High Marks for Murder (A Bellehaven House Mystery Book 1) (18 page)

Felicity jumped to her feet, saying briskly, "Well, we won't waste any more of your time, Mr. Silkwood. We're sorry to have inconvenienced you." She inclined her head at Meredith. "We must get back to Bellehaven now."

Meredith rose. "Do give our kind regards to Mrs. Silkwood. I trust she will be feeling better soon." She started forward, flicking her fingers at Essie to indicate she should leave at once.

She had barely reached the door, with Felicity hot on her heels, when Silkwood's harsh command cut across the room. "Just one moment."

Meredith halted, so suddenly Felicity barged into her, sending them both into Essie who appeared to have frozen to the spot. She uttered a squeak of surprise as the three of them smacked into the door.

For a moment Meredith had trouble getting her breath. Untangling herself from the other two, she straightened her hat and turned to face Victor Silkwood.

He stood looking at her with an odd expression on his face. If she hadn't known better, she could have sworn he was amused about something. With a sly, half smile he took a few slow steps toward her, his hand outstretched.

She shrunk back, bumping once more into Felicity, who immediately stepped around her and stood bravely in front of her. She opened her mouth to speak, and Meredith cringed at the prospect of what her friend might say.

Before she could utter a word, however, Silkwood said smoothly, "I'll take two of those tickets. Summersby will pay you for them on your way out."

Felicity snapped her mouth shut, while Meredith went limp with relief. Handing the tickets over, she murmured, "We are much obliged to you, Mr. Silkwood. I hope you enjoy the concert."

She didn't wait for his response. Turning swiftly, she gently shoved Essie out the door and followed close behind her. The door slammed to as Felicity joined them.

"Whew," she said, mopping her brow with the back of her hand. "I thought that repulsive ogre was about to attack us. I was quite prepared to—" She broke off abruptly as Summersby appeared from out of the shadows.

"If you would wait here a moment, ladies." He inclined his head, then opened the door of the drawing room and disappeared inside.

Afer a moment or two, during which Meredith wondered uneasily if they were indeed out of danger, he reappeared.

"I've been instructed to make payment to you for concert tickets," he announced, addressing Meredith. "If you wouldn't mind waiting a few more moments while I fetch the money."

Meredith was sorely tempted to tell him the tickets were a gift, but that would only raise more suspicions as to the reasons for their visit, so she merely nodded.

Summersby glided away down the corridor and out of sight.

"Mr. Silkwood couldn't have killed Kathleen," Essie whispered.

Meredith exchanged a skeptical glance with Felicity. Leaning closer to Essie, she whispered, "How can you be sure of that?"

"Because he was here last Saturday night. He spent the day shooting grouse and held a shooting party that evening. He never left the house."

Felicity stared at her in disbelief. "How did you get that man to tell you all that?"

Essie's lips curved in a smile. "It wasn't that difficult," she said modestly.

"Never mind that." Meredith sighed. "Now we are no further along in our investigation. We still don't know who killed Kathleen, and the longer it takes to find out, the less chance we have of ever apprehending the murderer."

"Especially if it turns out the killer was the vagrant after all," Felicity murmured.

"No," Meredith answered her sharply. "I refuse to believe that. I am convinced the killer is connected to Bellehaven. Kathleen has made that very clear."

"Or at least as clear as a ghost can."

Meredith was about to answer when Summersby emerged from the shadows once more. She opened her palm to receive the coins he held in his fingers and he dropped them into her hand. "Thank you," she murmured.

In silence he led them to the door, though Meredith
noticed he gave Essie a smile as she passed by him and stepped out onto the terrace. The door closed behind them, and they descended the steps.

Reggie met them at the bottom. "I was just coming to see if you were all right," he said, shoving some kind of reading material into his back pocket. "Major has just started shuffling about."

It was a good job they hadn't been in any danger, Meredith reflected, as she climbed up into the carriage. If they'd relied on Reggie to save them, they could all be lying dead by now.

