A Fearsome Doubt by Charles Todd

answer.”
    “Rutledge—” She repeated the name thoughtfully. “We never met at the time, but you must be the policeman who was assigned to the Shaw inquiry.” Nodding as she placed him, she said, “My granddaughter told me you were a very fine-looking man, for a policeman. She was eight at the time, and murder had very little meaning for her, thank heavens.”
    He could feel himself turning red. Mary Bailey smiled. “Oh, dear, I’m afraid I never mind my tongue as I should. In a clergyman’s wife, it’s a dreadful sin! But I’ve found over the years that if I attach one interesting fact to someone, I can keep a face and a name in my memory forever. Helpful when everyone expects the rector’s wife to know exactly who they are and how important they might be.”
    She invited him into the kitchen, where she was making bread. The scents of warm yeast and rising dough were comforting. Her hands, moving almost without direction, began to knead the ball in the bed of flour.
    “This won’t wait,” she explained, “and I’m sure your questions won’t, either. What do you need to know? Has someone else in our parish been involved with the Yard?” It was as if she had someone in mind, he thought, and was fishing.
    “No, just an odd coincidence that occurred some days ago, and when it was brought to my attention, I wanted to put it to rest. A piece of the jewelry missing at the time of the Shaw murders has come to light. I’m trying to find out what—if any—significance that might have.”
    She studied him, her blue eyes reading more than he was comfortable with. “And as the inspector involved, you want to know if this changes anything that—happened.”
    “In a word—yes,” he replied.
    Nodding, she kept her eyes on her hands now. “Yes. Well. What is it you want to know?”
    He began indirectly. “Mrs. Shaw. Did she serve on any of the women’s committees? Visiting the ill, the poor?”
    “She didn’t attend services here after her marriage. But she was never comfortable with that sort of need. I called on her once to ask if she might know of anyone looking to be a companion to an elderly man recovering from a leg fracture. I thought at the time it might mean an extra bit of money for her, if she could use it. But she was clear on that point, as well as her dislike of dealing with the infirm.”
    “Her neighbor, Mrs. Cutter . . .”
    “Was very active, until her health broke. We could always depend on Janet Cutter. And she was a very good cook, as well. She’d often bake a little extra and put it in a basket to take to someone under the weather. Still, Janet kept to herself, you know, she wasn’t one to sit and gossip. I put it down to shyness. But she seemed to have a kind heart.”
    “And fingers that stuck to bits of jewelry?” Hamish asked.
    “Mr. Cutter was one of the few people who defended Mrs. Shaw when we were closing in on her husband. He thought she was a very different person from the general impression of her. His wife, on the other hand, was not as kind.”
    “Mrs. Shaw was never a very pretty woman, but she has a very bold and defiant way about her.” Mrs. Bailey added more flour to the bowl. “Some men like that.”
    Rutledge tried to picture Mrs. Shaw flirting, and failed. He said as much.
    Mrs. Bailey laughed. “I never suggested she was flirting. But her manner was bold. She could manage tradesmen very well, she could take charge of a situation and deal with it, she was unflappable. If the butcher overcharged her or brought her a less than satisfactory bit of beef, she would face him down without embarrassment or tears. ‘Now see here, Mr. Whoever, I wasn’t born yesterday, and I know that that chicken is old, and if you don’t take it back, I shall complain to my neighbors about the poor service you’re offering these days!’ ”
    “How do you know this?” he asked, intrigued.
    “Because,” she said, turning to face him, “the same tradesmen come to my door,