02 - Mrs. Jeffries Dusts for Clues

“…Really, I thought it most ungallant of Constable Barnes to mention what big feet the victim had.”

The Inspector paused. “But then, if he hadn’t commented on her feet, we might not have noticed she was wearing new shoes.”

“New shoes?” Mrs. Jeffries cocked her chin to one side. “But if the body had been in the ground for two months, how could you tell?”

“Scuff marks.” He smiled triumphantly. “There weren’t any scuff marks on the soles. Once the dirt was brushed away, it was obvious the lady had put on a pair of brand-new shoes. Good leather too, good quality.”

“I suppose you’ve already got the constable looking for the shop that sold them.”

Witherspoon frowned. “Do you think that’s necessary? We’re hoping to identify the victim by tracking down the jewelry. Both the broach and the ring are somewhat unusual. It should be easy enough to find the shop that sold them. I suspect the betrothal ring, at least, was bought by a man for his young lady. He’s bound to know who she is, er, was.”

“I take it you’re assuming that whoever bought it was engaged to the victim?”

“Well, that had crossed my mind.”

“Then why hasn’t he reported her missing?” Mrs. Jeffries asked blandly.

“Er, perhaps he doesn’t know she’s gone,” Witherspoon mumbled. But even to his own ears, that sounded like nonsense. Drat! Witherspoon’s face fell as he realized just how many problems he might be facing…

Berkley Prime Crime titles by Emily Brightwell

THE INSPECTOR AND MRS. JEFFRIES

MRS. JEFFRIES DUSTS FOR CLUES

THE GHOST AND MRS. JEFFRIES

MRS. JEFFRIES TAKES STOCK

MRS. JEFFRIES ON THE BALL

MRS. JEFFRIES ON THE TRAIL

MRS. JEFFRIES PLAYS THE COOK

MRS. JEFFRIES AND THE MISSING ALIBI

MRS. JEFFRIES STANDS CORRECTED

MRS. JEFFRIES TAKES THE STAGE

MRS. JEFFRIES QUESTIONS THE ANSWER

MRS. JEFFRIES REVEALS HER ART

MRS. JEFFRIES TAKES THE CAKE

MRS. JEFFRIES ROCKS THE BOAT

MRS. JEFFRIES WEEDS THE PLOT

MRS. JEFFRIES PINCHES THE POST

MRS. JEFFRIES PLEADS HER CASE

MRS. JEFFRIES SWEEPS THE CHIMNEY

MRS. JEFFRIES STALKS THE HUNTER

MRS. JEFFRIES AND THE SILENT KNIGHT

MRS. JEFFRIES APPEALS THE VERDICT

MRS. JEFFRIES AND THE BEST LAID PLANS

MRS. JEFFRIES AND THE FEAST OF ST. STEPHEN

MRS. JEFFRIES HOLDS THE TRUMP

MRS. JEFFRIES IN THE NICK OF TIME

MRS. JEFFRIES AND THE YULETIDE WEDDINGS

MRS. JEFFRIES SPEAKS HER MIND

MRS. JEFFRIES FORGES AHEAD

MRS. JEFFRIES AND THE MISTLETOE MIX-UP

MRS. JEFFRIES DEFENDS HER OWN

Anthologies

MRS. JEFFRIES LEARNS THE TRADE

MRS. JEFFRIES TAKES A SECOND LOOK

MRS. JEFFRIES

DUSTS FOR CLUES

EMILY

BRIGHTWELL

BERKLEY PRIME CRIME, NEW YORK

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Epilogue

“Most folks is too wrapped up in themselves to pay attention to what’s goin’ on right under their noses,” Luty Belle Crookshank insisted. “But I ain’t most people. And I know Scotland Yard would still be lookin’ for Slocum’s murderer if it weren’t for you lot. That’s why I need your help.”

Mrs. Jeffries, the housekeeper for Inspector Gerald Witherspoon of Scotland Yard, wasn’t sure she should let Luty’s statement pass unchallenged. To be sure, if not for herself and the other servants at Upper Edmonton Gardens, Inspector Witherspoon probably couldn’t have solved the Slocum case as quickly as he had, but she had no doubt he would have solved it eventually.

“Now, Luty Belle,” Mrs. Jeffries chided. “That’s not precisely true. Inspector Witherspoon had matters well in hand.” She broke off and gestured toward the other servants around the kitchen table. “We merely helped out a bit.”

“Course you did.” Luty gave them a wide, conspiratorial grin. “I ain’t asking you to admit anything, I’m just wantin’ a little help.”

Mrs. Jeffries glanced at the others. For the first time in three weeks, they didn’t took bored. Betsy, the maid, was hanging on Luty Belle’s every word. Smythe, the coachman, was grinning from ear to ear. Wiggins, the footman, was leaning forward in his chair so far that Mrs. Jeffries was sure
if he wasn’t careful he’d knock it out from under himself, and Mrs. Goodge, the cook, was nodding her head vigorously up and down.

