Mrs. Jeffries Weeds the Plot (21 page)

“We’re merely exploring possibilities, madam,” he said quickly. “Have you ever heard of a man named Tim Porter?”

She frowned. “You mean the person Miranda dug up?”

“Yes, had you ever heard of him before your sister’s dog…uh, dug him up.”

“No. Why would I? From what I understand, he was a pickpocket. I don’t generally consort with such persons.”

“Excuse me, madam.” The maid poked her head in the drawing room. “Miss Gentry is here. Shall I show her in?”

“Oh, it’s all right.” Annabeth Gentry popped into the room. “I’m family. Of course I can come in …” Her face broadened into a smile when she saw the inspector and Constable Barnes. “Goodness, how nice to see you again, Inspector, Constable.”

Ethel Caraway closed her eyes briefly and sighed. “Annabeth, you really ought to wait to be announced. Even with family.”

“Nonsense,” Annabeth said cheerfully. “Can I bring Miranda in? I promise she’ll behave. She’s sitting right outside and you know how lonely she gets.”

“Dogs don’t belong in drawing rooms,” Ethel Caraway retorted. Annabeth’s face fell. “Oh, all right,” she said, relenting, “bring the creature in, but mind that she behaves herself.”

“She’ll be good as gold.” Annabeth hurried toward the door. “She’s ever so well trained.”

Ethel Caraway sighed. “We spoil Annabeth dreadfully. But that dog means the world to her. You don’t mind, do you, Inspector? Constable?”

Both men looked surprised to have been asked. Witherspoon spoke first. “Of course not, ma’am. We both like dogs. I’ve got one at home.”

Annabeth swept back in with Miranda trotting by her side. The dog wasn’t on a lead. But she stayed right next to her mistress. Annabeth took a chair to one side of her sister. “Sit,” she instructed the dog.

Miranda sat.

“See, I told you she’d behave.” Annabeth looked at the inspector as she spoke. “You’ll appreciate this, as you’ve got an animal at home. But I’ve found the most wonderful way of training Miranda …”

Ethel Caraway sighed theatrically. “We know, dear. Come now, Annabeth, I’m sure the inspector and the constable aren’t interested in your training methods.”

“Actually,” Barnes said, “I’d like to hear a bit more
about them. The police use bloodhounds for tracking, sometimes—”

“Miranda would be a wonderful tracker,” Annabeth exclaimed. She clasped her hands with excitement. “I’ve been working on teaching her to follow a trail. You know, laying down bits of food and then praising her when she—”

“Annabeth, please, the police are here to talk to me. We need to get on with it.” Ethel Caraway glared at her sister. “Now do let us continue.”

“I’m sorry.” She smiled apologetically. “I do get carried away.”

The inspector suddenly had an idea. It would let him kill two birds with one stone, he somehow felt. He smiled at Miss Gentry. “I say, would you show us exactly where Miranda dug up Porter’s body?” he asked.

“Of course,” she replied, but her expression was puzzled. “I don’t mind taking you there. But I didn’t think it was important. That other police inspector said not to bother when I offered to show him.”

“Excuse me, miss.” Barnes frowned. “Are you saying that Inspector Nivens didn’t view the body where it was actually found?”

“No, by the time he was on the case, they’d already taken the body away. He said he’d seen it and that where it was found wasn’t important.”

Barnes gaped at her as though he couldn’t believe his ears. Even the inspector was stunned.

“But the surrounding area was searched?” Witherspoon pressed.

“Oh, I think the constables had a look.” Annabeth shrugged. “I don’t really know. They bundled me off as soon as they got there. Why? Is it important?”

“Yes, Miss Gentry, it’s very important.” Witherspoon rose to his feet. He made a mental note to ask Miss Gentry about Eddington’s report of seeing her in the
churchyard, but for right now, getting to the scene where Porter’s body was found was the most important order of the day.

“What’s going on here?” Ethel Caraway demanded. “Are you finished with me?”

“For the moment, ma’am.” Witherspoon turned his attention to Annabeth Gentry. “Are you free now? Can you show us where you found the body?”

