Page 41 of Lies in Little Sutherland
“There’s a note?”
“Capital letters in black ink.Shoved through the mail slot in the door after the murder.”
“That’s interesting,” my cousin commented after I had repeated the accusation.
“Isn’t it?Someone either saw me—saw us—coming or going, although if they did, they would have seen Christopher too, because we didn’t separate at all.Or someone knew I was going to be there—with or without Christopher—and decided to frame me.”
“The only people who knew that you were going to be there are the people at Sutherland Hall,” Francis said.
I nodded.“Precisely so.”
He eyed me in the mirror.“I spent the morning with Constance.”
I huffed.“I know it wasn’t you, Francis.Or Constance, for that matter.Not only had neither of you any reason to kill Doctor Meadows, but you certainly wouldn’t frame me for it if you had done.”
“I’m simply mentioning the fact that I have an alibi, Pipsqueak.”
“And the police may care about that,” I said, “but I don’t.Although I suppose it’s a good thing you do, really.Someone did it, and when they can’t prove that it was me, they’ll have to look for someone else.”
There was a moment’s pause while I scowled and while Francis thought, and while the door to the constabulary stayed stubbornly closed.It was too soon to expect Christopher back out—of course it was—but I was still watching the door, waiting.
“He was alive when you saw him?”Francis asked.
I glanced up and caught his eyes on me in the mirror.“Doctor Meadows, do you mean?Yes, he was.We spoke.It was definitely him, alive and well.Whoever killed him, killed him after Christopher and I had gone.”
“Did he have any information about Morrison?”
I shook my head.“He remembered her, but he said he hadn’t had any interaction with her since she left Aunt Charlotte’s employ.And that’s another thing.”
“What’s another thing?”
“If the same person killed Doctor Meadows as killed Morrison, and perhaps Hughes, too?—”
“A traveling serial murderer?”Francis said with interest.“Do go on, Pippa.”
I flicked him a look.“It sounds farfetched, I know.But bear with me.If the same person killed all of them, and for the same reason, why would that person not kill Doctor Meadowsbeforewe had the chance to speak with him?Why wait?”
“It sounds as if he had nothing of interest to say,” Francis pointed out, “so why not let you speak to him?”
“Yes, of course.”I nodded.“But if he didn’t know anything of interest, why kill him at all?”
He opened his mouth and closed it again.And opened it again.“Perhaps, as they say in the novels, he knew something he didn’t know that he knew?”
“Then why take the chance that he’d figure it out?Or tell me?Or us?”
“Because you wouldn’t know it for being significant even if he did tell you?”
“But if no one but the murderer would recognize its significance, and yet it was significant enough to commit murder over… why wait twenty-three years?Why not murder him back then, when no one was curious?”
Francis shrugged somewhat helplessly.“I don’t know, Pippa.Perhaps it had nothing at all to do with Morrison.Perhaps Doctor Meadows was having an affair with the butcher’s wife, and the butcher saw you and Kit come out of the infirmary, and thought he’d take the opportunity to get rid of his wife’s lover while framing you.”
I tilted my head contemplatively.“All right.I’ll take your word for it that the butcher’s wife would be worth all this excitement.But if so, why not frame Christopher?”
“Kit’s the Duke of Sutherland’s nephew,” Francis said, “and Crispin’s best friend.Best not to frame him.”
Yes, that was true.While I was merely the girl Crispin was hung up on, but not the one he was marrying.The poor relation, the half-German orphan, only there on sufferance.It would be safe to frame me.
“Is the butcher’s wife worth committing murder for?”
