Berried Alive (Manor House Mystery) (2 page)

Not that she had any right to be notified of his every move, she reminded herself, as she watched the dogs chase each other across the rough grass. It was just that he normally let her know if he was going to be away for any length of time, and she was rather peeved that he hadn't done so this time.

It was such a beautiful morning. How she would have loved to share it with the man she secretly adored. The fresh salty breeze from the ocean tugged at her carefully pinned hair, threatening to dislodge the French twist.

Beneath her feet, warmed by the sun, bell heather and clumps of fragrant clover mingled with the smell of sand and seaweed. Another summer was beginning, another year half over. How many more would the world have to endure before this dreadful war dragged to an end?

She shaded her eyes to stare out to sea, where the sparkle of sunlight on the placid waves was bright enough to dazzle her. Just above the horizon she could see a smudge of dark cloud. Or perhaps it was a squadron returning from yet another dangerous raid on Germany.

Was Earl up there in that brilliant blue sky, flying above the ocean with his sights firmly fixed on the welcoming shores of England? Or was he trapped somewhere over there, perhaps injured, perhaps captured, helpless in the clutches of a ruthless enemy?

The thought was so horrifying she almost lost her balance. Determined not to dwell on such macabre thoughts, she turned her back on the encroaching ocean and scanned the cliffs for the dogs. George and Gracie, a gift from Earl and named after stars of an American radio show, were
some distance away, bounding across the grass toward someone walking rapidly to meet them.

It was as if her heart suddenly soared far above the sparkling water and hovered there, afraid to answer to the hope pounding in her chest.

The dogs' joyful barks of welcome floated across the grassy slopes and she knew then, that her prayers had been answered. Unmindful of the tears wetting her cheeks, she raced after the dogs, stumbling now and then on the uneven ground. He was here, and he was in one piece.
Thank God! Oh, thank God!

Heart pounding, she galloped toward the man greeting the enthusiastic dogs. He had never looked more handsome, standing tall in the forest green uniform, his light brown hair ruffled by the wind, ice blue eyes laughing at her as she reached him, his mouth curved in a boyish grin that melted away every dark thought in her mind.

She had to muster every ounce of her composure to refrain from flinging her arms around his neck and holding on tight enough to strangle him. Her breath destroyed, more from the excitement and relief of seeing him again than her mad dash across the cliffs, she could only grin foolishly back at him.

"Elizabeth. It's good to see you."

His deep voice seemed to flow into her veins, carrying warmth throughout her entire body. She managed to sound fairly coherent when she answered him. "It's awfully good to see you, too."

For a long moment he just stood there staring into her eyes, while she gazed helplessly into his, shaken by her desperate yearning to touch him. When he finally spoke, the words were so mundane she almost laughed. "So, how have you been?"

The spell broken, she did her best to come back down to earth. "Incredibly busy. And you?"

He bent over to pat the dogs, who were shoving each other out of the way to nudge his legs with their noses. "Things have been a little interesting lately. Seems to have quieted now, though."

And that was most likely all she would ever hear of whatever horrors he'd been through in the past week. "We were rather afraid you'd caught that awful illness going around the base," she said, as he straightened again. "Violet was most concerned."

His gaze seemed to penetrate her soul. "Only Violet?"

Aware that he was teasing her, she muddled her words. "No, of course not. I mean, we were all concerned.
I
was concerned. Of course. We . . . I . . . we all were worried about you."

To her extreme joy and confusion, he linked her arm through his and began leading her across the grass toward the ocean. Her expression must have betrayed her emotion, as he added lightly, "Is this permitted, your ladyship?"

She was tempted to tell him that right at that moment she wouldn't have cared if they were lying naked on the grass together. Appalled by her thoughts, she said quickly, "There's no one to see us. We seem to be quite alone out here this morning."

"Just making sure. I wouldn't want your loyal subjects to think I was taking advantage of you."

She wrinkled her nose at him. "You make me sound impossibly snobbish."

He laughed. "Sorry. I guess I'll never understand the British devotion to protocol."

"That's all right. We don't expect you to understand any more than we understand the Americans' lack of it."

