High Marks for Murder (A Bellehaven House Mystery Book 1) (15 page)

Pulling the sheet up under her chin, she turned on her side and closed her eyes. Seconds later she snapped them open again as the back of her neck started to tingle in a most disturbing way.

She saw immediately the cause of her discomfort. Blinking her eyes, she stared at the faint greenish glow hovering in the corner of the room.

"Kathleen," she whispered. "Is that you?"

The glow moved from side to side.

Reaching out a hand, Meredith snapped on the light.

The green glow turned white, faded, and reappeared, then swirled into a misty cloud. Very slowly, in the middle of the cloud, Kathleen's face appeared. Her two arms appeared to be separated from her body, and floating of their own accord.

Alarmed, Meredith realized that either she was losing
her ability to see the ghost, or Kathleen's power to materialize was fading. Either way, it presented an urgency to solve the murder before time ran out and she could no longer communicate with her dear, departed friend.

"Tell me," she said quickly. "Any way you can. Tell me who did this to you. I want to help, but I'm still in the dark. You have to help me."

For a moment it seemed the apparition would fade away, then for a brief moment Kathleen's face peered out at her with sightless eyes. One arm lifted and a fluttering finger pointed across the room.

Meredith turned her head and stared at the still life hanging on the wall. Hardly surprising, the oil painting depicted a cottage garden crammed with blossoming shrubs and flowers.

She turned back to the ghost. "I know it has something to do with flowers, but you'll have to give me more. . . ." She let her voice trail off when she realized she was talking to a blank wall. Once more, Kathleen had disappeared.

Meredith stared at the vacant spot in dismay. What if Kathleen couldn't come back to her? What if her killer were never caught? Would Kathleen then be trapped in a sort of netherworld—doomed to wander forever without any hope of concluding her journey?

A tear slid down Meredith's cheek. She couldn't bear the thought of it. Somehow she had to find the killer, and give her friend the peace she so richly deserved.

Snuggling under the covers again she sent up a fervent prayer. It didn't feel quite right, praying for a ghost, but when one became desperate one snatched at any port in a storm. And right then, Meredith desperately needed a safe harbor.

She awoke to the sound of the rising bell, surprised at how well she had slept. Having quite expected a restless night, she felt refreshed and more alert than she had of late.

After dressing in a black skirt and pearl pink waist, she hurried down to the dining hall, determined to be first at the breakfast table.

As it was, she had barely seated herself when the chattering girls poured into the room. After returning the greetings of the pupils seating themselves at her table, she studied their expectant faces.

Saturday was the one day the students were allowed to go into the village unescorted, on the understanding they would remain together in groups of three or four. Not all of them took advantage of the opportunity, but those who did had to receive permission,

Meredith was not entirely comfortable with the arrangement, but since it had been tradition at Bellehaven for several years before she became headmistress, she felt obligated to honor it, as long as it didn't cause any undue problems for the rest of the school.

"Now," she said, giving each girl a stern glance, "who would like permission to visit the village this afternoon?"

Several girls held up their hands. Amelia and Loretta both wanted to go, as did Penelope, who had apparently recovered from her grandmother's death enough to enjoy an outing.

Meredith gave her permission, then shut out the conversation at the table to wrestle with her own problems.

It was all very well for Felicity to say they should hunt down clues, but where to start? There didn't seem to be any logical place to look. Perhaps that dratted constable had been right when he'd said it was a vagrant who had
now disappeared. Then again, if that were so, then why did Kathleen keep pointing at flowers?

Deep in her reverie, she paid little attention to the girls slipping away from the table. The dining hall emptied out, and still she sat there, alone and deeply anxious over the fate of her late friend.

Her tea had cooled, and she reached for the cup, irritated at herself for spoiling her favorite part of breakfast. If there was one thing she couldn't stand, it was cold tea.

Absorbed in her frustration and concern, she failed to notice the gentleman enter the hall until he stood in front of her.

"Ah! Mrs. Llewellyn. There you are!"

His deep voice, seemingly coming out of nowhere, startled her so much she hastily dropped the cup on the saucer and slopped some of the tea over the side.

