Finished Off (A Bellehaven House Mystery Book 2) (23 page)

Reggie seemed to accept that, though he gave her an odd look before he closed the door.

Meredith felt guilty about misleading him, but on the other hand, she had no way of knowing if the visit would prove fruitful, and unless it was, there was no need for Reggie to know the real reason for calling on Sophie Clark.

Bowling along the narrow country lanes, Meredith prayed her meeting with the bank manager's wife would help her in some way. This was her very last chance to confirm her suspicions. If she failed now, all would be lost.

A guilty man would go free, and a lonely ghost would be doomed to wander alone forever.

Chapter 17

The bank manager's wife seemed happy to see her,
and immediately ordered her housekeeper to provide tea and crumpets. While they were waiting for the food to arrive, Meredith brought up the subject of the pageant.

Sophie was obviously excited about the prospect, and Meredith felt a deep sense of remorse. If she was successful in bringing Howard Clark to justice, this poor woman would have to deal with the shame, and the loss of her husband.

It was with a heavy heart that she outlined the plans for the pageant. The housekeeper interrupted them, but once she had left the room, Sophie agreed to take charge of the costumes and declared that she knew just the person to make them.

"Vera is a wonderful seamstress," she said, touching Meredith's arm in her eagerness. "I'm sure she will be most happy to help."

"You are so kind." Meredith found it hard to meet the woman's eyes. "I do hope your husband won't mind you taking the time to help us."

Sophie shook her head. "Howard is far too busy with his work." She picked up her cup and saucer. "The bank means everything to him, you know. It's his life. I really don't know what he would do without it."

Meredith swallowed a bite of the buttery crumpet. "It must keep him busy."

"Oh, it does." Sophie took a sip of tea, then put the cup and saucer back down on the table. "I hardly see him, and when I do, all he can talk about is the bank business." Her laugh was a little forced. "I really don't understand a word he says, you know. I just nod and shake my head and hope it's in the right places. Not that he'd notice if it wasn't."

Obviously marriage to Howard Clark wasn't all fun and games, Meredith thought. Though it did little to make her feel better about the possible consequences of her visit. "He seems a very nice man," she murmured. "I've only met him once, of course. He was away the last time I went to the bank."

Sophie nodded. "I must say, he hasn't been quite the same since George died." She reached for the plate of crumpets and offered them to Meredith.

"No, thank you. I'll spoil my supper." Meredith smiled. "You were saying that your husband was affected by Mr. Lewis's death?"

"Oh, yes. Well, we all were, of course. It was such a terrible tragedy. But Howard seemed to take it harder than the rest of us." She bit into a crumpet and thoughtfully chewed for so long Meredith wanted to demand she finish what she was saying.

"I do hope he's feeling better now?"

Sophie seemed to have lost the thread of the conversation. She looked up with a vague expression. "Pardon? Oh, yes, I think he is, though he still has nightmares."

Meredith wasn't at all surprised to hear that, though it didn't seem as if this discussion was leading anywhere helpful. She was still trying to think of a way to ask the questions she wanted to ask, when Sophie spoke again.

"For a while there he was actually walking in his sleep."
She frowned. "Funny thing, that. He actually started doing it the very night George died. It was as if he had some kind of sixth sense about it."

Meredith sat up straight, her heart beginning to pound. This was it. Somehow she knew it. Very carefully, she put down her cup and saucer. "Your husband walks in his sleep?"

"Well, he did that night." Sophie shook her head. "I remember, because we slept late the next morning and that's when we heard the news about George. I'd woken up in the middle of the night and Howard wasn't in bed. He wasn't anywhere in the house. I looked out of the window and there he was, walking up the garden path in his dressing gown and only one slipper on. Never did find the other one."

Meredith leaned forward, hardly able to contain her excitement. "It's a wonder he didn't wake up, walking on the gravel with a bare foot."

"That's what I thought." Sophie sighed. "At first I thought he'd taken ill, but when I went down to him and called out his name, he stopped and just stood there, his eyes tightly shut. I realized then that he was asleep. I led him back to bed and he never did remember anything about that night to this day."

