Chapter Five #2
“I wouldn’t. Any book I particularly want to borrow from the library is sure to have been pinched. Or misshelved.”
She wondered what he like to read. Books about art, probably, or something equally high-brow. “You carried the two boxes to the stockroom?”
“What?” He was concentrating on the painting again.
“The boxes of books.” She held onto her patience with both hands, determined not to end up like Inspector Scumble. “You took them to the stockroom.”
“Well, of course. That’s what I went out there for. And to invite Eleanor out to dinner as I’d had a bit of good luck fleecing a rich American.”
Megan frowned. “Fleecing?”
“Don’t scowl like that. It doesn’t suit you.
His wife liked a picture of mine but it wasn’t big enough for the bit of wall she wanted it for.
So I painted the same scene the size she wanted, on commission, cash up front.
He paid through the nose for it. Bigger equals better equals worth a whole lot more money. ”
“Oh.” A disappointing attitude to an artist with aspirations, she assumed. “I suppose you would have noticed if there had been a body in the stockroom when you went in there?”
“Probably,” he said infuriatingly. “I didn’t root around, but Mrs Stearns keeps everything shipshape and Bristol fashion. I can’t state categorically that it wasn’t there, but I’d be surprised to hear I’d overlooked it.”
“Fair enough. What next?”
“I took the Incorruptible down to Eleanor’s shed—you know she rents a shed down by the harbour?—then came home, cleaned myself up a bit, and went to pick her up.”
“What about the car keys?”
“Car keys? Well, I must have taken them out of the car, because the key to the shed’s padlock is on the same ring.”
“Did you have to stop the car, unlock the padlock, and restart the car to drive it in.”
“No, actually. Eleanor leaves the padlock unlocked when she’s using the car. There’s nothing pinchable in the shed.”
“So you could have locked the car away without using the key.”
“You’re right. A deduction worthy of Sherlock Holmes. So I could have locked the keys into the shed, though I’m pretty sure I didn’t as I have a vague memory of handing them back to her. Still, I gather Mrs Stearns holds a spare padlock key against just such an inevitable occurrence.”
“Aunt Nell’s sure to do it sooner or later,” Megan agreed, “if she hasn’t before now.
She has no idea which doors, if any, she locked last night.
If you’re not absolutely sure you gave her back the keys, and we don’t find them in the flat, at least we’ll know to look in the garage. What time did you pick her up?”
“No idea. Just a minute, this is a tricky bit.”
He picked up a different brush and bent close to the canvas. When he straightened again, it looked no different to Megan, but Nick gave a sigh of satisfaction.
“Sorry, what was the question?”
“You said you don’t know what time you picked up Aunt Nell.”
“You’d better make sure you write ‘Mrs Trewynn’ in your report, not ‘Aunt Nell.’ They might be able to tell you at the Wreckers what time we got there.”
“You went straight there?”
“Yes, and they know me pretty well, though I go to the Trelawney Arms more often.”
“Why the Wreckers last night then?”
“Oh, er . . . As a matter of fact . . .” His face turned pink. “You see, the . . . er . . . the daughter of the house—the Arms—seems to have taken a bit of a shine to me.”
“You don’t return her affections?”
“I do not!”
“Pity. You could have celebrated your sale with her last night.”
“She’s half my age! Too young to go out for a drink, even if Eleanor weren’t much better company.”
“She’s twice your age.” Megan felt as if she was betraying her aunt.
“But very good company. Is this relevant? Or are you trying to protect Eleanor from the heartbreak of falling in love with a younger man? No chance of that.”
“We can never be sure what might turn out to be relevant,” Megan said with as much dignity as she could muster. She would have to leave that bit out of her report. “How long were you at the Wreckers?”
“Long enough for me to quaff a pint and Eleanor to sip a small sherry. Again, you’ll have to ask the landlord if you want times. Come to think of it, I did look at the clock, but only to make sure we weren’t going to be too late to eat at Chin’s. The actual time didn’t register.”
Megan’s sigh was not expressive of satisfaction. So far she hadn’t learnt a damn thing Aunt Nell and Mrs Stearns hadn’t already told Inspector Scumble. “You left the Wreckers at some yet to be determined time, and . . . ?”
