Berried Alive (Manor House Mystery) (8 page)

Thankfully coming to a halt in front of the police station,
Elizabeth shut off her engine and climbed off the saddle. She wanted a word with the constables before she rode out to the Adelaide's dairy farm. Not that she expected any real help from them, but it wouldn't hurt to let them know she was helping with the enquiries. That way she could defend herself should the police inspector make a rare visit and accuse her of intruding in police work.

Police Constable George Dalrymple was seated at his desk as usual when she entered, a huge bag of pastries from Bessie's bake shop sitting in front of him. One hand held a Banbury cake with a huge bite taken out of it, and George's jaws worked at the piece in his mouth as he rose to his feet.

"Goo' morn'n your ladyship," he mumbled, and dabbed at his mouth with a large white handkerchief. "Just having me elevenses, like. Can I offer you a currant bun?"

Elizabeth glanced at the clock above his head. The hands pointed at twenty to ten, but she refrained from pointing out that George was a trifle early to be enjoying elevenses. "No thank you, George, I've just eaten a bowl of porridge. But I do appreciate the offer."

"Not at all, m'm." George waved a pudgy hand at a vacant chair. "Please have a seat, won't you?"

Elizabeth sat, pulling her skirt well down over her knees.

George cleared his throat. "I was just saying to Sid, as how I thought that was your motorcycle making that rack . . . er . . . noise outside. Weren't I, Sid?"

This last was bellowed for the benefit of George's beleaguered partner, P.C. Sid Goffin, who had apparently been relegated to the back room.

Sid's voice wafted out from behind the open door.
"That's right, your ladyship. George was saying what a blasted racket it made."

"Yes, well, right," George said loudly and hastily. "What can we do for your ladyship this fine morning?"

"I hope you're not scoffing down them cakes," Sid shouted from the back room. "I don't want to come out at eleven o'clock and find them all gone."

George's cheeks turned red and he brushed his mouth with the back of his hand. "Take no notice of 'im," he said, jerking his head in the direction of the door. "Never has a civil tongue in his head until he's had his tea and crumpets."

Sid said something that Elizabeth couldn't catch, which was just as well if George's embarrassed expression was anything to go by.

Saving the poor man from having to make amends for Sid's insolence, she said quickly, "Actually, George, I stopped by to ask about the doctor who operated on the Adelaides' daughter, Barbara. I—"

"How did you hear about that then?" George demanded, sounding a little belligerent.

"Mrs. Adelaide told me." Elizabeth fixed him with a stern look. "I trust the matter is under investigation?"

George looked hurt. "The inspector is looking into it, yes."

"Very good." Elizabeth settled back in her chair. "Has he made any headway in the case?"

"I wouldn't know about that, your ladyship. And even if I did, I—"

"Yes, I know. You wouldn't be at liberty to discuss it with me. In that case, perhaps you can tell me what you've heard about the recent deaths of the American airmen. Some kind of poisoning, I understand."

George's expression immediately turned wary. "Poison?"

"Poison," Elizabeth said firmly. "Four of them died from it. I was sure you'd heard about it."

George reached for a pencil and began tapping the end of it on the desk. "Well, now, maybe I 'ave and maybe I 'aven't."

"Do stop being coy with me, George. I don't have time to play games. Do you or do you not know anything about these unfortunate incidents?"

George scratched his balding pate. "Well, m'm, I heard something, but I don't rightly know what to make of it. Some say it were a mysterious sickness that's going around, some foreign germs what the Yanks brought over from America." George squinted his eyes almost shut. "They got lots of germs over there, m'm. Come from the swamps and the deserts they do."

"Yes, well, I'm quite sure we have just as many germs here." Elizabeth smoothed the fingers of her gloves. "Actually I heard that the poison came from a plant. Daphne, to be exact."

George looked puzzled. "Who's Daphne?"

"It's a plant, George. It grows in people's gardens. It has pretty little flowers and orange berries that can make you very, very sick. The doctors at the base think the Americans may have eaten the berries."

"Go on! So that's how they died. Silly buggers. Probably got drunk and thought they were cherries or something."

"Perhaps." Elizabeth paused, then added carefully, "What do you know about the three musketeers?"

