Berried Alive (Manor House Mystery) (12 page)

"Not scrounger. It's scavenger." Elizabeth headed for the stairs. "It's like a treasure hunt, I suppose. You have a list of everyday items on it and you have to find as many as you can. Another one of Rita's attempts to bask in glory. Still, it's for a good cause, I suppose." She paused, glancing back at Martin who was still struggling with the bolts. Not only would they have an electrical bell system, she silently vowed, but a modern lock on the door as well. "Thank you for donating the soap, Martin," she called out. "I'll replace it with one from downstairs."

Having heaved the latch back in place, Martin turned to face her. "Thank you, madam. I shall appreciate that. I would like the soap as a gift for a very good friend of mine."

Since Martin hadn't left the house in years, and to the best of Elizabeth's knowledge, had no friends, she had to assume he was referring to Beatrice Carr, the "lottery lady" as Sadie called her.

She was halfway up the stairs when she heard the bell clanging again. It didn't take much brainpower to guess that this was yet another member of the Housewives League. Apparently word had leaked out about the scented soap being given away at the Manor House. Deciding to let Martin handle it in his own inimitable way, Elizabeth resumed climbing the stairs.

As she entered the office, Polly looked up, seeming
surprised to see her. "Has he gone already?" she asked, then added somewhat belatedly, "m'm?"

"Has who gone?" Elizabeth drew off her gloves and began removing the pins from her hat.

"Major Monroe, m'm. Didn't Martin tell you? The major was here looking for you. I sent him to wait in the library 'cause I knew you wouldn't be long."

Elizabeth's hand paused in midair. "Major Monroe?"

"Yes, m'm." Polly glanced at the clock on the wall. "He's been there for about twenty minutes or so."

Elizabeth made an enormous effort to sound indifferent. "Oh, dear. I wonder what he wants. I suppose I'd better go down and find out."

"Yes, m'm. I'd certainly do that if I were you." Polly grinned at her.

Good great heavens, Elizabeth thought in despair. Did everyone in the household know how she felt about the man? If she was that transparent, did Earl have any inkling of her feelings for him? The thought that he might indeed be aware of them had her so agitated she dropped the hat pins on the floor.

"I'll get those, m'm." Polly darted out from behind her desk. "We don't want to keep the major waiting any longer, now, do we."

Elizabeth eyed her with suspicion. "You seem in a particularly good mood, Polly. Has something happened?"

Polly crouched down to retrieve the pins while Elizabeth removed her hat. "Yes, m'm. I suppose you could say something has." She straightened, her cheeks flushed with excitement. "I'm going to the pictures with Sam tomorrow night."

Elizabeth exclaimed in delight. "Polly, I'm so happy for you. I know how miserable you've been, wondering if he was ever going to ask you out again. This
is
good news."

"Yes, m'm." Polly handed her the pins and returned to her desk. "I'm really, really excited."

"Well, I know you will both have a wonderful time." Elizabeth laid her hat on her desk and patted her hair in place. "How are the rent notices coming?"

"Almost finished." Polly pointed to the thin stack. "That's all that's left."

"Well, I'll come back later to help with them."

"Don't bother, m'm." Polly grinned happily. "Just you go and have good time with the major."

Elizabeth felt her own cheeks grow warm. It was rather impertinent of the child to say such a thing, but she meant well. "Thank you, Polly. I'll do my best." Her heart thumping in anticipation, she hurried from the office.

Earl had his back to her when she entered the library. She was immediately reminded of the first day she'd seen him. He had stood much the same, feet apart, hands behind his back, shoulders squared, his gaze intent on her father's collection of classic literature.

For a moment she stood, drinking in the sight of him. These memories were all she'd have left when he returned to America, and she wanted to imprint each one on her mind, so they would stay with her forever.

"It would be nice to have the time to read all of these books," he said, as he turned to greet her.

She smiled. "I read most of them as a child, but I'm afraid I don't read too many books these days. Mostly newspapers, magazines, something that doesn't take a lot of my attention at one time."

He nodded, watching her with a grave expression that unsettled her. She could never tell what he was thinking when he looked at her like that. Sometimes she thought it was better she didn't know.