"And you never found the other slipper," Meredith said, half to herself.

Sophie gave her an odd look. "No, we never did."

"How very strange." She was more or less talking to herself. A vision of the burned-out bedroom came to mind—the horse on the floor, a baby's scorched rattle . . . and one charred slipper.

Meredith drew a steadying breath. "Do you still have the other one?"

Sophie stared at her. "The other one what?"

"Your husband's other slipper."

"Well, I suppose I do somewhere . . . but why . . . what . . . I don't understand."

Realizing she had said entirely too much, Meredith got to her feet. "I'm terribly sorry, Mrs. Clark, but I really do
have to go now. Thank you again for volunteering your services this Christmas. We shall look forward to your assistance." She had reached the door before the flustered woman could get to her feet. "Please, don't get up. I can see myself out." With that, she opened the door and hurried outside.

Reggie sat waiting for her with a bored expression on his face. "I thought all this traveling to and fro would be exciting," he grumbled as he climbed down from his perch. "But all I've done is mooch around while you have all the fun. I have more excitement looking after the water pipes in the school basement."

"I'm sorry, Reggie." Tense with anticipation, she looked up at him. "We have one more trip to make, then I hope this will all be over."

He studied her face. "You look as if you talked about more than the Christmas pageant."

"I did, Reggie. I certainly did. I think I have finally found a way to prove that my suspicions were correct."

"About the fire?"

"Yes, about the fire."

"It wasn't an accident?"

"No, Reggie, it wasn't."

"Who did it then?"

She shook her head. "I can't tell you right now."

"But you can prove it?"

"Yes, I think I can."

Reggie's face lit up. "Then what are we waiting for? Where do we go from here?"

She laughed. "Back to Bellehaven. I have to take care of a few things, and both you and Major need some refreshment. Give me an hour, then be ready to leave. We must get back to the school again before supper."

"Right you are, m'm!" Reggie leapt up to his perch and flicked the reins. "Tally ho, Major. We're on the track of a killer!"

Meredith winced. She would have to warn him not to
say anything to anyone about her planned trip. Until she had that slipper safely in her possession, the fewer people who knew about it, the better.

On her way to her office she passed Sylvia in the hallway. The young woman seemed ill at ease as she called out, "May I have a word with you, Meredith?"

Sighing, Meredith halted and reluctantly turned to face her. "I'm in rather a hurry—" she began, but Sylvia interrupted her.

"I shan't keep you a minute. I've had word that Mr. Hamilton will be calling around suppertime, and I was wondering if you intended to mention the incident with Mr. Platt."

Meredith puffed out her breath in frustration. The man's timing was as inconvenient as always. "I certainly intend to, Sylvia. I think Mr. Hamilton should be made aware of the facts."

"Yes, well, I was also wondering if you . . . if I . . ."

Realizing the source of Sylvia's concern, Meredith shook her head. "I see no reason to reveal your part in what happened. Mr. Hamilton doesn't have to know everything, does he."

Sylvia's face softened into a smile. "Thank you, Meredith. I am much obliged." She hurried off, while Meredith continued on her way, hoping fervently that Sylvia remembered her reprieve the next time she felt like tattling to Hamilton about something or other.

A little over an hour later she was ready to join Reggie in the forecourt. Major stood with his head down, and once more Meredith felt a stab of guilt for tiring out the poor old horse. She prayed that this would be the last time she'd have to drag the animal out on yet another jaunt when he was so tired and weary.

The journey to the Lewis home took longer than she remembered, and she was on pins and needles by the time she arrived. Ordering Reggie to stay with the carriage, much to his disgust, she made her way to the front door.

She was relieved to find the door was still unlocked. The idea of forcing her way into the house, even if it was abandoned and empty, was too unpleasant to contemplate.

Shuddering at the sight of the broken banisters, she thought about asking Reggie to accompany her. Once more she had been a little hasty in demanding he stay with the carriage.

Then she shook off her doubts. She would be but a moment or two, and then it would all be over. Very carefully, she began climbing the stairs.

