Mulled Murder (Pennyfoot Holiday Mysteries) (5 page)

“I feel sorry for her.” Gertie lifted the platter out of the water and stood it on the draining board. “Not knowing where you come from or what happened to you must be worse than having bad memories of your life.”

“I’m sure it is.” Mrs. Chubb picked up a knife, placed a saucer upside down on the slab of pastry in front of her, and began cutting around it. “She acts as if she doesn’t know if she’s coming or going, like she’s in Wonderland or something.”

Gertie laughed. “We should call her Alice.”

“That’s a good idea. It’s better than calling her Miss Memory all the time.”

The door opened just then and Pansy walked in, her face creased in a frown.

Gertie glanced at her. “What’s the bleeding matter with you, then?”

Pansy shrugged. “Nothing, really. It’s just that it’s a bit crowded in our room now that Miss Memory’s in there.”

“We’re calling her Alice,” Gertie said, drying her hands on a tea towel. “And you won’t be here after this week, so you only have to put up with it a few more days.”

“Alice?” Pansy looked at Mrs. Chubb.

“Because I said she looked like she was in Wonderland.”

Pansy nodded. “Oh yeah. She does look a bit like Alice.”

Gertie laughed. “How do you know what Alice in Wonderland looks like?”

Pansy looked put out. “I read the book, didn’t I. There was a picture of her in it. She had curly blond hair and big blue eyes like Miss Memory.”

“Well, that’s enough about the girl,” Mrs. Chubb said, glancing at the clock. “Pansy, go out to the stables and tell Charlie that I’ll be needing a carriage this afternoon. I want to finish my Christmas shopping. You’ve got time before you have to be in the dining room. That’s if you don’t stand around jabbering all morning.”

“I don’t jabber.” Pansy headed for the door. “Not with Charlie Muggins, anyway. Now, if my Samuel was still here, I might be jabbering all morning.” She was grinning as she went out the door.

It swung to behind her, then opened again as Lilly barged into the kitchen. Her cheeks were flushed and her cap had slid to the back of her head. “I can’t find the ladles for the soup tureens. I’ve looked everywhere.”

“Everywhere except here.” Gertie opened a drawer and pulled out a handful of silver ladles. “Pansy must have forgotten to put them on the tray.”

“Her head is full of the wedding, that’s why,” Mrs. Chubb muttered. “I don’t know why she’s in such a state. She’s getting everything done for her. All she has to do is get dressed and walk down the aisle.”

“It isn’t every day a woman gets married.” Gertie started drying the platter with the tea towel. “Of course her mind is on other things.”

“Which reminds me,” Lilly said. “Pansy said she had to get Mr. Evans’s room ready for a new guest this morning. She wanted me to take some coal up there for the fireplace. Should I do it now or wait until after the midday meal?”

Mrs. Chubb stared at her in surprise. “Mr. Evans is gone? No one said anything to me. When did he leave? I thought he was here until Christmas.”

Gertie stopped drying the platter. “That’s strange. He told me himself he was looking forward to the carol-singing ceremony.”

“Something must have happened to him,” Mrs. Chubb said slowly.

Gertie exchanged a significant glance with her. She hoped it didn’t mean what she thought it might mean. The last thing they needed on top of everything else was another death in the Pennyfoot.

As if to confirm her fears, a sharp tap on the door turned everyone’s heads. Gertie caught her breath as P.C. Northcott strolled into the kitchen.

“Don’t suppose you’ve got any more of them mince pies lying around, just begging to be eaten?” The constable looked around, eyes gleaming with anticipation. “I do love coming in here this time of year. It always smells of sugar and spice.” He rubbed his belly and licked his lips, reminding Gertie of the fat tabby cat that invaded the courtyard now and then.

Mrs. Chubb clicked her tongue, but walked over to the large tin box where she kept the mince pies. “I can only spare two,” she told him. “I have to make some more this afternoon.”

“Two’s plenty,” Northcott, said, his eyes lighting up. “Hand ’em over, then.”

“First you tell us why you’re here for the second time in two days.”

Gertie gripped the tea towel when she saw Mrs. Chubb’s face. She knew by the look on it that the housekeeper thought the same thing she did. She wasn’t really surprised when Northcott cleared his throat, then said quietly, “There’s been a murder, and I’m h’investigating it. That’s all I can say.”

