Wherever Lynn Goes (22 page)

By the time she came bustling back with the lemonade, I was completely composed.

“Here you are, ducky. Drink this.”

“Thank you,” I said, smiling. “I—I was just feeling a bit tired.”

She wasn't about to be diverted. “Do you know who he is?” she asked in a low, eager voice.

“I haven't the vaguest notion.”

“I wonder what he wants. The way he was lookin' at you—it gave me the creeps.”

I took a sip of the iced lemonade, stalling, knowing I had to be very careful.

“I shouldn't worry about it,” I said lightly. “He's probably just some tourist who heard about the sale and stopped in. Listen, it's almost three. I haven't had a customer for quite some time. I wonder if you could find someone to relieve me? I have ever so many things to do, and—”

“I know, ducky,” she said, immediately sympathetic. “You're still broken up over the funeral. Well, all the cakes've been sold. I'll get Nell's niece to take over for you. This has all been such a shock for you …”

The Rolls was parked in front of the church, Mandy sitting behind the wheel. She seemed distracted, a thoughtful look in her eyes. She gave me a vague, absent-minded smile as I climbed in beside her.

“I found several books,” I told her, tossing the parcel into the back seat. “Three Chases, three Cheyneys.”

“Marvelous, luv. How was it? Dreadful?”

“Dreadful,” I replied.

Her mind was definitely elsewhere. She started the car and pulled away from the curb, circling the square, heading for the outskirts of the village.

“What did you do this afternoon?” I asked.

“Oh—nothing much,” she said evasively. “I solved the problem about dinner, though. There was a charming little delicatessen in Merrymead. I bought some wonderful goodies—a baked chicken, ham slices, potato salad. It's all there in the box in the back seat.”

“Did you go to the library?”

“Mmm-hmmm,” she murmured. “I'll tell you about it later, when we get home.”

“Mandy,” I said hesitantly. “Something happened at the jumble sale. That man—the one Myrtle saw—he was there.”

“Oh?”

She didn't seem at all surprised. I described him to her, described my reactions, told her how he had been staring. I expected her to bombard me with questions, but she merely swerved to avoid a deep rut and drove on down the road. I was disappointed, and mystified as well.

“Did you phone the police?” she asked casually.

I shook my head, staring through the dusty windshield at the low-hanging branches that almost scraped the top of the car.

“Lloyd asked me not to tell the police anything yet. I'll be so glad when this is all over.”

“It soon will be,” Mandy said. Her voice sounded strange. She hesitated for a moment. “Lynn—everything is going to work out fine. I promise.”

It was an enigmatic statement, and Mandy was acting most peculiarly, almost as though she were part of some conspiracy I knew nothing about. I remembered that mysterious conversation she and Bart had had in the kitchen, their worried looks, and I remembered her telephone calls this morning. She had taken care to speak low so that I wouldn't overhear anything. Why? We had no secrets from each other. I was still puzzling over this as we turned up the drive and approached the house.

Mandy parked in the garage, and as I got out I noticed the large empty space where Bart's car had been. I closed my mind to that. I wouldn't think about Bart, not now. He was gone. I told myself I was glad, but the sense of loss remained. We went inside, carrying the parcels with us. The house seemed larger than ever, emptier. I was acutely aware of the deserted rooms, the peculiar silence. The atmosphere was different. I had a feeling that the house itself was waiting for something to happen, but Mandy didn't seem to notice anything. She closed the door and, seeing my expression, asked me what was wrong. I couldn't explain.

“It's just—don't you feel a difference?”

“Difference? I don't know what you're talking about.”

“There's—something in the air. I can sense it.”

“You're tired, pet, and seeing that man upset you. You're imagining things.”

Mandy went on down the hall to the kitchen to put the food away, and I stepped into the parlor, unable to shake the feeling that something was amiss. The room was a dim, shadowy blue until I opened the draperies to let in the sunlight. Wavering rays slanted through the French windows like pale yellow fingers touching the edge of the carpet. I sat down, and the house seemed to settle around me. I knew I was tired, and I
had
been upset, but this peculiar feeling had nothing to do with that. The very silence seemed ominous. I stared at the red lacquer box sitting on the table. I had brought it down from the attic this morning, but I didn't remember placing it there. Surely I had left it in my bedroom.

