For a moment Samuel looked vastly relieved, then his frown returned. “I’d be really careful what you ask him, if I were you, m’m. This bloke is a nasty bit of business, and I wouldn’t want to upset him.”
Cecily smiled. “I’ll be the soul of discretion, don’t worry. Besides, you’ll be by my side, and I have every confidence that we shall be quite safe.”
“I wish I did,” Samuel muttered, as he reluctantly led the way around the corner and down a narrow street. He kept looking left and right, as if expecting trouble to leap out at them from every quarter, and Cecily was quite relieved when he paused in front of a door with a small leaded glass window in it.
“This is it, m’m. You’re sure-”
“I’m quite sure, Samuel.” Cecily turned the handle and pushed open the door, leaving her worried stable manager to follow her into the musty office.
At first it appeared to be empty, but the jingling of the doorbell had apparently alerted someone, as a swarthy-looking man with beady eyes, dark bushy eyebrows, and a scruffy beard stepped through a tattered curtain behind the counter.
His eyebrows shot up when he saw her, and he sent a questioning look at Samuel, who hovered right behind her. “What can I do for you?”
He’d phrased it so that it sounded as if he doubted he could do anything for them. Cecily stepped forward, putting as much authority into her voice as she could manage. “I’d like to speak to Mr. Tippens.”
The man shifted his feet and glanced at the door. “Who’s asking?”
Cecily took another step closer. “My name is Cecily Baxter, and I’m the manager of the Pennyfoot Country Club.”
“All right.” Again Tippens glanced at the door, as if expecting someone to walk through it at any moment. “I’m Tippens. So what do you want?”
Samuel made a guttural sound in his throat, and Cecily shot up a hand to silence him. “I would like to speak to you about Mr. Lester Salt. I believe you are acquainted with him?”
The bookmaker’s heavy brows met across his nose. “How is that any of your business?”
“Here!”
Samuel stepped forward and again Cecily halted him. “I’m thinking of doing some business with Mr. Salt and I’d like to know if he is trustworthy, that’s all. Does he pay promptly what he owes?”
Tippens stared at her for a moment, then laughed, and it wasn’t a pleasant sound. “Take my advice, lady, stay away from that rotten sod. He’s bad news. Pay his debts? That’s a laugh. He owes me a bundle, and if he doesn’t pay up soon, he’s gonna be rotting away in a coffin. Like anyone else who upsets me.” He gave Samuel a look obviously meant to intimidate him.
Throwing all protocol to the wind, Samuel grabbed her arm and started tugging her backward toward the door.
“I don’t suppose you knew Thomas Willow or Jimmy Taylor?” Cecily asked, her feet skittering on the wooden boards.
Tippens’s face grew dark. “Never heard of ’em. Any more questions?”
“Thank you!” Cecily’s last words were answered by the slam of the door in her face. She turned to Samuel, who looked as if he were about to be sick. “Really, Samuel, I’m quite capable of leaving the shop on my own two feet.”
“Yes, m’m. Now, if you don’t mind, we should get back to the carriage as fast as we can.”
He rushed off, and she struggled to keep up with him, feeling rather sorry for him. It couldn’t be easy for him, having to protect her from people like the seedy Sid Tippens.
On the way home, she mused on the short conversation she’d had with the desultory Mr. Tippens. So Lester Salt was in debt to the bookmaker. How fortunate for him to have inherited the shoemaker’s shop. Now he should be able to pay back the money he owed. The inheritance couldn’t have come at a more convenient time.
Could that have been a motive for murder? Lester needed money to pay the bookie. He knew Thomas was going to leave him the shop. He might have heard about Jimmy’s death and decided to kill Thomas and make it look like the same person had killed both men.
Except that the constables had kept the missing locks of hair a secret. So how would he have known to take a lock of hair from Thomas? Unless he had actually seen what happened to Jimmy. Then again, he was in the shop when Thomas was killed. Or at least, that was what he’d said.
Sighing, she stared out the window at the white-capped ocean. She was no closer to finding the killer, and time was running out.
There were two messages waiting for her when she walked into the Pennyfoot’s foyer. Philip waved her over as soon as she stepped through the door.
“Police Constable Northcott rang, m’m,” Philip said, sliding his tablet over to her. “He said to ring him as soon as possible. He said it was urgent.”
Cecily felt a pang of apprehension. Sam Northcott never rang her unless it was of the utmost importance. He didn’t trust the telephone operators any more than she did. Especially with police business. That worried her. Could it be something else-something personal, perhaps-that he needed to discuss with her? If so, she couldn’t imagine what it could be. One thing she was certain of-it was unlikely to be good news.
Glancing down at the tablet, she murmured, “I’ll ring him from my office.” She scanned Philip’s scribbled lines. “Oh, I see my dressmaker also rang.”
“Yes, m’m. She said you needed to pay her another visit. She didn’t say why.”
“Thank you, Philip.” Cecily tore off the sheet of paper and handed him the tablet. “Has Mr. Baxter finished his work in my office?”
“Yes, m’m. I saw him go upstairs about ten minutes ago.”
Cecily pulled off her scarf and folded it over her arm. “I’ll be in my office, then, if anyone needs me.”
Heading down the hallway to her office, she unbuttoned her cape, her mind searching for a possible reason the constable would need to talk to her so urgently.
Once inside her office she snatched the receiver off its hook. The operator’s nasal tone spoke in her ear.
“Number, please?”
“Put me through to the constabulary, please.” She waited, tapping her fingers on her desk, while a series of buzzes followed.
After a moment or two, a harsh voice announced, “Badgers End Constabulary.”
“P.C. Northcott, please.”
“Who is this?”
“Cecily Baxter, from the Pennyfoot Country Club.”
“Just a moment.”
The buzzing sounded again. Cecily frowned. “Operator? Are you still on the line?”
A loud click answered her, and, shaking her head, she waited for Sam.
It seemed ages until she heard his voice, stumbling over his words as usual. “Mrs. Baxter? Is that you?”
“Yes, it’s me, Sam. You asked me to ring you.”
“Yes, m’m. I need to see you at the station. Right away, if you can. I crashed my bicycle and bent the front wheel so I have to wait now until it’s mended before I can come out there. The inspector took the carriage and it’s too far to walk in this snow.”
Cecily uttered a cry of dismay. “Are you all right, Sam?”
“Yes, m’m. Thank you. Banged up me elbow a bit, but I’ll be right as rain as soon as I get me bicycle back.”
Mindful of the operator, Cecily asked cautiously, “Is this anything to do with the situation we discussed earlier?”
“Yes, m’m, it is.”
She longed to ask him if he’d discovered anything new about the case, but it would have to wait until she was alone with him in his office. “I’ll be there just as soon as possible.” She hung the receiver back on its hook and pulled the bell rope to summon the carriage again.
All she could hope was that Sam had news for her that would lead them to the Christmas Angel. Or better yet, that the fiend who had done these terrible things had been caught.
Something told her that wasn’t likely.