“That’s right. It’s too early to make any assumptions yet, but in my experience, when people lie to the police, they’re often, but not always, guilty. It’s a difficult situation, Mrs. Jeffries.”
“I’m sure it is, sir. But you’ll keep digging until you get to the truth, you always do. What is on your plate tomorrow?”
“We’ve still to speak with Theodore Bruce, Leon Webster, and Robert Longworth.” He looked at his empty glass. “Do we have time for another before dinner?”
“Of course, sir.” Mrs. Jeffries drained her own drink before getting up. She could use another one herself. She poured seconds for both of them. “After you speak to those three men, what will you do next?”
“We’ll look deeper into Gilhaney’s background.”
“Have you had any response from the police in Manchester?”
“I don’t know—we didn’t go back to the station before coming home. I’m hoping they can tell us something about the fellow. We’re going to his lodging house in Putney tomorrow.”
Again, Mrs. Jeffries had the sensation that there was something she ought to recall, some bit of useful information that she’d heard today and that should be passed along. But the feeling disappeared before she could examine it properly. Instead, she said, “What if it was simply a robbery gone bad?” She handed him his glass and took her seat. “I know Chief Superintendent Barrows has gone off that idea, as did Inspector Nivens, but that doesn’t mean the victim wasn’t simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. It does happen, sir.”
“I know,” he agreed. “But Inspector Nivens has excellent sources amongst the criminal classes; he’s got a veritable army of fences and informants, and he keeps a list of pawnshops that have been known to move stolen goods. He put an enormous amount of pressure on these sources and none of them knew anything about the crime.”
“Perhaps none of them wanted to speak up because Gilhaney was killed, something which rarely happens,” she suggested. “Murder is a hanging offense.”
“We thought of that, and of course it is a possibility.” He sighed. “We have no way of knowing what really went on that night, so we must assume his death was a deliberate murder. A murder I’m afraid I won’t be able to solve.”
• • •
Downstairs, Mrs. Goodge was in her cozy quarters trying to decide what to do. She sat in her rocker petting Samson, who was draped across her lap. “It’s very discouraging, Samson. I’ve no idea what, if anything, I can do about the situation. At first I thought I must be imagining it, but I’m not. None of them are interested in solving this case. It’s as if justice has to go on holiday just because it is Christmas. Luckily, Ruth and I think even Luty saw what was going on today.”
Samson meowed faintly in agreement. But he always agreed with the cook. They frequently had long and, to her mind, very interesting conversations with one another.
“If Hepzibah and the others don’t come to their senses and start doing this investigation properly, they’ll be stuck here through Christmas and I, for one, was looking forward to having the place to myself for a bit. Good gracious, it’s already the nineteenth and we’re running out of time.”
He rubbed his head against her.
“There’s no help for it, Samson. Ruth and Luty and I will have to do something about this problem. I’m not sure what we can do, but between the three of us, we’ll come up with a solution.”
He kneaded his claws against her stomach.
“This can’t go on. We’ve all been given a great opportunity, Samson. People like us usually spend their whole life workin’ hard to make ends meet and keep a roof over their heads. But because of our circumstances, we’ve been given a chance to do more with our time on this earth, to do something important and noble. I’ll not let them turn their backs on their duty just because it’s inconvenient.”
He yawned, closed his eyes, and curled into a ball.
“They’ve no right to ignore justice just because their holiday plans might be ruined. As I said, I was looking forward to having a bit of time to myself, time where I didn’t have to cook three huge meals a day and keep everyone fed, but I didn’t shirk my duties, did I. No, I’ve sent out notes to all my colleagues and tried to find out what I could.”
Mrs. Goodge stroked his back. “We’ll just have to see what the three of us can come up with. We’ve got to do something, that’s all there is to it.”
Samson purred loudly.
CHAPTER 5
“You look fit and raring to go this morning,” Mrs. Goodge said cheerfully as she put a mug of tea in front of Constable Barnes.
“Appearances can be deceptive.” He yawned. “My bones are tellin’ me this case is going to be a killer, Mrs. Goodge.”
