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Memory is an odd beast, I thought, as I let myself into Fernbank. You can walk into a room and forget what you’re there for, but instantly recall the name and features of the little girl who sat next to you in infant school. Every stupid thing I’ve ever said or done will come to mind with annoying regularity, yet I can never remember Jerry’s mobile number and have to use speed dial to reach him.
Over the last few days, my memories of working in France and meeting the D’Aumbray brothers had resurfaced with a vengeance, prompted by seeing Val and Becky together. Earlier, a whiff of chalk dust and boiled cabbage had brought my school days flooding back. Who was to say that something similar wouldn’t happen to Miss Thompson and she’d recall the events that led to her fall with a clarity she currently lacked?
Ten minutes later, the door bell rang and I let in Becky.
“Hi, how are you?” I asked, walking ahead of her down the corridor to the office.
“Oh, fine.”
“And how’s Christine?”
“Who?”
Hell’s teeth! She was supposed to be at the hospital on guard duty, not having her flipping brain removed.
“Christine Thompson.” I said.
“Oh yeah.” She looked at me dully as she put the pink laptop on the table and I finally lost it.
“What the bloody hell is wrong with you Becky? You’ve mooned around with a face as long as a wet weekend every time I’ve seen you for the last ten days. If you aren’t prepared to pull your weight, then whether you’re leaving or not, I’ll ask for some other officer, because your head is not on your job and you’re neither use nor ornament to me.”
She looked woefully back at me, opened her mouth as if to say something, then burst into tears.
Becky sobbed as though her heart was broken and I realised that it was. I fished a packet of tissues from out of my bag, drew up a chair and sat beside her, reaching an arm around her heaving shoulders.
“He...he said he loved me, but...but...”
She leant towards me and I hugged her close, wondering what on earth had caused this pain.
“But what, Becky? Have you broken up with him?”
She carried on sobbing over my sweater. “Two weeks ago. He was such a...a...such a gentleman, but he said...he said...”
I waited with bated breath to hear what Val had said and passed her a tissue.
“It wouldn’t work between us, because of our jobs. I said I’d give mine up, but he’s married to his, anyway. Oh, God.” She rocked backwards and forwards. “I’m sorry. It hurts so much I haven’t been able to think of anything else.”
She broke into fresh tears and I saw the monumental mistake I had made. My brain worked furiously.
“Well, it’s clear that you love him, and you’ve already given your notice in.”
She pulled away from me and nodded, dabbing at her eyes.
“You joined the Force in an admin role, didn’t you?”
Her brow furrowed at the change of subject. “Yes, that’s right, I did. Why?”
“Because I just might be able to help you out. First though, tell me about Christine Thompson. Who’s with her?”
“Andy Perkins. I got there at nine o’clock this morning and the doctors were with her for over half an hour while I sat out in the corridor. She was still very groggy when I got to see her and remembers being in the Staff Room, but everything’s still blank after that.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“Because I called the school and asked them to pass the message on. I thought I was killing two birds with one stone, and I had to go outside the room to do it. I didn’t want to leave Miss Thompson on her own for too long.”
“All right. Go upstairs, wash your face, and make yourself presentable. Then we are going for a little drive.”
She didn’t question me and while she was gone I laid my plans, hoping that the D’Aumbray brothers would agree to them. It would solve so many problems for everyone involved if they did.
I drove slowly into town, hampered by the heavy traffic along the London Road. At least it gave me the time to think about the foolish mistake I had made.
I had taken one glance at Becky in Val’s arms and assumed they were engaged in a romantic clinch, yet when I’d seen her only an hour or so later she had been sullen and morose. The countenance she presented was hardly that of someone in a happy love affair and I’d been unable to reconcile this contradiction until now.
Only one of the brothers could be said to be married to his work. Becky was in love with Jacques, not Val. When I’d thought her quivering in passion in the younger Frenchman’s embrace, she’d actually been crying her heart out while he comforted her.
I cast a quick glance at the young woman sitting silent and incurious at my side. She hadn’t asked where we were going, as if nothing I might say or do, and nowhere I might take her, held any interest for her at all.
“How long have you known him?”
“Not long.”
“Love at first sight, eh?”
“Ha! First taste, more like. I’ve never met anyone like him.” She sniffed.
