Read Herring Hunt Page 4

  “When was this?”

  He was silent for a few moments. “Friday night, right after the pep rally.”

  “How did she take it?”

  Dawson rubbed his face. “Not so good. At first, she tried to deny it was her. Then, when that wouldn’t work, she said I was mistaken about their relationship. She claimed they were just friends.” Dawson shook his head. “She must think I was the biggest hayseed on the planet. There is no way I mistook their relationship when he had his hands all over her. He was groping her like a . . . like a . . .”

  “Like a blind man at a produce stand.” Nana Jo again came to the rescue.

  “Nana Jo.” Jenna was not amused, and her voice said, either be quiet or you’ll have to leave.

  Nana Jo used her hands to indicate she was zipping her mouth shut and throwing away the key.

  Jenna turned back to Dawson. “Okay, so three days ago, you broke up with her. She didn’t take it well. What happened next?”

  “Saturday was the football game. Later that evening, she came by the bookstore. She said she wanted to talk. I took her up to my apartment. We got into an argument.”

  “Did you hit her?” Jenna asked.

  Dawson shook his head. “No. I never hit her. Although she hit me several times. She scratched me. I had to grab her wrists to protect myself.” He held up his hands to show how he had grabbed her. “She kicked and spit and lashed out with everything she had. I held her down on the sofa until she calmed down. Then I picked her up and put her out. She screamed and cussed and beat on the door for a while. I was afraid she’d wake up the whole neighborhood, but I never opened the door. She finally must have gotten tired and left. That was the last time I saw her.”

  “Sounds like she really made a big racket.” Jenna looked at me. “Did you hear it?”

  I shook my head. “No. I didn’t hear a thing.” I turned to Nana Jo. “Did you?”

  Nana Jo shook her head.

  Jenna sat and stared. “Dawson, is there anything else you want to tell me?”

  He paused and eventually shook his head. “No. That’s everything.”

  “What about yesterday? Did you see her Sunday?”

  “No. I stayed home. I baked.”

  “That’s right. I was there with him,” I said eagerly.

  “But you weren’t there all day. You went to church with Mom yesterday. I know because she told me. You went to church and dinner and then shopping.”

  “Well, yeah, but he was home baking when I got home.”

  Jenna didn’t look relieved. “What about you?” She turned to Nana Jo.

  “Ruby Mae’s granddaughter sang a solo at their church. I went to hear her and then I went to brunch with the girls.”

  The girls were Nana Jo’s friends from the retirement village. They were feisty, active, and sweet each in their own way.

  Jenna frowned. Then she got up and paced. “I’m going to be honest. It doesn’t look good. We need to find out when she died. The police will most likely arrest you.”

  Dawson looked terrified and, I have to admit, something clutched my chest that seemed to be restricting my airway and forcing tears to my eyes. “But he’s innocent.”

  “I know, but he has a really good motive. Plus, he had an altercation with the deceased. It’s just a matter of time before they find Dawson’s skin cells under her fingernails. Even a fool like Detective Stinky Pitt could get a conviction with that.”

  The thing clutching at my heart made it hard to speak. With effort, I managed to squeak out, “But what are we going to do?”

  “I’m going to work on a defense.”

  Nana Jo stood. “And we’re going to figure out who killed that floozy.”

  Chapter 4

  It was dark when we finally made it home. Jenna kicked us out hours earlier. She wanted to go over Dawson’s testimony with him again without interruption before they talked to the police. Nana Jo and I waited for them in the waiting room. Three hours later, we saw Jenna on her way to the restroom. She didn’t think they were going to charge Dawson today, but there were still hours of more questions. She suggested we go home, and she promised to call if there were future developments. I hadn’t eaten much more than stale peanut butter crackers from the vending machine, and I was starving. Neither Nana Jo nor I felt like cooking, so we left and picked up a pizza on the way home.

  Christopher and Zaq kept things going at the bookstore while we were out. When we arrived, everything was clean and locked up tight. Crumbs on the rug in the kitchen and no other surprises told me Snickers and Oreo had been fed and let out to take care of business. I needed to remember to give my nephews each a bonus.

