We passed the parlor and went straight into the kitchen, a warm, cheerful room with a white wood table, pale yellow walls, and curtains in a purple pansy design.
“I was making tea when I heard your car door.” She filled a mug and placed it in front of me at the table. “Help yourself to milk and sugar.” After filling her own mug, she joined me.
I added a splash of milk and a teaspoon of sugar to my tea and stirred. “I heard the police were in the area last week,” I said, deciding a direct approach would be best. “No one admitted to having known Lucy Villiers.”
Sheila Parker bit her lip. “Never get involved with the rozzers. That’s what my Lenny used to say.”
I wondered if her Lenny had spoken from firsthand experience. I was glad I hadn’t mentioned my connection with the Suffolk police. “It must have been difficult for a single woman like Miss Villiers to take on a girl of seventeen.”
“You don’t know the half.” Sheila Parker’s mouth twisted. “That girl was wild, right from the start. Screaming, crying—Len and I could hardly sleep for the ruckus. I don’t know how Winnie stood it. I really don’t.” She blew on her tea.
“Maybe she was homesick. Grieving for her father.”
“Grieving for that young man of hers, more like. And him a scoundrel. Too good-looking by half. Lucy insisted he was coming to rescue her, but he never did. Dropped her like a stone. Winnie had her hands full with that girl, she did.”
“Didn’t Winnie contact Lucy’s mother, suggest she return home?”
“Of course. A number of times. Only ever heard back once—and that to say she’d washed her hands of the girl. Nothing poor Winnie could do. She couldn’t put Lucy out on the streets now, could she? Still”—Sheila thumped her chest—“she felt it when Lucy took off like that. Worried herself sick, day and night, thinking something terrible must have happened to the girl. Police were no help. Winnie blamed herself, even though I told her it was nonsense. The girl wouldn’t so much as lift a tea towel to help out. Then she up and left in the middle of the night, without a note of explanation. That’s what killed Winnie in the end—the worry of it, disguised as heart failure.” Sheila opened a tin of biscuits and handed it to me.
I took one, to prolong the conversation. “You knew Colin Wardle?”
Sheila Parker set down her mug. “You didn’t know? He was a Dunmow Parva lad. Raised on this very street. His father was killed in the Falklands—at least that what his mother said, although some claimed there never was a Mr. Wardle. But that’s neither here nor there.”
“Does she still live in the neighborhood?”
“Moved away years ago.”
“How did Colin happen to work for the Villiers family in Little Gosling?”
“Now that’s an interesting thing.” Sheila took a bite of her biscuit and chewed thoughtfully. “Mr. Villiers visited his sister regular back in the day. He must have met the lad then.”
“Did he bring his family with him when he came?”
“Always came alone, far as I knew.” She held up a finger. “No—I tell a lie. Lucy and her mother came for one of the village fêtes—back in the nineties. I never saw Lucy again until the day she moved in with Winnie. A pitiful thing—even if she was a wild one.”
I pictured Lucy as she’d looked in the newspaper report. Thin face, small round eyes, sloping chin. She’d never been a beauty. What had attracted the handsome Colin Wardle?
For that matter, what had attracted Mr. Villiers to the young man from Dunmow Parva? Had he considered Colin Wardle capable of more than a tradesman’s life and decided to give the lad an opportunity to make something of himself?
“I see your local pub is called The Green Maiden. Does the legend have any special significance around here?”
“My, yes. Some say this is the very village where she lived—where her descendants live still.”
“Her descendants?”
Sheila made a face. “All part of the myth, isn’t it, luv? Brings the tourists, though. Stop in if you’re interested. There’s a gift shop.”
Back in the car, I started the engine. Before pulling onto the street, I put in a call to Tom.
“I’m in Dunmow Parva. I found a neighbor who knew Winnie Villiers when Lucy lived with her. She knew the Wardles as well. They lived on the same street. Colin’s mother moved out a long time ago.”
“Did you get her first name? If we can trace Colin’s mother, we might be able to locate him.”
“I’m sorry, Tom. I never thought to ask.”
“Never mind—we’ll find out. How are you getting along at Hapthorn?” I heard voices in the background, the clacking of a printer. He was at work.
“Getting there. I still haven’t found the jewelry, and now several more objects are missing—both early Meissen figural groups. I am beginning to think Mrs. Villiers was selling things little by little and pocketing the cash. Since the solicitors have no listing, she could sell whatever she wanted. As long as she also destroyed the documentation, no one would know, including Her Majesty’s Revenue and Customs. No records, no taxes.”
“But you found records of the missing Meissen pieces.”
“Maybe she just hadn’t gotten around to removing those pages yet.”
Tom must have closed his office door because it was suddenly quiet. “I’ve been thinking about you all day, Kate.” I could hear his smile. “Remember, dinner tonight. Pick you up at six thirty?”
“You’ll have a long enough day. I’ll drive myself, meet you at the house just before seven.”
“Sure you don’t mind?”
“Of course not. Just tell me you can get some time off soon.”
“I’ll try. I promise.”
Like the village itself, The Green Maiden pub wasn’t particularly attractive. Dark wood paneling, fake horse brasses, dingy carpet. Two things caught my eye. First was a series of framed lithographs, each picturing a different aspect of the green maiden legend. Second
