Kate Kingsbury - Death Is in the Air

Besides, the man was married. Which was none of her concern, of course, but it did sort of rule out any prospects she might have been entertaining. Which she wasn’t, of course.

“If it takes that long to make up your mind, perhaps we should make it some other time.”

Startled, she glanced at his face but couldn’t really tell from his expression if he was teasing or not. “No, of course not. I would prefer an informal meal. Actually, we can’t do much else with the little rations we’re allowed.”

“Well, perhaps I can help out with that. I might be able to rustle up some steaks.”

Aghast, she hurried to reassure him. “Oh, no, I wouldn’t dream of it.” She had already compromised her convictions by accepting a bottle of sherry from him. Accepting gifts from the Americans made her feel as if she were accepting charity, even though she knew that was not the intention.

Since her ex-husband’s gambling habits had left her without her inheritance and deeply in debt, she was overly sensitive to anything that smacked of a donation. The Hartleighs had always fended for themselves over the centuries, and she was not about to break the tradition now.

“I guess the name thing is not going to happen, either.”

On the defensive now, she lifted her chin. “I’ve already explained our customs to you, Major. I don’t feel we know each other well enough to be on a first-name basis.”

He grinned. “Well, maybe we can remedy that tonight over dinner. What time?”

The remark had been perfectly innocent. Nevertheless, she was so flustered, she stuttered. “S-s-seven o’clock?”

He glanced at the door as three of the officers strolled out into the sunlight and headed their way. “I’ll be there,” he said and touched the peak of his cap, managing to make the polite gesture seem incredibly intimate.

She was already regretting the invitation as she watched the Jeep roar down the tree-lined driveway and disappear around the bend. In the first place, she didn’t particularly care for the sensations she experienced every time she came into contact with the thoroughly charming major. After her marriage had ended in a beastly divorce, she had vowed that never again would she form any kind of attachment toward a man. Major Monroe had a way of making her forget that promise.

In the second place, the major belonged to another woman. In these days of uncertainty, it had become common for people to snatch whatever moments of happiness were available. One never quite knew what was waiting around the corner, and it was difficult to ignore the sense of urgency that demanded she live for the day and stop worrying about tomorrow. Especially when she might never see another tomorrow.

There were certain codes that she must adhere to, however, and harboring lascivious thoughts about a married man was definitely forbidden. To do so would only bring heartache to too many people.

Nevertheless, as she climbed aboard her shiny red motorcycle, she couldn’t help smiling at the thought of dining alone with the major that night. His conversations were always fascinating and amusing. Surely it couldn’t hurt to enjoy his company for one evening.

Her smile faded as she chugged down the driveway. If Marlene was telling the truth that morning, and the German pilot had brutally killed a young woman, she was going to need someone to make her feel better.

The police station was tucked behind a row of shops at the very end of the High Street. The small, white-brick building had once served as a stables when horses were the popular mode of transport. Although the renovation into headquarters for the local constabulary had taken place at least twenty years ago, Elizabeth swore she could still smell horses whenever she walked into the damp, musty room used as the front office.

The chair behind the deeply scarred desk was empty, but voices could be heard muttering behind the closed door of the back room. Whatever the conversation was about, it had to be meaningful, since no one, apparently, had heard the tinkling of the bell on the door.

Elizabeth coughed loudly. The voices continued without a break. Growing impatient, she peeled off one of her gloves and rapped on the desk with her knuckles.

The voices stopped abruptly, and a second or two later the door opened. P.C. George Dalrymple’s round, benevolent face appeared in the gap. Upon sight of his visitor, the door widened, and he hurried forward. “Lady Elizabeth! I’m so sorry, m’m. Didn’t hear you come in. Have you been waiting long?”

“Not too long.” Without waiting to be asked, Elizabeth plopped herself down on the visitor’s chair. “I tried to ring you, but there was no answer.”

George’s eyes slid sideways. “Oh, yes, well, we just got back, Sid and I. Had a bit of business to take care of in town.”

“That business wouldn’t have anything to do with a young lady from the Macclesby farm, by any chance?”

George’s gaze snapped back to her face, and he drew a hand across the shiny bald dome of his head. “Ah, well, I’m not at liberty to say, m’m.”

Elizabeth crossed her ankles and folded her hands in her lap. “Now, George, you know perfectly well that you can’t keep anything a secret in this village. I heard that the body of a land girl has been found in the woods. Am I correct?”

“I’d like very much to know how you found out about that, m’m, if you don’t mind me asking?”

So it was true. Elizabeth’s heart sank. “I found out the same way one finds out about everything going on in Sitting Marsh.” She fixed a stern eye on George’s worried face. “You might as well stop worrying about giving me information, George. The local grapevine is only a half step behind you.”

“That may well be, m’m, but I’d be breaking the rules if I told you anything about the investigation at this point.”

Elizabeth sighed. She had played this game so often. She’d have to pry the information out of him. Fortunately that wasn’t as difficult as George would have her believe. “So you do admit there is an investigation going on, then?”

George lifted his face to the ceiling. “I think we can safely say that.”

“And the dead body of a land girl was found in the woods?”

“I’m not denying that.”

“From the Macclesby farm?”

“I believe that might be so.”

“Do you know her name?”

“I believe we do.”

“Can you at least give me her first name?”

George laced his fingers across his chest. “She had a hankie with her initials embroidered on it. First two letters of the alphabet.”

“AB?”

He nodded.

“Do you have any suspects?”

He lowered his chin. “If I did, m’m, it might be a little difficult bringing him to justice. Since he’s disappeared, if you get my meaning.”

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. “Are you talking about the German pilot who escaped yesterday?”

“Seems that way.”

“What makes you think he’s the killer?”

He shrugged. “Right place at the wrong time, mostly. Can’t be too many dangerous criminals running around Hawthorn Woods.”

“So you have no real proof.”

George looked uncomfortable. “Who else would want to cut open a young girl’s head with an axe? Only someone who didn’t want to be taken prisoner, that’s who. She was killed some time last night. The same day a German pilot lands in the village and escapes into the woods. Too much of a coincidence if you ask me.”

Elizabeth thought about the young man standing shivering on the village green. “You found the axe?”

“No, m’m. Not yet. We reckon he buried it in the woods. We’re asking the army blokes to help us find it. They’re already looking for him, so it’ll just be a matter of time-” He broke off and slapped a hand over his mouth. “You didn’t hear me say any of that.”