great,” he said, smiling.
Chapter Nine
“I wish I could stop liking him,” Philly said to Meg, later
that night. Meg had brought her a mug of cocoa. They sat on the edge of
Philly’s bed, chatting. “And I should be getting you this,” she added,
pointing to the cocoa. “You’re the one who did all the hard work.”
“It wasn’t so hard,” said Meg, “talking in a lousy French
accent and behaving like a typical over-emotional teenager. It certainly takes
me back. Matt worked hard tonight, didn’t he?”
“Yes he did.” Philly struggled to erase the memory of his
bemused face when she had dashed up the stairs before he could kiss her
goodnight.
“We know what you mean about him though, love,” said Meg. “Me
and Puck were just saying that we like him despite anything. I suppose that’s
the mark of a true conman. People like them even whilst they’re being conned.”
“You don’t think I could have mistaken the phone call, do
you? Maybe he meant something different.”
“I thought you distinctly heard him say he wanted to get
into the attic and it would get the person on the other end of the phone what
they wanted.”
Philly sighed. “Yes, that’s what I heard, and it’s no good
fooling myself otherwise. We’ll have to try to find time to plant the attic
key.” She reached into the pocket of her blue satin nineteen fifties style
dress, and then in the other pocket, becoming frantic. “It’s gone.”
She jumped up off the bed and looked around the floor, then
threw some of the covers off the bed, also lifting the pillows. “It’s
gone, Meg. I had it, I’m sure I did.”
“You didn’t take it out when you changed out of your jeans
then forgot to put it in your dress pocket?” said Meg. She also stood up and
began scouting the floor and the bed for the key.
“No, I didn’t. I knew these pockets were too shallow for
that key, but I liked the dress.” Actually, she had worn it in the hopes that
Matt would like it. And he had, whispering that she looked beautiful when she
arrived in the dining room, then adding that it would look even better with
pink plimsolls.
“Come on, we’ll retrace your steps. It’s bound to be around
somewhere.”
“He put his arm around me,” said Philly, sadly. “When I was
seeing to Mrs. Cunningham. He put his arm around me. Perhaps he saw it sticking
out from my pocket and took it.”
“It might not be that,” said Meg. “It’s not as if it was on
prominent display, like we intended to leave it. I’m sure you just dropped it.
Come on, let’s go and look for it, otherwise you won’t sleep for worrying.”
The two friends went downstairs. Most of the guests had gone
to bed but a couple were in the drawing room, having late night drinks. They
could hear them discussing the case and the clues found so far, and stood by
the door trying to work out the best time to go in and disturb them.
“So we have her trunk, thrown in the shrubbery,” said old
Mr. Graham.
“That’s not exactly disappearing without a trace, is it?”
said Mr. Bennett. Mrs. Bennett had retired some time ago.
“I suppose not,” said Mr. Graham, “but it’s interesting that
they have the actual trunk here, isn’t it? A real piece of criminal history
there. I wonder that the young lady doesn’t sell it to the Black Museum.”
“What is this Black Museum?” That was Monsieur De Lacey’s
voice.
“Oh it’s where the police keep all the gruesome finds from
murders,” said Frank Bennett, salaciously. “Got some right good stuff down
there, they have. I took our Irene down for our last wedding anniversary.”
“Very romantic,” said Monsieur De Lacey, dryly.
“Our Irene loves that sort of thing,” said Frank,
defensively. “You should see all the books she’s got on murders. Other women
read Mills and Boon. My wife reads about Jack the Ripper. That’s how I knew
she’d prefer this to Majorca.”
“How did you come to learn of this place?”
Chapter Nine
“I wish I could stop liking him,” Philly said to Meg, later
that night. Meg had brought her a mug of cocoa. They sat on the edge of
Philly’s bed, chatting. “And I should be getting you this,” she added,
pointing to the cocoa. “You’re the one who did all the hard work.”
“It wasn’t so hard,” said Meg, “talking in a lousy French
accent and behaving like a typical over-emotional teenager. It certainly takes
me back. Matt worked hard tonight, didn’t he?”
“Yes he did.” Philly struggled to erase the memory of his
bemused face when she had dashed up the stairs before he could kiss her
goodnight.
“We know what you mean about him though, love,” said Meg. “Me
and Puck were just saying that we like him despite anything. I suppose that’s
the mark of a true conman. People like them even whilst they’re being conned.”
“You don’t think I could have mistaken the phone call, do
you? Maybe he meant something different.”
“I thought you distinctly heard him say he wanted to get
into the attic and it would get the person on the other end of the phone what
they wanted.”
Philly sighed. “Yes, that’s what I heard, and it’s no good
fooling myself otherwise. We’ll have to try to find time to plant the attic
key.” She reached into the pocket of her blue satin nineteen fifties style
dress, and then in the other pocket, becoming frantic. “It’s gone.”
She jumped up off the bed and looked around the floor, then
threw some of the covers off the bed, also lifting the pillows. “It’s
gone, Meg. I had it, I’m sure I did.”
“You didn’t take it out when you changed out of your jeans
then forgot to put it in your dress pocket?” said Meg. She also stood up and
began scouting the floor and the bed for the key.
“No, I didn’t. I knew these pockets were too shallow for
that key, but I liked the dress.” Actually, she had worn it in the hopes that
Matt would like it. And he had, whispering that she looked beautiful when she
arrived in the dining room, then adding that it would look even better with
pink plimsolls.
“Come on, we’ll retrace your steps. It’s bound to be around
somewhere.”
“He put his arm around me,” said Philly, sadly. “When I was
seeing to Mrs. Cunningham. He put his arm around me. Perhaps he saw it sticking
out from my pocket and took it.”
“It might not be that,” said Meg. “It’s not as if it was on
prominent display, like we intended to leave it. I’m sure you just dropped it.
Come on, let’s go and look for it, otherwise you won’t sleep for worrying.”
The two friends went downstairs. Most of the guests had gone
to bed but a couple were in the drawing room, having late night drinks. They
could hear them discussing the case and the clues found so far, and stood by
the door trying to work out the best time to go in and disturb them.
“So we have her trunk, thrown in the shrubbery,” said old
Mr. Graham.
“That’s not exactly disappearing without a trace, is it?”
said Mr. Bennett. Mrs. Bennett had retired some time ago.
“I suppose not,” said Mr. Graham, “but it’s interesting that
they have the actual trunk here, isn’t it? A real piece of criminal history
there. I wonder that the young lady doesn’t sell it to the Black Museum.”
“What is this Black Museum?” That was Monsieur De Lacey’s
voice.
“Oh it’s where the police keep all the gruesome finds from
murders,” said Frank Bennett, salaciously. “Got some right good stuff down
there, they have. I took our Irene down for our last wedding anniversary.”
“Very romantic,” said Monsieur De Lacey, dryly.
“Our Irene loves that sort of thing,” said Frank,
defensively. “You should see all the books she’s got on murders. Other women
read Mills and Boon. My wife reads about Jack the Ripper. That’s how I knew
she’d prefer this to Majorca.”
“How did you come to learn of this place?”
Similar Books
