Dressed for Death

by Julianna Deering

  “Drew.” She wrapped him in her arms, pulling his head down to her shoulder, holding him there until he gave in and relaxed against her. “Don’t say that, darling. Don’t even think it. You’re not useless.”

  “Of course I am!” He shrugged away from her. “I haven’t found out who killed Alice. I’ve gotten Carrie’s brother killed. I left Tal so hopeless he killed himself.”

  “None of that is your fault. And it certainly doesn’t mean you’re useless.”

  “What have I done with my life? I’ve never even had a proper job.”

  “What about all the good you’ve done?” she asked. “You’ve helped a lot of people. People who lost a loved one and needed to know why. People who seemed guilty but weren’t. People who might have been killed if you hadn’t exposed a murderer.”

  “Will Holland would be alive right now if I hadn’t told him about some of our cases and let him nose around at Winteroak. If I am supposed to be a sleuth, I’m a pretty rotten one.”

  She gave him that pert little grin of hers, though there was a great deal of love and patience in those perceptive eyes. “You think God didn’t know what He was doing when He called you to be a sleuth?”

  He huffed. “But that’s the whole point. Did He call me, or did I, in my usual insufferably self-assured way, just assume He did? I have no training for this. I’m just as likely to be killed as find a killer. I was nearly killed last summer, if you remember.” Drew’s throat tightened, and tears stung his eyes. “Tal begged me to find out who killed Alice, and I’ve failed him.”

  “You’ve only failed him if you quit before you do what you told him you would.”

  He pulled away from her again, closing his eyes. “I’m just no good at it. I’ve fancied myself a good judge of people, but I’ve blundered over and over again. Cummins was a friend of ours for years, and all that while he was a criminal. I never saw it. Never.”

  Once more she slipped her arm through his, not letting him escape her tender touch. “Mr. Cummins fooled a lot of people, people with much more experience and training than you. Why should you feel any more taken than them?”

  “Because people die when I make mistakes. What if someone else dies because of me?”

  She took his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her, forcing him to hear. “Alice didn’t die because of you. She was murdered. Billy was murdered. Tal took his own life. None of that is your fault. It’s awful, it’s tragic, but it’s not your fault.”

  “But if I could have prevented—”

  “But you didn’t. You couldn’t. That doesn’t mean you should stop trying. Who knows if you might stop this murderer from killing again?”

  “And if I don’t? If I can’t? What if it’s Mrs. Cummins the next time? Or Carrie? Or Nick?” In spite of himself, his voice shook. “What if it’s . . . you?”

  “Drew.” She kissed the corner of his mouth, his cheek, his closed eyes, and then she held him close again. “Our times are in God’s hands, and if it’s my time or yours or anyone else’s, there’s nothing you can do to change that. All you can do is keep on doing whatever it is He’s given you to do for the time you’re given to do it.”

  “I couldn’t,” he whispered against the soft warmth of her throat. “If anything ever happened to you, I could never go on.”

  “I don’t want you to worry about that. Not tonight.” She tugged him down to the pillows and curled up in his arms. “I’m not going anywhere but right here.”

  He pressed his lips to her fragrant hair and closed his eyes. For tonight at least, that was enough.

  Fifteen

  Saturday morning was perfectly miserable. The weather was drizzly but hot, the air heavy and sticky. The church was sweltering, as were the mourners inside it, packed into the pews like tinned fish. Tal had been well liked, Drew had no doubt of that, but he wondered, with three deaths in less than a week, how many of those present merely wanted to partake of the spectacle. Drew didn’t know how, under the circumstances, Tal was to be given burial in consecrated ground. But whether it was through mercy, influence, or a certain amount of money, he was glad. For Tal’s sake and also his poor mother’s, he was glad.

  Drew walked Mrs. Cummins into the church with Laurent simpering at her other side. Nick followed them, escorting Carrie and Madeline. A murmur of sympathy and curiosity followed them up the aisle and then hushed as they came to a stop in front of the casket. In front of Tal laid out in his best suit.

