A Howl of Wolves--A Mystery by Judith Flanders

Author:Judith Flanders
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press

Chapter 11

In all the crime fiction I read, I would now whizz round to Sylvie Sander’s house, confront her, and have her in a confessional heap of mush, in time for the doltish police to arrive and wrap everything up. There were a few problems with that scenario. I didn’t know what I would confront her with, since as far as I knew, visiting a theatre museum archive wasn’t yet a crime, and if it were one, I was guilty too. Then, I wasn’t sure what I expected her to confess—even if she had lifted the work of a dead designer, I had no idea how that connected to Davison’s murder. And last, but by no means least, I couldn’t roll up and confront her, for the simple reason that the address she’d listed for the Theatre Museum was that of the rented Covent Garden rehearsal studio, so I didn’t know where she lived.

After Kit and I parted on the pavement outside the Theatre Museum, I faced this problem square on. It had finally stopped raining, and I stood there, brooding, as I realized how little further forward I was. I’d perhaps chipped away a little at the puzzle of Maurer and Sylvie Sander, but nothing more. The euphoria of my apparent breakthrough drained away, and I faced a day of household chores with no obvious reason to postpone them any longer.

Feeling as though someone had somehow slipped a fast one past me, I headed off to do my weekly shopping, staggering home with loaded bags in time for lunch, which I planned would be a quick sandwich and then I’d get on with everything I’d happily postponed that morning. As I walked to the kitchen, however, I could hear that my plans would change.

Kay and Anthony had a key to my flat, in part in case of emergencies, or if I locked myself out, but mostly so that Bim could play in my garden. And unless there were other pirate captains who had dropped by unannounced, the shouts of “Watch out for Black Jack, my hearties!” suggested he was out there now.

Even pirates, however, take a break when there’s news to share, and I had barely put my bags down when Bim came racing in. He flung his arms about my thighs, leaning back at a ninety-degree angle to look up at my face. “Did you hear about Campy?” he shrieked.

“I did,” I said, detaching him to walk to the fridge to stash my weekly haul away. “Poor Campy,” I added, even though that hadn’t worked last time.

It didn’t this time either. Bim didn’t say “Phooey,” but that was only because he didn’t know the word. “Mama said he died, bang, like that!” He clapped his hands.

“Like that?” I repeated. At a loss, I pulled out one of the juice boxes Kay kept there for pirate incursions into my garden, and handed it over.

He nodded vigorously. “She said it didn’t hurt, but he was hurted before. He was sticky, like when we had to have the blood on us.

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