“Don’t be silly.” She slipped into the chair across from him. “It’s no better than the others. You’re just down in the mouth because the timing’s gone a bit sour. But I understand how you must be feelin’. Yesterday I was sure I’d overcooked the roast beef. The laundry boy arrived at just the wrong moment and truth to tell I quite forgot I had the joint in the oven. By the time I remembered, I was sure it wouldn’t be fit to eat—the crust was almost black. So I let it sit a bit and waited, cut the worst patches off the ends, and guess what, it was tasty as any of my other joints.”
Barnes and Mrs. Jeffries both stared at her.
“I know what you’re thinking, you don’t see the connection.” The cook laughed. “But it’s there. What I’m saying is that sometimes the timing is all wrong, but that doesn’t mean we’re not capable of doing what needs to be done.” She felt much more optimistic since she’d had her chat with Samson.
“But the timing on this one couldn’t be worse,” Barnes complained. “What’s more, you’re an excellent cook so you know how to fiddle with a hunk of meat until it’s good, but we’ve got to work with the leftovers from Inspector Nivens’ investigation and that’s an entirely different cut of meat.”
“Thank you for the compliment about my cooking, Constable, but you and the inspector are excellent at your work as well. I have faith in both of you and you should as well. This is the proper season for it. But time is getting on, so I’ll let Mrs. Jeffries take over. She’s got a lot to say—we learned quite a bit yesterday.”
“We did?” Mrs. Jeffries raised an eyebrow. “We didn’t find out that much. It was actually disappointing.”
Mrs. Goodge shot her a quick frown but said nothing.
“But we did learn one or two pertinent facts,” Mrs. Jeffries continued. She gave him a fast, but accurate, report on what the others had found out. “So, that’s it. We’ll try our best today and see what happens.”
“That’s what we’ll be doing as well. I take it the inspector gave you a full report on our activities yesterday?” He looked at Mrs. Jeffries expectantly, waited a moment, and then said, “You don’t have any questions for me or any details you need sorted out?” It was his habit to fill in any bits and pieces the inspector might have neglected to mention during his evening chat with the housekeeper.
“The inspector was quite thorough when we spoke yesterday evening,” Mrs. Jeffries murmured.
“I’ve got something to say.” Mrs. Goodge shot the housekeeper a quick, anxious frown. “Everyone you talked to yesterday, except for perhaps Newton Walker, said that Gilhaney was a rude boor or worse. But one of Luty’s sources insisted he was a good and decent person. I think that might be worth looking into.”
Barnes stared at her with a puzzled frown. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
Mrs. Goodge took a moment to assemble her thoughts properly. She knew she would never be as clever as the housekeeper when it came to understanding clues and putting the pieces together, but she had a feeling this discrepancy might be important. “What I mean is, if the way he behaved the night he was murdered wasn’t the way he usually behaved with people, then there had to be a reason.”
“And the reason might be important, might have something to do with his
murder?” Barnes nodded thoughtfully. “It’s possible, but opinions about someone’s character can vary from person to person. It could well be that Gilhaney was decent to Luty’s source because he had to be.”
“I still think it’s something to look at,” she insisted. “What’s more, Luty says that some of Gilhaney’s old mates were at his funeral. They’d know about his character and you could ask the police in Manchester as well. It wouldn’t be hard for them to talk to people who knew him.”
“Did she have any names of these old mates?”
“No, but there’s usually a remembrance or visitors’ book for people to sign when there’s a funeral.”
“That would be very useful, but the problem might be tracking it down. It wasn’t mentioned in Nivens’ reports. That’s one of the reasons our first stop this morning will be at Gilhaney’s lodging house. We’re hoping his landlady can give us some more information about him. Nivens didn’t bother with the funeral and we don’t even know where his personal belongings ended up. His investigation was a shambles and if I had my way, he’d be run off the force.” Barnes shook his head in disbelief, drained his mug, and rose to his feet. “I’ll see you ladies tomorrow, then.” He disappeared up the back stairs.