“Is it Mr. Evans?”

Gertie hadn’t realized she was speaking out loud until she saw everyone looking at her.

Northcott looked up at the ceiling as if sending up a prayer. Then he lowered his chin. “I suppose you’ll all find out soon enough. Yes, it’s Mr. Gerald Evans. Mrs. Fortescue and the colonel found him on the beach. Stabbed through the ’eart, he was.”

Lilly made a choking sound, grabbed her throat, and slowly backed out of the kitchen.

Mrs. Chubb threw up her hands. “Now you’ve done it. It’ll be all over the hotel. Gertie, go after her. Remind her of the Pennyfoot code. Nothing of what she sees and hears here gets past her lips.”

“Yes, Mrs. Chubb.” Gertie dropped the tea towel, picked up her skirts, and charged out into the hallway.

She was just in time to see Lilly’s heels rounding the bend at the top of the stairs. Putting her head down, she chased after her.

• • •

“I don’t suppose you’ve heard from Northcott yet?” Baxter asked, when Cecily joined him in the suite. “I was hoping he would have cleared up this mess by now.”

“He’s probably still trying to find out where the victim lived.” Cecily sat down in front of the fire. “We both looked at the register yesterday but Mr. Evans had simply signed his name. He’d given no indication of where his home might be.”

“That’s odd, if you ask me.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Quite a few people don’t bother putting down an address. Like the gentleman who registered this morning. Mr. Fred Granson. He just signed his name, too.”

Baxter raised his eyebrows. “What if this Granson chap simply disappeared at the end of his visit without paying? You’d have no way of recouping that money.”

Cecily smiled. “Fortunately, most people are honest. In any case, Mr. Granson paid in advance. Just like Mr. Evans did. So now we have a full house again.”

“He was lucky we had a vacancy.” Baxter leaned forward to stoke the coals in the fireplace. “It always amazes me how some people come down to the coast on the off chance they’ll find a room. Especially at Christmastime.”

“It might have been a last minute decision. After all, he’s traveling on his own. Perhaps he decided that he didn’t want to spend Christmas alone and simply had an impulse to leave for parts unknown.”

“There should be a law that says guests have to write down an address when they book into a hotel.”

“Or country club,” Cecily said, with a sly grin.

“You know what I mean.” Baxter laid down the poker. “If that were so, we would have known where the dead man lived.”

“Speaking of knowing where people live . . .” Cecily told him about Miss Memory and her predicament. “I told her she could stay in Pansy’s room.”

Baxter groaned. “It’s becoming an epidemic. How many more lost souls will end up at the Pennyfoot?”

“No more, I hope.”

“So what are you going to do with her?”

“I’m not sure. I was hoping Dr. Prestwick might be able to help her, but she refuses to see him.”

“There can’t be much wrong with her then.”

“Physically, no. It’s her mental state I’m concerned about.”

“Then Prestwick’s not the chap to help her. She needs a mental institution.”

Aghast at the thought, Cecily shook her head. “I’ll not send her to one of those horrible places. I’ll think of something.” She looked up at the sound of someone tapping. “I hope this isn’t more bad news.”

She got up to open the door, and was surprised to see the housekeeper standing there. “Mrs. Chubb! I hope nothing’s wrong?”

“No, m’m. I came to tell you, P.C. Northcott is downstairs. He’s eating mince pies right now. He told us that the gentleman down the hall, Mr. Evans, was found dead on the beach.”

Cecily exchanged a despairing look with Baxter, who had joined her at the door. “Was there anyone else in the kitchen at the time?”

“Gertie was there, m’m. And the new maid, Lilly. I’m afraid it gave her a bad turn. She went running off somewhere. Gertie went after her but neither of them have come back yet. I thought you should know.”

“Oh dear.” Cecily silently cursed Sam Northcott’s loose tongue.

Mrs. Chubb glanced down the hallway. “I told Gertie to remind Lilly not to say anything to anyone, but you know how easily this kind of news gets out.”

“Yes, I do.” Cecily sighed. “I suppose it was only a matter of time.”

“Pardon me for asking, m’m, but we don’t have another killer amongst us, do we?”

Baxter grunted. “There is absolutely no reason to think that, Mrs. Chubb, and if anyone else should voice such a thought, we’d appreciate it if you would quell the suggestion as quickly and firmly as possible.”

