Mrs. Jeffries Weeds the Plot (27 page)

“But, sir,” Smythe yelled, “don’t you think we ought to see if Miss Gentry’s all right first? She was in a bit of state when she came to the ’ouse, sir. That’s why Mrs. Jeffries insisted that Wiggins and Hatchet come back here with ’er. They didn’t think she ought to be alone.”

Witherspoon hesitated. “Yes, yes, of course you’re right. We must see to the lady.” He started toward the open front door of number two.

“It was right convenient that Wiggins and Mr. Hatchet
were there when Miss Gentry showed up, wasn’t it?” Barnes said as they fell in step behind the inspector.

Smythe swallowed. The constable was no fool. “Luty and Hatchet had dropped by to ’ave tea,” he said. “They come to visit quite often.”

“So I’ve noticed,” Barnes replied. They walked up the steps and into the foyer. The place was obviously still being redone. Paint buckets and ladders cluttered the long hallway leading to the back of the house. Drop cloths were scattered about the floors and the scent of fire hung heavily in the air. “They always seem to be around when the inspector’s about to solve a case.”

They crossed the huge, empty kitchen and reached the back door. “Uh, yeah,” Smythe said. He didn’t know what to say next. “It’s right fortunate, innit?”

Barnes laughed softly. “Don’t look so worried, man. I think the inspector’s a very lucky man to have such a devoted staff.”

Smythe breathed a sigh of relief as they came out into the garden. There was a small, paved terrace outside the kitchen that ran for ten feet on either side of the door. Beyond that was the garden proper. Annabeth Gentry, Hatchet, and Wiggins were standing in the middle of the grass.

Miranda, nose to the ground, was following some sort of trail. Fred was sniffing the ground behind her.

“Hello, Inspector,” Annabeth called, waving to him. “Thank you so much for coming.”

From the corner of his eye, Smythe saw Miranda circling a patch of dirt at the far edge of the grass. The spot was just under a tree, near the back wall.

He glanced at Miss Gentry and the others. If they’d done as they were instructed, they’d probably arrived here only a few minutes ahead of them. He’d dropped them off at Orley Road and told them to wait an hour
before going into the garden. He’d needed the time to find the inspector and get him over here.

“Good day, Miss Gentry, I understand you wanted to see me,” Witherspoon said. “The constable and I came as soon as we got your message.” For the life of him, he couldn’t see anything that looked the least dangerous.

“Thank you, Inspector.” Annabeth’s smile faltered a bit. She looked at Wiggins. “It was good of you to come so quickly. I’m very grateful.”

It was at that moment that Miranda started to dig.

The inspector waited politely for Miss Gentry to continue speaking. She merely smiled at him.

“Hello, sir,” Wiggins called.

“Inspector.” Hatchet smiled and nodded. “Nice to see you, sir.”

Bewildered, Witherspoon glanced around the garden. What on earth was this about? There certainly didn’t seem to be anything going on here that could be construed as a matter of life and death. Except for the fact that Miranda appeared to be digging quite a large hole, the day was extraordinarily quiet. “Uh, Miss Gentry, from what I understand, you seemed to feel something was very much amiss this morning.”

“That’s quite right, Inspector, I did.” She smiled and glanced toward the two dogs. Her snout deep in the hole, Miranda was digging furiously. Fred, his nose less than
an inch from the ground, was circling the area in a rapid figure-eight sort of motion. “You see, I suddenly had an idea.”

“An idea,” the inspector prompted. “What kind of idea?”

Barnes was now watching the dogs.

“Well, uh, about why someone might be trying to kill me. You see, it all started with me finding that fellow’s body.”

The dirt stopped flying out of the hole and Miranda buried her snout in the ground. She grabbed something between her teeth.

Fred began circling and crept up close to the other dog. His whole body went rigid.

Witherspoon, not noticing the dogs, kept his attention on Miss Gentry. “Yes, I know that. We’re quite certain the threats on your life are connected to Tim Porter.”

