the hardest of them all.
Naturally, just because they were all laughing like loons, Inspector Bishop chose just that moment to walk into the room.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I nspector Bishop came back the next morning at 7.30, having slept like a log. He must have woken up like one too, for, as he walked into the castle’s warm kitchen, his face was wooden, and he was walking in a particularly stiff manner. He’d come to keep Miss Starling ‘appraised’.
He’d had a phone call at his house late last night from the chief constable himself who’d told him to get this case solved fast. But word was now rife in the village. Already, he could feel them banding together. Who knew what clues were being buried? What alibis were being sharpened up? If the killer were local and popular, it would make his life practically unbearable.
Jenny took in the policeman’s misery with one all-seeing glance and took a plate from the hotplate. She herself had been up since six, unable to sleep, her mind going in circles. Although it was true that she had helped the police in the past, she’d never been caught up in anything quite like this. For a start, nobody at the castle appeared to have a
motive
for killing Ava Simmons. At least, none that she knew of. But then, she was a stranger here. She didn’t know these people well. The castle might be teeming with all sorts of secrets that she had no way of tapping into. And yet, she must. She didn’t like murder. And she certainly didn’t approve of people getting away with it.
She carefully lifted three sizzling sausages, two rashers of thick bacon, two fried eggs, tomatoes and fried bread from the pan and transferred them to the plate.
Where to start? Ava Simmons, respectable woman, middle-class, well educated and perfectly pleasant, just wasn’t your average murder victim. So why was she dead?
Bishop, who’d come away from home on a piece of toast and a boiled egg, watched the approaching plate with acute envy. That envy turned to astonished delight when the cook put it in front of him. ‘There’ll be toast and marmalade to follow, Inspector,’ she said mildly, and poured herself a cup of tea. ‘I’ve already eaten,’ she added, a definite twinkle in her eye. She hadn’t, but she wanted to get the inspector into a good mood.
‘So, I expect you’ve questioned all the cleaners from the village and checked their alibis? And the gardeners?’ she began, so conversationally, that Bishop, tucking into a succulent sausage, nodded his head without even thinking about it.
‘I did, but no dice.’ Bishop waved a fork smeared with egg, and shook his head. ‘Not that it’s likely one of them did it. No, I think we can rule them out.’
Jenny sighed. She’d rather feared as much.
‘Sir George, Lady Vee, the colonel and Mrs Attling were all together at the time of the murder,’ she murmured, missing the strange look Bishop sent her way. Then he was smearing tomato over his fried bread and crunching down in bliss. ‘So that leaves us….’ she finished softly.
Bishop nodded, looking at her closely. The fact that she had even dared to suspect Lord Avonsleigh and company had raised her inestimably in his opinion. Perhaps this wasn’t going to be so bad after all.
At least the woman seemed to have some ability. ‘Yes,’ heagreed bluntly. ‘And of you lot, Meecham and Gayle alibi each other. Lady Roberta and her art tutor do likewise. You and Elsie were together apart from that one time. By the way, I’ve had Myers do a dry run on that cellar thing, and Elsie
could
have done it, but only at a real stretch. And that’s assuming that she knew that Ava Simmons was in the conservatory beforehand and that she caught her totally by surprise. Even so, she would have had to run at a fair old clip all the times in between. And I doubt the old girl has it in her.’
Jenny, remembering Elsie’s silent gait and surprising agility, wasn’t so sure. But she was not about to tell the inspector
Naturally, just because they were all laughing like loons, Inspector Bishop chose just that moment to walk into the room.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I nspector Bishop came back the next morning at 7.30, having slept like a log. He must have woken up like one too, for, as he walked into the castle’s warm kitchen, his face was wooden, and he was walking in a particularly stiff manner. He’d come to keep Miss Starling ‘appraised’.
He’d had a phone call at his house late last night from the chief constable himself who’d told him to get this case solved fast. But word was now rife in the village. Already, he could feel them banding together. Who knew what clues were being buried? What alibis were being sharpened up? If the killer were local and popular, it would make his life practically unbearable.
Jenny took in the policeman’s misery with one all-seeing glance and took a plate from the hotplate. She herself had been up since six, unable to sleep, her mind going in circles. Although it was true that she had helped the police in the past, she’d never been caught up in anything quite like this. For a start, nobody at the castle appeared to have a
motive
for killing Ava Simmons. At least, none that she knew of. But then, she was a stranger here. She didn’t know these people well. The castle might be teeming with all sorts of secrets that she had no way of tapping into. And yet, she must. She didn’t like murder. And she certainly didn’t approve of people getting away with it.
She carefully lifted three sizzling sausages, two rashers of thick bacon, two fried eggs, tomatoes and fried bread from the pan and transferred them to the plate.
Where to start? Ava Simmons, respectable woman, middle-class, well educated and perfectly pleasant, just wasn’t your average murder victim. So why was she dead?
Bishop, who’d come away from home on a piece of toast and a boiled egg, watched the approaching plate with acute envy. That envy turned to astonished delight when the cook put it in front of him. ‘There’ll be toast and marmalade to follow, Inspector,’ she said mildly, and poured herself a cup of tea. ‘I’ve already eaten,’ she added, a definite twinkle in her eye. She hadn’t, but she wanted to get the inspector into a good mood.
‘So, I expect you’ve questioned all the cleaners from the village and checked their alibis? And the gardeners?’ she began, so conversationally, that Bishop, tucking into a succulent sausage, nodded his head without even thinking about it.
‘I did, but no dice.’ Bishop waved a fork smeared with egg, and shook his head. ‘Not that it’s likely one of them did it. No, I think we can rule them out.’
Jenny sighed. She’d rather feared as much.
‘Sir George, Lady Vee, the colonel and Mrs Attling were all together at the time of the murder,’ she murmured, missing the strange look Bishop sent her way. Then he was smearing tomato over his fried bread and crunching down in bliss. ‘So that leaves us….’ she finished softly.
Bishop nodded, looking at her closely. The fact that she had even dared to suspect Lord Avonsleigh and company had raised her inestimably in his opinion. Perhaps this wasn’t going to be so bad after all.
At least the woman seemed to have some ability. ‘Yes,’ heagreed bluntly. ‘And of you lot, Meecham and Gayle alibi each other. Lady Roberta and her art tutor do likewise. You and Elsie were together apart from that one time. By the way, I’ve had Myers do a dry run on that cellar thing, and Elsie
could
have done it, but only at a real stretch. And that’s assuming that she knew that Ava Simmons was in the conservatory beforehand and that she caught her totally by surprise. Even so, she would have had to run at a fair old clip all the times in between. And I doubt the old girl has it in her.’
Jenny, remembering Elsie’s silent gait and surprising agility, wasn’t so sure. But she was not about to tell the inspector
Similar Books