“I’m glad you remembered Luty’s source having a different view of Gilhaney’s character. I’d completely forgotten about that, and you’re right, it might be important.” The housekeeper gave her a smile and shoved her chair back. “I’m going to dash upstairs to do a bit of cleaning before the others get here for the morning meeting.”
Hearing her words, Mrs. Goodge’s spirits soared. Perhaps she’d been wrong. Perhaps Hepzibah wasn’t as unconcerned as it appeared. “That’s a good idea, I’ll tidy up the kitchen as well. We’ll get the chores out of the way so everyone can concentrate on solving this murder.” She smiled confidently. Perhaps today, the others would follow Hepzibah’s lead and start taking a real interest in the case.
But the cook’s hopes that things might be different were dashed as soon as the meeting got under way. Betsy looked bored, Smythe was grumpy, Wiggins fidgeted, Hatchet yawned eight times, and Phyllis stared off into space. But the worst was Mrs. Jeffries: She repeated what they’d learned from the inspector and Constable Barnes in a flat, monotonous tone of voice. The only two people at the table who showed any genuine interest in the case were Ruth and Luty Belle.
As the meeting broke up, Mrs. Goodge poked Luty on the arm. “Stay back a minute,” she whispered.
Luty nodded. “Hatchet, go on out to the carriage, I want to have a quick word with Mrs. Goodge about a joint Christmas present for our baby girl.”
“I’ll see you outside, madam,” Hatchet replied.
“What a lovely idea,” Ruth said as she put on her bonnet.
“Stay,” Mrs. Goodge hissed softly. “I want to talk to you, too.”
Ruth’s eyes widened. “Of course.”
As the kitchen cleared, the only one left was Mrs. Jeffries. But the cook had already thought of a way to get rid of her. “Mrs. Jeffries, would you do me a great favor? My rheumatism is acting up and I’ve just remembered that I lent my favorite recipe book, the one I use every Christmas, to Mrs. Ellis. I hate to ask, but could you fetch it for me?”
“Of course. She’s the cook at the Tamblyn residence, right?”
“That’s right, the last house at the end of the road. I’m so sorry to put you to such trouble.” She had lent the other cook her recipe book, but it was an old one she hadn’t used in years.
“Don’t be silly, a nice walk will do me good.”
As soon as the three women were alone, Mrs. Goodge motioned the other two back to the table.
Luty looked at Mrs. Goodge as she sank into her chair. “What’s wrong?”
The cook knew they didn’t have much time before the housekeeper came back so she got right to the point. “Everything. I don’t know what to do about it. But if we don’t do something, the person who murdered Gilhaney will get away with it. Ruth and I have already talked about it, but I wanted to know if you’d noticed how the others were acting?”
“You mean actin’ like they’ve all got better things to do than be out on the hunt?” Luty snorted. “Danged right I’ve noticed it. I jawed Hatchet’s ear off on the way home yesterday, but he didn’t pay me any mind.”
“I kept hoping I was wrong and that Hepzibah was just preoccupied yesterday, but it’s worse now. She’s totally disinterested and the others are taking their cue from her. I can understand why. Everyone had such lovely plans and now they’re worried they’ll have to cancel them,” Ruth said.
“Nobody will have to cancel anything if they get out and do a proper job of sussing out the truth,” Mrs. Goodge muttered. “Honestly, there were half a dozen times today when I wanted to scream. The inspector learned lots of interesting bits and pieces and normally Hepzibah would point them out to us and get everyone talking and making silly assumptions and sharing our ideas, but she didn’t.”
“Even if we agree that the others ain’t wantin’ to do their part, what can we do about it?” Luty demanded. “I can’t put my Peacemaker to their heads and force them to care.” Luty loved her Colt .45 and on several occasions, it had come in useful.
“I know that, but there must be something we can do.” Mrs. Goodge wasn’t going to give up. “We’re three very intelligent women and we must come up with a way to get the others to do their part.”
