Screaming Yellow (30 page)

“No.” Meinwen brought the tea over and sat. “I don’t think she killed her uncle but I do think that she took the money then pretended to come out of the study. That’s why she wouldn’t let Amanda go in. She assumed her uncle would ask Amanda where she was, since she hadn’t said goodnight, thus proving she hadn’t been in the study at all.”

White sipped his tea and made a face. “What is this?”

“Tea, like you asked.” Meinwen winked. “The soy milk takes a bit of getting used to.”

“Soy?” He looked into his drink. “Is there any sugar?”

“No. I’ve honey or molasses if you want it sweetened.”

“No sugar?”

“Just honey. Take it or leave it.”

“I’ll leave it, thanks,” White put the mug down.

* * * *

Mary found Peter in the garage cleaning off the lawnmower. The grass had been a little too damp and had caked the blades in wet cuttings. He was rubbing it down with an oily rag.

“Peter?” Mary sauntered into the half darkness.

“Mary? Do you need something?” Peter stood, picking up a clean cloth to wipe his hands. “What is it?”

Mary stepped closer, running a hand over his chest. She’d watched her mother do that with her father, a long time ago. She leaned in close and whispered in his ear. “I want you to fuck me, right now, right here in this shed.”

Peter dropped his rag.

* * * *

Meinwen and the inspector followed Amanda through the house and out the kitchen door. “I’m fairly sure she’s in the garden. I saw her go toward the sheds about half an hour ago.” The maid pointed the way.

“Thank you.” White walked along the path and around the side of the house. They could hear noise coming from the garage, like someone kicking a metal plate over and over. They headed toward it.

White saw the tangled limbs and coughed loudly, turning away. Meinwen was not so prudish. “Don’t mind us. You carry on. It good to see the influence of the rampant god at springtime. Copulation is a perfectly natural response to the flood of growth throughout the land.”

Mary shrieked and disentangled herself, stepping away from Peter and pulling down her skirt.

Meinwen smiled. “I’m glad the potion worked. Lovely morning for it.”

White waited until they were both decent, studiously ignoring the way Peter was smoothing his hair with sticky hands. “Can we have a word, Miss Markhew?”

“Anything you say to me can be said in front of Peter. I trust him absolutely, and I have no secrets.” Mary’s tone was reminiscent of her mother’s but without the power.

Meinwen smiled. “I think you do, Mary. I think that on the night of your uncle’s murder you stole a hundred pounds from his bedside table, and only pretended you’d said goodnight to him at nine forty-five to cover that up.”

Mary’s eyes flickered between the two of them. “You’re right.” She took Peter’s arm. “I did take it. I’ve had to do a lot of that just to get by on the pitiful allowance he gave me. I’m fed up with lying about where I get my clothes and jewelry. I asked for a bigger allowance a hundred times but he’d never give it to me. Mother used to give me some. She remembers how expensive it is to be young.”

“Did Richard know?”

“Probably.” Mary shrugged. “He used to have to do things on the side as well. We’re very similar.”

“She’s just protecting me.” Peter threw off her touch. “Mary knows I took the money under orders from Mrs. Markhew.”

“Don’t be silly, Peter. Do run along now while I talk to these people.”

“Run along?” Peter spat on the floor. “If that’s the way you want it.” He stalked out.

“Peter!” Mary took a few steps as if to follow him. “Don’t be like that.”

Meinwen watched him go. “Richard didn’t really propose by webcam, did he?”

“No.” Mary sat on the wing of the lawnmower. “It was in the back room of the White Art. We figured a marriage would please Uncle Robert and leave us free to pursue our own interests. We’re just good mates really.” She rearranged her skirts. “I know that he didn’t kill Uncle Robert.”

“So where is Richard Godwin?” White asked.

“I honestly don’t know.” Mary’s voice rose in pitch, convincing Meinwen she was indeed telling the truth. “His phone’s been switched off since Tuesday.”

White sighed. “You’ve led us a merry chase, Miss Markhew. I’ve a good mind to arrest you for perverting the course of justice.”

“Why? All I did was borrow a hundred quid.”

White’s voice dropped to an icy monotone. “Because of your lie, Miss Markhew, we were under the impression that your uncle was still alive at nine forty-five. Now he may have been dead before that. Everyone’s alibis will have to be re-examined.”

Mary shrugged. “Sorry. I was just trying to protect myself.”

“At the cost of how many lives, Miss Markhew?” White turned and stalked back to the house, pulling out his phone.

Meinwen went the other way and caught up with Peter. “Don’t be too hard on her.”

Peter stopped, rubbing his eyes with his hands. “I don’t know what to do about her. She begs me to…to love her and then treats me like a child.”

Meinwen put a hand on his arm. “She’ll grow into herself. She’ll be her mother’s daughter.”

Peter gave a derisive bark of laughter. “Do you think so?”

“Yes.” Meinwen nodded. “She just doesn’t know what she wants yet. She doesn’t love Richard, if that’s any help.”

“She doesn’t?” Peter looked confused. “But I thought…”

“It was an engagement of convenience.” Meinwen picked a sprig of early mint. “Made to please her uncle.”

* * * *

The funeral went well, Jennifer thought, watching the clouds scud past the vestry window late that afternoon. It had been a good turnout for the old boy. His entire household had come, though several had commented upon Richard’s absence. Mr. Waterman and his friend had stood respectfully at the back, leaving a handsome donation for the church upkeep fund as they left. Inspector White and his sergeant had stood even farther back, probably in the hope of apprehending Richard if he turned up. There were a few reporters but on the whole the funeral had passed beneath the journalism radar.