  Drew stared down at his friend as he lay in the narrow confines of the box and searched for something he knew was no longer there. Everything that had made Tal Cummins himself was gone. What was left was a mockery, a reminder of Drew’s own failure.

  He could still see Tal’s face as he’d stood on the beach throwing stones into the sea. “I have to know who killed Alice.” Drew still hadn’t a clue.

  “Sorry,” he whispered.

  Sorry he hadn’t found Alice’s killer as he’d promised. Sorry he hadn’t kept another murder from happening at Winteroak House. Sorry he hadn’t been able to give Tal even a hope of finding out something. Sorry that Tal had found it all too unbearable. Sorry that he had gotten hold of more of that miserable cocaine. Sorry, sorry, sorry . . .

  An intake of breath, something between a sob and a moan, came from somewhere beside him. He didn’t have to look to know whose it was.

  “I’m sorry,” he murmured into the soft marcelled waves of Mrs. Cummins’s hair.

  She leaned into him, somehow smaller and frailer than he’d ever seen her, but she made no answer. She clung to him for only a brief moment and then turned toward the front pew. He sat down with Madeline on one side of him and Mrs. Cummins on the other. If nothing else, he felt better for being there to give Tal’s mother what comfort he could. On the other side of her sat Laurent. The rest of the front pew was conspicuously empty.

  Nick and the other pallbearers, all of them school friends of Tal’s, sat in the pew behind them. Carrie was next to Nick, looking as if she had stopped crying only moments before. Drew didn’t blame her. She’d had a miserable week and probably wanted nothing more than to go home and never again hear even the mention of Hampshire. Her father would be here tomorrow to take her home, and afterward Nick would have an even worse time of it.

  The sotto voce murmurs of those in attendance fell to dead silence as the last arrivals came down the aisle. Chief Inspector Birdsong in politely somber dress escorted Tal’s father toward the casket. Cummins was wearing one of his own suits now, black and obviously expensive, though he seemed to have shriveled inside it. It was something of a mercy that his coat sleeves hung down a bit too long and for the most part concealed the handcuffs on his wrists.

  The chief inspector escorted him to the casket, then stepped back to give him a moment with his son. Cummins stood there motionless for a long moment. Then with a wrenching sob he leaned down and kissed Tal’s forehead. Drew could make nothing of the words he said afterward, but there was no denying the raw agony behind them.

  After a respectful amount of time had passed, Birdsong took his prisoner’s arm and steered him to the front pew. Mrs. Cummins gave Laurent a pleading look, and he was kind enough to move to the other side of the chief inspector so she could sit next to her husband. But the couple didn’t look at or cling to each other as Drew expected they might. They only watched in silent resignation while the vicar came to stand behind the pulpit, nothing in his expression but sadness and pity for the bereft parents.

  He spoke well, just as he had at Will Holland’s funeral. He spoke of God’s eternal love, mercy, and forgiveness. He spoke of His infinite patience and understanding of human frailty. And, as if he had been listening to Madeline last night, he reminded the congregation that every person’s life rested in His hands, and that true peace was found only in trusting Him with it. He spoke kindly to the grieving parents and led a prayer for their peace and comfort. The casket was then closed, and their son went forever from their sight.

&nbs
p; Seeing the vicar’s nod, Drew and Nick and four other pallbearers stepped forward and lifted the casket. In slow procession they followed the vicar down the aisle. With a sympathetic word to the mother, the two constables stood. Mrs. Cummins went next, with Mr. Cummins and his guard coming after. Madeline and Carrie were next, followed by the rest of those in attendance. In what seemed to be only a few moments more, the casket was lowered into the ground in the churchyard. Soon after that, Birdsong afforded Mr. and Mrs. Cummins a private word of farewell. He had a quiet word with Laurent while the couple spoke. And then he took Mr. Cummins away.

  “It seems I am to be freed at last.”

  Laurent came down the front stairs of Winteroak House, having shed his mourning attire in exchange for something more befitting the captain of a luxury yacht. Adkins skulked behind him carrying two large suitcases and with a portmanteau tucked under his stocky arm.