“Not just to do their part,” Ruth amended. “But to understand that justice doesn’t take a Christmas holiday.”
“So you’re wantin’ us to come up with something, an idea that’ll make ’em jump aboard this wagon?”
“I’ve got one,” Ruth replied. “But it is rather negative in scope.”
“Let’s not be picky here,” Luty said. “What is it?”
“Shame.” Ruth smiled. “We’ll shame them into doing their duty.”
Luty drew back and Mrs. Goodge’s mouth gaped open. Both women were stunned.
Ruth crossed her arms and faced them squarely. “I know you’re both surprised that someone such as myself would come up with such a solution. Playing on negative feelings is not something I would generally countenance, but in this situation I believe it might be our best option. Shame is a terrible thing, but it’s also quite useful, and considering the circumstances, it’s needed.”
Luty chuckled. “You can be real surprisin’, Ruth, but like I said, we can’t be picky here, we’re runnin’ out of time.”
“Shame could work.” Mrs. Goodge grinned. “And along with some shame, we can add a healthy dose of competition.”
“I can see how shamin’ ’em might work”—Luty eyed the cook warily—“but what kind of competition do you have in mind? You goin’ to hand out prizes to the person who brings in the most information?”
“That would work, too, but I was actually thinking that we should just play on what we’ve got.” She looked at Luty. “Hatchet can’t stand for you to get one over on him, so regardless of what you’ve found out, you’ve always got to outdo him, even if you have to stretch the truth a bit. Ruth and I will do our part. We’ll heap praises on you no matter what you say.”
Luty chuckled. “That’ll be fun. But what about the others?”
“Betsy gets annoyed if she thinks Smythe is doing better than she is,” Ruth pointed out. “So if we can make it seem as if one of them has done better than the other, regardless of what either of them actually tells us, we might be able to get both of them doing their best.”
“Now you’re getting it.” The cook nodded in approval. “Phyllis and Wiggins have mended their fences a bit, but she still doesn’t like him to get ahead of her. Mind you, there are other problems in that quarter, but that’s for another time. Right now, we’ll just pit them against each other.”
“So let me make sure I understand. We’re goin’ to shame ’em at the same time we’re playing ’em off against one another,” Luty said.
Ruth nodded
enthusiastically. “When you put it like that, it sounds very devious, but as I said, it’s necessary in this instance. We’ve all been given a great gift; we’ve been part of something bigger and better than ourselves. Working for justice has made my life more meaningful than anything I’ve ever done and that includes all my work for equality of the sexes.”
“I couldn’t have said it better myself.” Luty reached over and patted Ruth’s hand. “Me and Mr. Crookshank spent our lives amassing a fortune and I enjoyed it. We did it proper like, we didn’t cheat or lie or steal, but nothing has made my life more worthwhile than the part I’ve played in makin’ sure justice is done. We’ve kept the innocent off the gallows and we’ve made sure the guilty paid the price.”
“That’s true.” Mrs. Goodge smiled at her two friends. “We’ve found something most people only dream of, a genuine noble purpose for our lives. Now, I know they all wanted to have a wonderful Christmas holiday, but catching a murderer is more important, and if we can get them out on the hunt, maybe we’ll be able to have our holidays after all.”
• • •
Christopher Gilhaney’s last known address was a nicely furnished, well-maintained lodging house with a lighted fire in both the common rooms. Imogene Lennox, the plump, red-haired owner of the establishment, led the two policemen up the carpeted staircase.
“I’m very particular about who I accept here. Mr. Gilhaney had a recommendation from his landlady in Manchester and he turned out to be everything she claimed he would be: kind, considerate, and a gentleman. He had the largest suite in the house,” she explained as they reached the first-floor landing. “A full sitting room and a bedroom.”
“How long did he live here?” the inspector asked.
“He moved in on October fifteenth. Unlike some of my other tenants, he didn’t take a full board. He took breakfast here but not the other meals.”
“Are his quarters currently occupied?” Witherspoon asked.
Mrs. Jeffries and the Three Wise Women Page 10
