Styx and Stones by Carola Dunn

Author:Carola Dunn
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2011-04-26T16:00:00+00:00

10

Leaving the Vicarage, Daisy crossed the lane to knock on Mrs. LeBeau’s door. The mistress of the house opened the door herself, dressed in a glorious tea-gown of rose chiffon.

“Miss Dalrymple, do come in! I hope you have come to satisfy my vulgar curiosity? I’m all agog. It’s been all I could do to restrain myself from going over to ask what has happened.”

“I’ll tell you, but I’m afraid you won’t like the rest of my errand.”

“You’d better come and sit down,” said Mrs. LeBeau soberly, showing her into the drawing room, which was filled with fragrance from the vases of roses. “Sherry?”

“No, thanks.” Daisy needed a clear head, and she had not eaten since lunch. She told the bare facts of Professor Osborne’s demise, little more than that he had been killed by a falling tombstone.

Mrs. LeBeau made the proper shocked and sympathetic noises, without pretending to great distress. “I didn’t know the professor except to bow to in passing,” she explained, “and I doubt anything more than formal condolences from me would be well received at the Vicarage. I’ll rely on you to tell me if you think there’s anything I can do to help without giving offence. But what else did you have to tell me?”

Daisy hesitated, then came to the conclusion that there simply wasn’t an easy way to say it. “The thing is, there seems little doubt that Professor Osborne was murdered.”

“I wondered whether that might be the case, since the police appear inordinately interested. Why on earth would anyone kill him? He seemed an inoffensive sort of man, if rather eccentric.” She frowned. “Don’t say you came to warn me there may be a homicidal maniac about?”

“Good gracious, no! At least, I don’t think the police are thinking on those lines. No, the thing is, it seems to me the murder is very likely tied up somehow with the Poison Pen letters.”

Mrs. LeBeau stared at her in surprise. “The letters? But how?”

“It’s rather complicated, and I really ought not to explain to anyone but the police. Because I’m afraid I’m going to have to tell the police about the letters, and they’re going to want to know who’s been getting them.”

“Must you?” Mrs. LeBeau cried. Daisy thought she paled, though it was hard to be sure because of her make-up. “Must you tell them about me? There are others, you said.”

“The others won’t be any happier than you,” Daisy pointed out gently. “I can’t very well pick and choose.”

“No.” Her shoulders slumped. “And after all, one of them—one of us—is your brother-in- … Miss Dalrymple, I’m not a suspect, am I? Surely you don’t suspect me! Truly, I didn’t know the man.”

“I believe you,” Daisy hastily assured her.

In fact, it had not dawned on her before that Mrs. LeBeau might be the murderer, with the same conceivable motive as any victim of the Poison Pen—including Johnnie. On the whole she was inclined to the theory that the murderer was the Poison Pen, found out by the vicar and killing his brother by mistake.

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