  “Are you?” Drew asked, glancing at Nick.

  They had just come down after changing their own clothes and were waiting for Madeline and Carrie to join them.

  “Does Mrs. Cummins know?”

  The Frenchman looked smug. “I left a note at her door. I am certain she will understand. I have been detained here far too long. My business will wait no longer.”

  “And I suppose he will agree with you?” Drew looked over at the police constable standing watch outside the front door, and Laurent’s expression grew insufferably more smug.

  “But of course. The chief inspector, he told me this morning I was allowed to go.”

  Nick scowled at the valet. “Him too?”

  Adkins gave him the most disdainful of looks.

  “Yes,” Laurent assured Nick. “The Hampshire police as well as Scotland Yard have questioned us both several times since the unfortunate death of young Will, and of course following our most recent tragedy. But there are laws, it seems, even here, and an innocent man cannot be detained forever. So if you gentlemen would excuse me, I will take my leave. My only regret is that the charming ladies are not here to see me off.”

  He set his captain’s hat on his head and sauntered out the front door, his valet in his wake.

  Nick glared after him. “What a perfect swine. And now there’s no touching him.”

  “Don’t be so sure,” Drew said. “I’ve been thinking about him and his Onde Blanc. Remember that whitish residue I told you about when we were picnicking near Claridge Rindle? I’m wondering now if that isn’t caused by the same stuff I saw on the deck of his yacht, those little semicircular marks aft.”

  Nick frowned. “Do you think so? I don’t see how.”

  “Neither do I. But they’re too similar not to wonder about them. I tell you what, you stay here and look after the girls, and I’ll take a stroll down the beach and see what I can see. Where the Rindle comes out and all.”

  “Oh, no, you don’t.” Madeline’s face was stern as she and Carrie came down the stairs. “Not by yourself you’re not.”

  “Now, look here, darling—”

  “You needn’t worry,” Nick said. “I’m going along to see he stays out of trouble.”

  “Out of the question,” Drew protested. “Someone has to stay here and make sure we don’t have any more incidents.”

  “We can go with you,” Madeline said.

  Carrie’s eyes grew rounder, though she made no objection.

  “Certainly not,” Drew said. “And leave Mrs. Cummins alone? I’m perfectly able to—”

  “If you go by yourself, we’ll just come after you.”

  Madeline had that determined set to her mouth he knew all too well.

  “There is a constable on duty,” Nick reminded him. “If anyone comes to menace the ladies, I’m sure he will see to them.”

  Drew weighed the idea of leaving Madeline and the others here with police protection versus having them with him when he was out poking his nose where it without doubt did not belong.

  “If I take Nick with me, will you both promise not to leave the house?”

  Carrie looked at Nick. “Are you sure either of you should go?”

  “It’ll be our last chance to have a look at things before Laurent sails back to France,” Drew said. He took Madeline’s hand. “Will you promise? It’s the only way I’ll feel right about taking Nick along.”

  Madeline pursed her lips. “All right. If that’s how it has to be. If you don’t go out alone, we won’t leave the house. And we’ll look after Mrs. Cummins too, since the servants have their half day off on Saturdays. I really don’t like to leave her alone right now.” She touched a kiss to his lips. “Don’t be long.”

  Carrie took shy hold of Nick’s arm. “You’ll both be careful, won’t you?”

  “Of course we will.” He squeezed her hand and then released it and turned to Drew. “Shall we?”

  They collected their hats and, with a cheery word to the constable leaning against one of the front pillars, walked down the drive and around the side of the house to the path that led down to the beach.

  Madeline sighed as Drew and Nick went out of sight. “I suppose we ought to go see if there’s anything we can do for Mrs. Cummins. We can at least try to cheer her up.”

  They walked back upstairs, where Madeline tapped on their hostess’s door, not wanting to wake her if she was able to sleep. But a moment later Mrs. Cummins invited them to come in, and Madeline opened the door.

