“Enjoy your sherry, Colonel,” Cecily said, hoping the man would get out of her office before Phoebe actually came to blows herself.
“Will do, old girl.” He pulled the door open then looked back at her. “Oh, by the way, I recognized one of the blighters in the courtyard. It was that young chap who used to own the butcher’s shop in the High Street. Never thought he was the type to resort to fisticuffs. Then again, he only kept the shop for a few months. Just goes to show, he’s not exactly reliable, what? What?”
He was almost out the door before Cecily stopped him. “Colonel, are you quite sure it was the previous owner of Abbitson’s, the butcher’s shop?”
“Oh, quite, quite.” He paused, his head poked in the doorway. “Big strapping lad. Got the best of the other chap, I can tell you.” He frowned. “Funny thing, but I thought I recognized the other chap, too. Can’t place him, though. Ah well. Toodleloo, then, Mrs. Baxter.” He waved his hand at her and closed the door.
Cecily looked at Phoebe, who was mopping her forehead with a lace handkerchief. “When did the colonel say he saw those two men fighting?”
“The night before last.” Phoebe lowered the handkerchief. “Why do you ask?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Cecily forced a smile. “Idle curiosity, that’s all. You were telling me about your rehearsals?”
“Ah, yes. Well…”
Cecily let her prattle on without really listening to her. Her mind was on the colonel’s words as he’d gone out the door. It seemed as though Dan had been fighting the night Ian died. Somehow she had no doubt that the man with whom he’d exchanged blows was none other than Ian himself.
That must have been after Gertie had told Dan about Ian confronting her in the kitchen. Something else that Gertie had neglected to tell her. If that were so, that meant that Dan, along with whoever else was in the George that night, had contact with Ian after he’d left Gertie. So how could Sam Northcott possibly think that Gertie had been the last person to see Ian alive?
Cecily glanced at the clock. Gertie would be busy now, getting things ready for the midday meal, but as soon as that was over, she intended to have another talk with that young lady, and find out what else she was keeping to herself.
“Anyway,” Phoebe was saying, “I do think the acrobats will provide an admirable conclusion to the pantomime, don’t you think?”
Cecily made an effort to concentrate. “Acrobats?”
“Yes, dear.” Phoebe leaned forward, her gaze probing Cecily’s face. “You seem somewhat detached this morning. Is anything wrong?”
Before Cecily could answer, the door burst open without so much as a warning tap. Startled, she stared at the colonel as he marched into the room and thumped a triumphant fist on her desk. “That Rossiter chap! I knew I recognized him from somewhere. He used to work for you, what? What?”
Phoebe looked intrigued. “Ian Rossiter? I wondered what had happened to him. Has he come back to work here?”
“He’d have a hard time doing that, old bean.” The colonel turned to her, his whiskers quivering with relish. “The poor blighter bought it, didn’t he. Someone bashed him over the noggin and killed him stone dead.”
Phoebe uttered a little shriek and slapped her gloved hand over her mouth. Above it her eyes were wide with shock.
Cursing herself for not telling her friend the truth earlier, Cecily got up from her chair and hurried around to her. “I’m sorry, Phoebe. I’d hoped you wouldn’t have to know. I know you always had a soft spot for Ian.”
“Who killed him?” Phoebe whispered behind her hand.
“We don’t know.” Cecily looked at the colonel. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t spread the news around the hotel. I would like to know who told you.”
The colonel looked sheepish. “Sorry, old girl. Shouldn’t have blurted it out like that. I just now overheard a chap talking about it. Short little bald-headed chappie with a rather twitchy mustache.”
Cecily knew immediately to whom he referred. Archie Parker. “Did you happen to notice to whom he was speaking?”
“Oh, yes, indeed, old girl. Young woman, she was, red hair, green eyes, and a face full of freckles. Spoke in a soft voice, as if she were running out of breath.”
He’d described Gloria Johnson perfectly. Cecily frowned. Had Archie Parker somehow discovered that Gloria was Ian’s widow? If so, then no doubt he was eagerly satisfying his curiosity with all the gory details. Not that Gloria could tell him much.
Still, it unsettled her to know that Ian’s death was now a topic of conversation among the guests. Especially since she had made Archie Parker promise not to mention it. Obviously the man was not to be trusted.
In fact, right at that moment, she had difficulty knowing just whom she could trust. It was not a comfortable feeling.
“So did you have a good time last night down the pub?” Pansy picked up a fork from one of the dining room tables, examined it with a critical eye, then took a corner of her apron and briskly rubbed at the prongs.
Gertie finished dusting the back of a chair and looked up at her. “It was smashing. We had hot cider and rum, and sausage rolls and cheese and pickled onions, and trifle in brandy glasses.” She grinned. “We sang lots of songs and Christmas carols and Dan even taught me to dance. A little bit, anyway. It was a lovely evening.”
Pansy clasped her hands together and rolled her eyes at the ceiling. “Dancing. Oh, that sounds lovely. I’ve never been dancing.”
“Do you know how?”
“Well, no, but I bet Samuel does. He could teach me how to do it.”
“Well, I can teach you a step or two.” Gertie dropped her duster on the table. “Come here, and I’ll show you.”
Pansy hurried over to her. “Is it hard?”
“Nah, not if you concentrate. Look, I’ll show you how to do the two-step.” She started humming, sliding her foot to one side and then bringing the other one back to meet it. After gliding between the tables for a few steps, she nudged her chin at Pansy. “Now you do it.”
Pansy hummed and sidestepped around the floor. “I like it! It’s easy!”
“See? I told you.”
Together the two of them hummed and glided around, until Pansy burst out laughing. “I bet we look silly dancing without a partner.”
Gertie opened her mouth to answer her but just then a loud clapping of hands interrupted her. Both she and Pansy swung around just as Sid Barrett sauntered into the room.
“Very nice,” he said, in his smarmy voice. “I wouldn’t mind being your partner.” He held out his hands to Gertie. “How about it?”
Gertie sniffed and tossed her head. “I wouldn’t dance with you if my blinking life depended on it.”
Sid dropped his hands. “It wouldn’t hurt you to be polite for a change, now would it.”
“I’m polite to them what are respectful.”
For an instant he looked annoyed, then his face relaxed in a smile again. “Well, me darlin’, I have the greatest respect for you. How about joining me in the bar for a drink tonight? Not seeing the boyfriend, are you?”
“What if I am?”
He shook his head. “I’m surprised you feel like going out, seeing as how your husband was murdered.”
“I told you he wasn’t my husband. And how’d you know he was murdered, anyhow?”
Sid smiled. “You’d be surprised what I know.”
Gertie was getting a nasty feeling in her stomach. “Well, I don’t have time to talk to you no more. I’ve got work to do.” She made to move forward, but Sid blocked her way, placing a hand on either side of the door.
“Well, then, you and I will have to have a cozy little chat when you do have more time.”
For several long moments Gertie stared into Sid’s eyes. She didn’t like the way he looked at her. Neither did she like the feeling of being trapped, even though she knew a knee in the right place would move him fast enough. “Get the bloody hell out of our way,” she muttered, “or you’ll be walking funny for a week.”
For a second or two mischief gleamed in his eyes. Then he laughed, dropped his hands, and stood back. “All
