The Wild Wood Enquiry (7 page)

“
One
police car,” said Miriam. “I can’t tell you more at present. Tomorrow, if you don’t mind, I’ll know more then. I’m sworn to secrecy at the moment.”

James, too, was familiar with Miriam’s love of a drama, and he laughed. “Fine with me,” he said. “Just as long as everybody’s still alive and kicking. So I’ll see you as usual tomorrow. Give my regards to Miss Beasley. I don’t suppose the secret had anything to do with Enquire Within?”

Miriam shrugged and left quickly, before James could break down her defences.

When she arrived at Springfields and was shown up to Ivy’s room, she was surprised to see Mr. Goodman there, too. Miss Beasley explained that he was part of the team, and it was always useful to have a second pair of ears to pick up anything she failed to hear.

“Not that I am hard of hearing, goodness me, no. But
you are a real mutterer, Miss Blake, so we would appreciate it if you could speak clearly and not into your boots.”

Not a good start, thought Miriam, but asked if Miss Beasley was aware that Gus’s ex-wife had been staying with her. Ivy replied that of course she knew, and what had that to do with anything.

“Nothing, I hope,” said Miriam, and explained as clearly and loudly as she could, looking Ivy straight in the eyes, that she and Rose Budd had been collecting plants and things in the woods and had seen a hand under the bracken. At this, Ivy chuckled. “The hand of the Baskervilles, I suppose,” she said, and Roy smiled at her witty riposte.

Miriam frowned. “It is not a joke, Miss Beasley,” she said. “I naturally told the police and took them to the place where we’d found it. But, to my horror, it had disappeared. Needless to say, the police were not impressed and went away, as good as saying I had imagined it.”

“Not surprising,” commented Ivy, but Roy was not so sure.

“Didn’t Mrs. Budd substantiate your story?” he said.

So Miriam had to explain why she had not told the police about Rose and what they planned to do next. “But I have a feeling it won’t make much difference,” she said. “They’ll think it’s a practical joke. I reckon Rose will get the same dusty answer as me.”

“So what would you like us to do?” Roy said. He had a soft spot for Miriam Blake, suspecting that, for all her faults, her heart was in the right place. What is more, he believed her.

“I would like you to find out who that hand belonged to and who killed him or her. I’m sure it was a human hand,” Miriam answered.

“And are you sure it wasn’t one of those plastic things
from a joke shop?” Ivy said, still sceptical. “It wasn’t a severed hand, was it?”

Roy smothered a smile, and asked seriously if they had tried to uncover an arm attached.

“Look here!” said Miriam crossly. “I have come here with a genuine job for you to do. I’m prepared to pay good money for an investigation, so if you don’t want to take it on, just say so, and I’ll get back to what me and Rose have to do.”

“Of course we’ll take it on,” said Roy hastily. “It is just part of our professional approach to make sure we shall not be taking your money with no chance of success. Now, if you are agreeable, we’ll get our full team together, and perhaps you will by then be able to tell us what further steps are being taken by the police.”

Mollified, Miriam said she would be in touch, and left Springfields with a lighter step. Everyone said Miss Beasley’s bark was worse than her bite, and Miriam knew that the team had had some real success in the past. She had no confidence in the police taking it further, even with Rose’s call, and Ivy’s question about a joke hand had convinced her that this was probably what the cops had thought.

By the time she reached the Budds’ house, she had begun to have doubts herself. There
was
a gang of youths in the village who found it hilarious to frighten old people living alone. But she was not old! And anyway, the ringleader had been warned by the police, and there had been no recent incidents. Besides which, why would the kids half bury a joke hand in a place where it was most unlikely to be found?

ROSE DIALLED 999 and waited for the answer. “Police, please,” she said, and nodded to Miriam. “She sounded really nice,” she whispered.

After that, Miriam said nothing while Rose told her story. She had obviously taken trouble to give a clear and truthful account, probably rehearsing it with David, and Miriam’s heart sank. It sounded exactly like a rehearsed speech, and when questions were asked, Rose stuttered and hesitated and said she was sorry, but she had fainted and could remember no more.

She did not want to upset Rose again and so said she thought that had been fine and no doubt the police would want to take the matter further. What had they said before she finished the call?

“Nothing much,” Rose said. “They thanked me for calling and said they would look into it. That was it.”

“I thought as much,” said Miriam, and told Rose about her meeting with Ivy and Roy. “If we don’t hear anything more from the police,” she said, “at least we’ll be doing something on our own account. Don’t think you have to be part of this, Rose, if you’d rather not,” she added. “I’m quite capable of handling it myself. And I’ve always got Gus next door.”

DEIRDRE SWORE. WHEN the telephone rang, she had been struggling with her head stuck in the slinky evening dress she planned to wear at this evening’s grand occasion at the Hall. She was to act as Theo Roussel’s hostess, and the great and good of the area had bought expensive tickets, comforted by the thought that profits were to go to the local branch of the RSPCA. As many of the guests were members of the Barrington Hunt, and since hunting with dogs was officially banned, this was a blatant attempt to sweeten the opposition.

