Mrs. Jeffries and the Best Laid Plans by Emily Brightwell Read Free Book Online Page B

was in the studio behind his house working on a painting when his assailant murdered him. The killer then set the place on fire, probably trying to hide the fact that a murder had taken place at all.”
    She forced herself to give him an encouraging nod instead of blurting out one of the many questions that had sprang into her mind.
    “Luckily for us, there was a young woman on the premises who saw the smoke and took immediate action. The fire brigade got there very quickly and put the fire out.”
    “So the body wasn’t burnt?” she ventured.
    “Oh, no, though there was enough turpentine splashed about the room that it should have gone up quickly, but I suspect the wet weather we’ve had recently worked to our advantage. Even wood doesn’t burn very quickly when it’s so damp out.”
    “How was Mr. Boyd actually murdered?”
    “He was bashed on the back of the head with something very heavy,” Witherspoon replied. “There was nothing in the studio that looked as if it could be used as a weapon, so I had the police constables do a thorough search of the grounds and the house. We found nothing, so I’ve expanded the search to the neighborhood around the home, not that I think we’ll have much luck.”
    “Had the servants seen anything?” she took a sip of her drink.
    “No, they weren’t there.” He frowned. “It was the oddest situation, Mrs. Jeffries. Apparently, they were all at a funeral when the fire started. If it hadn’t been for Mr. Boyd’s typewriter girl—or are they called Remington Girls? I can never remember which it is, but that’s not really pertinent. What is pertinent is that other than Miss Clarke, the house was empty. Except, of course, for Mr. Glover, who I believe brought along some files and then stayed as he’d been invited to luncheon.”
    “He was invited to the luncheon as well?” she queried. She wanted to keep all the facts straight.
    “Yes, but I gather it was a last minute invitation.”
    “I’m not sure I understand,” Mrs. Jeffries murmured. “How could there be a luncheon planned if there were no servants?” She knew that if the house was in Bayswater and the victim a banker, it probably meant the household was wealthy. In her experience, the rich rarely served themselves.
    “It was a cold luncheon,” Witherspoon replied. “Everything was laid out and ready for when the guests were to arrive. Of course, when the servants got home, they found the fire brigade there and the master of the house dead.” He finished off his sherry and got to his feet. “I better not keep Mrs. Goodge’s dinner waiting any longer.”
    Mrs. Jeffries finished her own drink and stood up as well. “I’ll serve you, sir. Do go into the dining room and make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right up with your supper.”
    “That sounds wonderful. What does Mrs. Goodge have for pudding?”
    “Apple tart with custard,” Mrs. Jeffries replied. The inspector did enjoy his sweets. “It’s especially good this evening.” She hurried out and flew down the hall to the back stairs. The only thing that kept her from a flat out run was fear that she’d fall and break a bone.
    The others were still in the kitchen. Mrs. Goodge had put the inspector’s supper on a large wooden tray.
    “Don’t any of you go to bed.” The housekeeper grabbed the tray and hoisted it effortlessly. “We’ve got a murder. As soon as the inspector finishes his meal, I’ll be down to tell you everything.”
    “Learn as much as you can,” the cook said bluntly. “If he got it today, we’re already behind.”
    On several of their last few cases, Witherspoon had been summoned from home instead of the station. The household had gotten quite used to starting their investigations almost from the moment the inspector began working.
    Mrs. Jeffries disappeared down the hall with the inspector’s dinner. They rest of them kept busy by doing small chores to pass the time. Betsy filled the sink with soapy water, Wiggins