“But that’s just it, sir,” she began slowly. She was trying to say it just right. Mrs. Jeffries’s instructions had been very explicit. “I don’t think they’re connected to this Porter business at all.” She broke off and pointed behind the inspector. “Look, there’s my neighbor Mr. Eddington.”

Eddington had stepped out onto his terrace. His gaze raked the garden, taking in the two policemen, Miss Gentry, and the others, and then he spotted the dogs. A look of horror spread across his face.

“I say, Mr. Eddington,” Witherspoon called to him. “I’d like a word with you, sir. I’ll pop over in a few minutes, if that’s all right.”

But Eddington didn’t answer. He turned on his heel and bolted back to the house. Smythe started as though he meant to go after him, but Barnes held up his hand and whispered, “Wait. Do nothing yet.”

“How rude,” Witherspoon muttered, and turned his attention back to Miss Gentry. “I’m sorry. Uh, what
were you saying? Something about digging up Porter’s body …”

But Annabeth Gentry wasn’t paying any attention to the inspector. She was gaping at Miranda. The dog had wrestled something out of the ground and was gripping it between her teeth. But the object was buried deep, and despite the dog’s efforts, it wouldn’t come all the way out.

Fred, seeing the brown, dirt-covered thing in Miranda’s mouth, barked jealously and charged the bloodhound in an effort to get her to share. Miranda dropped it and growled at Fred.

“Oh dear,” Witherspoon exclaimed. “We can’t have this. Whatever’s the matter? What’s wrong with those two? It’s not like Fred to be so aggressive.” Afraid that his beloved dog would get bitten, the inspector charged across the grass. “Come on now, Fred, back off. Whatever it is Miranda’s found, it’s hers.” He got close to the animals and stopped dead. “Oh, my good gracious!” he cried. “Constable, you’d best come help. Wiggins, call Fred back. Miss Gentry, call Miranda. Get them away from that thing immediately!”

“What is it, sir?” Barnes had already started across the scruffy grass.

“It’s a human arm, Constable, and from what I can see here, it appears to be attached to a body.”

It was well past dinnertime by the time Smythe, Wiggins, and Hatchet returned to Upper Edmonton Gardens. They told the women what had happened.

“It were ever so exciting,” Wiggins said. “By the time they finished this evening, that dog ’ad found three bodies. Fred ’elped, a bit. Well, ’e tried to. But the inspector kept ’olding him back.”

“Only three?” Mrs. Jeffries asked. “Thank goodness. I was afraid there would be far more.”

Smythe looked at the women suspiciously. “You’re all mighty calm about this. What’s goin’ on? ’Ave you been up to somethin’?”

“We didn’t sit here twiddlin’ our thumbs while you all was gone, that’s for sure,” Luty said. “After Hepzibah told us who she thought the killer was, we finished puttin’ the rest of the puzzle together. Betsy and I went over to Hampton House, to see my friend Skidmore—”

“You mean Lord Skidmore,” Hatchet interrupted. He looked at the men. “He owns majority shares in a number of steamship lines. For some odd reason, he finds Madam quite amusing.”

“He likes me.” Luty grinned. “What’s more, he’s fast, discreet, and he knows how to do a body a favor.”

Betsy giggled. “He got us the information we needed right away and he gave us tea.”

Smythe’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of information could ’e give ya? Oh, I git it, did ’e know anything about that ticket we found in Deborah Baker’s things?”

“That and more,” Luty replied. “It’s amazin’ what you can learn by lookin’ at a manifest. There’s no record of a Deborah Baker on that voyage of the
Laura Gibbens
last year.”

“Does that mean she wasn’t on the ship?”

“We think she traveled under another name,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “A married name. You see, there wasn’t a Deborah Baker on that vessel, but there was a Mr. and Mrs. Phillip Essex on board. I’m willing to bet Phillip Essex is really Phillip Eddington.”

“Cor blimey,” Wiggins muttered. “I’ll bet she’s one of them women buried in his back garden.”

