Christmas Is Murder Part 7

Feeling here more than elsewhere that he was intruding, Rex concluded his tour of the owner's rooms and succinctly noted: Mrs. Smithings' suite: Jewellery box containing one pair of pearl earrings; Rodney memorabilia; painkillers for rheumatoid arthritis.

"You didn't write much," Mrs. Bellows observed.

"Didn't find much."

The cook eased the door shut behind them and glanced at her watch. "It's a quarter to ten. Just Rosie's room now, thank goodness-I'm ready for bed."

Rex checked his own watch. "The clock on Mrs. Smithings' mantelpiece must be fast."

Mrs. Bellows lit the wall sconces and turned into a corridor skirting the east wall of the house. Behind a door at the end of the corridor rose a flight of narrow stairs, and Rex suddenly recalled the way to his old attic room through what he used to pretend was a secret pa.s.sage.

A warren of erstwhile servants' rooms burrowed under the roof.

"Most of the rooms are used for storage," Mrs. Bellows explained.

When Rex opened a door upon a dark s.p.a.ce filled with sports equipment and a broken rocking horse, a squeaking horde of hump-backed shapes scurried away across the floorboards. One ran onto his foot and up his pant leg. Mrs. Bellows shrieked. Grabbing a broom, he swept the rat into the air and leaped out the door, slamming it shut.

"Now, why did you have to go in there for?" the cook asked, her bosom heaving with emotion. "Clifford's supposed to keep the rats under control. They'll gnaw away at the timber until there's nothing left." Whisking the broom from his hands, she shielded herself with it and hastened down the corridor.

Rosie's room was off to the left. Squeezing through the door to the sloping-walled room, Rex b.u.mped his head and careened into a walnut chest of drawers, sending a pile of Mills & Boon novels toppling onto the carpet. Above one of the twin beds hung a series of photos and an advent calendar sparkling with glitter. That day's paper window remained closed. As a boy, Rex couldn't wait to open the windows, each morning awaking in growing antic.i.p.ation of ever bigger Christmas scenes.

"That's Rosie's bed," Mrs. Bellows said. "No room to swing a cat in here, is there?"

Rex came to from his memories. "What happened to Rosie's sister? I heard she used to work here."

"Oh, it was a terrible tragedy. They were like two peas in a pod." Mrs. Bellows lifted a corner of her ap.r.o.n and blotted her eyes. "You'll have to forgive me-I get all teary when I think about it."

"An illness?" Rex probed.

"Train wreck." She peeked through the twill drapes on the dormer window. "The snow's eased up at last."

"Good. I'll take the dog out for a quick walk before bed. Which reminds me, where is the wee devil?"

"He must still be downstairs."

After poking his head round the bathroom door in the corridor, Rex flipped to a fresh page in his notebook.

Rosie Porter (attic room): Romance novels, advent calendar, several photos of self.

He thought this quite narcissistic. Thanking the cook for her a.s.sistance, he made his way back down the narrow stairs, calling to the dog at intervals. He stopped by his room and with the aid of his magnifying gla.s.s deciphered the inscription inside the brooch before returning it to the honeymoon suite. It was only when he was halfway down the main stairway that the impact of what he had copied suddenly hit him.

With a tingly feeling that he might be on to something, he opened the guest book on the tripod table in the foyer and scanned the page until he found Lawdry's entry: Henry D. Lawdry, The Paddocks, Hillcrest, Surrey.

Rex compared the initials to the engraving from the locket. To my beloved girl-Eternally Yours, H.D.L.

What was a brooch inscribed with the dead man's initials doing hidden away in the Perkins' suite?

Rex wrote R.I.P. after Lawdry's name in the guest book, and did the same after Ms. Greenbaum's, hoping he would not have to write these letters again during his stay at Swanmere Manor-and that they would not be written after his name for a long time to come.

The remainder of the household sat in the drawing room cradling mugs of cocoa, with the exception of Mrs. Smithings, who dryly asked permission to retire to her rooms. Mrs. Bellows and Rosie then excused themselves, saying they had to be up early. A chill pervaded the room, and Rex voiced his surprise at finding the fire unlit. Wanda told him about the discovery of a pile of embers, possibly belonging to the lost ma.n.u.script.

