“Fretting about little Rose. What went on between Ernestine and her Mum and Dad had nothing to do with her being adopted. Children is children however they get here.”
“We can’t assume that Ernestine wasn’t affected. And you know how it is,” I said, quickening my pace, “whenever there are problems with an adopted child. People tend to throw up their hands and say what can you expect!”
“What people? Probably the ones who’d like to come up with an excuse for why their own kids is all messed up.”
“Possibly.” After the damp chill of the outdoors the hospital hallways felt unbearably stuffy. A few moments later I decided Mrs. Malloy had reached the point of hallucinating. Flinging out an arm she queried in a faltering voice, “Is that a wheelchair I see before me, the handles toward my hand?”
“Not that I can see. But if you want to get in I’ll push you.”
She heaved an irritated sigh. “I was just trying to lighten things up, taking the mickey out of Shakespeare. Didn’t take me for the highbrow sort, did you, Mrs. H.? Always a big mistake that is, making assumptions.” Her voice mellowed. “It’s why we’re both feeling so low at this minute. We showed up at the Merryweathers’s door thinking they’d tell us what Ernestine is up to these days and how to get in touch with her. Never a thought that we’d come up short.”
“We should have been more realistic.” We came to a water-cooler, but I decided it had to be a mirage. “If it were that easy everyone would be private detectives, which wouldn’t be good for the likes of Milk Jugg.”
“We wouldn’t want that.” Mrs. Malloy didn’t sound as sure as I would have expected. “But I’ve got to thinking as how there’s something to be said for being new at this work. Not going by the book like Milk would do.”
“How does our muddling along from one moment to the next work in our favor?”
“Muddling isn’t the word I’d choose. I’d call it taking a fresh approach.” Mrs. M. flung a vexed look my way. “If Milk was on the job, talking to the Merryweathers and such-like we’ve gone and done-I can’t see him stuffing his face with scones while they rambled on about this, that and the other, or sitting watching that Mrs. Joritz knitting. Being a busy man with other cases on the books he’d have had to speed things up, take control of the interview. It’s the way he’ll have been taught. But you and me, we haven’t been to private detective school. So, for the most part, we’ve just let people chat. And maybe that’ll end up being more help than them just answering questions.”
“Because it’s the little things-the seemingly unimportant snippets-that help build up the picture, or suddenly turn it around. Yes, I know exactly what you mean, Mrs. Malloy. It happened to me this morning. Only it wasn’t the Merryweathers; it was something you said.” I broke off because we found ourselves standing in front of a lift. Its doors opened. People-mostly hospital staff-got out. We stepped into the empty space, and I pressed the button to Lady Krumley’s floor.
“So what does that make me? The dim-witted sidekick that can’t figure out how he’s helped, while the detective just stands there combing his moustache and looking clever?” Mrs. Malloy stuck her nose up so high it almost knocked off her hat.
“Of course not, but this isn’t the best time to get into it. Anyway, it’s only a thought to be picked over when we’re not in the middle of something else, such as deciding what we are going to say to her ladyship.”
“I thought we’d been over that.” Mrs. Malloy sounded only slightly mollified. “We’ll keep it simple. Tell her we’ve located Ernestine’s adoptive parents and that we believe Vincent Krumley was murdered.”
“And not by some phantom figure. I’m still not sure what’s best to be done about Cynthia Edmonds. What are the odds of her owning up to the blackmail if Lady Krumley were to warn her to be careful, or she’ll end up the next victim?”
“Slim to none, I’d say.”
“We have to persuade the police to cooperate.”
“No harm in being optimistic, Mrs. H.!”
The lift doors opened, and we emerged within a few yards of the nurses’ station. It was presently a hive of activity. Personnel came and went, some holding clipboards, some scribbling down notes and the majority with stethoscopes dangling around their necks. It was a couple of minutes before Mrs. Malloy and I were able to get the attention of a nurse. She was a motherly-looking woman and managed to seem as though she welcomed another interruption. But when we asked to see Lady Krumley, her expression altered dramatically. We were about to be given some very bad news.
“I’m sorry, she’s gone.”
“You mean she’s been discharged?” I croaked.
“I’m afraid not.”
“Was it very sudden like?” Mrs. Malloy grabbed hold of my arm, which no doubt gave her some support but forced me almost to my knees.
“Very. A nurse was in the room when Lady Krumley received a phone call. So she left. And when she went back in just five minutes later, her ladyship had done a bunk.”
“Well, I don’t think that’s a very nice way of putting it,” said Mrs. Malloy. “Couldn’t you say had been called above?”
“I suppose I could, if she’d died.” The nurse’s face now expressed bewilderment. “But that’s not what we’re talking about here. Oh, I’m sorry.” Light belatedly dawned. “Lady Krumley didn’t take an unexpected turn for the worse. The doctors were very pleased. The tests showed she hadn’t suffered a heart attack. They believe the problem-her fainting or passing out in the car the other night-was stress-induced. She was to be released tomorrow. So why she’d just walk out of here like that is a complete puzzle, unless it could have had something to do with that phone call.”
“That must have been it.” I was speaking more to Mrs. Malloy.
“I shouldn’t have discussed this with you.” The nurse’s kindly face turned anxious. “You haven’t told me what your relationship is to Lady Krumley, and we’re only allowed to discuss a patient with close family members.”
“That’s us,” Mrs. M. assured her.
“Oh, what a relief!” The woman was more than ready to accept this as fact. “We try not to let our emotions get in the way of our work. But I’ve got an elderly grandmother myself, and I’d be worried sick if she pulled a stunt like this. Her ladyship’s nephew who lives with her was contacted as soon as we realized she was gone. He promised to get in touch the minute she showed up. Which of course she’s bound to do.”
“We’ll go to Moultty Towers at once,” I said and joined Mrs. Malloy in thanking her and promising not to breathe a word to anyone about having been told what had happened. We eased away, got into the lift that luckily was waiting and, on stepping out onto the ground floor where we had spent so much time getting lost, found ourselves facing the exit door. The car wasn’t hiding in the parking lot. We walked straight to it and were speedily upon our way heading out of Mucklesby in the direction of Biddlington-By-Water.
“I’ll bet you my share of the five thousand pounds her ladyship promised us, Lady Krumley got bad news about Cynthia Edmonds.” Mrs. Malloy opened the bag of lemon drops and for once offered me one. “She’ll have met with a fatal accident or been fed bad mushrooms. And we could say it serves her right, but that wouldn’t be Christian and is probably against the ethics of our profession.”
“You admitted just a short while ago that we’re amateurs.”
“The word never crossed me lips. I said we was just starting out, and wasn’t yet bogged down by a lot of rules and regulations.” Mrs. Malloy closed her mouth on another lemon drop, and we drove in silence until reaching the outskirts of Biddlington-By-Water. “I’ve been thinking,” she informed me as we approached the village.
“Yes?”
“You’re not the only one that can do it. Or keep their little inspirations to themselves till they’re ready to talk about them. What I want you to do, Mrs. H., is stop the car. Outside the cafe where we met Laureen Phillips will do nicely. We’re coming up to it now.”
“What’s this about?” I asked upon dutifully parking.
“We can’t let things drag on any longer. Not with the bodies beginning to pile up. It’s clear to me that our best hope of cracking this case is to talk to Constable Thatcher’s son, young Ronald. I’m not saying you haven’t been thinking along them lines too,” she said and poked her head sideways to peer in the rearview mirror, “but the question has been how to go about it.”
“And what have you come up with?”
“I’m going to be the truant officer.”
“But you don’t know he’s ever been improperly absent from school.”