It can’t have been easy for either of them. Her job was unpredictable. At the start of an investigation she might be called on to work long hours, and Jacques saw himself as an artist, dedicated to creating the finest possible cuisine. He, too, worked until late in the evening. With so little time to spend together it was a wonder that love had blossomed at all, though I had no doubt that it had. Only something as devastating as a love affair – and an unhappy one, at that – could have reduced Jacques to the disorganised mess I’d found him in on Saturday.
I kicked myself for not putting two and two together before now, though to be fair, I had had a lot on my mind. Still, if my idea worked, things should soon change to their mutual benefit.
I parked around the back, in the spaces reserved for the wine bar and restaurant.
“What are we doing here? I don’t want to go in there.”
I ignored her question — let her worry later about how I knew where to come.
“Stop worrying and trust me.” I put a hand on her arm and shook it, my eyes holding hers. “Don’t look so scared. It will be all right. Come on.”
Walking ahead of her into Jacques’ kitchen the sharp tang of garlic, and tarragon, parsley, chervil and chives, the fines herbes of French cooking, tickled my nostrils. At the far end of the room, Matt shredded pork for rillettes, while at a work station to my right Jacques piped choux pastry into intricate swirls on a metal tray.
Between his position and mine, my eagle eye spotted a large bowl of his sublime chocolate mousse, cooling before being placed in the refrigerator. Drooling, I almost forget the purpose I was there, until he looked up and saw me.
He dropped the piping bag and instantly came towards me.
“Madame Verity, bienvenue! ” As gallant as always, he gave a little bow, at the same time lifting my hand to his lips. Only when he raised his head did he see who’d entered behind me. “Alors! Que faites vous ici?”
“Hello, Jacques.”
Becky’s half smile barely reached her worried eyes and his formality didn’t fool me. I’d noticed the way his face brightened at the sight of her before quickly falling back into its usual mask of urbanity.
“I have brought you an administrator.” I waved my hand at Becky. “Take a look in there, will you.” I pointed her towards the office. “Think you can help?”
Frowning, she went to the doorway and looked inside. “Bloody hell!”
“Verity! Bonjour, ma chérie.”
Val entered with a tray holding two glasses of beer, refreshment for the workers. He put it down and joined us. “What is it?” he asked, his gaze travelling between the three of us.
“You need an assistant, someone to order your stocks, to pay your suppliers, keep your accounts and do the general administration. You’ll especially need help once the Bellhurst bistro is open. So, I’ve brought you one.”
Jacques stared at Becky. “You? You have a job, though, non?”
“I’ve resigned.”
He moved past me and stood beside her. “Could you do this?”
I saw him gesture with his hand at the piles of papers on desk, chair, shelving, and floor. She leaned towards him, speaking low and I turned away. Val grinned at me.
Behind me, Jacques asked Becky if she would be happy working in a restaurant. I heard her say, ‘I’d love to, and I’d see more of you’, followed by what sounded suspiciously like a kiss.
“So now you are the matchmaker, huh?” said Val.
“If it helps. I don’t like to see my friends unhappy.”
Eyes sparkling with laughter, he reached into a tray of cutlery for two teaspoons, handed me one and picked up the chocolate mousse.
I dipped my spoon into the bowl.
“Je t’aime,” he whispered.
“Uh uh.” I shook my head. “Tu es comme un frère pour moi.” Somewhere out there was a girl for Val and I hoped one day he would find her, and that when he did I would be happy for him.
He gave a wistful smile. “Eh bien, ma soeur.”
I couldn’t reply. My mouth was full of dark soothing smoothness, a salve for the spirit, balm for the soul, made by a true artist, and a just reward for all my effort in bringing the lovebirds together. I closed my eyes and let the world go hang.
* * *
The next morning found me happily ensconced in KD’s office in Bishop Lea. Anxious as always to know how I was getting on, my boss demanded a full report. It didn’t take me long to fill her in, though she sucked in her breath on hearing about my conversation with the Sports mistress and the incident involving a discus.
“Thank goodness it didn’t hit you. It might have killed you.”
“I’m not sure that was the intention, but those girls worry me. Why would they stand with their hands behind their backs, like that? What were they doing?”
“Oh, that’s easy, you must have done it yourself at that age.”
Baffled, I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”
“They were crossing their fingers because they were telling lies.”
Of course! Now KD had pointed it out, everything fell into place; the looks on the girls’ faces when she’d told them to be more careful, Courtney’s hesitation, Miss Sproston saying ‘Well done’ to them.