She’d watched the mourners at the graveside, knowing each was wondering who had reduced the charismatic Robert Markhew to the occupant of a plain pine box. They had filed away in silence, each mourning the man who had touched their lives so profoundly. A marker had already been commissioned in the local granite and a passage from the Bible would be engraved to ease him to redemption. Her brother had been shaking his head as he read the closing prayers. Much as she had liked the man, she didn’t expect to meet him in Heaven.

Grace Peters’s quiet memorial had been less well attended. Only Susan Pargeter and Inspector White had joined them for the five-hundred yard journey and witnessed the pot being placed in unconsecrated earth. An engraved slab would show the final resting place of a murderess. If no one else commissioned it, Jennifer intended to pay for it out of her own pocket. The woman had given her the plot of her next novel.

Chapter 28

Meinwen watched the sad little ceremony from a discreet distance as Grace Peters’s ashes were interred. She took out her phone. “Directory enquiries? I’d like a number in Coventry, please. Harry Thomas. Thank you.”

She waited to be connected. Who would have guessed that Old Tom was named for his surname?

“Two-three-nine-four. Hello?”

“Harry Thomas? My name is Meinwen Jones from Laverstone. May I ask if your brother is available?”

“Aye.” The line went quiet. “Fred? A young lady on the phone for you.” A moment later the line crackled again. “Hello?”

“Fred Thomas? This is Meinwen Jones, in Laverstone. It’s very important that I ask you a couple of questions, if I may.”

“Aye. Go on then.” Meinwen heard a whistle of breath.

“Are you Old Tom, the gravedigger?”

“I am. What’s this about?”

“Can I ask why you left so suddenly.”

“It wasn’t sudden, like. Not Really. Father Brande said to take a couple of weeks off.”

“I see. And you caught the late train?”

“Aye.”

“Thank you, Mr. Thomas.” Meinwen disconnected and looked up to see that the small service had ended, then watched as Jennifer and Simon walked back to the church and Inspector White and Susan Pargeter headed toward the car park. She intercepted them as they left the cemetery, feeling suddenly awkward in front of the bereaved woman. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Susan started. “My loss? I liked the old dear and felt sorry for her, that’s all.”

Meinwen put a hand on her arm. “I know the truth and I know your secret. Can we talk?”

Susan glanced at the cars in the car park. Most of the residents of The Larches had left at the end of Robert’s funeral. “I should get back to the house.”

“It is important,” Meinwen insisted. “We could go somewhere private.”

The inspector raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure there’ll be a spare room at the station. We could talk there.”

Meinwen shook her head. “Thank you Inspector, but that would be a little intimidating, don’t you think? My shop is only five minutes’ walk away. We’d be comfortable there.”

Susan pulled away. “I really have to get back. Another time, perhaps.”

“Ms. Pargeter.” White drew himself up to his full height. “Things will go badly if you don’t talk to us now. We suspect the murder of Robert Markhew was committed earlier than we originally thought. That means that your son no longer has the alibi of being in the White Art public house.”

Susan paled. “My son? You know about him?”

“The truth does not hide from the Goddess. Nor from the eyes of those who have the patience to see.” Meinwen extended an arm. “Shall we?”

Susan nodded. “Let me just phone the house then and tell them I’ll be a bit late back.”

Meinwen nodded. She and the inspector withdrew a few feet to allow her to make the call in private. He tapped her on the arm. “Could you leave off the mumbo-jumbo? I prefer ‘crime doesn’t pay.’”

Meinwen patted his arm. “That’s right. Usually it’s the insurance companies that fork out.”

* * * *

It was a good day for croquet, Jean thought as she measured the distance between her ball and Nicole’s. Robert’s favorite game–other than “hunt the sausage”–seemed a fitting tribute to the man she’d treated like a brother since her husband died. The balls flowed gracefully over the dense mat of freshly tended lawn and Amanda had served drinks in her funeral attire. She judged they had time for another game before the sun got too low to play, leaving her just enough time to thrash the staff before dinner.

* * * *

Meinwen led the way into the shop and sorted out another two chairs, placing them in a triangle to promote conversation. “Do sit. We just want a little chat with you.”

Susan did as she was asked, glancing from Meinwen to White and back. “What about Jack? Is he in trouble?”

“He is if he doesn’t have an alibi.” White sat on one of the remaining chairs. “I can soon have him dragged back here unless he can prove he isn’t the murderer.”

“He isn’t. Jack’s a good lad who works hard at his studies. He was with me from seven until nine.”

“What were you doing?” Meinwen sat back in her chair, her hand straying to her pentacle necklace. Holding it seemed to stave off her headache.

Susan rubbed her face with her hands. “He needed money. He’d had an argument with his father and wanted to move out and get his own place nearer the university. He lives about ten miles from it, you see. He told me he was coming and I dashed off to meet him from the train. That would be about seven. I took him for dinner at that Italian place on Cheap Street.”

“I know the one.” White wrote it down. “La Caverna. I can check that.”

Susan nodded. “We talked for about an hour and a half. I can recommend the carbonara, by the way.”

“Thanks. I’ll give it a try.” White looked up. “Beryl likes a good meal out.”