Superfluous Women (14 page)

Vera nodded agreement.

“Neither did I,” Isabel confirmed, “nor hear from her. I was a bit surprised. I'd expected a few last-minute adjustments to what she wanted to leave for us.”

“Such as?” Daisy asked.

“Oh, for instance, in the linen cupboard there's a set of initialled silver-plated napkin rings that look like a family heirloom. She might have forgotten those and decided she wanted to keep them after all. I didn't really think too much about not hearing from her, just assumed she was satisfied.”

“From what little I saw of her,” said Willie, “she's the sort who's never satisfied.”

“That's why I was a bit surprised. She was impatient, too, and liable to make up her mind without due consideration.”

“In any case, she's not necessarily the victim,” Daisy reminded them. “We already decided she could have been the murderer. Or it could be someone else entirely, nothing to do with her, someone taking advantage of the house being empty to dispose of an inconvenient body.”

“Do you write fiction as well, Daisy?” Isabel enquired. “That sounds like a plot for a thriller.”

“No,” Daisy said crossly.

“I feel as if we're stuck in a shilling shocker.” Vera's voice was shaky. “I don't know how you can be so calm about it.”

“Getting all het up doesn't help,” Isabel pointed out. “In fact, it makes everything seem ten times worse than it really is.”

Willie stuck up for Vera. “She can't help it. You have nerves of steel, and I can usually see the funny side. Daisy, do you think the police will seriously consider the theory of the empty house used as a dumping ground by strangers?”

“It's not a theory, only a vague hypothesis. What Alec would call wild speculation. But they have to take all possibilities seriously, especially when they have so little to go on.”

Sally came in with a tray of coffee cups and a pot. “I brought a cup for Mr. Fletcher, too,” she said, “just in case.”

“He's still with the inspector?”

“Yes, madam.”

“Thank you, Sally.”

Daisy heaved herself out of her chair. “I'm going to tell Underwood about Sergeant Harris spreading rumours. The sooner that's put an end to, the better. Not to mention trying to find out what's going on between Underwood and Alec!”

“Sit down and drink your coffee first,” said Isabel. “You don't want to fall asleep in the middle of your sleuthing.”

“I'm not sleuthing.” Daisy subsided and took the cup Isabel handed her. “Not really. And don't you dare suggest to Alec that I am. He hates to admit that sometimes I'm helpful, not just interfering.”

 

THIRTEEN

“
What's yours,
sir?” DI Underwood greeted Alec.

A promising beginning; Alec decided to reward his earlier abstemiousness. “Whisky and soda, a small one, thanks.”

“Off you go, Pennicuik.”

Alec took a seat. “What can I do for you, Inspector?”

“For the present, nothing, sir. Nothing official, that is. I've spoken to my super on the telephone and he says he can't make any decisions till he's talked to your super. Superintendent Crane, I told him. That's right?”

“That's the man.”

“Have you informed him of the situation, sir?”

“I thought I'd wait till the morning and catch him at the Yard. He gets a little testy when disturbed on a Sunday evening.”

“I persuaded Mr. Parry to wait till tomorrow.” Underwood and Alec exchanged a smile of complicity. Managing superior officers was part of being a copper.

“What did he have to say when you told him about me?”

“‘Blast,' followed by ‘damn' as he absorbed the implications. Those weren't the actual words he used, mind you. He was in the Navy and he has some salty profanity at his command. But once I'd got him to consider my plan calmly, he was all in favour.”

“Somehow, I'm not surprised. In essence, your plan is to use the services of the Yard without the county having to pay for them.”

Underwood grinned. “Yes. Do you think your super will go along with it?”

“It's … not impossible, if I'm not urgently needed elsewhere. You'd have to stop the nonsense about keeping your eye on me as a material witness. Save it for Mr. Parry if you must. Crane wouldn't like it a bit. Casting aspersions on one of his officers isn't going to win his cooperation.”

“I already dropped that line. What
would
help?”

Alec eyed him appraisingly. “Can I trust in your discretion? And Parry's?”

