Page 52 of And Then There Was the One
“Where did they get such an idea?” Miss Halifax asked, after slightly too long a beat of silence had elapsed. She seemed to be attempting to look relaxed, but couldn’t quite manage it.
Sebastian shrugged, taking another sip of his drink. “I expect they’ve been reading too many of Mrs. Christie’s books—convinced themselves that secrets are lurking around every corner in a quaint village like this, waiting to be uncovered. We are a passionate fan base, after all. I wouldn’t be surprised if some of us got a bit carried away! They’ll be fabricating murders next!” He let out another chortle. “But I expect if Mr. Penbaker showed up at one of your book club meetings, they might have got the wrong idea, and then rather run with it.”
“It wasn’t the wrong idea, though, was it?” Georgie asked, her voice quiet.
Miss Halifax looked at her, startled, as if she’d almost forgotten her presence. “Excuse me?”
“It wasn’t the wrong idea, about you and Mr. Penbaker? All of this about him loving mysteries—it was just a way to cover that you were sneaking around together.”
“It wasn’t,” Miss Halifax said sharply, looking offended at the very notion. “Bertielovedmysteries, and he had excellent taste.”
“Is that how it started between the two of you, then?” Georgie asked.
Miss Halifax hesitated, then nodded. “Last summer, he was in the library one day and saw that I was creating a display of Mrs. Christie’s books. He was curious, so I explained their popularity to him, and the fact that she occasionally uses a quaint village setting for her murders. That’s how I ended up loaning him the first book, and from then on… well, once we started talking, one thing led to another…”
“Was he worried about the possibility of his wife finding out?” Georgie asked.
“I didn’t get the impression his marriage was a terribly happy one.”
“But still,” Georgie pressed.
Miss Halifax sighed. “If you’re asking me to get to the heart of Bertie Penbaker, I’m not certain I can be of much help—he was a difficult man to truly know, I think. I’d be surprised if his wife wouldn’t say the same thing.” She hesitated. “He was handsome and arrogant, and he thought a lot of his own cleverness—he never worried that we’d be caught; he was convinced he was too intelligent to slip up.” She shook her head. “He was right, in the end; no one knew. Or so I thought,” she added a bit dryly.
“Can you think of anyone who would have wanted him dead?” Georgie asked bluntly; given the nature of Miss Halifax’s own secrets, she wasn’t too worried about her spreading gossip around the village about Georgie’s investigation.
Miss Halifax regarded her curiously. “Bertie died of a heart attack,” she said. “So I don’t think it really matters whether anyone would have wanted him dead, does it?”
Georgie gave her a thin smile. “Humor me. Was there anyone who resented him?”
“Aside from his scorned wife?” Miss Halifax asked wryly, but just as quickly shook her head. “I don’t think she knew about us—and I don’t think she would have done anything about it, even if she did.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t think she cared for him enough to kill him. I don’t know why—he didn’t speak much of her, and I don’t know her very well. But I can’t imagine that their marriage was the sort to provoke that strong of a reaction.” Miss Halifax paused, then seemed to replay her words in her own head and wentstill. She then added, very delicately, “If, that is, he was murdered.”
“If,” Georgie agreed.
“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell mewhyyou think he might have been murdered?”
“Call it a hunch.”
“It seemed to me that he was quite popular in the village—mystifyingly so, honestly, when you consider all those inane schemes he was always cooking up, trying to improve tourism. The pumpkin race!” She rolled her eyes. “But he had a strong personality—I think he’s the sort of man people look up to, even if they perhaps shouldn’t.” She shrugged. “I’ve honestly never heard anyone speak of him in a way that would make them seem a likely suspect for murder.”
“Were you still seeing him at the time of his death?” Georgie asked.
Miss Halifax shook her head. “I wasn’t,” she said. “We argued, and I ended things.”
“What did you argue about?” Georgie asked.
“The sort of thing you always argue about with a man like that—the fact that he was dreadfully selfish and viewed our relationship in terms of howImight benefit him, might make his life easier, but never, ever in terms of how he might… support me.” Her voice went a bit quiet at the end. “It blew up something terrible a couple of weeks prior to his death—it was my birthday, and he’d promised to spend it with me, but instead he was out half the night, first at dinner with the Marbles and then doing heaven knows what. We quarreled about it, and he refused to admit that he’d done anything wrong, andI broke things off. And then, a fortnight later, he was dead. I suppose you think that I had something to do with that? That’s why you’re here?” She didn’t wait for a reply before continuing. “If you somehow think that I caused him to—what was it? Have a heart attack?” She shook her head and then smiled. “Miss Radcliffe, I’m not convinced the man trulyhada heart. But if he did, I promise you, I’d nothing to do with stopping it.”
Georgie met her gaze for a long moment and then looked away. Because somehow, despite the credible motive that Miss Halifax had provided, Georgie believed her.
Which meant that, once again, they were without a viable suspect.
Unless, despite Miss Halifax’s doubts, Mrs. Penbaker wasnot, in fact, ignorant of this love affair—and was rather more bothered by it than Miss Halifax believed.
Becausethat, actually, seemed a rather excellent motive for murder.
