Manor House 03 - For Whom Death Tolls (18 page)

For a long moment he stared at her, his mental battle with his conscience causing one eyelid to twitch uncontrollably. Then he uttered a long sigh. "All right. I'm really sorry, m'm. Truly I am. Yes, I was handing out some stuff for a while. Not doing it anymore, though. I know it was wrong, but I just wanted to help people out, that's all. There wasn't anything in it for me, honest. I paid through the nose for it. But I got tired of having to say no so many times when the ladies kept asking for a little extra on the scales. You know how it is, your ladyship. It's wartime. You have to look out for people, don't you."

Elizabeth gulped. Without realizing, she'd finished the
entire piece of cheese while he was talking. She hadn't tasted one bit of it. "I do know exactly what you mean, Percy."

"Yeah, well, the government keeps a stern eye on blokes like us. We have to account for everything that goes out of here, and if we're short on the coupons, well, then we get shorted the next month and we have to make up for it. So, when I saw the chance to give everyone a little bit of a treat, I couldn't turn it down, now, could I, m'm?"

"Of course not, Percy." She had to stop agreeing with everything he said, she thought desperately.

"Well then, we're all right, then, are we?"

"Not exactly." Her fingers still shook as she brushed crumbs from her wool jacket. "There's the little matter of Kenny Morris's murder."

Percy's eyebrows almost disappeared into his hairline. "Murder? What's that got to do with anything?"

Feeling only a tad reassured, she explained, "Kenny Morris was supplying stolen goods from the base. I assume he's the one from whom you obtained your little treats."

"Oh, my." Percy's face was ashen. He clutched his chest and grabbed the counter for support. "Oh, good God. I'm in trouble, aren't I?"

"You could quite well be." Now she was beginning to feel a bit sorry for the poor man. "After all, Kenny Morris is dead, and you had underhanded dealings with him . . ."

"No, m'm, I didn't."

". . . so naturally one would . . . I beg your pardon?"

"I didn't have no underhanded nothing with Kenny Morris. I never even met the man. I swear it."

Hope definitely on the rise, Elizabeth prompted, "So how did you get the goods? Someone else delivered them?"

Percy closed his eyes for a moment, then walked back
behind the counter. He picked up a kitchen towel and began wiping his hands on it. His face was still pale, and she noticed his hands trembled as he put down the towel. "Look, I don't want to get no one into trouble, especially a nice little old lady like Henrietta Jones, but I've got to look out for myself here, haven't I. I could be in big trouble. After all, we're talking about a murder here."

Elizabeth frowned. "What does Henrietta Jones have to do with anything?"

Percy shrugged. "Well, she was the one that supplied me with the stuff, wasn't she."

Elizabeth felt her jaw go slack. "Henrietta Jones?"

"That's right, your ladyship. Henrietta Jones."

"Henrietta
Jones
?" Elizabeth repeated. Thoroughly confused, she tried to make sense of this latest development. "I don't understand. How could she be your supplier? She doesn't drive a vehicle. She told me so."

Percy tucked his thumbs into the bib of his apron. "She didn't deliver it. She let me know when she had something and I went out there and picked it up. One case at a time. Sometimes I'd bring her back with me so she could shop in town, then I'd run her back home. Least I could do, really. Though I paid her bloody well for the goods."

"But where on earth did she get stolen goods?" Elizabeth demanded, still unable to accept what she was hearing.

"Her grandson, Charlie. He lives in London, you see. Now and again he comes down to check up on her, and he was bringing a case or two of food with him. He works at some American distribution center in the city. Mind you, I don't know if the stuff was stolen or not. He told the old lady he was buying the surplus cheap. Though if you ask me, I reckon he copped a case or two when no one was looking."

This time only one of Elizabeth's eyebrows lifted.

Percy shrugged. "Well, they all do it, m'm, don't they. Besides, can't really blame him when he's only trying to help the old lady out."

"Indeed." Elizabeth shook her head in disbelief. "Henrietta Jones. But why would she sell the supplies to you if they were a gift from her grandson?"

"Couldn't eat it all, m'm, could she. A case of peaches goes a long way. Besides, I reckon she could use the money."

