Herald of Death (10 page)

Sorely tempted, Cecily had to focus on the task at hand. “Actually, Mr. Salt—”

“Lester.” He shook a finger at her in mock disapproval. “Remember?”

“Pardon me. Lester.” She crossed her ankles, beginning to dislike this rather overbearing man. “As I said earlier, I’m here to talk to you about your former employer, Mr. Thomas Willow.”

At the mention of the name, Lester’s face momentarily darkened, then his expression changed to the false melancholy of a true salesman. “Ah, poor Thomas. He taught me all I know. Such a dreadful end. I can’t imagine who would do such a thing to a defenseless old man.” Lester wrung his hands. “I was simply devastated to hear the dreadful news. Left to die by the roadside in the bitter cold of a snowstorm. Whatever is this world coming to, I ask you?”

Cecily watched him closely. “Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to hurt him?”

Now Lester looked shocked. “Goodness, no. True, there weren’t many people who liked him all that much, though I got along with him all right. He was rather a dour old devil, always seeing the worst in people. I used to say his only friend was his dog, and Thomas didn’t treat
him
very well. He was always kicking or slapping him about.”

He glanced over to a corner of the room, where for the first time, Cecily noticed a mangy-looking dog lay sleeping. “He’s a bit of a mess right now, but as soon as I have time I’m going to give him a bath.”

The dog looked as if it needed a lot more than a bath, Cecily thought, but she kept her comments to herself. “I understand you are managing the shop now,” she said, looking back at Lester. “Do you happen to know the new owner?”

Lester’s eyebrows twitched. “Oh, you haven’t heard? Thomas left me the shop in his will.” Again he uttered the brash laugh. “Of course, it will be a few weeks before everything is official, but I must keep the shop open for the customers.”

“How very fortunate for you.” Cecily paused, then added, “It must have been quite a pleasant surprise.”

Lester locked his hands across his chest. “Nobody was more stunned than I to hear the news, Mrs. Baxter. Most unexpected. Thomas once told me he planned to leave the shop to me but I didn’t believe him, of course. I thought he was merely saying that to keep me in his employ.”

Cecily pursed her lips, wondering just how truthful was that statement. “So you are happy with the arrangement?”

“Well, of course!” Lester sent a hunted glance at the door, as if he wished the conversation were over. “It isn’t every day someone gives away a thriving business. Of course, Thomas had no relatives, as far as I know. He never married, and there was no mention of siblings in his will.”

“I see.” She wondered how to phrase the next question, then decided to just ask it. “Can you remember where you were the morning Thomas died?”

As she’d suspected, Lester seemed offended by the question. He tossed his head, and smoothed back a lock of dark hair that fell across his forehead. “I was right here, Mrs. Baxter, where I’ve been ever since it happened, taking care of the shop as always. Thomas had taken Rex for his morning walk, and when he didn’t return at the usual time I became concerned, particularly since the snow had been falling steadily all morning. When Rex wandered into the shop without Thomas, that’s when I knew something was wrong. I was responsible for alerting the constables that he was missing.”

“I see.” Cecily glanced once again at the book by her side. “I understand that Mr. Willow was killed with a whip belonging to Jimmy Taylor.”

“So I understand.”

Lester’s mask of joviality had slipped considerably, and Cecily stepped carefully with her next words. “Was Mr. Willow acquainted with Jimmy?”

Lester blinked, then said quickly, “Ah, that I don’t know. I, however, did know the boy. I didn’t care for him. Rather a scrapper, if you ask me. Always looking for a fight. To be honest, if Jimmy hadn’t died first, he would have been my first suspect on the list.”

“Ah, but he did die first and, it would seem, killed by the same person who killed Mr. Willow.”

“Precisely.” Lester cleared his throat. “Well, if I can’t do anything more for you, Mrs. Baxter, I must ask you to excuse me. This is a busy time of year for us, as you know, and if I leave the apprentices alone for too long they tend to make a mess of things.”

“Oh, of course.” Cecily rose and followed Lester to the door as Samuel snapped to attention. “Well, thank you, Mr. Salt. I appreciate your time.”

