Dead as a Scone (28 page)

“Her electric kettle went back with the rest of her things
—
and yes, I did take the top off and look inside.” She frowned. “I never thought about looking behind the drawers in her desk. She might have taped something to the desk frame.”

Nigel strode to the desk and removed the empty drawers one at a time. “Nothing taped to the drawers themselves,” he said, “and nothing inside the frame.”

“You don’t suppose there’s a secret compartment behind the built-in bookcase?”

Nigel laughed. “That is another cliché that Americans impose on Brits. You imagine that we have sliding panels and hidden passages in every building. However”—Nigel dutifully pounded the walls behind the empty shelves—“it sounds solid to me.”

“I’m running out of ideas.”

“I have one,” Nigel said. “Let’s look under the Oriental rug.”

Nigel stood at one corner of the red, black, and gold carpet, Flick at the adjacent corner.

“One, two, three—lift!” he said. They rolled back the edge of the rug.

“Phew! A lot of dust, but no papers.” Flick shook her head. “The other corners are pinned under furniture. No way Elspeth could have lifted them.”

Flick dropped onto the small sofa in the suite. “I guess I found everything of Elspeth’s the other day,” she said.

Nigel moved toward her. “Now there is an easy-to-get-to hiding place we haven’t searched. Under the sofa cushions.”

Flick made a face. “Much too obvious. However…” She stood up and lifted the cushions. “Hey, there is something under here.” She held up a flat black object that Nigel didn’t recognize.

“It’s a sleep mask,” Flick said. “The sort of thing they hand out on airplanes at night.”

“Why would Elspeth stash a sleep mask under a cush…?” Nigel didn’t need to finish his question. “Of course! Elspeth spent the occasional night in this office.” He looked around the room. “There are no motion detectors on the ceiling, the suite has a private loo, she owned an electric kettle, and she had Cha-Cha to keep her company. Everything one needs for a cozy night at the museum.”

“I agree it’s possible. But what would be her purpose?”

“Don’t ask me. You were her confidante.” He gave an annoyed wave. “Perhaps she was trying to catch our exceedingly clever thief.”

Nigel heard Flick gasp. He looked at her and felt a tremor of recognition pass between them. His offhand remark made perfect sense.

“You’re right,” Flick said in a breathy voice scarcely louder than a whisper. “In fact, she probably saw the thief at work. That’s how she jumped from six suspects to one certainty. She came to the trustees’ meeting ready to name the thief.”

Nigel nodded. “I think you are bang on. She had a face full of determination when she stepped into my office.”

Flick moved next to Nigel and stared into his eyes. “What did Elspeth say to you? I’m especially interested in the Bible verse she spoke. She knew her Bible backward and forward; she quoted the right verse for the occasion.” She gripped his arm. “Nigel, it’s important. Try to remember. The verse is one of the last things she said before she died.”

“I told you yesterday,” he said. “It was about justice being done to a criminal.”

Flick seemed lost in thought. She scowled at him. “What kind of criminal? Elspeth used Bible verses in proper context. Could she have quoted a verse about a thief?”

“I suppose so. Does that make a difference?”

“A humongous difference!” Flick sounded positively merry. “Elspeth never used the computer in this office, but we will.”

Nigel watched in silence while Flick sat down at the desk and turned on the computer that occupied one corner. “There are several sites on the Internet that let you search the Bible,” she said. “All I have to do is find one.”

He quietly shifted a visitor’s chair so he could also see the monitor screen as Flick typed enthusiastically on the keyboard. After several unsuccessful tries, she said, “Bingo! Just what we’re looking for. Now to enter
T-H-I-E-F…”

Flick turned the monitor directly toward Nigel. “There are only twenty-three verses; start reading.”

“Crikey!” he said. “It’s the third one on the list. ‘When a thief is caught he must pay back double.’ ” Nigel let himself grin. “I remember now. Elspeth spoke those words and then said, ‘That rule is from the Bible.’ But then she said that the rule shouldn’t apply to a museum and she wanted to explain that to the other trustees.”

Flick hesitated. “Gosh. That doesn’t make much sense.”

“Imagine how I felt listening to her illogical one-sided conversation. I couldn’t fathom where she was going or why.”

“Maybe the entire verse will give us more context.”

Nigel peered at the screen and read aloud, “Exodus 22:7. ‘If a man gives his neighbor silver or goods for safekeeping and they are stolen from the neighbor’s house, the thief, if he is caught, must pay back double.’ ” He shrugged. “Still clear as mud.”

“I have an idea. It’s a long shot, but maybe it’s worth a try. If Elspeth believed the verse important, maybe she discussed it with her pastor. Elspeth faithfully attended St. Stephen’s.”

Nigel barely managed not to roll his eyes. “Are you suggesting that we ask Vicar De Rudd?”

“Yes. He’s a pleasant enough fellow, he’s not on our list of suspects, and St. Stephen’s Church is just on the other side of Tunbridge Wells.”

Nigel barely managed not to groan. Visiting a long-winded vicar was low on his list of favorite things to do. “I suppose so,” he said. “When?”

“I don’t want to leave our academic conferees until the Mad Hatter’s Tea Party is well underway. Giselle Logan can handle any crises at that point.” She reflected a moment. “I’ll meet you at, say, four thirty, in the car park.”

“It’s a date.”

Nigel felt himself blush. He covered his awkward choice of words by quickly adding, “I shall call Vicar de Rudd and tell him we are coming.”

“Wonderful!” Flick said. “See you later.” Her smile had become brighter and more gracious than before.

How did she manage to do that?

