Christmas is Murder (7 page)

Rex wrote
R.I.P.
after
Lawdry’s name in the guest book, and did the same after Ms. Greenbaum’s, hoping he would not have to write these letters again during his stay at Swanmere Manor—and that they would not be written after his name for a long time to come.

The remainder of the household sat in the drawing room cradling mugs of cocoa, with the exception of Mrs. Smithings, who dryly asked permission to retire to her rooms. Mrs. Bellows and Rosie then excused themselves, saying they had to be up early. A chill pervaded the room, and Rex voiced his surprise at finding the fire unlit. Wanda told him about the discovery of a pile of embers, possibly belonging to the lost manuscript.

“We didn’t want to disturb anything until you came back,” Anthony said. “There are a few scraps of paper with letters on them.”

“Well, let’s get to work.” Rex declined the cocoa Helen offered him. “Not right now, hen,” he said, using the Scottish endearment, “but thanks anyway.”

“Another time when you’re less busy?”

His gaze met her blue eyes. “Aye, I’d like that.” Then turning to Yvette, he asked, “Do you have a pair of tweezers?”

Following her out to the hall, he showed her the words he had copied from the locket. Yvette went pale. “H.D.L.—Henry D. Lawdry, if I’m not mistaken …”

At last she said, “I know how it looks, but I didn’t steal the brooch. When Henry died, Charley told me to hide it so people wouldn’t ask questions.”

“How did you come by it?”

“Henry said I reminded him of his daughter and he wanted me to have it. Anthony told me it was worth over five hundred pounds and I should keep it in Mrs. Smithings’ safe.”

“So Anthony Smart knew about the brooch, and yet you said you didn’t want anyone asking questions.”

“That was after Henry died. Charley doesn’t know I asked Anthony to appraise it. I was just curious as to its value.”

“Who else knows Mr. Lawdry made you a gift of the brooch?”

“You don’t believe me,” Yvette accused. “You think I stole it!”

“Calm down, lass. I don’t know what to think at present—about any of this.”

“That’s probably why Charley said to hide it, so people wouldn’t jump to the wrong conclusions!”

Rex was puzzled that her husband hadn’t mentioned the brooch when he told him about the cyanide. After all, he had asked Charley to tell him everything he knew about Lawdry. He would have to confront him about it. In the meantime, there was the matter of the manuscript. “If you’re not too cross with me, could you fetch those tweezers?” he asked Yvette.

Pouting, she flounced off in the direction of the stairs. Rex gave a deep sigh. It had been a long day, and there was still work to do. If he could confirm the manuscript in the fireplace was the one Ms. Greenbaum had been working on—one she would never burn herself—it would suggest someone had an axe to grind.

Who under this roof could have bludgeoned the literary agent and poisoned a crippled old man?

Certainly, the murders were the work of a cunning mind: the first made to appear as though by natural causes, the second devised to look like an accident. Rex felt he might never get to the bottom of it, and yet try he must for Mrs. Smithings’ and his mother’s sake.

___

“Here you go,” Yvette said, thrusting the tweezers into his hand.

Hitching up his trousers, Rex squatted by the fireplace and, with the care and precision of a surgeon, removed the charred scraps of paper and laid them out on cardboard. Delicate as moth wings, they were apt to fly away or else disintegrate at the slightest draft. “Could someone please close the doors?” he asked, shielding the fragments with his hand.

He scrutinized the remaining typeface on the scraps. The digit “one” appeared, followed by a space and the letters “Qa”—the rest of the word consumed by fire. All the Q words he could think of were followed by “u”. Quantity, quarter, quick, quiet, quirk, quorum.

“Patrick, could you look for a dictionary in the library and see if there are any words beginning ‘Qa’?” he asked.

The young artist returned within minutes holding a battered hardcover book with gold lettering. “According to the
Concise Oxford Dictionary
, the only entries for “Q” are words beginning “qu” unless you count the abbreviations
q.v.
and
qy.
”

“Well, blow me,” Charley said. “I never realized every word in the English language beginning with ‘q’ started ‘qu’.”

“An encyclopedia might be more help,” Anthony suggested. “It could be a foreign word like Qadhafi, the Libyan colonel.”

“I couldn’t find any other reference books. Is it important?”

“That remains to be seen,” Rex murmured, sifting through the remaining fragments. One scrap revealed the letters “-yney” and “–IA”. An abbreviation for Missing In Action or Central Intelligence Bureau? “I wish I had more to go on.”

Patrick examined the evidence. “It must be the manuscript. I wonder who tried to burn it.”

“Someone who didn’t like Miriam,” Helen speculated.

“None of us liked Miriam,” Wanda said.

“No doubt the author kept a copy, but all Miriam’s notes and comments have gone up in smoke—and she worked so hard on that biography.”

Trust Helen to come up with a sensible and understanding view of the situation, Rex thought, finding more and more to like about her. “Did anybody come across anything else of interest?” he asked the group, determined to keep on track in spite of the heart flutters she inspired in him.

“Just a mouldy collection of stuffed wildlife in a glass case in the library,” Yvette said.

“Specimens of hares, kingfishers, ducks, moorhens—that sort of thing,” Patrick elaborated.

“Aye, those would be from Rodney Smithings’ hunting days.”

“Can we be of further assistance?” Anthony asked.

Rex glanced up from making entries in his notebook. “I don’t think so, but thanks for all your help.”

“Are we any closer to catching the killer?”

“Maybe.” Rex stood up and flexed the cramps out of his legs. “I think I’ll take the dog out for some fresh air—if I can find him.”

“Clifford took him into the scullery,” Anthony informed Rex. “The old man’s asleep in a chair, snoring loud enough to wake the dead.” He paused, then said, “Sorry, didn’t mean it like that.”