“Not at all, Mrs. Baxter.” Lester opened the door, looking at Samuel as if he were something the dog had dug up. “Anything to oblige such a good customer as your husband. Please tell him I shall be happy to provide him with new shoes when the time comes.”

“I shall indeed.”

She was about to walk through the door when Lester asked abruptly, “Tell me, Mrs. Baxter, do you have a personal interest in Thomas’s death?”

Cecily smiled. “I take a personal interest in anyone in Badgers End who dies by violence, Mr. Salt. I consider it my duty to do what I can to see the killer apprehended and punished for his crime.”

“Very commendable, I’m sure.” Lester gave her a toothy smile. “Well, good day to you, m’m. Please visit us again.”

Not if I can help it,
Cecily thought, as she stepped briskly outside and down the pavement to where the carriage waited. She had taken a dislike to Lester Salt, and while it was none of her business where Baxter had his shoes made, she sincerely hoped he would find another shoemaker to keep him well shod.

Baxter was waiting for Cecily when she returned to the Pennyfoot. He had ordered their midday meal to be served in the suite, and together they enjoyed a large plate of ham, hard-boiled eggs, cheese, sweet pickle, sliced apple, and pickled onions, followed by a delicious pear tart and Devonshire cream.

“How is the investigation coming?” Baxter asked, as they sat on either side of the fireplace, sipping on a glass of delicious cream sherry.

Cecily, who had been anticipating the question, did her best to sound casual. “Quite well, thank you, though so far I have no answers. Other than the whip, I can’t seem to find what links Jimmy Taylor to Thomas Willow.”

Baxter grunted, took another sip of sherry, then murmured, “What surprises me is that no one saw either man killed. By all accounts, both men died in broad daylight. You would think someone would have seen something happening.”

Cecily put down her glass. “I doubt if many people were out walking in all this snow.”

“Maybe not when Thomas Willow was killed. But it wasn’t snowing when Jimmy Taylor died.”

Cecily stared at her husband. “You’re right. It wasn’t. I wonder . . .” She paused, considering his words.

Baxter raised his eyebrows. “You’ve thought of something?”

“I don’t know.” Cecily leaned back on her chair. “I was wondering if perhaps Thomas Willow saw who threw the rock at Jimmy, and therefore had to be silenced.”

“Ah!” Baxter nodded. “That would certainly explain the connection between them, don’t you think?”

“Perhaps. Then again, there’s the little matter of the gold angels and the missing locks of hair.” Madeline’s words came back to haunt her.
A mind that will stop at nothing
.

Unwilling to tangle with such thoughts right then, she brushed them aside. “Someone went to a lot of trouble to connect the victims. I think our villain is trying to send us a message.”

“Such as?”

Cecily shrugged. “I don’t know. I suppose when I find that out, I shall be closer to finding the killer.”

“Precisely, which begs the question: Why would he go to the trouble of giving you clues to his identity?”

“Perhaps,” Cecily said quietly, “he’s the kind of killer who enjoys playing a game.”

Baxter stirred, his face creasing into a frown. “I don’t like the sound of that. Perhaps you should think twice about helping out that confounded constable.”

Annoyed with herself for saying too much, Cecily managed a light laugh. “Don’t worry, Bax. I have no intention of playing games with a murderer.”

“I certainly hope not.” Baxter reached for the bell rope and gave it a tug. “I have some papers to take care of this afternoon. This blasted snow is preventing me from going into the city. I’m really considering moving my office down here permanently.”

She looked at him in surprise. “You are? I know we’ve mentioned the possibility in the past, but you’ve always been so reluctant to move your work back here.”

“That’s because I didn’t have an office of my own to work in.” He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. “Since you are so seldom in yours, however, I might as well use that one, and I can simply leave on those occasions that you need it.”

Cecily clasped her hands in delight. “I think that’s an absolutely wonderful idea.”

“I shall have to go into the city to clean out everything there, however.” Baxter walked toward the door. “I thought I’d go tomorrow if the trains are running. I’ll have everything transported down by the Royal Mail. I should get it all here before Christmas.”

Cecily followed him to the door. “I’m so happy for you, Bax. There’ll be no more getting up in the dark to catch the train, no more coming home late at night. You will be so much happier and rested working in the Pennyfoot.”

