Mrs. Jeffries Weeds the Plot (13 page)

Smythe handed her a pound note. “Let me know when this runs out,” he said.

“Just give me a nod when you’re ready for another round.” She grinned easily.

“Now”—Smythe turned his attention back to Ned—“why does your guv think the fire wasn’t an accident?”

“Well, mainly, because of the flood in the kitchen.” He grinned. “I know it don’t make much sense. But just a week or so before the fire, there was a flood in the ruddy kitchen. The builder told the owner the flood was caused by a loose pipe in the water pump, but that weren’t true. Someone had deliberately uncapped the main pipes leadin’ from the sink to the wet larder. But the builder wasn’t goin’ to admit someone ’ad done somethin’ daft like that, now, was ’e? For sure the owner woulda blamed it on one of the builder’s men and none of ’em would admit to doin’ it. So when there was a fire upstairs, Boris nipped up and had a right good look around before Mr. Shoals—that’s the builder—could get there. Boris said he couldn’t see anythin’ up there that could have started a fire like that.”

“How would Boris know?” Smythe finished off his beer.

“’E’s got eyes, don’t ’e?” Ned replied. “’E’s not stupid. Fires don’t just start themselves when there’s no reason for that fire to start in the first place.”

“What do ya mean?”

“The only people up there that day were the workmen.
It was a warm day,” he explained. “None of the fireplaces had been used, there weren’t any candles or lime lamps or even gas lamps lit. So what could have started it? Boris was curious enough that ’e ’ad a nice long look about the place. ’E found an empty tin of coal oil in the garden, ’e did. He reckoned someone had poured it on the curtains and lit a match.”

“Maybe one of the workmen was usin’ it for something,” Smythe speculated.

“Boris would ’ave known if they’d been usin’ coal oil on the job, he’s the guv.”

“Did Boris tell anyone what he’d found?”

“He told Mr. Shoals and ’e said ’e’d look into it, but I don’t think ’e did. He was just happy that the owner didn’t make a fuss. Mind you, Shoals isn’t a complete fool. ’E’s been lucky the owner ain’t taken ’im to court over all the damage. ’E finally put a night watchman onto the place right after the fire. Fellow stays there from the time we leave until the morning.”

“So there’s always someone on the premises?”

“That’s right.” Ned grinned broadly. “Shoals wasn’t worried about the owner so much as ’e was scared somethin’ else strange would ’appen. Some barrister fellow did show up after the fire and raised a ruckus. But Miss Gentry, she’s the owner, soon quieted the bloke down. Still, it shook Shoals up to ’ave a lawyer sniffin’ about the place.”

“You can bring your dog inside,” Annabeth said cheerfully. “I’m sure Miranda won’t hurt him. She’s a very gentle animal.”

Wiggins gaped at Miss Gentry. He didn’t wish to be rude, but he certainly wasn’t worried about that bloodhound hurting Fred. Fred could look after himself, thank you very much.

“That’s very kind of you, Miss Gentry,” Mrs. Jeffries
said quickly. She could tell by the footman’s expression that he was rather offended.

Upon hearing her name, Miranda trotted down the short hallway to the foyer. Fred’s lip curled back, but he didn’t growl. The bloodhound simply wagged her tail, looking for all the world like she wanted to be his friend. “Be nice, now, Fred,” Wiggins chided the dog. Fred gave his tail one perfunctory wag and stared up at his master.

“Shall we move into the drawing room?” Annabeth said. “Martha’s out visiting her young man’s family, so I’m afraid it’s just me and Miranda here.”

“You’re all alone?” Mrs. Jeffries didn’t like the sound of that.

For a moment Annabeth was taken aback. “Oh dear, I see what you mean. That sounds rather foolish considering I came to you for help because someone was trying to kill me. But honestly, I’m not in the least nervous. Miranda’s here with me. She can be quite ferocious if necessary.” She patted her on the head and Miranda wagged her tail proudly.

“So can Fred,” Wiggins put in. “’E can be right nasty if I don’t hold ’im back when ’e smells trouble.” Annabeth smiled at Wiggins as they moved down the short hall and entered the drawing room.

