Page 41 of And Then There Was the One
Miss Lettercross blanched. Next to her, Mr. Lettercross’s chest swelled with indignation.
“Now, see here, young man,” he blustered. “I will see you in court for libel if you attempt to accuse my daughter—”
“Of doing exactly what she’s actually done?” Arthur finished for him. “Somehow, I like my chances.”
“Oh, for—” Miss Lettercross began, and then broke off, shaking her head. “Detective Inspector Harriday is my source!”
“Detective Inspector Harriday,” Georgie repeated.
“Yes,” Miss Lettercross said impatiently. “We’ve been walking out together, and with a little, ahem, enticement, he told me all sorts of details about the cases.”
“He’s an old family friend,” Mr. Lettercross explained. “Grew up here in the village.” Arthur was scribbling furiously, and Mr. Lettercross cast an anxious look at him. “However, I would hate for any of this to damage his career—”
“I wonder how he’d feel if we phoned the police, and he learned that his paramour likes to engage in a bit of kidnapping in her spare time?” Georgie said thoughtfully, and both Lettercrosses looked even more alarmed.
“Or we could simply let my article do the talking,” Arthur murmured, not looking up from his notebook.
“Very true,” Georgie agreed, nodding.
“Miss Radcliffe,” Mr. Lettercross said, a note of desperation creeping into his voice, “I understand that this has beenextremely distressing—especially coming on the heels of such a violent crime wave—”
“Now, now,” Sebastian interjected smoothly. He had been silent for several minutes, leaning against the windowsill with his arms crossed across his chest. In his white suit, he looked the very picture of a wealthy tourist at ease, if one ignored the dirt on one cheekbone, and the wrinkled, smudged state of his trousers. “In my experience, both Miss Radcliffe and Mr. Crawley are very reasonable people, and I’m sure they’dhateto spoil the reputation of an upstanding family in a friendly neighboring village.” Both Lettercrosses looked at Sebastian now like shipwreck victims who had spotted a life raft. “In fact, I daresay Mr. Crawley could be convinced to, ahem,ignorethis little out-of-character transgression, if he were granted an interview with the one and only Agent Arsenic… who would, without revealing her identity, admit to spreading conspiracy theories, and reveal police leaking of information that was not intended to be public.”
Miss Lettercross looked flustered. “If you reveal Detective Inspector Harriday—”
Sebastian raised a hand to stop her. “I think that simply citing ‘an unnamed source among the police’ should be sufficient—wouldn’t it, Crawley?” He glanced at Arthur, who was still scribbling away.
Arthur nodded, a bit reluctantly. “This should be a good enough scoop without naming names.”
Sebastian nodded, satisfied. “And then, of course, the only other matter would be to answer any questions that Miss Radcliffe might have for you and your father. Just until she is reassured that you don’t pose any further risk to the public—unlessyou’d prefer her to telephone the police, and see what questionstheyhave for you instead?”
Both Lettercrosses shook their heads vehemently at this, and Sebastian took a sip of tea, looking pleased with himself.
“What questions could you possibly have forme?” Mr. Lettercross asked, having recovered sufficiently to look indignant. “I am not responsible for my daughter’s illicit journalism career, or for whatever misguided choices she might have made—”
“Oh, I like that!” interjected Miss Lettercross, sounding very annoyed.
“I make it a point to never count on a man to stick with you when you find yourself in a tight spot,” Miss de Vere advised, with the air of someone providing sage counsel to the king.
“Aren’t you engaged?” Miss Lettercross asked, glancing at the emerald on Miss de Vere’s left hand.
“And therefore speak from experience,” Miss de Vere said smoothly, and Miss Lettercross slumped, apparently unable to think of a satisfying reply.
“I’m curious,” Georgie said to Mr. Lettercross, “about your relationship with Mr. Penbaker.”
“Bertie?” Mr. Lettercross looked surprised—genuinely so, Georgie thought. “Well, we used to be the closest of friends, but I won’t deny that we grew apart in recent years.”
“Because you were each obsessed with besting the other’s village?” Georgie pressed.
Mr. Lettercross leaned forward, all wounded outrage. “Certainly not! Bramble-in-the-Vale is a long-standing destination for refined Londoners with taste—and an appreciation for the finest cheeses,” he added, with a canny look at Sebastianand the Murder Tourists. “And on that note, I don’t know if you’ve had the chance yet to try the offerings at the Great Stilton—”
“If you could try to stay on topic,” Georgie interrupted.
“My point is, Buncombe-upon-Woolly isn’t our rival—the very notion is insulting!”
“Hmm,” Georgie said skeptically. “And I suppose you didn’t rejoice when the murders started occurring in Buncombe-upon-Woolly, drawing visitors toyourvillage, too?”
“Certainly not!” Mr. Lettercross said, attempting a look of wounded innocence. “I am a moral, upstanding citizen! I care for my fellow man! Unlike Bertie Penbaker,” he added darkly.
