Mrs. Jeffries Pinches the Post (13 page)

“Perhaps it would be easier on Mrs. Nye if we spoke with you alone?” Barnes suggested.

“No,” she yelped. Then she appeared to get ahold of herself and took a long, deep breath. She smiled wanly at her cousin. “Lionel, I know you’re trying to spare my feelings, but I’d really rather cooperate with the police. The only way I shall ever sleep again is to know the police are doing their best to catch my husband’s killer.” She looked at Witherspoon. “I’m quite all right, Inspector. Please, do go on with your questions.”

“Well, er, now that Mr. Bancroft’s brought it up, perhaps he can elaborate on what he meant.”

Lionel shot Eliza Nye one quick, anxious glance and then said, “As I said, Inspector, there were two people here who might have had a grudge against Harrison.”

“And who would they be, sir?” Barnes asked quickly.

“His former solicitors, John and Peter Windemere.”

The inspector looked at Eliza Nye. “Is this true?”

“I’m afraid it is, Inspector.” She sighed. “Harrison had a property matter some years ago that they were handling for him. Unfortunately, they mishandled the sale so completely, the deal fell apart. It cost my husband an enormous amount of money. He sued them and was granted damages. It bankrupted the firm.”

“Then why’d they come to dinner?”

“My husband asked me to invite them, Inspector. I’ve no idea why.”

Witherspoon frowned slightly. “Didn’t you find it strange that Mr. Nye would ask you to invite people who probably had a real reason to dislike him?”

“I didn’t think it strange at all,” she replied. “I only found out that they had reason to dislike my husband after they arrived that night.”

Barnes asked. “Who told you?”

“My husband,” she said. “We were just getting ready to come down when Duffy let them in and took them into the drawing room. They were the first guests to arrive. We were standing at the top of the stairs. I started to go down, but Harrison grabbed my arm and told me to wait. He was laughing. He said he wanted them to squirm for a few minutes. I asked him what on earth he was talking about. He told me what had happened years earlier. I was appalled, Inspector.”

“Yes, I imagine that would have been a bit of a shock. Er,” he hesitated, not quite certain what to ask next but knowing he ought to ask something. “Did your husband offer you an explanation as to why he wanted them at dinner? Forgive me, ma’am, but your description of your husband’s behavior doesn’t sound like he wanted to make peace with these men.”

“No, it doesn’t, does it? I suppose that now that Harrison’s dead, I’d like to think him a better man than he was.” She smiled sadly. “He said he invited them because he had a business proposal that might interest them.”

“What kind of proposal?” Barnes asked.

“He didn’t say. I was going to ask him about it later that evening, but as I’m sure you realize…” Her voice trailed off and her eyes filled with tears. “I never got the chance.”

“How did they greet your husband?” Witherspoon thought that a good question. If someone had bankrupted him, he probably wouldn’t have been very nice to him. Mind you, he couldn’t imagine accepting a dinner invitation from the person responsible for ruining you.

“I don’t know, Inspector,” she admitted. “As we reached the bottom of the stairs, other guests were arriving, and I went to greet them. Harrison went on into the drawing room.”

“I arrived about then with the Rykers,” Lionel Bancroft interjected.

“I see.” Witherspoon nodded. “Er, how were they all acting when you and your other guests arrived in the drawing room?”

“They weren’t there,” she said. “Harrison had taken them, and they’d disappeared into his study. They didn’t come back until it was almost time for dinner. There didn’t seem to be anything wrong. Everyone appeared very cordial. They weren’t particularly talkative, but they weren’t rude. All the other guests had arrived by then, so Harrison made the introductions.”

“It was all very civilized, Inspector,” Lionel added. “I’d no idea Harrison had been at odds with any of his guests until Eliza told me the next day. I do think you ought to question these men. If anyone had reason to dislike Harrison, I’m sure it was they.”

“We shall have a word with both those gentlemen, I assure you,” Witherspoon replied. His head was beginning to hurt a little. This case, which was already complicated, had just been made worse. He hadn’t really considered the guests at the dinner party to be suspects. Apparently, he’d been wrong.

“Your husband seems to have spent most of that evening in his study instead of at the dining table,” Barnes observed dryly.

Eliza Nye’s perfect brow furrowed in confusion. “Oh yes, of course, you’re referring to Oscar Daggett’s peculiar outburst.”

“The man has no manners whatsoever,” Lionel exclaimed. “He’s another one you ought to have a word with.”

“We have already spoken to Mr. Daggett,” Witherspoon said. “Mrs. Nye, had you ever seen Daggett before that night?”

