Murder Is Come Again by Joan Smith Read Free Book Online Page B

room here,” Coffen said.
    “You heard wrong. She ain’t here.”
    Black stepped forward. “We don’t mean her any harm, mother,” he said with an ingratiating smile. “Come now, we know Mary lives here.”
    “Ah, her, is it? You mean Mary Scraggs. She goes by different names. She never come home last night. Her cat’s bawling fit to deafen an auctioneer.”
    “She has a cat?” Coffen asked in confusion. Mary hadn’t mentioned a cat.
    “Mary’s never without the wretched creature. That’s the way with unnatural wimmen that don’t have kids as the lord intended. I have nine meself.” Five or six of them peered out from behind her skirts.
    “Nine! You’re a wonder,” Black said, shaking his head. “Mary lives here full time, does she?”
    She gave a suggestive leer. “I don’t know as I’d say that. She sleeps here when she can’t find no place better to lay her head.”
    “You wouldn’t know where she’s likely to have spent last night?” Black said, still smiling.
    “In some fancy bed, like as not. She asked for water for a wash up and had herself rigged out like a Maypole when she headed out of here yesterday afternoon. I’ve not seen her since. I figured she was making another try for Mad Jack. She’s mad for him, but she was out in her luck if that was who she was after. He likes his women fancy.” A large black cat crept out from behind her and emitted a loud howl as one of her kids grabbed its tail. She gave it a kick. “If she don’t come back soon and feed that cat I’m gonna drown it.”
    Black had to consciously keep his voice normal at the mention of Mad Jack. “A friend of Mad Jack, is she?”
    “Yuss, when I’m busy he’ll sometimes make do with her,” she said, and cackled like a witch at this prime jest.
    “I see. Just your little joke, mother. Are any of Mary’s regular friends about? Anyone here she’s friends with?”
    “No, I only house wimmen now. Men are too much trouble, drinking and fighting, busting up my chairs.”
    Black asked Coffen for one of his cards, scribbled the name of the hotel on the back of it and said, “If she comes back, send a note here. There’ll be something in it for you.”
    “So you say, mister. Let’s see the colour of your gold. I’d have to pay a lad to run the message along, wouldn’t I?”
    Black handed her a shilling. “There’ll be more than that in it for you if you find out anything.”
    She sneered as she dropped the coin down the front of her gown. “Don’t break your thumb, mister,” she said, and slammed the door in their faces.
    Coffen took the blow like a man. “That’s it, then. She was lying to me.”
    Black felt too sorry for him to say, “I told you so.” Instead he said, “You’re well rid of that lot, Mr. Pattle.”
    “Aye, seems you’re right,” Coffen said reluctantly.
    Black consoled him with the usual platitudes. “Plenty of fish in the sea. You can do better than Mary Scraggs.”
    “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention it to the others,” Coffen said. “Prance would make a meal of it.”
    “Mum’s the word, Mr. Pattle.”
    But the next development made it clear the Berkeley Brigade would have to be called in. Murder was their specialty.
     

Chapter Eight
     
    Black had grown up largely unloved and unloving. He had a poor opinion of mankind in general, but he still felt the human need of an outlet for his affections. His former employer, Lady Luten, ruled supreme in the romance line. As Black grew older, Mr. Pattle was coming to fulfill that other emotional need, a surrogate son. His employer was a good man and clever enough in his own way, but a fool when it came to money and women. Sinfully generous in Black’s opinion. That came from always having more than enough money without having to work for it. He was a shocking naif with his servants, and soft as butter in the hands of a cunning woman.
    In an effort to divert Mr. Pattle’s painful thoughts from Mary Scraggs, Black said