Mrs. Jeffries Wins the Prize by Emily Brightwell Page A

giggled and pointed to Samson, who was sitting on Fred’s rug by the cooker. “Kitty!” But the cat simply gave them all a disgusted look, stuck his nose in the air, and stalked out of the room. “Kitty go?”
    â€œHe doesn’t like little ones,” Smythe said gently. “But not to worry, my darlin’, he doesn’t like anyone but Mrs. Goodge.”
    A moment later, Ruth dashed in and took her spot. “Sorry I’m a late. I had to send off some notes to my women’s group. I think some of them might know Helena Rayburn quite well.”
    â€œExcellent, Ruth, thank you. Wiggins and Phyllis will be right down.” Mrs. Jeffries gestured at the empty chairs. “We’ll need to get started quickly.”
    â€œGuess that means you’ve found out a few things,” Luty muttered as she took her usual seat.
    Luty Belle Crookshank had been a witness in one of their very first cases. But the elderly American was both smart and observant. She’d seen the household snooping about and asking questions, and then shortly after that case had been solved, she’d come to them with a problem of her own. Ever since, she and Hatchet had insisted on helping with the inspector’s cases.
    Widowed, wealthy, and childless, she’d become a huge asset to their investigations. With her homespun ways and ready wit, she charmed secrets out of the rich and powerful. She was from the American West and not in the least ashamed of having worked alongside her English husband digging silver out of the mountains of Colorado. Peoplewho wouldn’t have spoken to someone like her when she was running a boardinghouse in Pueblo or taking in laundry in Denver now fell all over themselves to get an invitation to one of her parties. But Luty would much rather be helping solve a murder than going to a ball, unless, of course, she was on the hunt.
    â€œWe have,” Mrs. Goodge said as Phyllis and Wiggins joined them. It took a few minutes for all of them to get settled and cups of tea to be poured.
    Betsy waited till Mrs. Jeffries finished pouring everyone’s tea and took her seat at the head of the table before she spoke. “Before you begin, when we were waiting outside for the inspector and Constable Barnes to leave, I told Luty and Hatchet what we knew from yesterday.”
    â€œGood, that’ll save a bit of time.” Mrs. Jeffries looked at them. “Have either of you heard of or know anything about Helena Rayburn or the victim, Hiram Filmore?”
    â€œI’ve never heard of either of them,” Luty declared. “But Hatchet here claims he knows something.”
    â€œIt isn’t a claim, madam, it is a fact. If it is indeed the same person, I have heard of Hiram Filmore.”
    â€œBut you never met him,” Luty shot back.
    â€œNo, but Mrs. Jeffries asked if we knew him or had heard of him and I, madam, have heard of him.”
    Amanda’s smile disappeared and she made a soft sound of alarm as the two of them argued. Everyone else knew that the bickering between them was a testament to their close relationship and genuine affection for each other, but the little one was too young to understand that.
    Luty was instantly contrite. “There, there, sweetie, it’s alright. We’re not mad at each other.” She shot Hatchet amalevolent glare but kept her voice soft. “Say something nice. I don’t want my baby upset.”
    Hatchet, who was as besotted with the tot as the rest of them, leaned across and chucked her on the chin. “I’m sorry, we didn’t mean to raise our voices.”
    â€œDon’t worry about it,” Betsy told them. “She’s alright now.”
    Mrs. Jeffries looked at Hatchet. “Tell us what you know of Hiram Filmore.”
    â€œHe was in the army in India for years, and when he retired, he stayed on in Bombay and established a business selling rare plants and