The smell of burning seemed less overwhelming than the last time she was there, and she began to breathe a little easier as she mounted the steps to the landing.

A shiver ran down her back as she passed by Emma's room, but she stared straight ahead, her gaze fixed on the main bedroom door. She didn't want to think about the fear that poor child must have suffered.

With the floorboards creaking and cracking beneath her feet, she drew closer to the ravaged room. The smell was stronger now, and she wrinkled her nose as she stepped inside.

It looked much the same as when she'd last seen it—the remains of the bed, the baby's rattle, the scorched remains of the cradle . . . and the slipper. It sat just a few feet away, out of reach across the perilous charred floorboards.

Testing each step, Meredith edged closer and closer. The floor sagged beneath her weight, and she crouched on her heels to lean forward and grasp the edge of the blackened slipper. Drawing it toward her, she slowly shuffled backward, holding her breath as once more the floorboards sagged beneath her weight with an ominous groan.

She was afraid to turn her head to look behind her, in case the shift in weight shattered the flimsy remains of the floor. The journey back to the door seemed to be taking forever.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw she was almost level with the wall. Just a couple more inches and she would be relatively safe.

The harsh voice came out of nowhere, making her body jerk in shocked surprise.

"I do believe that belongs to me."

Forgetting to be cautious, she spun around. The loud crack seemed to echo around the room as her foot sank through the floor and was caught fast in the narrow gap.

"Well, now," Howard Clark said pleasantly, "I'll take that from you if you don't mind."

He stretched out his hand for the slipper, but with great presence of mind, she threw it as hard as she could across the room.

Struggling to pull her foot from the jagged hole in the floor, she muttered, "Go and get it, if you dare."

Howard Clark sighed. "It really doesn't matter. You're the only one who knows about it, and since you won't be talking to anyone about it, the slipper can sit there forever as far as I'm concerned."

Eyes widening, she stared at him. Surely he didn't mean what she thought he meant?

Howard's smile was pure evil. "Don't look so surprised, Mrs. Llewellyn. You really didn't expect me to simply allow you to walk out of here, did you?"

Frantically she renewed her efforts to drag her ankle free. The pain brought tears to her eyes, but she tugged all the harder, determined that this despicable creature would not get the better of her.

"It's such a shame." Howard stepped closer to her, pausing when the floorboards groaned again. "Here you were, rummaging through the remains of George Lewis's belongings for some obscure reason, when the floorboards gave way and down you went to the floor below. I'm quite sure you will be sorely missed by your students and friends."

With growing horror, Meredith saw him about to take another step toward her. "Wait!" If she could keep him talking long enough, maybe Reggie would be concerned enough to come looking for her again. How stupid she was to have walked in here alone. "How did you know I was here?"

Howard gave her another of his unpleasant smiles. "When I arrived home this afternoon, my wife informed me of your visit. She was confused by your great interest in one of my slippers. When she told me that she'd told you about my sleepwalking the night good old George died, I realized you had put everything together, and that the slipper must still be here. I had thought it was destroyed by the fire."

"So you came here to get it."

"Exactly. I had hoped to get here before you. Without the slipper, you would have had no way of proving that I had anything to do with the fire."

"You could have just destroyed the other one," Meredith pointed out. "Then I'd have had nothing with which to match this one."

"Ah, but had you shown that one to my wife, she would almost certainly have recognized it. She bought them for me, you see. Had my initials stamped right into the leather. I couldn't take the chance of those letters still being visible."

Meredith rocked her ankle from side to side in an effort to widen the gap. "So you killed Mr. Lewis to prevent him from reporting your embezzling."

"I had to. I would have lost everything—my job, my wife, my home, my entire life." Howard edged closer. Close enough to grab hold of her. She shrank away from him, and he sighed. "It's no use, Mrs. Llewellyn. You have to die. I can't let anyone know what I did."

He reached out his hands, and with a tremendous effort she dragged her foot free. Spinning away from him, she gave him an almighty shove, and he went sprawling across the floor.