"We didn't want to disturb anything until you came back," Anthony said. "There are a few sc.r.a.ps of paper with letters on them."

"Well, let's get to work." Rex declined the cocoa Helen offered him. "Not right now, hen," he said, using the Scottish endearment, "but thanks anyway."

"Another time when you're less busy?"

His gaze met her blue eyes. "Aye, I'd like that." Then turning to Yvette, he asked, "Do you have a pair of tweezers?"

Following her out to the hall, he showed her the words he had copied from the locket. Yvette went pale. "H.D.L.-Henry D. Lawdry, if I'm not mistaken ..."

At last she said, "I know how it looks, but I didn't steal the brooch. When Henry died, Charley told me to hide it so people wouldn't ask questions."

"How did you come by it?"

"Henry said I reminded him of his daughter and he wanted me to have it. Anthony told me it was worth over five hundred pounds and I should keep it in Mrs. Smithings' safe."

"So Anthony Smart knew about the brooch, and yet you said you didn't want anyone asking questions."

"That was after Henry died. Charley doesn't know I asked Anthony to appraise it. I was just curious as to its value."

"Who else knows Mr. Lawdry made you a gift of the brooch?"

"You don't believe me," Yvette accused. "You think I stole it!"

"Calm down, la.s.s. I don't know what to think at present-about any of this."

"That's probably why Charley said to hide it, so people wouldn't jump to the wrong conclusions!"

Rex was puzzled that her husband hadn't mentioned the brooch when he told him about the cyanide. After all, he had asked Charley to tell him everything he knew about Lawdry. He would have to confront him about it. In the meantime, there was the matter of the ma.n.u.script. "If you're not too cross with me, could you fetch those tweezers?" he asked Yvette.

Pouting, she flounced off in the direction of the stairs. Rex gave a deep sigh. It had been a long day, and there was still work to do. If he could confirm the ma.n.u.script in the fireplace was the one Ms. Greenbaum had been working on-one she would never burn herself-it would suggest someone had an axe to grind.

Who under this roof could have bludgeoned the literary agent and poisoned a crippled old man?

Certainly, the murders were the work of a cunning mind: the first made to appear as though by natural causes, the second devised to look like an accident. Rex felt he might never get to the bottom of it, and yet try he must for Mrs. Smithings' and his mother's sake.

___.

"Here you go," Yvette said, thrusting the tweezers into his hand.

Hitching up his trousers, Rex squatted by the fireplace and, with the care and precision of a surgeon, removed the charred sc.r.a.ps of paper and laid them out on cardboard. Delicate as moth wings, they were apt to fly away or else disintegrate at the slightest draft. "Could someone please close the doors?" he asked, shielding the fragments with his hand.

He scrutinized the remaining typeface on the sc.r.a.ps. The digit "one" appeared, followed by a s.p.a.ce and the letters "Qa"-the rest of the word consumed by fire. All the Q words he could think of were followed by "u". Quant.i.ty, quarter, quick, quiet, quirk, quorum.

"Patrick, could you look for a dictionary in the library and see if there are any words beginning 'Qa'?" he asked.

The young artist returned within minutes holding a battered hardcover book with gold lettering. "According to the Concise Oxford Dictionary, the only entries for "Q" are words beginning "qu" unless you count the abbreviations q.v. and qy."

"Well, blow me," Charley said. "I never realized every word in the English language beginning with 'q' started 'qu'."

"An encyclopedia might be more help," Anthony suggested. "It could be a foreign word like Qadhafi, the Libyan colonel."

"I couldn't find any other reference books. Is it important?"

"That remains to be seen," Rex murmured, sifting through the remaining fragments. One sc.r.a.p revealed the letters "-yney" and "IA". An abbreviation for Missing In Action or Central Intelligence Bureau? "I wish I had more to go on."

Patrick examined the evidence. "It must be the ma.n.u.script. I wonder who tried to burn it."

"Someone who didn't like Miriam," Helen speculated.

"None of us liked Miriam," Wanda said.

"No doubt the author kept a copy, but all Miriam's notes and comments have gone up in smoke-and she worked so hard on that biography."