Mrs. Jeffries sat down on the settee while Wiggins took the chair next to the door. Fred flopped onto the floor and stared at the bloodhound, who was now studiously ignoring him. “I know you’re probably wondering why we’ve come,” the housekeeper said.

“I rather thought you might have some progress to report,” Annabeth said eagerly. She’d sat down on the love seat. Miranda curled up on the rug beside her and closed her eyes.

“We’ve made some progress,” Mrs. Jeffries replied. “But that’s not why we’re here. Actually, we have it on
good authority that Inspector Witherspoon will be here tomorrow to interview you about Stan McIntosh’s murder.”

“He’s going to interview me?” Annabeth’s eyes widened in shock. “Good gracious, why? I barely knew the man.”

Miranda’s head came up. Fred, seeing the other dog move, rose up to a sitting position.

“According to what I’ve learned, I think it’s because someone told the inspector you’d had words with Mr. McIntosh.” Mrs. Jeffries watched her carefully, wanting to see how she’d react.

Annabeth’s brows came together. “Words? Well, I did get a bit annoyed with the man, but I’d hardly say we had ‘words.’”

“Why’d you get angry at ’im, miss?” Wiggins asked. He didn’t think Mrs. Jeffries would mind him asking a question or two. “If you don’t mind me askin’.”

“Because he told me to get off the school’s property,” she replied. “I didn’t mind that so much. After all, that’s his job. What I got annoyed about was his refusal to even listen to me when I tried to explain why I was there.”

“When was this?” Mrs. Jeffries asked.

Annabeth thought for a moment. “Oh dear, I suppose it was the day before he was killed.”

Mrs. Jeffries carefully kept her expression blank. “Why, exactly, were you on the school grounds?”

“I wanted to have another look at the wall. I wanted to see the exact spot where those bricks had been loosened.”

“Beggin’ your pardon, miss,” Wiggins said, “but didn’t you tell us you’d been around and ’ad a look the day it ’appened?”

“Of course, but on the day it happened, I only had a
rather cursory look at the wall. I wanted to have a good look this time.”

“What were you hoping to see?” Mrs. Jeffries asked. Gracious, she had gotten off track, so to speak. But hearing Miss Gentry’s account of what happened was quite interesting.

“I wanted to see if there were any marks along the top of the wall. So I took Miranda and we went around to the school. I slipped in through the gate and went around to the wall. We’d only been there a few moments when Stan McIntosh came charging out and ordered us off the property. I tried to explain, of course, but he was so rude.” Her eyes flashed angrily as she recalled the incident. “He actually tried to grab my arm and drag me off the premises. Luckily, Miranda was having none of that. The moment he touched me she growled and bared her teeth. He let go quick enough then, I can tell you that. Of course, I didn’t want Miranda to chew the man up, so I called her off and we left.”

No one said anything when she’d finished. The only sound in the room was the click of nails against the wooden floor as Fred shifted positions. Finally, Mrs. Jeffries said, “I see.”

Annabeth bit her lip. “Oh dear, do you think I ought to have mentioned this before. I didn’t see that it was important. That’s why I said nothing. I wasn’t trying to hide anything. I was just so terribly worried about everything, you see. And no one, not even my own relatives, seemed to believe me.”

“It’s always best that we know everything,” Mrs. Jeffries said softly. “Unfortunately, the incident was a bit more important than you think.”

“Oh dear.” Annabeth’s brows drew together. “What should I tell him?”

“The truth,” Mrs. Jeffries replied. “As a matter of fact, I think you ought to tell him everything.”

“Everything? You mean about the attempts on my life and asking for your help—”

“Everything but that bit,” Wiggins interjected. He glanced at Mrs. Jeffries. “I’m right, aren’t I? She oughtn’t to say anything about us being involved.”

“That’s right,” the housekeeper replied. “Tell the inspector everything except the fact that we’re involved. He doesn’t know we…uh…well…”

“He doesn’t know he has assistance on his cases from all of you.” Annabeth laughed. “My lips are sealed, Mrs. Jeffries. I’ll not say a word.” Her smile faded abruptly. “That doesn’t mean you’ll stop trying to help me, does it? I’m sure your inspector is quite a nice man, but frankly, I’ve not much faith the police will be able to find the person who’s doing this to me. They haven’t found the person who killed that poor Mr. Porter.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll still be on the case,” Mrs. Jeffries assured her.