Hatchet glanced over his shoulder and then climbed up on a carved gravestone next to the wall which separated the churchyard from the houses on Forest Street. He had a moment’s guilt but he quickly squelched it. Since Mr. Edmund Pearsons had gone to meet his Maker over fifty years ago, Hatchet didn’t see why the fellow should object to helping out a bit. After all, this was a murder investigation.

He stood on tiptoe and craned his neck to see over the top. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but as his contribution to the case so far had been fairly limited, he was rather desperate to see something. All his other sources had dried up, and he couldn’t get anyone new to talk to him, so he’d ended up here in the churchyard next to Annabeth Gentry’s new home.

He could see the communal garden behind the two tall houses on Forest Street. The gardens had been terribly neglected. The grass was overgrown by a good three inches. The trees and hedges planted along the length of the back wall were wild and overgrown and didn’t look like they’d been pruned since George III was on the throne.

From behind him, he heard the rustle of footsteps. “Excuse me, sir. May I be of some assistance?”

Hatchet whirled around. A short, rotund fellow dressed all in black smiled at him. It was the vicar. His bald head gleamed in the midday sun and his brown eyes
twinkled merrily. “I’m Father Jerridan.” The priest extended his hand.

“Good day, Father.” Hatchet shook hands with him, realized he was still standing on the top of poor old Pearsons’s monument, and leapt off. “Do please excuse me, I meant no disrespect to the grave. I was…curious about the garden next door, that’s all.”

“That’s quite all right,” the priest replied. “No need to apologize. Is there something I can help you with?”

“Yes, Father, there is.” Hatchet hesitated, not certain of what to say to the vicar. He didn’t want to lie to a man of the cloth, but he did want information. “Do you happen to know a Miss Annabeth Gentry?”

“I’ve met Miss Gentry,” he replied. “Fine woman. She was engaged at one time to the son of one of our flock. Poor fellow died. Miss Gentry was very good to his mother. Mrs. Dempsey’s last years were made far happier by the companionship she received from the woman who would have been her daughter-in-law.” The priest’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Tell me, sir, what’s your interest in Miss Gentry?”

Hatchet wanted to be as truthful as possible, yet he also wanted to protect Miss Gentry from wagging tongues. “Lately Miss Gentry has been frightened by some very unfortunate incidents.”

“Unfortunate incidents? What kind of incidents?”

“It’s rather delicate, Father,” Hatchet hedged. “I’m sure you understand. It’s quite confidential.”

“I’m a man of the cloth, sir. I know how to hold my tongue.”

“Let’s just say she has reason to believe some individual may be trying to do her harm.”

“You mean someone is threatening her?” The priest’s bushy eyebrows rose. “Then you’re a private inquiry agent? Oh dear, how very awful for Miss Gentry. As I
said, she’s a fine woman. Well, what can I tell you? Ask away. I’ll do what I can to help.”

“Thank you, sir.” Hatchet gave him a grateful smile. “You’ll be doing Miss Gentry a great service and I know I can trust your discretion in this matter.” He had only the barest of qualms about questioning a priest under false pretenses. After all, catching a murderer was more important than correcting the erroneous impression that he was a private inquiry agent. Nevertheless, he resolved to put a couple of pounds in the church collection box. “Do you know of anyone who doesn’t like Miss Gentry?”

“Oh, no, no, everyone around her quite admires and likes her. She’s very kind. Well, perhaps I shouldn’t say everyone, her brother-in-law is a bit of a bother, but I mustn’t speak ill of a fellow priest.”

“Her brother-in-law has been annoying her?” Hatchet pressed.

“No, no. He’s only looking out for Miss Gentry’s best interests. He’d never hurt her.” The priest clamped his mouth and gave him a strained smile.

Hatchet knew he’d get nothing more from Father Jerridan about the Reverend Harold Cooksey. The priesthood didn’t discuss one of their own to outsiders. But he wasn’t going to let that stop him. “So there’s no one who you know of that would wish Miss Gentry harm?”

“I don’t wish to tell tales out of school, but I don’t think her neighbor is all that fond of her.” Father Jerridan jerked his ample chins in the direction of Forest Street. “She’s not even moved in yet and they’ve had words.”

“Words? You mean they’ve had an argument?”