Her dress now had a smear of lipstick on the front, and she grabbed the phone and said crossly, “Hello? Oh, Ivy, it’s you. What do you want? Yes, I am going to the ball. And no, not at all like Cinderella. No, I do not have to be home by midnight!” The old thing was losing her marbles, Deirdre thought. But Ivy’s next words reminded her that whatever else was aging with her cousin, it was not her sharp brain.

“I suppose you’ll be staying for breakfast, then,” Ivy said. “Still, it will be Sunday, so you can make it in time to confess in church. But enough of all that,” she continued. “You are an unattached female and must do what you like. Are you taking Gus? No, I thought not. Anyway, the reason I’m ringing is to warn you that we shall have Miriam Blake looking in on our meeting on Monday. Yes, Miriam Blake. She has a case for us, and Roy, in his wisdom, has decided it is genuine and not another of Miss Blake’s alarums and excursions.”

“I suppose it is not the vexed question of what to do about Gus’s ex-wife,” Deirdre said sourly.

“I hope not,” Ivy said, and then added that she was sure Deirdre had more titivating to do, so she would see her on Monday at the usual time.

Ivy’s next call was to Gus, who was also getting cleaned up to go out, but for him the trip was no farther than next door. Miriam had tempted him once again with a Lancashire hot pot, followed by plum pie and custard.

“Hello, Ivy,” he said politely. “How are you, my dear, and Roy, and what can I do to help?”

“A new case for us. Roy thinks it will be interesting and fruitful as far as fees go. Miriam Blake has been to see me and she will explain all when she comes to our meeting at Tawny Wings. Must go. Care assistant knocking at the door to come in and tuck up the old biddy! See you Monday, Augustus.”

Roy frowned at Ivy. They were sitting cosily in Ivy’s room, with hot chocolate and biscuits on her bedside table. “My dear,” he said, “you are certainly not an old biddy. I wonder if this would be a suitable time for me to remind you that we should fix a date when I can do all the tucking up that will be necessary.”

BARRINGTON HALL WAS looking its festive best. Bathed in late sunshine, the golden stone façade welcomed the procession of cars up the long drive. Theo and Deirdre stood in the flower-decked entrance engaging guests in cheerful banter about fox cubs and how many had mysteriously vanished.

Finally the last car had parked, and Theo said why didn’t they have a secret snifter in his study before mingling with the throng. Deirdre knew exactly what the snifter would lead to and said she really felt like dancing at the moment. Perhaps later on, when she would be tired and glad of a rest.

Sid and His Swingers were playing with gusto, and with alcoholic drinks flowing and a substantial buffet supper laid out in the dining room, the ball was clearly a success. Before the break for refreshments Deirdre approached Sid to remind him that food for the band would be in the library. As they put down their instruments, the saxophone player, a serious-looking man with a shock of dark hair, came up to her.

“Um, er, hello,” he said, and his voice was pleasant, his accent far from what Deirdre would have expected. Eton or Harrow, she thought, and was immediately intrigued. “I wonder if you can help me?” he continued. “A friend from London sent word to say she would be here and we were to look out for one another. Haven’t spotted her yet, thank goodness. I am anxious to avoid this meeting, if possible. You know, old flames and all that. No messages, I suppose?”

“If you give me your name, I can make some enquiries. And who is it you are hoping to avoid? I know most people here, so I am sure I can help.” Sounds a bit screwy, thought
Deirdre. I bet
he
fixed the meeting and has now thought better of it.

“Her name is Katherine Halfhide,” he replied. “I believe her ex-husband lives around here.”

Deirdre drew in her breath. “Ah,” she said. “I’m afraid you have me there. I have heard of her but never seen her. Perhaps Theo might help. Look, he’s over there waving to me. Why don’t you try him?”

WHEN DEIRDRE AND Theo finally escaped to his study, she at once asked him about the saxophone player. “What was his name? He dodged my question. Were you able to help?”

“Not really. I knew the chap, of course, son of an old friend. But I have never met Katherine Halfhide, and quite frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn about the ex-wife of my Hangman’s Row tenant. She sounds a frightful bore, and a nuisance to poor old Gus. If she’s reduced to hiring reluctant saxophone players who look like Rudolph Valentino, then he’s well rid of her, I would say. Come on now, my treasure, drink up and we can start to enjoy ourselves.”

“And his name?”

“Oh Lord, Deirdre, I’ve forgotten for the moment. Ask me later. Now, my lovely, forget about Valentino and come to your Theo.”

THERE HAD BEEN no word from Katherine, and Miriam had wondered about her for a while. Then she decided that Gus’s ex-wife was an impulsive woman and had gone back to London. Selfish, too, to leave without explanation. The only recurring thought she had now about her irresponsible guest was relief at her own lucky escape! No wonder Gus was so anxious about her turning up. She saw that two-faced Katherine could easily have been responsible for his original flight to Hangman’s Row in search of a hiding place. All the mystery surrounding him was now explained, wasn’t it?

“Now we’ve sorted that out,” she said to Whippy, who had come in from next door, hoping for titbits, “we can concentrate on the identity of that poor unfortunate person in the woods.”