Manor House 04 - Dig Deep for Murder (8 page)

Within seconds, however, her misery turned to anger. She would find out where Fred's brother lived and track
him down. She was not going to accept defeat without a fight.

After she stomped back down the stairs, she eyed the various odds and ends about the place. Since Fred had seen fit to leave them behind, surely it wouldn't be considered improper for her to sell them. Discreetly, of course. But it might be difficult to sell a man's personal belongings with anything approaching discretion.

She wondered if he'd left any clothes in the wardrobe. She hadn't thought to look. At least she could give those to the clothes drive for bombed-out victims. Right now, however, all she could think about was getting out of the musty cottage and breathing some clean, fresh air.

The welcome sun warmed her face as she stepped outside, and she quickly closed the door and locked it. If she were to rent the cottage again, she'd have to get it cleaned. Polly had been responsible for that in the past, but now that her duties were more refined, she'd likely consider it beneath her to clean cottages. Especially one as filthy as this.

Immersed in her thoughts, she was startled to hear a jovial voice booming almost in her ear.

"Lady Elizabeth! 'Pon my soul, you're a welcome sight, I must say! What brings your ladyship down to our humble abode this fine morning?"

Elizabeth blinked, her gaze momentarily dazzled, until she recognized the neat white beard and twinkling blue eyes. "Good morning, Captain Carbunkle. How nice to see you again."

"Likewise, dear lady." The retired sea captain waved his pipe at her.

Elizabeth had never seen Wally without his pipe. As a member of the town council, he had contributed a great deal to the welfare of Sitting Marsh and its inhabitants. His experience and shrewd assessments had proved invaluable during her early days as administrator, and she would always be grateful to him. There were times, how
ever, when she fervently wished that he'd leave his pipe at home.

"I'm so glad to have bumped into you, Captain." She tilted her head so that the brim of her blue straw hat shaded her eyes. "I was calling on Fred, but he doesn't seem to be at home. You don't happen to know where he might be, I suppose?"

Wally poked his pipe into his mouth and took a couple of puffs. "Now that I come to think about it, I haven't seen Freddie in about a week. Must have been that long. Last time I saw him was in the Tudor Arms. Saturday night, it was. Having a grand old time, too, I can tell you. He was playing darts with Reggie Stewart. They were both drinking and smoking and carrying on, like they were the best of pals. Surprised me to see them. I always thought that Reggie bloke was a bit of a loner, if you know what I mean."

His expression changed. "Strewth, Freddie was with Reggie. Must have been about the same time he disappeared. I haven't seen either of them since that night. Freddie might have been the last blinking bloke to see Reggie alive. Makes you think, dunnit?"

"It certainly does," Elizabeth said gravely.

"Bad business, that. Any news on who might have bumped the poor blighter off?"

The news, it seemed, had spread quickly on the grapevine, as usual. "None, I'm afraid. I wonder, Captain, did Fred say anything to you about going to Ireland to live with his brother?"

Wally looked puzzled. "Ireland? Freddie? Never mentioned anything like that to me. I didn't even know he had a brother."

"Well, thank you, Captain. I really should be running along."

"Right you are, your ladyship. See you at the next council meeting?"

"Yes, of course. We'll have the proceeds of the annual
garden fete by then, so we shall have plenty of business to discuss."

"Right. Will you be going to the fete?"

"I expect so. I hope to see you there."

"Wouldn't miss it, your ladyship."

"Thank you, Captain." Leaving him with a smile, Elizabeth hurried back down the path to where she had left her motorcycle. Now she had more than one reason to find out where Fred had gone. If he had, indeed, been the last person to see Reggie alive, he might very well be able to shed some light on the mystery.

It was time she spoke to the constables. With their resources they'd have a much better chance of finding Fred than she would, and now she had a legitimate excuse.

Since she had to pass the police station on her way back to the manor, it seemed a good idea to stop in on her way back. As she rode down the High Street, she had a clear view of the building. Though she was still some distance away, she recognized the woman who hurried down the steps of the police station. She paused for a moment, looking up and down the street, then disappeared through the doors of the bank that stood next to it.