"Ouch." She felt his gaze on her face. "Is something bothering you, Elizabeth?"

She paused before answering, afraid she would blurt out what was on her mind.
Everything
was bothering her: The fact that she had no right to ask him where he'd been this past week; the fact that she wasn't free to express the passion she felt for him; the fact that she was forced to contain her desire to hug him, kiss him and whatever delicious events might follow after that.

It wasn't just his marriage that stood in the way, though that was a huge part of it. It was her standing as lady of the manor, the respected guardian of the village of Sitting Marsh, that prevented her from enjoying such simple pleasures as holding his hand, or basking in the warmth of his arms.

"What is it?" He paused, dropping her arm to turn to her, his face creased in a frown.

Feeling suddenly bereft without the warm pressure of his hand, she said quickly, "Oh, it's nothing. I was just a little concerned about the illness that has struck the base. Is it as bad as the rumors make it sound?"

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he stared out at the restless ocean. "Four guys have died so far. That's all I know. The medics are working around the clock trying to figure out what killed them."

"Well, I hope they find out before it spreads to the village."

"Elizabeth, if I tell you something, will you promise to keep it to yourself?"

"Well, of course." A chill touched her spine at his worried expression. "Is it worse than we thought? Is there likely to be an epidemic?"

"No, I don't think so." He seemed to wrestle with his
thoughts for a moment then said quietly, "The four guys who died. They all had something in common."

Puzzled, she frowned at him. "You mean the same symptoms?"

"Well, that too . . . " He sighed. "All four men had red hair."

Her eyes widened, wondering for a brief instant if he was teasing her again. "Red hair?"

He nodded, his gaze watchful on her face. "What does that suggest to you?"

Now she understood. "It suggests," she said slowly, "that either the mysterious ailment is particularly selective, or someone has an intense dislike of male redheads."

"Right." Earl's mouth tightened. "The medics think they were poisoned."

"Oh, dear." Elizabeth's hand strayed to her throat. "It seems all too much of a coincidence, doesn't it."

"Well, it's all theory right now." Earl whistled to the dogs, and squatted on his heels as they hurled themselves toward him. "The last I heard they were waiting for some lab tests to come back."

"Did the men who died have anything else in common? Besides the red hair, I mean."

He looked up at her, a frown creasing his brow. "Yeah, they did. Every one of them spent their last evening on earth at the Tudor Arms."

Chills raced down Elizabeth's spine. Resentment of the Americans was rife in the village, and she was in constant dread that one day the hostility would erupt into something very dangerous. It appeared that maybe her worst fears were about to be realized.

CHAPTER

2

"I find it hard to believe," Elizabeth said slowly, "that someone at the Tudor Arms poisoned four men."

"If it
is
poison." Earl got to his feet, brushing dog hairs from his sharply creased pants. "Guess we won't know that for sure until the lab tests come back."

"Do you know which night the men were down there?"

"Apparently they were there on different nights."

"Then doesn't it seem more likely they were poisoned by something on the base?"

"It's possible, I guess."

"But you don't think so."

His expression was grave. "I don't know what to think."

"I suppose it's futile to hope that it's simply a case of food poisoning?"

"Not likely. If it was something in the food, spread over a week or more, you'd figure on a lot more people being affected by it. No one else on the base is sick. Not like that, anyway. Have you heard of anyone in the village being sick the last week or two?"

"No, I haven't. Certainly not a fatal illness, anyway. I'm quite sure I would have heard about that." She paused, tilting her head on one side to look up at him. "I can make a few inquiries, if you like?"

"I'm always afraid to ask you to do that. You have a lousy habit of getting into trouble when you start asking questions."

She grinned at him. "But you need my help, right?"

"Right." He sighed. "You know how tough it is for our guys to get anything out of the village folks. They'll talk to you. Besides, you're darn good at ferreting out anything suspicious. Not like those chumps at the local constabulary. I wouldn't trust them to solve a jigsaw puzzle."

His praise made her light-headed. "George and Sid mean well," she murmured. "But after being retired for so long, it's hard for them to get back to being policemen again. Especially since they were more or less forced into it. That's the problem with wars, they take away all the able-bodied men."