Cecily gave her husband a grateful smile. She couldn’t have said it better herself.

Mrs. Chubb raised her chin. “Of course, sir. Rest assured, I will see that no one mentions one word about it.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Chubb. Would you please ask the constable to meet me in the library? I’ll be down shortly.”

“Of course, m’m.”

Cecily closed the door behind the housekeeper. “I’d better go down and see why Sam is here,” she said, as Baxter returned to his chair. “I sincerely hope it’s to tell us he’s found out where that poor man lived and has contacted his family.”

“He could have told you that much on the telephone.” Baxter picked up his newspaper. “He’s here to gobble down more of Mrs. Chubb’s Christmas baking. He’d find any excuse to come here this time of year. If he had anything seriously important to report, he would have spoken to you first, before filling his belly with mince pies.”

“I hope you are right.” She looked back at him on her way out of the door. “You could come with me, if you like.”

He peered at her over the top of the newspaper. “I’m sure you’ll tell me what he had to say. You know Northcott and I have never seen eye to eye. I’d just be a distraction.”

She was still smiling as she made her way downstairs. A long time ago, her husband and Sam Northcott had been rivals for the hand of a young woman. Sam had won, though he had parted company with the woman soon after, and Baxter had never forgiven him. He barely tolerated the constable, and while in his company never passed up the opportunity to make caustic remarks about the lack of common sense and intelligence in the constabulary.

Nevertheless, P.C. Northcott represented the law in Badgers End, and right now he was waiting for her in the library with, she hoped, the good news that he had solved the crime and the guests of the Pennyfoot Country Club could enjoy their Christmas visit in peace.

CHAPTER
5

Pansy was halfway across the courtyard when she heard Charlie’s voice echoing in the rafters of the stables. He sounded angry, and she slowed her steps as she reached the doors, straining to hear what he said.

He had to be talking to the new assistant, and Pansy felt sorry for that young man as the torrent of words blasted her ears.

“How many bloody times do I have to tell you? You have to get in the stall with the horse. He’s not going to eat you, you bloody twit. He’s only interested in his feed. Why won’t you listen to me? You act as if you’re afraid of the horses. Why would you take a job in the stables if you’re afraid of horses?”

Henry’s high-pitched voice answered him, too quiet for Pansy to make out the words.

Charlie spoke again, softer this time. “Well, all right then. Get in that stall and give Champion his feed before he starts stamping his feet with hunger. He’s waited far too long as it is. What? No, he’s not going to trample you, silly bugger. I was joking. Can’t you take a bloody joke?”

Pansy decided it was time to intervene. She called out as she walked through the doors, “Morning, everyone! What’s going on here, then?”

Henry stood at the entrance to Champion’s stall, a bucket in one hand and a broom in the other. His face was completely white, except for a bright red spot in each cheek. He stared at Pansy as she approached, as if he were pleading with her to rescue him.

Charlie turned at the sound of her voice and gave her a grin. “Well, here comes a pretty lady to brighten up the place.”

Pansy tossed her head, though secretly she was flattered. Charlie was a good-looking young man and knew how to make a woman feel good about herself. Much as she adored Samuel, there were times when she wished he were as generous as Charlie Muggins with the compliments.

“None of your sauce, Charlie,” she said, and sent poor Henry a smile. “I’m getting married in three days and that’s no way to talk to a married lady.”

“You’re not married yet, luv. I have to make hay while the sun shines.” Charlie moved closer. “So what brings you into our humble abode?”

“Mrs. Chubb sent me to tell you she’ll need a carriage this afternoon to take her into town for some Christmas shopping.” She looked around. “Where’s Tess?”

“Jacob took her out for a walk.” Charlie leaned against the stall door and leered at her. “I wish you’d pay as much attention to me as you do to your dog, the lucky bugger.”

Pansy frowned. “I wish Jacob had asked me first before taking her out. She doesn’t know him all that well. He might lose her.”

Charlie laughed. “Why would he do that?”

“I dunno. She could run off and not listen to him when he called her. I don’t want her going out with Jacob. I don’t trust him.”

“Why not?”

Pansy shrugged. “I dunno,” she said again. “There’s just something about him. I wish Clive was still here. I could trust him with my life.”