“Not often,” she said. “But he’s been here a few times. He and my husband used to be in business together but it was a long time ago.”

“They aren’t in business now?” the inspector pressed. Oscar Daggett had definitely implied he’d come to the Nye house about a business question.

“No.”

“Are you absolutely certain of that?” Witherspoon wanted to be sure.

“Of course I’m sure,” she said, her tone just a shade sharp.

“Really, Inspector,” Lionel added. “I do believe Mrs. Nye knows who her husband does business with.”

“She didn’t know about the Windemere brothers’ business relationship with her husband,” Barnes said calmly.

“That was different,” she snapped. “They hadn’t had anything to do with Harrison in eleven years. He’d have hardly been likely to mention them, would he?”

Witherspoon decided to try a different tactic. “Your butler gave me the names of everyone who was at your dinner party. I understand Mr. Bancroft was the last to leave that night?”

“I was,” Lionel admitted. “I stayed to have a word with Mrs. Nye. I left a few minutes after Harrison did.”

“And I retired for the night right after Lionel left,” Eliza Nye added.

“Yes, ma’am, we know that. We’ve already had a word with your staff. Your butler confirmed everyone’s movements. Did your husband happen to mention where he was going when he left here?”

“He did not,” she replied, “and I was rather annoyed with him about it. Of course I was careful not to show my displeasure in front of our guests.”

“I understand he often left the house late at night,” Witherspoon persisted.

“Often isn’t the word I’d use, Inspector. When we were first married, he went out a time or two. When he saw how much it upset me, he stopped,” she said. “Or if he left the house at night, he waited until after I’d retired for the evening.”

“But he didn’t that night, did he?” Barnes pointed out. “As a matter of fact, he left even before your last guests.”

“I was going to speak to him about it later,” she snapped. “But I never got the chance.”

Mrs. Jeffries stood at the head of the table and double-checked to make sure everything was ready for tea. The others would be back soon, and she had no doubt they had much to discuss.

Mrs. Goodge came out of the dry larder carrying a loaf of plain brown bread. “There’s a hot pot in the oven for supper tonight, so I think all we need for tea this afternoon is some bread and butter.”

“Are any of the others back yet?” Mrs. Jeffries asked. “I think I hear Luty and Hatchet pulling up outside.”

“Betsy’s here. She dashed upstairs to change the inspector’s linens. The laundry boy is due by this evening.” Mrs. Goodge sincerely hoped the kitchen would be empty by then—that lad was fairly sharp. She wanted to have a moment or two alone to question him and see if he knew anything useful.

“I’m all done.” Betsy, her arms loaded with crumpled sheets, hurried over to the wicker laundry basket sitting beside the pine sideboard. She dumped the sheets inside. “Shall I close it?”

“That’s the last,” Mrs. Jeffries replied. “Can you let Luty and Hatchet in the back door?”

Betsy nodded and dashed off down the hall just as Smythe came down the back stairs. “Where’s she going?” he asked the housekeeper.

“To let in Luty and Hatchet,” Mrs. Goodge said. “Where’s Wiggins?”

“He’s right behind me.” Smythe slid into his usual chair. “And from the expression on ‘is face, I’d say he’s not got much to report.”

The others came into the kitchen in a pack, with Luty and Betsy in the lead. “Wait‘11 you hear what I found out,” the elderly American exclaimed.

“You’re not the only one who learned something useful,” Hatchet added. As they’d reached the table, he pulled out Luty’s chair and seated her with a flourish. Betsy dropped into the seat next to Smythe and gave him a swift, intimate smile. She was still a bit annoyed that he’d not told her where he went today, but she’d forgiven him.

“I’ve not found out anything.” Wiggins dropped into his seat. He looked hopefully at the plate of bread and butter in the center of the table. Mrs. Goodge shoved it toward him.

“Don’t take it so hard, lad,” Smythe said. “My day wasn’t all that good either.” He’d gone to every dirty pub on the eastern docks and he’d not seen hide nor hair of his source, Blimpey Groggins. No one else had seen the man lately either. Smythe was a little concerned. It wasn’t like Blimpey to pull a disappearing act like this. Bad for business it was.

“Iffen it’s all the same to you, then, can I tell ya what all I learned?” Luty asked.

Mrs. Jeffries glanced around the table, saw no objections, then nodded. “Please, go ahead.” She began pouring cups of tea.

Luty smiled delightedly. “Well, since you-all kindly let me have a look at that guest list, I gotta tell ya, I hit pay dirt.”

