Finished Off (A Bellehaven House Mystery Book 2) (22 page)

Sylvia's face was dark with resentment, but she nodded. "I will do my best."

"That's all we ask."

Stepping outside in the hallway, Meredith was relieved to find it empty and quiet. She decided to say nothing to Roger Platt. She would recount the incident to Stuart Hamilton on his next visit and let him deal with the wayward assistant. At least for now, peace had been restored to Bellehaven.

"It wasn't my fault!" Olivia crossed her arms and
glared at Mrs. Wilkins. "I didn't ask them to go looking for my cross."

"If you hadn't lost it in the first place, none of this would have happened." The cook turned her back on the maid while she pulled a tray of scones out of the oven. "I hate to think what Miss Fingle is going to say when she gets wind of it."

"Well, maybe she won't hear about it if someone doesn't go blabbing about it to her."

Mrs. Wilkins straightened. "I won't say nothing, but she could hardly miss all that pandemonium that went on today. She'd have to be deaf not to hear all the row. Sooner or later she's going to get the whole story and then, my girl, you'll be in for it."

"It wasn't my fault!" Olivia looked at Grace for help. "Tell her it wasn't my fault. It was that stupid twerp, Mr. Platt, canoodling in the closet with that girl. That's what caused all the trouble."

"Well, it's not my place to say." Mrs. Wilkins tossed the scones onto a cooling rack. "You'll just have to wait and see what Miss Fingle has to say about it. Now go and get the tables ready for supper."

Grumbling under her breath, Olivia slunk out of the kitchen. Grace followed closely behind, feeling sorry for her. Nothing had gone right for Olivia this past day or two. Ever since she'd brought that wedding dress down from the attic.

"Stupid, stupid Mona," Olivia fumed as they marched down the corridor to the stairs. "What does she know about it, anyway? All she knows is what people tell her and she listens to the wrong people, that's all I can say."

Grace hurried to keep up with her friend. "Well, maybe no one will tell her how it got started. After all, Miss Montrose didn't get upset until she saw Mr. Platt and that girl."

"Yeah, well, it's just my bloomin' luck. I get the blame for everything around here lately." Reaching the stairs, Olivia started stomping up them.

"I keep telling you," Grace said, starting up the stairs behind her. "You should take that wedding dress back. It's brought you nothing but bad luck. Just like I said it would."

Olivia turned on her. "Oh, shut up about that flipping dress. I'm sick of hearing you bleating about it. It's got nothing to do with what happened and I'm not taking it back, so there!"

Her head still twisted in Grace's direction, she took another step, stumbled, and fell back. With a sharp cry, Grace went down with Olivia sprawled on top of her.

"Ouch!" Grace struggled to sit up.

"Now look what you made me do." Olivia got to her feet, then let out a shriek. Hopping on one foot, she made it to the stairs and sat down. "I think I've broken my ankle."

Grace scrambled up. "Oh, no. Let me look."

Olivia eased off her shoe. Underneath her black stocking her ankle was already showing signs of swelling. Staring at it in disgust, she muttered, "All right, Grace. P'raps you're
right. I'll take the flipping wedding dress back to the attic."

Grace let out a sigh of relief. "I told you that dress was bad luck. I wonder who the bride was who wore it."

"Whoever she was," Olivia said grimly, "I'll be willing to bet she had a rotten marriage."

That night Meredith stayed awake for several hours
hoping that Emma's ghost would return. When the child failed to appear the following night, Meredith awoke the next morning filled with worry.

She had looked forward to telling Emma she had cleared George Lewis's name, certain that it would be enough to send the little girl on to join her family. After giving it some thought, however, it occurred to her that Mr. Lewis's innocence had not been officially established, and wouldn't be until she had taken the evidence to the inspector.

As soon as her class ended that morning, she wasted no time in summoning Reggie and the carriage. Once more she found herself on her way to Witcheston, this time feeling a good deal more nervous.

Her dealings with the constabulary so far had been limited to a police constable by the name of Cyril Shipham—a rather unpleasant bully who made no secret of his utter contempt for women in general and the staff and students of Bellehaven in particular.