“How about me?” Charlie draped an arm around her shoulders. “You trust me, don’t you?”

“About as far as I can throw you.” She moved out of his reach. “How long ago did Jacob take Tess?”

“Not long. He was just going to take her for a run across the lawns. He’ll be back any minute.”

“Well, I hope so.” Pansy hunched her shoulders against a sharp blast of wind from the ocean. “I’m supposed to be watching after her.”

“Well, you can watch after me, instead.”

“No blinking thanks.” She turned to go. “Don’t forget to get that carriage ready.”

“All right.” Charlie looked at Henry, who still hovered nervously by the stall. “Give me that,” he said, holding out his hand. “I’ll feed Champion. You go and get a carriage ready for this afternoon. You do remember how to do that, don’t you?”

Henry nodded, thrust the bucket and broom at Charlie, and dashed out of the stable.

Charlie shook his head and set the bucket on the ground. “I don’t know about that chap. He seems a bit queer to me.”

Pansy frowned. “Queer? In what way?”

Charlie grinned. “You know, a poof.” He flapped a loose hand at her.

Pansy stared at him. “Whatever are you talking about?”

Charlie cleared his throat. “Er . . . well, never mind, then. So, how about having a drink with me down the pub tonight? Might as well enjoy your last days of freedom, right?”

Pansy pretended to be shocked. Picking up her skirts, she headed for the door. “I don’t have time to waste words with you, Charlie Muggins. If you’re looking for someone to take out, why don’t you ask Lilly? She seems more your type, anyway. She’ll probably faint from the excitement if you ask her out, poor bugger.”

She marched outside, Charlie’s laughter still ringing in her ears.

Across the courtyard she saw Henry struggling to reach the carriage windows with a wet rag. It must be hard for a man to be short, she thought, as she hurried over to him. He wasn’t much taller than her, and he didn’t look as if he had enough meat on his bones to keep him on his feet all day.

“You need a stepladder for that,” she called out as she drew close. “There’s one in the coal shed. I’ll get it for you.”

Henry gave her a smile that completely changed his face. “Thank you. I’m much obliged.”

“Not at all. I’ll be right back.” Pansy hurried over to the coal shed, dragged out the small ladder, and carried it back to where Henry was polishing the brass on the carriage.

He gave her another dazzling smile as he took the ladder from her. “That’s very kind of you,” he murmured, in his soft voice.

Pansy hesitated. It was none of her business, of course, but sometimes Charlie could act too big for his britches. She hated to see anyone bullied, and she rather liked Henry. He seemed awfully shy, but she couldn’t see anything strange about him, like Charlie said.

“Listen,” she said, drawing closer to the young man. “Don’t let Charlie boss you around too much. He’s only been in that job a couple of months and he thinks he owns the place. He’s no better than you, so don’t let him talk to you that way. If you stand up to him and give him what for when he shouts at you, he’ll soon stand down. You’ll see.”

Henry looked uncomfortable. “Thank you, Pansy. I’ll remember that.”

“Good.” She gave his bony shoulder a warm pat, then tore across the courtyard back to the kitchen.

• • •

Cecily reached the foyer just in time to see Sam Northcott trudging down the hallway toward the library. She was about to follow him when she caught sight of the new guest at the front door. Mindful of Baxter’s concerns, she decided to ask the gentleman for his address.

Since they were alone in the foyer, she called out to him as he opened the door. “Mr. Granson! May I please have a word with you?”

To her surprise, he paused in the doorway, paying no attention to her. He appeared to be gazing at something out in the street.

Thinking he must be hard of hearing, she started toward him, raising her voice to carry clearly across the room. “Mr. Granson! I’d like a word with you, if I may?”

Instead of turning his head, he stepped out the door and closed it firmly behind him.

Cecily stood staring at the door in stunned dismay for several seconds. The man had to be deaf. It was odd that she hadn’t noticed that when she’d spoken to him earlier. She’d welcomed him to the Pennyfoot and asked him if he had everything he needed. He’d seemed to understand perfectly what she’d said to him.

Shaking her head, she hurried down the hallway to the library. If Mr. Granson was, indeed, unable to hear, he had to be an expert at reading lips. She must remember that next time she talked to him.

