MURDER AT THE CHRISTMAS GROTTO: The Camille Divine Murder Mysteries (A Novella) A 1920s cozy mystery by Andrea Hicks

Author:Andrea Hicks [Hicks, Andrea]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Andrea Hicks
Published: 2022-11-17T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

‘Are you alright, Madam?’ asked Cecily frowning as Camille stood in the hall. ‘I wasn’t expecting you back so early.’

Camille slipped off her coat and gave it to Cecily. ‘Yes, well, there’s been some developments.’

‘Really, Madam.’

‘Mr and Mrs Grimshaw, who lived at the address that was found in Charlie Briggs’ shoe, were murdered today.’

Cecily’s mouth dropped open. ‘Oh, Madam, no. Why?’

‘I’m afraid so, and I’m not sure anyone knows why.’ She beckoned Cecily into the sitting room. ‘The thing is Cecily,’ she said sotto voce, ‘there are two suspects. They appear to be...well, I don’t wish to offend, but...I think they might come from the rookeries. The way they have been described they sound very much like those who inhabit those parts.’ She put a hand on Cecily’s arm. ‘You’re not upset are you? I don’t wish to hurt your feelings.’

Cecily chuckled. ‘Don’t be daft, Madam.’ She put a hand up to cover her mouth as Camille laughed. ‘Oops, sorry. I mean, course not. I don’t get offended by anything, my Lady. I ain’t got nothing to be offended about. This is probably a long shot, but ‘ave you got any names?’

‘There’s a large man called Bill, and another man, smaller, called Drummond. He was likened to a weasel.’

Cecily looked startled. ‘Drummond? Ooh, no. Yer don’t want ter get mixed up with ‘im.’

Camille pulled Cecily down onto the chaise. ‘You know him? How? Oh, Cecily this doesn’t sound good at all.’

‘No, Madam, it’s not good. Drummond is someone yer wouldn’t want to meet on a dark night, or any night come to that. Or day, come to think of it. ‘E’s got a name for ‘imself that’s for sure. I bet Knolly knows ‘im an’ all.’

‘Who is he, Cecily?’

‘He’s one of the sons of the Drummond family. They come from St Giles, y’know, the rookery on the edge of Fitzrovia. He’s one of four sons, all got different dads a course, but all took the name of Drummond. ‘E’s the youngest. Dennis. The name Drummond strikes fear into anyone what ‘ears it.’

‘But how do you know which brother I’m talking about?’

‘The description, Madam.’ Cecily swallowed, absent-mindedly hugging Camille’s coat to her chest for safety. ‘You said he was like a weasel. Well, that’s the perfect description of ‘im, an’ also because ‘is brothers are big, like wrestlers they are. ‘E always ‘ides be’ind ‘em. Yer would, wouldn’t yer, if you was small and your brothers was big. And being the youngest an’ all. Also, ‘e was the only one what ‘ad a brain. The others follow ‘is every word. It’s ‘im what pushes the others around. They do what ‘e says, but even ‘e ain’t the boss.’

Camille clutched Cecily’s arm. ‘So, who is, Cecily? It’s important.’

‘Their mother, Adele Pryke.’ Cecily shook her head and closed her eyes momentarily. ‘Ooh, she’s a right tarter she is. An acid tongue and as sharp as a knife. She keeps one an’ all, in a garter at the top of ‘er leg. She lets everyone know about it, just so we all know she won’t be messed about by anybody.

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