The Grub-and-Stakers Spin a Yarn (23 page)

“It wasn’t guesswork, darling. Considering the way Mrs. Phiffer handled that so-called suicide note of Wardle’s last weekend, I figured she’d most likely react pretty much the way she has. She didn’t even mention the note to Chief Slapp, you know; just left it on the pillow where Wardle had put it, so as not to disturb the artistic integrity of the scene.”

“Do you suppose Wardle used the note as a test case?”

“I’m sure he must have. And he’d lived here three months, so he’d have known Mrs. Phiffer’s good-hearted enough to make sure Daughter Matilda was fed and cared for, which meant he wouldn’t have to keep hanging around the house or coming back to check.”

“She must not have told him you’d been here, or he wouldn’t have dared take the chance.”

“That’s a point,” said Osbert. “Of course she’d been pretty busy hanging the pinwheels and putting those taillights on the flamingos. She seems pretty detached about anything she’s not personally involved in. Oh my gosh! Why the heck didn’t we bring a camera?”

The bed’s headboard was of wrought iron with brass knobs, therefore ideal for handcuffing abducted ladies to. Wardle had made the most of its advantages. Arethusa was shackled not with one pair of handcuffs but with two, one to each wrist. She’d evidently just this second waked up—perhaps their voices and their footsteps on the stairs had roused her. And she was not taking her situation philosophically.

“Varlets! Caitiff knaves! If this is your idea of a joke, forsooth—”

“Shush, Arethusa,” said Dittany. “We’ve come to rescue you. In case you hadn’t noticed, you’ve been abducted.”

“Gadzooks, so I have! Stap my garters! By whom, prithee? Don’t tell me Andrew MacNaster’s back in town lusting after my flesh again?”

“No, this was a couple of other fellows, as far as we know, one of them being a fraudulent ex-anchovy buyer who calls himself Quimper Wardle. He thought you were Daughter Matilda.”

“Pah! How could he?”

Dittany shrugged. “Aside from the fact that Matilda looks enough like you to be your doppelgänger, is just about your size, had on your familiar and easily recognized purple cape, and was known to be spending the night at your house, I really couldn’t say. Except, of course, that it must have been fairly dark out there by the donjon-keep.”

“Must it? I don’t remember. Nay! By my halidom, I do remember. Some scurvy cur got an armlock on me and clapped a pad sopped in some noxious fluid over my nose and mouth and—and then I don’t remember. Where, to employ what I believe is the accepted phraseology in circumstances such as these, am I?”

“You’re in the spare bedroom of one Mrs. Phiffer over in Lammergen,” Osbert explained. “Mrs. Phiffer is Mr. Wardle’s landlady. She’s quite a nice woman who has a thing about artificial birds. At the moment, she’s out in her garage getting you a plaster duck.”

“For what purpose, prithee?”

“Her feeling is that you may want one handy to bop Wardle over the head with when he shows up again to rattle your gyves.”

“A kind and considerate hostess i’ faith, and a wholly sound idea. But what makes Mrs. Phiffer think I intend to lie here waiting upon the blackguard Wardle’s leisure? Unloose me these fetters and I’ll be over the hills and far away. You do have a trusty steed parked out by the curb, I trust?”

“We have Ethel and the station wagon. That was the best we could do in the time available. If you want to be unfettered, you’ll have to quit squirming so much, Aunt Arethusa. These fiddly little keyholes on the handcuffs are—ah, got it! Now I’ll do the other hand. There you are, free as a smee.”

“Let me rub your wrists to get the circulation going, Arethusa,” said Dittany. “Ugh, they’re all chafed and swollen. What a rotten beast that Wardle is! I’d like to wrap a flamingo around his neck, myself.”

“You’re welcome to remain here and do so when the occasion arises,” the ex-captive replied. “As for me, I feel a disinclination to impose on Mrs. Phiffer’s hospitality any longer. That is to say, any longer than necessary. Where is the necessary?”

“It’s across the hall,” said Osbert. “We’ll go with you.”

“Outrageous churl! You will not.”

“I only meant we’d see you safely to the door.”

“Oh well, in that case you may give me your arm. My head feels like a pinwheel. Was I drugged?”

“Thoroughly and efficiently, on the face of the evidence. Daughter Matilda is of the opinion that the kidnappers used chloroform to knock you out. You were most likely given some other drug after you were brought here, otherwise you wouldn’t have slept so long. You may wish to examine your arms and legs for puncture marks.”

“Later, perhaps.”

