High Marks for Murder (A Bellehaven House Mystery Book 1) (4 page)

Mrs. Wilkins pinched her lips together. She didn't like tattling on the girls. For the life of her she didn't. She liked being on good terms with them, sharing a laugh or two at Monica Fingle's expense. After all, if you couldn't laugh now and then, the world would be a pretty miserable place.

Not that she'd ever seen Monica laugh, or even smile come to that. Something must have happened to that woman to make her so shrewish. Mrs. Wilkins could even feel
sorry for Monica when she didn't take out her bad temper on the girls. Always on their backs she was, telling them off for every little thing.

The cook picked up the whisk and started beating the eggs with a furious whirling of her wrist. She had a real problem on her hands now. If she said nothing and let the maids go to Witcheston and they got caught and thrown in jail, then she'd feel responsible for getting them into trouble. On the other hand, if she told Monica what the girls had planned, the housekeeper would come down on them like a felled oak. Mrs. Wilkins let out a long sigh. They'd probably end up not speaking to her and take weeks to forgive her.

She could hear the girls whispering again behind her, but she had no heart to listen. She knew what she had to do, and she didn't like it one bit.

Police Constable Cyril Shipham arrived shortly
afternoon. Having ridden his bicycle from the village under the hot sun, sweat bathed his forehead beneath the brim of his heavy helmet. He paused at the gates of Bellehaven to wipe his face with his handkerchief before tugging on the bell rope to announce his presence.

The long wait that followed did nothing to improve his temper. If there was one thing he couldn't abide, it was being kept waiting. By women, no less.

Cyril had no time for women. The harridan he'd been stupid enough to marry had cured him of any delusions he might have had about females. Nag, nag, nag from morning 'til night. Enough to drive a man insane.

His mother had been the same way. Never kept to a word or two when a dozen or more would do. She could
make a whole story out of one tiny little mistake. Blimey, everything he did as a kid was a mistake in her eyes.

Thinking about his mother only intensified his frustration. He took it out on the bell rope, sending the harsh clang echoing across the wide lawn.

It was Tom's job to open the gate to visitors, providing they appeared to have good reason to visit the school. Meredith often had reservations about leaving such an important task in the elderly gardener's hands. He seemed to handle his duties efficiently enough, however, and since the bell could not always be heard from within the school building, it seemed prudent to let the arrangement stand.

As it was, she had not heard the impatient summons at the gate, and first learned of the constable's presence when he arrived at the door of her office.

"I expected to see Dr. Mitchell waiting for me," P.C. Shipham announced, rudely ignoring her polite greeting.

Well accustomed to the constable's open disapproval of Bellehaven and everyone connected to it, Meredith did her best to ignore the slight. "The doctor is waiting by Kath . . . by the body," she said, rising to her feet. "He was concerned that the area might be disturbed if he didn't keep watch over it until you arrived."

"Quite, quite." Shipham rather belatedly removed his helmet and tucked it under his arm. "Where is he then?"

"I'll be happy to take you there."

She began to move out from behind her desk, but he halted her with an imperious wave of his hand. "Just tell me where he is. I don't need no escort."

"I prefer to be there when you make your examination." Steeling herself against the constable's angry scowl, she brushed past him and marched to the door. "This way, please."

"I don't like meddling women nosing around when I'm investigating a crime."

Meredith tugged the door open. "As headmistress of this institution, I am entitled to all the facts regarding this tragic situation. I hardly categorize that as mere prying. If you prefer, I can call in the inspector, and we'll hold off your investigation until he arrives."

As she expected, the constable immediately changed his tune. "No need to call in the inspector. If you insist, I suppose I shall have to put up with it. Just stay out of my way while I do my duty."

"With pleasure," Meredith murmured.

She didn't speak again until they had reached Dr. Mitchell, who still sat on a rock, scribbling in a fat notebook. He jumped up as soon as he caught sight of them, relief flooding his face. "Thank heavens. I was beginning to think I'd be here all afternoon. I have surgery at two o'clock." He pulled a pocket watch from his vest pocket and gave it a harried glance. "Good Lord, is that the time?"