I’d sensed at the time that it had been their teacher that had thrown the discus at me, probably just to scare me away. Perhaps she had made it into a game, told them to yell a warning, then pretend that they'd launched a mis-aimed discus, and in the throes of their schoolgirl crush, the adoring, foolish pair had gladly done so.
I settled into my morning routine and once I’d finished the tasks KD had given me, went tootling along the minor roads and backwaters of the internet, doing research of my own. It didn’t take me long to find what I was after and it made for interesting reading, but something didn’t add up.
I scribbled a few notes on my pad, then sat back tapping my pen against my lips.
“Have you ever heard of Ashtree House?” I asked my boss.
“I’ve not only heard of it, I’ve been to it.”
“You have?”
“Yes, it’s just outside Aldbarn and belongs to the Fanshaw Charitable Foundation, which supports special needs children with outstanding artistic talent.”
All of which confirmed what I’d just discovered. “So, why were you there?”
KD’s face twisted into an ironic smile. “Because they wanted my money. I was invited to attend a fundraising Garden Party where I could hobnob with other like- minded souls who were similarly being chased for their hard-earned cash. Why do you ask?”
“I’m checking on the teachers’ alibis.”
“Hmm.” She swivelled her chair from side to side, thinking. “I should think it would be hard to justify attendance at Ashtree House on a teacher’s salary. It must have been an Excelsior, Florence moment.”
“What?” Sometimes my boss’s train of thought derails completely and goes flying off like the Hogwarts Express.
“A long time ago, when I was still married, Geoffrey’s boss, for some reason which I can’t now remember, sent us on a long weekend to the Excelsior Hotel in Florence. It was an all-expenses-paid trip and we jumped at the chance.”
“I’m not surprised. It must have been wonderful.”
“Uh, uh.” KD shook her head. “The Excelsior Hotel is posh, very posh, and I was just an ordinary English housewife whose best dress cost less than fifty quid from Debenhams. I was totally out of place. I knew it, the concierge knew it, and the Italian countess walking down the marble staircase in her Versace trouser suit knew it. I have never felt so uncomfortable in my life.”
“I don’t see why. Your money was as good as theirs.”
“But that’s the whole point. It wasn’t our money. It was Geoffrey’s company’s money. I was out of my depth and, I suspect, your teacher would have felt the same at Ashtree House. Tickets for their Garden Parties cost £500, or they did when I went. It’s a few years ago now and for all I know the price has gone up since then.”
Blimey! Five hundred quid! KD was right. What on earth was a schoolteacher, even one employed at a prestigious fee-paying school like Crofterton Girls’ College, doing spending that sort of money at a fundraising do? She hadn’t struck me as the sort who’d be interested in those with artistic ability, special needs children or not. What had she said? ‘Art is for ponces like Daryll Wilford’?
“So, maybe she didn’t go?” I said.
“Did she say she did?”
I nodded, flicking back through my pad to find the right page. “Yes, she showed one of the original officers the invitation. He noted that it was on a fancy gold-embossed card.”
“That’s right. I remember them, very posh. It doesn’t mean to say that she actually went, though.”
I scratched my forehead. “Actually, I’m afraid it does. The police checked and she was on the invite list.”
KD pushed her chair back and stood up. “Dear me. That won’t do at all. Come on, Verity, think! This is an alibi we’re talking about. If you spent as much time trying to invent and then break alibis as I do...”
“Yes, and?” I still couldn’t see what she was driving at.
“You obviously need more caffeine.”
She filled both our mugs and brought them across to my desk.
“Thanks.” I took a quick sip. “Explain what you’re getting at, will you, please? I’m afraid I’m in too many trees territory.”
“Well, I can think of one or two things dodgy about that alibi. Firstly, she could have given the invitation to someone else who went in her stead, and secondly that she’d got her hands on someone else’s invitation and showed that to the police.”
I shook my head. “No, that second one won’t work. The invitation had her name on it, and it’s an unusual one.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, it’s Sproston. There can’t be too many people with that name.”
“Then do what you do best and research it.”
She wandered back to her own end of the office and I did as she suggested. Looking into the Sports mistress’s alibi was something I should have done long since. I’d just been too distracted, worrying about things that were not my concern.
I dismissed these thoughts and focused on the search.
Eureka!
A Samantha Sproston was the owner of a company called Sateen —'Luxury Lingerie for Lovely Ladies’ —based in Leicester. Could the two girls, Sally and Samantha, be sisters?
My search for a photograph brought even better results; an article in the Sandford News that described Sateen’s owner as tall, slim and auburn-haired.