“Do you think my troubles are connected to McIntosh’s murder?” Annabeth idly reached down and patted Miranda on the head. “I hope not. It’s not quite fair, you know. I didn’t really know him.”

“Fair or not, Miss Gentry,” Mrs. Jeffries replied, “there’s a very good possibility your troubles and his murder are connected. In any case, it can’t hurt to have the police asking a few questions.” She almost mentioned that she thought the real connection was Tim Porter’s murder, but she decided to keep that to herself for a bit longer. “By the way, what do you know about Phillip Eddington?”

“I don’t know much about him at all,” Annabeth said thoughtfully. “He seems a nice man. He’s been a bit of an absent neighbor, I believe he travels a lot on business—” She was interrupted by knocking on the front door.

Miranda shot to her feet. So did Fred.

Annabeth got up, her expression puzzled. “Now, who can that be at this time of the evening?”

“Maybe it’s Martha,” Wiggins suggested. He reached down and took a firm grip on Fred’s lead.

“Martha comes in the back door and she has her own key.” She started for the hallway. Miranda trotted along at her heels.

“Do be careful, Miss Gentry. You don’t know who is out there. Perhaps you ought to peek out the window before you open up,” Mrs. Jeffries warned.

“Excellent idea.” Annabeth stopped before she reached the door and hurried over to the front window, which looked out on the road. She pulled the curtains back. “It’s the police.”

“The police?” Alarmed, Mrs. Jeffries sprang to her feet. “Are you certain?”

“Oh yes; there’s an older constable in uniform and another gentleman in plain clothes.”

“Does he have a mustache and is he wearing a bowler hat?” She was already heading for the hall.

Annabeth dropped the curtain. “Yes. Is it your inspector?”

“Cor blimey.” Wiggins jumped up and dashed after Mrs. Jeffries, who was now flying toward the back of the house.

“It’s him all right,” the housekeeper hissed over her shoulder. “If it’s all the same to you, we’ll go out the back door.”

“I won’t mention a word to your inspector about knowing you,” she whispered loudly. She gave them a final wave and turned toward the front door.

Mrs. Jeffries, Wiggins, and Fred dashed into the kitchen and hurried toward the back door. Grabbing the handle, she twisted and pulled the door open just as she heard a familiar voice coming from the front of the house.

By this time, Fred had gotten into the spirit of the game and fairly bounced along at Wiggins’s heels. Until he heard that voice from the front. He skidded to a halt halfway through the back door. As Mrs. Jeffries was in the process of pulling it closed, she almost caught him dead center between the door and the frame. “Oh no, come along, Fred,” she whispered urgently.

Fred, who was now very confused, tried backing up into the kitchen. “Come on, boy,” Wiggins ordered. He reached down and grabbed the dog’s collar.

But the house was small and the inspector’s voice rang loud and clear in the quiet night.

“We’re so sorry to disturb you, Miss Gentry,” Witherspoon said. “But we’d like to ask you a few questions. Oh my, what a nice dog. Is it a bloodhound?”

Fred stiffened and tried to pull back into the house, toward the voice he knew and loved.

“Get him out, Wiggins,” Mrs. Jeffries whispered. “We mustn’t be found here.”

“Come on, Fred,” Wiggins hissed. He gave the collar another tug, but he didn’t pull very hard. He didn’t want to hurt the animal.

Confused, Fred looked back toward the sound of the inspector’s voice then back at Wiggins. He barked softly. From down the hall, Miranda, hearing Fred, began to bark, too.

“Gracious,” they heard the inspector say. “What’s wrong with your dog? She seems most agitated.”

Mrs. Jeffries leaned down, grabbed Fred’s collar, and yanked him out the door.

From inside, Witherspoon looked curiously toward the kitchen. “I say, is everything all right? It sounds like there’s something at the back of your house.”

“It’s cats, Inspector.” Annabeth smiled up at him as she straightened up from petting her hound. “Miranda gets a bit agitated when she hears them.”

“I could have sworn I heard a dog back there,” Constable Barnes said.

“You probably did,” Annabeth replied. “There’s one or two strays in the neighborhood that like to chase the cats. Let’s go into the drawing room, gentlemen. We might as well sit down.”