Trust Helen to come up with a sensible and understanding view of the situation, Rex thought, finding more and more to like about her. "Did anybody come across anything else of interest?" he asked the group, determined to keep on track in spite of the heart flutters she inspired in him.

"Just a mouldy collection of stuffed wildlife in a gla.s.s case in the library," Yvette said.

"Specimens of hares, kingfishers, ducks, moorhens-that sort of thing," Patrick elaborated.

"Aye, those would be from Rodney Smithings' hunting days."

"Can we be of further a.s.sistance?" Anthony asked.

Rex glanced up from making entries in his notebook. "I don't think so, but thanks for all your help."

"Are we any closer to catching the killer?"

"Maybe." Rex stood up and flexed the cramps out of his legs. "I think I'll take the dog out for some fresh air-if I can find him."

"Clifford took him into the scullery," Anthony informed Rex. "The old man's asleep in a chair, snoring loud enough to wake the dead." He paused, then said, "Sorry, didn't mean it like that."

"I'm surprised he's not out cold after all the sherry he knocked back," Rex remarked. "But I'm glad he's sleeping. It wouldna be safe for him to walk back to the lodge in this weather."

Wanda approached with a twig of mistletoe. "Ta-da! I'm claiming my kiss. After all, I was the one who found the ma.n.u.script in the fireplace."

Closing her eyes, she puckered her lips, which wrinkled in an unappealing way. Rex knew he must kiss her on the mouth or risk offending her. Stooping, he planted a brief kiss on her lips, whereupon she giggled. "Oooh, you do have ticklish whiskers, Rex."

He winked at Helen who was watching with good-natured amus.e.m.e.nt, then drew Wanda aside. "I found a master key in your bedside drawer. Did Mrs. Smithings give it to you?"

A flicker crossed Wanda's immaculately made up face. "No, Rosie left it in the door this morning when she was making up my room. I meant to give it back."

"Well, perhaps you should before the girl gets into trouble."

"I know-I keep forgetting."

"May I ask what you were doing in Mr. Lawdry's room earlier?"

"I-I just wanted to pay my respects."

"I see," Rex said, unconvinced.

Wanda turned away before he could ask her anything else about her foray into the dead man's room. "I don't suppose you still want to do my hair?" she asked Patrick, pulling a hand through her dark locks and examining the ends.

Patrick glanced over at Anthony.

"Go ahead," his partner said. "I'm going to take a long hot soak in a sudsy bath with a book and a snifter of brandy. I probably won't surface for hours."

Helen began collecting the empty mugs of cocoa. "At least it's not snowing now." Covering her mouth, she yawned. "I'd best get off to bed. I'm dead on my feet."

"Bolt your doors," Rex warned everyone as they traipsed out of the drawing room. "Charley, a word?"

Yvette paused too.

"I'll follow you up," her husband told her.

Wanda held back briefly and eyed the newlyweds with a look of suspicion.

Charley parked himself on a sofa and lit a cigarette. "Should we go and check the lodge while Clifford's asleep?"

Rex took out his pipe. With the others absent, he felt he could smoke with impunity. Charley offered him his box of hotel matches.

"Even if we could get over there, I don't think it's necessary," Rex replied. "I believe we can eliminate Clifford from our list of suspects."

"Why?"

"For one thing, he's not dexterous enough to have interfered with the iced tarts."

"True. His hands are all gnarled up."

"For another, I don't see what motive he could have for murdering Miriam Greenbaum. She was the only person who tipped him. In any case, he was totally sozzled."

"He could've hit her in a drunken rage."

"Clifford wasn't angry when I saw him-he was scared out of his wits, terrified Mrs. Smithings would find out about the sherry."

"So we strike him off our list?"

"Aye, for now. And I'd like to be able to strike you off the list too. I don't know if Yvette told you, but I found a cameo brooch in your suite."

"Yeah, but she said she explained why I told her to hide it."

"I need more convincing, lad."

Charley blew out a circle of smoke. "The old man was fond of my wife, they played Tiddlywinks together. When he kicked the bucket, I thought suspicion might fall on her if it came out that his death wasn't from natural causes. Everyone knew he was very wealthy."

"Anthony found out about the brooch."