“That’s putting it a bit too strongly,” he replied. “You know, I’m probably making a mountain out of a molehill. Perhaps I oughtn’t to have said anything. It was such a minor incident.”

Hatchet didn’t want the good father to get tongue-tied at this point. “Please continue, it might be very important.”

“Well …” He shrugged. “It’s so silly I’m not sure I ought to repeat it. They’ve gotten along quite well since Mr. Eddington moved in two years ago. It isn’t as if I really thought Mr. Eddington didn’t like Miss Gentry. I just happened to overhear him asking her to please keep her dog on a lead when she came to inspect the work at the new house.”

“Mr. Eddington doesn’t like dogs?”

“That’s what struck me as so odd about the request.” He stroked his chin. “The only other time I saw the two of them together was right after Miss Gentry got the dog, about six months ago, just after Mrs. Dempsey had passed away. At that time, I rather got the impression Mr. Eddington was an animal lover. He seemed very fond of the dog then.”

“Where were they when you saw them?” Hatchet asked.

“Right here.” The father gestured at the churchyard. “Miss Gentry and Miranda were on their way over to Forest Street and Mr. Eddington was taking a shortcut through the churchyard to the road. They met right here in the middle.”

“Shortcut?”

“Oh yes. There’s a gate just over there that connects the two properties.” Father Jerridan pointed farther down the wall. Sure enough, there was a slender, wrought-iron gate. “It’s an ancient right-of-way between the properties. Very few people know about it. But some do. The residents of Forest Street have been trying to get the right-of-way revoked for the past couple of years. Well, Mr. Eddington has; he’s not a member of our church. But Mrs. Dempsey refused. She used the gate every Sunday until her health gave out.”

Hatchet silently apologized to Mr. Pearsons. If he’d been using his eyes properly, he needn’t have trampled on the fellow’s grave! “I take it Mr. Eddington didn’t like people being able to cut across his property.”

“But that’s what’s so silly about the fuss he’s been making. The right-of-way doesn’t go anywhere but to the communal garden on Forest Street. There’s no right-of-way past the houses and onto Forest Street itself. It literally ends at the garden edge.”

“In other words, the right-of-way only benefits the people who live on Forest Street,” Hatchet clarified.

“That’s right, and there’s only three houses there.”

“Then why was Mr. Eddington upset enough to try and get it revoked?”

“Oh, sometimes tramps use the side entryway to the church when the weather is bad. They sleep there because it’s partly enclosed and it provides a bit of protection from the wet. They’re not supposed to, of course. But frankly”—he flushed slightly—“I look the other way. Our Lord did tell us that what we did to the least of our brothers, we did to him.”

“Why would Mr. Eddington object to anyone sleeping there? You said he wasn’t a member of your church, so why would he care?”

“The side entry is just opposite the gate. You can see right through to the gardens if you’ve a mind to.” Father Jerridan sighed. “I’d thought he’d let the issue go, but a few weeks back, Mr. Eddington spotted another fellow having a sleep there, so I expect he’ll be worrying Miss Gentry to get the right-of-way revoked again. I don’t know why it bothers the fellow so much; he’s not even here most of the time. He travels quite a bit on business. But perhaps that’s one of the reasons he values his privacy. He does seem to come and go at the oddest times.”

Hatchet nodded. “Did Miss Gentry agree to his request?”

“She said her dog was very well trained and that Mr. Eddington needn’t worry.” Father Jerridan looked troubled. “But I don’t think he believed her. Mr. Eddington’s face had gone red and he looked angry enough to pop.”

“You saw him?” Hatchet asked.

The priest blushed. “Oh dear, I’m afraid I’ve been caught haven’t I? Inadvertent eavesdropping is bad enough, but spying is even worse, isn’t it?”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Father,” Hatchet said.

Father Jerridan glanced at his watch. “Oh dear, I must be running along, I’m going to be dreadfully late to the Ladies’ Missionary Society meeting.” He tossed Hatchet an apologetic smile and started toward the front gate.

Hatchet wasn’t about to let him escape. “Father, wait. Can I walk with you? I’ve a few more questions to ask, if you don’t mind.”