The wary expression returned. "Weren't they some kind of highwaymen in the old days?"

"Not exactly. But in any case, I wasn't talking about those musketeers. I was talking about the three men who
apparently travel down from London intent on committing crimes against the Americans."

"What kind of crimes?"

Elizabeth sighed. "You know very well what I'm talking about George. Damage to the Jeeps, that sort of thing."

"She's talking about the lads what cut the tires on all those Jeeps last night," Sid called out helpfully.

Elizabeth sat up straight, while George looked as if he were about to rush in and strangle his partner.

"Last night? Those men were here last night?"

"Yes, m'm. I'm afraid they were." George stood up. "I'm sorry, your ladyship, but I can't say no more. Sid shouldn't have told you that much but you know what he's like." He sent a glowering glance at the door. "Can't keep his blinking mouth shut for a minute, he can't."

"What'd I say?" Sid demanded from the back room.

"Just give me a blinking minute and I'll be in there to tell you what you said!" George cleared his throat again and lowered his voice. "Beg your pardon, m'm, but that's all I can say right now."

"You don't have any clues as to their identities?" Elizabeth got to her feet.

"None at all, m'm. No one seems to know what they look like."

"But you would tell me if you had something to go on?"

George looked uncomfortable. "I'll tell you what I can, m'm. That's all I can promise."

"Very well, George. I suppose that will have to do."

"I'd ask young Polly if I were you, your ladyship," Sid piped up.

Elizabeth paused at the door. "Polly?"

"If you don't blinking shut up I'll shove your teeth right down your bloomin' throat!" George roared.

"Thank you, Sid. Good day to you both." Elizabeth stepped outside and took a deep breath of the fresh warm air.
Polly
. She had no idea what her young assistant had to do with anything but she was certainly going to find out.

CHAPTER

6

"Now," Rita Crumm said, when she was sure she had everyone's attention. "Have you all got the list of items in front of you?"

Florrie Evans, a thin wisp of a woman with a nervous twitch to her nose, held up a trembling hand.

Rita inwardly cursed. If anyone was going to mess things up, trust Florrie to be in the front of the line. The woman never got anything straight, and when she did, she usually forgot it again before she could make use of it. "What is it, Florrie?" she demanded testily. "Didn't you get a list?"

"Yes, I did," Florrie said, her quavery voice jarring Rita's nerves. "I just wanted to ask if we can get more than one thing from one place."

"You can get them all from one place if you can find them." Rita sniffed, and resisted the urge to swipe at her own nose with the back of her hand. Watching Florrie's nose twitch like that made her itch. "It's up to you. But if I were you, I wouldn't go asking people for the whole list at once. They're likely to tell you where to put it."

Florrie looked puzzled. "Where do I put it, then?"

Marge Gunther giggled, and jabbed Maisie Parsons in the arm with her elbow.

"Ouch," Maisie muttered. "That hurt."

A young girl spoke up from the back of the room. "Can we go to the American base to get some things on the list?"

Nellie Smith was young, pretty, and unmarried. Rita secretly envied all three, and barely tolerated the woman. It was well known in the village that Nellie had more boyfriends at the base than fleas on a dog's back. Rita envied her that, too. "I don't think they'd look too kindly on us if we go pestering the boys at the base for a scavenger hunt," she said scathingly. "I'd think they have more important things to take care of out there."

"Yeah, Nellie," Marge called out. "You can't go asking the Yanks for their combinations. You'd get thrown in the clink."

"Don't be daft," Nellie said, with a touch of scorn. "Everyone knows Yanks don't wear 'em."

Shrill jeers and cheers greeted this comment. "Only Nellie would know that Yanks don't wear underpants," Marge said with a grin.

"I didn't say they didn't wear underpants," Nellie protested. "I said as how they don't wear combs."

"What do they wear then?" someone else asked.

"Never you mind."

"Whatever it is they wear, it wouldn't be on them long with Nellie around," Marge said.

"You're only jealous." Nellie flicked her hair back with her fingers. "You're all jealous, the lot of you."

Marge laughed. "Not me. I'm too old to mess around with Yanks. Give me my old man anytime. He might have snow on the roof but he's still got a fire in the fireplace."