Looking up, she smiled sheepishly into the penetrating eyes of Stuart Hamilton.

"I trust Miss Montrose is fulfilling her duties as expected?"

Meredith blinked. Unsettled by Hamilton's commanding gaze, she had trouble remembering who Miss Montrose was, let alone if she was fulfilling any duties.

He raised one languid eyebrow. "Is something wrong?"

Flustered, Meredith cleared her throat. "Not at all, Mr. Hamilton. I was simply phrasing my answer before expressing it to you."

Stuart Hamilton laid his hat on the table. Flipping the tails of his coat, much to Meredith's discomfort, he sat down next to her. "It is that difficult to enlighten me?"

"Oh, good heaven's no." In a near panic, she sought for something sensible to say. "Miss Montrose is doing an excellent job, as far as I can tell. After all, she has yet to com
plete a full week here. Any judgment on my part would surely be somewhat premature, wouldn't you say?"

Amusement gleamed in his dark eyes. "I have the utmost faith in your judgment, Mrs. Llewellyn. I'm under the impression that you are an excellent judge of character and quite capable of using your talent instantaneously."

"Really." She eyed him warily. "Well, I thank you for your confidence, Mr. Hamilton. I sincerely hope you will not be proven wrong in the case of Miss Montrose."

He held her gaze much too long for comfort. She looked down at her hands, surprised to see them gripping each other as if expecting never to see one another again.

"Somehow I sense that all is not well with your new instructress. I'd be obliged if you'd advise me of any potential problem."

She made herself smile at him, though she couldn't quite meet his discerning gaze. "Not at all. It is nothing more than the settling in of a new tutor. It takes time, but I'm quite sure Miss Montrose will be a commendable addition to the staff of Bellehaven."

"Admirably put." Hamilton leaned back in his chair and stuck a thumb in his waistcoat pocket.

Meredith found the gesture mildly disturbing, though she couldn't have explained why. His next words, however, deepened her distraction.

"Then perhaps you'll tell me what
is
concerning you enough to mar such a pleasant face with a frown."

"I . . . it's just . . . well, I don't really . . ." She let her voice trail off, at a loss how to explain.

Hamilton leaned forward, his face creased in concern. "Something
is
troubling you, Mrs. Llewellyn. I must insist you tell me what it is."

In the end she just blurted out the words. "I believe
that someone here in Bellehaven is responsible for Miss Duncan's unfortunate demise."

He straightened, his brows raised in shock. "On what do you base this disturbing theory?"

Again she floundered. She could hardly tell him that she'd been visited by Kathleen's ghost. He'd have her committed to a lunatic asylum. Which could well be where she belonged, she thought, with a cold touch of fear.

Sitting there with him in the empty dining hall, the idea that Kathleen could come back from the dead to haunt her and goad her into a full-scale investigation of her death seemed ludicrous.

Yet she only had to think back to the night before, with the ghost hovering at her bedside, one finger shakily pointing at a painting, to renew her convictions.

She raised her head. "You said you trusted my judgment. I hope it is enough to accept the fact that I am convinced someone in this school cruelly hit Miss Duncan in the head with that tree branch and killed her. Since I do not have the cooperation of the constabulary, I am doing my best to discover who that person is myself."

Stuart Hamilton stared at her for a long moment, then slowly rose to his feet. "I suggest, Mrs. Llewellyn, that you concentrate on the matters at hand concerning the pupils of Bellehaven, and leave police work to those far better suited for it."

Why did she imagine he would give her the benefit of the doubt? Meredith wondered. Even her two close friends had trouble believing in her theories. How could she expect a man like Stuart Hamilton to accept the ramblings of a woman with whom he had little acquaintance?

She got up from her chair, pausing to allow him to draw
it back for her. "Thank you, Mr. Hamilton. I shall do my best to follow your advice."

His expression was full of suspicion, but he gave her a brief nod, reached for his hat, then turned briskly on his heel and strode across the floor to the door.

Long after his footsteps had faded away, Meredith stood scowling after him. Infuriating man. Pleasant face, indeed. Rather impudent of him.

Even so, her mouth twitched into a smile at the memory.