“Probably,” Luty said. “But that ain’t all we learned. We also found out that Eddington and McIntosh go way back. They’d known each other since McIntosh was a steward. Eddington was a passenger on at least three of
McIntosh’s voyages. Now you fellas finish your story. We’re not tryin’ to steal your thunder.”

“Hmm, madam, I suspect that’s precisely what you’re trying to do,” Hatchet replied. He looked at Mrs. Jeffries. “Perhaps you’d be so kind as to tell us how you figured it out. I’m afraid that even with the discovery of the bodies, I still don’t see how it’s all connected.”

“Neither did I until Fred dug up Mrs. Goodge’s daffodil bulbs,” Mrs. Jeffries replied. “That’s when it all fell into place.”

“What’s them bulbs got to do with it?” Wiggins asked.

Mrs. Jeffries laughed and poured herself another cup of tea. “It wasn’t the bulbs that were important, it was the digging. That’s what I finally realized this morning. You see, it wasn’t Porter’s murder that precipitated the attempts on Miss Gentry’s life, it was her dog digging up his body. Once I started from that point, from the fact that it was the dog that was a threat to someone, and not Miss Gentry, then it all made sense.”

“Tell them how you figured out it was Eddington,” Mrs. Goodge prompted.

“He was the only person it could be,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “If he’d just been content with trying to kill Miss Gentry, we’d never have figured it out. But it was the sabotage to her new home that pointed the finger directly at him.”

“I don’t understand,” Smythe said.

“I asked myself why would anyone sabotage a house, and there was only one reason. To keep someone from moving into it? But someone already lived on Forest Street and nothing was happening to him—”

“I get it,” Wiggins interrupted. “That means he must be the one doin’ the sabotagin’.”

“Right. He is the only person who lives on Forest Street and he wants to keep it that way. Once Porter’s
body was found, Eddington realized that he was in grave danger if Miss Gentry and her bloodhound moved into their new home. He did everything in his power to keep Miranda out of that garden. He even had a confrontation with Miss Gentry to try and get her to agree to keep the dog on a lead.”

“Now we know why,” Betsy said. “He didn’t want her digging up what he’d buried there.”

Mrs. Jeffries took a quick sip of tea. “I was sure that Eddington was the killer, but I didn’t know why until today. After Luty and Betsy told me about seeing that name on the manifest, I had an idea it must have something to do with killing for profit. But I’m still not sure how he managed it.”

“Well, he killed at least three women,” Hatchet said slowly. “At least that was the body count before we left this afternoon.”

“Where was Eddington?” Mrs. Jeffries asked.

“He scarpered,” Smythe answered. “Good thing ’e did, too. It were ’im takin’ off like that that convinced the inspector ’e’s the killer.”

“That and the fact that Miss Gentry insisted he’s the one that’s been trying to keep her out of the house on Forest Street,” Hatchet added.

“Do they have any idea where he’s gone?”

“Probably to the train station,” Smythe said. “I managed to whisper to Miss Gentry to tell the inspector she’d gotten suspicious of Eddington and followed him to Cook’s. She told the inspector she’d watched him buy that steamship ticket.” He didn’t add that he was sure Constable Barnes had overheard him. He’d share that little nugget with the others later.

“I only hope the inspector manages to catch the fellow before he gets out of the country,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “We can’t let him get away. He’s evil. Absolutely evil.”

“The inspector will get ’im, Mrs. Jeffries,” Smythe
assured her. “Now, you still ’aven’t told us everything. ’Ow you knew it were him behind everything. Did ’e kill Porter and McIntosh?”

“He probably killed McIntosh,” she said. “But I’m fairly certain McIntosh killed Porter. Your source was right, Smythe, Porter probably was blackmailing McIntosh. Do you recall Father Jerridan telling Hatchet about tramps sleeping in the entryway of St. Matthew’s Church? We think it must have been Porter and that he witnessed McIntosh and Eddington burying one of the bodies in the garden. We’ll never know for certain, of course, but it does make sense. It would explain Porter’s bragging that there was more money coming his way.”