Mandy came into the room, looking sensational in her melon pink slack suit with the wide brown belt. She looked bothered, too. Something was preying on her mind.

“Mandy, I—I'm certain I left this box in my bedroom. Did you bring it down here?”

“The box? Oh, yes. I brought it down while you were in the bath. I wanted to glance at the letters again.”

“You're still not satisfied with them, are you?”

She didn't reply. She stepped over to the window and looked out, her back to me. She wasn't herself at all. She finally turned around, and her velvety brown eyes were grave.

“There's something I have to tell you, Lynn. I—I don't know whether I should or not. Maybe it would be—”

“What is it?” My voice was strained. “It's about the letters, isn't it?”

“Yes, luv,” she said. She sat down on the large, overstuffed chair, and I could see that she was still debating whether or not she should tell me what she had discovered.

“You found out something about my father,” I said.

Mandy looked into my eyes, nodding slowly.

“Something unpleasant,” I added.

“Lynn,” she began, “when we stopped by the police station to talk to Constable Plimpton, he said he thought he remembered you. You told him you stayed on with your aunt after your father left for Australia. I don't know if you noticed or not, but when you said that he looked—puzzled. He covered up quickly, changing the subject, but I could tell that something had momentarily thrown him.”

“I remember that. I didn't pay any attention to it at the time.”

“When I saw the letters—well, they bothered me. Something wasn't right, I knew that immediately, and then I remembered Constable Plimpton's reaction. I drove to the police station after I let you out at the church. Constable Plimpton was extremely evasive when I asked about your father. He didn't want to discuss it. ‘Some things are best left alone,' he said. ‘The girl believes her father went to Australia. What good would it do for her to learn the truth now?' I finally convinced him it was important, and he gave me the basic facts. He wasn't in office when it happened. I had to go to Merrymead for the details. They have a large library there, with all the back issues of the London papers on file.”

“He didn't go to Australia,” I said calmly.

“No, luv, he didn't. Your aunt told you that to protect you. She told all her friends the same thing. Evidently she had some influence with the local newspaper editors, because the story never appeared in any of them. It was hushed up completely. Only the local police knew what happened, and they kept quiet out of respect for your aunt. The London papers, however, carried full reports. Are—are you sure you want to hear this?”

“Quite sure.”

“Your father already had a police record when he brought you to Devon. Nothing really serious, but—he was known to the police. Perhaps he came here to get away from his criminal associates, start a new life, and raise you in a different atmosphere. It didn't work out that way. Perhaps he was disillusioned with country life and realized his sister wasn't the genteel old maid he'd imagined and was unsuitable to look after a young niece. Perhaps he thought he could pull one last job and realize enough to completely break away—that's all supposition. Five months after bringing you here, he and one Herb Sheppard robbed a London jeweler, killing a clerk and fleeing with a fortune in uncut gems. The police eventually tracked them down to this house. Both men were captured.”

“What part did Aunt Daphne play in all this?”

“She apparently knew nothing about the robbery until the police showed up. Her brother had told her he was bringing a friend to stay with them for a few days. She was horrified when she learned the truth. Both men were tried, convicted, and sent to prison.”

“Then—he isn't dead?”

“He died of a heart attack in his cell thirteen years ago,” Mandy said quietly.

“I—I see.”

I looked at the pretty, poorly constructed red lacquer box on the coffee table. He must have made it in one of the prison workshops. He must have made the doll, too, the one I had been so fond of. My father may have been many things, but he had loved me. I knew that in my heart. It was my one consolation now.

“I—I'm glad you told me, Mandy. Somehow it makes it easier to know he didn't willingly go off and leave me.”

“I thought you might feel that way. That's why I decided to tell you.”

“What happened to the jewels? Did they find them?”

