Death Is in the Air

found it, Mrs. Macclesby. All nice and clean. Thank you!”

Sheila stared at Maisie as the girl tramped across the yard, carrying the spade over her shoulder. “I never know what these modern girls are going on about half the time,” she muttered.

“Well,” Elizabeth said, “I’ll be leaving you alone now to get on with your work.”

“Thank you, Lady Elizabeth.” For the first time that day Sheila Macclesby managed a weak smile. “I appreciate you bringing the sad news to me.”

“And I appreciate you allowing me to talk to the land girls.” Elizabeth turned away, then paused. “You were right, of course. They knew nothing.”

“I knew they didn’t, m’m. It’s like I said. It was that Nazi pilot. Everyone knows that.”

Not everyone, Elizabeth thought as she made her way back to her motorcycle. The land girls were all convinced Maurice had killed Amelia. Not one of them had seemed particularly sad about it. In fact, so far Maurice was the only one who had shed a genuine tear over the young woman’s death.

Elizabeth climbed aboard her motorcycle and bounced on the kick start. The engine fired, and she rumbled out of the farmyard and onto the road, turning over in her mind what she had learned that day.

Much as the land girls disliked the deceased woman, she didn’t think any of them were responsible for her murder. Pauline seemed to have the sole motive, but according to the other two girls, she hadn’t left her bed that night. That left Maurice and the German pilot with a motive for murder. There was one other person, however, who could have been responsible for Amelia’s death-Lieutenant Jeff Thomas.

Right then, he seemed the most likely candidate, since she found it so hard to believe that the other two were capable of such a violent crime. Then again, it was all too easy to jump to conclusions.

Maybe she was too ready to believe the best of people. That had certainly been her downfall in her disastrous marriage. What she was certain of was that this detective business was a lot more complicated than she’d realized. No wonder George and Sid had so much trouble with it.

Speaking of whom, she reminded herself, she needed to talk to the constables and ask them to talk to Jeff Thomas. He was apparently the last person to see Amelia alive. Since it appeared he had been quarreling with her that night, he was most certainly at the top of the list of suspects. Unfortunately her connections did not stretch to His Majesty’s service, and she could hardly go waltzing into an army camp demanding to speak to one of their soldiers. She’d have to leave that to the constables and hope they did their job.

In the meantime, there was the little matter of dinner with Major Monroe to deal with, and it would take her an entire afternoon to find a suitable dress to wear in her eclectic wardrobe.

Her spirits rising, Elizabeth sailed grandly down the High Street of Sitting Marsh on the saddle, acknowledging the friendly waves of the villagers with her usual graceful salute, carefully copied from the matriarch of the royal family. Image was everything, after all.

Martin took forever to open the door to her urgent summons when she reached home. By the time he’d finally dragged the door open wide enough for her to pass through, she was seething with impatience.

His look of alarm when he saw her alerted her to the fact that something had upset him-an event that seemed to be occurring with alarming frequency these days.

“Thank heaven you are home, madam,” he spluttered. “I was beginning to fear for your very life. Violet tells me there is a filthy scoundrel loose in the woods. Murdered a field girl… or farm girl… or something.”

Violet, Elizabeth thought darkly, talked too much. “It’s all right, Martin. As you can see, I’m perfectly all right. But thank you for worrying about me.”

“I shall always worry about you, madam. No matter what Violet tells me to do. Or not to do.”

Wondering what that was about, Elizabeth left him muttering to himself and headed down to the kitchen, from where an appetizing fragrance wafted up the stairs.

Violet stood at the stove, busily stirring something in a pot. She twisted her head around when Elizabeth walked in. “Oh, there you are, Lizzie. I was wondering when you’d get back. Martin has been driving me batty with his dithering. Kept telling me you’d been murdered.”

“I wish you hadn’t told him,” Elizabeth said mildly. “You know how easily he’s upset.”

