Mrs. Jeffries Weeds the Plot (20 page)

Barnes looked up from his notebook. “Why do you think it was Porter?”

Eddington sighed. “I travel a lot, gentlemen. On business. Consequently, I tend to save my newspapers and read them when I get home. That’s why I didn’t come forward sooner.” He reached for a newspaper on the top of the table next to the settee and waved it at the policemen. “I only read the newspaper account last night. It said Porter was wearing a gray workingman’s shirt when he was dug up. The man Miss Gentry was giving
money to in the churchyard had on that kind of shirt.”

Witherspoon glanced at Barnes. The constable’s expression gave nothing away. “I see.”

“I’m not accusing her of murder, Inspector,” Eddington said quickly. “I almost decided to say nothing. But as I said, I know my duty. My conscience demanded that I tell you what I’d seen. This Porter sounds a disagreeable fellow, but he didn’t deserve to be murdered in cold blood.”

“I agree,” Witherspoon replied. He gave himself a shake. By rights, he’d investigated enough murders that nothing ought to have surprised him. But this did. He simply couldn’t think of what this new information might mean. Annabeth Gentry didn’t seem like a murderer. For goodness’ sakes, she had a dog. But he’d learned in the past that appearances could be deceptive. And even killers could have a dog. “What time of day was it that you saw Miss Gentry?”

“I’m not sure I remember the precise time.” Eddington frowned thoughtfully. “Let me see, it was when I was out taking some air after breakfast. Yes, it must have been about ten o’clock.”

“Did anyone else see Miss Gentry? Any of your servants or the gardener perhaps?” Witherspoon wanted as many witnesses as possible before he trotted over to Miss Gentry’s and began questioning her about Tim Porter.

“I do the gardening, Inspector,” Eddington replied. “I enjoy it and it keeps one fit. As I said, I travel a great deal in my business. I only have an occasional cleaner come in, so there wasn’t any staff to see Miss Gentry. Look, I’ve a great deal of admiration and respect for the woman. She spent an enormous amount of time with poor Mrs. Dempsey before she died. And I think it’s tragic that now that she’s inherited the house and Mrs. Dempsey’s money, there’s been so many awful things
happening to prevent her from moving into her new home and enjoying it. I didn’t tell you what I saw because I wished to slander the woman, but only because I thought it was my civic duty.”

“We weren’t doubting you, sir,” Witherspoon said. “We merely wanted to get as much information as possible before we questioned Miss Gentry again. If someone else saw her with Porter, that would be most useful to know.”

“You might ask the vicar,” Eddington said. “When I turned around to go back inside a few moments later, I noticed he’d come into the churchyard.”

“Was Miss Gentry still with Porter at that point?” Barnes asked.

“I don’t remember,” Eddington admitted. “At the time, I thought nothing of the incident.”

Witherspoon thought that odd. “Why not, sir? Surely a respectable woman handing money to a disreputable man is something that one doesn’t see every day.”

“I thought she was paying someone to work on the house,” Eddington explained. “She’d hired some of the workmen herself, you know.”

“She didn’t employ a builder?”

“She did. But she’d also hired some laborers to do some of the unskilled work. At the time, that’s what I thought she’d done.”

Barnes looked up from his scribbling. “What kind of business are you in, sir?”

Eddington looked surprised. “Investments, sir. I find opportunities for a group of Canadian and American businessmen to invest their capital in. Why? Is it relevant?”

Barnes smiled. “No, sir. I was merely curious. I’ve always thought it would be nice to have a position where one could travel.”

Witherspoon stared at the constable in surprise.
Barnes was a homebody. He didn’t even like the short train ride to Essex to visit his own relatives.

“Travel does broaden the mind,” Eddington said. “But it also has some disadvantages. I won’t have a wife to comfort me in my old age. I’m never in one place long enough to court a lady. More’s the pity.”

“Who are you?” The woman stuck her head out and glared at Wiggins with small, piggy eyes. “What da you want?”

He tried not to stare. She had the fattest face he’d ever seen. “I’m just wantin’ to talk to you,” he said. He held up a brown paper parcel. “I’ve brought you some buns. If you’ll let me in, I’ll share ’em with you.” He thanked his lucky stars that Stella had warned him to bring food.

“You ain’t said who you are?” She licked her lips as she stared at the parcel.

Wiggins didn’t want to stand on the doorstep of the derelict row house a moment longer than necessary. “My name’s Wiggins. Stella Avery sent me. She said you could ’elp me.”

“Stella sent you?” The woman stepped back and pulled the door open. “Why didn’t you say so? Come on in.”

Wiggins stepped inside. The hallway was dim and smelled of boiled cabbage and rotting carpet.

“Close the door,” she ordered.

He did as she instructed and hurried after her. She was the fattest woman he’d ever seen. The sides of her body brushed the walls as she waddled down the short hall. They came into a small, dismal sitting room. White curtains hung limply at the narrow window and the rose-colored settee was faded with age. A paint-splattered table and a spindly chair were the only other furniture in
the room. Through an open door he could see one bare table and chair in the tiny kitchen.

“My name’s Cora Babbel.” She waved him toward the only chair. “Have a seat. Then tell us why you’ve come.”

Swallowing hard, he sat down. “My name’s Wiggins and Stella Avery said you might be able to ’elp me.”

Her attention was fixed on the parcel. “Let’s have them buns you promised,” she said, reaching across the small space that separated them.

Wiggins handed them over. “Please, ’elp yourself.” This was the most depressing place he’d ever seen and he’d been in some pretty awful places. He wondered how this woman managed to live.

“I’ve got a small pension,” she suddenly announced. She unwrapped the parcel, tossing the string that held it together onto the floor.