  Nana Jo and I finished off an entire pizza that included, according to the menu, everything except the kitchen sink, along with a bottle of wine. Afterward, the lethargy hit and neither of us felt like talking. Before Nana Jo went to bed, she sent a text to the girls. We were scheduled to have dinner on Tuesday night at Randy’s Steak House.

  My body was exhausted, but I couldn’t shut off my mind. I tossed and turned so much even Snickers decided the tidal wave was too much and hopped off my bed in exchange for her cozy little dog bed in the corner. Oreo was too excitable to be allowed to roam free at night. If he stepped on Snickers one time too many, he’d learn her bite was as bad as her growl. For his own safety, I crated him at night. When I finally gave up trying to sleep and turned on the light, Oreo barely glanced at me. Snickers got up, circled her bed three times, and laid down in a tight ball with her back to me. I grabbed my laptop and decided to force my mind to wind down. Escaping to the British countryside would be just the trick.

  “A shame ’er ladyship ’as to entertain the likes of that American upstart?” Mrs. McDuffie pursed her lips as though she’d just tasted something sour.

  Thompkins, the Marsh family butler, stood erect and, without saying a word, looked with disapproval at the stout freckled housekeeper.

  “Her ladyship is not one to shirk her duty.” Thompkins looked down his long bony nose at the housekeeper.

  “Well, o’ course not.” Mrs. McDuffie’s face turned almost as red as her hair at the very idea anyone would imply she was criticizing her ladyship. Mrs. McDuffie might not be the most highly educated of servants, but loyalty to the Marsh family, and her ladyship in particular, she had in abundance. “I never said she did.”

  Thompkins had shared the news of the hunting party with the other servants and asked if anyone had questions.

  “’Ow many is comin’?” Gladys, the latest addition to the household staff, asked softly. She was still relatively new and a bit in awe of the butler.

  “Her ladyship said we should prepare for a weekend hunting party to include between twelve and fifteen guests.” Thompkins removed an invisible speck of lint from his immaculate sleeve. “The duchess wasn’t exactly sure.”

  Mrs. McDuffie snorted. “Not sure? ’Ow can she not know ’ow many people are comin’ to ’er own bloomin’ party?”

  Gladys and the two footmen had the decency to suppress their laughter. Millie and Flossie were day help and didn’t have the same training.

  Thompkins could remember a time when servants were a noble breed who took pride in a life of service to the great families of Britain. In his early days with the Marsh family, there was a large staff of more than fifty servants. Most lived on the grounds in the servants’ quarters. Now there were only seven full-time servants who were live-in. Himself, Mrs. McDuffie the housekeeper, Gladys the housemaid, Mrs. Anderson the cook and her daughter, Agnes, the undercook, and Frank and Jim the footmen all lived on the grounds. The term footman was rather misleading. The two men weren’t footmen in the traditional sense of the word. Basically, they helped with heavy lifting and did whatever was needed around the house and estate. Frank was the son of the groundskeeper and lived with his dad in the grounds keeper’s cottage at the back edge of the property. The two new housemaids, Flossie and Millie, came in daily from the village. The Marsh fam
ily didn’t enter tain often, so the smaller staff saw to the family’s basic needs. Thompkins used a temporary staffing service when additional help was needed, which thankfully wasn’t often.

  He looked at the staff waiting for his instructions and cast aside thoughts of the old days. Thompkins wasn’t delusional. He knew the “good old days” weren’t good for everyone, especially servants. Many servants were ill treated by their masters and poorly paid. They worked fourteen or more hour days and retired to tiny shared rooms where they roasted in the summer and froze in the winter. He’d grown up serving the Marsh family, and while the previous duke was a kind man, the conditions were less than ideal. Fewer servants meant everyone at Wickfield Lodge had their own room, something that would have been given to only the privileged few in days past. The wages were decent, modern conveniences made the work easier, and the Marshes treated their servants with respect, allowing them to have lives outside of service and encouraging them to better themselves through education. No, Thompkins didn’t long for the way things were so much as he longed for the work ethic and pride in a job well done and the respect.