"How are you?" She glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room. "You're back early today."

"I have to leave again after dinner."

"Oh." She knew what that meant. He had a night mission. Her stomach seemed to turn inside out at the thought. Determined not to let the fear overwhelm her, she said brightly, "Would you be free to join me for a meal this evening?"

His smile went a long way toward warming the cold place inside her. "Isn't this a little short notice?"

"I'm sure Violet can rustle up something. You've been very generous with supplies from the base. It's high time we returned the favor."

"Well, thanks, but I guess I'll have to take a rain check. I have to be back at the base by six. Maybe tomorrow night?"

"I'll look forward to it." She beckoned to a chair. "I'm glad you're here. I have some things I want to discuss with you."

His eyes sparked with interest. "You've found out who poisoned our guys?"

"Well, not exactly." She sat down, allowing him to do the same. "I visited the Adelaides' farm, and they do have daphne growing in their yard, but that really doesn't prove anything. Though I did notice there were no berries on the bushes."

His eyebrows raised. "That sounds promising."

"There's something else." She told him about the three musketeers, and their escapades at the Tudor Arms.

"They appear to have a grudge against the American airmen, though I'm not sure they'd go as far as poisoning them. Their assaults seem more mischief than anything else. Things like cutting up tires and scribbling messages on walls. Have you heard of anyone else becoming ill?"

Earl shook his head. "Not in the last few days, no. That doesn't mean these guys are not responsible. Maybe they didn't realize the berries were poisonous. They could have just wanted to give our guys the runs."

"According to Desmond, the berries are extremely bitter and quite caustic. I can't imagine any of them actually eating them."

"Unless they thought eating them would make them irresistible to women or something."

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows.

Earl shrugged. "You'd be surprised what these guys will do when they're desperate. They'll believe anything."

"It's possible, I suppose. Though I'm more inclined to think the berries were added to something the victims might have eaten or drunk and they were unaware of their presence. Something such as stout or bitter ale, for instance. As Desmond said, if the men drank enough alcohol, they wouldn't notice the odd taste."

"That could be, too."

"The question is, how do we prove it?"

Earl stretched his legs out in front of him, eased himself back in the chair and frowned in concentration. He looked so comfortable and at ease, it warmed Elizabeth's heart just to look at him. "I guess," he said at last, "that we could use a decoy."

It took her a moment to realize what he meant. "A decoy? Isn't that rather dangerous?"

"It depends on who's the decoy and how the situation is handled." He wrestled with his thoughts for a moment or two. "It would have to be someone with red hair. Someone who knows how to take care of himself."

Elizabeth waited, unashamedly gazing at his face, while he pursued the problem.

Finally, he snapped his fingers. "Got it! Joe Hansen. He's just the guy. He's a boxer, and a good one."

Elizabeth leaned forward eagerly. "And he has red hair?"

Earl smiled. "Red as a Wyoming sunset."

"But will he do it?"

"I think so. He knew two of the guys who died and was pretty cut up about it. I think he'll welcome the chance to get the jerks who did this."

"It could mean trouble for him."

"Not if he's careful. The trick will be getting these jokers to try it again. Always supposing they haven't been scared off by the deaths." Earl's expression turned wary. "Joe might have a better chance of that if he had one of the local girls playing up to him. If that's what's bugging them it might stir them up enough to give it another shot."

Elizabeth gave him a sharp look. "I don't think I'd want any of our young girls involved. I would never forgive myself if one of them were hurt."

"It's not the girls our man is after. It's the GIs. Besides, Joe's a good man. I'd trust him to handle it."

Doubtfully, Elizabeth considered the proposition. "Well, if I were to suggest someone, and I'm not saying I am at this point, I'd say that Sadie seems like a young woman who can take good care of herself. I think she would be happy to contribute."

"Well, why don't we ask them?" Earl got to his feet. "I'll go find Joe and you can ask Sadie how she feels about it. I'll meet you back here in about half an hour, and I'll bring Joe with me."

Reluctantly, Elizabeth stood, still uncertain about this whole project. "I'll have a word with Sadie, but if she shows the slightest hesitation, I'll forget the whole idea."

