Wherever Lynn Goes (7 page)

“Thought I heard someone out here,” he said. “Miss Morgan?”

“I'm Miss Morgan. This is my friend Amanda Hunt.”

“Pleased to meet you both, though I'm sorry it had to be under these unhappy circumstances. I'm Constable Plimpton, out of uniform, I'm afraid, but it's being let out. Doughnuts are my downfall. Sergeant Duncan's just popped out to fetch a fresh bag. These are stale. I was in back, taking Old Mike his tobacco. He's our only lodger at present. Likeable old chap, but he
will
go setting his traps in Lord Cooper's woodland. Been a poacher all his life.” Constable Plimpton shook his head. “I 'spect you'll want to know all the details of the case, Miss Morgan. Dreadful thing, dreadful, first murder we've had in Cooper's Green since 1948. Old Colonel March seemed such a harmless fellow—eccentric, of course, but then, most oldsters are. Bred Pekineses, he did, won several prizes. Collected old china. Who would have thought he'd go off his rocker like that …” A deep frown furrowed his brow. “Reggie March was the last person I'd nominate as likely to murder someone, but facts are facts.”

“Are you quite sure he did it?” Mandy inquired casually.

“Oh, no question about it. He was seen tearing out of the house that night—young Cooper saw him. Cooper found your aunt's body, Miss Morgan, told us over the phone he'd seen the Colonel running away, and by the time we reached his cottage Reggie March had already shot himself. Put a bullet through his head, he did, not a pleasant sight to behold. Sprawled out in front of the fireplace, his gun on one side, the knife he'd used to stab Miss Daphne on the other.”

“Did he leave a note?” I asked.

“No need for one, miss, not hardly. The facts spoke for themselves. They'd been quarreling, you see, him and Miss Daphne. Had a big feud going for weeks. He was … uh … more or less courting her, took her to all the church socials and so on. They'd had a falling out because she wanted to go to an auction and he insisted on staying home to tend to one of his bitches who was having pups. Uh … when Miss Daphne was crossed she could be pretty vindictive. Quite a few people have cause to remember that, myself included. No disrespect, Miss Morgan, but your aunt wasn't exactly the most endearing lady in these parts.”

“I'm well aware of that.”

“The inquest was held this morning. They reached the same verdict we did. Not much question but what they would. Case closed. There are a few details I need to discuss with you, Miss Morgan, and a couple of papers I'd like for you to sign. Sit down, both of you. Here, let me clear the magazines off that chair. Young Doug
will
leave them scattered about …”

He gathered up a stack of magazines devoted to health foods and weight lifting, dumped them on the table, and then sat down behind his desk. Putting on a pair of reading glasses, he began to search through the piles of paper in front of him. I sat down at the chair he had cleared, but Mandy preferred to lean against the other desk, a speculative look in her eyes. She wasn't at all satisfied. That was quite obvious. She listened carefully as Constable Plimpton explained several points and read various reports in a tedious, official voice. When he finished, I signed the required papers, as relieved as he was.

“Unpleasant, this, most unpleasant,” he muttered, slipping off the glasses and shaking his head slowly. “Reggie March, the last person in the world I'd have thought … You just never know. Seen a lot of peculiar things in my time, miss, and that's a fact.” He shook his head again, ruffled the papers on his desk and sighed. Business behind him, social amiablility replaced it. “Are you going to be staying long, Miss Morgan?”

“I don't know. I'll have to see about selling the house.”

“I reckon Clive Hampton will help you there. Not the most cheerful man I know, but quite efficient. He told you about the funeral arrangements, did he?”

“Yes—yes, he did.”

“The whole village'll show up, I suspect. Not much happens in a place this small, and the murder caused quite a sensation, as you can imagine. Everyone knew your Aunt Daphne, of course, and everyone knew the Colonel. Both of 'em were more or less local characters. Both will be missed. Your aunt had her faults, miss, that I won't deny, but she kept things lively with her shennanigans.”

“I imagine she did.”

“Great sportswoman. Sat a horse with real distinction. Of course, that was a long time ago, but how well I remember her in that red coat, hair flying in all directions as she jumped a fence. I think I remember you, too, Miss Morgan. Didn't you live with her a while?”