  Flossie looked at Thompkins in wide eyed delight. “Mr. Thompkins, sir, do you know if Her Royal Highness will be bringing any servants, like a lady’s maid? I’d be more than happy to—”

  Mrs. McDuffie snorted. “Bloody ’ell. ’Er Royal ’Ighness indeed. I’ll not be bobbing and curtsying to that little American piece of—”

  “Mrs. McDuffie.” Thompkins, the normally calm, cool, and collected butler prided himself on always maintaining an even demeanor and not allowing any hint of emotion to show, trembled with the effort to maintain his calm. He took several deep breaths and regained his composure. He turned to the maid. “You will address the duchess as Her Grace, or Duchess of Windsor, or simply as duchess. The king has not awarded the duchess the title of Her Royal Highness. We therefore shall not refer to her as such.” Thompkins looked sternly at all the servants but lingered on Flossie, who turned red and dropped her gaze.

  Flossie was a good girl, obedient and well-mannered. Her biggest flaw was an affection for the cinema and American actresses. He had once caught her dancing around the kitchen, pretending she was Miss Ginger Rogers. He’d told Mrs. McDuffie, who gave her a stern talking to. She took the correction well, without any sulking, and he’d never caught her dancing again. With any luck, this tendency toward star worship was a phase she’d outgrow in time. He looked kindly at her now. Her demeanor was composed and respectful, but her eyes still held a spark which indicated she was still starstruck.

  “I believe the duchess will bring her own maid, but I do not know about any other staff. I will meet with her ladyship later this afternoon and find out what the staffing needs are.” Thompkins turned to the cook. “Mrs. Anderson, her ladyship will want to go over the menu with you for the weekend. I believe the Duchess of Windsor is very concerned about her weight and some . . . modifications may be requested.”

  Mrs. Anderson sniffed but nodded her head. She was a good cook but could sometimes be a bit touchy about anyone who interfered with her reign over the kitchen. Even Thompkins walked a fine line when it came to the cook. He took a deep breath, relieved she had not taken offense at the request.

  “Is that all?” Mrs. McDuffie looked at the butler as she rose from the table.

  Thompkins nodded.

  “Then come along, girls. We better get busy airing out the bedrooms.”

  Mrs. McDuffie and the maids got up and headed up the back staircase to make sure all of the guest rooms were properly aired and ready for their guests.

  Frank and Jim stood and turned to Thompkins. Frank, tall, blond, and good-natured, was solid, with an athletic build. He was well liked, especially by the local girls, but was getting a reputation for his prowess on the rugby pitch.

  Jim was also tall and athletic, but with more grace and panache. He too enjoyed rugby but was also a very good bowler on the regional cricket team.

  “Sir, I was wondering if you want me to fetch me dad.” Frank asked.

  Frank’s father, Hyrum McTavish, had been the Marsh gamekeeper for the past fifty years and lived in a cottage on the property.

  Thompkins was grateful he wouldn’t have to make the long trek out to find the gamekeeper, who could be anywhere on the large estate, although Lord William mentioned he believed the man was checking on an injured muntjac fawn. Just as he was about to respond, Lady Elizabeth entered the room.

  “M’lady.” Thompkins stood straight and bowed his head slightly. He was happy to notice the two footmen were also standing at attention in a respectful manner.

  “Thompkins, I’m so glad I found you. I just got off the phone with the Duchess of Windsor. Our earlier conversation was so hurried I didn’t get to ask very many questions about the guests, and Lord William was particularly curious about the hunting.”

  Lady Elizabeth was usually very refined, but Thompkins couldn’t help noticing she seemed annoyed.

  “Yes, m’lady.”

  “Well, it turns out the gentlemen won’t be hunting after all.” She sighed. “They want to shoot.”

  Thompkins understood her ladyship’s annoyance. “Excuse me, madam, but I thought . . .”

  “Yes, so did I. Lord Browning definitely said a hunting party and the duchess also said hunting. When I called, however, she talked about how much Count Rudolph was looking forward to the pheasant. That’s when I realized we weren’t talking about the same thing.” She sighed. “I guess it’s one of those language differences between America and England. Apparently, hunting and shooting is the same thing in the States.”

