Kate Kingsbury - Death Is in the Air

“There was a big fight in the pub tonight,” Sam said as they pulled out onto the coast road. “The British army were there and got into a brawl with our boys.”

Polly gasped. “You weren’t hurt, were you?”

“Nope. We got out as soon as it started, but judging from the noise going on in there, I bet there were a few bloody noses and black eyes.”

“Oh, my. I bet Ted Wilkins was fit to be tied. He keeps threatening to shut down the pub if they keep having fights in there.”

“Well, I reckon it was worse than usual because of all the army boys in town looking for the murderer.”

“They still haven’t found him yet, then?”

“Doesn’t seem like it.” He sent Polly a sideways glance that thrilled her to bits. “Can’t say I’m sorry if it gives me an excuse to take a gorgeous dame like you home.”

His words made her sigh. He’d called her gorgeous. He made her feel like a real woman. She knew what it was like now, to be really in love. Not like those silly little crushes she’d had on the English boys. They all seemed so childish now. Now that she had a real man to love. Hugging herself, she leaned closer to him, tingling with the anticipation of his goodnight kiss.

Sleep eluded Elizabeth until the early hours of the morning, and when she did finally drift off, her dreams disturbed her with images of a headless woman chasing German soldiers through the woods.

Her lack of sleep made her feel out of sorts as she made her way down to the kitchen that morning, and the news that the British army had spent the entire night combing the woods without finding any trace of the German pilot did nothing to settle her brittle nerves. Violet, who had heard the news from Polly, also informed her that Rita Crumm was rounding up her troops to hunt for the escaped pilot.

“They’re supposed to meet at the village green at ten this morning,” Violet said, putting a steaming plate of porridge in front of Elizabeth. “Polly’s mother’s going with them.”

Elizabeth looked at her in alarm. “Someone could get badly hurt with all those soldiers searching the woods.”

“I’d worry about the soldiers if I were you. Polly said the women will be carrying butcher knives.”

“That’s got to be illegal. Someone has to stop them before things get out of hand.”

“Seems to me things are already getting out of hand. Ooh, that’s something else Polly told me.” Violet went to the door and stuck her head into the hallway. “Martin!” she yelled. “Your porridge is ready!” She came back shaking her head. “That man. I swear he’s going deaf.”

“I’d be surprised if he wasn’t. After all, he’s in his eighties. Something’s bound to wear out at that age.”

“If you ask me, it’s his blinking mind that’s wearing out,” Violet muttered. “He keeps nattering on about the master being back. He’s giving me the willies now.”

Remembering the major’s words, Elizabeth decided it was time to change the subject. “What was it that Polly told you?”

Violet picked up a large wooden spoon and stirred the rest of the porridge. “There was a big fight down at the pub last night. Our lads and the Yanks got into it, according to Polly. Made a right mess of the place before it was over.”

Elizabeth stared at her plate. “We have to do something about that. I think I’ll call a meeting of the town council. Perhaps we can come up with some ideas of how to end this resentment of the Americans.”

“It’s going to take more than a council meeting to do that if you ask me.” Violet ladled porridge into a bowl. “At least this time they can’t blame the murder on a Yank.” She carried the bowl over to the table and set it down. “I wonder what Rita Crumm and her lot would do if they came across that German.”

“Probably run for their lives,” Martin said from the doorway. “That’s if they’ve got any sense. That blighter would run them through with a bayonet if they got anywhere near him.”

“He’s not carrying a bayonet,” Elizabeth remarked. She lifted a spoonful of porridge in the air. “He must be pretty hungry by now.”

“Not thinking of taking him your porridge, are you?” Violet asked as she filled a third bowl with the oatmeal.

Martin gasped. “I should say not! I would hope madam has far too much prudence than to consider such a dangerous venture.”

“Madam does,” Elizabeth assured him. “I was just wondering if the poor boy is hungry enough to give himself up.”

“That poor boy killed a young woman, so stop feeling sorry for him,” Violet said, seating herself at the table. She looked up at Martin, who hovered by his chair. “Are you going to sit down, or are you waiting for your porridge to get cold first?”

Martin cleared his throat. “May I have your permission to join you at the table, madam?”

Elizabeth answered automatically. “You may, Martin.”

“Thank you, madam, but if I may say so, your proper place is in the dining room at the dining room table. The master is very unhappy to see how badly proprieties have been neglected at the Manor House.”

“Then I should think he was delirious last night,” Violet said crisply. “Especially when you nearly dropped the soup all over Lizzie. If you ask me, she’s a lot safer right here in the kitchen.”

Martin was too busy concentrating on getting his creaking body down on his chair to answer her.

Elizabeth glanced at her. “How did you know about the soup?”

“I was watching from the doorway, wasn’t I. The old fool insisted on taking it in, and I was holding my breath all the way. I nearly had a heart attack when I saw it slipping, until your major caught it.”

Elizabeth frowned. “Once and for all, Violet, he’s not my major, and I do wish you would stop calling him that.”

“Methinks you do protest too much,” Violet murmured.

Ignoring her, Elizabeth cleared her plate, then laid down her spoon. “I have to go down to the police station this morning. Would you ring the council members for me and have them meet me at the town hall at half past two this afternoon?”

“I’ll get Polly to do it. She likes using the telephone.” She tilted her head to one side. “You know, I’ve been thinking, maybe you should give some thought to her helping out in the office after all. With all the running about you’ve been doing lately, it must be hard for you to keep up with all the accounting.”

Surprised, Elizabeth rose to her feet. “Has she been talking to you about it?”

Martin painfully pulled himself up out of his chair, while Violet gulped down a spoonful of porridge. “Never shuts up about it. I’m tired of listening to her.”

“Did she ask you to mention it to me?”

“I sort of promised I’d say something.” Violet looked up at her. “Not that I’m saying you should take her on, of course. I don’t want to be blamed if she messes everything up.”

Elizabeth sat down again. “I suppose I could use some help in the office.”

Martin, who had frozen midway in his effort to rise, lowered himself on the chair.

“Well, it’s up to you, Lizzie. I’m not the one to tell you what to do.”

“Does she have any experience?”

Violet shrugged. “Not that I know of, but she seems intelligent enough to learn. You’d probably have to be behind her at first, but I think she’d do all right. It would get her off my back with her whining all the time.”

“Well, I’ll think about it.” Elizabeth got to her feet once more. “Though she’ll still have to find time to clean the house.”

Martin sighed, then struggled off his chair.

“She’ll have plenty of time,” Violet assured her. “She doesn’t have enough to occupy her now, and working in the office would stop her from hanging around the east wing all the time. She’s too blinking young to be running after men. Especially hot-blooded ones like those Yanks.”