"All right, all right, keep your hair on," Shipham muttered. "Let me take a look here, then."

Once more Meredith had to avert her gaze as the constable poked and prodded around the spot where Kathleen lay. She wished heartily that the process was over, so that her dear friend could be laid to rest in the proper manner.

Concentrating her gaze on the thicket of trees, she found herself watching for a wisp of white cloud among the shadowy foliage. After several moments of seeing nothing but fronds of lacy ferns bowing in the gentle breeze, she felt assured that her momentary delusions had vanished.

P.C. Shipham invaded her thoughts with his brusque words. "All right, I've seen enough. Looks like she was
clobbered with this branch, all right. Most likely that vagrant what's been hanging around the village lately."

Meredith swung around to face him. "Vagrant?"

Cyril ignored her and addressed Dr. Mitchell, instead. "Been into a lot of trouble he has. I was only telling the inspector the other day that I wouldn't be surprised if someone didn't end up getting hurt. I reckon he was looking for mischief when he came across her." He nodded at the lifeless form under the blanket. "That's what a woman gets for walking around on her own out here at night." He shook his head. "Should've known better, shouldn't she."

Meredith felt a strong urge to slap that self-satisfied smirk right off his face. "I'd like to know how a vagrant managed to get in here with the gates locked."

Shipham threw her a scathing glance. "Maybe they weren't locked. Maybe someone forgot to lock them. After all, you've got plenty of addle-headed females here that could easily forget something like that."

Meredith drew herself up to her full height. "I can assure you, Constable, that none of our young ladies are that irresponsible. In any case, Tom makes the rounds after lights out to assure that the gates are locked."

"Well, maybe he forgot. Not exactly swift on the uptake, is he."

Incensed, Meredith turned to the doctor for help. To her dismay he merely lifted his hands in a gesture of defeat.

"Well, that's that then." The constable snapped his notebook shut and shoved it in his breast pocket. "Reckon I'll be getting along. I take it you can handle that?" He nodded at Kathleen's dead body.

Compelled to pursue the matter, Meredith stepped closer to the constable. "What do you intend to do about this, then?"

Shipham shrugged and turned away. "Not much to do, I reckon. That there vagrant will be miles away by now."

"In other words, you are simply dismissing the whole thing without even investigating the possibility that a killer could still be lurking nearby and could very well present a danger to the young women in this school?"

His sneer convinced her she was wasting her breath. "There's no evidence to suggest he's still around. She were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, that's all. Happens a lot." Once more he addressed the doctor. "I'll make out a report of wrongful death by a person or persons unknown. That should take care of it. Good day to you, Doctor." With the briefest of nods in Meredith's direction he ambled off toward the gate.

Her indignation culminated in an explosion of wrath. "Dratted fool. Had it been a man lying there instead of a mere woman, that imbecile would have combed the grounds for evidence."

"Hush." Ian Mitchell raised a warning finger, his gaze on the retreating back of the constable. "He's barely out of earshot."

Heedless of his caution, she raged on. "It is men like that who drive women to ravage golf courses and break the windows of the pompous, bourgeois clubs men guard so fervently against female intrusion. Heaven preserve us from all such ignorant bigots."

The doctor shook his head. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Llewellyn. I understand your frustration. Unfortunately, I don't see that there's much we can do about it."

"We shall see about that." Meredith sent another scowl after the constable. "If that numskull refuses to investigate the matter, then it falls upon me and my associates to do so. One way or another, we shall unearth the malicious wretch
who did this to Kathleen and we shall see that he receives his just desserts."

"Mrs. Llewellyn—"

Still seething with resentment, Meredith turned on him. "Oh, for heaven's sake, Ian. Do call me Meredith. At least when we are out of earshot of the pupils. Surely we have known each other long enough to dispense with such tiresome proprieties?"

The doctor's cheeks grew warm. "Well, I suppose I could—"

"Besides." Meredith took one last long look at Kathleen's still figure beneath the blanket. "You're pronouncing it all wrong."

"I do beg your pardon." Ian's eyebrows rose. "Good Lord, why didn't you say something before?"