Flick retied her trench coat’s belt more tightly around her waist. Sunday afternoon had been gloriously warm and sunny; Monday afternoon finished bleak, damp, and chilly. “Welcome to England,” she murmured as she let the museum’s side door swing shut behind her.

She heard a roar to her left. Nigel’s white BMW careened around the building and screeched to a stop. He jumped out, sprinted to the passenger door, and yanked the handle. “Allow me.”

Flick climbed in and secured her seat belt. Nigel shut the door gently and dashed back around to the driver’s seat.

“Thank you, Nigel,” she said, hoping that her voice didn’t carry too much surprise. Nigel was in fine fettle today—an agreeable extension of the unexpectedly good mood he had displayed the evening before at the pizzeria. Nigel had been a remarkably good sport, considering that she had accidentally poisoned him.

If Nigel was acting a bit silly today, so was she. There had been no reason for her to dress up this morning, even wearing her going-out shoes, other than the curious feeling that she should wear something special. Nigel probably didn’t notice. After all, he dressed up every day in well-tailored suits that made him look distinguished and—she couldn’t think of a better description—
hail-fellow-well-met.

Nigel slid the gearshift into first, released the clutch, and made a U-turn in the car park. “How did the ‘Mad Hatter’ conference go?” he asked.

“Swimmingly! Your scones and tarts earned rave reviews at the tea party.”

“Did our conferees successfully advance the state of societal metaphors?”

Flick chuckled. “I listened to one of the presentations. It examined why so many social activities in England begin with the serving of tea.”

“And the reason is…?”

“The tea party provides a uniquely English mechanism for people to interact and communicate. Thus, Alice felt free to communicate openly with the Mad Hatter and the White Rabbit and to exchange information in a peaceful, nonconfrontational setting.”

“I’ve said it before—bah humbug!” Nigel tromped on the accelerator.

Flick did not enjoy driving or being driven through Tunbridge Wells’s town centre. Nigel seemed to relish the challenge. He charged into the heavy flow of late-afternoon traffic crawling along Eridge Road.

“I chatted with the vicar, as promised,” Nigel said, glancing at Flick. “He sounded happy that we wanted to visit him.”

Flick needed all her willpower not to shout
“Don’t talk! And keep your eyes on the road!”
It didn’t help matters that the sun had set and the dazzling headlights of the oncoming traffic made her squint repeatedly.

Nigel zipped around a lorry lumbering in low gear and veered around several parked cars, coming perilously close to oncoming traffic.

Flick shut her eyes. Anyone driving like Nigel in York, Pennsylvania, would be sentenced to years in prison. In England everyone seemed to drive the same way.

“Were Elspeth and Vicar de Rudd good friends?” Nigel asked. “I never had the impression that they were. Of course, I have seen them together only at trustee meetings.”

Nigel turned onto a two-lane road lined with tall trees that were busy dropping their leaves. The houses along the road were fewer and larger; many were hidden behind high hedgerows. In Pennsylvania, a road like this would be a quiet scenic lane. In Kent, it was a busy thoroughfare. Flick tightened her seat belt as Nigel revved the engine and the car shot forward.

“We’re almost there,” Nigel said. “Have you thought about what we are going to say to the vicar? He probably is tired of hearing you allege that one of his fellow trustees poisoned Elspeth.”

“Very funny. However, you can tell him that Elspeth wanted to share a Bible verse with the other trustees but never got the chance. Say that you are curious about what she might have had in mind. Repeat the verse, but leave out the part about an exceedingly clever thief in our midst.”

Nigel downshifted and passed a slow-moving bus. “Good! That’s more or less the truth. I wasn’t looking forward to lying to a vicar.”

Flick squeaked out a laugh. “And here I thought you had lost your boyish faith.”

“Oh, I’m still a member of the Church of England. I just don’t do much about it.”

“Same with me. I stopped going to church when I went off to college. Well, except for Christmas and Easter. I love the music.”

“Hmmm. Me, too.” He grinned at her. “Do you still remember the prayers you used to say when you were a kid?”

“I came close to praying yesterday when I thought you were poisoned.”

“You were going to pray for me?”

Flick laughed. “Actually, I thought about praying for wisdom.
For me.”

The vicarage of St. Stephen’s Church was on the north side of Pembury Road, opposite Dunorlan Park. Nigel steered the BMW into the vicarage driveway and parked next to the gray stone building. He seemed to anticipate her next question.

“It’s made of some sort of limestone, I believe,” he said. “If we get the chance, let’s ask the vicar.”

Nigel worked the large brass doorknocker.

“Don’t you recognize what that is?” Flick asked excitedly. “It’s a miniature tea clipper. How did it end up way out here?”

The door opened. Vicar de Rudd smiled and said, “Welcome to St. Stephen’s.”

Flick and Nigel followed the vicar—a man of her height but significantly larger girth—into a small parlor full of friendly looking overstuffed furniture. He guided them to two comfortable wing chairs and said, “I have a pot of tea brewing in the kitchen. How would everyone like a good cuppa?”

Flick said, “I’d love one.” She expected Nigel to decline, but he nodded graciously. “Me, too.”

“I’ll be back in half a tick.” The vicar suddenly stopped in the doorway. “Would anyone care for a biscuit? Elsie, my housekeeper, bakes the best shortbread in the realm.”

“Please!” Flick said.

“Indeed!” added Nigel.

It wasn’t long before Flick heard the vicar’s footsteps on the wooden floor and the rattle of teacups on a tray. He set the tray on a small table and sat down opposite them. The vicar winked at Nigel. “If our museum
mother
doesn’t object, I shall be mother at the vicarage.”