Screaming Yellow by Rachel Green Page B

her new mistress’s soles.
    Jean glanced up from the paper and smiled. “Much better.”
    She read the lead story and followed it to page five. Much of the article was stock background on Robert and his books and political work. One phrase stood out. “Listen,” she said. “‘Police are looking for a member of the household to assist them in their enquiries but are unwilling to release any names at present.’”
    “Richard, I suppose, ma’am, though he’s not been here all week.”
    “I doubt the boy would have the balls.” Jean folded the paper and took the plate of toast. “Robert never wanted me to be his submissive. Being Anthony’s widow made it too close for comfort, too much like a hint of incest, though we were never even slightly related. I didn’t even know him very well before Anthony died, though I recognized that look in his eye.” She glanced down the bed, catching Amanda’s eye. “You know the one.”
    She finished the tea and replaced it on the tray. “I shall have to put on a show that I’m upset by his death.” She began buttering the toast. “Set out the black for today. It will at least please Father Brande that I wear mourning black for a while.”
    “Yes, ma’am.” Amanda rose to stand, the single movement graceful and obviously well practiced.
    “Did you kill him?” Jean asked.
    Amanda looked up, her bright eyes glistening in the single ray of sunlight that danced between the closed curtains. “No, ma’am, I did not.”
    Jean nodded. “We’ll see. Though I’m inclined to believe you.”
    * * * *
    “I’m back.” Simon’s voice echoed from the hall as the door slammed.
    “There’s tea in the pot.” Jennifer went to the kitchen doorway and watched as he dropped his coat and briefcase on the pew in the hall. “We have a visitor.”
    He strode into the kitchen and stopped, a look of surprise on his face. “Mary? What are you doing here?”
    “I come to ask you for your help, Father.” Mary twisted a paper napkin in her fingers. “I want you to come with me to The Herbage.”
    “Next door?” Simon sat. “Whatever for?”
    Jennifer got up to fetch him a cup. “Now don’t have a coronary but she wants to ask the witch who killed Robert.” She patted him on the arm as she set the cup down, “She’s afraid you’ll excommunicate her for it.”
    Mary blushed, which clashed terribly with her hair.
    Simon reached out and patted her hand. “I chatted with Miss Jones yesterday and she’s actually very nice. We may have opposing theologies but she’s an intelligent woman who can put forward a convincing argument.”
    “She’s psychic as well.” Mary’s eyes were wide, her words breathy. “She can find out everything and tell us who the killer is.”
    Simon laughed. “I’m not sure I’d go that far. If she was, though, would you be willing to hear the truth? What if it turns out that Richard is guilty? How would you feel then?”
    Mary smiled. “Richard is no saint but he’s not a killer. He wouldn’t hurt a fly if it didn’t beg him first.”
    “I don’t understand.” Simon frowned. “What does that have to do with anything? This was a crime of passion. Men do strange things in a fit of passion.”
    “Not Richard.” Mary shook her head. “He might like it rough, but he would never be violent. Especially not with his stepfather.”
    Jennifer poured the tea, trying to be unobtrusive but relishing every moment. Wait until she told the girls.
    Simon glanced at her before turning back to Mary. “I’m not saying I think Richard did it, just that there’s the possibility. He did stand to inherit the estate, after all.”
    Jennifer frowned. “Did he? I thought Jean…”
    Simon interrupted. “He’ll have left her a generous stipend but the bulk will go to Richard, surely? He is Sir Robert's stepson, after all. He’ll be a very rich young man.”
    “If you don’t suspect him,” said Mary, “why did you go to warn him this morning?”
    “You saw