“Who saw Mr. Winterhalter leave the kitchen?”
“It were Nellie Smith,” George answered, beating Sid to the punch. “And that’s me last word on the subject.” He sent Sid a meaningful look. “And yours.”
“Well, thank you. Both of you.” Elizabeth straddled the saddle of her motorcycle. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have my own investigation to conduct.”
“The inspector won’t like you interfering, m’m,” George warned.
“The inspector,” Elizabeth said, rising up to kick start the engine, “will thank me when I save him, and you, George, from a grave miscarriage of justice.”
“If you find out anything, your ladyship, you’re under an obligation-”
The rest of George’s words were drowned out by the roar of the motorcycle’s engine. Smiling and waving, Elizabeth soared off down the street, narrowly missing a startled housewife scurrying across the road.
No matter what George thought, Elizabeth told herself as she rode down the hill, she would not believe Rodney had stabbed Brian Sutcliffe. He had been too distraught at the thought of his daughter possibly being involved.
Nor did she believe that Tess had killed her lover. But she intended to make quite certain of that before she tackled the other people on her list.
Arriving back at the village hall, she parked her motorcycle and cut the engine. She had taken longer than she had intended to deliver Bessie’s china to the shop. She could only hope Bessie was still inside.
To her relief, not only was Bessie still there, but several members of the Housewives League stood about, apparently finishing up the cleanup. She spotted Nellie in the group, and headed over to her, intent on speaking to the young lady before she left.
Elizabeth wasted no time in coming to the point when she drew Nellie aside. “I understand you saw Rodney Winterhalter leaving the kitchen yesterday afternoon about the time of the murder,” she said.
Nellie looked apprehensive. “I didn’t want to get no one in trouble, your ladyship, but George did ask and I had to say what I saw.”
Elizabeth nodded. “It’s all right, Nellie. What exactly did you see?”
“Well, it were a little while before all that fuss about the missing knife. I seen Mr. Winterhalter rushing out of the kitchen, and he looked really upset about something. I wondered at the time what he was doing in there, but then Florrie went in to get the knife and came running out again to say it were missing and, well, you heard the rest.”
“Did you see where Mr. Winterhalter went after he left the kitchen?”
Nellie shook her head. “I was too busy helping Florrie look for the knife.”
“Very well. Thank you, Nellie.” Elizabeth smiled at the worried-looking girl. “You did the right thing. Please don’t give it another thought.”
“Yes, m’m.” Still looking concerned, Nellie went back to join the group that was now stacking chairs against the walls.
Bessie seemed to have disappeared, and Elizabeth hurried into the kitchen, hoping to find her in there. Pleased to find her alone, Elizabeth complimented her on the fine job she had done with the wedding.
“There’s just one thing I’d like to ask you,” she said, when Bessie thanked her. “You said yesterday that you found the key to the cellar in a milk jug. Where exactly was it standing when Florrie picked it up to empty it?”
Bessie pointed to a table by the wall. “It were on there, m’m.”
Elizabeth walked over to the table, followed by an anxious Bessie. “On here?” She pointed to the table.
“Yes, m’m. Right here.” Bessie patted the table.
Elizabeth raised her gaze to the shelf above the table. “Were you using this shelf for anything yesterday?”
“No, m’m, we weren’t. It’s in an awkward spot, isn’t it. We’d have to have really long arms to reach up there across the table.”
“Which is probably why the key fell off,” Elizabeth murmured.
Bessie poked her head forward. “What did you say, your ladyship?”
“No matter.” Elizabeth looked around. “Everything looks spick and span, Bessie. You and the rest of the Housewives League provided a lovely wedding for Priscilla and Wally. I know they must be so grateful to you all.”
Bessie’s smile was radiant. “We were all happy to do it, m’m. Everyone likes Prissy, and Captain Carbunkle is a good sort. They’ll be happy together, I know.” She glanced over her shoulder as if to make sure they were alone. “Can’t imagine our Prissy having a friend like that Fiona. Not a bit alike, are they. Someone said Fiona married an old bloke for his money and when he died he left her a fortune. Bit of a fly-by-night if you ask me. I wouldn’t have thought Prissy would be that friendly with someone like that.”
Elizabeth wondered if Bessie had heard about Fiona’s indiscretion with the murdered man, but thought better about asking her. “Well, they hadn’t seen each other in thirty years. I’m sure they both must have changed in that time. Anyway, I must be off. Violet will be getting supper and I don’t want to be late. Oh, before I go, could you let me have the address of the photographer. Dickie Muggins, I believe?”
“Yes, m’m. I have it right here in my handbag. Just a minute.” Bessie bustled across the kitchen to a tall cupboard and opened it. She came bag with a large black handbag tucked under her arm. “He’s a good photographer, m’m. I’ve seen some of his photographs. Lovely they are. He’s a bit of a fusspot, and some people make fun of him for it, but he knows what he’s doing all right, I’ll say that for him.”
Thank you, Bessie.” Elizabeth took the neatly inscribed card from Bessie and tucked it in her pocket. “I’ll let you have it back next time I visit the tea shop.”
“Oh, no need, your ladyship. I have some more. Dickie’s mother gave them to me. He’s just started his business, and he’s looking for more clients. He’ll be pleased to hear from you, I’m sure.”
Elizabeth rather doubted that. She wasn’t looking to hire him, but merely ask him a few questions. She didn’t see the need to tell Bessie that, however.
She left the hall deep in thought and returned to the manor, convinced now that Tess had not killed Brian Sutcliffe. The girl had no reason to lie about leaving the key in the lock. Moreover, if she was telling the truth she’d heard Brian pounding on the door when she left, which meant he was still alive at that point.
Someone else must have removed the key from the cellar door. It seemed reasonable to assume that that person did so to delay the discovery of the body. Someone could have heard Brian pounding on the door, unlocked it, and confronted an angry man with a knife in his hand. What then? Reacted without thinking and pushed him down the stairs, causing him to fall on the knife, as Tess had surmised? Or had someone taken the opportunity to get rid of a man who was causing more trouble than was bearable?
A milk jug full of milk seemed an odd place to hide a key. But what if the killer intended to hide it on the shelf? Then, unnerved and in a hurry to leave, stretched out to reach the shelf and fumbled the key, dropping it into the milk jug. That made a lot more sense.
Tess was far too short to even think about reaching the shelf. Rodney, on the other hand, could have managed it. Rodney, who hated Brian Sutcliffe and would protect his daughter at any cost.
Seated on the white wicker couch in her conservatory, Elizabeth gave the matter some intense thought. Could she be mistaken about Rodney, after all? She kept hearing Daphne’s shocked tones when she’d heard the news. My God, Rodney. What have you done?
He had denied it, of course. But his denials, like his concern about his daughter’s possible guilt, could have been fabricated for her benefit. She would have to talk to him again. Though she could hardly accuse him of murder without some kind of proof or justification.
Sighing, she withdrew the paper she’d tucked into her pocket earlier and studied it. Neville Carbunkle had mentioned he’d seen Dickie Muggins in the kitchen arguing with Brian. She was anxious to talk to the photographer, but it would have to wait until tomorrow. Until then, she’d hold her judgment on Rodney, in the hopes that Mr. Muggins could shed new light on the puzzle.