The Grub-and-Stakers Spin a Yarn (19 page)

“Yes,” said Arethusa.

They were all eating chicken and rice, which was excellent as Clorinda’s concoctions usually were when she didn’t get too carried away, when they heard a diffident knock at the door. “I’ll go,” said Clorinda, who was always ready to go anywhere. “Oh. Good evening, Miss—or Mrs.—er—Ms.—”

“I’m Matilda McCorquindale,” said a voice from the doorstep. “Mother Matilda’s daughter. Is this by any chance the house where Mr. Reginald Monk is staying?”

“Yes, it is,” cried Osbert before Clorinda could blow the gaff. “Come in, Daughter Matilda. Meet my—er—brother Osbert’s mother-in-law.”

“Whose what?” demanded Clorinda.

Daughter Matilda smiled wanly. “You needn’t maintain your incognito with me, Mr. Monk. I suspected from the outset that your Reginald persona was a ruse. Then this is in fact your own mother-in-law?”

By now Dittany had joined the group in the doorway. “That’s right. She’s Mrs. Bert Pusey, and I’m Osbert’s wife, Dittany. And you’re the Matilda McCorquindale who whanged me across the shins with your hockey stick twelve years ago this very day when the Lobelia Falls’ girls’ field hockey team beat Lammergen High six to three. The lady at the table is my husband’s aunt Arethusa Monk, whom you may know as the reigning queen of roguish regency romance. My stars and garters!”

“What, dear?” said Osbert.

“Don’t you see? Daughter Matilda has eyes like fathomless pools of inscrutability, too.”

“Coruscating cactus, so she does!”

“I do?” said Daughter Matilda in understandable confusion.

“You certainly do.” Clorinda clinched the matter once and for all. “The resemblance is quite remarkable. There’s probably a family connection somewhere. The Monks are an old Lobelia Falls family, even though Osbert’s father grew up in Toronto and steadfastly refuses to return to the land of his ancestors. Were there any Monks in your family tree, Daughter Matilda?”

The heiress presumptive to the mincemeat magnate giggled faintly. “I shouldn’t be at all surprised. I’ll have to ask my mother. Do you really think I look like Miss Monk? I’d be so honored.”

“Of course you would, egad,” said Arethusa. “The one drawback in being related to me, I regret to point out, is that you’d also be related to Osbert. However, one must take the tares with the tulips. If this were my house, I’d invite you to sit down and have some chicken.”

“And if anybody would let me get a word in edgewise, I’d ask her myself,” said Dittany. “Please join us, Daughter Matilda.”

“But I can’t simply barge in on you!”

“You’re no relative of Aunt Arethusa if you don’t,” said Osbert. “Come on, Cousin Matilda, a hot supper will do you good. Won’t it, darling?”

“Certainly it will,” said Dittany. “She’s got to keep up her strength. Sit over there next to Arethusa, Matilda, so we can admire the likeness.”

The resemblance between the two was indeed remarkable, but the inscrutability was in fact present only in one of them. Whether a crooked lawyer, an honest literary agent, or a sexily sneering cobra fancier would ever fall instant victim to Daughter Matilda’s fatal attraction was open to serious doubt; the younger woman was about as subtly alluring as one of her mother’s mincemeat tarts.

To be sure, this was no denigration of her charms. A well-baked mince pie has its own wholesome appeal, and is surely a great deal easier to cope with. The big difference between the two, Osbert decided after serious cogitation, was that Daughter Matilda had looked perfectly natural sitting at the conference table in her gingham cap and wraparound, whereas Arethusa would have stuck out like a pomegranate in a scoopful of raisins. Conversely, there would be no incongruity in Arethusa’s settling down in a pair of gauzy green harem pants for a quiet rest on a tiger skin rug, should she take the notion; in which situation Daughter Matilda would without doubt appear woefully out of place.

At the moment, however, sitting there at the kitchen table under the green-shaded hanging light, wearing a plain dark purple frock, with circles under her eyes from strain and weeping, and with her cap off to reveal long black hair done up in a knot much as Arethusa was wearing hers, Daughter Matilda could easily have passed for Arethusa’s twin sister.

After a nip of sherry and a helping of Clorinda’s chicken, the unexpected visitor began to perk up a little. “I mustn’t stay long, I really should get back to help Mother be nice to people at the funeral parlor. The reason I came is that I’d like to get a look at that note you found in the yarn shop, the one that put you onto Mr. Wardle. I’m much more familiar with Daddy’s handwriting than Mother is. He used to write me letters when I’d be away at summer camp or college, whereas he never had much occasion to write her because they were together most of the time. You wouldn’t happen to have the note here, I don’t suppose?”

