At the sound of her voice, Peter stiffened. He turned to face her. “Hello, Mrs. Pritchard. How are you today?”
“Well, I’m fine, of course. The real question is, how are you? It sounds like I missed quite a time at Ms. Reynolds’s New Year’s party.” In a conspiratorial tone, she added, “Are the stories I’m hearing true?”
“I don’t know,” Peter said evenly. “What stories have you been hearing?”
“Well,” said Mrs. Pritchard, eagerly leaning her massive frame closer to Peter, “from what I hear, Mr. Ramsey threatened Ms. Reynolds—told her that he would force her to sell him the inn come hell or high water—and she shot him right through the heart! I know she’s an old friend of yours, Peter, but I’ve always said that there is something odd about that woman, if you know what I mean. For one thing, she drives through this town in that car of hers like a raving lunatic.” My hand constricted around the apple I was holding and I fantasized lobbing it at her head. Peter must have sensed this because he discreetly took the apple from me and silently added it to the others in the bag.
“Well, you can take it from me, Mrs. Pritchard,” he said calmly. “Ms. Reynolds was not threatened by Mr. Ramsey, nor did she shoot him. The police are still investigating the matter.”
Mrs. Pritchard’s fleshy face fell in disappointment. “Oh, well, I suppose there’s no dearth of people who wanted to get rid of that old buzzard. He made his daughter’s life a sheer hell, I can tell you. I heard he wouldn’t even let her move out and live on her own. Said it wasn’t proper for a single girl to live alone or some such nonsense. And then there’s that wife of his.” With a crude twist of her mouth, her eyes flashed knowingly at Peter. My stomach roiled in disgust. “I heard that she’d had enough of His Nibs and wanted out. And from what I hear, she has someone waiting in the wings, if you know what I mean.”
I must have made a noise, because her birdlike eyes homed in on me. “And who is this?” she asked. “Your girlfriend?”
“This is Elizabeth Parker,” Peter said. “She’s Ms. Reynolds’s grandniece.” A normal person would have been embarrassed, but not Mrs. Pritchard. She merely stared at me more openly, as if I were a specimen under glass.
“Really?” She studied me from head to toe. “I’ve heard about you.” Her expression indicated she found the inventory lacking. “You’re not at all how I pictured you.”
“Oh?” I said politely. “That’s funny. You’re just how I pictured you, Mrs. Pritchard.”
She blinked. Twice. Before she could respond, a smallish man poked his head out of the back room and called to her.
“Doris!” he yelled in a thin reedy voice. “Can you come here a moment? I can’t find the green beans.” He was as thin as she was heavy. They were Jack Sprat and his wife come to life.
“Helpless man,” Mrs. Pritchard muttered before excusing herself. “Alfred, they’re right next to the canned tomatoes!” she yelled, stalking toward the back room.
“She’s a real charmer,” I said, watching her wide retreating back.
“I think every town must have a Doris Pritchard,” Peter said in a resigned voice.
“Maybe so. But she manages to make Jackie seem innocuous.”
Hoping to avoid another encounter with Doris, we quickly loaded the cart with the remaining items on the list. We were just nearing the checkout line when she descended on us again. With her was a pale, anemic-looking girl. Peter saw them first. “Oh, God,” he moaned under his breath as they approached.
“Oh, there you are!” said Mrs. Pritchard. “I was hoping I would catch you! I was just thinking that there’s no call for you two to lug all this stuff back to the inn. My daughter will be happy to deliver it for you. I’m sure you remember Jessie, don’t you, Peter?”
She thrust the girl forward. Jessie was an unfortunate mix of her mother’s birdlike features and her father’s scrawny build. She peered eagerly out at Peter from behind a lock of limp mousy brown hair with an expression that had nothing to do with a desire to deliver groceries.
“Hello, Peter,” she simpered.
Peter appeared to have lost his voice. I had lost my patience.
“Thank you very much, Mrs. Pritchard,” I said, forcing a jolly smile on my face. “But we can’t take you up on your offer.”
“But why ever not?” said Mrs. Pritchard. “I’m sure you have other errands to run today.”
“True,” I said. “But the police have asked us to keep outside traffic to a bare minimum until they’ve finished their investigation. Emergencies only.” It was certainly a bold-faced lie, and expressly against my New Year’s resolutions, but there was no way I was going to let that woman or her daughter within ten feet of Aunt Winnie or the inn.
Mrs. Pritchard raised her eyebrows questioningly at Peter. He said nothing. I gave him a small nudge. What was wrong with him? “Um, yes,” he said finally. “That’s right. Police orders.”
Jessie, looking like a child whose favorite toy had just been snatched away, shrugged her bony shoulders. “Well, if you ever need me—for anything—give me a call,” she said to Peter.
I linked my arm through Peter’s and smiled at her. “Well, thank you, Jessie, that’s very kind of you. Peter and I will do just that.”
The girl peered uncertainly at me and then back at Peter before moving away. Mrs. Pritchard turned to me, her small eyes cold and appraising. “How long are you staying in town, dear?”
“I really haven’t decided yet.” I smiled coyly at Peter. “It all depends.”
Mrs. Pritchard bared her undersized teeth in a semblance of a smile. It wasn’t pretty. “Very well, then,” she said with exaggerated sweetness. “We’ll just have to wait and see.”
“Yes,” I replied just as sweetly, “we will.”
Gathering up our purchases, we said our goodbyes, fake smiles all around, and lugged everything out to Peter’s car.
“What got into you back there?” he asked.
“Nothing,” I said, surprised at the annoyance in his voice. “I was only trying to help you escape the clutches of that pubescent anemic vamp.”
“Who? Jessie?” he said. “Don’t be silly. She’s just a kid. I can handle her.”
“You didn’t seem to be handling anything, actually,” I said. “God help Maggie if that’s how you ward off unwanted attention.”
Peter’s dark brows pulled together and he took his time answering. “Maggie isn’t the jealous type,” he said. “We have a solid relationship. She’s very understanding.”
“Well, she’d have to be, wouldn’t she?” I said, before adding, “Look, I’m sure she’s just wonderful and you two are love’s ideal together. But my point back there,” I said crossly, jerking my thumb in the direction of Pritchard’s, “is that I’m not going to let that woman or her daughter anywhere near Longbourn just so they can snoop around and spread nasty rumors about Aunt Winnie. Don’t you see that more has been lost here than a life? Aunt Winnie’s reputation is also in danger. Let the Doris Pritchards of the town gloat at us from a distance and be happy with that.”
“I agree with you there,” he said. “But haven’t you ever heard the expression ‘You can catch more flies with honey than vinegar’?”
“That’s the most ridiculous expression!” I snapped angrily back at him. “Who wants flies anyway?”
Peter paused and burst out laughing. After a minute, he said, “Come on, we’ve got two more stops to make. Just try not to start a rumble or anything, will you? I don’t think I’ve got enough bail money on me.”
I consoled myself with the knowledge that I had to put up with Peter for only a few days. Somewhere out there was a poor girl named Maggie who surely had it far worse.
CHAPTER 13
Human nature is so well disposed towards those
who are in interesting situations, that a young person
who either marries or dies is sure of being kindly spoken of.