  Thompkins scowled slightly but quickly removed all traces of distaste from his countenance and nodded. “Very good, your ladyship. I was just about to send Frank out to notify his father about the hunting.” He turned to Frank. “Please inform Mr. McTavish to prepare for a shooting party. He can hire beaters and whatever additional help he will need.” Thompkins turned to her ladyship, who nodded her approval of the orders.

  Frank nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  Frank and Jim nodded to her ladyship. They turned and left.

  “Thompkins, I do hate springing this on you with such short notice. Please call the staffing agency and get whatever additional help is needed.”

  Thompkins nodded. “Yes, m’lady.” Thompkins coughed delicately. “May I ask if the duchess had a firm idea of the number of guests we should expect?”

  “Oh, yes. I almost forgot. That was one of the main reasons I called.” Lady Elizabeth handed Thompkins a list of names. “These are the people that were invited.”

  Thompkins looked over the list. When he was done, he looked up.

  “Yes. I know what you’re thinking. I was as surprised as you are.” Lady Elizabeth’s brow creased, and her normally happy expression was replaced by one of worry. “Lord William is furious. He’s upstairs smoking at a furious pace.” She sighed. “Neither of us likes to dabble in politics, especially now. Things are so uncertain in Europe and the slightest misstep could send England spiraling into another world war.”

  “Perhaps it would be better to decline . . .”

  Lady Elizabeth sighed. “I wish I could, but I’ve already said we would do it.” Lady Elizabeth stood up straight and pushed her shoulders back. “Besides, Lord Browning will be here. I don’t believe he would have asked us to host the party unless it was vitally important. We shall just have to trust in providence and Lord Browning to keep an eye on things.”

  “Yes. M’lady.”

  Chapter 5

  I don’t remember exactly what time I went to bed, but it was late. Normally, I dreaded the sound of my alarm clock. However, this morning, I awoke before it went off, thanks to the amazing aroma that infiltrated my room.

  I yawned and reached over to turn off my alarm and shuddered as Snickers licked me at just the right moment. I used my blanket to wipe off my tongue and the inside of my mouth and opened my eyes to find her inches from my face, awaitin
g another opportunity to clean my face. I sat up and scrubbed off my early morning dog kiss and hopped out of bed, eager to get dressed. Thanks to the glorious aroma of cinnamon rolls and coffee coming from my kitchen, I knew Dawson was home and my breakfast would consist of more than coffee and cold cereal.

  I’d never timed myself, but I suspected I could complete my morning routine 50 percent faster when I knew bacon or coffee was waiting for me. Showered and dressed, I hurried to let the poodles out so I could dig into breakfast and find out how Dawson was doing.

  Nana Jo beat me to the kitchen and was perched on a barstool enjoying cinnamon deliciousness. I think I heard her moan as I passed.

  Dawson placed a plate on the counter, along with a mug of steaming hot coffee. “You eat. I’ll take the dogs out.”

  I didn’t argue.

  Dawson grabbed two dog biscuits from the canister on the counter and Snickers and Oreo followed him downstairs like lemmings. My poodles were loyal, but they would sell their souls for dog treats.

  Nana Jo and I ate in peace until Dawson and the poodles returned.

  “You look like you’ve been rode hard and put away wet.”

  I kicked Nana Jo. “Why don’t you tell him what you really think?”

  “I’m not sure I know what that means, but I get the general idea.” He smiled.

  “How are you?” I asked, although if the dark circles under his eyes and the haggard look of his face were any indication, he hadn’t slept.

  He confirmed my thoughts. “I couldn’t sleep, so I gave up and decided to make cinnamon rolls.”

  “They’re delicious.” I licked icing off my fingers.

  “Thanks.” He took a deep breath. “I’m going to pack a bag and stay on campus. Mrs. Rutherford said I’ll probably be arrested soon.” He hung his head.

  I gasped and tried to stop the tears that came to my eyes from falling. “But they can’t. You didn’t do it. Jenna knows that.”