The Twelve Clues of Christmas by Rhys Bowen Page B

Florrie is prone to nightmares, so Miss Effie kept her door open in case her sister cried out in her sleep.”
    “But they were both closed last night?” I asked.
    She nodded. “They were indeed. I suppose it was snowing and she didn’t want the snow to come in. And maybe the wind blew the door shut.”
    “Then maybe it was a gust of wind that blew out the fire,” I suggested.
    “Yes, that would be it,” Miss Prendergast agreed. “Temperamental things, gas fires. I won’t have them in the house.”
    Granddad was prowling the room, not touching anything, but checking. “This lady—she hadn’t given any signs of being depressed or worried lately, then?”
    The housekeeper, who had been lurking close to the doorway, gave a little cry. “Suicide, is that what you’re suggesting, sir? Never. Not Miss Effie. She was the one who kept this place going. Had us all on our toes and took good care of her sisters. No, she’d never have left them in the lurch.”
    “Did you have any visitors at all yesterday evening?” Lady Hawse-Gorzley asked.
    The housekeeper shook her head firmly. “Oh, no, ma’am. The ladies never entertain in the evenings anymore. It’s an early dinner, then bed for all three of them. They might manage a little game of cards after dinner, but not for long.”
    “I must have been one of the last visitors, then,” Miss Prendergast said. “I was here for tea and Mr. Barclay stopped by so of course he was asked to join us. Most awkward, since Mr. Barclay and I have not seen eye to eye on the decorations. Miss Effie was most tactful about it. Smoothed things over wonderfully. It was a knack of hers. Oh, and when we were leaving Willum arrived, didn’t he, Mrs. Bates?”
    “That’s right. The ladies had asked him to come over and bring down the decorations from the attic for them. He brought them all down and then helped us bring in the Christmas tree. It’s all there in the drawing room. They never decorate it until Christmas Eve. It’s their tradition.”
    “So after Willum nobody came?” Lady Hawse-Gorzley persisted.
    “No, ma’am. I believe we locked the doors when Willum went.” She stopped talking at the sound of a car drawing up outside. “Oh, Lord,” she groaned. “It’s that policeman. He was here the other day. Nasty bullying way with him. Made our girls quite upset, scaring them with talk of convicts hiding out in the sheds.”
    There was thumping on the front door. One of the maids must have answered it because we heard heavy footsteps coming up the stairs.
    “Quite a little party we have here, I see,” Inspector Newcombe said, coming into the room. “I was at the police station in the next village when the call was put to the doctor, so Gladys on the switchboard saw fit to try to locate me. Bright girl, that one. She said the old lady gassed herself?”
    “Not deliberately, sir. Miss Effie would never do that,” the housekeeper said. “Something went horribly wrong somewhere. The windows were shut; the door was shut. That wasn’t right.”
    “Are you sure you’re not reading too much into this?” He went across to the body and leaned down over it. “A lady of her age—it could just as easily have been heart failure.”
    “But the smell, sir. There was this gas odor something terrible,” Mrs. Bates said.
    “It only takes a little gas to leave a bad smell,” he said. “Maybe there was a small gas leak.”
    “The gas was turned on,” Miss Prendergast said firmly. “I had to turn it off myself before I could even get into the room to open the windows. Somebody had turned it on, by accident or intention we don’t know.”
    “This is all I need,” Inspector Newcombe said. “At this rate my family is not going to see me at all over Christmas, and as for buying presents . . .” He rubbed angrily at his mustache. “Now the rest of you go on home, please. I don’t want you touching everything.”
    “Nobody has touched anything except for my turning off