Skylark (33 page)

Jay said, "Sergeant Baylor was right behind me. I had no excuse to hold him, you know.
I was damned glad to see her. Have you found the car Worth used in Dorchester?"

"No, but he had access to any number of used vehicles. We're working on that angle
now. It's a matter of time."

I stood up. "Shall I brew another pot of tea?"

Sergeant Baylor was ready to head for the kitchen again, but Thorne shook his head.
"No, lass, thank you. We've a mort of paperwork to see to yet."

I cocked my head. "I know I'll be called as a witness--in both cases, probably."

"Aye."

"And I'll have to fly back to London."

"True." He cleared his throat. "The department has funds."

I said, "That is a consideration, but I was wondering whether Jay will have to return as
well."

"For the Worth trial?"

Jay didn't say anything, and I avoided looking at him.

"It seems a bit much." I was keeping my tone casual. "I have a fairly open schedule, but
Jay's tied to the school calendar. Can't you take a deposition from him before we leave?"

Thorne thought it over. Then he nodded. "I'll arrange for a deposition." He levered
himself up. "I'm sorry I missed seeing Mrs. Veryan."

"She'll be called, too, won't she?"

"She will that." The thought did not seem to displease him. "She's a fine woman." He
shook my hand and Jay's, and Sergeant Baylor did, too. Thorne said he thought we could leave
London in a day or two.

When they had gone Jay said, "I can fly back here if I have to."

I gave him a passing kiss. "I know, but I don't see why you should have to." I went into
the kitchen and started to tidy it. "You'd better go out and buy something for dinner."

Jay braved the press circus again and bought baguettes, pasta, garlic, tomato sauce, and
mince. My spaghetti is not bad, and it's an infinitely expandable dish. Dad might need a meal
when he got in.

There was still no word from Ann, but the buzzer sounded while I was making the meat
sauce. Jay went to investigate, and presently I heard Ann's voice in the foyer. The door reopened.
Ann and Jay entered, guiding Milos between them.

"Now you sit right down, Milos Vlaçek," Ann scolded. "And don't lift a finger.
Jay will help me with your things."

I suppose it was inevitable. I gave Milos, who looked ill and rueful, a welcoming smile.
"Would you like a drink, Milos?"

He sank onto the zebra-striped couch, coughing. "Professor Dailey's whiskey?"

I went back to the kitchen, found the water of life, poured a healthy slug of it into a wine
glass, and brought it to Milos. He sipped, eyes closed. His dark hair stuck to his forehead in
sweaty hanks.

I said, "I suppose you decided to return to your flat."

"Yes. This morning I hitch a ride to London with my nurse friend's young man, but my
landlady has already let my room." He sipped again. "I am standing on the doorstep, wondering
what to do with my belongings when Ann appears. A ministering angel."

That I could imagine. "Well, she should have brought you here right away. You don't
look very strong."

He sighed and opened his eyes. "No, I am like a kitten. Weak and not very intelligent. I
insist that we find my young friend Kohut in Bloomsbury, so we spend several hours, and many
pounds, on taxis, searching for him. We find him at last, but he is living in student digs--is that
the term?"

"Close enough. He didn't have room for you?"

"No." He swallowed the rest of the whiskey. "Ah. He is worried, of course, and tries to
think of a solution. He telephones his friends. Then Ann says I must come here. I am sorry to
intrude, Lark. Really."

"It's okay." I could hear Jay's low laugh and Ann's expressive drawl from the foyer. "We
have room."

Jay entered, staggering under the weight of a large carton. Books, I supposed. Ann
followed with two suitcases. She looked flustered but determined.

I took one of the suitcases, which weighed a ton, in my serviceable right hand. More
books. "Where to?"

She blushed scarlet. "My bedroom."

"Right."

"I'll sleep in the arm chair."

Dad had dibs on the couch, which was a Hide-A-Bed, but I thought we could come up
with a better arrangement for Ann.

Jay and I followed Ann into her bedroom and deposited Milos's earthly goods.

"He has a fever." Ann's chin was up. She looked guilty and funny, and I wanted to give
her a hug.

I said, "We have orange juice and aspirin. Better put him to bed. I'm making spaghetti,
so there's plenty to eat."

