A Case for the Ladies by Day Maddie

Author:Day, Maddie [Day, Maddie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington Books
Published: 2024-02-20T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 43

Dot stubbed out her cigarette and followed Jeanette into the abandoned building through an unlatched and creaky side door. “Anybody could get in here,” she said, but Jeanette didn’t seem to hear.

Inside, the only windows were shuttered. The dim light drifting in from the cracks revealed ghostly skeletons of carriages, shrouded in dusty white canvas, lined up against the back wall. How long since carriage-making had been a thriving business? Twenty years, if not more.

It was much cooler in here than the July morning outside, and strangely quiet. At a scurrying noise, Dot glanced sharply at her feet, hoping the sound hadn’t been made by a rat. She shivered, hugging herself.

“I think Mya was killed here.” A few yards away, Jeanette popped her head up from behind a wooden desk scarred with chips and pencil marks. She beckoned to Dot.

Halfway there, Dot bent to pick up a wad of something white from the dirty floor, squinting at it in the gloom as she straightened. She shook it out and gasped. A tatted doily.

“Dot?”

She hurried over to join Jeanette, who crouched behind the desk, pointing. The dust on the floor had been disturbed beyond where either of them had stepped. The marks looked recently made.

“Did the police search in here?” Dot asked.

“They did not. I went as far as suggesting they might want to. Was I laughed at? Yes, dear Dot, I was.”

“Look.” Dot held up the doily. “Mya made these for sale. She must have dropped it. On purpose, perhaps, to leave a clue.”

“Smart girl.” Jeanette stood and extracted a box from her bag. Covered in black leather, it looked about seven by four inches and two inches thick, like a book. Except this was a camera.

“What kind of camera is that?” Dot asked.

“An Eastman Kodak. They call it a folding pocket Brownie. It’s better for close photography than the one you used from the airplane yesterday. Watch.” Jeanette unhooked something and pulled out an accordion-like extension with the lens at the front. She squinted through it, her finger on a button, but shook her head. “We need more light.” She handed Dot the device and headed for the window.

Holding the camera, Dot squatted in the area her friend had been searching. When Jeanette opened a shutter with a screech of rusty hinges, light spilled onto the floor next to the desk. Dot nodded to herself. The dark spot had to be blood. She was about to call out to Jeanette when a muffled grunt sounded. Dot froze. That was no rat.

“Whaddya think yer doin’ in here?” a man’s gruff voice demanded. “This be private property, so it is.”

Dot dared a quick peek over the top of the desk. She ducked low again as fast as she could. Lispenard Doyle had one hand clasped over Jeanette’s mouth. Doyle’s other thick paw twisted her friend’s arm behind her back. Dot swore silently.

Jeanette tried to yell.

“Shut yer trap, you gobshite Sapphist,” Doyle growled.

She could hear Jeanette struggling. Dot’s thoughts raced. Doyle was alone.

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