Kate Kingsbury - An Unmentional Murder

Her conviction that Clyde Morgan was murdered had grown stronger, fueled more by a hunch than anything else. Still, there was a familiar feeling niggling at her brain that told her she was missing something somewhere, and until she discovered what it was, she was compelled to search every avenue open to her. Bob Redding was at the top of the list.

She gave Alfie a ring, and learned that the Reddings lived in one of the cottages down by the bay. Apparently Mr. Redding had been a fisherman before he was called to duty, and no doubt planned on continuing his profession when he returned from the war for good, God willing.

She was halfway down the stairs when the bell clanged, announcing a visitor. Expecting Martin to materialize, she continued down at a leisurely pace, until it dawned on her that Martin wasn’t there to open the door.

It didn’t appear as if Violet planned on opening it either, probably because she expected Sadie to attend to it. Since there was no sign of the housemaid, Elizabeth had to assume she was somewhere at the other end of the mansion, probably cleaning up after the departure of the American officers.

There was nothing for it but to open the door herself. It took her a few moments to tug back the bolts and latches that held the massive door in place, during which the bell clanged loudly twice, nearly deafening her. As usual, she inwardly cursed the process, vowing as she always did to replace all those bolts and latches with a modern lock and electric bell.

Finally she slid the last bolt back and dragged the door open, breathing a little hard with the exertion. No wonder Martin took forever to open the door, she thought, then stared in shock as she recognized the visitor.

The object of her recent thoughts smiled back at her. “Good morning, madam. I do appreciate your taking the time and trouble to open the door for me. Your pleasant demeanor is a vast improvement over Violet’s sour face and caustic tone, I can assure you.” Martin doffed the trilby he wore and swept it in front of him with a deep bow. “I am forever in your debt.”

Elizabeth’s first thought was that her butler had been imbibing spirits of some sort. Her relief at seeing him made her voice sharp. “Martin, where on earth have you been?”

Martin blinked at her over the top of his glasses. The half dozen hairs on his head, disturbed by the removal of his hat, stood on end, waving in the breeze. There was something different about him, Elizabeth thought, though she couldn’t put her finger on it.

Maybe he was standing a little straighter than usual, his eyes brighter than usual… something. The obvious answer that sprang to mind was the raffle ticket lady, Beatrice whatever-her-name-was. “Martin, have you been visiting your raffle lady friend?”

She watched with fascination as a curtain seemed to descend over her butler’s face. His eyes took on a vacant stare and his voice sounded frail when he answered. “Raffle lady?”

“Yes. Beatrice somebody or other. She visits the manor quite frequently, ostensibly to sell raffle tickets, though I suspect her main objective is to socialize with you.”

A flicker of interest flashed across his face, then was gone. “Socialize?”

“You know what I mean, Martin. And do come in. I really don’t want to have this discussion on the doorstep.”

Martin carefully wiped first one shoe then the other on the mat at his feet before stepping over the threshold. Elizabeth closed the door, then turned to find him shuffling away from her at top speed, which for Martin was little more than the pace of a frightened worm.

“Martin! I’m not finished speaking to you!”

Elizabeth’s voice echoed sharply across the hall and Martin halted, swaying rather precariously on his bowed legs. It took him several seconds to shuffle around to face her, by which time Elizabeth was quite sure he was deliberately emphasizing his fragility.

“I know it’s none of my business,” she said, as he stood blinking at her over his spectacles, “and you are perfectly entitled to your privacy. When you resort to staying out all night, however, I have to question the wisdom of your behavior. Violet and I feel a certain responsibility for your welfare, and it’s not very considerate of you to worry us like this without some sort of explanation.”

He stared at her for a moment or two, then said abruptly, “I was stargazing.”

It was the last thing Elizabeth expected to hear. “I beg your pardon?”

“Stargazing, madam. You know, looking at the stars. I’ve taken up an interest in astronomy.”

Certain he was pulling her leg, Elizabeth said dryly, “Really. Astronomy.”

“Yes, madam. Quite fascinating, actually.”

“I can imagine. Tell me, Martin, are you engaged in this new endeavor alone, or do you have company when you are staring at the stars?”

“Quite alone, madam.”

“I see.” Elizabeth pursed her lips. “And you feel compelled to do this all night long?”

“That is when you have the very best view.”

“No doubt.” Elizabeth walked up to him until she was almost toe to toe. “Martin, I do not believe one word you say. You’re up to something, and I mean to find out what it is.”

“Yes, madam. May I be excused now? I am rather fatigued.”

He did look awfully tired, Elizabeth thought with another rush of concern. “Go and lie down,” she ordered, “but first let Violet know you’re back. I don’t want her getting in a state worrying about you all day.”

“Very well, madam. Good day to you.”

A thought occurred to her and she called out after him. “Have you had breakfast?”

“Yes, madam, thank you. I had a plate of sausage, bacon, eggs, mushrooms, fried potatoes, fried tomatoes, and fried bread. Very tasty.” He was moving away from her as he spoke, and his last words were barely audible, but she caught them. “A vast improvement over Violet’s stodgy porridge, I can assure you.”

She stared after him. Where in the world did he get a breakfast like that? If he was stargazing, as he maintained-and she had serious doubts about that-it had to be from a most unusual viewpoint indeed.

This wasn’t the time to pursue it, however, and she had other matters to attend to for the moment. Later, she promised herself, she would corner her butler and demand to know where he had spent the last two nights, and why he was going to such great pains to hide where he had been.

The wind had picked up considerably by the time she rode her motorcycle along the narrow road that separated the harbor from the tiny shops that had once catered to the summer visitors. Most of the shops were closed and shuttered now, since very few people ventured far from home these days.

She found the cottage nestled on a steep slope, its leaded-pane windows almost hidden beneath its thatched roof. Parking her motorcycle, she was careful to turn the wheels into the grass verge.

An attractive woman answered her knock, and immediately gasped in surprise. “Lady Elizabeth! Whatever are you doing here?” She slapped a hand over her mouth. “That wasn’t very polite, was it? I’m just so surprised to see you, that’s all. I’ve seen your picture in the paper and seen you about town, but I never thought I’d actually get a visit from you.”

“It’s quite all right.” Elizabeth smiled at her. “In the old days one would drop off a calling card announcing an impending visit. In my opinion the old customs were a good deal more civilized than the modern manners of today, and should be resurrected for the most part. I apologize for calling on you like this, but I would like a word with your husband, if I may?”

“Oh, Mr. Redding’s not here, your ladyship,”-she opened the door wider-“but he should be home soon if you’d care to come in and wait. He’s just gone down to the harbor to help his friend unload his catch for the day.”