She expelled a long breath that puffed a strand of blonde hair from her forehead. "Just so
you don't misunderstand."

"We like Milos, Ann." I exchanged a quick look with Jay. "Uh, maybe you'd better sit
down a minute. We have some rather startling news."

"They haven't escaped, have they?"

"Who? Oh, Smith and Faisel. No, but Trevor Worth has been arrested for murder.
What's more, he's guilty. He tried to kill Daphne today in the hospital."

Ann plopped onto the foot of the bed. "As I live and breathe."

"I was surprised," I admitted. I outlined what had happened, and Ann exclaimed and
tut-tutted. She sounded less surprised than I had been, but she may just have been distracted by
Milos's plight. She congratulated Jay on his role in the arrest.

The story of Trevor's thwarted attempt on Daphne took Ann past her embarrassment. I
wondered why in the world she should feel embarrassment, then reminded myself she was only
recently divorced and probably uncomfortable about her single status. And she was about to
install a man in her bed. Yank Bird in Lovenest with Poet.

We went out into the living room to tell Milos what had happened, and I dashed back to
the stove to rescue my sauce. Fortunately it hadn't scorched, though orange blobs spattered the
counter top. I turned the burner down low and came back as Ann, embroidering freely, was
retelling the saga of Trevor's arrest. Milos looked bewildered. It occurred to me that he had been
in the hospital and unconscious when Miss Beale was killed. He probably had no idea who
Trevor was.

I interrupted, "You can tell Milos the whole story later, Ann. Right now I think he
should go to bed. Do you have medication, Milos?"

"Um, pills? The antibiotics, yes. I am supposed to take them with water four times a day,
but today I forget."

Jay went to the kitchen and came back with a tall glass of spring water. "Better get back
on schedule, buddy. You'll wind up with pneumonia."

Milos took the glass. "That I don't need. I am grateful to all of you..."

"Drink," Jay said. "And I'll help you to bed. You can toss bouquets at us later."

Milos gave a shaky laugh and obeyed.

I went back to the kitchen to put water on for the pasta and whip up a salad.

Ann followed me. "You're sure it's all right?"

"More than all right. It's a good idea. Milos needs looking after. Jay will poke the pills
down him in fine style. He was a medic in the army."

"What a talented couple you two are."

"All that and spaghetti, too." I crisped lettuce and patted it dry. "The only person who
could reasonably object to Milos's presence in this flat is in jail on a murder charge."

Ann shook her head. "I'm still trying to take it in. Poor Daphne, what a terrible thing to
find out about your own brother. Did he hurt her?"

"Thorne says he didn't have time."

"He's a stupid man. Trevor, I mean."

"No genius certainly."

"I don't quite know what to do next, Lark. I meant to go to York and tour the
countryside, but I can't very well leave Milos in this state."

"Why don't you hire a car at Heathrow and take Milos north with you?"

Ann's eyes widened behind the pink lenses. "But..." I watched her consider the idea.
"Maybe I will. He could rest for a few days here and build up his strength. Then we could
explore England together."

"Go for it," I measured out the pasta. The water was stirring as if it meant to boil. "Will
you set the table?"

"Sure." She took down four plates and wandered to the table, her eyes vague. "We could
go to Haworth. And Haye-on-Wye."

"Or Scotland. Macbeth was king of Scotland."

"Macbeth? My land, I'd half forgotten the production at the Barbican. It seems years
ago." She reached for salad bowls. "Milos will have to find a job eventually."

I hesitated. "Do you need money?"

Ann gave a small laugh. "Who doesn't, sugar? I'll just dip into my divorce settlement."
Her smile widened to a grin. "Wait till Buford Veryan hears what I've gone and done with his
money. He'll be beside himself."

I smiled, too. "With jealousy, probably. Besides, it's not his money. It's yours, and
there's nothing wrong with your judgment, Ann."

Ann clasped a stack of salad bowls to her bosom. "Lordy, I wish I could see Buford's
face."

The door buzzer sounded again.

"I'll get it," Jay called from the living room.

It was my father, back from Glasgow earlier than we had expected him. He had
forgotten his house key. I measured out more spaghetti.

