Kate Kingsbury - An Unmentional Murder

Elizabeth stepped inside the immaculate front room, and looked around with pleasure. Bright yellow cushions with white daisy appliqués decorated the brown sofa and armchairs, giving a splash of color to the room. Yellow and white checkered curtains hung at the windows, and a vase of daisies sat in the middle of the highly polished dining table.

“How refreshing,” Elizabeth exclaimed. “I love daisies; they always seem to be smiling somehow.”

Mrs. Redding’s laughter echoed across the room. “I know what you mean. If you’ll care to sit down, I’ll put the kettle on.”

“Oh, please don’t bother.” Elizabeth sat down on a comfortable armchair and removed her scarf. “I’d like to talk to you if you don’t mind, Mrs. Redding.”

“Not at all, and please, call me Marion. Everybody does.”

“Thank you.” Elizabeth paused, then added carefully, “I was so very sorry to hear about your daughter’s tragedy. What a terrible accident that was.”

Marion Redding’s face clouded. “Indeed it was. Sheila is our only child, and I didn’t think Bob was ever going to get over what happened to her. Not that one ever really gets over something like that, but we’ve managed to come to terms with it, and that’s the best we can hope for.”

“I suppose there’s no hope that your daughter will recover?”

“None at all.” Marion Redding sank onto the sofa, her hands clasped together. “Sheila will spend the rest of her life in a wheelchair, however long that may be.

She doesn’t know anything that’s going on around her. It’s like she’s asleep all the time, except her eyes are open. Sometimes she cries, but no one knows why, and it’s so sad to see her like that.”

“It must be very hard for you and your husband,” Elizabeth said quietly. “I suppose you’ve heard that Clyde Morgan, the man responsible, has passed away?”

Marion nodded. “We heard he’d shot himself. Bob said he was probably eaten up with guilt for what he did and couldn’t live with it anymore.”

“And what do you think?”

The other woman sighed. “I really don’t know, your ladyship. It’s been more than two years, after all, and Clyde Morgan didn’t strike me as the kind of man who would wallow in guilt over something that was an accident, no matter how badly it turned out.”

A harsh voice came from the doorway, making them both jump. “What difference does it make? The miserable bugger’s dead, and that’s true justice.”

Elizabeth stared at the man who’d just entered the room. He wore a dark sweater and a cloth cap, and a cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth. He needed a shave and shadows underlined his dark eyes. His scowl drew his thick brows together and in one hand he held an axe, making him all the more intimidating.

“For heaven’s sake, Bob!” Marion uttered a nervous laugh and got up from the sofa. “That’s no way to greet the lady of the manor. This is Lady Elizabeth Hartleigh Compton. She wants to talk to you.”

Bob Redding appeared unaffected by this announcement, though he did remove his cap. Very deliberately, he closed the door with an ominous thud. “Something I can do for you, your ladyship?”

Feeling somewhat unsettled by this bear of a man, Elizabeth said quietly, “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Redding. I do trust you are recovering from your injuries?”

He came farther into the room, his face a mask of indifference. “As well as can be expected, I suppose.”

“He’s expecting to go back to his unit in a week or two,” Marion said hurriedly. “Aren’t you, Bob?”

Her husband didn’t answer, but kept his gaze on Elizabeth’s face, his eyes narrowed and wary.

“Well, I won’t keep you long.” Elizabeth met his gaze steadily. “I just dropped by to let you know about the sudden death of Clyde Morgan. Your wife tells me you’ve already heard about it.”

Not a flicker of expression changed in the man’s gray eyes. “Yes, we did. Can’t say I’m sorry.” He ignored his wife’s gasp of dismay. “As far as I’m concerned, the skunk got what he deserved.”

“I can understand your bitterness, Mr. Redding.” Feeling at a distinct disadvantage, Elizabeth got to her feet. “I imagine most people would feel the same way in your shoes.”

“That’s not to say I killed him.”

Marion uttered another distressed cry. “I’m sure her ladyship didn’t mean-”

“Oh, I think she did,” Bob Redding said, his voice harsh and threatening. “Isn’t that why you’re here, your ladyship? To accuse me of murdering Clyde Morgan?”

“For heaven’s sake, Clara! Get a move on, will you?” Marge stopped for the umpteenth time and waited for her friend to catch up with her.

Panting and puffing, Clara trudged down the lane toward her, her face red and sweaty. “I’m hot,” she announced unnecessarily as she drew even with Marge.

“One minute you’re freezing, the next you’re roasting.” Marge jabbed a finger in her direction. “Take off your cardigan, you twit. No wonder you’re so hot.”

“I feel the cold.” Clara swept a critical gaze up and down Marge’s body. “I don’t have no fat to keep me warm, like some people.”

Marge bristled at that. “Hey, are you saying I’m fat?”

All the fight went out of Clara. “No, silly, of course not. I’m just tired, that’s all. Let’s forget about the Germans and go home.”

“Forget about the Germans!” Marge’s voice was shrill with disbelief. “Are you daft? We came all this way, didn’t we? What if the place is running alive with Nazis? If we don’t warn the village, they could be all over us by tonight.”

Clara’s face lost its ruddy glow. “Well, if there are Germans in the windmill, you’ve probably warned them by now. It’s right over there, behind you.”

Marge swung around. “Gawd, I didn’t realize we were that close.” She lowered her voice to a hoarse whisper. “We’d better duck down out of sight.”

Clara immediately dropped to a crouch. “How are we going to sneak up there without them seeing us? There’s no trees around here to hide us.”

“There’s trees on the other side of it. We’ll work our way around and come in from that side.”

“I still think we should have gone to the police station for help.”

“We’ll go when we’re sure they’re there,” Marge insisted. “Come on, let’s go.”

“I can’t walk like this.” Clara stuck her foot out and tried to waddle forward in the crouch.

Marge muffled a giggle. “You look like a crab.”

Clara shot to her feet. “I’m going home.”

Grabbing her arm, Marge said quickly, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. Look, let’s just walk normal until we get past the windmill. Even if they see us, they won’t know we’re looking for them. They’ll just think we’re out for a stroll. Then, once we get past them, we can duck back.”

“What if they shoot us while we’re going past?”

Marge hadn’t thought of that. She felt a sudden urge to pee. “Don’t be silly,” she said, more in an effort to convince herself than anything. “Of course they’re not going to shoot us. They don’t want everyone to know where they are, do they? How are they going to take everyone by surprise if we all know they’re there?”

Clara didn’t look too sure of herself, but she trotted along by Marge’s side, looking as if she were ready to bolt at the slightest sound.

Marge wasn’t about to admit that her heart was pounding hard enough to come right through her chest by the time they’d reached the far side of the windmill. Any minute she’d expected to hear a bullet or two whine over her head, and it was a bit of an anticlimax when all remained quiet and peaceful.