Mandy shook her head. “They were never recovered. Sheppard claimed he didn't know what had become of them, and your father refused to reveal anything. The police searched this house from top to bottom. They searched Sheppard's flat in the city. They found no trace of the jewels, none whatsoever. They eventually decided your father had turned them over to some third party. He—he died with his secret.”

We were silent for several minutes. The rays of sunlight reached farther into the room, and the clock ticked loudly, monotonously. When I finally spoke, my voice was surprisingly calm.

“All this has some connection with Aunt Daphne's murder, doesn't it?”

“I suspect it does, luv.”

“And the phone calls—they have some connection, too.”

“They might. I—don't know.”

I stood up, amazed at my own calm. I refused to be upset. I refused to give way to the panic that was building up inside. It would accomplish nothing. I had to hold on. I had to.

“Lloyd will be here soon,” I said, and there was only a very slight tremor in my voice. “He—he'll know what to make of this. He'll know what to do. I'm not going to worry about it. I'm going upstairs to freshen up for him. Everything is going to work out fine. You said so yourself.”

“I know. I just hope …”

“Yes?”

“Nothing, luv. Pay no attention to me. You run on upstairs and put on something smashing for Lloyd. I'll just sit here for a while. There are some things I need to think about.”

I hesitated, looking at her closely. She tried to appear casual, but it didn't quite come off. There was something else, something she still hadn't told me. I didn't question her. Mandy might be competent enough on stage and on television, but she could never hide anything from me. She was extremely worried. I wondered why. I had likened the various incidents to pieces of a giant jigsaw puzzle that were fitting together to make an alarming picture. I had a feeling the last piece would soon fit into place.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

It was shortly after four when I came back downstairs. I was wearing a soft blue silk dress sprigged with tiny lilacs. My hair was brushed to a shiny gloss. I had applied just enough make-up to emphasize my natural coloring, and I knew that I was looking my best. It had a therapeutic effect. Lloyd would be here soon, and he would take everything in his strong, capable hands, and there was absolutely no reason to worry. I felt almost lighthearted as I stepped into the hall.

“It's out of the question,” Mandy was saying, holding the telephone receiver to her ear. “I know, luv, I appreciate that. I know you went to a lot of trouble setting it up—” She looked up at me, frowning. “No, it isn't that I'd love to play one of Charles the Second's mistresses. Really. I'm tired of Maisie. Yes, it would be a real break. BBC is—I would be there if I could, but something has—” She broke off, listening, her eyes full of patient resignation. “Yes, yes, of course. He saw me as Maisie and he thinks I'd be perfect. It's a chance of a lifetime, I grant that—” She sighed. “I know, luv, it
is
important. Ordinarily I'd leave an iron lung to audition for the part, but—” She paused again, making a face, and I could hear an urgent voice on the other end of the line. “All right, Herbie. I'll try. I promise. If I'm not there they'll just have to use someone else. What? Yes, I understand your position. Hmmm? Okay. Sure. Good-bye.”

“Your agent?” I inquired.

She nodded. “Himself. Talk about irony. BBC is starting a series on Charles the Second, and the producer saw one of my commercials. He thinks I'd make a terrific Nell Gwynn and wants me to audition for the role, but the auditions are tomorrow morning at ten. I tried to explain to Herbie why I couldn't be there but he wouldn't listen. I'd love to do that part, but—”

“Why can't you be there?”

“I couldn't possibly go off and leave you alone here. It would be unthinkable—”

“I wouldn't be alone. Lloyd will be here.”

“I know, but—”

“Don't be absurd,” I said firmly. “You can get a train and be in London tonight. Opportunities like this don't turn up every day. There's absolutely no reason why you should pass it up.”

Mandy protested vigorously. She was torn by indecision. I could see that she desperately wanted to make the audition, but she was worried about leaving me. I assured her that I would be perfectly all right, that Lloyd would certainly arrive before dark, and that I wouldn't dream of letting her miss such a spectacular opportunity. When she continued to protest, I simply picked up the telephone, called the train station, and made a reservation for her on the five-thirty train for London. I hung up and told her we'd better get upstairs to start packing.