Kate Kingsbury - Death Is in the Air

“I say, Violet,” Martin protested.

“Well, we don’t have the right to supervise her private life.” Elizabeth looked at Martin. “You can sit down now, Martin. I’m leaving.”

“Yes, madam,” Martin murmured, remaining on his feet.

“I take it you enjoyed your dinner last night with your major,” Violet said slyly.

On her way to the door, Elizabeth paused. “Oh, I’m sorry, Violet, I meant to tell you how much we both enjoyed the meal. You surpassed yourself last night. Especially the trifle. It was quite your best effort ever.”

Violet looked immensely pleased with herself. “Glad to hear it, Lizzie. Only the best for you, that’s what I say.”

Elizabeth escaped through the door, before Violet’s questions could get any more personal. She didn’t want to talk about last night to anyone. It had been a special evening and hers to keep in her memory forever.

Right now, however, she had more serious thoughts to dwell on. There was the problem of the hostility in the village toward the Americans that had to be resolved. Even more pressing was the murder case, which was why she was anxious to get down to the police station as soon as possible. Someone had to stop Rita Crumm and her troops before the search for the German ended in more tragedy.

Both George and Sid were seated in the front office of the police station when Elizabeth arrived there a short while later. A light shower had dampened her Panama hat on the way, leaving the brim drooping dismally over one eye. The wet skirt of her wool dress flapped around her knees as she strode over to the desk, reminding her that there were definite disadvantages to utilizing a motorcycle as one’s sole mode of transportation.

All in all, she was not in her best mood when George greeted her in his usual brusque tones. “Morning, Lady Elizabeth! What can we do for you today?”

“You can put a stop to Rita Crumm’s ridiculous endeavor to get herself and her friends shot and killed, that’s what you can do.” Elizabeth sat down rather hard on the rickety chair in front of the desk.

Sid came over to stand next to George. “What she’s doing now then, m’m?”

“She’s taking her foolish little followers into the woods to hunt for that German pilot, knowing full well that the military is in there ready to shoot at anything that’s not wearing army boots and battledress.”

Sid tutted, and George shook his head. “Rita means well,” he muttered, “but she does get a little heavy-handed at times.”

“Means well? Is that all you can say?” Aware that she was sputtering, Elizabeth made an effort to sound more ladylike. “I insist that you do something to stop her. Someone could very well get killed out there.”

Sid nodded but obviously had nothing helpful to offer.

George looked worried. “Begging your pardon, Lady Elizabeth, but we can’t stop people going into the woods if they have a mind to go. It’s not like it’s private property or anything.”

“I’m perfectly aware of that. Since it is part of the Manor House estate, however, I can ask that you deem the area out of bounds until the pilot has been captured or the search has been called off.”

Sid nodded again then changed it to shaking negatively when George murmured, “I’m not sure we can do that, m’m. The first Lord Hartleigh made it very clear that the entire village and the surrounding lands, with the exception of the Manor House grounds, were to remain open and accessible to all residents of Sitting Marsh. No matter what. He signed and sealed it a hundred years ago. It’s hanging right up there on the wall of the town hall. Your own father was very protective of that law, if I remember rightly.”

Elizabeth gritted her teeth. Why was it that lately everywhere she turned the specter of her father loomed in front of her? “I’m well aware of my great-great-grandfather’s decree, George. However, a hundred years ago I doubt very much if he envisioned young men, most of them recovering from a drunken brawl, running around the woods with rifles using helpless housewives for target practice. I must insist that you take some action to prevent a possible disaster.”

George tapped a pencil on his blotter with maddening deliberation, while Sid looked sorrowful, reminding Elizabeth of a basset hound she’d almost purchased a while ago.

Finally George said heavily, “I suppose I could have a word with them.”

“I don’t think a word is going to stop Rita Crumm. You know how she is when she hears the call to battle. She takes up arms and charges into the fray like some inept Viking.”

“It’s all I have the authority to do, m’m. Until they do something unlawful, anyway.”

Elizabeth lifted her chin. “What if I were to tell you that they will be carrying carving knives with them?”

Sid gasped, while George looked alarmed. “Carving knives? Are you sure about this, m’m?”

“Well, no, not first hand,” Elizabeth had to admit. “Polly told Violet, who told me. But I’m sure-”

“Begging your pardon again, m’m, but I can’t see how I can arrest people even if they are carrying a knife. Not without murderous intent, that is.”

Elizabeth curled her fingers into her palms. “George, they are not going on a picnic. Why else would they carry knives?”

“To protect themselves? These are dangerous times after all, what with a murdering Nazi running around the woods. Then there’s the rest of his crew. What happened to them? What if they met up with our bloke, and now there’s a crowd of them out there, all gunning for us? We could all be stiff’uns before the day is out.”

“God save us all,” Sid muttered, clutching his chest.

Elizabeth had to admit she hadn’t thought of that. “All the more reason you should stop Rita before she takes those fools into the woods,” she snapped.

“That’s as may be, m’m, but if Mrs. Crumm is determined to spend the day in the woods with her friends, there isn’t a whole lot I can do about it. My advice is to just let them be.”

She glared at him in frustration. How someone could manage to look like a saintly monk yet be so infuriating was beyond her. “George, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were afraid of tackling Rita Crumm.”

“When it comes down to facing a bunch of hysterical women armed with bread knives, m’m, I’d say that a certain amount of prudence is called for,” George said carefully.

“Carving knives, George. There’s a difference.”

“Yes, m’m.”

“Lady Elizabeth’s right, George,” Sid said eagerly. “My Ethel’s bread knife has got little jagged edges on it, but the carving knife is bigger, and it’s got a strai-”

“I know what a bloody carving knife looks like,” George growled, “so pipe down Sid, and let me take care of this.” He glanced up at Elizabeth. “Please excuse us, m’m.”

“You’re excused.” Elizabeth folded her gloved hands in her lap. Obviously, as usual, she would have to take care of Rita and her troops herself. Abandoning the subject, she said tersely, “What about that army lieutenant, Jeff Thomas? Have you spoken to him?”

“Yes, m’m, I have.” George’s expression suggested he was doing his best to humor a particularly trying client. “Lieutenant Thomas has not left the base for the past week. He’s in quarantine in the sick bay. Chicken pox, I believe.”

Elizabeth straightened in her chair. Then obviously it wasn’t Jeff Thomas who was arguing with Amelia the other night. So who had spent the evening with the dead girl? Who had argued with her late at night beneath Sheila’s window? Could it have been Maurice after all?

Feeling disheartened, Elizabeth asked, “Did you question Sheila Macclesby yesterday?”