I nodded. “My father and I came to live with her when I was five. He left for Australia soon after, and I stayed on with Aunt Daphne until I was thirteen.”

Constable Plimpton gave me a peculiar look, as though what I said had puzzled him. “Uh … yes, seems like I remember that. Was a long time ago. Will you and your friend be staying at the inn?”

“We plan to stay at the house.”

He looked slightly dismayed. “Well … I reckon there's no reason why you shouldn't. Perfectly safe. Young women these days have a lot more gumption, aren't so easily shook. Everything's in working order, lights, water, gas, and … uh … the bloodstains have been removed. I think young Cooper stayed on to keep an eye on things—”

Before I could ask him who young Cooper might be, the dog outside gave a happy yelp and bounded heavily into the office. He was followed immediately by a handsome blond giant carrying a bag of fresh doughnuts. I hardly recognized Sergeant Duncan, so different did he look in his tailored dark blue uniform. It fit glove-tight, emphasizing broad shoulders and slender waist, trousers displaying long, muscular legs. His black leather boots were highly glossed. His silver badge was shiny. He had an air of authority and confidence that had been missing when he was in civilian clothes. He took the dog by the collar and put him back outside, heaving a manly sigh. Turning around, he stared in confusion when he noticed Mandy leaning nonchalantly against his desk.

“So there you are!” Plimpton cried. “It took you long enough to fetch 'em, lad. I suppose you were flirting with that flashy piece at the bakery. What's her name—Alice? Up to no good, that one. You'd best watch your step, Duncan.”

Mandy's yellow dress was cut exceedingly low, and Sergeant Duncan was unable to take his eyes off her. He merely nodded, not hearing a word his superior said. Mandy smiled as only she could, lifting one brow in a pronounced arch.

“You've met Miss Morgan,” Plimpton continued. “This is her friend, Miss Hunt.”

“Hello,” Mandy said.

Sergeant Duncan lowered his brows, trying to look stern. He gave her a curt nod and marched over to the table to put down the bag of doughnuts. He missed the table. The bag plopped loudly onto the floor. Blushing, he bent to retrieve them.

“What kept you, lad?” Plimpton asked.

“I stopped by the school auditorium to see how they were coming along with painting the backdrop. It's almost done. Lady Cooper's lending us some authenic period furniture. Sporting of her, considering how clumsy some of us are.”

“Doug's an active member of our amateur theater group,” the constable explained. “He has the leading role in the new play, this boy. Not much of an actor, but the ladies like to look at him. Did Mark Antony last year, and three women swooned when he came out in 'is short tunic and sandals. I expect him to be leaving the force for the film studios any day now.”

“Not bloody likely,” Duncan said gruffly, painfully embarrassed.

Although he was in his late twenties, Douglas Duncan had a clean, boyish freshness that would be vastly appealing to any woman. Perhaps it was those innocent blue eyes and the thick, wavy blond hair. Perhaps it was his shyness, so unusual in a man his size with such obvious physical prowess, and the total lack of sophistication. There was something immediately endearing about him, and I could tell that Mandy was enchanted.

“I'm sure you're very talented,” she said.

Another blush tinted his cheeks. “It's just something I do to pass the time.”

“Quite the ladies' man, Doug is. Comes on shy and helpless, but don't let that innocent look fool you, miss. He's got half the lasses in town breaking their hearts over 'im.”

Sergeant Duncan scowled, giving his chief an angry look.

“Come on, lad. A little razzing never hurt anyone. A fine boy, this one. Best man on the force, takes his work very seriously. Judo expert, too, though he rarely gets a chance to use it. You can feel safe with Douglas Duncan on the job.” Clearly, the constable was very fond of his young sergeant.

Plimpton got to his feet. I reached for my purse and stood up. Mandy leaned against the desk. The sergeant's arms were folded across his chest, his head tilted to one side. He looked at Mandy as a small boy might look at a shiny new toy in the window of a shop.

“You going to be at the old house?” he inquired.

Mandy nodded.

“I'll come out after I get off duty and have a look 'round, see that everything's all right.”

