Kate Kingsbury - Death Is in the Air

“It is really, I suppose.” Elizabeth leaned forward to finger a pale green silk gown hanging close by. Normally she bought all her clothes in London, staying overnight to give herself plenty of time to explore Harrods as well as the little boutiques in Oxford Street. Since the death of her parents, however, shopping in London had lost much of its charm.

“How much is this?” she murmured. The dress was a tad shorter than she was used to wearing, but she rather liked the flow of the skirt and the somewhat daring neckline was very flattering.

“It’s rather expensive,” Rosie said. “Five pounds, eleven shillings.”

Elizabeth almost smiled. In the days when she’d had money, she’d thought nothing of spending five times that amount on a dress. Now she would have to think twice before splashing out on this one.

There was the dance tomorrow, of course. She hadn’t been dancing since her marriage to Harry Compton. Harry didn’t like dancing. But then, Harry hadn’t cared for any of her favorite pursuits. All Harry had worried about was which horse race to bet on, or which dog would win the Gold Cup.

It would be rather nice to go dancing again. And she hadn’t bought anything in ages. “I’d like to try this on,” she announced.

Rosie’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? How wonderful! This will look absolutely gorgeous on you, m’m. I just know it.” She showed Elizabeth into the minuscule dressing room and left her to try on the dress.

After removing her skirt and jumper, Elizabeth pulled the cool, slinky fabric over her head and let it fall into place. The shimmery green skirt clung to her hips, making her look at least five pounds slimmer. The color brought out the green in her hazel eyes. It was very definitely her dress. Just wait until Major Earl Monroe saw her in this little number.

The second the thought entered her head she was swamped with guilt. For a moment she was seized with an urge to tear off the dress and throw it in the corner where it couldn’t tempt her anymore.

In the next instant she chided herself for being so juvenile. After all, she wasn’t buying the dress for him. She’d had no intention of buying anything when she’d come to the shop. She had just as much right to buy a new dress as anyone else. Even if the money would be better spent on the gurgling water pipes.

Still arguing with herself, she slipped out of the gown and back into her sensible clothes. Then, with the dress draped over her arm, she walked back out into the shop, half afraid that the entire population of Sitting Marsh was waiting outside to sit in judgement of her.

Rosie was still alone, however, waiting for her with an expectant smile on her face. “How did it look, m’m?” she asked with an obvious and quite unsuccessful attempt not to seem too eager.

“Rather nice, actually.” Shutting off the accusing voice in her mind, Elizabeth handed over the gown. “I’ll take it.”

“That’s wonderful. This will look so nice on you, m’m. Shall I have it sent up to the house?”

“No,” Elizabeth said hastily. “I’ll take it with me.”

“Ah, going to wear it to the dance, m’m, are we? Very nice, too.” Beaming, Rosie bore the creation away to be wrapped.

Elizabeth wandered around the shop while she waited, only half listening to Rosie’s chatter from behind the counter.

“I don’t normally carry such an expensive line in my shop,” she said as she carried the package back to Elizabeth. “But I fell in love with this one. Would have liked it for myself, really, but I can’t afford to pay that much for a dress.”

She handed the package to Elizabeth, who took it from her as tenderly as if she were accepting a newborn baby. “Just put it on my account,” she murmured automatically.

“Er-you don’t have an account at Finnegan’s, Lady Elizabeth.” Rosie looked embarrassed. “But I’ll open one for you right away, of course.” She scurried back to the counter and began scribbling in a small ledger.

Feeling guilty again, Elizabeth waited for her to finish. She could hardly tell the woman that she didn’t have enough cash to pay for the dress until the monthly rents were in.

When Rosie finally closed the ledger, Elizabeth handed her the buttons she’d been carrying in her pocket. “I was wondering if you’ve ever seen buttons like these before,” she said casually. “They look as if they might come from a military uniform, though I don’t recognize the emblem on them.”

Rosie took the buttons and examined them. “They’re not military buttons,” she said at last. “The shanks are too fancy. I’d say they are more like blazer buttons, made to look as if they’re military.” She frowned, then added, “Wait a minute, m’m. I think I know where I might have seen buttons like these before.”

She hurried out from behind the counter and crossed to the far wall, where a line of coats hung from a rack. “I’ve only just brought these out since the cooler weather came in a few weeks ago. They’ve been in storage since last winter, so I’m not sure but-” She broke off with a muttered explanation. “I thought so. Here.” She pulled a navy blue reefer jacket off the rack and carried it over to Elizabeth. “See, m’m? They’re identical.”

“So they are,” Elizabeth said slowly. “Have you sold many of these jackets lately?”

Rosie shook her head. “Not cold enough yet, is it, m’m. I’ve only sold two so far. One to Captain Carbunkle-he buys a new one every year-though I don’t know why. I’ve known these things to last ten years or more.”

Elizabeth lifted the sleeve of the thick, heavy wool garment. “And who bought the other one?”

“Sheila Macclesby. She was just in here day before yesterday. She told me Maurice had outgrown his old one, but if you ask me he probably lost it. That Maurice has never been right in the head. Makes me wonder how he ever gets the work done, now that Wally’s not there. ’Course, the land girls help out a lot, I suppose, but I always say farming is men’s work…”

Elizabeth nodded, listening with only half her mind. The other half was remembering the shiny buttons on the reefer jacket hanging in the cowshed and the blackened ones she’d dug out of the bonfire. There didn’t seem any doubt now that the land girls had been right. It looked very much as if Maurice Macclesby had killed Amelia.

Had he had the presence of mind to hide his reefer jacket in the sacks to be burned? It seemed doubtful. More likely, his mother heard him arguing with Amelia that night and possibly discovered the body later. She could have seen the blood on Maurice’s jacket and burned it to protect him.

Elizabeth thanked Rosie and left the shop, her mind still mulling over the possibilities. Sheila could also be the one who hid the body in the woods, hoping to place the blame for Amelia’s death on the German. All possible, but how in the world was she going to prove it?

The evidence had been destroyed; the murder weapon-if the spade was, indeed, the murder weapon-had been throughly cleaned. The only witness to the murder would die herself before she incriminated her son. Elizabeth sighed. Once more it appeared that she was up against a solid brick wall.

The next day passed in a flurry of activity as everyone worked together to prepare for the dance. Elizabeth had been quite pleased with Polly’s work in the office the day before and decided to delegate some more duties. Thus leaving her more time to concentrate on the dance.

She’d tried to catch Major Monroe before he left that morning, in the hopes of finding out exactly what he planned to bring in the way of spirits, and was quite disappointed when informed by one of his officers that the major had left for the base in the early hours of the morning.