Screaming Yellow (20 page)

Chapter 18

Jean sat nestled against pillows, her bedroom curtains closed against the heavy April rain. Amanda stood once more at the side of her bed, holding the saucer for the cup she was drinking from.

The soft light of twin bedside lamps illuminated the girl standing at the foot of her bed. Jean sipped her tea thoughtfully, admiring Catherine’s silent form.

“I don’t care that my brother-in-law dismissed you. Do you still wish to leave?” she asked. “Whatever you and Robert argued about can remain between you and his grave. I am perfectly willing to let you start again with a clean slate. A cook like you is hard to replace.” She finished her tea and replaced the cup on the saucer. Amanda moved it to the silver tray and waited for further instruction.

Catherine looked up. “I do, ma’am. I was never one of Sir Robert’s chosen and I’ve a bit of a hankering to go back to Bridlington. I miss the sea, ma’am.”

Jean rubbed her eyes and inspected the grain of sand lodged under her fingernail. “Very well. I believe the severance terms are a week’s wages for every month you have been with us.”

Amanda handed her the accounts book and she totted up the sum in her head. “I’ll round up it up to fifteen hundred pounds.” Her voice softened. “I’ll give you an excellent reference, of course. I hope you’re happier wherever you find yourself next.” She made an entry next to Catherine’s name.

Catherine dipped her head. “Thank you, ma’am. It’s nothing personal. I just have a different path to tread, I think.”

“As you like. We wish you well.” Jean nodded a dismissal and handed the accounts book back to Amanda. “Just leave it on my desk. I’ll make a bank transfer after the inquest. Set out the black again. I’ll be happier when I can discard the mourning black, but I must still play the grieving lady of the house.”

* * * *

The verdict of the inquest was that the death of Robert Markhew was by misadventure–murder by a party as yet undetermined.

Meinwen caught up with Inspector White outside the courthouse. “What will you do now?”

“Instigate a full alert for Richard Godwin.” White handed the case files to Sergeant Peters and opened his umbrella. “We’ll soon have him behind bars. Even if he didn’t do it, I’ll warrant he knows who did.”

“Do you think he saw the killer and is now in fear for his own life?” Meinwen pulled her black woolen coat closed, flipping the hood up to protect her hair from the rain. It always went frizzy when wet.

“Anything’s possible. It would explain why he vanished so abruptly if he’s innocent.” White pulled up the collar of his raincoat.

Simon hurried up to them. “Is there any progress on the case? Has Richard turned up yet?”

“No and no,” said Meinwen. “Death by misadventure and the police have begun a search for him.”

“The poor lad.” Simon was hunched against the rain but White made no move to offer him space under the umbrella. The hem of Simon’s cassock was already sodden where it flowed from beneath his coat. “The evidence points to him, does it?”

“Not yet.” White increased his pace. “But until we’ve questioned him he won’t be ruled off the suspect list.”

Meinwen stayed at his side. “I’m still certain he’s innocent. I’d feel it if he weren’t. That phone call to Simon from the station is the clue. If we could find out who made that call it would go a long way to solving the crime.”

White laughed. “Finding the murderer would go a long way to solving it as well.”

“Did that letter that Robert received when I was there ever turn up?” Simon asked. “The one from Grace Peters?”

“No,” White said. “I would be very interested to see that. It might shed some light on the fingerprints we lifted off the knife as well.”

Meinwen chewed her lip. “They didn’t match anyone in the house, did they?”

“Unfortunately not.”

“Did you compare them with Robert Markhew’s? I wouldn’t be surprised if the killer is trying to confuse you.”

“What makes you say that?” White paused and looked at her, one eyebrow raised.

“We know that Robert must have held the blade. If the murderer wore gloves it stands to reason that the only ones on there would be his.”

“That’s partially true.” White began walking again. “We did indeed lift Markhew’s own fingerprints off the knife, but they were in the wrong position, as if he was holding it to his own chest.”

Meinwen nodded. “I think I can explain that.”

“Oh? That’s interesting. How would you know why he’d held the knife to himself? We have no reason to think he was suicidal.”

“He wasn’t.” Meinwen touched his arm lightly. “My shop is just up that way.” She pointed to the alleyway leading off the market. “I can’t really show you my theory in a public place.”

White gave her a curt nod. “Very well. Lead on.”

* * * *

“Imagine I’m Robert Markhew,” said Meinwen in the relative privacy of her shop. The floor was fairly clear now, since she had spent so much of the previous day getting the place ready to open. Neither Simon nor the inspector looked too closely at the contents of the shelves.

White frowned and sat back in the hard chair. “You’re a little small to be him but I can suspend disbelief for a few minutes.”

“Good.” Meinwen glanced at Simon, sitting in her grandfather’s chair to watch. “Now imagine that you’re a woman.”

White laughed. “That’s a little more difficult. Do you want me to speak in a high voice?” He shared a grin with Simon, like two schoolboys with a private joke.

“Don’t be silly.” Meinwen picked something up from her desk and approached White’s back. “Now don’t turn around. Imagine that you’re in love with me.”

“All right.” White sounded dubious. “I’m not though. I’m very happy with my Beryl, thanks.”

“Good for you.” Meinwen patted his back. “This is just pretend. I’m Robert Markhew, remember?”

“Go on then.” White took a deep breath and shrugged twice. “Oh, Mr. Markhew. “I’m so in love with you that I want to have your babies.”