Milos slept through dinner. It was a verbal meal, what with Ann explaining Milos's
presence and arguing with herself over the propriety of a middle-aged woman driving all over
England with a poet, with Jay summarizing our eventful morning, and with Dad telling us about
his trip. The Scots police had been polite, uncommunicative, and efficient.

My father saved Ann's honor, or perhaps just her sacroiliac, by booking a room at the
Norfolk Hotel. Ann protested, Dad insisted. Jay said he would walk over to the Norfolk with Dad
and help carry his luggage.

Ann and I did the dishes while the men went off to the hotel. When the kitchen was
clean, Ann dragged out her maps and began planning a new itinerary. She decided to save
Scotland for her next transatlantic adventure. When I first met her she had talked about her visit
to England as a once-in-a-lifetime thing. Her perceptions--and perhaps her plans--had
changed.

She rummaged through her travel guides. "If I have to fly over here for the trials I could
go on up to Edinburgh afterwards."

"It's cold and dark in winter."

"Winter?"

"Thorne said the trials will be scheduled in the autumn session. The docket is full for
this term."

"Good. I can go back to work at the bookstore and pay off my Visa by then." She picked
up the
AA Atlas
again. "My word, Lark, the trouble I had getting a credit rating in my
own name. I hope you've established a separate rating. Not that you and Jay are going to split up,
but you never know."

I assured her that I had my own credit cards.

Her face went dreamy. "Scotland in winter. That sounds romantic."

"And Haworth and Haye-on-Wye now." I got up and peered over her shoulder at the
atlas. "You might as well show Milos Chester and Shrewsbury, too, and come back through the
Cotswolds."

"I could see about getting tickets for a play in Stratford."

"More Shakespeare?" I laughed and went back to the couch.

"Something cheerful like
A Midsummer Night's Dream
."

"Milos would enjoy that."

She let the atlas fall to her lap. "I can't believe I'm doing this. I must be crazy."

"You deserve a good time after all the stress you've been under."

She brightened. "Maybe you're right, honey."

I heard Jay fumbling at the lock and went to open the door for him. "Did you settle Dad
in?"

He gave me a hug. "Yes. Nice hotel. He wants us to join him for breakfast. I told him I
thought you'd be up to the walk."

"Heavens, yes. What time?"

"Nine. I'd better wake Milos and stuff another pill down his throat." He went on into the
bedroom.

I helped Ann pull out the Hide-A-Bed. Milos roused long enough to swallow an
antibiotic and a couple of aspirin. Jay thought the fever was easing and that sleep was the best
medicine. A good generalization. We all decided to call it a day, though Ann swore she was too
excited to sleep.

Jay had plenty of time to check on Milos the next morning--his temperature was normal,
and he was hungry as a horse. Ann was feeding him eggs and bacon and her magical tour of
England when Jay and I set off for the Norfolk Hotel.

There was a one-day Tube strike scheduled, which explained the dearth of reporters on
the doorstep. The traffic had clotted in irritable gridlock in the Old Brompton Road. The hotel
was only a few blocks from the flat, however, and we had time to admire the ornate lobby before
my father came down.

We sat at a small table in one corner of the large dining room and ordered the full
breakfast. Dad had to assure the waiter that he was a guest of the hotel and would pay for all
three meals before the man would take the order. Juice, coffee in a silver pot, and three racks of
unbuttered, cooling toast appeared by the time we had exchanged pleasantries. Dad had called
my mother from the hotel before he went to bed.

"She wants you to call her today, Lark."

"All right." I poured him a cup of coffee. "Jay?"

"I'll pass." He took a sip of orange juice.

I poured my own coffee and looked at the toast. I hoped Ma was not in a reproachful
frame of mind.

Dad was rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I understand you have a birthday this month,
Jay."

Jay grimaced. "Too true."

Dad reached inside his suit jacket and drew out one of those slim folders travel agents
give their clients for tickets and itineraries. "I hope you won't think me high-handed. I had some
time to spare yesterday in Glasgow, and I decided to book these." He handed Jay the folder.

A long silence followed while Jay looked at the contents. He handed the open folder to
me. "Did you tell him, Lark?"

I looked. Dad had booked two one-way passages from Southampton to New York, one
week from the next Wednesday, on the Queen Elizabeth II. For Mr. and Mrs. James Dodge.