The Deer Leap by Martha Grimes Page A

as you say, a claustrophobic.”
    Detective Inspector Russell, from the Selby C.I.D., shook his head. “I’ll be damned.” He looked at Jury unhappily, whether from having Scotland Yard here or from a second death in this tiny village, Jury couldn’t say. “What the hell was the woman doing down here?”
    â€œWe don’t know. Any objections to my being here? It was a friend of mine who discovered Una Quick’s body.”
    Inspector Russell didn’t seem to mind; indeed, he looked relieved. If Scotland Yard wanted Selby-Ashdown corpses, they could have them. “I’ll check it with the Chief Constable. That door —” Again he shook his head. “Knob just came off?”
    â€œMaybe.”
    Russell took out his handkerchief and tried to twist the stem. It was old and rusted and wouldn’t give. “She couldn’t get it back on.” The iron fitting inside the porcelain was broken, making it impossible to fit the knob to the stem. It was a very old doorknob.
    â€œLet’s go talk to MacBride. Does he know?”
    â€œI took the liberty,” said Melrose, “of informing him there’d been an accident. In a word, yes. He knows.”
    â€œWould you mind if my sergeant went along?” asked Jury, who was looking around the tiny house, his gaze finally fixed on the chair and the lamp. “And Mr. Plant?”
    â€œYour sergeant, yes. And Pasco.” He squinted at Melrose Plant. “But I don’t see why —”
    â€œHe found the body,” said Jury.
    â€œOkay. What about you?” A mild suggestion that Scotland Yard was leaving the dog’s work to the Hampshire constabulary.
    â€œI’d like to talk to the girl — what’s her name?” he asked Pasco.
    â€œNeahle Meara.”
    â€œAsk her to come down here.” At Plant’s look, Jury said, “No, I won’t show her the inside of the door. I want to talk to her, away from the others.”
    Then Jury added, “And tell her to bring her kitten and a can opener.” He grinned.

    She stood framed in the doorway, clutching a gray cloth coat around her and holding what looked like a schoolbag.
    Jury was surprised by her black hair and deep blue eyes, now smudged underneath and looking scared. He hadn’t seen her in the Deer Leap; although he knew she wasn’t the daughter, he’d expected someone with MacBride’s washed-out coloring. This little girl was definitely not washed out; she was beautiful.
    â€œHullo, Neahle,” he said. “Is the kitten in the book bag?”
    Wordlessly, she nodded and chewed her lip. Then she stepped over the sill and said, with as much defiance as she could muster, “You can’t take him away. He didn’t do anything.”
    â€œGood God, whatever made you think I’d want to do that? I just thought maybe you’d like to give him his breakfast.”
    â€œLunch. He had some cheese for breakfast, and milk.”
    â€œLunch, then.” Jury smiled. They might have been here for no other reason than to confirm the kitten’s eating habits. It poked its black head out of the bag and blinked.
    Neahle pulled it all the way out and set in on the floor, but made no move toward the catfood. “I heard about Sally — Aunt Sally.”
    That she didn’t want to call her “aunt” was clear. And that she wasn’t sorry the MacBride woman was dead was equally clear.
    That, unfortunately, meant guilt could fall on her perhaps suddenly like a brick, hard and fast.
    She was sitting in a troll-sized chair, picking at the flaking blue paint, “It’s too bad.” She did not look at Jury because she couldn’t work up the appropriate tears, he bet.
    â€œYes. I thought you could help.”
    She looked up, then, interested. “I’ve got the can opener.” She said it as if the Kit-e-Kat might be by way of helping.
    â€œToss it here.”