Scandal at the Savoy by Ron Base & Prudence Emery

Author:Ron Base & Prudence Emery
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Mystery, Detective, Women, Women Sleuths, Cozy, Historical
ISBN: 9781771623469
Publisher: Douglas and McIntyre (2013) Ltd.
Published: 2023-03-25T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Five

An English Country Cottage

“They stopped him at the airport!” Susie announced melodramatically as soon as Priscilla entered 205.

“Stopped who?”

“David Merrick! He was trying to leave the country. Mr. Bogans drove Mr. Merrick to the airport and no sooner was he out of the car than the police arrived. Mr. Merrick yelled and screamed that he had been exonerated and allowed to leave, but they took him away anyway.”

“Well, it looks like the police haven’t exonerated him,” Priscilla said dryly.

“But do you really think Mr. Merrick is the killer?”

“Obviously the police still suspect he is.”

As soon as Susie returned to her desk, Priscilla picked up her phone.

“What do you want?” snarled El Sid when he came on the line.

“I need Mr. Banville’s home address, please.”

“And why would you want that?”

“Mrs. Banville has asked me to send her some information,” Priscilla answered quickly.

“What sort of information?”

“Sidney, that’s none of your business,” Priscilla snapped, for once feeling very much in control. “How would you like me to inform Mrs. Banville of this conversation?”

“You should call Mrs. Banville.” Sidney, making one last attempt to maintain control.

“Sidney, I’m calling you.” Brusque and demanding. Priscilla was enjoying this immensely.

A good deal of impatient exhaling of air on Sidney’s part followed. Then: “Do you want the main house or the cottage?”

The cottage? Priscilla thought. What cottage? “Better give me both,” Priscilla said to him.

“She’s spending a lot of time there—at the Grange.”

“The Grange … ?”

“Endless remodelling. It’s become an obsession with her. God knows why.”

“Give me that address.”

“I’ll bet it has to do with the renovation.”

“Sidney,” Priscilla said insistently, “the address.”

He gave a resigned sigh. “It’s not far from Chipping Campden in the Cotswolds.”

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