The Grub-and-Stakers Spin a Yarn (20 page)

Fortunately Dittany didn’t have to go through the living room. She caught only a glimpse of the party: Ranville and Glanville in the midst, laughing and joking, people taking food from a side table, a good time being had by all. Quite in contrast to the scene that had taken place downstairs while the sheep was still in the shop, she thought ironically, as she turned away from the festive scene and followed Miss Jane into the bedroom.

Dittany could see why Miss Jane hadn’t wanted Sergeant MacVicar in here and it had nothing to do with morals. It was just that this was the room where the shopkeeper had been dumping all the odds and ends she hadn’t yet been able to make a place for elsewhere. Men didn’t understand these things, but any other woman would naturally sympathize because she’d have a room in her own house that she didn’t want anybody else to see for the same reason. Miss Jane fluttered her hands in a “What can I do?” gesture and gave Dittany a nervous little smile. Dittany gave her back an understanding nod and a “What else could you have done?” shrug. Reassured, Miss Jane reached behind a couple of boxes and hauled out Lammikin. Dittany took to him at once.

“Oh, isn’t he adorable! How did you get him so fleecy? Look at all those millions of yarn loops and that cute little pink knitted nose. Maybe you can show Mum how to make one for the nursery. Now slide back to your cousins, Miss Jane. I can let myself out. This is just a formality, you know.”

Dittany already knew where she’d find what she was looking for. It would have been too stiff to go into Lammikin’s socks, too big to hide among his loops. But the Glengarry bonnet had been stiffened with cardboard to hold its perky shape. As she’d expected, the cardboard had an extra bit of stiffening tucked in behind: a buff-colored rectangle covered in plastic. There wasn’t much written on it, just a few measurements and abbreviations and one clear word:
NUTMEG
. In death as in life, Charles McCorquindale had been faithful to his trust.

Soberly she put the card in her skirt pocket and made her careful way downstairs, pausing to flush the loo in passing, lest any of Miss Jane’s guests begin to wonder what that very pregnant young woman was really up to. Sergeant MacVicar, also faithful to his trust, was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairwell, willing her feet not to slip. Dittany landed safely and handed him the card. He glanced at it, made a Hibernian noise in his throat, and held the door for her to go out.

“Aye, lass,” he said when he’d got her safely out on the sidewalk and away from Miss Jane’s open window, “Charles McCorquindale was a leal man and true. I’m minded to take Margaret over to Lammergen the noo. We can pay our respects to her dead kinsman and give Mother Matilda the nutmeg formula.”

“I’m sure that’s what Mr. McCorquindale would have wanted,” Dittany replied. “Those gangsters must be pretty sick at not having found his part of the recipe. I wonder how they’re going to manage now that Wardle seems to be out of the picture. Osbert said there were about fifteen VPs at the conference this morning, and the crooks have only managed to pinch half a dozen ingredients so far.”

“Well may they wonder, lass. It will require a bold stroke, I misdoubt. The question that preys on my mind is, was Wardle the only fly in the mincemeat?”

“It does make you wonder, doesn’t it? But the question that’s preying on my mind is what’s happened to my husband? The VPs’ car is gone, if that one down by Mr. Gumpert’s was in fact theirs. You don’t suppose they forced Osbert into it at gunpoint?”

“Noo, noo, dinna fash yoursel’, it’s bad for the bairns. I cannot see Deputy Monk allowing himself to fall into so dire a picklement. Belike he’ll be waiting for us at the station. Mind the curb.”

To Dittany’s relief, when the sergeant had mother-henned her across the street and into the police station, they did find Osbert whiling away the wait by chatting with Officer Bob, whose turn it was this evening to man the desk. “Ah, there you are,” Osbert said. “Are you all right, darling? Did you find the formula?”

“No problem—the card was inside the sheep’s Glengarry. Sergeant MacVicar’s going to deliver it to Mother Matilda as soon as he gets Margaret organized. Did the VPs catch you lurking?”

“Them catch him?” Officer Bob emitted a snort of derision, caught his chief’s eye upon him, and got extremely busy with unfiled reports.

Osbert shrugged. “There wasn’t much to lurk about, they didn’t hang around long. It was rather interesting though, they were talking about Daughter Matilda staying with Aunt Arethusa.”

“My stars! How in heck did they know?”

“They’d met her coming and going, Which is to say that she was going as they were coming. I gather they’d all stopped to ask each other what they were doing here, and they’d said they were investigating for whatever good that might do, and she’d said she’d been having supper with Aunt Arethusa and was coming back to spend the night with her. I got the impression she’d been bragging to them about being related, though I can’t imagine why.”