Arethusa had been put to bed fully dressed in the clothes she’d been wearing when she’d left Applewood Avenue with Daughter Matilda, except for her shoes and Matilda’s jacket, which were lying on the bedroom floor. That Wardle hadn’t tried to undress her was a small boost to her amour propre, but it hadn’t done much for her skirt. She did what she could in the bathroom with a damp towel in lieu of a clothes brush, and emerged after a few minutes looking somewhat less unkempt.

“Let me borrow your comb and lipstick, Dittany. Those churls must have taken my handbag.”

“Not to worry, we have it at home. Matilda found it lying in the grass.”

“Did she, forsooth?” Arethusa mumbled through a mouthful of hairpins. “Why wasn’t she rescuing me instead of it?”

“Because she couldn’t. The kidnappers knocked her out cold and left her lying in the grass, too. She didn’t regain consciousness until some time after you’d been taken away. Oh, and that reminds me. There’s still one little glitch to be dealt with. You can’t leave.”

T
HE HAIRPINS FELL FROM
Arethusa’s lips. Her hands froze in the act of twisting her black mane into its customary chignon. “What do you mean I can’t leave? I’ve virtually left already.”

“But don’t you see?” said Dittany. “If the kidnappers come back and don’t find you here, they’ll rush off and kidnap Daughter Matilda again. Only this time they’ll make sure it is in fact Daughter Matilda they’re abducting. Once they’ve got her, they’ll have Mother Matilda in their power.”

“Why can’t they be satisfied with having got me in their power, egad? I know a demm’d sight more about being abducted than those mincemeat-mashing Matildas do.”

“That’s my point exactly,” Dittany urged. “You’re a superb abductee, an absolute pearl among captives. Moreover, you can probably knock the lost work time off your income tax, or charge it up as research. The thing of it is, Arethusa, Osbert and I and Sergeant MacVicar are all convinced that the reason Wardle and his confederate kidnapped Daughter Matilda—or rather didn’t kidnap her but think they did—is that they’ve planned a bold coup to hold her hostage until Mother Matilda forks over her secret mincemeat recipe to them by way of ransom.”

“Then there was a method to their machinations,” Arethusa said thoughtfully. “And who is this confederate you mention so glibly? Are were two Wardles?”

“We’re inclined to think there isn’t even one Wardle. That is to say, we believe the name Quimper Wardle to be merely an alias, but we don’t know whom it’s an alias for. All I can tell you is that the man calling himself Wardle got taken on at the mincemeat factory three months ago using forged references.”

“Ah! The plot thickens.”

“You don’t know the half of it, Auntie,” said Osbert. “This past weekend, Wardle staged an apparent suicide by drowning. His motive was supposed to be remorse over some dirty tricks he’d been pulling at the factory in order to steal segments of the mincemeat recipe.”

“What dirty tricks, prithee?”

As Osbert began to explain, they wandered back into the bedroom so that Arethusa could put on her shoes and rehabilitate Daughter Matilda’s jacket, which had accumulated a good deal of lint and dust from lying on the floor. Arethusa was still picking off debris when Mrs. Phiffer reappeared with a peach-colored plaster duck tucked cozily under her left arm.

“He has a little chip on his beak. I always think of peach-colored ducks as hims and blue ones as hers, I don’t quite know why. But I hardly think the chip will matter considering the purpose to which you may put him, Daughter Matilda. You see, I’m becoming quite comfortable with your persona. Did you have a good rest, and should I start frying bread now?”

“For what purpose were you planning to fry this bread, Mrs. Phiffer?” Arethusa inquired warily.

“Why, for your breakfast, Daughter Matilda. I was also planning to fry tomatoes, bacon, and eggs, and to make you a large pot of tea. Or coffee, if you prefer. With this modest but wholesome repast, I could offer a choice of muffins, toast, and/or sticky buns with various jams, jellies, and marmalades including quince, of which I myself am particularly fond.”

“You are? Gadzooks, a woman of taste and discrimination! Allow me to relieve you of that duck, Mrs. Phiffer, so that you can get on with the frying, brewing, toast-making, and bun-warming. You were saying, Dittany, that I’m expected to remain under house arrest here until such time as this Wardle shows up again and I bop him with this plaster duck?”

“You’re supposed to improvise with the duck,” Dittany said with a nervous glance at Mrs. Phiffer. “You don’t have to bop Mr. Wardle if you don’t want to.”

“But what else would one do to a rascally abductor, assuming one had a plaster duck ready to hand? Unless someone would care to nip back to Lobelia Falls and fetch me my dueling sword?”