"It sounds as if she had a nice little business going on there."

"Well, she won't get no more for a while now. Charlie told his grandmother he couldn't get no more extra rations for a while. I reckon he got caught, and that put a stop to it."

"I see." Her head was beginning to ache. She needed time to think about everything she'd heard. "There's just one more thing." She pointed to the display counter. "Where did you get that strange-looking straw? I've never seen green straw before."

"Ah, that's American, that's why. Came in those crates I bought from Henrietta. Looks really nice in my counter, though it's not real straw. Made of paper, it is. Looks real, though, doesn't it?"

"It certainly does," Elizabeth said thoughtfully. "Well, I'll be getting along then, Percy. Thank you for telling me everything. We'll see you tonight at the cricket field then?"

Percy hurried around the counter. "Let me get the door for you, your ladyship." He waited until she was about to step out into the street before adding anxiously, "So what's going to happen now? Am I in trouble over this?"

Elizabeth smiled at him. "I hope not, Percy, though I'd be very careful before accepting stolen goods in the future."

"Oh, I will, m'm. That's a promise. I didn't have nothing to do with that murder, that I swear."

"Try not to worry about it." She gave him a graceful wave of her hand and headed for her motorcycle.

On the ride home she went over everything in her mind. The paper straw in the cricket pavilion matched the straw in Percy's display counter. Straw that the American military used in crates. Crates that were sent to the bases. Kenny must have been delivering those crates to the pavilion, which would explain the huge tire wheels. Whoever had bought them had stored them there until he could get rid of them.

Until word got out of the upcoming cricket match, in which case the contact would have had to find another place to store the supplies.

He'd moved out the crates, leaving pieces of the packing behind—the same packing that Percy had used in his display. The packing he said he got out of the crates he bought from Henrietta.

Percy, of course, could be lying. Though it would take some imagination to make up a story like that. But then, if he was telling the truth, it would appear that Henrietta's grandson could have been Kenny Morris's contact. Or at least one of them. In which case, he could also be the murderer.

Elizabeth's heart ached for the elderly woman. She could only hope that she was wrong about all this, for if she proved to be right, Henrietta Jones was facing a terrible heartbreak.

She thought about paying the widow a visit that afternoon, then decided against it. She needed more time to sort things out in her mind before she upset the frail old woman. Besides, she had a lot to do before the cricket lesson this evening. Henrietta would just have to wait until tomorrow.

CHAPTER

14

Rita Crumm had been right, for once. Elizabeth hardly recognized the pavilion when she walked into the main hall later that afternoon. Windows gleamed and the floors had been scrubbed almost white. Long trestle tables, borrowed from the town hall no doubt, lined the walls, their bright pink paper tablecloths reaching to the floor.

Rita and her crew had even hung a few garlands of twisted red, white, and blue crepe paper from the low-lying beams, and someone had donated a dilapidated dartboard to hang on the wall.

The whole place looked quite festive, and Elizabeth had to acknowledge that Rita and her Housewives League had done themselves proud.

Even Violet, who never had a good word to say about any member of Rita's entourage, muttered something
that might have passed for a compliment under her breath.

Percy arrived early, decked out in white trousers, white shirt, and the obligatory white sleeveless sweater with bands of blue at the neck and armholes.

"Blimey," Violet muttered, "doesn't he look spiffy all of a sudden. Thought this was just a practice run. Hope he don't get that lot dirty before Wednesday."

Elizabeth was spared from answering her when a loud popping, banging, and wheezing signaled the arrival of Captain Carbunkle in his silver 1934 MG, which had somehow survived years of the captain's erratic and sometimes suicidal driving.

Following on his heels came a waving, wobbling line of women on bicycles, headed up by the inimitable Rita Crumm. Shortly after they'd dismounted, the bus arrived and spilled out a host of villagers all anxious to watch the Yanks attempt to learn one of Great Britain's national pastimes—the honorable game of cricket.

The pavilion quickly filled up with people, all seemingly talking at once. Elizabeth spied Polly briefly in the crowd, but right then a commotion out front indicated that the noisy engines she heard were jeeps pulling up at the entrance.

