Page 43 of And Then There Was the One
He sounded, Georgie thought, very, very tired.
“I think you’re forgetting the bit where we learned that an esteemed colleague of yours is leaking private information to the local press,” she pointed out.
“I don’t think we should be so loose with the word ‘press,’?” Arthur muttered.
Lexington stared at both of them for several seconds, thenshook his head. “I think I need something stronger than tea,” he said, staring darkly into his teacup.
They were gathered in the Scrumptious Scone, because Sebastian had declared the moment they’d disembarked from the train that being kidnapped had given him a powerful appetite. The tearoom was bustling as ever, but they’d procured a table tucked away in one corner that gave them some modicum of privacy. Miss Singh and Miss de Vere had regretfully waved away the invitation to join them, as they needed to collect a book from the library before it closed. (“We are readingDeath of a Ghostfor the Book Clue Crew this month—Miss Halifax said we’re welcome to join the book club, even though we don’t live in the village!” Miss Singh had informed them excitedly. “Mr. Penbaker himself told us the book was very good!”)
They’d had the good luck to run into Lexington as they were walking down the high street, and he had agreed to join them, though at the moment he appeared to be very much regretting that decision.
Sebastian, meanwhile, had a platter of sandwiches before him, and was eating his way through the stack with even greater speed than usual. “I’ve been traumatized,” he informed Georgie. “The only way to soothe myself is through sandwiches. They’ll help me emotionally escape that cellar.”
“Yes,” she said. “Your harrowing experience has clearly marked you for life.” She sighed, taking an unenthusiastic nibble of her own sandwich. Her mind was racing, turning over the morning’s events and the subsequent revelations, and she was feeling a bit discouraged.
“Did you learn anything at all useful?” Lexington asked, noticing her expression.
She pinched the bridge of her nose, grimacing a bit at the headache that lingered in the wake of that cup of drugged tea. “Just one: Penbaker was having an affair.”
“Allegedly,” Arthur added, sounding a bit unconvinced. “Forgive me if I take everything Lettercross said with a grain of salt.”
“This village has anawfullot of attractive women,” Sebastian said, with the tone of a connoisseur. “Might be difficult to narrow it down.”
Lexington had gone scarlet and busied himself slicing the crusts off his sandwich. Without missing a beat, Arthur reached across the table to steal one of his crusts; Lexington gave him a stern look.
“Waste not,” Arthur said with a shrug.
Georgie, meanwhile, was frowning down at her plate, something niggling at the back of her mind. She glanced out the window in time to see a pack of Murder Tourists walk past on that day’s Murderous Meander, one of them clutching a book. Georgie blinked, then clapped her hands together.
“Miss Halifax!” she said, startling her lunch companions into silence.
“Excuse me?” Arthur asked.
“Don’t you recall what Miss Singh said as she was leaving for the library? Something about Mr. Penbaker recommending a book to her—the one they’re reading for that godforsaken book club this month.”
“And…?” Arthur asked. “We know he liked to read crime novels.”
“Yes,” Georgie agreed, “and we know, according to Mrs. Penbaker, that it was arelatively new interest, as of… approximately a year ago. I wonder what could have possibly sparked it?”
“Perhaps the fact that his own village seemed to be turning into a Murder Village?” Lexington suggested.
“Perhaps,” Georgie conceded. “But perhaps it was his new paramour.”
“Ah,” Sebastian said, nodding. “That’s not a bad thought, Georgie. Librarians are famously licentious, you know.”
“No,” Georgie said. “I don’t know.”
“Well,” Sebastian began, in a tone of fond reminiscence, “there was a librarian at Cambridge who wasextremelyflexible—”
“That’s enough of that,” Georgie said hastily, watching Lexington blush even harder. Arthur, she noticed, was eyeing the constable with interest.
“So,” Arthur said, dragging his eyes away from Lexington, “you think that Penbaker commenced an affair with the village librarian, which inspired his interest in crime novels, and she poisoned him in some sort of crime of passion?”
“It would hardly be the first time a jealous lover committed a crime,” Georgie pointed out. “Perhaps Mr. Penbaker ended the affair—or Miss Halifax realized that he was never going to leave his wife and grew enraged.” She paused, contemplating. “And didn’t Mrs. Penbaker mention that Miss Halifax had helped plant the poison garden? It wouldn’t be difficult to slip a clipping of something into a bag—or perhaps she has her own poison garden at home!”
“I suppose it’s possible,” Arthur said, rubbing his chin. He stole another of Lexington’s crusts and glanced at his wristwatch.“I’d better be off—I want to head to theRegisterand get working on this exclusive exposé ofThe Deathly Dispatchand its sources.”
“I’d write quickly,” Lexington advised, “before the Lettercrosses tip off Harriday and he tries to threaten you into silence.”