There could be only one reason Betty Stewart would visit the police station. There had to be developments in the case of her husband's murder. In which case, Elizabeth decided, it was up to her to find out exactly what those developments might be.

CHAPTER

6

It took Elizabeth a few minutes to reach the police station and park her motorcycle next to the bicycle rack. Peering through the glass-fronted door, she could see no sign of George or his befuddled partner, Sid, at the front desk.

A bell jangled loudly as she pushed the door open, and a voice from a room in the back roared, "Who is it?"

"It's Lady Elizabeth." She let the door swing to and crossed the room to the desk. "I'd like to have a word with you, George."

"Just a mo', m'm. I'll be right there."

She heard a scraping of chair legs on bare floorboards and a muttered exclamation before George's round, balding head appeared around the doorway. "Morning, your ladyship." The rest of him followed, one hand clutching the remains of what appeared to be a thick ham sandwich. "Just having me lunch, I was. What can I do for you, then?"

Elizabeth came straight to the point. "You can tell me what Betty Stewart was doing in here."

George's face seemed to close up. "Now, your ladyship, you know very well that's police business. I'm not at liberty to say. Can I offer you a chair?"

Sighing, Elizabeth sat down. This was a game she was well used to playing. All the same, she resented having to indulge George's irritating insistence on sticking to protocol when he knew perfectly well that she would ferret out the truth eventually.

"I assume that Mrs. Stewart's visit had something to do with her husband's murder," she said, folding her hands over her handbag.

George looked blankly at her.

Sid's grating voice wafted from the back room. "Can't assume nothing, your ladyship."

"Shut up, Sid," George growled.

Sid's lowered voice could be heard muttering something unintelligible.

"Does that mean she wasn't here about her husband's murder?" Elizabeth demanded.

George shrugged, but offered no comment.

Elizabeth thinned her lips. "I ask that you at least give me the courtesy of an answer when I ask a question, George."

"Yes, m'm. It's just that my lips are sealed, so to speak."

"Then nod, or shake your head. After all, you've done so plenty of times before."

George looked as if he were about to explode. His cheeks got very red and puffed out, and for a moment Elizabeth was quite alarmed, thinking he might be about to have a stroke.

Then his breath came out in a violent burst. "Begging your pardon, your ladyship, but every time I tell you what I know, you go charging off into police business and get into all sorts of trouble. The inspector's got wind of it, and he isn't too happy with me right now."

"I'm sorry, George." Elizabeth conjured up her sweetest smile. "I promise I won't get into trouble this time. I would just like to know why Betty Stewart was here, that's all."

"She was robbed!" Sid called from the back room.

"Sid!" George howled.

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. It wasn't the answer she was expecting. "Robbed? Someone broke into her house?"

George rubbed his eyes with stubby fingers. "All right, if you must know, your ladyship. Someone got into her house last night while she was out. I'll be going down there right after I finish me lunch." He gestured with his half-eaten sandwich. "Until then, I don't know no more than you do. That's the truth."

Elizabeth turned the news over in her mind. "Did she say what was taken?"

"The usual stuff—clothes, money, food—"

"Food?"

George gave his sandwich a fond glance. "Just about wiped her out of her week's rations, she said. She was going to see Percy in the hopes he could help her out with a little bit under the counter, if you get my meaning."

But she didn't
, Elizabeth thought. Betty Stewart had gone straight to the bank. Of course, she could have gone there to get some money. Then again, if she were upset, she could have gone to someone for comfort. Like Henry Fenworth.

"These days," George said, still gazing at his sandwich, "it's a bloody disgrace to steal food, what with the rationing and all."

"It is, indeed," Elizabeth agreed. "George, I think we might have a problem here. Violet has been complaining about food missing from the larder. She thought it was Martin, but the other night I could swear I saw someone slip out of the kitchen when I got home. I'm wondering now if we have a thief going around the village stealing food."

George sat down rather heavily behind the desk. "Gawd, where's it going to end? What with a murderer and now a robber lurking around the village, Sitting Marsh is becoming as evil as London, I swear it is."