  Mrs. Cummins was sitting near the fire in a wing chair with brocade stripes of cream and green and soft-colored flowers, a perfect complement to the feminine room. The day was warm, the fireplace unlit, but she sat huddled next to it all the same, knitting away. Something for the charity bundle, no doubt. Madeline supposed there was something comforting about a familiar routine, about doing something for others rather than thinking solely of oneself. Dressed in black, her face pale and her eyes red-rimmed, still she held her head up and managed a weak smile.

  “I thought I heard you all go out,” Mrs. Cummins said.

  “Just Nick and Drew,” Madeline replied. “May we come in?”

  “Oh, certainly, my dears. I’ve been lost in thought, sitting here alone.” She looked around the room, listening for what was not there. “The house is quieter than ever now.”

  Madeline would have liked to put her arms around the poor woman and tell her to cry for as long as she liked, but perhaps that was not what Mrs. Cummins needed just now.

  “It is quiet,” Madeline agreed. “That’s why we thought you might like some company. Or maybe there’s something we could help you with.” She thought for a moment. “We could pack up the things for the charity boxes if you feel up to it.”

  “When is the vicar supposed to come for them?” Carrie asked. “I would like to thank him again for . . . well, for seeing to everything for Billy.” Her voice caught. But she quickly composed herself and added, “He seems like such a nice man.”

  “A lovely man,” Mrs. Cummins said. “Always willing to help. So many men would think our little charity drives were beneath them, but he’s pitched in and organized the whole parish.” She gathered her knitting into one hand, brow furrowed. “But, yes, perhaps that would be best. We’ll sort the things that have come in over the past few days. I haven’t had much chance to see to it all, and I’m certain it’s in a terrible muddle. No use sitting about in a mope when there’s work to do, I always say.” She put her knitting aside and got to her feet. “Come along with me, then.”

  She linked arms with both girls, giving Carrie a pat as she did.

  “We mustn’t give way, my dear, no matter what we face. We can only hold our heads high and press on.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Carrie looked a little less strained. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  They went downstairs and into the pantry where Mrs. Cummins showed them a section filled with various items of food and clothing. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to how they were shelved.

  Mrs. Cummins shook her head. “Oh, dear. I have neglected it these past few da
ys, and Josephine never puts things in decent order. But the poor girl’s just getting over being ill. Still, I had no idea so much had come in.” She ran her fingers over a bundle of knitted items, sweaters and socks and such, and smiled faintly. “I see our ladies at St. James’s haven’t been idle during our difficulties.”

  “I think it will all be very welcome when the weather turns in the autumn,” Madeline said, her thoughts more on the door that led to the wine cellar than the jumble of food and clothing in this part of the pantry. “What should we do with it all?”

  “First off, we must sort it out. Clothing in one pile, food in the other. Sometimes there are small household items, cooking utensils or cutlery perhaps, and those would go in a separate pile. We’ll see to that first and then go on to the next bit.”

  They worked for some time, commenting now and again on various items, a shawl or a pair of gloves or a particularly well-made blanket. Mrs. Cummins, clearly making an effort to stay cheerful, told them about the ladies in her parish church who made items to donate.

  “Of course,” she said, “it does give us all the odd afternoon to sit in someone’s kitchen or parlor and natter away. All for a good cause, mind you.”

  “My mother’s friends were the same,” Carrie said as she got up to take more items off the shelves. “The things Billy and I heard while they were quilting.” There was a sudden silence, and then she forced a smile. “Does this go, too?” She held up a pasteboard package of tea, and Mrs. Cummins frowned.

  “Now where’d that come from?”

  “It was on the shelf, but not with the other things. Does it go with the rest?”

  The older woman’s mouth tightened. “The constables have been through everything in the house. They might at the least put things back where they belong.” She sighed, her expression softening. “I thought that all went out in the last group. Do forgive me, my dear, yes, put it with the rest. I suppose it’s as well to send it now as not at all.”

  Carrie balanced the box on top of the other things she’d collected and carried it all over to the table they were using for sorting.