I sat back, working out the permutations. Dammit! Sally could still have been Ashtree House on the fateful day.
I called the offices of Sateen, only to be told that Samantha Sproston was on a business trip to the USA and would not be back for a week. The receptionist didn’t know if her employer had attended the garden party.
“Sorry. I’ve only been here six months.”
The person I spoke to at Ashtree House was no more helpful.
“You’ll need to speak to Ann McDonagh, and she won’t be here until lunch time.”
When I relayed all this to KD, her response was typical. “Go there, it’s not far. Things can be misunderstood over the phone. You’d do much better speaking to this McDonagh woman face to face.”
She gave me directions and saw me off, telling me to drive safely. Bless her, she does like to mother me.
The thirty miles to the village of Aldbarn seemed to take forever. I urged my little car onwards, convinced I was within a whisper of uncovering Emily Rimmer’s killer.
The gates of Ashtree House stood wide open, allowing me to drive straight in and along the snaking, tree-lined drive to the imposing Georgian house in the near distance.
I parked up and went inside. The hall lay empty, apart from a solitary desk with a reception sign and bell, and an ageing labrador who shuffled over to greet me. I slapped the first and fondled the second.
A woman appeared from a door behind the desk and asked what she could do for me.
“I’m Verity Long.”
“Oh, that’s right, I spoke to you earlier. Ann’s not long arrived. Come with me and I’ll show you to her office.”
The woman in charge of Ashtree House’s fundraising reminded me of a younger version of KD, small, round and very dark haired. She, too, asked how she might help me. What a shame I hadn’t had this many offers of assistance earlier; I would have cracked the case in no time.
“Oh, yes, Miss Sproston was definitely amongst our attendees,” said Ms McDonagh, when I explained what I was after.
My heart sank. “This is last year, remember.”
“Yes, yes.” Her small head bobbed up and down. “That’s right, 2010.”
“Do you know Miss Sproston? Did you actually see her here?”
“Yes. You couldn’t miss her. I’ve met her a time or two, and Sammy Sproston’s bright red hair is unmistakeable.”
Ah hah! My falling spirits began to rise, but I quelled the excitement her comment had elicited. Go steady, I admonished myself. Be sure of your facts.
“Would you say the hair was dyed?”
She must have thought it a strange question, her brow wrinkled, but she answered readily enough.
“I really couldn’t say. Is yours?”
I resisted the temptation to twirl a strand of my hair around a finger. “No.”
“In that case, I would think Sammy is as natural a redhead as you are.”
“Thank you, Ms McDonagh.”
I had risen to my feet, all ready to go and nail a killer when she dropped her bombshell.
“Although her sister was blonde.”
* * *
For at least the first five miles of the trip back to Crofterton, I cursed roundly and loudly. With Sally’s alibi confirmed, I had no remaining suspect. After two weeks of investigation I remained none the wiser as to the identity of Emily Rimmer’s murderer. The thought of telling Jerry that I had failed, and the taint of that failure on his reputation with the ACC, left a bitter taste in my mouth.
I hammered my fist on the steering wheel in frustration, holding back the tears that I desperately wanted to cry. It would have been so neat, Sally obtaining her sister’s Garden Party invitation and presenting it as her alibi. Now, it seemed she had been there, after all.
I was on the ring road when the answer finally came and when I reached Fernbank, I went directly to the office and opened my laptop. Then, my heart beating, I made another call to Ashtree House.
Ms McDonagh answered the question I should have thought to ask when I was with her and this time confirmed my suspicion. To be absolutely certain, I did the research, checking the registry of Births, Marriages, and Deaths, for the name of Sproston.
Bingo.
I sat back in my chair and thought it all through, checking through the references I’d been given and making several more calls, including one to the hospital. Finally, I called Jerry and made my report.
“Well done,” he said. “I’ll get over there now with Sergeant Stott and a couple of constables. Will you join us, please?”
Pleased that he’d asked, I said I’d be there as soon as possible.
* * *
I found the Staff Room heaving at the seams and in total uproar when I arrived. School had finished for the day, the pupils had all gone home and, in the midst of Mrs Parr, her teachers, and his team, Jerry was in the process of making an arrest.
Becky smiled—a genuine smile, full of warmth and encouragement, and I smiled back, delighted to see her happy again and without a long and miserable face.
“I didn’t kill her,” said Sally Sproston.
