Cecily shuddered. “Don’t even entertain the thought. I’m as sure as I can be that Gertie didn’t kill Ian. I just have to find out who did, and as quickly as possible.” She studied Madeline’s face. “It worries me greatly that you saw dead bodies in your vision the other day. I hope and pray that doesn’t mean someone else will be killed.”
Madeline shook her head. “You know most of my visions are merely symbols. We just have to work out what it meant, that’s all. I’m quite sure you won’t find bodies scattered all over the bowling greens, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Cecily gave her a wan smile. “I was rather. Silly, I suppose, but when I’m in the dark like this it’s easy to imagine all sorts of horrors.”
“Well, put the thought right out of your head.” Madeline put down her cup and picked up what was left of her scone. “The bodies in my vision most likely represent something quite mundane, like crushed flowers, or dead spiders. You just have to work out what the connection is to your murder, that’s all.”
Dolly arrived at that moment with the Banbury cakes, and Cecily tried to put aside her worries for the moment to enjoy the delicious treats. The concern lingered, however, and she could not dismiss the sense of urgency. Time was of the essence, and she was fast running out of it.
Gertie hauled the carpet sweeper up the last of the stairs, puffing with exertion. Normally she took her time climbing them, but this morning she wanted to be done early. Dan had promised to stop by after the midday meal rush and there were a couple of things she really wanted to ask him.
Reaching the landing, she paused to catch her breath. She wasn’t looking forward to the conversation. She thought she knew Dan well enough to tell when he was lying, but he’d lied to her about the graze on his cheek, so she had to wonder what else he had lied about.
She didn’t want to even think of the answer to that one. No matter what he had or hadn’t said, she couldn’t imagine him ever killing anyone.
Not on purpose, anyway, a persistent voice in her head added. Stomping to the end of the hallway, she pushed the sweeper ahead of her in vicious little strokes. All right, so Dan had been fighting with Ian earlier that evening. That didn’t mean he’d killed him. Yet he’d come back later to the Pennyfoot after the fight. Why? Had he known Ian had come back there? Maybe he’d followed him from the George and Dragon.
She briefly closed her eyes. The vision was strong. She could see Dan creeping across the lawn, candlestick raised above his head, ready to strike. There was Ian, standing by the pond with his back to him, unaware that he was about to die. Dan crept closer and closer, until he was right behind him. He raised his arm and-
A door opened suddenly, close by. It shattered the vision and Gertie started, jerking the sweeper toward her and stubbing her toe. “Bugger!” She stared at the young girl emerging from the guest room. “Mabel! What the bloody hell are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in the dining room getting the tables ready for dinner.”
Mabel dug her hands into the pockets of her apron. “M-Mrs. Chubb sent me up here. The lady wanted different pillows on the bed. She said the ones she had were too flat.”
“Oh.” Still distracted by the horrible vision hovering in her head, Gertie waved her arm at the stairs. “Well, you’d better get down there and work on them tables. Pansy’s probably having a fit being all by herself.”
“All right.” Mabel slipped past her and bolted for the stairs.
Shaking her head, Gertie started rehearsing what she was going to say to Dan. All she hoped was that she’d ask the right questions and get the right answers.
Arriving back at the Pennyfoot, Cecily was filled with renewed purpose. If she was to solve this murder, she needed to put more effort into the investigation. She was well aware that her reluctance to act so far had been caused by her concern that the killer might well be someone close to her. She could not afford to dither around any longer.
After taking care of a few tasks waiting for her on her desk, she sent for Clive. There were questions that needed to be answered.
How she hated the thought that Clive might be Ian’s killer. She had always thought of him as being a quiet, private man, with a past that weighed heavily on his conscience. She just couldn’t imagine him being violent toward anyone, yet he had apparently removed Ian from the premises, and if Cecily knew anything about Ian Rossiter, it was that he wouldn’t have gone without a fight.
So apprehensive was she about the forthcoming exchange she jumped violently when the knock came on the door. She took a moment to compose herself before calling out, “Come in!”
Clive ambled into the room, his face a mask of tension. He obviously had a great deal on his mind, and Cecily wondered if perhaps this was the wrong time to question his recent activities.
“Sit down, Clive.” She gestured at the empty chair across from her and waited for him to comply.
His forehead was wrinkled with anxiety when he looked at her, but he remained silent, waiting for her to speak to him first.
Cecily wished now she’d rehearsed what she wanted to ask him. Her heart thumped uncomfortably against her ribs, and her mouth felt dry.
Could she have misjudged her maintenance man? Was he, after all, capable of striking a man in anger, hard enough to kill him? If she questioned him would he perhaps lose control of his temper and attack her?
Wishing she had the answers to those worrisome questions, Cecily folded her hands on her desk and took a deep breath. If she was to get to the bottom of Ian’s murder and determine who was responsible, then she would have to take some chances. She could only hope she hadn’t underestimated the enemy.
CHAPTER 17
“I wanted to talk to you again about the night Ian was killed,” Cecily began, having decided that straight to the point was the best strategy.
Clive nodded. “I thought as much.”
“You told me that you spent the evening down in the wine cellar.”
“Yes, I did.”
She wasn’t sure if that meant he was saying he did spend the evening in the wine cellar, or that he did tell her he had. She tried again. “Gertie went down there that evening to bring up some wine.”
His gaze was steady on her face. “I see.”
“You weren’t in the wine cellar that night, were you, Clive.”
“No, m’m. I wasn’t.”
She could feel her heart beginning to pound even harder. “I have to ask you where you were, Clive.”
He stared at her for a long moment, then dropped his gaze. “I’d rather not tell you, m’m.”
“There are a lot of things you haven’t told me about that night.”
“Yes, m’m.”
“Gertie told me about locking Ian in the coal shed.”
He looked up again, and once more his gaze was steady on her face. “Yes, m’m.”
“Would you like to tell me your own version of what happened?”
He thought for a moment, then in a slow, deliberate voice, started talking. “Well, as I said before, I showed Ian the door-or to be more accurate, the gate, earlier that night. I was about to leave to go home later on when I heard voices raised in anger.”
She leaned forward. “Where were you exactly when you heard these voices?”
He dropped his gaze again. “I was walking across the bowling greens, m’m.”
“That late at night? In the rain?” She narrowed her gaze. “What were you doing out there?”
He sat staring at the floor for a long, tense moment, then muttered, “I’d rather not say.”
Cecily clasped her hands in front of her. “Clive, I want very much to help you. I can’t do that if you insist on keeping things from me.”