Murder Most Unladylike: A Wells and Wong Mystery (21 page)

‘She must have had a reason,’ I said, although my mind was as blank as Daisy’s. Miss Griffin seemed to have everything, to want for nothing. She ruled Deepdean, had all the other mistresses running after her, was perfectly well-off, and even quite good looking, for an old person. ‘I don’t know what, though,’ I admitted.

‘Let’s be logical about this,’ said Daisy, squeezing my hand. Hers was beginning to feel more steady, although mine was still trembling. ‘We know she did it. Just as you said, we know when and how. Now all we need is to know why. Why do people kill other people?’

‘Money,’ I said promptly. Daisy has drummed these reasons into me enough times for me to know them by heart. ‘Power. Love. Fear. Revenge. But Miss Griffin had more money and power than Miss Bell anyway, so it can’t have been those.’

‘Likewise,’ said Daisy, ‘revenge seems unlikely. Miss Griffin could have simply not given Miss Bell the Deputy job, or fired her, if she wanted revenge for something. So that leaves Love and Fear. Well, what if – Hazel, tell me if this doesn’t make sense – what if Miss Bell was blackmailing Miss Griffin? Asking for money – or, no, the Deputy job – in exchange for keeping quiet about something? That would explain why Miss Griffin couldn’t simply fire Miss Bell.’

‘But Miss Griffin seems so perfect!’ I objected. ‘What could she be blackmailed about?’

‘Well, I don’t know,’ said Daisy, ‘but if she’s killed two people over it, it must be rather awful. What do you think, though? Am I right?’

Even then, in the middle of everything else going on in my head, I had time to be amazed. Daisy Wells, asking me what I thought about her detective work!

‘It does make sense,’ I said. ‘If anything does.’

‘Pity we can’t just ask Miss Bell about it, isn’t it?’ asked Daisy with a little chuckle. ‘Excuse me, but
why
were you murdered?’

‘Perhaps she left a note,’ I said.

Daisy chuckled again. Then she squeezed my fingers so hard that I yelped.

‘Hazel,’ she said, ‘that isn’t actually a stupid thing to say
at all
. As all my books point out, blackmailers do generally keep copies of incriminating documents in a safe place for insurance. What if Miss Bell did something like that?’

‘If she did,’ I said, squeezing back in excitement, ‘they might be down at school.’

‘
Yes!
’ said Daisy. ‘I bet Miss Griffin and Miss Tennyson were looking for them
as well
as the earring last week!’

Then we both remembered that Deepdean was rather a large place. We sank back into the coats, sighing.

‘No, wait,’ said Daisy, sitting upright again. ‘Let’s deduce. Miss Bell and Miss Griffin must have prearranged their meeting in the Gym – they wouldn’t have met there by chance on a Monday evening. So Miss Bell would have had time to prepare for it – and hide any evidence she was using to blackmail Miss Griffin. She would have put it somewhere safe, somewhere Miss Griffin wouldn’t have thought of when she was looking for it.’

‘So not the mistresses’ common room,’ I said. ‘And not the science labs, either.’

‘Too obvious,’ Daisy agreed. ‘Well, where do we know Miss Bell went on Monday night?’

‘The Gym,’ I said. ‘But there’s nowhere to hide something in the Gym. Jones would find it if it was in the Cupboard, and besides, it’s too close to the meeting place.’

Then, in a flash of something that Daisy would have called Sherlocky brilliance if it had happened to her, I saw the answer. ‘Daisy,’ I breathed. ‘
The cloakroom
. Right here! Remember the first former who found Miss Bell digging about behind the coats in here? We only used what she said to establish when Miss Bell left for the Gym, but what if Miss Bell was here to hide her evidence?’

Daisy said something extremely unladylike. Then she hugged me. I glowed.

‘Coat pockets!’ she cried. ‘Nobody ever uses these ratty old ones, they stay here until they rot away! It’s the perfect hiding place! Quick, Hazel, dig!’

And she began pawing through the pile of old coats that surrounded us.

Shivering with excitement, I hunted with her. We were on the trail again, I thought, as I shoved my hand into ripped and dirty pockets, pulling out snapped pencils and coat-furry sweets. Then my fingertips bumped against something large and cardboard-stiff that crackled when I squeezed it.

Holding my breath, I pulled it out and parted the coats in front of me to see that I was clutching a red notebook that said, in small precise letters on its cover,

‘Daisy,’ I said quietly. ‘I’ve got it.’

5

Daisy gave a whoop of triumph – but I couldn’t get past those two carefully inked words.

I got a chill all the way down my spine.
Verity Abraham
. She seemed to be everywhere. I know it sounds stupid, but at that moment I really
did
wonder if she was haunting me. I imagined her with her hanging-down hair and her bloodstained clothes and a hot-and-cold shiver ran through me.

Daisy didn’t see it that way at all. ‘Goodness,’ she said, peering at the book. ‘Verity. I say, that’s Verity Abraham!’

‘I know,’ I said shakily. It was funny to think that before Verity became my ghost girl she had been a real, ordinary schoolgirl at Deepdean, who ate biscuits and kept a diary. I took a deep breath, bent the spine open, and began to read.

‘Boring,’ said Daisy. ‘Skim to the racy bit. What? There must
be
one!’

I stopped reading with a gasp, and Daisy gave an undignified squeal. ‘Really!’ she cried. ‘Really! Oh, Hazel,
excitement
!’

And that was the last thing Verity wrote in her diary.

But it wasn’t the last thing in the diary itself. When Daisy shook it, two pieces of paper fell out.

The first was a short note, in Miss Griffin’s beautiful copperplate.