A Mrs. Jeffires Mystery 11 - Mrs. Jeffries Questions the Answer by Emily Brightwell Page A

not a particularly nice man, either. But at least he doesn’t scream like a scalded cat just because I trimmed the hedges a bit too short.” He paused to take a breath, and Smythe leapt at his chance, but he was too late. Harry’s lungs apparently didn’t need much air. “Mind you, I’m sure with these coppers trampin’ all over the gardens lookin’ for God knows what, I’ll hear from Mrs. Masters about them ruddy summer roses.” Harry shook his head.
    “Who do they think did it?” Smythe asked quickly.
    “Some say it was a burglar,” Harry replied. He looked pointedly at his now empty mug. Smythe quickly nodded to the barman and Harry resumed talking. “But others say it were probably her husband. Or her half-brother, or even that woman who’s always hangin’ about moonin’ over Mr. Cameron. Not that he’s all that bad a bloke, not as tight-fisted as she was, that’s for sure. Pay you a bob or two to do a few things for him, Mr. Cameron does. Give me a few bits when I run over to the post office for him last week.”
    Smythe’s interest had perked up at the mention of “husband,” “half-brother” and especially at “that woman who’s always hangin’ about.” “What woman is this then, ’angin’ about?” he asked.
    “Mrs. Hadleigh.” Harry snorted. “Claims to be Mrs. Cameron’s friend and all that, but she didn’tlike Mrs. Cameron any more than I did.”
    “How do you know?”
    “Any fool with eyes could see that Mrs. Hadleigh hated Mrs. Cameron. Pulled all sorts of ugly, sour faces at the woman’s back whenever Mrs. Cameron wasn’t lookin’. But then everyone in the ’ousehold did that exceptin’ for Miss Ellingsley…” He broke off and sighed. “Now there’s a lovely woman. Too bad she had to go to work for the Camerons. But that’s what comes of bein’ a poor relation. Mind you, I expect that Mrs. Hadleigh will do her best to get Miss Ellingsley sacked now that Mrs. Cameron is gone. She’ll not want the master gettin’ any fancy ideas in his head about a younger woman. Not that Miss Ellingsley is interested in Mr. Cameron. Good Lord, no. She’s got other fish to fry, that one does.”
    Smythe’s ears were ringing. Harry Comstock was like a blocked drainpipe; one good clean-up and words gushed out like backed-up water. There were dozens of questions that he could ask, but he wouldn’t be able to ask a single one of them if he couldn’t get this fellow to slow up a bit.
    “Uh, look,” he interrupted sharply. Harry blinked owlishly. Smythe forced himself to smile. “Why don’t we go and ’ave us a nice sit down.” He jerked his head toward the table near the hearth. “I’ll get us a couple of whiskies.”

    Betsy arrived back at Upper Edmonton Gardens before the others. She found Mrs. Goodge pacing the kitchen floor and muttering. “Silly old thing is going to ruin everything…”
    “Who’s ruining everything?” Betsy asked. Shetook her hat and coat off and hung them up.
    “Aunt Elberta, that’s who.” Mrs. Goodge, her face flushed and her eyes flashing behind her glasses, stomped over to put the kettle on. “She’s been here all day. You’d think someone her age would have to rest. But no, she’s here hour after hour, interruptin’ my sources, asking her silly questions…”
    “Mrs. Goodge.” Mrs. Jeffries’s soft voice interrupted the cook’s tirade. “Do lower your voice. She’ll hear you.”
    “She’s deaf as a post,” the cook snapped. She picked a plate of buns up from the sideboard and slapped them down on the table. “I had half a dozen people through here today and I didn’t learn a ruddy thing. It’s all her fault.”
    Mrs. Jeffries and Betsy exchanged glances as they came toward the table. Both of them sympathized with Mrs. Goodge’s plight, but they felt sorry for poor Aunt Elberta too.
    “I had a bit of luck today,” Betsy said cheerfully, hoping some good news might distract the cook.
    Mrs. Goodge snorted.
    Mrs.