“No, I know you didn’t.” I took over on Jerry’s slight nod. “You are being arrested for launching a murderous attack on Christine Thompson. Your sister killed Emily Rimmer and she did so to protect you.”
“That’s ridiculous.” The Sports mistress spat the words at me. “She was at the Garden Party with me.”
I nodded. That had been my final stumbling block, but I had cleared it and knew the truth. “Sammy was with you, yes, but I’m talking about your other sister.”
I paused. It had gone so quiet in the Staff Room that I clearly heard the gasp from the chairs to my right.
“So, who did kill Miss Rimmer?” Mrs Parr asked.
“Miss Sproston’s sister, Wendy Dixon. Before her marriage, she was a Sproston, too.”
“But why?” asked Mrs Liversedge.
“And how am I supposed to have done so? I was nowhere near the school,” said Wendy.
“Go on, Verity.” Jerry stilled the hubbub that had begun to build. “Tell it from the beginning.”
I took a deep breath and marshalled my thoughts before I began.
“Rimmer was blackmailing Sally who was desperate to do something about it. She talked it over with her sister and together they concocted a plan. I don’t know the details, but I suspect that Rimmer was lured to the school on the pretence of being paid off. Instead she was hit on the back of the head with a discus—Sally gave Wendy the code to open the sports equipment shed—and bundled into the freezer. Wendy claimed to be at home at the time, but there is no proof that she was.”
“And Miss Thompson? Why was she attacked?”
I smiled gently at the Headmistress, knowing how much she had grieved over what had happened to her English teacher.
“Miss Thompson’s misfortune was to have known of the relationship between Wendy and Sally, but not of the existence of the third sister. When she knew that Sally’s alibi involved being with her sister, but Wendy’s did not, she knew one of them was lying. I ran into Christine in town on Saturday and she was about to tell me all about it, until she saw Sally in the crowd behind me and bolted. Realizing the danger they were in, this time it was Sally’s turn to try and commit murder. Thankfully, she failed. She also failed in her attacks on me.”
“Oh?” Jerry said, sharply. I’d said nothing about the incident the day before.
“She threw a discus at me after I’d spoken to her and then tried to pretend a pupil had been responsible.”
“Why didn’t you come to me?” Mrs Parr addressed Sally. “Why didn’t you tell me about the blackmail?”
“She couldn’t,” I said. “The reason she was being blackmailed is that Sally Sproston has never qualified as a teacher.”
The room fell quiet and I let that fact sink in.
“Is this true?” Mrs Parr asked.
The Sports mistress moved her head as though about to nod.
“Don’t say anything,” Mrs Dixon said quickly. “Not until we have a solicitor.”
“One question, Miss Long,” said Jerry. “Why was Emily Rimmer murdered with a discus and not anything to hand in the kitchens?”
I'd wondered this too, and hadn't solved that puzzle until I lay on the grass staring at the wretched thing.
“Because pots and pans would be the first thing your Scenes of Crime officers would think to look at and test. The discus could be wiped clean and replaced in the shed. They gambled on the fact that no one would think to check there, and they were right.”
Jerry nodded, ruefully.
“I must ask you ladies to accompany us to the station for further questioning,” he said. “All right, Sergeant, carry on.”
Reluctantly, Wendy got to her feet. She threw me a venomous look as Stotty took hold of her arm and the sisters, surrounded by the police, were taken out of the room. I made to follow them until stopped by Mrs Parr.
“Don’t go, please, Miss Long. I need to understand this. What am I going to say to the Board?”
“You will have to tell them the truth. You took her on trust and she supplied you with fake references.”
“They were certainly good ones. Hmm.” Mrs Parr looked thoughtful. “She appeared to know what she was doing. I never thought to check if she was registered.”
“She was certainly sporty, and she had been to Millfield School in Somerset. It’s reputed to be the best sports school in the country. She knew her stuff in that regard, but she had no degree and no teacher training.”
I had no doubt the Head would work something out. She was a resourceful woman, but what happened now at Crofterton Girls’ College was not my concern. I would finish my report for the Governors and happily wash my hands of them.
“You know,” said Peter Purcell, “I honestly thought you suspected old Daryll here.”
Wilford looked offended. “Me? Whatever for?”
“Oh, I suspected all of you to start with.”
I didn’t point out that they all had their secrets, secrets that were no longer any affair of mine.
“Did you? So what was Christine muttering about? I told you what I heard, remember?”