“No, but we can get it easily enough,” Osbert told her. “Why don’t I phone Sergeant MacVicar and ask if he’d mind bringing it over here, since you’re in a hurry? He’ll have finished his supper by now, I expect.”

“I wonder if he had cullen skink?” Daughter Matilda actually managed a feeble attempt at a laugh. “Mother is really excited about having met Cousin Margaret. It’s been the one bright spot since Daddy was—yes, please do ask him.”

Once he’d learned the circumstances, the sergeant said he’d come right over. “Oh, good,” said Daughter Matilda. “Perhaps I’d better give Mother a ring so she won’t be worried if I’m a few minutes late.”

“You’ll have to use this phone,” said Osbert. “It’s the only one we have.”

“That’s quite all right. Do I have to turn the little crank?”

“Not anymore, we only keep it for auld lang syne,” Dittany explained, “Just dial the number.”

“I see. Hello, Mother? I’m having supper with the Monks, and Sergeant MacVicar—yes, Cousin Donald—is bringing that note for me to see. I’ll be along as soon as I’ve checked it out. Shall I go straight to the—oh, they have? Uncle Cadwallader, too? My gosh, where are you going to put them all? Cousin Penelope had better have my room. I suppose I could sleep on the—oh, he is? Well, I’ll just have to take a sleeping bag down cellar.”

“Nonsense,” boomed Arethusa. “Come and stay with me.”

“Oh, may I? Mother, Cousin Arethusa’s invited me to spend the night at her house. Yes, isn’t it lovely? Everybody says we look just alike only she’s absolutely gorgeous and I’m just me. Yes, I’ll tell them. See you in a while, then.”

She hung up the receiver and turned to the others. “Mother says to thank you very much. We’ve got such a flock of out-of-town relatives over there that they’re practically hanging from the eaves troughs. How do I find your house, Cousin Arethusa? I’m terrible at directions.”

“Then why don’t you come back here when you’re finished at the funeral parlor, since you already know the way, and we’ll pilot you over,” Clorinda suggested. “Arethusa will probably be here anyway. We were planning to brush up on our tango in case Ranville and Glanville ask us to go dancing. They’re a pair of Siamese twins whom we’re helping Miss Jane Fuzzywuzzy entertain during their stay in Lobelia Falls.”

“How kind of you,” said Daughter Matilda. “I had no idea Lobelia Falls was such a cosmopolitan community.”

“Stick around,” said Dittany. “Oops, here comes Sergeant MacVicar with the note.”

Here, indeed, he came, and there was the scrap of paper Dittany had fished out of Raggedy Andy’s sleeve. Daughter Matilda examined the scribbles, then shook her head.

“Daddy never wrote this—never! He’s written me letters on airplanes, sailboats, even once going downhill on a bobsled when he fell off in mid-sentence, and the writing’s just not the same. I’ve saved them all, from the time I was a little girl. You can compare for yourselves if you like.”

“Umpha,” said Sergeant MacVicar. “This opens up new territory for investigation, does it not, Deputy Monk?”

“I’ll say it does, Chief. One of the crooks must have sneaked back to the shop in a different disguise during that hubbub later on and planted the note to turn us on to Wardle, don’t you think? But was that because they knew Wardle had either killed himself or been murdered, and would provide a convenient dead end to the investigation, or because one of the two actually was Wardle and the other one was trying to frame him for the whole operation? Or,” Osbert added for he was nothing if not fair-minded, “was it for some other reason?”

“We’ll find out,” said Dittany. “Come on, darling, we’d better go frisk that lamb. Sorry to run off, Cousin Matilda, but duty calls.”

“I quite understand, Cousin Dittany. I must get back to Lammergen myself, Mother sounded awfully fraught. I do wish Uncle Cadwallader had stayed home, though I suppose it’s unkind of me to say so. I’ll see you all later, then. Does it matter what time I come?”

“Not to me, fair coz,” replied Arethusa. “I never know what time it is, anyway.”

“Except when it’s mealtime,” Osbert muttered. “I’ll get your shawl, Dittany. What about you, Cousin Matilda? Don’t you have a coat or something?”

“No, I forgot to bring one. It was still fairly warm when I left Lammergen and I wasn’t intending to stay. I’ll be all right,” the younger Matilda added in the unconvincing tone people use when they’re hoping someone will come to the rescue.

“Don’t be silly, you’ll catch cold and then where will you be?” said Clorinda. “I’ll be glad to lend you my Mexican serape. It’s the only thing I have that will fit you.” Daughter Matilda was fully as tall as Arethusa and at least ten pounds heavier, no doubt from a lifetime’s exposure to mincemeat.