“How sweet of you.”

“What'd I tell you?” Plimpton said, a twinkle in his eyes. “Very fast worker, Sergeant Duncan. If he starts pestering you too much, Miss Hunt, you just give me the word. I'll keep him in line.”

Sergeant Duncan followed us outside. Opening the car door for Mandy, he watched her climb in. She accomplished this with considerable grace, showing an inordinate amount of leg.

“How tall
are
you?” she asked.

“Six foot four,” he said proudly. “You like tall men?”

“I
adore
them.”

No one opened the car door for me, but I was accustomed to being ignored when Mandy was around. Sergeant Duncan closed the door on Mandy's side and stepped back, looking very stalwart and impressive in his uniform. The sheepdog bounded about him, trying to get his attention, but young Douglas had eyes only for Mandy. She rolled down her window and waved as we pulled away, and then she sat back, extremely pleased with herself.

“Divine,” she said. “Utterly.”

“He's quite attractive,” I agreed.

“
Sweet
. That's the only word to describe him. Maddeningly sexy, of course, and not nearly as innocent as he looks.”

“Interested?”

“Not this trip,” she said firmly. “I intend to relax and do a lot of reading. It gets rather tiresome—all these men hanging about. Naturally I'll be
polite
to him …”

I smiled, certain we would be seeing quite a lot of the sergeant during the time we were here.

We passed the green with its bronze horseman rearing on a marble pedestal, pigeons roosting cozily behind him, colorful flowers blooming in neat square beds. Across the way stood the vast brown church with shadowy courtyard and a copper spire rearing above the oak boughs. A sign in front announced the jumble sale, and several busy-looking women were unloading a wagon heaped high with old lamps and birdcages and discarded clothing. We drove over a stone bridge and down a lane of small cottages, several with thatched roofs, each with its own garden. Mandy was amazed to see a flock of geese waddling imperiously along the side of the road, but I assured her it wasn't an unusual sight in these parts. Many of the villagers still kept poultry, and grew their own vegetables as well.

Leaving the village behind, we followed a poorly paved road that led through cultivated fields with cows grazing behind low stone walls. In a few minutes the fields were behind us, too, and heavy woods lined either side of the road. I drove slowly because of the bumps, but even so the Rolls groaned in protest. Peculiar noises came from beneath the floorboards. I hoped we would be able to return Brent's car with all its parts still intact. Mandy sighed, smoothing down her yellow skirt.

“What did you think of Constable Plimpton?” she asked casually.

“He seemed rather nice.”

“Very,” she agreed, “but I wouldn't say he was the last word in efficiency. Would you?”

I had to agree that I wouldn't.

“Even
he
seemed to find it hard to believe that Colonel March murdered your aunt. Nice old gentlemen who collect china and breed Pekineses rarely butcher people, no matter how hard they're pressed.”

“Evidently he did.”

“Evidently,” she repeated. “Things aren't always what they appear to be, Lynn.”

Swerving to avoid a hole in the middle of the road, I shook my head in resignation, knowing full well that Mandy would have all sorts of theories about the murder. It would be too much to expect for her to accept the obvious solution, the one the authorities had already agreed upon.

“Too many weapons,” she said firmly.

“Oh?” I might just as well humor her, I thought.

“If he planned to kill her, why didn't he shoot her? Why did he
stab
her, take the knife back home with him, and then shoot himself? It doesn't add up, Lynn.”

“Perhaps not, if this were one of your thrillers. Things aren't always so tidy in real life.”

“This is
too
tidy,” she continued. “By the time the police got there, everything was neatly wrapped up. An open-and-shut case of murder-suicide, with nothing left dangling. If there had been a note, I might buy it, but there wasn't.”

“He didn't need to leave a note. His reasons for killing himself were obvious.”

“The motive isn't there, either.
Why
did he kill her? Because they'd had a falling out. Totally absurd. If he were a hot-blooded Latin thirty years old and passionately in love, perhaps, but I hardly think escorting her to a few church socials and bingo games constitutes a grand passion. If even half the things you've told me about your aunt were true, the Colonel was probably relieved to be rid of her. How old
was
he, by the way?”