I nodded at the Art teacher. “Yes, you thought you heard her say, a man and a dog and a lion again. I think Christine actually said she was going to see a man about a dog, and beard the lion in his den. She wanted to speak to Sally, which played right into the latter’s hands, of course.”
“What I don’t understand is why anyone would want to become a teacher if they didn’t have to.” Libby Liversedge.
“God, yes,” Purcell agreed. “I’d give it up like a shot if I had talents elsewhere.”
“Would you, really?” I asked. “Sally Sproston liked to think she had a rapport with her pupils. She encouraged them to be fond of her, almost revelling in their affection, and got a real kick out of being in their company.”
“Like a modern day Miss Jean Brodie, you mean?” Libby Liversedge raised an eyebrow and I nodded. “I suspected something of the sort. I even wondered myself if she was qualified.”
“And Wendy killed because of that? That’s awful.”
“People kill for a lot of reasons, Miss Sutcliffe. I think that Sally felt truly fulfilled working here and the thought of the truth coming out and losing her job as a consequence, terrified her. Wendy recently told me that her family was very important to her and she was probably responsible for Sally getting the position at the college and that may be why they didn't admit to the relationship, especially as Sally wasn't qualified.
“Christine Thompson knew, though, because Wendy had inadvertently let it slip at some point. She’s the eldest of the three sisters and, who knows, perhaps she’s been looking out for the other two all her life.”
And, of course, Wendy had her own secrets. She might have killed for those as much as for her sister. Even after my interview with her, I had no idea what the History teacher was keeping hidden. Perhaps Jerry would have better luck.
“Sally could have joined a voluntary organisation, like the Guides, though, if she really wanted to work with kids,” Peter Purcell said. “Or a sports or youth group.”
“She might have already done so, and found it wasn’t enough for her. Who knows?”
“It’s poor Christine I feel sorry for,” said Mrs Parr.
“Well, it’s probably no consolation, but I think that attack was simple panic on Sally’s part and Wendy was as shocked and appalled as the rest of you when she knew what her sister had done.”
“It didn’t stop her covering it up, though, did it?” Wilford looked disgusted and I didn’t need to be a mind reader to know what he thought of both the Sprostons.
For once, I was inclined to agree with him.
* * *
“So, they are going to make a go of it, are they?” Jerry raised one eyebrow, a sardonic twist to his lips. “You realise you’ve robbed me of a constable.”
We were home, sitting in the comfy living room at Fernbank, the remains of a bottle of wine on the coffee table and, over dinner, I’d told him about Becky and Jacques.
“Nonsense. She’d given her notice in before I found a solution to their problems. Actually, she’s just what he needs, both professionally and personally, and I think she’ll be very good for him.”
He put his arm around my shoulder and pulled me close. “Well, I wish them all the best and I hope she makes him as happy as you’ve made me.” He dropped a kiss on the top of my head.
“And what of the sisters?” I asked. “Have they said anything?”
He grunted. “Dixon is as tight-lipped as an oyster, but then she’s facing the graver charge of murder. Sproston, on the other hand, is singing like a canary.”
I forgave him the clichés—it had been a long day for both of us.
“Did she give any reason for Dixon to kill Rimmer?”
“Well, you were right about the older sister trying to protect the younger, but you did miss one thing.”
I sat up straighter and turned to face him. “Oh? What was that?”
“The death, on an overseas adventure holiday, of a pupil at Dixon’s previous school. Negligence was suspected but never proven, and it was dismissed as an accident. Dixon had been a member of staff on the holiday.”
No wonder Sally Sproston had looked so terrified when I’d said something about trips abroad with State schools. She must have thought I’d known.
“Hmm, well, in my defence, I did suspect Wendy of withholding something, but she was never on my radar for murder until I’d worked out what Christine had been trying to tell me and that therefore there must be three sisters.”
“Sounds like a good name for a play,” said Jerry.
I laughed. “Doesn’t it just.”
“Did you speak to Miss Thompson when you called the hospital?”
“No, a nurse relayed question and answer, and then I called you.”
I leaned forward and drank the last of my wine. Jerry ran a finger down my spine.
“Well, the ACC is happy. He’s asked me to pass on his thanks for a job well done.”
“You’re back in his good books, are you?” I smiled. “Back to being teacher’s pet?”
“Ha, ha.” He pulled me backwards and kissed me roughly. “Let that be a lesson to you.”
I grinned at him and unbuttoned his shirt, running my hands over the smooth muscular chest. “School’s out, Jerry. Now...it’s playtime!”
The End