been dreaming about for years.”
“I’m sure Lady Krumley has plenty of washing machines. Enough to bequeath to the charity of her choice.” I edged toward the door.
“And I’ll bet you me second best fur coat, Mrs. H., she’s also got a nasty nephew like they always have sneaking around in them Agatha Christie books.”
“Who’s desperate to inherit all the household appliances,” I nodded.
“That’s right!” Mrs. Malloy looked pleased as Punch that I was finally beginning to realize we were in the business of sniffing out evil. “And then of course they’ll be the wicked step-daughter and the nasty chauffeur what’s really a cousin from the wrong side of the blanket and the smiley-faced bank manager that’s been embezzling the money Lady Krumley’s hubby left when he died and…”
“A whole bunch of other good-for-nothings,” I agreed smoothly, “anyone of whom could be itching to bump off her ladyship. I’m sure Mr. Jugg will have the time of his life sorting it all out when he returns. Although from what you’ve been telling me he’s more interested in rooting out evil from the mean streets than the drawing room. Oh, well a change of pace never hurt anyone.”
“I’m sure I don’t know how you can be so callous!” Mrs. M. indicted. “What if you find out too late Lady Krumley was in mortal danger?”
She got me there.
“I should never have made you a partner in Jugg’s Detective Agency.” She folded her arms, thrusting her bosom ceiling-ward. “There’s not many that gets promoted after fifteen minutes of drinking the company booze and smoking cigarettes like they was going up in price the next day. But there’s no point in standing here breaking me heart over that poor woman in there. Thank goodness I bought meself that new winter coat. At least I’ll be able to go to her funeral without fear of showing meself or Mr. Jugg up.”
“Enough!” I was ready to capitulate. “I already feel like a villain out on parole after Ben’s reaction tonight. It probably won’t do any irrevocable harm to go back in there and hear what Lady Krumley has to say.”
“Thanks for them kind words, Mrs. H.”
“Think nothing of it.”
“Well, they do say blondes have more fun, don’t they?” Patting her hair complacently, Mrs. Malloy gave a final preen for luck in the mirror, before sailing ahead of me into the office, where our spirits were immediately dampened by a most unnerving sight: Lady Krumley slumped forward in her chair. At least we thought it was her ladyship. It was at first difficult to be one hundred percent certain, given that her hat was tipped down over her nose, which Milk Jugg, had he been here, might have documented in his notes as her most distinguishing feature.
Four
“How unforgivably rude of me to doze off.” Lady Krumley raised her head and blinked in upper-crust distress. Only a nightmare could have brought her to this office with its plastic plants and inhospitable furniture. She sat rolling her gloves on her lap. “It has been months since my last heart attack, Mrs. Haskell, so one may not use that as an excuse. My home is in Biddlington-By-Water, not thirty miles from Mucklesby. Therefore, the journey was not the problem. It only seemed long because I haven’t driven myself in years. My apologies to both of you,” she said, directing her nose in Mrs. Malloy’s direction, “for delaying you even longer after my late arrival.”
“Don’t give it a thought your ladyship ducks! But while you’re on about it, what did keep you from your appointment with Mr. Jugg?” Mrs. Malloy nudged me toward Milk’s chair and perched her miniskirted behind on a metal folding one, next to the dilapidated filing cabinet.
“Some vicious thugs took potshots as I drove past the Biddlington-By-Water police station.”
“You were fired at?” I dropped the pencil I had just picked up.
“Thrown at!” Her ladyship’s features narrowed, reducing her to a beaky-nosed silhouette. “They were sizeable flower pots, filled with bronze and yellow chrysanthemums.” Such a sinful waste of good flowers. “Not only was my front passenger window shattered, but I looked as though I had requested to be buried in my car.”
“And you wanting to look ever so nice for Mr. Jugg.” Mrs. Malloy was all womanly sympathy.
“You weren’t hurt, Lady Krumley,” I asked.
. “Shaken up and nerves all to pieces, nothing more.”
“Do you think you were followed by someone who knew you were on your way to consult with a private detective?”
“Not at all; I never said a word to anyone, except Mr. Featherstone, my friend and vicar, about where I was going.”
“Then who?”
Her ladyship frowned with all the aristocratic command at her disposal. “I very much fear that the assault was perpetrated by someone aggrieved by my refusal to contribute to this year’s Police Benevolent Fund. One does have to watch one’s pennies these days. And I did see a heavyset man slinking off as I rubbed the dirt out of my eyes. I suspect it was Constable Thatcher without his helmet. But I may be doing the man an injustice. He and his wife did send a wreath, rather a showy one, for my sister-in-law Mildred’s funeral last April.”
“Nasty losing a family member.” Mrs. Malloy would have set her face at half-mast if possible.
“Mildred was my late husband Sir Horace’s youngest sister. A very spry eighty-year-old to the end, but I never questioned her passing away in her sleep while on a fortnight’s holiday in Liverpool. After all, who can bear to spend more than a few days in such a place? Even when the others began dying it never occurred to me that an evil force might be at work.” Lady Krumley’s voice faltered as she stared grimly into some distant space.
“So that’s why you’re all got up in black.” Mrs. Malloy couldn’t keep the excitement out of her voice. “Relatives dropping off the family twig willy nilly.” She stood up with a good display of leg and poured herself a shot of bourbon. I shook my head, but Lady Krumley accepted a glass.
“Sir Horace would have expected me to go into mourning, even though it isn’t much done these days and he never had more than minimal contact with any of the recently departed, including Mildred.”
“So there was others!” Mrs. Malloy beamed.
Her ladyship inclined her head. “Cousin Clement resided in Australia. He was mauled to death by a passing kangaroo in June. Uncle Dickie resided in one of the Channel Islands and met a mercifully swift end whilst celebrating his ninetieth birthday bungee jumping or whatever it is called. Aunt Theobalda was living in a loft in some newly trendy part of the East End and stepped into a lift that wasn’t there.” Her ladyship swigged down her bourbon. “All of them ancient and addled in their wits. One may not always like one’s relatives. Yet only a fiend would sit back and watch them being systematically wiped off the map. Especially when knowing where the blame lies.”
“Where is that Lady Krumley?” I inquired with what I hoped was the right amount of professional interest, although, to be honest, I couldn’t see that this was going anywhere that mattered.
“With myself. I, Mrs. Haskell, am the villain of this piece!” She rose in a swoop of black to take a brisk walk to the outer office door and back. The hat trembled to one side, but her voice when she resumed speaking was calm. “I must say I now find it a relief that I was not in time to consult with Mr. Jugg. Men are too readily inclined to dismiss a woman’s fears as hysterics. Sir Horace had a way of fidgeting with his thumbs when vexed by what he termed the excess of my imagination. No doubt he would insist that I am dramatizing the current situation.”
“Husbands can be our sternest critics,” I opined sadly.
“How right you are, Mrs. Haskell.” Lady Krumley returned to her chair. “Sir Horace was twenty years older than I. But it can hardly be said that I was a giddy young girl at age thirty-five, when I came as a bride to Moultty”-she spelled out the word-“Towers.”
“I thought Mr. Jugg said Mouldy.” Mrs. Malloy sounded justifiably aggrieved.
“That’s the pronunciation. Has been for centuries. Nothing to do with our occasional problems with dry rot. Sir Horace was devoted to restoring the house to the way it had been before his father allowed it to fall into disrepair. Which makes it so particularly dreadful that it was I who sullied the family crest-Serve Well Thy Servitors-when close on forty years ago I sacked Flossie Jones.”
“Who?” I asked, pencil poised above a dog-eared notepad.