Dittany laughed and straightened his collar. “Because Arethusa’s reigning queen of the roguish regency romance, silly. I’m sure Daughter Matilda would have bragged about you too, if she hadn’t had to respect your incognito.”

“I bet she wouldn’t. The way she went swishing off in that stupid purple cape—”

“It’s a gorgeous cape. You just think it’s stupid because Arethusa wears it.”

“Well, naturally. Wouldn’t anyone? Now that Lemon Peel and Suet know about Aunt Arethusa, I might as well quit trying to be Reginald.”

“I don’t see where that follows at all. Besides, how can you? You are.”

“What I mean dear, is that since a family connection between the Monks and the McCorquindales has been established—”

“It hasn’t, actually,” Dittany pointed out.

“Well, I expect it will be as soon as somebody gets around to digging up the roots. Anyway, they’ll think Mother Matilda took me on account of nepotism.”

“What if they do? From what I’ve been able to make out, the mincemeat factory’s rife with nepotism.”

“Yes, but this is different,” said Osbert. “VP Suet was sneering about me being Mother Matilda’s pet nephew.”

“He’s just a jealous old goop. Darling, I think I’d better go home now, those stairs at Miss Jane’s rather did me in.”

“Oh, gosh! Here, sit down. I’ll run over to Roger Munson’s and borrow his stretcher.”

“Osbert Monk, don’t you dare! First thing you know, Roger’d be giving me mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Sergeant MacVicar can drop me off at the house if you want to do some more lurking. Have there been any leads in the break-ins at Mr. Gumpert’s and the museum, Bob?”

Bob said they hadn’t been able to find a single clue and it looked to him like professionals, only he couldn’t figure out what the heck they thought they were going to accomplish by pinching imitation jeweled daggers and strewing paper around and he wished to heck Charles McCorquindale had picked some other place to bleed in, though he supposed it wasn’t very nice of him to say so about one of Mrs. MacVicar’s relatives, and where was Osbert planning to lurk this time?

Osbert said he didn’t want to lurk anywhere because he didn’t see anything to lurk for and he did want to get in a little work on his ostriches, so he begged a ride for his flagging spouse and himself from the MacVicars who were of course happy to oblige. Osbert then got Dittany tucked up in bed with
Anne of Avonlea,
for she wanted the twins to have the benefit of however much culture they might be able to absorb in their prenatal state, and went back downstairs to round up his herd of ostriches.

Arethusa and Clorinda had wearied of the tango and settled down to a hard-fought game of Parcheesi with a plate of cookies and a jug of cocoa to spur them on. All was serene on Applewood Avenue; the only sounds Dittany could hear from her bedroom were the rattle of Osbert’s trusty Remington and an occasional wild “Huzza” from Arethusa when she’d made a successful play. How lovely and peaceful it was! Twins did demand a great deal of a mother’s energy. She reached the bottom of her page, had she strength enough left to turn another? As Dittany wondered, her eyelids closed.
Anne of Avonlea
slipped from her grasp. She slept.

She waked. What the heck was going on downstairs? The Big Ben on the nightstand read half-past eleven, hardly the time to be raising a ruckus. Were they having a bomb threat? Had Ethel met a skunk? Dittany grabbed hold of the bedpost and hauled herself upright, found her slippers, wrapped the “Rest and Be Thankful” quilt around her, and padded downstairs.

The Parcheesi game had been put away. Clorinda had either gone to bed or been getting ready to do so; she was now arrayed in a peach-colored satin negligee and a pair of Minnie Mouse bedroom slippers with her hair all skew-gee. Osbert must still have been working, as he sometimes did when the fit was upon him. He was still in his sweatshirt and jeans and his cowlick was flopping like a wet rooster’s comb. Arethusa was—no, Arethusa wasn’t. The hysterical figure in the purple cape was Daughter Matilda.

“Where’s Arethusa?”

That must have been the wrong thing for Dittany to ask. Daughter Matilda’s wails rose from loud to fortissimo. “She’s gone! They took her!”

“Who did?” Dittany dropped the quilt and hastened to get a clean linen towel and a glass of water. “Here, Daughter Matilda. Drink this. Take this.”

“A cup towel? What for?”

“To wipe your face on. You’re streaky.”

“I’m what? Oh.” Daughter Matilda sipped at the water and rubbed her face with the cloth. “I looked so ghostly I put on some makeup before I—she’s gone! They took her!”