During her brief encounters with him, she had endured his insults only by an intense effort on her part to hold her temper. Therefore, she was not looking forward to dealing with his superior, who would quite possibly be even more detestable than the caustic constable.

Reggie seemed nervous when he pulled up outside the Witcheston constabulary and, after informing her he would be waiting at the Pig and Whistle, took off in great haste.

His behavior did nothing to settle Meredith's already fragile nerves. Carrying her canvas knitting bag, she entered the red brick building with a great deal of trepidation.

After waiting an intolerable amount of time, she was
ushered into an office by a dour police sergeant and left alone to wait for the inspector's arrival.

Seated in the stuffy room, she studied the walls, which were covered with various posters, notices, and a couple of official-looking certificates. She was squinting in an effort to read one of them when a tap on the door turned her head.

The door flew open, allowing a tall gentleman to enter. He appeared to be rather gaunt, as if he never had quite enough to eat. Thick black eyebrows emphasized the pallor of his face, and his grave expression pulled down the corners of his mouth.

It seemed to Meredith that Inspector Edward Dawson was not a happy man, though she wasn't quite sure why that idea had occurred to her.

He gave her a brief nod, then passed behind her to take a seat at his desk. Glancing briefly at a sheaf of papers in front of him, he pushed them aside, folded his hands in front of him, and regarded her with eyes that could have been either brown or green. "Mrs. Llewellyn. I believe you have something of importance to show me. My sergeant tells me you refused to leave it with him."

"Yes, I did." Meredith pulled the folded papers from her knitting bag. "I felt these should be delivered directly into your hands." She laid them on the desk and watched as the inspector picked them up with his long fingers.

"These appear to be some kind of bank records." He put them down and looked at her with a puzzled frown.

"I'm sure you are familiar with the house fire that killed a Witcheston bank manager, George Lewis, and his family a few weeks ago?"

Inspector Dawson's frown deepened. "Yes, I am, but—"

"Earlier that evening George Lewis had discovered evidence of an embezzlement. He made an appointment with you for the following day. I believe he intended to bring those papers to you himself."

"An embezzlement?" Still frowning, the inspector examined the ledger sheets.

"Yes, if you notice, the sum of the columns of figures
don't agree. Howard Clark, who is the current manager of the bank, filled out those ledgers and deliberately misrepresented the amount of money actually taken in for deposit. He kept the remainder of the money for himself. That is his signature at the bottom. I recognized it right away. He has a very distinctive signature. I saw it on papers he had on his desk when I visited him some time ago."

"I see." Dawson lifted his chin. "I shall be happy to look into this for you, Mrs. Llewellyn. You can safely leave them with me."

"Thank you, Inspector, but there's more. Much more." She pulled in a breath. "The day after George Lewis died, the embezzlement was discovered. Mr. Clark produced evidence that indicated Mr. Lewis had been the one responsible. Since I seriously doubt that Mr. Lewis intended to come to you with a confession of guilt, I believe that evidence had been fabricated."

After a moment's thought, Dawson nodded. "Looking at these records, I'm inclined to agree with you."

Encouraged, Meredith plunged on. "I also have reason to believe that since Mr. Lewis was on the point of bringing these papers to you, and when Howard Clark realized he was about to be arrested, he set fire to the Lewis home to silence Mr. Lewis."

One dark eyebrow lifted as the inspector gazed at Meredith. "That's quite an accusation."

"I have something else to show you." Delving into her knitting bag once more, Meredith produced the burned and twisted horse. Quickly she explained how she'd first seen it in the picture, and how she'd found it on the floor of the bedroom. She told him about Howard's spending, and his lying about being in London the day of the fire.

"My theory is that Mr. Clark used this horse to hit Mr. Lewis on the head while he slept," she said, "thus rendering him incapable. He may also have bludgeoned Mrs. Lewis before pouring lamp oil onto the bed and setting it on fire. Apparently he threw Mr. Lewis's pipe onto the bed
as well, making it seem as if Mr. Lewis had fallen asleep while smoking it. Mr. Lewis's daughter, Emma, was in another room and managed to escape. Otherwise she would have perished in the fire as well."