"Speaking of which, how is the murder investigation going? Anything new? Has the murder weapon been found yet?"

George sighed. "Even if it had, your ladyship, you know very well I couldn't discuss it with you. But so far, we haven't found any weapon. We don't even know how Reggie died for certain. The doctor seems to think he died of a heart attack, probably brought on by the beating he took. But as to who beat him up, we've got no idea. It's going to be hard to find out now, seeing as how he's been in the ground for more than a week. Whoever did it is more than likely miles away by now."

"Unless the thief and the murderer are the same person," Elizabeth said quietly. "Perhaps Mr. Stewart saw the thief and recognized him, and the thief beat him to death to avoid being caught."

"Blimey," George said, scratching his bald pate. "I never thought of that. I don't know how I'm supposed to take care of all this. I really don't. Sid's no flipping help and—"

" 'Ere, I heard that!"

Sid's shout of outrage made George blink. "All right, all right. Keep your hair on. I only meant they expect too much of us. After all, we're supposed to be retired, not trying to do Scotland Yard's job for them. It's worse than being a London bobby pounding the beat. At least you wouldn't have to work out all these blinking puzzles. The inspector's too busy to bother with the likes of us, and Sid and me have to take care of everything down here. Where's it all going to end, that's what I want to know."

"When the bleeding war's over, that's when." Sid appeared in the doorway. "Beg your pardon, your ladyship."

Elizabeth had sat through George's outburst, nodding sympathetically. Now she rose from her chair, prompting
George to spring to his feet. "Well, I'll let you get on with your lunch." She turned to go, then paused. "Oh, I almost forgot. It seems that Fred Bickham has gone to Ireland to live with his brother. The problem is, he left without paying his rent. I was wondering if you could track him down for me, and get his address. I'd do it myself, but I know how you hate me interfering in police business."

"I don't know as how I can do that, m'm." George looked apologetic. "Ireland's a bit out of my area, so to speak. You'd have to speak to the inspector about that one. Though I don't think Scotland Yard's going to waste their time getting rent money back. Not even for you, your ladyship."

"Probably not." Elizabeth crossed to the door. "But they might if they knew that Fred Bickham might very well have been the last person to see a murdered man alive."

She'd reached the door when George's raised voice stopped her. "Where'd you hear that, then? What's old Fred got to do with Reggie Stewart?"

"I'm not exactly sure," Elizabeth admitted. "But rest assured I'll find out."

George groaned and covered his face with his hands. "I knew it. I blinking knew it."

"Don't worry, George," Elizabeth said cheerfully. "I won't step on anyone's toes."

She left before George could raise any more protests. Not that it would have done any good. She had the bit between her teeth now, so to speak, and she was going to run with it. There were a lot of questions that needed answers, and she was not going to rest until every one of them had been addressed.

Polly stared through the tiny crossed panes of the window, watching the ocean gently lapping at the beach only yards away. Having lunch in a pub was a huge treat for her. Until now, her dining out experience had been limited to
crisps and peanuts at the Tudor Arms, a cup of tea and a cake at Bessie's, and fish and chips in the High Street, and that was eaten out of a newspaper while walking home.

When Sam had suggested they stop at the quaint little pub for lunch, she'd tried to act as if it were a common occurrence for her, but seated in a corner window with her elbows on a white tablecloth, surrounded by polished brass antiques and pewter tankards, she couldn't seem to stop squirming in her excitement. This was living. This was really living. Her fantasy was beginning to come true.

"Penny for them," Sam said, startling her.

"What?"

"Penny for your thoughts. What were you thinking?"

"Oh!" She grinned at him. "I was just thinking how nice it is to be sitting here with you, having lunch and all." She picked up her gin and orange and took a sip, trying not to make a face. She'd ordered her usual drink, but she wasn't used to drinking gin in the middle of the day. Somehow it tasted different—sort of bitter. She'd rather have had a shandy. It wouldn't have made her head all fuzzy like the gin did. She could just imagine Sam's face, though, if she'd sat there drinking a mug of beer watered down with lemonade.