In the next instance she gave herself a stern mental shake. She had work to do and not a moment to spare.

She found Essie and Felicity in the music room, discussing a tune that Essie hesitantly picked out with one finger on the piano.

"It has something to do with a bicycle," Felicity declared. "A tandem, unless I'm much mistaken."

"No, no." Essie shook her head. "It's the name of someone. I'm sure of it."

Meredith shook her head and crossed the room. "It's 'Daisy Bell.' Written by Harry Dacre about twelve years ago." She sat down at the piano and deftly played the entire song, singing the words as best she could with her somewhat inadequate voice.

"Bravo!" Essie clapped her hands as Meredith finished the tune with a flourish of chords. "A wonderful performance."

"Indeed," Felicity agreed. "Though I do question how you became so familiar with a bawdy music hall song."

Meredith smiled as she rose from the piano. "That's for me to know and you to wonder."

Felicity's expression suggested she was not about to let the matter rest there.

Meredith, however, had a more important subject on her mind. Looking around to ensure they were quite alone, she added quietly, "I saw Kathleen again last night."

Essie gasped, while Felicity merely looked skeptical. "Where was she this time? Tucked up in your bed?"

Meredith gave her a sour look. "As a matter of fact, she was in my room. She kept pointing a finger at my Harold Peto painting."

Essie whispered, "The one with all the flowers in front of the cottage?"

"Exactly. Flowers again." Meredith shook her head. "For some reason, Kathleen keeps pointing at flowers, but I can't for the very life of me imagine what they could possibly have to do with her death."

"Maybe she's not pointing at the flowers." Felicity gently closed the lid of the piano. "She could have been pointing at the cottage."

So utterly delighted was Meredith that at long last Felicity was accepting the fact that there actually was a ghost with whom she could communicate, marginally at least, the significance of her friend's words escaped her at first.

"Why would Kathleen point at a cottage?" Essie sat down on the stool and folded her hands in her lap. "There's no cottage on the school grounds. Not unless you count the gardener's cottage."

Meredith stared at her. "Oh, my goodness. Why didn't I think of that?"

Felicity laughed. "I hope you're not suggesting Tom went after Kathleen with a tree branch. As I keep telling you, it's more likely to be his assistant. Perhaps that's what Kathleen has been trying to tell you."

Meredith shook her head. "I talked to Davie's mother.
She is absolutely certain Davie was in the house all evening on the night Kathleen was killed. He's not the one."

"Just when did you talk to Davie's mother?"

Felicity had an edge to her voice, and Meredith said hurriedly, "Yesterday morning. I forgot to mention it last night."

Felicity grunted. "I don't know how you expect us to help you if you don't tell us everything."

"I'm sorry." Meredith laid a hand on her arm. "I'm afraid so much was happening yesterday, it quite slipped my mind. I won't forget again."

Felicity nodded. "Good. Then let's all go down to your room and study that painting. There may be something else there that can help us understand what that dratted ghost is trying to tell you."

Chapter 13

Standing in front of the painting a few minutes
later, all three tutors studied it in silence.

"I can't see anything except the cottage, flowers, and the sky," Essie announced. She glanced nervously over her shoulder. "Kathleen isn't here right now, is she?"

"Not as far as I can see," Meredith assured her. She peered closer at the painting. "These aren't even the same flowers that Kathleen planted in the flower beds. Look at those Canterbury bells. They are enormous."

Felicity grunted. "I can't see why everyone makes so much fuss over this Peto person. Not my cup of tea. Look at those tiny butterflies. Quite out of proportion in my opinion."

Meredith gazed fondly at her prized possession. "That's exactly why I love his work. Everything is so detailed. Look at the colors in those wings. Why, I—" She broke off as something occurred to her.

Both women stared at her—Felicity with resigned expectation and Essie with sheer panic.

"What is it?" she cried, one slender hand at her throat. "What do you see? Is it Kathleen? Where is she?" She looked wildly around as she backed toward the door.

Felicity rolled her eyes at the ceiling, while Meredith held out her hand to the terrified woman. "It's all right, Essie. I can't see Kathleen so I'm quite sure she's not here."