“If we can trust in your innocence…”

“Touch
é
. May I take it you're prepared to extend the same belief to my wife?”

“Unofficially, by all means. I'd be astounded if Mrs. Fletcher played any r
ô
le in the crime. But I'm sure you realise that officially she can't be dismissed so easily, as accessory after the fact, at least. She's known one of the women for many years, and appears to be on intimate terms with the other two. It's plausible that she might help them to cover up the murder.”

Alec had no answer for that. He himself had more than once suspected Daisy of just such a misdeed, and even accused her. In at least one case, he knew full well she had helped a killer to escape. She always had what she considered an excellent reason.

“Yes, I suppose it's plausible,” he said cautiously. “I'm sceptical, though, about the ladies being involved in the death.”

“I have my doubts,” Underwood admitted. “I'm afraid Mr. Parry was on about spinsters going peculiar and getting funny ideas into their heads. I tried to explain they're too young for ‘the change,' but he's not convinced.”

“Pity. Never mind, when we—
you
find out who's dead, you'll doubtless have plenty of suspects on your hands. The same goes if it is in fact the Gray woman, once you start investigating her background.”

“Still, we'll have to look at those three very carefully. Both Miss Chandler and Miss Leighton are hiding something, that's for sure. What do you think about this Vaughn fellow, the house agent?”

“Nothing, pending your identifying the victim.”

Underwood puffed out his thin cheeks and issued a long sigh through pursed lips. “That's the first order of business, all right. Mustn't take it for granted it's Mrs. Gray, even if she's the only person who's disappeared.”

“With a perfectly good explanation.”

“That,” said the inspector, sighing again, “is the fly in the ointment. So what
will
help persuade Superintendent Crane?”

“My wife,” Alec said reluctantly. “Mention that Daisy's here and he'll—”

He was glad to be interrupted by Pennicuik's entrance, bringing their drinks, whisky for Alec, a pint of mild for Underwood, and a modest half pint for the detective constable himself. “Sorry it took so long, sir. After-dinner crush.” He sounded wistful.

“No dinner for us tonight, my boy. We've work to do.”

“They've got Scotch eggs and pickled onions at the bar, and potato crisps.”

Underwood turned his eyes ceiling-ward and rolled them. “Is he under the illusion that he's still a growing lad?” he demanded rhetorically. The constable's ears reddened. “All right, I daresay we'll think better with something in our stomachs. Here.” He handed back the change Pennicuik had just given him. “But don't take so long about it. You need to cultivate that air of authority.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” The young man departed at a trot.

The inspector shook his head. “I have high hopes for Pennicuik, but sometimes … Where were we?”

“Contemplating Mrs. Gray's proposed travels. Pondering the odds of tracing her to an unknown hotel in Paris and thence to unknown friends in an unknown part of the Riviera.”

“Let's hope it doesn't come to that. Not that I wish her dead!”

“Let's hope she has friends we can unearth to whom she's given details of her plans. If it becomes necessary. How do you propose to go about identifying the body?”

“The char, don't you think? Not necessarily to view the corpse, but she should know something about who her friends were. Or are. And she might be able to pin down the date, if we're really lucky.”

Alec nodded. It was just the sort of job his retired sergeant had excelled at. DS Tom Tring had been at his best with servants, especially female servants, and labourers, and in public bars, in a way that Ernie Piper was unlikely ever to emulate. Ernie was brilliant at organising information, though, and at remembering details.… But unless Alec was officially called in, DS Piper would not be coming down to Beaconsfield.

“Going to approach her yourself?” he asked.

“Unless you think she might succumb to Pennicuik's boyish charm.”

As Underwood spoke, the constable came in again, bearing two plates. His beetroot-red ears made it plain he had heard. Without a word, he set one plate beside the inspector, then turned to Alec. “I didn't bring any for you, sir, seeing you had dinner. I hope that's right.”

“Yes, thanks. That's not a bad idea, Inspector. From everything I've heard, Mrs. Hedger is an awkward customer. Any sign of coercion and she's liable to dig in her heels. You might do worse than to send in a junior officer. If she doesn't come across, you can always bring in the heavy guns.”