More whoops and cheers followed.

Rita held up her hand. "That's enough! We're not here to discuss the Americans, we're here to organize the scavenger hunt. So let's get on with it."

"I think we should have nylons on the list," Nellie said, in open defiance. "That way we'd get a little something for ourselves as well."

"You'll get more than nylons one of these days, my girl," Maisie said, surprising everyone. Maisie Parsons rarely spoke up unless spoken to first. "Them Yanks'll be the death of you. Nothing but trouble, they are. Stay away from them if you want my advice."

"They were good enough for Pauline, though, weren't they," Nellie muttered.

"You leave my granddaughter out of it," Maisie snapped back. "She soon learned what they're like and you will, too. Only by then it'll be too late."

Faces turned in Maisie's direction, while Nellie asked the question on everyone's mind. "Your Pauline in trouble then, is she?"

" 'Course not," Maisie said hastily. "She went back to London to be with her old boyfriend, that's all. But if she hadn't played around with the Yanks down here and got her heart broken, she wouldn't have gone back and left me all alone. She'd still be here safe with me instead of living in
London with all them bombs. I'm afraid that any day now I'll hear as how she got killed in a bombing raid."

There were murmurs of sympathy in response to this dampening speech.

Rita sighed. She couldn't stand to lose control of a situation and right now it seemed as if no one in the room was listening to her. It was time to get their attention. "If you all want to be back in time for afternoon tea you'd better get a bloody move on!" she yelled.

Everyone stopped talking and looked at her. Having successfully regained the focus of interest, she continued in a milder tone. "It's almost eleven o'clock. You have until three o'clock this afternoon. That's four hours to get as much on the list as possible. The one who gets the most on the list gets the prize."

"What's the prize?" Marge asked, her beady eyes gleaming with excitement.

Rita leaned over and reached for the basket hidden behind her chair. "This is the prize." She held up the basket, which had been gaily decorated with her daughter Lilly's hair ribbons. "I'm going to need the basket and the ribbons back," she announced, but you can keep what's inside."

"What's inside it, then?" Marge persisted.

Rita put the basket on her lap and reached inside. "There's a bottle of lavender water," she held it up, "and two clothing coupons, a packet of lemonade powder, six pieces of Maisie's gingerbread . . ." she paused until the enthusiastic murmurs died down " . . . and
this
!" With a flourish she withdrew a cellophane package and waved it in the air.

"Nylons!"
Nellie screamed. "How'd you get them?"

"My Lilly got them. Never mind how." Rita tucked them back into the basket amid a chorus of questions. Ignoring them all, she raised her voice above the clamor. "Now get going. You can work together if you want to, but you'll do better on your own. It's up to you. We'll meet back at Bessie's bake shop for afternoon tea at three. Anyone who's more than five minutes late will be disqualified. Everyone got that?"

Chattering with anticipation, the women hustled out of the door, leaving Rita alone in the blessed peace of her living room. One more great event launched. She jiggled the basket on her lap. And if that Nellie Smith thought she was going to get her dirty little hands on the basket she was in for a huge disappointment. Somehow, Rita promised herself, she'd make sure the precious prize would go to someone who deserved it. Like poor Maisie, worrying about her granddaughter, or even fluttery Florrie, who never won anything in her life. Anyone other than that smarmy, know-it-all Nellie.

Content with that for the moment, Rita stashed the basket in a kitchen cupboard, and sat down to work out her next great event.

Dark clouds had begun gathering by the time Elizabeth reached the dairy farm. She wished she'd worn her macintosh coat, since it looked very much as if it were about to rain. One got so dreadfully soaked while riding a motorcycle in the rain.

She coasted down the road toward the Adelaides' cottage and mindful of the noise, turned off her engine a few yards before she reached the gate. She really didn't want to have to explain why she was interested in the garden. If Dick Adelaide was responsible for the poisoning, it
wouldn't do to let him know she suspected him of picking berries in his garden in order to kill innocent young men.

The sun disappeared behind a black cloud as she walked slowly toward the wooden gate. All along the fence marigolds grew in thick orange clusters, and beyond them a neat square of lawn spread out in front of the cottage.