“That’s a little over the top.” Meinwen snaked an arm around him. “Close your eyes.”

“No funny business.” White twisted his head to grin at her. “Remember there’s a priest watching.”

“Shush. Close your eyes.”

“If you say so.” White winked at Simon and did as he was asked.

Meinwen changed hands and held a piece of cold steel to his neck. “I’m going to cut your clothes off,” she said. “I’m going to cut off the buttons one by one with this knife until you’re completely naked.”

“Oh yes?” White said. “What then? Assuming I don’t break both your arms and have you arrested?”

“You wouldn’t because you love me and you’d do anything I asked you to.”

“That doesn’t include cutting my buttons off,” said White. “Beryl would have a fit.”

“Okay, that’s enough.” Meinwen sighed. “Open your eyes. This was supposed to be a sexy bit of foreplay between a virile man and a woman desperate to please him. Look at the knife I’m holding.”

White opened his eyes “It’s a letter opener.”

“Yes,” she said, “but look at the way I’m holding it with the blade toward you and my thumb almost touching the butt of the handle. Which way ’round are my fingerprints?”

“Oh yes.” The inspector raised his eyebrows. “They’re the wrong way ’round. Very clever.”

“There.” Meinwen put the letter opener back onto her desk. “That’s my theory, anyway. The killer wore gloves and the only time this knife was used before the murder was for sex games.”

“It certainly looked plausible to me,” said Simon. “If I wasn’t a priest…” He laughed.

* * * *

“Inspector White, Father, Miss Jones.” Amanda answered the front door to The Larches. “Is this an official visit?”

“It is.” Meinwen bustled past her. “We need to talk with Mrs. Markhew, if you please.”

Amanda led them past the crime scene tape of the study to the sitting room. “I’ll inform the mistress of your presence.”

Meinwen caught her arm. “We also need to talk to Mary, Peter and Nicole. Could you ask them to come as well, please?”

“Yes, miss. Right away.” Amanda hurried upstairs.

Susan Pargeter came in from the direction of the kitchen. “Would you like refreshments? Tea, coffee?”

“That’s very kind of you.” Meinwen glanced at the Inspector’s stony face. “Tea for me, please. Caffeine free, if you have it.”

“Nothing for me.” White looked toward the stairs

“Father?”

“Oh. Ordinary tea, please.” Simon beamed at her. “You are too kind.”

“I don’t think we’ve got any caffeine free.” Susan frowned. “Would you like coffee instead?”

“A sprig of fresh thyme in water then.” Meinwen smiled.

“Hot water?”

“Yes, please.”

“Right you are.” Susan left, pausing at the door to make way for Jean Markhew. Mary and Nicole followed, with Peter arriving just as Susan returned with the drinks. He took the tray and set it on the table.

“What’s this about?” asked Jean, looking from the inspector to Simon and Meinwen.

“We need to know where Richard is. The longer he stays away the more incriminating the evidence against him. At the moment it’s only circumstantial but…” She looked at Mary.

“Me?” said the girl. “I don’t know where he is. I haven’t seen him since before Uncle Robert was murdered.”

“Haven’t you been in contact with him?” Meinwen indicated the expensive cell phone dangling from her wrist.

“No. He doesn’t answer his phone. I told you that.” Mary’s face creased. “I swear I don’t know where he is.”

“Does anyone else?” Meinwen looked at each of the others in turn. They all shook their heads. “Does anyone know anything more at all, even if it doesn’t seem important?”

“All that I can say is that it’s a good thing that we haven’t announced the engagement.” Jean brushed an imaginary speck of dust from her black dress. “I don’t want Mary’s good name sullied. He’s obviously guilty.”

“How can you say that?” Mary asked. “You’re talking about the man I’m engaged to.”

“She doesn’t mean it.” Peter put a hand on her shoulder and she clutched at it.

“I certainly do.” Jean stood. “Inspector, what will happen to the estate if Richard is found guilty?”

White cleared his throat. “You can’t profit from murder. Richard’s portion would be divided proportionately between the other beneficiaries, I imagine. The details would be up to the executor.”

“Then I shall get on to Ms. du Pointe shortly and tell her the will is being contested.”

“How can you be so callous?” Mary clutched at her mother’s arm. “Richard and I are supposed to get married. Nicole, will you put a formal announcement in the paper?”

“Er…” Nicole looked to her employer.

“She will do no such thing.” Jean very deliberately extracted her arm from Mary’s grasp. “It would be imprudent until this murderer is caught and behind bars.”

“Meinwen?” Mary turned to her. “Can’t you talk some sense into Mother? Richard and I are supposed to be in love.”

“I’m sorry.” Meinwen shook her head. “I have to agree with Mrs. Markhew. You’ve been engaged for a while. I doubt that another few days would make a difference. If it is true love, what difference does a formal announcement make?”

Mary gave a deep sigh and slumped. “I suppose so. I just wish everyone didn’t assume my fiancé is the killer.”

“We don’t,” Meinwen replied. “But we need to find him to clear his name. I will discover who killed Robert Markhew if I have to summon his ghost and ask him personally. I will find out the truth in spite of you all.”

“What do you mean, in spite of us?” asked Nicole. “You make it sound like we’re trying to hide the murderer from you.”

“Not the murderer, perhaps,” said Meinwen, “but each of you has a secret that they don’t want exposed. Not just one, in some cases.” She looked at each of them in turn.

“I don’t know what you mean,” said Jean. “I resent your accusations in my own home.”