"Agreed." He crossed to the door and opened it for her. As she passed through the doorway he laid a hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry, Elizabeth. I wouldn't set Sadie up with anyone I couldn't trust."

She smiled at that. "Knowing my housemaid, Major Monroe, I'd say that it's your young man you should be worrying about." To her delight, she could hear him chuckling as he strode away from her down the great hall.

The hallway was deserted when she hurried down the stairs. Martin must have dealt with whoever had rung the doorbell. She hoped he wasn't giving out too much of the soap. She was rather looking forward to using some of it herself.

The kitchen was also empty when she peered inside, but she could see the housemaid's stout figure through the window. She was in the garden pegging the laundry on the line. Elizabeth quickly crossed the kitchen and went out through the back door.

Sadie looked worried as Elizabeth approached. "What is it, m'm?" she asked, her arms holding a damp sheet to her chest. "Am I doing something wrong?"

"Not at all, Sadie." Elizabeth viewed the four long lines of laundry flapping in the breeze. "Everything looks marvelous. It will all dry quite soon in this wind."

"Yes, m'm." Sadie fished a wooden peg out of her apron pocket and hooked a corner of the sheet over the line. "As long as it doesn't rain, that is. That's why Violet said to get it all out this afternoon."

"I'd like a word with you when you're finished." Elizabeth looked at the basket, which appeared to have one remaining sheet in it. "I'll wait for you in the kitchen."

"Very well, m'm. I'll be there in a tick."

Elizabeth headed back to the kitchen, still uneasy about the task she was about to set for Sadie. It was one thing to ask for help in apprehending what could be dangerous criminals, but to put a young woman into harm's way was something else indeed. If it was anyone other than Sadie, she wouldn't have even considered it.

On the other hand, as Earl had pointed out, the target of the poisonings had been confined to Americans with red hair. Since Sadie was neither American, nor a redhead, it seemed unlikely she would be singled out.

Elizabeth sat down at the kitchen table and rested her chin on her hands. She would simply present her case to Sadie, and watch the girl's reaction. If she showed the slightest bit of concern, then she and Earl would have to come up with a different plan. She could only hope that it didn't turn out badly for either her housemaid, or the young man Earl had picked for the task.

The babble in Bessie's bake shop rose to a crescendo as the remaining members of the Housewives League straggled through the door.

Rita stared hard at the clock on the mantlepiece above the brick fireplace, determined to cut off the competition the second the big hand reached one.

The last person through the door was Marge Gunther. She came hurtling into the tearoom, basket bouncing on her arm, her face as red as a beetroot.

Rita stared pointedly at her, then back at the clock. The big hand barely touched the first figure of the one. "You're lucky," she pronounced, as Marge panted up to her. "One second more and you would have been disqualified."

Too breathless to speak, Marge nodded her thanks and collapsed on a chair at the nearest table.

Rita cast a disparaging eye around the tearoom. Everyone had returned with their baskets. Now all that remained was to count up everyone's items. Then they could all enjoy some of Bessie's delicious sandwiches and cakes.

Having looked forward to this moment ever since the idea of the scavenger hunt had first been conceived, Rita clapped her hands together. "Ladies!"

As usual, everyone ignored her. Deploring the need to raise her voice like a fishwife, Rita took a deep breath and bellowed, "Will you bloody pay attention, please!"

Unfortunately, for some mysterious reason, everyone stopped talking just as she yelled, thus provoking some thoroughly disgusted glances from other customers in the tearoom.

Rita clamped her lips together, inwardly fuming. To make matters worse, Nellie Smith giggled, bringing smiles to several of the housewives sitting close to her. Rita dealt with the unfortunate girl with one of her drop-dead glares.

She could tell, by the pile of odds and sods in Nellie's basket, that she would probably win the prize, and the thought irked her to no end. There didn't seem a lot she could do about it, so she would just have to grin and bear it. And come up with something else that Nellie couldn't win. Like a knitting contest or something. Nellie couldn't tie her shoelaces without help.

"Did you get some soap?" Nellie asked Marge, who finally seemed to have recovered her breath.