"Seems to me the women are doing a pretty good job of filling in for them." He whistled to the dogs, who were wandering just a little too close to the cliff edge. "Maybe they should put your friend . . . what's her name . . . Rita Crumm in charge of the constables. She could get them licked into shape in no time."

Although she knew he was joking, Elizabeth gasped in horror. "A woman constable? Never! And Rita? Heaven forbid. She'd have everyone in prison before the week was out. And she's not my friend, by the way. Far from it. I put
up with her because I have to, but there's certainly no love lost between us."

Earl laughed. "That's a pretty big understatement. From what I've seen of you two, I figure you'd like to tear each other apart."

"At times, I suppose. It's just that Rita is under the mistaken impression that she's in charge of the war effort in Sitting Marsh, thereby giving her the right to order everyone about as if they were her slaves. That ridiculous Housewives League, for instance. It's just an excuse for Rita to lord it over everyone."

"Everyone but you." He linked her arm through his again. "No one lords it over the lady of the manor."

She peeked up at him. "Are you making fun of me?"

"Never." He hugged her arm to his side. "Now tell me what's been happening at the manor while I've been gone."

Happily she did as he asked. She told him about Polly, her juvenile assistant, and the young girl's latest attempts to reunite with her GI boyfriend, and Sadie's bizarre methods of dealing with her housemaid duties.

She told him about Violet's disastrous experiments with rationed ingredients in her baking, which never had been too inspiring anyway, and about Martin's lost spectacles. Mentioning them reminded her that she would have to ask Polly to look for them.

All the time she was conscious of the blissful moments slipping away, and the knowledge that soon Earl would be gone again, and once more she would be terrified for his safety until he returned.

Rita Crumm glared at the women crammed together in her sparse front room. Not one of them was paying any attention to her. If there was one thing Rita could not abide,
it was being ignored. Especially by that loudmouth, Marge Gunther, whose voice sounded like the foghorn at Sallishay Point on a foggy night.

Right now she was kissing up to Maisie Parsons, pretending to be sorry for her while all the time she was hoping Maisie would give her some of her gingerbread. Maisie was famous for her gingerbread. Even now, with a war on and everything on ration, somehow Maisie managed to make gingerbread that melted in your mouth, which frustrated Rita no end, particularly since Maisie steadfastly refused to divulge her secret.

They weren't talking about gingerbread right now, though. Marge's voice penetrated above the idle chatter going on among the rest of the members of the Housewives League. "You must feel so lonely without your granddaughter to help you out. What made her go back to London, then?"

"Boyfriend, I suppose." Maisie's wrinkled face looked rather like an aging apple with her fat red cheeks and little black eyes that were almost hidden by her overlapping eyelids. "You know how the young gals are. Think they know all about love, don't they. Just wait until she's married, that's what I say. She'll soon know what's what."

Marge joined in Maisie's laughter, drowning out everyone else. "So when did she leave, then?" Marge demanded. "I thought she had a boyfriend here. Wasn't she going out with a GI?"

Maisie shrugged. "She was going out with a few of them, wasn't she. Trying to forget the one she left behind in London. I told her she was a fool to go back there, with all them bombs dropping around her, but you can't tell the young ones nothing these days. Ever since her parents were killed in that raid, she's not been the same. Heaven
knows what she's up to now. I never hear from her anymore. Never bothers to write. I don't even know where she's living right now. Can't tell them anything these days. It's like she's living every day as if it was her last."

"No one's going to live very long if you don't all start listening to me!"

To Rita's immense satisfaction, at the sound of her bellow, everyone stopped talking at once and stared in her direction.

"Now," Rita said, when she was quite sure she had their undivided attention, "we are supposed to be discussing the plans for the scavenger hunt. Remember that everything we collect will be going to our brave servicemen at the front, so I want some suggestions for the scavenger hunt list. Try to keep things simple but useful." She lifted a hand as a chorus of voices answered her. "One at a time,
pulleze
. And remember now, simple but useful." She rather liked that phrase. It would make a good slogan. The Housewives League—simple but useful. Quite catching.