Violet was deep in an animated conversation with Bessie, and Elizabeth drifted over to the door, telling herself that she really needed to count heads if she were to organize the lesson.

Reaching the top of the steps, she squinted across the car park where American airmen were scrambling out of the jeeps. There seemed to be quite a few more than eleven would-be players. No doubt some of them were eager onlookers.

A shriek to her right caught her attention, just in time to see Polly fling herself into the open arms of Sam Cutter. The officer swung the young girl off her feet, and she clung to his neck, her cheeks glowing.

Elizabeth envied her secretary right then. How liberating it must be not to worry about convention or what other people thought. She turned back to the car park, her heart sinking when she failed to see the tall figure of Earl Monroe striding toward her.

It didn't mean anything had happened to him, she assured herself, trying not to remember the tense expression on his face that morning. He was simply held up at the base, that was all. Though whatever it was that delayed him had to be critical for him to miss the lesson, since he was captaining the team.

In an attempt to stem the panic that threatened to rise, she hurried over to Sam Cutter, who stood with his arms around Polly, looking at her as if he couldn't bear to let her go.

Again Elizabeth had to stifle a wave of envy. Whatever had happened to her resolve to remain indifferent to the male species? Surely she could not be succumbing to the general attitude to make every moment count and to blazes with what tomorrow might bring?

She knew better than that. The hard lessons she'd learned through her own disastrous marriage had taught her well. Yet these days she was in constant danger of forgetting all that she had suffered and lost. It would be a bad mistake to allow that to happen. Especially when it came to a certain married major in the United States Army Air Force.

Polly caught sight of her first when she approached, and hastily stepped out of the circle of Sam Cutter's arms. He turned to see the cause of Polly's embarrassment, and gave Elizabeth a beaming smile.

"Hi, your ladyship! Good to see you again."

"Thank you, Squadron Leader. I was very pleased to hear that you had been released from the base." She glanced at Polly, whose face was now a bright pink. "I'm sure my secretary is even more happy."

"Yes, ma'am." Sam grinned, while Polly looked uncomfortable.

As well she should, Elizabeth thought wryly. She couldn't help wondering if Sam was aware of Polly's tender age, then decided it was none of her business. In these uncertain days problems such as being too young or too old didn't seem to have much significance.

"We've been looking forward to learning how to play cricket, ma'am," Sam said, nodding his head out to midfield.

"Yes, well, I hope the men have managed to round up enough cricket bats and balls for the big game." Elizabeth was aching to ask if Earl would be there for the lesson. She was trying to think of a way to phrase the question when directly behind her his deep voice spoke in his familiar drawl.

"Hi there. Sorry I'm late."

It took a tremendous amount of discipline not to let the joy shine in her face. She turned to look at him, struggling to hide the sheer pleasure she felt as she met his warm gaze. "Major Monroe! How nice to see you again. I'm so glad you could be with us this evening."

"Lady Elizabeth. I'm real happy to be here." He reached for her hand, and completely floored her by raising her fingers to his lips.

Polly made a soft sound in her throat, while Elizabeth stood transfixed. She felt as if the entire world had suddenly rocked to a full stop.

The beautiful moment was broken by a strident voice bellowing to be heard above everyone else. "If we don't get this bloody lesson started, it'll be bleeding dark before anyone's hit the flippin' ball."

Elizabeth winced, and Polly giggled. "That's Rita getting on her high horse," she said, reaching for Sam's hand. "Come on, let's get out there and show them what the Yanks can do with a cricket ball."

"Guess I'd better join them," Earl said, as the men
streamed onto the field. "The team's not going to play too well if their captain hasn't a clue what he's doing."

"Quite right." Elizabeth finally found her composure. "You'd better get going, then."

He looked as if he wanted to say something important, then apparently changed his mind, and grinned instead. "Aren't you supposed to give me a scarf or something to wear?"

She shook her head. "That's jousting. The knight tied his lady's scarf onto his lance. One of those frothy silk things. Somehow tying a woolly scarf to a cricket bat doesn't have the same aura of romance to it."