“So you mentioned. Sit down and tell us about it, why don’t you? Have some cocoa, if there’s any left.”

“There isn’t,” said Osbert. “Try this brandy, Matilda. Liquor is quicker.” He produced a tot he’d poured, for some reason, into a chipped jelly glass.

“Th-thank you,” said Daughter Matilda. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m a little upset. They hit me.”

“That was extremely rude of them.” Clorinda was back. “I couldn’t find the smelling salts so I brought some eau-de-cologne to bathe her forehead with.”

“I’m not sure this is quite the time to bathe her forehead, Mum,” said Dittany. “Why don’t you put on the kettle and make us all a nice cup of tea?”

“What a splendid suggestion, dear. Arethusa must be thrilled to pieces.”

“About what?”

“Oh, hasn’t anyone told you? She’s been abducted.”

“I’ll be gum-swizzled! Where, how, why, when, and by whom?”

“The international spies, I believe. Or the mob.”

“You mean those two thugs who—” Dittany glanced nervously at Daughter Matilda, whose wails were fading off into dejected whimpers thanks to the brandy and the moral support.

“It’s all right, Dittany,” the mincemeat heiress said dully. “Never mind about hurting my feelings. They’ve gone numb. You mean those men who killed Daddy. It must have been the same two. Who else would it be? Could I have a little more brandy, please?”

“Of course,” said Osbert.

“And maybe some animal crackers or a nice tuna-fish sandwich?” Clorinda suggested. “A full tummy makes a stiff upper lip.”

“Cookies,” said Dittany. “Sugar for the shock.”

Daughter Matilda shook her head. “Nothing, thanks. I’d be sick if I ate. They hit me.”

“Where did they hit you?” Dittany was determined to get at the facts.

“In the garden. What happened was, my car started making a funny noise after I left here. I got back to Lammergen all right but the noise kept getting funnier. I thought I hadn’t better take it out again, so VP Suet and VP Lemon Peel offered to drive me back here. They knew I was planning to sleep at Arethusa’s because I’d happened to run into them earlier and—”

“Yes, we know about that. So they did in fact drive you where? Here to the house?”

“No, they let me off at the corner and I walked. I asked them to, I wanted the air. Having to be nice to all those people, with Daddy lying there in the open casket—I’m sorry.” She blew her nose in a halfhearted way. “Anyway, that’s what I did. And Arethusa was here waiting for me and she said let’s aroint, so we did.”

“On foot?” said Osbert.

“Oh yes. I still wanted some more air. You have wonderful air over here.”

“I offered to drive them,” said Clorinda, “but it’s really no distance, as I don’t have to tell you. And she did want the air. She said so.”

“And I offered to give Arethusa back her cloak because I’d brought along my black suede jacket. But she said she’d wear my jacket instead, so she did. We thought it was a giggle, swapping clothes. I needed some fun by then, I can tell you. Poor Mother, I felt mean running out on her, but Cousin Penelope was there. Pen and Mother were always great pals, so I knew it would be all right. And there really wasn’t any place left for me to sleep.”

Daughter Matilda dabbed at her nose again. “So anyway, Arethusa and I walked over, and her house looked so romantic by moonlight with all those turrets and gargoyles and everything that I just stood there gawking. Then she asked if I’d like to go around back and see the donjon-keep, so I said sure, and we went.”

“What did she mean, the donjon-keep?” snarled Osbert. “Since when did she have one?”

“I expect Arethusa was referring to that lean-to where she keeps her garbage cans,” said Dittany. “Go on, Matilda. So you went around into the garden and—”

“And here came these two men. I suppose they must have been men. I can’t imagine any woman acting so unladylike except perhaps VP Cloves. She’s a pretty tough cookie when she gets riled up. But I really can’t say for sure because they were wearing trench coats with the collars turned up and felt hats with brims turned down. And they had bandanas tied over their faces.”

“BUT THAT’S NOT SUITABLE!”
cried Osbert. “My editor would never allow bandanas with trench coats and felt hats. Silk scarves, maybe.”

“Or stocking masks?” said Clorinda. “Or—”

Dittany felt a burst of unladylikeness coming on. “Osbert, don’t be such a purist. Mum, let her finish. What happened, Matilda?”

“I don’t really know. One of them grabbed me. I tried to fight him off but he did something awfully painful to the side of my neck and I must have passed out. While I was struggling, I saw the other one put a white pad, like a folded handkerchief, over Arethusa’s mouth and nose. I thought I smelled chloroform although I don’t actually know what chloroform smells like. It could have been ether, but it certainly wasn’t eau-de-cologne.”