Dorothy Cannell - She Shoots to Conquer

“Just look at the sweet darling trembling like a leaf in my arms,” Mrs. Foot bellowed at me. “That dog of yours should be put down-going after Whitey like he was vermin! I’d kill him with my bare hands if it wouldn’t mean dropping my precious!”

It didn’t occur to me to say that Thumper wasn’t my dog. Nor was I compelled to order him to quiet down. Having successfully treed what would have been a very small snack, he looked to me for approval before lying down, nose on front paws, in sighing contentment.

“I came in for a glass of water for Judy, who’s been hurt,” I said as calmly as I could manage.

“That girl Lucy’s already been in for one. We know all about the hoopla, don’t we, Mr. Plunket and Boris? No, don’t you go bothering answering, poor dears. Just look at the two of them.” She rounded on me again. “Poor Mr. Plunket was so upset with everything gone wrong for his nibs, just when his lady cousin decides to visit again, he needed a restorative tipple. It was that husband of yours leaving bottles in an old bread bin where anyone with a stepladder to climb to the top pantry would think to look that started him back on after years of laying off the stuff. Who can wonder at a little lapse the way this week’s gone! My kitchen being taken over! That Monsieur LeBois rolling around the place like he’s king on wheels, never so much as lifting his bottom when I hand him one of my nice cups of tea. Oh, I know his kind-can’t budge a muscle for themselves unless it suits them. Ask me and I’ll tell you he doesn’t need that chair any more than I need wings. But for him, none of you lot would be here stirring up trouble. And Mr. Plunket and I’ve got Boris standing there with his arm tore up by that dog leaping at him when Whitey ran up his leg.”

“Missed that.” Grinning foolishly, Mr. Plunket continued to sway as if in a quickening breeze. “Always did love his uncle Boris, but not more than you, Mrs. Foot. Nobody in the whole wide world,” spreading his arms, “is loved more than you, Mrs. Foot.”

“There, there, Mr. Plunket! But it’s our Boris that matters most right now. Look at him,” this to me, “standing there white as a sheet”-as this was normal for Boris, I hadn’t panicked on looking at him-“and him waiting so patient for a proper bandage!”

I thought snappishly that she was right about that. A dead man couldn’t have looked more patient. “I’m sorry,” I said… suddenly meaning it. There was something heartrendingly sad about Boris’s empty-eyed stare and his rigor mortis stance. I remembered Judy’s kind way with him and suddenly felt close to tears. So much so that when Mrs. Foot worked herself back to a roar-letting me know that if I didn’t get that dog out of the house right now she’d ring the police-I replied meekly that I was sure Mrs. Spuds or Dr. Rowley would agree to return him to his owners.

Whitey bade us a triumphant squeak of good riddance as we left the kitchen, but I didn’t leave the house. Instead, I went into Lord Belfrey’s study-currently the dominion of Georges. I had been seized by the urge to take another look at Suzanne Varney’s photo. Foolish, I know, but I thought that if I could look into her face I might get a clearer sense of who she was… that she might even tell me something. The photos of the contestants were no longer spread over the table. I knew it was wrong, but the impulse to revisit her image was so strong that I crossed to the desk and opened the top right-hand drawer first. Inside were some notepads, pencils, and a torch… a dull red torch. I picked it up, turned it over in my hands, and saw the uneven crack in the plastic and the small jagged gap where a piece had broken off. My hand found its way into my jacket pocket and drew out what I had taken from Thumper’s mouth on his return from the ravine.

He sat, looking up at me with sympathetic curiosity as I sank down in the desk chair and fitted the broken-off plastic back into the torch. Suddenly it was as though Suzanne were in the room with me, striving to tell me what she must have intended to tell Mrs. Spendlow. I felt her anger and grief pour into me. If only… if only fate had not brought her to Mucklesfeld. But it had, and all I could do was unmask her killer.

I now strongly suspected who had lured her down into the ravine with the torch. If I was right as to the who, the why stared me in the face. But if I were wrong, even a subtle change in attitude toward the person in question might be enough to give the tip that the game was up. Also, I risked besmirching the good name of someone who might never be able to convincingly prove innocence of both crimes-the murder of Suzanne and the attempt on Judy’s life.

After repocketing the piece of plastic, I returned the torch to the drawer and was on my way out into the hall when, as so often seemed to happen, I nearly collided with Lord Belfrey. He did not ask what I had been doing in his study. It was apparent that he was as preoccupied as I.

“How’s Judy?” I asked.

“Doing well, apart from the ankle. Your husband and I carried her into the drawing room, where Tommy is administering the required care. What a plucky woman she is. I admire her tremendously, more so I have to admit than the other contestants, fine and likable as they are.” He hesitated and I detected a change in him, a lightening of the heart and a barely restrained joy.

“I saw her, Ellie; something drew me across the lawn. Of course I had to greet those who had come to watch, in particular, Celia-whatever my feelings toward her-but there was a summons more powerful than required politeness. Before I could fully make out her form and features, my heart knew, recognized her despite all the years gone past… those,” he smiled, “those ridiculous glasses.”

“Nora Burton,” I said, “once and always the Eleanor you saw standing on those stairs,” looking toward them, “when you came to Mucklesfeld for the day.”

“You knew?”

“The likeness to her portrait was there, despite the attempt at disguise.”

“There was no time to say more than ask her to meet me at noon tomorrow at the end of the lane leading from Witch Haven. Ellie, I’m consumed with remorse about the contestants, but whatever happens, I realize now, my mercenary plan makes a mockery of marriage. I had increasingly come to know I couldn’t go through with it-mainly because of you. Your resemblance to Eleanor was the reminder I needed that love is worth the wait, even if it takes an eternity.”

“So it is,” I said. “I was lucky meeting Ben when I did. And you still have a long life ahead of you.”

“I’ll always be grateful you turned up out of the fog that night.”

“Thank you. Will you do something for me?”

“Gladly. What is it?

“Put down your foot as master of Mucklesfeld and insist that tonight Judy sleep in one of the beds in my suite. She is going to need some looking after and must not on any account be left alone.”

O ne other thing,” I said, on receiving Lord Belfrey’s agreement to my request, “suggest to Eleanor that she take a good look at every pair of your cousin Celia’s shoes. I understand she has a closet full of them, most still in their boxes. Perhaps Eleanor’s already done so, but if not, I think that’s where she may find what she’s been looking for over the past few months. Shoes make good hiding places because a lot of people are squeamish about handling those that aren’t theirs. Oh, and would you kindly,” looking sadly down at Thumper, “ask Dr. Rowley if he’d be willing to return my friend here to his owners?”

“Of course. As for…”