She settled back on the seat with mixed feelings. It was a relief of sorts to learn that Silkwood couldn't have killed Kathleen. If he hadn't had an alibi, she wasn't sure what her course of action would have been.

P.C. Shipham would have been difficult to convince, and most reluctant, no doubt, to investigate such a prominent member of the community without incriminating evidence.

The problem with this crime-solving venture was that she had no evidence whatsoever to work with, except for her unpredictable connection to the departed victim. Not exactly satisfactory when chasing down a murderer.

Not that she was an expert on such matters, but having read of criminal investigations in the newspaper, it seemed that the constables had an abundance of clues to follow, whereas she was forced to wait around for the nebulous indications of an erratic ghost. No wonder she was floundering in the dark.

Felicity's sharp voice jolted her out of her musing. "For heaven's sake, Meredith, take that scowl from your face. If the wind changes, your face will look like that forever."

Essie giggled. "My mother always told me that as a
child. It worried me, and every time I went out in the wind I would try to keep a smile on my face so that if the wind changed I'd at least have a pleasant face to look at."

Felicity studied her for a moment then said dryly, "If only I'd known."

Essie frowned, obviously at a loss, and Meredith hurried to intervene. "Well, at least it wasn't entirely a wasted visit. We sold two tickets to the concert."

"Don't be too surprised if they don't attend," Felicity said as she examined her high-buttoned boots. "I can't imagine that man would risk bringing his wife to a place where she is likely to run into his paramour. I would even go so far as to suggest that Miss Lamont is not the only object of his lust."

Essie uttered a shocked gasp. "I certainly hope you are mistaken, Felicity. Our young ladies are at the age where they are easily led astray." She glanced at Meredith. "That can lead to all sorts of trouble."

Felicity eyed her curiously. "You sound as if you are expert on the subject."

Essie raised her chin. "Maybe I am."

Felicity leaned forward. "Come, Essie, tell us what you know."

A dull flush crept across Essie's cheeks. "I prefer not to talk about such things."

"We are here," Meredith announced loudly, relieved for the opportunity to interrupt the conversation. Felicity could be most persistent when her curiosity was aroused. Essie's past was her own business, hers to divulge as she saw fit to whomever she chose.

Upon entering the school, she was delighted to find the entrance hall ablaze with color. Tom had kept his word and boxes of plants covered the floor next to the stairs.

"We'll call a special assembly before supper," Meredith announced, as she followed Felicity and Essie up the stairs. "We can hold the memorial service right after church tomorrow."

"Doesn't give us a lot of time," Felicity muttered. "Who's going to give the speech?"

"I will. I'll work on it tonight. The sooner we do this the better. I just wish we'd thought of it earlier."

"Well, I'm sure Kathleen won't mind the wait."

Meredith gave her a sharp look, but Felicity seemed perfectly sincere, and she had to give her friend the benefit of the doubt.

Besides, she had other things on her mind. She had a speech to write, and a ghost to appease. For surely Kathleen would hear her words, and that made the task all the more formidable.

Chapter 15

The following morning, having completed the speech
to her satisfaction, Meredith was eager to get to church. It was where she had first seen Kathleen's ghost, and she was hoping to have another chance to communicate with her late friend.

Her last glimpse of the ghost's fiercely shaking head had stayed with her, and she itched to know the reason for it. If it was a warning, it must not have anything to do with Victor Silkwood, since he was elsewhere the night she died.

Seated inside the vast walls of the church, Meredith peered time and time again at the empty pew in front of her. She barely heard a word of the sermon, and felt the reverend's eyes on her more than once. No doubt she was in for another meaningful comment about her lack of attention when she left. In spite of her vigilance, however, Kathleen's ghost failed to appear.

As instructed, the students changed clothes as soon as
they returned to Bellehaven after the church service, and eventually assembled around the freshly dug flower bed in the woods.

Each of them carried a plant plucked from the boxes in the foyer. Meredith had worked hard on her speech, and delivered it with pride. She spoke of Kathleen's achievements, and those of some of her pupils. She related anecdotes of her friend's life at the school, and mentioned Kathleen's devotion to her duties, her love for her students, and her pride in being such an integral part of Bellehaven.