Meredith shrugged. "It really didn't irritate me until now. I'm sorry. I'm not in the best of moods. I'd better find Reggie to help you with Kathleen."

"I'd appreciate that."

She nodded and turned away, then paused when he added, "Mrs. Llewell—Meredith. A word of warning. Whoever did this could be extremely dangerous. If you try to investigate, you could be taking a grave risk with your life. Moreover, Constable Shipham will not take kindly to you meddling in a situation that he considers resolved. I suggest you think twice before treading on his territory."

"I appreciate your concern, but I will not rest until I know that someone has paid for Kathleen's death." She smiled at him. "I promise I shall watch where I tread."

"I wish I could assist you." The doctor shook his head. "Because of my position, however, I must refrain from taking any part in such a controversial pursuit."

"I understand." She glanced one last time at her friend.
"Please take care of her for me." She hurried away, before the prickling under her lids could turn once more to tears.

Instead of crossing the lawn, she chose to take the path through the gardens. She needed time to catch her breath—to decide what her first step should be. A good place to start would be to question anyone who might have seen Kathleen wandering around the night before.

Upon reaching the flower beds, she paused, her heart aching as she wondered who would create such a profusion of color and beauty now that Kathleen had gone. Tom would tend to the flowers with his usual care, but it had been Kathleen who had chosen the plants and designed their arrangement in the beds. The teacher would be missed on so many levels.

In spite of the sun's rays warming her back, Meredith shivered as a chill breeze touched her cheek. Conscious of someone watching her, she spun around. Her imagination was playing tricks on her again. She was quite alone.

She turned back to the flowers, intent on picking some for the foyer. She had actually reached out when a slight movement from across the beds stilled her hand. Straightening, she stared at a spot a few feet away at the edge of the path.

The patch of mist swirled like a veil caught in the wind. It seemed to ebb and flow around the figure of a woman, hiding her from sight one minute and allowing a tantalizing glimpse of her the next.

Meredith shut her eyes tight. She should have taken the powder Ian had given her. "Go away," she muttered. "You are a figment of my imagination. Be off with you."

Only the fluttering of leaves overhead answered her. Cautiously she opened one eye, then opened them both wide. The apparition still floated in front of her.

Every instinct urged Meredith to turn tail and run as fast as she could back to the safety of the school hallways. Her fear, however, held her fast to the spot.

The wisp of gray mist hovered above the path, with just a faint shadow of a figure in its midst. Although she couldn't see it clearly, Meredith felt a strange sense of desperation emitting from the weaving cloud.

Her lips stiff with fright, she whispered, "Who are you? What do you want?"

The figure immediately became brighter, more distinct. The woman's hair flowed about her shoulders, and she raised a graceful hand and pointed at Meredith's feet.

Heart pounding, Meredith looked down, but could see nothing but the toes of her shoes peeking out from beneath the hem of her skirt. When she raised her head again, the mist had vanished.

Shaken to the core, she fought to regain her breath. In that brief instant, she had recognized the apparition. As ridiculous as it might seem, she had no doubts at all. The image was the ghost of Kathleen Duncan.

Chapter 4

Mrs. Wilkins tapped gingerly on the door of Monica
Fingle's office. She wasn't happy with herself at all, but she felt strongly that it was her duty to protect the maids, even if they got cross with her for it.

Monica's thin voice called out from the other side of the door. "Enter!"

Mrs. Wilkins entered.

As always, she felt intimidated by Monica's presence. The housekeeper sat in her chair as if she had a board strapped to her back. The hollows under her cheekbones were deep enough to hoard acorns and her jagged teeth stuck out over her bottom lip when she smiled. Which, mercifully, wasn't often, thanks to the white lace ruff she always wore with her black dresses, which limited movement of her chin.

"I'm surprised you have the time to pay me a visit," Monica said, with a meaningful glance at the large clock on the
wall. "Aren't you supposed to be in the kitchen attending to the midday meal?"

Having put off her visit to the housekeeper for as long as possible, Mrs. Wilkins felt affronted by this rebuke. "Dinner has already been served," she said, sharpening her tone just a little. "The maids are washing the dishes in the kitchen, and I have more than enough time to spare before getting the supper ready."