“I’m surprised he’s not out cold after all the sherry he knocked back,” Rex remarked. “But I’m glad he’s sleeping. It wouldna be safe for him to walk back to the lodge in this weather.”

Wanda approached with a twig of mistletoe. “Ta-da! I’m claiming my kiss. After all, I was the one who found the manuscript in the fireplace.”

Closing her eyes, she puckered her lips, which wrinkled in an unappealing way. Rex knew he must kiss her on the mouth or risk offending her. Stooping, he planted a brief kiss on her lips, whereupon she giggled. “Oooh, you do have ticklish whiskers, Rex.”

He winked at Helen who was watching with good-natured amusement, then drew Wanda aside. “I found a master key in your bedside drawer. Did Mrs. Smithings give it to you?”

A flicker crossed Wanda’s immaculately made up face. “No, Rosie left it in the door this morning when she was making up my room. I meant to give it back.”

“Well, perhaps you should before the girl gets into trouble.”

“I know—I keep forgetting.”

“May I ask what you were doing in Mr. Lawdry’s room earlier?”

“I—I just wanted to pay my respects.”

“I see,” Rex said, unconvinced.

Wanda turned away before he could ask her anything else about her foray into the dead man’s room. “I don’t suppose you still want to do my hair?” she asked Patrick, pulling a hand through her dark locks and examining the ends.

Patrick glanced over at Anthony.

“Go ahead,” his partner said. “I’m going to take a long hot soak in a sudsy bath with a book and a snifter of brandy. I probably won’t surface for hours.”

Helen began collecting the empty mugs of cocoa. “At least it’s not snowing now.” Covering her mouth, she yawned. “I’d best get off to bed. I’m dead on my feet.”

“Bolt your doors,” Rex warned everyone as they traipsed out of the drawing room. “Charley, a word?”

Yvette paused too.

“I’ll follow you up,” her husband told her.

Wanda held back briefly and eyed the newlyweds with a look of suspicion.

Charley parked himself on a sofa and lit a cigarette. “Should we go and check the lodge while Clifford’s asleep?”

Rex took out his pipe. With the others absent, he felt he could smoke with impunity. Charley offered him his box of hotel matches.

“Even if we could get over there, I don’t think it’s necessary,” Rex replied. “I believe we can eliminate Clifford from our list of suspects.”

“Why?”

“For one thing, he’s not dexterous enough to have interfered with the iced tarts.”

“True. His hands are all gnarled up.”

“For another, I don’t see what motive he could have for murdering Miriam Greenbaum. She was the only person who tipped him. In any case, he was totally sozzled.”

“He could’ve hit her in a drunken rage.”

“Clifford wasn’t angry when I saw him—he was scared out of his wits, terrified Mrs. Smithings would find out about the sherry.”

“So we strike him off our list?”

“Aye, for now. And I’d like to be able to strike you off the list too. I don’t know if Yvette told you, but I found a cameo brooch in your suite.”

“Yeah, but she said she explained why I told her to hide it.”

“I need more convincing, lad.”

Charley blew out a circle of smoke. “The old man was fond of my wife, they played Tiddlywinks together. When he kicked the bucket, I thought suspicion might fall on her if it came out that his death wasn’t from natural causes. Everyone knew he was very wealthy.”

“Anthony found out about the brooch.”

“Yeah, well Yvette can’t keep her mouth shut, can she?”

Rex sucked on his pipe, pursuing a line of thought. He poked the stem in Charley’s direction. “You see, the fact of Mr. Lawdry giving your wife the brooch puts a slightly different complexion on things. It may indicate, for instance, that he was contemplating his end. Maybe he didna want to die alone at home.”

“If he’d wanted to top himself, he had plenty of pills,” Charley countered. “And how would he have known where to find the cyanide, unless he brought some with him? Also, if he did poison himself, why bother first wrapping the empty container in newspaper and throwing it out the back? You never met old Henry, but he was too feeble to go wandering about looking for a means to end his life.”

“Aye,” Rex conceded. “You make a good argument. But don’t keep anything else from me. Even the most insignificant-seeming detail could be important.”

Charley nodded sheepishly. “Sorry about that. You have my word.”

Rex tapped out his ash in the fireplace. “Well, I’ll be turning in now. Hopefully we’ll make some progress tomorrow.”

Leaving Charley, he headed toward the kitchen where, guided by the lamp in the scullery as by a lighthouse beacon, he navigated around the dim contours of furniture, catching the occasional gleam of a metal pot on a hook and the glint of a carving knife left out on a chopping board. Once in the scullery, he saw he was too late.

The pup had piddled on the floor. Rex found a mop and cleaned it up. Clifford never stirred.

“Barely out of nappies, eh?” Rex muttered to the sleeping dog. He would try to get to the village in the morning and put up a Dog Found announcement. He’d visit the constable too.

Wearily, he made his way up the main staircase and closed his bedroom door behind him with a dizzying sense of relief. He stripped out of his clothes and commenced his lengthy ablutions, ever mindful of his mother’s admonishments never to skimp on his teeth. This was second only to keeping a bible by his bedside on her list of commandments—presumably in case he was taken ill in the night. There were others, and sometimes he recited them to help him fall asleep.

He threaded the towel back in its ring and set his alarm. Once tucked up in bed, he reviewed his notes. Aye, he thought, when he reached Wanda’s list of personal items. Incense tapers—that was the fragrance he’d detected in Lawdry’s room. But why light incense in there? Perhaps she had a morbid fascination with death, or perhaps she was on some sort of guilt trip. But Wanda couldn’t have pushed Miriam down the steps. She and Patrick had been at table with him.