Death Is in the Air by Kate Kingsbury Page B

area.”
    “As well as mined beaches and barbed wire along the cliffs. Not to mention Rita Crumm and her gallant troops,” Elizabeth murmured.
    Earl looked intrigued. “Sorry?”
    “Just a misguided, though very enthusiastic, group ofhousewives with an overambitious female tyrant for a leader.”
    Earl grinned. “I take it you don’t care for this Rita person?”
    She made a face at him. “Rita means well, I suppose, but she can be incredibly tiresome at times. I make allowances for them all. It must be hard to sit twiddling their thumbs while their husbands are risking their lives in a foreign land. Playing at soldiers makes them feel useful, as if they are doing their bit. And most of them do a lot for the war effort, like knitting woollies for the winter, collecting scrap metal, working in victory gardens, that sort of thing. Right now they have organized a massive clothes drive in the village, to help the people who have been bombed out of their homes.”
    The major looked impressed. “Tell me about the murder. Was it really a land girl with her head chopped off?”
    “Not exactly. It was one of the land girls, unfortunately, but as far as I know, her head was still intact. She was brutally attacked, however, with an axe, so the constables tell me.”
    “And the police think the German pilot killed her?”
    Elizabeth pursed her lips. “They don’t really know who killed her yet.”
    “And what do you think?”
    She studied her glass for a moment or two before answering. “I think,” she said slowly, “that there are a lot more questions to be answered before we can even begin to discover what really happened.” Questions she would somehow have to take care of herself, she silently added, if true justice was to be served.

CHAPTER
7
    Elizabeth was well pleased with the meal that Violet served up that evening, helped somewhat by Martin under the housekeeper’s eagle eye. Violet had managed to find a small beef roast, and the Yorkshire puddings definitely had been made with an egg—a vast improvement on the heavy lumps of batter everyone had been forced to endure for the past months.
    The sherry trifle was a delight, delicate and flavorful as it should be. In fact, it tasted so good Elizabeth wondered if Violet had recruited a friend of hers to make it—a thought she would have to keep to herself for fear of insulting her housekeeper.
    Earl was excellent company, amusing her with stories of his hometown in Wyoming—a place called Rock Springs, which, according to Earl, wasn’t much bigger than Sitting Marsh. Yet from the way he described thevast open lands surrounding it, there was a whole world of difference in his life there.
    How he must miss it all, she thought as she listened to him talk about rodeos, roundups, and so many other things beyond her imagination. It was a magical world he talked about, and in spite of her good intentions, she envied the woman who waited for him to return.
    Violet served brandy in the conservatory, obviously flattered by Earl’s effusive praise of her cooking. Even Elizabeth had to admit Violet had outdone herself and made a mental note to tell her so at the first opportunity.
    Alone with the major, she did her best to relax in front of the glass walls that overlooked the lawns. This was her favorite room in the house—her own special sanctuary—and Earl Monroe was one of the few people she had allowed in her haven. She often wondered what he would make of that if she were to tell him so.
    Settled on the wicker chairs, they chatted about the history of the Manor House, until he surprised her by asking, “Don’t you think it’s time you told me what it was you wanted to discuss?”
    She tried to remember what it was that had seemed so important that morning. “There was really nothing specific,” she admitted at last. “I was wondering if you had any concerns about your accommodations and if there was anything any of us could do to make you more comfortable. You