Cecily sat down at her desk. “Is there anything we can do for the pantomime, apart from getting the scenery in place, I mean?”
Phoebe’s frown relaxed. “Thank you, dear, but I have everything under control.” She leaned forward. “What is this rumor going around about a man being found dead in your duck pond? I do hope that isn’t true.”
“Where did you hear that?”
Cecily had spoken more sharply than she’d intended. Phoebe’s eyebrows raised. “Cecily! Are you saying it is true? My dear! Who is he? One of your guests?”
Struggling to find an answer that would satisfy her, Cecily shook her head. Just as the pause had become uncomfortably long, a sharp rap on the door snatched Phoebe’s attention away.
“Oh, that’s probably Frederick. I left him to see to the carriage. I made him promise he would pop in to see you before going down to the bar. Come in, darling!”
The door opened and the colonel’s bewhiskered face peered in. “Oh, there you are, old bean. I was wondering where you’d gone.”
Phoebe clicked her tongue in annoyance. “I told you I’d be in Cecily’s office. Do come in, Frederick. It’s drafty with that door open.”
The colonel shuffled into the room and leaned on the door to close it. “What ho, there, Mrs. Baxter. All ready for Christmas, I see! What? What?”
“Yes, indeed, Colonel.” Cecily waved her hand at the vacant chair. “Have a seat.”
“Don’t mind if I do, old girl. The old legs are not what they used to be.”
“Frederick!” Phoebe looked scandalized. “Gentlemen do not refer to their… er… personal body parts in the presence of a lady.”
The colonel seemed confused, as well he might. “Personal body parts?”
Cecily hastened to intervene. “It’s quite all right, Colonel. Do sit down.”
“Oh, right.” Parting the tails of his coat, Colonel Fortescue sat down heavily on the chair.
“Anyway,” Phoebe said, “as we were saying, Cecily. We have been rehearsing for two weeks in the church hall and I think you are going to be pleased with the pantomime this year. We are doing Cinderella. I think I told you about that.”
Thankful that Phoebe had lost the thread of their earlier conversation, Cecily smiled. “Cinderella. How nice. One of my favorites.”
“Is that the one about the young lady who couldn’t wake up?” the colonel asked.
Phoebe gave him a scathing look. “Of course not. That was Sleeping Beauty.”
“Ah, I knew it had a beauty in there somewhere.”
Phoebe bristled. “Really Frederick, if you intend to go on being such a bore, why don’t you just toddle off down to the bar. I’m sure you’ll find someone to listen to your nonsense.”
“Good idea, old bean.” The colonel heaved himself out of the chair again. “Just hope there’s a bit more peace and quiet in there than in the George the other night. All that blasted racket gave me a headache.”
Phoebe rolled her eyes at Cecily. “He came home and complained for over an hour about some kind of brawl in the courtyard. Serves him right, I told him, for rubbing elbows with the riffraff.”
“They were going at it hammer and tongs, old girl. Yelling and hitting and kicking…” The colonel shook his head. “Reminds me of the time I was in India watching a cricket match. The bowler hit the batter on the hip with the ball and the batter swore he did it on purpose. Went tearing up to the bowler waving his bat-”
“Frederick,” Phoebe said sternly. “Please, just go to the bar. I’m sure you’ll find someone there who’ll listen to your stories.”
“-and swung it at the poor chap,” the colonel blithely continued. “Missed the bugger, tripped over the bat and fell on it. Took out his two front teeth, just like that.”
Cecily winced, while Phoebe’s cheeks grew red. “Frederick! The bar!”
“All right, all right, I’m going.” The colonel shuffled to the door. “Never could talk right after that, but he had a hell of a whistle.”
Phoebe looked as if she was about to have a stroke.
“Enjoy your sherry, Colonel,” Cecily said, hoping the man would get out of her office before Phoebe actually came to blows herself.
“Will do, old girl.” He pulled the door open then looked back at her. “Oh, by the way, I recognized one of the blighters in the courtyard. It was that young chap who used to own the butcher’s shop in the High Street. Never thought he was the type to resort to fisticuffs. Then again, he only kept the shop for a few months. Just goes to show, he’s not exactly reliable, what? What?”
He was almost out the door before Cecily stopped him. “Colonel, are you quite sure it was the previous owner of Abbitson’s, the butcher’s shop?”
“Oh, quite, quite.” He paused, his head poked in the doorway. “Big strapping lad. Got the best of the other chap, I can tell you.” He frowned. “Funny thing, but I thought I recognized the other chap, too. Can’t place him, though. Ah well. Toodleloo, then, Mrs. Baxter.” He waved his hand at her and closed the door.
Cecily looked at Phoebe, who was mopping her forehead with a lace handkerchief. “When did the colonel say he saw those two men fighting?”
“The night before last.” Phoebe lowered the handkerchief. “Why do you ask?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Cecily forced a smile. “Idle curiosity, that’s all. You were telling me about your rehearsals?”
“Ah, yes. Well…”
Cecily let her prattle on without really listening to her. Her mind was on the colonel’s words as he’d gone out the door. It seemed as though Dan had been fighting the night Ian died. Somehow she had no doubt that the man with whom he’d exchanged blows was none other than Ian himself.
That must have been after Gertie had told Dan about Ian confronting her in the kitchen. Something else that Gertie had neglected to tell her. If that were so, that meant that Dan, along with whoever else was in the George that night, had contact with Ian after he’d left Gertie. So how could Sam Northcott possibly think that Gertie had been the last person to see Ian alive?
Cecily glanced at the clock. Gertie would be busy now, getting things ready for the midday meal, but as soon as that was over, she intended to have another talk with that young lady, and find out what else she was keeping to herself.
“Anyway,” Phoebe was saying, “I do think the acrobats will provide an admirable conclusion to the pantomime, don’t you think?”
Cecily made an effort to concentrate. “Acrobats?”
“Yes, dear.” Phoebe leaned forward, her gaze probing Cecily’s face. “You seem somewhat detached this morning. Is anything wrong?”
Before Cecily could answer, the door burst open without so much as a warning tap. Startled, she stared at the colonel as he marched into the room and thumped a triumphant fist on her desk. “That Rossiter chap! I knew I recognized him from somewhere. He used to work for you, what? What?”
Phoebe looked intrigued. “Ian Rossiter? I wondered what had happened to him. Has he come back to work here?”
“He’d have a hard time doing that, old bean.” The colonel turned to her, his whiskers quivering with relish. “The poor blighter bought it, didn’t he. Someone bashed him over the noggin and killed him stone dead.”
Phoebe uttered a little shriek and slapped her gloved hand over her mouth. Above it her eyes were wide with shock.
Cursing herself for not telling her friend the truth earlier, Cecily got up from her chair and hurried around to her. “I’m sorry, Phoebe. I’d hoped you wouldn’t have to know. I know you always had a soft spot for Ian.”
“Who killed him?” Phoebe whispered behind her hand.
“We don’t know.” Cecily looked at the colonel. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t spread the news around the hotel. I would like to know who told you.”
The colonel looked sheepish. “Sorry, old girl. Shouldn’t have blurted it out like that. I just now overheard a chap talking about it. Short little bald-headed chappie with a rather twitchy mustache.”