Wiggins started in surprise. “How’d you know what I was thinkin’?”

She stared at him as she stuffed a bite of bun in her mouth. “Your face does your talking for you. What you was thinkin’ was written as clear as the day is bright. Now, why’d Stella send you to me?”

Wiggins was glad she hadn’t offered him one of the buns. “She said you might be able to tell me about Stan McIntosh.”

“You with the police?”

“No.”

“Then why’d you want to know about Stan?” She picked up the second bun and stuffed it in her mouth.

“Because I’m workin’ for someone who’s trying to catch ’is killer,” Wiggins explained. He didn’t think giving this woman the speech about justice for the common person would do much good. “And I’m bein’ paid to ask questions.”

“You’re a private inquiry agent?” Her expression was skeptical.

He shook his head. “I’m just bein’ paid to ask a few questions, that’s all. You know anything about Stan or not?”

She laughed and reached for another bun. “Oh, I know plenty about old Stan. Plenty.”

Inspector Witherspoon wasn’t certain what the proper etiquette was when someone deliberately kept the police waiting. As it was a lady, he didn’t wish to be rude, but he didn’t want the police to be made fools of either. He sighed inwardly as he glanced at Constable Barnes. “Do you think she’ll be much longer?”

They were sitting in the Caraway drawing room. They’d been there for over twenty minutes and Mrs. Caraway still hadn’t put in an appearance.

Barnes shrugged. “If she’s not here soon, sir, we’d best go. There’s a number of other people we’ve got to see today. We’ve still got the Cookseys to interview and you wanted to see Miss Gentry. Plus there’s the former school secretary. He’s supposed to have Stan McIntosh’s references. I’d like to get a look at them, sir. We need to talk to someone who knew McIntosh.”

“He is a bit of a mystery, isn’t he?” Witherspoon said. “And of course, you’re right. We do need to get cracking.” He rose to his feet and started toward the hall, intending to call the maid and instruct her to have Mrs. Caraway come to the station. But he stopped abruptly and leapt to his left. A plump, blond whirlwind of a woman almost toppled him over as she charged into the room.

“What are you doing?” she demanded as she dodged to one side of Witherspoon. “Haven’t you any manners? You almost knocked me over.”

“I’m most dreadfully sorry,” the inspector apologized quickly “I didn’t expect you to come through the door so fast.”

“It’s my house, I can come through the door as fast as I please. I’m Ethel Caraway. I take it you’re the police.” She glanced at Barnes as she spoke.

“Correct, madam.” Witherspoon moved back to the settee. “If you don’t mind, we’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“Of course I mind, but Elliot insisted I answer your questions. It is, of course, an utter waste of time.” She didn’t sit down; she simply crossed her arms over her chest and stared at them coldly.

“I believe, madam,” the inspector said softly, “that we’re the best judges of whether or not we’re wasting time.” He sincerely hoped that Ethel Caraway was wrong.

She snorted indelicately and walked to a chair. “Get on with it then.” She sat down.

He wondered why she was being so very disagreeable. After all, it was her sister they were trying to help. “Mrs. Caraway, do you know a man by the name of Stan McIntosh?”

“Certainly not. Why would I? What’s he got to do with Annabeth’s tale of someone trying to kill her?”

“What makes you think that’s why we’re here?” Barnes asked.

“My husband. That’s what he said you wanted,” she retorted promptly.

Witherspoon realized this interview wasn’t going at all well. She’d been rude, but he wanted to get as much information out of her as possible. “Mrs. Caraway, we’re not here to inconvenience you. We’ve several very difficult cases and they might be related to one another. Your cooperation would be very helpful.”

“I
am
cooperating,” she replied. “But I don’t see how Annabeth’s wild stories have anything to do with that caretaker being killed.”

“We’ve reason to believe there might be a connection,” the inspector insisted softly. He didn’t know why he felt that way, but all of a sudden he was absolutely certain that all of it was connected. The words of his housekeeper flooded into his mind.
You have a gift, sir
, she’d said.
You’ve an instinct for catching killers
…Well, he thought, perhaps that wasn’t exactly what she’d said, but it had been something like that.

Barnes watched Ethel Caraway as Witherspoon spoke. Something flickered in her eyes, something that looked very much like fear. She knew something. The constable was sure of it.

“I don’t know anything about Stan McIntosh and I’ve certainly no idea why anyone would want to kill him,” she stated firmly.

“Have you ever been to the school?” The inspector had no idea where that question had come from; he’d simply opened his mouth and it had popped out.

“Certainly not,” Mrs. Caraway replied. “That’s the most preposterous thing I’ve ever heard. Why would I go to that tumbledown wreck of a school to see that disreputable-looking man—”

“How do you know he’s disreputable looking?” Witherspoon asked.

“He’s the caretaker,” she cried. “Of course he’s disreputable looking. He wears those filthy old clothes and doesn’t cut his hair properly …” Her voice trailed off as she realized what she’d revealed.

“The only way you could know how his hair was cut, ma’am, was if you’d seen him,” Barnes pointed out.

She recovered quickly. “You didn’t ask if I’d seen him, Constable. You asked if I knew him. Of course I’ve seen him.”

Witherspoon asked, “Where were you on Thursday morning?”

She was surprised by the question. “This past Thursday? I was at home.”

“Was there anyone here with you?”

“I was alone, Inspector.”

“What about your maid?” Witherspoon pressed.

She hesitated for the briefest of moments. “It was her day out,” she finally said. “I’ve no idea what you’re leading up to, but I assure you, I had nothing to do with the man’s murder. Why would I want to kill a perfect stranger?”