“That serape seems hardly the thing to wear to a funeral parlor when it’s your own father who’s the guest of honor, as one might say,” Dittany objected. “Can’t we find something a trifle less ethnic? Arethusa, you wore your purple cape over here, why don’t you let Matilda take that? It will go nicely with the dress she’s wearing.”

“So it will, ecod.”

Arethusa even bestirred herself to go over to the coat rack, fetch the handsome garment, and show Daughter Matilda how to fasten the elaborately braided frogs. Swathed in its voluminous folds and looking more like Arethusa than ever, she tripped off a good deal less woeful than when she’d come. Sergeant MacVicar listened to the tale of the sheep and agreed to join Dittany and Osbert in going to look for it. That left Clorinda and Arethusa stuck with the dishes again. Things were working out just fine.

“ARE YOU SURE MISS
Jane’s at home, Sergeant MacVicar?” Dittany asked him as they rounded the corner.

“Quite sure, lass. She is entertaining her twin cousins at a buffet supper in her flat, along with six other cousins who didn’t get to meet them at the previous gathering.”

“The Bleinkinsops seem to be as abundantly blessed with unknown cousins as the McCorquindales,” Dittany was saying, when Osbert grabbed her arm.

“Hist!”

“Certainly I’ll hist if you want me to, darling,” she whispered. “But why?”

“See those two men looking in the yarn shop window?” he whispered back. “The skinny one with the cigar is VP Lemon Peel and the little fat one’s VP Suet. How come they’re not over in Lammergen paying their respects? You two slide on ahead to Miss Jane’s, I’m going to lurk.”

“Happy lurking, dear.”

As Osbert melted into the shadows, Dittany took Sergeant MacVicar’s arm and forged forth, though not very forcibly. Two cars were pulled up in front of the Yarnery, presumably they were the ones the cousins had come in. Another was parked down by Mr. Gumpert’s; that must be the two VPs. Dittany and Sergeant MacVicar pretended not to notice them but stopped at Miss Jane’s side door and rang the bell.

Miss Jane herself came downstairs to answer their ring, wearing a handsome blouse and skirt she’d crocheted out of blue ribbon, looking not at all sheeplike and even less pleased to see them. Dittany’s involuntary exclamation of “Miss Jane, what a becoming outfit!” plus the fact that she herself was wearing a good deal of Miss Jane’s yarn did a little to break the ice, but nowhere near enough. Sergeant MacVicar set himself to inducing the thaw.

“We apologize for intruding on your supper party, Miss Jane, but new information has come to hand which makes it imperative that we inspect your sheep.”

“The one with the Glengarry bonnet and argyle socks,” Dittany amplified. “It wasn’t in the shop when we searched for clues.”

“Why, so he wasn’t,” said Miss Jane after a moment’s thought. “I’d quite forgotten. I’d taken Lammikin—that’s what I call him—upstairs because I wanted everything nice for my cousins.”

“When did you take him?” asked Sergeant MacVicar. “Was this before Mr. McCorquindale, as we now know him to have been, entered your shop?”

“No, it was after, when I went to remop the floor. Lammikin had got knocked over and there he was, lying in the middle of the floor. Not in one of the spots where Mr. McCorquindale had dripped, fortunately. But I couldn’t know that at the time and I hadn’t time to give the poor sweetie a good looking-over because everything was in such a flurry. So I rushed him upstairs and stuck him out of sight in my bedroom. And there he’s still sitting, what with all the fuss and bother over Mr. McCorquindale and trying to have everything nice for my cousins. And now I’ve got a roomful of company upstairs and they’ll be wanting their coffee, so I’m afraid you’ve come at an awfully bad time. Though if Mrs. Monk wouldn’t mind just slipping quietly into my bedroom—I’d really rather you didn’t come with her, Sergeant MacVicar, because if my cousins ever caught sight of the police chief going into my—a woman living alone can’t be too—”

“We understand perfectly, Miss Jane,” said Dittany. “We can make believe my mother dropped her mitten when she came in to buy baby yarn, and I dropped by to pick it up and had to ask to use your bathroom. You needn’t say bathroom if it embarrasses you, just tell them I have to pee a lot because of my delicate condition, which they can see plainly enough for themselves. I’ll try to blush if anybody notices me. Sergeant MacVicar won’t mind a bit waiting down here in the entryway. I shouldn’t be long.”

“Oh yes, that will do nicely,” said Miss Jane, “only I’ll say scarf if you don’t mind. It’s still a bit early for mittens. This way, please.”