“You’d better stick with the duck,” said Osbert. “Why don’t I just nip downstairs instead and help Mrs. Phiffer set the table, Dittany? You can stay here and sort of explain things to—er—Daughter Matilda.”

“Don’t you think it would be more appropriate if you explained while I set the table?”

“A splendid suggestion,” said Arethusa. “Here, varlet, hang onto this duck in case Wardle shows up. Scat, Dittany, and don’t forget to put out the quince jelly. By my troth, I do feel peckish. When I mentioned toast and buns a moment ago, Mrs. Phiffer, it was with no intention of omitting the muffins. Muffins will be most acceptable. Along, of course, with the toast, eggs, bacon, tomatoes, fried bread, assorted preserves, et cetera.”

“I quite understand, Daughter Matilda. I’m just so mortified that I didn’t know you were coming in time to lay in a supply of mincemeat.”

“Think nothing of it, Mrs. Phiffer. We all have to make sacrifices when duty calls. Godspeed, and give my kindest regards to your frying pan.”

“Such a wonderful personality!” Mrs. Phiffer remarked to Dittany as they picked their careful way downstairs among the pinwheels. “So fresh and unspoiled despite her aristocratic lineage and high position, don’t you think?”

“Oh, definitely,” Dittany agreed. “You and Daughter Matilda ought to get along just fine. If she seems to be growing a trifle restive, just offer her something to eat. Anything at all, it won’t matter a bit.”

“I suppose she’s used to a varied diet because mincemeat has so many ingredients in it?”

“Very penetrating of you, Mrs. Phiffer. Yes, growing up in an atmosphere of mincemeat has made her quite ecumenical in her eating habits. Don’t bother fixing anything for Osbert or me. We had breakfast just a while ago and we really ought to be getting along.”

“Osbert?” queried Mrs. Phiffer. “I could have sworn Mr. Monk told me yesterday that his first name is Reginald.”

“Ah, but that was yesterday. Tomorrow he’s planning to be Ralph. Perhaps you should simply continue to call him Mr. Monk, it’s less confusing. I do like those ducks in the backyard, particularly that third one from the left in the fourteenth row. Daughter Matilda’s going to have a lovely time here now that she’s got her handcuffs off. It’s awfully kind of you to be her jailer.”

“Not at all, I’m savoring every minute. Do you actually have to go?”

“I’m afraid so, but I expect one of us will be back later on today. Bringing groceries,” Dittany added considerately. “Would you like to give me a list or shall I use my womanly intuition?”

“Just wing it, why don’t you? That’s always more fun. What I do often as not is walk down the aisle with my eyes shut. As the mood seizes me, I reach out and take something off whichever shelf I happen to be passing. It makes for a fascinatingly varied diet, though one does sometimes wind up with a great deal of floor wax and not much to eat. I did acquire a lovely pink flyswatter that way once. Would you like to see it?”

“I’d love to, but not just now, thank you. The flyswatter will give me something to look forward to on my next visit. I believe I hear Daughter Matilda coming downstairs. She likes her fried bread just nicely browned, in case you were wondering.”

“Oh, thank you for telling me. I’ll remember.”

Mrs. Phiffer became engrossed in her cooking, Arethusa in her eating. Dittany, Osbert, and Ethel were able to slip away almost unnoticed.

“Where to now, Old Paint?” Dittany asked as Osbert started the wagon.

“Home, don’t you think? I need to let Sergeant MacVicar know Aunt Arethusa’s all right and see what Margaret and Clorinda have to report about the funeral. I’d also like to jot down a few notes about the ostrich rustlers that popped into my mind when I saw those red taillights on the flamingos. All that concentrated creativity around Mrs. Phiffer’s place sure does get the old dynamo sparking. Though I suspect I’d short-circuit if I had to hang around her too long. Do you want to stop anywhere along the way?”

“I did promise Mrs. Phiffer I’d send some groceries back,” Dittany replied. “You know how Arethusa eats.”

“I ought to,” snarled Osbert. “I’ve watched her often enough. Speaking of which, how’d you like me to buy you a mincemeat tart? There’s this quaint little café and live bait shop over in West Lammergen.”

“Darling, please don’t talk about live bait. I’m in a delicate condition, remember?”

“Okay then, let’s say we swing over to Scottsbeck for the groceries and have custard pie at the Cozy Corner.”

“I liked your first suggestion best. If we go straight home, I can put my feet up and make a grocery list. When Mum comes back from the funeral, we’ll send her for the groceries. In the meantime, you’ll have got back to your ostriches and they’ll all be wearing red taillights.”