Kate Kingsbury - An Unmentional Murder

“You’d had those books for years and never read them,” Marion protested.

Ignoring her, Bob went on, “And a lot of other things she had no business giving away. Morgan must have thought he was on to a good thing. He went down to all the cottages looking for more bounty. That’s when he met Mrs. Widdicombe. Widow she were, must have been in her eighties.”

“Eighty-four, she were,” Marion confirmed, then squirmed after yet another nasty look from her husband.

“Anyway, Morgan goes inside, picks up just about everything he could lay his hands on, and carts it off to sell it all. By the time Ned heard about it, the lot had gone. Morgan told him the old lady said to help himself to what he wanted, so he did. Ned was spitting mad. They had to hold him off Morgan, so I heard. Kept yelling at him that he’d pay him back for what he did.”

“I see.” Elizabeth shook her head. “What a dreadful thing to do.”

“What’s even worse,” Bob said, “it was such a shock for the old girl, she dropped dead. Marion used to pop in there every day just to keep an eye on her, since Ned could only get down on Sundays, and she found her dead on the floor. Doctor said it was her heart and the shock of losing all her belongings.”

“Ever so sad, it was,” Marion chimed in. “Such a shock to find her like that.”

“Anyhow,” Bob said, getting to his feet, “if anyone had good reason to bump off Clyde Morgan, I’d say it were Ned Widdicombe.”

Elizabeth got up, too. “Well, perhaps I’ll have a word with Mr. Widdicombe.”

“He’s got a shop in the High Street,” Bob told her. “You can’t miss it. Widdicombe the Butcher’s. Got a big sign in front of it.” He opened the door, as if anxious to be rid of his visitor. “Thank you for calling on us, your ladyship.”

Elizabeth nodded at Marion, then moved to the door. “Thank you for your time. I hope you are soon fully recovered, and I wish you all the best of luck when you go back.”

For the first time, Bob Redding’s eyes softened. “Very nice of you, Lady Elizabeth. Much obliged, I’m sure.”

Elizabeth walked slowly down the garden path, fighting the urge to look back to see if Bob Redding was watching her. She had the feeling his eyes followed her until she had started her motorcycle and had ridden down the lane and out of sight.

“Do you think you’ll go back to America with Joe?” Polly asked, leaning her elbows on the sink to get a better view of the back garden.

Sadie uttered a scornful laugh. “What, me? Go to America? What the heck would I do in America? Full of cowboys and Indians, it is.”

Polly shot her a look over her shoulder. “Don’t be daft, Sadie. That’s only in the films. America has enormous wide roads and lots of cars, and big buildings and lovely houses with swimming pools. I’ve seen pictures of them.”

“What, in Photoplay ? What makes you think they’re real? It’s a film magazine, isn’t it?”

“What about the cities like New York, that you see in the films, then? They’re just like London. What about the pictures of the film stars’ homes? They’ve got to live somewhere, haven’t they? Are you going to sit there and tell me the beaches in Los Angeles aren’t real? I didn’t see no cowboys and Indians running around shooting arrers there.”

Sadie grinned at her friend. “Okay, okay, don’t get your knickers in a twist. I was just having you on, that’s all. ’Course I know there’s no cowboys and Indians in Los Angeles or New York, but I bet you anything they have ’em in Wyoming, where Lady Elizabeth’s major lives.”

Polly stared at her. “How d’you know where he lives?”

“I heard them talking.” Sadie stretched her spine against the back of the hard chair. “He was telling her he goes riding on horses there. Miles and miles of open land, he told her. You can ride all day there and not see another soul.”

Polly turned her back on the window and gazed dreamily at Sadie. “Ooh, how romantic. Can’t you just imagine her ladyship riding on the back of his horse, hanging on to his waist?” She sighed, slapped a hand over her heart, and rolled her eyes at the ceiling.

Sadie burst out laughing. “She’s more likely to be riding on her motorcycle chasing after him.”

Polly’s romantic visions vanished. “Well, I think she’s madly in love with him, and I think he loves her, as well, so there.”

“I hope not.” Sadie’s face sobered. “If you’re right, I can see trouble ahead for them. What’s going to happen when he goes back to America?”

“She’ll go with him, of course.”

“Oh? Then what’s going to happen to all of us, might I ask? What about Violet and Martin, and you and me? What about the Manor House? Who’s going to take care of that?”

Polly stuck out her bottom lip. She didn’t want to think about what might happen. Thinking of her ladyship and Major Monroe together made her feel warm inside, and she didn’t want anything to spoil that. Why did things always have to be so blinking complicated?

With her mood dampened, she turned back to the window. The sun shone directly in her face, momentarily blinding her. She blinked… and blinked again. No, she wasn’t seeing things. She let out a yell that echoed all the way up the stairs. “Sadie! The knickers! They’re gorn!”

Sadie got up so fast she knocked over the chair. She swore, then picked it up, muttering, “You’d better be joking.” Thrusting Polly aside, she stared out of the window.

There was the sound of a door opening and Polly’s mother’s voice floated down the stairs. “Polly? Is that you? Why aren’t you at work? What are you doing down there?”

Polly grabbed Sadie’s arm. “Come on,” she whispered hoarsely. “He can’t have got far. Let’s go after him.”

“You were supposed to be watching for him,” Sadie began, then yelped as Polly dragged her across the kitchen. Footsteps started down the stairs, and Edna, Polly’s mother, called out, “Polly? What are you doing ?”

Polly didn’t wait to answer her. She shoved Sadie through the back door and out into the garden. Side by side they raced for the gate and threw it open. They were just in time to see a bicycle disappear around the bend.

“Come on!” Sadie yelled. “After the bugger!”

Polly threw herself on her bicycle and pedaled like mad down the road after Sadie, who was already speeding away from her. They rounded the bend and there in the distance was a very short man huddled over the handlebars of his bicycle as he raced along the coast road.

Sadie waved a frantic arm at Polly and yelled, “Get a move on, Polly! We can’t lose him now!”

Polly put her head down. She didn’t know where they were going, or what they would do if they caught up with the thief. They had reached the top of the hill and were gathering breakneck speed, and all she cared about now was staying on her bicycle.

Marge thought she was going to die by the time she and Clara stumbled down the High Street, both of them limping and sobbing for breath. Clara hadn’t said one word to her since they left the windmill, and Marge was thankful for that. She wouldn’t have been able to answer her anyway.

At long last the police station came into view, which was just as well, since she and Clara were attracting a good deal of attention as they lurched down the street. Marge shot a glance at her friend. Clara’s hair was all over her face, which was as red as a beetroot and covered in sweat. Daft thing still hadn’t taken her cardigan off. No wonder she was dripping.

The steps were almost too much for Marge, and by the time she actually got to the door she had to lean on it to push it open. Clara stood at the bottom of the steps, holding her sides and making horrible noises like a cow in heat.