“Walked back down the hill and up to Chin’s. Oh, we stopped en route to drop off Teazle.”
“You what?”
“We stopped to drop off Teazle,” he said with exaggerated patience. “Your aunt’s dog? We took her to the pub, but Chin’s is a restaurant, so we left her at home.”
“ ‘Left’ as in put her inside the street door, or ‘left’ as in ‘took her up to the flat’?”
“ ‘Left’ as in I waited by the street door while Eleanor took the dog up to the flat. She didn’t mention it?”
Cultivate inscrutability, Megan reminded herself sternly. He shouldn’t have been able to guess from her manner that at last she had garnered a tidbit of new information. She ignored his question and asked another of her own.
“Did you go into the passage?”
“No. The evening was still remarkably pleasant for April. I stood outside and admired the moon. The door was open, though, and I think I’d have heard if anything violent was going on in the stockroom.”
“Could anyone in there have heard you?”
“I doubt it. I don’t remember saying much, certainly not loudly.
I mean, I didn’t call out to Eleanor, nor she to me.
I don’t recall hearing her footsteps in the passage or on the stairs—she walks very lightly.
And I oiled the hinges for Mrs Stearns just the other day, the street door and both doors off the passage. ”
A regular Boy Scout—Inspector Scumble would have said it aloud, sarcastically. Megan was alarmed to find herself thinking it, sarcastically. Scumble’s view of the world was contagious. “They’d have heard the door close, though, wouldn’t they?” she said quickly.
“Maybe. She didn’t slam it, just pulled till the latch clicked.”
“And locked it?”
He pondered. “Now that I can’t tell you. I have a picture in my mind of her locking it, and another of her not locking it, but which belongs to that particular moment I couldn’t say.”
“Try putting the moon in your picture.”
He raised his eyebrows. “All right.” Another moment’s thought brought forth: “Good idea. I can see the moonlight glinting on the keys. She locked it that time. Which means I didn’t leave the keys in the car,” he added, his tone self-congratulatory.
“Had she unlocked it previously, when you stopped after the pub to leave Teazle?”
“I think not, but I wouldn’t be prepared to swear to it either way.” He grinned. “Isn’t it lucky I’m not a policeman?”
“Very.” He really was a most irritating man.
“I expect Mr Chin will be able to tell you what time we got to the restaurant,” he said soothingly, “and how long we were there. He’s good with numbers.
If you go Dutch with a group, he can work out in his head what each of four or five people owe.
And he keeps his eye on the clock, I daresay. Restaurateurs usually do.”
“We have someone asking him.”
“Look here, you don’t think I had anything to do with this murder, do you? I’m a pacifist.”
“Don’t tell the inspector. He was hit over the head with a nuclear disarmament sign by an Aldermaston marcher.”
“Strewth, you’re having me on!”
“It’s a fact. It’s much too early for us to rule out anyone, but in answer to your earlier question, I doubt DI Scumble suspects Aunt Nell in particular, even if it did happen in her house. In his view, a woman’s weapon is poison, not ye olde blunt instrument.”
“That’s what was used, is it?”
Oh hell, she shouldn’t have said that! And he knew it, judging by his knowing smile. Her cheeks felt hot. But she refused to ask him not to tell Scumble. “We won’t know for certain what killed him till after the autopsy,” she said haughtily.
“Don’t worry, I shan’t tell on you. If you’re finished, I’d like to get back to work.”
Megan was sure there must be more probing questions she ought to ask, but her mind was a complete blank. “You can’t think of anything at all out of the ordinary, or anyone, that you heard or saw?”
“The only unusual thing was that it wasn’t raining. I had a delightful evening with your aunt and I just hope you catch the bugger who’s disturbed her peace of mind.” With that, he turned back to his painting, immediately engrossed.
Ignored, Megan took herself out through the shop. Nicholas Gresham had no social graces, she fumed. If he was so self-absorbed painting one of his tourist daubs, what would he be like when working on his arty-farty abstracts? Unbearable! His one redeeming quality was his concern for Aunt Nell.
She went to look for Scumble.