Kate Kingsbury - Death Is in the Air

Violet gave her a sharp look. “How’s that? George and Sid are going to keep him a prisoner, aren’t they? They’re not going to turn him loose? After all, he is a German bomber pilot. The same kind who dropped the bomb on London that killed your parents, remember?”

Elizabeth gave her a wry look. “I’m not likely to forget that. And no, they won’t turn him loose. In fact, the last I heard, George was telling everyone that the prisoner would be hung for murder. What I meant was, I don’t think he killed Amelia Brunswick.”

“Then who did?”

Elizabeth met Violet’s curious gaze. “I’m pretty sure I know, but I can’t prove it. I really don’t want to say anything until I’m certain I’m right. At this point I’m afraid it’s all conjecture.”

Obviously disappointed, Violet shrugged. “Well, if you feel like that.”

“The thing is,” Elizabeth said slowly, “I keep getting the feeling that I know how to prove it. I just can’t quite pull it out into the open.”

Violet’s eyes narrowed with interest. “Something you saw, perhaps?”

Elizabeth thought about it. “No. It’s more like something someone said, I think. Darn, I wish I could remember.”

“Stop trying. It will come to you in a flash, you’ll see. Happens to me all the time. I wake up in the night sometimes shouting the answer. Good job I never married. I’d scare a husband to death.”

Elizabeth nodded. “I suppose you’re right. Thinking so hard about it makes my head ache anyway.” She sniffed the air. “The soup smells good.”

“Oxtail. Lucky to get it. Jack Mitchem didn’t have much in the shop today-just some scrawny-looking chickens and some fatty pork. Maybe you could ask your Major Monroe if he can bring us some more steak.”

“He’s not my major,” Elizabeth muttered, relieved that Violet couldn’t see the way her heart jumped at the mention of his name.

“You never did tell me why he’s wearing a bandage on his head.”

“His plane went down in a field, and they had to get a lift back to base.”

“Oh, my!” Violet clutched her throat. “Poor man. What about the rest of them? Are they all right?”

“Just bruises and cuts, Earl said.” His name had slipped out without her thinking.

She saw Violet’s eyes widen with understanding. “Earl now, is it,” she said softly.

Elizabeth sighed. “I decided it was time to join the modern world, that’s all. Everyone seems to be on a first-name basis nowadays. Must be the war, I suppose.”

“The war changes a lot of things.” Violet tilted her head to one side. “I just hope you know what you’re doing, Lizzie.”

“I’m not doing anything, so you can stop looking at me like that.” Elizabeth sought to change the subject. “I left Polly to finish entering the notes from the council meeting into the ledger. Do you know if she finished them?”

Violet looked frustrated at being robbed of what promised to be an interesting conversation. “I don’t know if she finished them or not. The last I saw of her she was looking for the vacuum cleaner. Said she’d lost it. How can you lose a vacuum cleaner, I ask you?”

“It isn’t lost,” Elizabeth murmured, only half paying attention. “I saw it standing at the end of the great hall last night, so I put it back under the stairs where it belongs.”

Violet sniffed. “Well, isn’t that just like that young lady. The last place Polly would ever think of looking for something is the very place where it should be.”

Elizabeth stared at her. “That’s it,” she said at last. “Violet, how long will it be until the soup is ready? I have an important visit to make, and I need to do it as soon as possible.”

An hour later Elizabeth arrived at the Macclesby farm.

Maisie hailed her as she crossed the yard to the farmhouse.

Elizabeth returned the greeting. “Is Mrs. Macclesby in the farmhouse?” she asked as Maisie turned away.

“No, your ladyship.” Maisie hooked a thumb in the direction of the cowsheds. “She’s in there, shredding up mangolds. Kitty was supposed to do it, but she took sick. Something she ate, I think.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I hope she soon feels better.” Elizabeth hurried over to the sheds, where she could hear the sound of the hopper. Inside one of them she found Sheila, busily turning the handle of the large wooden box, while the beets bounced and rattled around before the blades shredded them to pulp.

Sheila looked surprised to see her and immediately let go of the handle, brushing her hands down her stained apron. “Lady Elizabeth! You always seem to catch me when I’m looking my worst. Can I offer you a cup of tea or cocoa?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “I don’t want to interrupt your work.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that.” Sheila waved a hand at the hopper. “It’s almost done, and one of the girls can finish it off later. I don’t want you standing around a drafty old shed. It’s getting really cold out there. Come inside, and I’ll make a nice cup of tea.”

Elizabeth followed the farmer’s wife into the house and accepted a seat on the armchair Sheila offered her. “Please, don’t bother with the tea just now,” she assured her. “There’s something rather important I want to talk to you about.”

Sheila’s face immediately turned wary, and she sat down on the edge of the settee, twisting her hands in her apron. “What about, your ladyship? No trouble, I hope?”

Elizabeth sighed. “Sheila, the first day I was here, after Amelia’s body was discovered in the woods, Maisie told you she’d left a spade outside the night before, and when she’d gone to retrieve it the next morning, the spade had vanished.”

Sheila violently shook her head. “I don’t remember-”

“You told her it was back in the shed where it belonged,” Elizabeth continued. “Later on that day Maisie thanked you for cleaning the spade for her. You denied doing so.”

“Did I? I can’t recall-”

“The medical examiner believes that the killer might have used a spade to kill Amelia. A spade that was probably left out overnight…”-she deliberately paused-“and later cleaned.”

Sheila’s hand closed over her throat. “So that’s how that German killed that girl. He used one of my spades and cleaned it off afterwards-the murdering sod. Beg your pardon, m’m.”

“That’s quite all right.” Elizabeth looked down at her gloved hands. “There’s just one thing I don’t understand. You said you heard Amelia arguing beneath your window, but you decided not to go down to investigate.”

“That’s right, your ladyship. How glad I am now that I didn’t. I could have walked right into a murder and been struck down myself. Lucky escape, that’s what I had.” Sheila started fanning herself with the skirt of her apron.

“If I remember, you told me you hadn’t been out of the house the next morning when I arrived. Yet you knew that the spade that had been left out overnight had been put back in its proper place in the shed. How could you have known the spade was back in the shed, unless you saw it there after Amelia was killed?”

Sheila appeared to have no answer to that question. She sat as if turned to stone, staring at Elizabeth without a flicker of expression in her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Sheila,” Elizabeth said gently. “I think you heard Amelia arguing with your son right under your window that night. By the time you got down there, it was too late. He’d killed her. You took the body into the woods and hid it, hoping to put the blame for her death on the German pilot. Then you cleaned off the spade, put it back in the shed, and later burned Maurice’s bloodstained reefer jacket.”

Sheila’s voice sounded strangled when she spoke. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said hoarsely. “My son isn’t capable of killing anyone. You know that. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. He liked Amelia-he would never have hurt her.”