When she entered the library, she saw P.C. Northcott in his usual pose in front of the fireplace, his helmet lying on a chair. A quick glance around assured her that none of the guests were in there, and she greeted the constable as she took a seat on her favorite Queen Anne armchair.

She leaned back so that the high wings on either side would keep the draft from her face. “Well, Sam,” she said, folding her hands in her lap to warm them, “what news do you have for me today?”

“We’ve discovered the h’identity of the victim, Mrs. B.” Sam scratched the bald spot on his head. “Bit of a puzzle, if you ask me.”

Cecily felt a faint stir of anxiety. “A puzzle?”

“Yes, m’m. You see, we found out that Gerald Evans was a private detective.”

She frowned. “A detective? I wonder what he was doing in Badgers End.”

“Well, m’m, I think it’s safe to assume he was either here on holiday, or he was working on a case.”

Her anxiety deepened. Evans proclaimed to have switched hotels because he was dissatisfied with his room. Had there been a more significant reason why a private detective, perhaps investigating a crime, had taken a room at the Pennyfoot?

“That brings up another possibility,” Northcott was saying. “It’s possible that Evans was investigating a case, and got too close to the perpetrators.”

The nasty feeling in the pit of Cecily’s stomach intensified. “I thought you had established that he was robbed and killed by a vagrant.”

“That was before we knew he was a detective. Evans had a partnership in London. I sent a telegram to his partner, a chap called Harry Clements, but I haven’t heard anything from him yet. He could be away for the Christmas holiday, of course, in which case, he won’t know his partner’s dead until the New Year.”

“I see.” Cecily stared into the flames, trying desperately to think of a way to stall an investigation until after the holidays. “Well, I suppose you will just have to wait to find out what Mr. Evans was working on.”

“Yes, m’m. We will.” Sam cleared his throat. “I h’investigated the cricket matches in the area. Seems as how there are none. Haven’t been any since September. It looks like that’s a dead end. The victim must have written that note to hisself back in the summer and just now got rid of it.”

Cecily nodded. “That’s entirely possible, Sam.”

“Yes, well, seeing as how it could be a week or two before we hear anything from London, there doesn’t seem much I can do until I talk to the victim’s partner. So I’m going ahead with my plans for the Christmas holiday. In which case, I’m putting in my report that the murder was most likely caused by a vagrant, seeing as how we really don’t know that it wasn’t. I’ll be leaving for London tomorrow, and when I return, I’ll take up the case again.”

Feeling greatly relieved herself, Cecily rose to her feet. “I hope you and your family have a really nice Christmas, Sam. Thank you so much for coming to tell me all this.”

“Yes, m’m.” Sam reached for his helmet. “It doesn’t seem as how this has anything to do with the Pennyfoot Country Club, but if you should hear something important, I trust you will let me know?”

“Of course, Sam.” She walked with him to the door. “Happy Christmas.”

“Happy Christmas to you and yours, m’m.”

She closed the door behind him and leaned against it for a moment in sheer relief. So far, it seemed, she had avoided a full-scale investigation. But for how long? If the inspector got wind of the murder, and found out the victim was a detective staying at the Pennyfoot, there was no doubt in her mind that he’d arrive at the club with the intention of questioning everyone there, disrupting all her carefully planned events, and ruining everyone’s Christmas. Not to mention Pansy’s wedding.

There was only one thing she could do, and that was to find out herself who had killed Gerald Evans.

She sat down again and stared once more into the flames. Sam had said something earlier that had rung a bell in the back of her mind. She had learned long ago to pay attention to such instances, since they invariably led her to an important conclusion.

She couldn’t imagine why she should attach significance to anything Sam had said. He had assured her that he was satisfied Gerald Evans’s death was not connected to the Pennyfoot. Still, if she could find out what crime her guest had been pursuing, she might be able to prove it had nothing to do with the Pennyfoot.

She kept her gaze fixed on the glowing coals in the fireplace. What was it Sam had said that had struck a chord? Something about Gerald Evans’s partner. He said he had sent him a telegram and . . .

She sat up straight. Of course. She had received a telegram not so long ago. The way it read had intrigued her. The word
stop
at the end of each sentence. She closed her eyes, seeing again the crumpled note she had found in Gerald Evans’s waste paper basket.
Spotsman seen nearby. Already made run. No sign batman. Still looking. Stop
.