“I hope so.” He leaned over to drop a kiss on her cheek. “I haven’t entirely given up the idea of taking that position abroad, you know. If that should transpire, it will be much easier to make the transition from here than from the city.”

He was gone before she could respond. Worried now, she went back to the fireplace. She had assumed that he’d entirely dismissed the opportunity to open hotels in foreign lands. It seemed, however, that he was still harboring thoughts of such an enterprise.

She had weakened her situation considerably by asking him to release her from her promise. If he took that post now, she would have only herself to blame.

Miserably she stared into the flames. All she could hope was that finding this killer would be worth what it might cost her.

 

 

Gertie was in a fever of impatience for the midday meal to be over with, so she could get her twins ready for the great sleigh ride that afternoon.

There were only two guests still in the dining room—an elderly couple who seemed to take forever to eat their steak and kidney pie. Twice Gertie had been to their table to clear their plates away only to find them still piled high with pastry, meat, potatoes, and carrots.

“Are you going to finish all that?” she asked the woman, whose wrinkled face was so heavily powdered she looked like one of Lillian’s dolls. “You won’t have room for afters if you stuff all that in your blinking mouth.”

The gentleman peered at Gertie over his spectacles. “You are an impertinent young woman, and I shall complain to the head of the household about your rude behavior.”

Silently cursing her runaway tongue, Gertie tried to make amends. “Please forgive me, sir, but Mrs. Chubb has made some delicious pear tarts, and she put a dollop of brandy in them. I was concerned your lovely wife might not have enough room to enjoy them.”

“Oh, Wilfred, they do sound divine.” The woman pushed her plate toward Gertie. “Take this away and bring me some of those tarts.”

Her husband grunted and reluctantly surrendered his own half-finished plate. Gertie snatched them up and whisked them over to the dumbwaiter outside in the hallway.

“Two pear tarts,” she called down, as the plates descended. Impatiently tapping her foot, she waited for the sweets to come up.

“Ah, there you are.”

The deep voice behind her made her jump and she twisted around, breaking into a grin when she saw Clive. “What’re you doing here? Looking for something to eat?”

Clive chuckled, a deep sound in his throat that always made her smile. “I came to see you.”

“What about?” She looked at him anxiously. “Is something wrong?”

“No . . .” He hesitated, then added, “Well, yes. We’ll have to postpone our sleigh ride.”

“Oh.” Her crushing sense of disappointment left her weak. “The twins will be upset. They were looking forward to it.”

“I know.” His frown deepened. “So was I. Mrs. Fortescue wants me to put up the sets and wiring for her pantomime. She’s starting rehearsals in a day or so.”

Gertie pouted. “That old bat always wants something. Can’t the footmen do it?”

“They can and they will, but I have to supervise. Mrs. Fortescue doesn’t trust them to make the wiring safe.” He bent his head to look closer into her eyes. “She told me the twins are going to be in the event.”

Gertie shrugged. “Per’aps. I haven’t asked them yet. I was going to do that on the ride this afternoon.”

“Well, if they are going to perform, wouldn’t you want to be sure that everything on that stage is really safe and secure?”

“I suppose so.” She forced a smile. “You’re right. Go and do what that fussy old Phoebe Fortescue wants. We’ll go on the ride another time.”

His big hand descended on her shoulder in a friendly pat. “I knew you’d understand.”

She nodded. “Just hope the bloody snow doesn’t melt.”

He laughed, and she watched him walk all the way to the end of the hallway, the memory of his hand still warm on her shoulder.

 

 

Cecily hurried down the stairs, fastening her warm scarf under her chin. To her relief, Samuel was waiting for her in the foyer. Catching sight of her, he opened his mouth to speak, but she quickly silenced him with a finger at her lips.

Mindful of Philip watching them, she raised her hand, calling out, “If Mr. Baxter asks for me, Philip, please tell him I have gone into town and shall be returning shortly.”

“Yes, m’m.” Philip pulled a tablet toward himself, took a pencil from behind his ear, and scribbled something down.

Ignoring Samuel’s curious stare, Cecily headed for the door, forcing him to dart around her to open it for her.