Page 73 of And Then There Was the One
“Surely even Bertie wasn’t that stupid,” Mrs. Penbaker said.
“Oh,” Georgie said, growing more confident by the moment, “I think he wasexactlythat stupid, actually.” She lifted her chin. “Your telephone, please? I think we’ll find that Miss Halifax is in possession of just the evidence we need.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
You know,” Georgie said the following evening, “I never thought I’d say this, but thank goodness for a man who wanted to write a novel.”
“Excuse me,” Arthur objected, taking a sip of his ginger beer.
“I’m sorry,” Georgie said, “but have you ever read a man’s attempts to describe a woman’s inner life? You can hardly blame me for preferring novels written by women.” She allowed herself an eye roll. “But I think I’ll have to reconsider this stance, now that a man’s literary ambitions have led to the clearing of an innocent woman’s name.”
“And also to a murder,” Lexington pointed out.
“I don’t think we can blame that on his dreams of literary glory,” Georgie said, shaking her head. “The obsession with tourism came before the attempt to write a novel.” She took a small sip of her whisky, then leaned back against the fabric of the booth.
It was fairly late; the various Murder Tourists who had descended upon the Shorn Sheep had been nearly impossible to be rid of that evening, hanging onto every single detail of Georgie, Arthur, and Sebastian’s explanations of the twisted plot of Mr. Penbaker that had gripped Buncombe-upon-Woolly for the past year.
“I can’t believe a distinctive key on a typewriter got him caught,” Miss de Vere had said with a disapproving sniff. “Howamateur.A Detective Devotee would never.”
“Ahem,” Georgie said, extremely dryly. “I hope that a Detective Devotee would never commit a crime in the first place.”
“And yet, you thought just that, only two days ago,” Miss de Vere said, with a cheeky smile. “I’ve never been a red herring before!” She sighed a bit despondently. “London will seem so dull after this.”
“Won’t you have a wedding to plan?” Georgie asked, curious.
Miss de Vere and Miss Singh exchanged a look. “Well. No, actually.”
Georgie blinked. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” Miss de Vere said patiently, “that I haven’t got a fiancé.”
“But,” Georgie said. “But.”
“I come into my inheritance when I turn twenty-five next year,” she explained. “I convinced a friend of mine to propose to me, because my parents were driving me mad. He was about to set off on a two-year trip to conduct field research in Peru. By the time he’s back and we call off the wedding, I’ll have my inheritance and be able to buy my own house.” She looked vaguely smug as she explained all this.
“But why,” Georgie began, then trailed off when her gaze landed on Miss Singh. “Oh. I see.”
“It is helpful to have such aclose friendwho is a fellow Detective Devotee,” Miss Singh said innocently. “All our Murder Tourism seems just a harmless bit of holiday-making for two young ladies.” She blinked, wide-eyed.
Georgie was beginning to think she’d rather underestimated the Murder Tourists.
Now, however, she was alone with her friends—Arthur, and Lexington, and… Sebastian.
Frienddidn’t feel like quite the right word to describe him.
Events had proceeded rapidly since yesterday afternoon; Miss Halifax had quite willingly produced the incriminating novel draft in question. (“I only read the first two pages,” she’d confessed. “It was dreadful. But apparently I should have stuck with it.”) Constable Lexington’s investigations at police headquarters had revealed that the false will in the second murder, the letter revealing Lady Tunbridge’s secret in the third, and the forged letter allegedly from Mrs. Marble had all been produced by Mr. Penbaker’s typewriter, with its distinctive “O.”
“But not the blackmail letters from the vicar?” Georgie asked, citing the first of the village’s murders.
Lexington had shaken his head. “No. It would seem that Penbaker had nothing to do with that.”
“I suppose it’s where he got the idea in the first place,” Georgie said thoughtfully. “Is this enough evidence to prove his guilt?”
“I don’t know how a trial would shake out, if he were still alive,” Lexington replied, “but combined with Mrs. Penbaker’sevidence about their missing arsenic, and her husband’s visit to the Marbles the night before the murder, it should certainly be enough to see Mrs. Marble released.” He sighed. “This has been an utter shambles of an investigation from start to finish.” He was looking somewhat grim about the mouth; evidently, he’d had a conversation with Chief Constable Humphreys about Detective Inspector Harriday having leaked information to Miss Lettercross, only to be told that it was none of his concern. He did not seem terribly enamored of his profession at the moment, for all that the day overall had been a success.
Lexington’s professional woes aside, however, they were all in a somewhat celebratory mood that evening—Harry had produced a bottle of particularly fine whisky that he saved for special occasions, and they were now sipping their drinks in the cozy glow of the fire, the atmosphere affectionate and relaxed.
“I’m rather going to miss this,” Sebastian said, leaning back in his seat in the booth next to Georgie. He was even more handsome by firelight, his hair gleaming like a new coin. He’d loosened the top couple of buttons of his collared shirt, and Georgie could see the golden column of his throat.
