I Am the Only Running Footman by Martha Grimes Read Free Book Online Page B

a rain forest with her large, damp brown eyes. They had been staying at the hotel he liked. Tea at Brown’s had escalated into dinner, where he told them about his visit at that very hotel with an American tour group. The story of those murders had enthralled them.
    â€œWhat I remembered was that you seemed to have some experience with police —”
    â€œWell, I do know one or two, yes. But I’m not really a dab hand at the business. Why?”
    She took a long breath. “There’s a friend of mine, see, who seems to have got himself in trouble. I just thought perhapsthat you might be able to sort things out — Oh, I don’t know. It’s dreadful.”
    â€œWhat’s happened? Who’s the friend?” He was a little sorry he’d asked when she colored and looked away. The “friend” was undoubtedly more than a friend, or she hoped so.
    â€œNo one special, really,” she said looking everywhere but at him. “A friend of the family. We’ve known him for ages.  . . .” The whispery voice trailed off. “Did you read about that woman murdered in Mayfair? It was in the paper today.”
    The one Scroggs had talked about so juicily. “You don’t mean your friend is mixed up in that? That is dreadful.”
    All in a rush and with a great deal of intensity she said, “I’m afraid that he might just be arrested or something. He was the last one to see the girl alive. Or at least that’s what they’re saying.” From her large bag she drew out a copy of the same paper Scroggs had read them.
    â€œScotland Yard CID,” he said after reading the account. “Is this your friend? The one who’s ‘helping police with their inquiries,’ as they say?”
    Lucinda St. Clair nodded. “I just thought that since you’re so clever about these things —”
    â€œIf that’s the impression I gave, I didn’t mean to.” He carefully folded the paper. He certainly had been decidedly unclever when he had helped Richard Jury on that last case. The memory still sent chills down his spine. “There’s really nothing I can do. Civilians can’t go messing about in police business, Lucinda.” How many times had he been told that by Jury’s superior?
    It was a crestfallen look he got. “There’s really no one else I can think of.”
    â€œSurely he has a solicitor —”
    She nodded and looked desolate.
    â€œI take it this gentleman is a very good friend.”
    The look of desolation only increased. “Yes.”
    Melrose thought for a moment. It wouldn’t hurt, he supposed, to call Jury. “You’ve got to understand, though, that I can’t do anything by way of interfering —”
    â€œOh, no one’s thinking of your interfering. I just thought you might be able somehow to look at it from another perspective.” She lost that rain-forest look for a moment. “Then you will come?”
    â€œYou mean to Sussex?”
    â€œSomers Abbas. We could drive down together; I have my car —”
    Melrose held up his hand. “No; I’ll really have to think about this.”
    Lucinda sat back, looking more desolate than she had when she came in. “Will you call, then?”
    â€œOf course.” Melrose looked over to the table where Vivian, Trueblood, and his aunt still sat, the two women pretending not to be interested in the goings-on before the fireplace. Agatha was making a far poorer job of the pretense than was Vivian. Melrose smiled at the familiar trio in the bay window. Vivian smiled back and even wiggled her fingers in a friendly little wave. Perhaps her difficulty in crossing the Channel lay in some deep-rooted need to keep the little party intact. Benevolently she beamed at Lucinda.
    He studied the girl. He felt a tacit agreement with Vivian that Lucinda St. Clair would probably never break up a