Violet sniffed. “Better he heard it from me than from someone else. He’s going quite dotty lately. He’s convinced that the master’s ghost is roaming the halls. Hope he doesn’t tell the Yanks that.”

“I don’t think they’ll pay much attention to him.” Elizabeth glanced at the clock. “What are you cooking?”

“Tomato soup. Got a new loaf of crusty bread from Bessie’s Bake Shop to go with it.”

“Wonderful!” Elizabeth sank onto a chair at the table. “I’m absolutely starving. How is Bessie? Is she still doing a good business in the tearoom? I haven’t been down there in weeks.”

“She’s doing better now that the Yanks are here.” Violet stirred the soup one more time, then turned off the gas flame beneath it. “The shop was full of them. Though mind you, I think they help her out with sugar and flour from the base. She even had two dozen eggs in the pantry. Bet they didn’t come from Bodkins.”

“I’m sure she has special rations for her business,” Elizabeth said, determined not to be drawn into another argument about accepting gifts from the Americans.

Violet poured the steaming soup into two bowls and set one of them in front of Elizabeth. “So what happened down at the police station? Have they caught that bloody German yet? I saw Rita down at the bakery. She’s getting her troops together to go and hunt for him.”

Alarmed, Elizabeth paused with her spoon halfway to her mouth. “I certainly hope she does no such thing. Does she have any idea how dangerous that can be?”

“I would think if she knows that Nazi killed someone she’d also have the sense to know he isn’t going to play Ring around the Rosie with them.”

“I was thinking more of it being dangerous for the German.”

Violet grinned. “You might have something there. You know there’s no stopping Rita once she’s got a bee in her bonnet about something. She’s all set to go after that poor blighter. Heaven help him if she catches up with him.”

“It’s unlikely she will. I understand from George that soldiers from the army camp are hunting for him. I just hope that they don’t run into Rita and her motley crew of housewives.”

“I wouldn’t like to bet on who comes out best of that battle.”

Elizabeth sipped at her soup, then lowered her spoon. “This is very good, Violet.”

The housekeeper tipped her head to one side. “You haven’t told me how you got on at the police station.”

Having failed in her attempt to change the subject, Elizabeth laid down her spoon. “I don’t think the constables have any real proof that the German pilot was responsible for the murder. They say she was killed with an axe, but they haven’t found it yet, so they don’t really know any more than I do.”

“Those nitwits never know what they’re doing, anyway. That’s what you get when you drag two blokes out of retirement like that. They forget everything they ever learned, and their feeble minds can’t learn it again.”

“They are doing the best they can under the circumstances. While I acknowledge that the German must be caught and put under guard, I have the feeling that the constables are looking in the wrong place for their murderer.”

“You mean he’s not in the woods?”

“I mean I don’t think he’s necessarily the murderer.”

“Go on!” Violet brought her soup to the table and sat down. “Well, if you don’t think the German killed that poor girl, then who did? Maybe it was one of the Yanks this time.”

Elizabeth jerked up her chin. “I don’t want to hear you repeat that to anyone else,” she said sharply. “Rumors are flying around as it is, and I won’t have the Americans blamed for everything that goes wrong in Sitting Marsh.”

Violet looked unabashed by her attack. “All right, Lizzie, keep your hair on. I was just thinking aloud.”

“I’d rather you kept that kind of thought to yourself.”

Violet leaned forward and peered into her face. “Getting nervous about our dinner tonight, are we?”

“No, of course not.” Elizabeth broke off a piece of bread and dropped it into her soup. “I’ve told you, this is a business dinner. And if you try to make anything else of it, Violet, I shall be unforgivably rude.”

“Seems to me,” Violet said quietly, “that you’re already making a lot out of it. Just be careful, Lizzie. A lot of hearts get broken during wartime. It happens all the time.”

Elizabeth chose not to answer. The warning went deep, however, and she could not ignore its message. No matter how much she tried.