For several seconds she endured the inspector's grave scrutiny, while she stewed inside, wondering what he was thinking.

Then, to her immense surprise and relief, Inspector Dawson smiled, revealing dimples that contrasted quite uniquely with the firm thrust of his jaw. "You must have given this a great deal of thought, Mrs. Llewellyn."

Meredith smiled back. "You have no idea."

"I must commend your remarkable initiative. I will certainly investigate the situation, though I must warn you, even if the Lewis family were victims of murder, there is no proof of the fact, and certainly no proof that Mr. Clark was the perpetrator."

Meredith sighed. "I was rather afraid you would say that. At least it could be proven that Mr. Clark is an embezzler, could it not? Thereby clearing Mr. Lewis's good name?"

"I believe that would be possible, yes." Dawson glanced down at the papers she'd given him. "I'll begin the investigation right away. I would imagine that Mr. Clark reported the embezzlement to his superiors, so I will have to get in touch with them."

"Thank you, Inspector. You have been most kind."

"Not at all, Mrs. Llewellyn. I thank you for bringing this to my attention."

He got to his feet and she rose with him. "You will let me know how it all transpires, I hope?"

Again he gave her a slow smile that she found quite pleasing. "It will be my pleasure, madam."

"Mine, too, Inspector." She allowed him to open the door for her, and bidding him good-bye, she left the building with a heart full of hope. She had officially cleared George Lewis's name. Now she fervently hoped Emma
would make one last appearance so she could send her on her way and be done with the whole problem. It was time she got back to concentrating on her work.

That night Emma answered Meredith's prayers.
Shortly after falling asleep, Meredith awoke to a cold room and a green mist hovering in the corner of the room.

"Emma!" She was wide awake instantly, fumbling for the oil lamp to get it lit before the ghost disappeared again. Peering at the shadowy figure, Meredith could barely make out the child's features. "Your father's name has been cleared. Soon everyone will know he wasn't an embezzler."

She wasn't sure what she was hoping for or expecting from the child. Somehow she felt sure she'd know when Emma passed on, just as she had known when dear Kathleen had left the earthly world for a better place.

This was different, however, for the ghost still hovered in the corner, as if waiting for something.

Feeling as if she'd failed the child, Meredith said quietly, "I'm sorry, Emma. I know you wanted me to find out who killed your family, and I believe I did. I just can't prove it. I only wish I could."

To her utter dismay, two ghostly hands reached out to her in mute appeal. For a second she could see Emma's face and the tears glistening on her cheeks. Then she vanished in a swirl of mist, and the room grew warm once more.

Meredith buried her head in her hands. She had failed after all. Emma was still trapped here on earth, and would be until her family's killer was brought to justice. She knew that now.

What was she to do? She had done everything she possibly could, even taking the case to Inspector Dawson. And he had told her there was no proof. What more could she do?

As if a voice answered her, the thought popped into her head. She could talk to Howard Clark's wife again. There
had to be something, anything that would help her find the proof she needed to bring the man to justice.

Feeling only slightly comforted, Meredith slept.

It was late the next day before she could get away. Her classes had taken up most of the morning, and she had to attend the midday meal before she could leave.

Reggie chuckled as she climbed into the carriage that afternoon. "This is getting to be a regular habit," he said before he closed the door. "Old Major starts getting restless now if I don't get him harnessed. I think he looks forward to his jaunts."

"Well, don't get too used to it," Meredith said, settling herself on the leather seat. "Either of you. I'm hoping to get this over with very shortly, and then there will be no more of these trips."

Reggie gave her a sharp look. "You found out about the fire?"

"Yes, I did."

"So was it or wasn't it an accident?"

"As I told you, I don't think it was an accident, Reggie, but since I can't prove it, it's best not to discuss the problem."

"What about the bobbies? Do they know?"

"They know everything that I know, so I will have to leave the matter in their hands."

"Oh, so where are we going this afternoon, then?"

Reggie, she decided, asked entirely too many questions. "We are going to Mr. Clark's house again."

Reggie frowned. "Won't he be at the bank?"

"I'm going to talk to his wife. She's promised to help us with the Christmas pageant."