“Hmm. Maybe I should have a word first with that niece of hers who works here. Fetch her here, Pennicuik.”

The constable bolted a bite of Scotch egg and resignedly set down the remainder on his plate. “Yes, sir.” He tramped out.

“What do you bet she asks Mrs. Fletcher to come with her?”

“I'm sorry. Daisy assures me she doesn't do it—whatever it is—on purpose. It just happens.”

“This isn't the first time? That's a relief. I was afraid I was somehow encouraging her.”

Alec thought it politic not to point out that Underwood had in fact done so, by letting Daisy stay after he had let Vera go. He very much doubted that either Willie or Isabel would have claimed to be unable to cope without her.

“I do wonder what's making Miss Leighton so touchy,” Alec said.

“We'll find out in due course.”

“And very likely it will have nothing to do with your case.”

“And digging into it will upset her more. Can't be helped. It's part of the job.”

Pennicuik returned sooner than expected, his face as studiedly impassive as the best of detectives—or butlers. “Miss Hedger, sir. And Mrs. Fletcher.” He held the door open for them.

Rising, Alec and Underwood exchanged a glance of resignation and sighed, quietly and simultaneously.

“Thank you for coming, Miss Hedger. We won't keep you from your work for long.”

“They can manage without me, sir.” If Sally was perturbed by the summons, she didn't show it. “The worst's over.”

“Do sit down. Mrs. Fletcher…?”

Uninvited, Daisy dropped into a chair, and Sally followed her example, as did the men.

“I think you ought to know, Inspector,” said Daisy, “that Sergeant Harris is in the public bar, busy spreading nasty rumours about what happened at Cherry Trees.”

“I heard people repeating what he said,” Sally confirmed emphatically. “It was me that told Mrs. Fletcher.”

Underwood jumped up. “The flaming idiot! I've had trouble with him before. How he made it to sergeant I'll never understand. Excuse me a moment.” He strode out.

“Anything else to report, Daisy?” Alec asked sardonically.

“Not to report, exactly. I wondered whether you and Underwood have seriously considered that the murder might have nothing to do with the house. I mean, someone who happened to have a body to dispose of found out that the house was unoccupied … No, it sounds silly now.”

“It's a possibility Underwood and I have discussed, though not in depth.”

“Oh, good. Not complete bunkum, then.”

“No. Only local people would know about the house, though, and no one local has been reported missing.”

“Blast!”

Alec was about to invite her in no uncertain terms to remove herself, when Underwood returned.

“He's left already, which means a written report instead of a private dressing down. Along with his failure to view the body, it's inexcusable.” Still standing, he addressed Sally. “Miss Hedger, I gather you have worked at Cherry Trees?”

“Just a bit, sir, on and off, like, to help Auntie. Only once for Miss Sutcliffe, but when Mr. and Mrs. Gray lived there.”

“I may have to interview you later, but for now, it's your aunt I want to ask about. I've got a few questions to ask her, and I'm told she can be—hmm—stubborn.”

“Pigheaded is what Auntie May is, sir, and she don't hold with gossip. Nor with the police, neither.”

“Do you think she'd be more likely to cooperate with me or with DC Pennicuik?”

Sally laughed. “If you're thinking she has a soft spot for a young fella, you're out. I'm not saying she don't mourn my cousin Sammy that was killed in the war, but they fought cat and dog when he was alive. She used to cuff him round the ear when he was a kid, and he gave her a black eye once when he grew. No, the only one she might mind is Mr. Fletcher, 'cause he's a gentleman and she does have some respect for the quality. Not much, mind. I couldn't promise.”

Alec didn't dare look at Underwood. “I'm just a copper, like Detective Inspector Underwood.”

“Well, you talk posh, like Mrs. Fletcher. Don't tell Auntie and she won't know the difference.”

“Thank you, Miss Hedger,” said Underwood. “You've been very helpful.”

“Anything I can do, sir. Nobody—not even Mrs. Gray—deserves to be beaten to death with a poker.”

“Good gracious,” Daisy exclaimed, “is that what the sergeant's been claiming?”