"Kathleen Duncan will be missed by one and all," she finished, "and we dedicate this flower garden in her memory. May the plants in it grow and flourish, like the students under her masterful wing."

Polite applause accompanied her as she stepped over to the flower bed and knelt in the dirt. Taking up the trowel Tom had provided, she planted the bright yellow clump of marigolds, then stood up. "Thank you, Kathleen," she murmured.

She half expected to see the cloud form over the little flower bed. After all, surely Kathleen would be tempted to attend her own memorial service.

But the air remained clear and sunny as the students knelt one by one to plant their offering and say a small prayer. As the last few girls approached, Meredith caught sight of Stuart Hamilton standing some distance away among the trees.

While she was still wondering if he'd been there all the time, he slowly stepped back out of sight and did not return.

Once more the midday meal was a subdued affair, and when it was over, Meredith decided to pay one more visit to the main flower beds, just in case Kathleen should decide to come back there.

Casting a critical eye over the plants, she noticed the blossoms looked rather dejected—hanging their heads under the late summer sun. Meredith wondered if Tom had been watering them as much now that Kathleen wasn't there to keep him on his toes. She stooped down to take a closer look at the bedraggled chrysanthemums. Normally they would flourish right through October, at least.

Shaking her head, Meredith lifted a crimson head on one of the plants. The color seemed faded, the petals limp. Cold with dismay, she let the head fall. Kathleen would be devastated to see them like this. She would have a word with Tom right away and see that he watered the flower beds.

She stepped back, allowing her gaze to roam over all the beds, taking in the new weeds. It never failed to amaze her how fast plants dried out, while weeds seemed to flourish no matter how little moisture they acquired. More evidence of Tom's neglect.

Clicking her tongue in annoyance, she leaned over and grasped the lower stems of a clump of dandelions and gave them a hefty tug. Pleased to see the root had emerged intact, she stepped back. At the same time a wisp of smoke floated across the flower beds and came to rest several feet away.

No matter how many times she saw it, she still felt unnerved by the sight of Kathleen's face peering out at her from that eerie cloud of mist. "I'm glad you're here," she said, trying to ignore the awkwardness of addressing an apparition. "I hope you saw the ceremony at your memorial garden. We wanted to commemorate your hard work and dedication, and keep your memory alive."

The ghost swayed back and forth, but gave no indication of understanding.

Meredith tried again. "I'm sorry, Kathleen, but I'm afraid I have no idea how to go about finding out who killed you. I've tried, but either there just aren't enough clues to help me, or I'm not clever enough to ferret out the truth."

A languid, translucent hand rose in the air and one long finger pointed to the flower beds.

"Yes, I know," Meredith said, a trifle impatiently. "The killer has something to do with flowers. The problem is, I don't know how the two things connect. Every possible suspect has been eliminated."

Kathleen's head shook from side to side and the finger slowly moved in Meredith's direction and stayed there.

"Me? I'm a suspect?" Meredith stared at the ghost in disbelief. "You can't honestly think for one moment that I would hit you on the head with a tree branch?"

Again the head shook, but the finger remained pointed at Meredith.

Feeling totally at a loss, she took a step closer. "Kathleen, I understand that you are unable to cross over into the spiritual world until your killer is found and punished. I wish there was something I could do to help, but really, I have done all I can."

The ghostly finger swung toward the flower beds and back to Meredith.

Frustrated, Meredith raised both her hands. "I wish you could show me something I could understand!"

The finger rose with the movement of her hand, and fell again.

Meredith stared at her fingers, which still clutched the clump of dandelions. "Tom did the weeding," she protested. "This was simply one he missed."

The finger remained steadily pointed at the dandelions.

Frowning, Meredith stared at the yellow petals. Was it something about the color? "I don't understand—"

She turned as a shout interrupted her. Felicity's long stride brought her swiftly to Meredith's side. "I've been looking for you everywhere," she said, the second she was within earshot. "You'll never guess what that silly nincompoop has done now."