precisely.” Her face lost its cheeriness. “I don’t like to talk out of turn, sir, but I wouldn’t recommend you speak to them about their boat. They’re quite particular about it. I suppose it being their livelihood and all, they would be, but there’s no need to be so hard about it, is there? I mean, we all have to earn our bread.”

  Drew nodded and then knelt down to inspect a lower shelf, still eyeing her covertly. “And how do they do—Bert, Tom, and Bill? Make a good living at their fishing, do they?”

  “Nah.” She wrinkled her nose. “It’s a hard job, that’s what it is. My sister’s first husband was a fisherman till the sea took him, and they neve
r had two beans. Aw, but they were happy as ducks, they were. Now with Mr. Burnside, she’s got more and wants more, if you ask me. Money’s no replacement, I say, but what’s a lone woman to do when her man’s left her nothing but a broken heart?”

  “It is rather a thorny problem, isn’t it? But I suppose everyone has his struggles. Look at our three fishermen. They have mouths to feed as well, I suppose.”

  She laughed. “Only their own. Not that Bert wasn’t keeping company with Mary Elizabeth Lyles a year or two ago, though nothing came of it. Poor Mary Elizabeth, and now she’s married to—”

  “No doubt. Still, it’s rather a trig little boat for poor fishermen. I naturally assumed . . .” He gave her a look that invited her to take him into her confidence, and she seemed delighted to oblige.

  “Well, I won’t say there wasn’t a pother when they started going about in that instead of the old tub they had. And Bill was ever so tetchy if anyone asked about the new. But, well, his old gran did pass over not long before, and we just naturally assumed she left him a bit of something when she did.”

  “And they’ve been partners some while, have they?”

  Mrs. Marsrow frowned, thinking. “Five or six years now, I’d say. Of course, it was just Bill with Tom and Burt’s dad well before then. But when old Mr. Kimlin went, the boys naturally took up for him.”

  By that time, Drew had looked over most everything on the shelves. “Well, I’m afraid to say I haven’t found anything the least like my little sample here, but I am most grateful for your assistance.”

  “Oh, dear,” she said, looking genuinely distressed, “and I did want to help. I’m sorry to have been so useless.”

  “No, not at all.” He took her hand, bowing formally over it. “You’ve been very kind, Mrs. Marsrow, and I’m terribly grateful. If you happen to see anything that puts you in mind of this label . . .”

  “Oh, I’ll let you know at once, Mr. Farthering. I’d be quite pleased, I’m sure. Is there’s anything else I can do for you?”

  He walked around to the customer side of the counter and picked up a newspaper, the same one he’d read over breakfast that morning. “Just this, thank you.” He gave her a half crown, and she smiled.