Hatchet raised his eyebrows. “I take it that means you recognized at least one name on the list? Humph,” he snorted, “no wonder you changed your mind about what you wanted to do.”

“Don’t be such a grouch.” Luty grinned. “You’d have done the same. Besides, we change our minds all the time about what we’re doin’ and where we’re goin’ to be snoopin’.”

“So you recognized a name on the list,” Mrs. Jeffries prompted. Sometimes these two could waste an inordinate amount of time squabbling like children. “Do go on …”

“I decided I’d have a chat with my friend Hilda Ryker. Nice woman, likes to gossip and doesn’t give herself airs. She was at the dinner party that night.” Luty laughed. “Hilda said she’d only gone because her husband insisted. She didn’t particularly care for Harrison Nye, and she didn’t like his wife much either.”

“Did she tell you why?” Mrs. Jeffries asked.

“I asked her, and she said she wasn’t sure.” Luty shrugged and reached for her cup of tea. “She couldn’t rightly put her finger on why she didn’t like ‘em, she said she just didn’t feel comfortable around either of ‘em.”

“But she didn’t give any specific reason for her feelings?” Hatchet pressed. Sometimes, when madam was vague, it was because she was trying to keep a useful clue all to herself.

“No, like I said, she just didn’t like ‘em much. But, luckily, she went because Neville wanted her to and she said it ended up bein’ one of the most interestin’ evenin’s she’d had in a long while. Oscar Daggett weren’t the only interestin’ distraction at that party.” She paused dramatically. “The Windemere brothers was at the dinner party.”

“Oh dear,” Mrs. Jeffries exclaimed. “I meant to tell everyone their names were on the list, but it slipped my mind.”

“It slipped your mind?” Betsy repeated incredulously.

“If you’ll recall, we ended up in a rather heated argument at our last meeting,” Mrs. Jeffries said defensively. “Between trying to determine who had how many cases to their credit and everyone changing their minds about what they were going to do next, I simply didn’t think to mention it till everyone had gone. You all did leave rather quickly.”

“That’s all right, Hepzibah.” Luty smiled smugly. “No harm was done. But like I was sayin’, they was there that night, big as life. John Windemere sat right next to Hilda. She said you could tell by the way they was actin’ that they was upset about something. Every time someone tried to start a conversation, they’d give a one-word answer or mumble something silly. Hilda said it was obvious to anyone who had half a brain that they didn’t want to be there. To top it off, when Oscar Daggett come chargin’ in lookin’ as wild-eyed as a crazy coyote, the two brothers started grinnin’ like a couple of fools.”

“They knew Oscar Daggett?” Mrs. Jeffries asked.

“Hilda didn’t think so,” Luty replied. “As a matter of fact, she was sure they didn’t. She overheard one of ‘em say to the other that Daggett looked like trouble for Nye; he didn’t use Daggett’s name of course, just said ‘the man.’ The other one said he hoped so too.”

“They were talking like that in front of Mrs. Nye?”

Mrs. Goodge looked at Luty over the top of her spectacles.

“She didn’t hear ‘em.” Luty reached for a slice of bread. “One of the other guests had distracted everyone by gettin’ up and leavin’ the table. I, uh, think he went to the water closet.”

“The water closet? That’s an odd thing to do during a dinner party.” Mrs. Goodge shook her head. “But then it sounds as if it was a very odd party to begin with.”

“You can say that again,” Luty said. “Hilda said it was the best one she’s been to in years.”

Mrs. Jeffries thought about what she’d just heard. It was, indeed, a very strange dinner party. “I wonder why Nye invited them?” she murmured.

“Maybe Mrs. Nye invited ‘em,” Wiggins suggested. As he didn’t have anything useful in the way of information to contribute tonight, he felt duty-bound to ask good questions.

“That’s a good question,” the housekeeper agreed. “Why don’t you see if you can find out the answer?”

Wiggins brightened. “You think it’s important?”

She didn’t, but as he wasn’t doing very well in this investigation, she didn’t want to discourage the lad. “Absolutely. See if you can find a servant from the household that might know who put the names on the guest list,” she replied. “Now, who would like to go next?”

“I’ll go next,” Hatchet said. He paused for a brief moment, then plunged right ahead, determined not to let the madam’s dramatic revelations bother him in the least. “It wasn’t easy finding out anything about Frieda Geddy. But I persisted and did find out a few interesting tidbits.” He took a quick sip of tea. “Frieda Geddy spoke Dutch.”