Page 90 of Joker in the Pack

“I’m not wearing a tuxedo to visit Carol.”

“Do you even own a tuxedo?”

He flashed a smile. “Of course. Every man should own a tuxedo. I tie my own bow ties too.”

It surprised me, finding out those little things. Nye didn’t seem the type to go out to posh functions, although that hardly mattered to me now. Not after last night.

We rode to Carol’s in silence, but not the comfortable silence we’d shared on the trip back from the supermarket yesterday. No, this was a yawning chasm of awkwardness that stretched between the two front seats.

At least Carol didn’t seem to notice. As with last time, she only had eyes for Nye as she served up coffee and Danishes. Plural for Nye, singular for me.

“I ground the beans myself,” she told him as she put his cup down.

He managed to muster up a “terrific.”

“So, what can I do for you today? I still haven’t managed to get to the bottom of those awful rumours, but I’ve started a few of my own.” She gave me my first smile. “All complimentary, of course.”

“We’re very grateful,” Nye said. “But today we’re trying to find out more about Olivia’s Aunt Eleanor.”

Carol sucked air in through her teeth. “Not a very nice woman, was Eleanor Rigby. That’s probably why the tales about Olivia were swallowed so easily.”

“Why? What did she do?” I asked.

“It wasn’t so much whatshedid. She mostly kept herself to herself. It was more about who she married and who she gave birth to.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Eleanor married Harold Rigby.” Carol spat the words as if they were poisonous. “A petty criminal through and through, and the apple didn’t fall far from the tree with their son. Eleanor turned a blind eye to all their misdemeanours. Worshipped the very ground they walked on.”

Could that be why my mother fell out with her? Something to do with her husband? I’d never know for sure, but my mother wouldn’t have been one to tolerate a criminal in the family.

“What sort of misdemeanours, Carol?” Nye asked.

“You name it, and Harry Rigby probably had a finger in it. Shoplifting, burglary, running illegal poker games. A con artist, too. That’s what he got sent to jail for. He swindled a lady in Sandlebury out of her life savings.”

I could almost see Nye’s mind working. There was money involved. Did someone think Harold Rigby’s ill-gotten gains were hidden in Lilac Cottage?

“How long ago was that?” Nye asked.

“Must be fifteen years ago now. Harry was only inside for a couple of years, but it must have taken its toll, because he died two months after he got out. A stroke, if I recall correctly. The landlord of The Coach and Horses gave everyone a drink on the house in celebration.”

Fifteen years. That was a long time for someone to have hung on to a significant amount of money, especially with the amount of junk Aunt Ellie seemed so fond of buying.

And Nye appeared to be thinking along the same lines. “What about Eleanor’s son?”

“Ronnie. That was his name. Ronald Rigby. He followed in his father’s footsteps, all right. I caught him stealing one of my chickens when he was barely ten years old. He went to jail too, for breaking Horrible Henry’s nose. With the two Rigbys out of the way, the crime rate dropped to almost zero.”

“Horrible Henry?” I asked.

“It’s what all the girls call Henry Forster. That one can’t keep his hands to himself. I still remember Luke Halston-Cain’s ex-girlfriend giving him what for in his you-know-whats at the Hunt Ball. At least, that’s what Henry claimed.”

Was that Emmy? Surely it must have been.

“I should have thought Ronnie deserved a medal for that, not jail.”

“And every woman in the Foxfords agreed with you. But it went to the Crown Court. Henry’s father played golf with the judge, and Ronnie got five years.”

“When did he get released?” Nye asked.

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