Mrs. Jeffries had the distinct impression she’d have a mutiny on her hands if she refused Luty Belle Crookshank a hearing. Whatever was bothering the elderly American woman, the others wanted to help.

For that matter, so did she. “All right, Luty Belle. Why don’t you tell us what this is all about?”

“Like I said,” Luty began. “I’ve got me a problem.”

“What kind of problem?” Betsy asked. She cocked her chin to one side so that one of her blond curls spilled coquettishly onto her shoulder.

Luty put her teacup on the table. Beneath the fabric of the bright blue-and-lavender-striped dress she wore, her shoulders slumped. “A real bad one,” she replied slowly, her white head shaking sadly. “A friend of mine is missing.”

“Someone’s missing? Have you reported it to the police?” Mrs. Jeffries queried softly.

“Nah, I didn’t git worried over the girl until a couple of days ago. Besides, I ain’t one to go runnin’ to the law about every least little thing. Not that I think that Mary’s disappearin’ ain’t important; it is. But I reckoned you all could do a better job of findin’ out what happened to her than the police could. If’n I went to them, they’d just say that Mary’s probably run off with some man, and I knows that ain’t true.”

“Very wise,” mumbled Mrs. Goodge.

“You’re right to come ta us,” Smythe added. “We can find out what happened to yer friend faster than the police.” He flicked a quick glance at Mrs. Jeffries. “No disrespect intended to our inspector,” he explained quickly. “He’s a good copper.”

“Smythe’s right,” Betsy interjected. “You just tell us all about it; we can find her for ya. We’re right good at solvin’ mysteries.”

“What mystery?” Wiggins asked. He gazed in confusion around the table.

“Haven’t you been listenin’, boy?” Mrs. Goodge admonished. “Luty’s friend ’as disappeared.”

“Oh, sorry.” Wiggins grinned sheepishly. “I thought she said her friend went
visitin
’. Guess my mind wandered a bit.”

Luty gave him a sharp look, Smythe and Betsy rolled their eyes, and even Mrs. Jeffries had to stifle an impatient sigh. The footman, no doubt, had been daydreaming about his newest infatuation.

“Yes, well perhaps you’d better pay a bit more attention to the conversation, Wiggins,” Mrs. Jeffries said firmly. “And the rest of us had better not make Mrs. Crookshank any rash promises. We’d better find out exactly what this is all about before we decide we can resolve the matter.” She turned to Luty Belle. “Now, who, exactly, is missing?”

“Mary Sparks. She used to be a housemaid at the Lutterbank house. They’re my neighbors. They live down at the other end of the gardens. Mary’s just a girl, only nineteen, and I’m real worried about her.”

“We can see that.” Mrs. Jeffries nodded. “How long has she been gone?”

Luty sighed. “Two months.”

“And you’re just now startin’ to look fer her?” Smythe asked in disbelief. “Cor, anythin’ could have ’appened to ’er by now.”

“That’s a long time for a body to be lost,” Wiggins added thoughtfully.

“If it’s been two months,” Betsy put in somberly, “she in’t missing, she’s dead.”

“For goodness’ sakes,” Mrs. Jeffries exclaimed as she saw the elderly woman turn pale, “will you all please stop scaring Luty? We can’t make any assumptions about what has or has not happened to Mary Sparks until we hear the rest of the story.”

Luty Belle smiled gratefully and took a deep breath. “I reckon I’d better start at the beginning. About two months ago, I was fixin’ to go to Venice. As it turned out, I shouldn’a bothered. Smelly place. Waste of money, but that’s neither
here nor there. But you need to know what took me so long to start frettin’ over the girl.” She paused. “Anyhows, a few days before I was leavin’, Mary come over and she was cryin’ and carryin’ on like she’d just lost her best friend. When I got her calmed down, she told me the Lutterbanks had let her go. Seems they accused her of stealing a silver broach.”

“Had she stolen the broach?” Mrs. Jeffries asked quickly.

Luty shook her head. “Nah. The girl’s no thief. I know that for a fact.”

Smythe raised an eyebrow. “What makes ya so sure?”

“’Cause that’s how me and Mary became friends,” Luty replied tartly. “I got acquainted with the girl when she returned my fur muff. I’d dropped it in the gardens, and furthermore, young man, that muff was stuffed with money. Now if’n Mary Sparks was a thief, she wouldn’t have bothered to give the danged thing back to me, would she?”

“Nah, if’n she were a thief, she’d ’ave kept it,” he agreed.

“What happened then?” Betsy said hastily.

“I told Mary she could stay at my place until I got back and then we’d sort everything out. But Mary wasn’t one for acceptin’ charity. All she wanted me to do was to write her a letter of reference to one of them domestic employment agencies. She’d heard about a position with some preacher’s family over in Putney. So that’s what I did.” Luty grasped her hands together. “The next day, the agency give her the job. She come back to my place, picked up her carpetbag and said good-bye. I went on to Venice. It wasn’t until a few days ago, when I realized that I hadn’t received any letters from her, that I got worried.”