Over My Dead Body (Detective William Warwick #4)(67)

‘She never spoke of any family and, let me assure you, her friends are well taken care of.’

‘Then a favourite charity, perhaps,’ said Ross, not wanting to open the envelope.

‘That is not for me to decide, sir,’ said Monsieur Monderan. ‘However, if you were my client, I would politely remind you you have a daughter who might benefit from her mother’s prudence.’ Without another word, Monsieur Monderan rose from his place, gave Ross a slight bow and departed, having carried out his fiduciary duties.

Ross looked down at the unopened envelope and felt guilty that he had not considered his daughter’s future. It was some time before he finally tore open the envelope and extracted a cheque made out to Mr Ross Hogan QGM. He smiled at the thought of how Jo had pressed him on several occasions to tell her what he had done to be awarded the Queen’s Gallantry Medal. He had always managed to subtly change the subject.

He stared at the cheque and had to look at the noughts a third time before he realized that, for the first time in his life, he was a rich man. Though in truth, he felt like a poor man, and would have torn the cheque up without a second thought if it would have brought Jo back.

? ? ?

Beth didn’t have to ask William which foreign city he’d spent the day in when he returned home that night, because she already knew. She had wanted to accompany him to Paris, and would have done so if Artemisia hadn’t caught chicken pox, which meant that Peter almost certainly would follow her, as he always did. But Josephine had been in her thoughts all day.

She was just about to read the twins their bedtime story when she heard the front door close. She ran downstairs to find William hanging up his coat. They clung to each other for some time before William managed, ‘How’s Artemisia?’

‘Recovering. But now Peter’s gone down with it, as expected. They’re hoping you’ll read them their bedtime story.’

‘Of course I will, and then over supper I’ll tell you about everything that happened in Paris.’ Although he still hadn’t decided just how much he would tell her.

William walked wearily upstairs, but his spirits were lifted the moment he entered the children’s room and the twins scampered out of bed and clung onto a leg each. His thoughts turned once again to Ross and the joy he knew his daughter would bring him. Those thoughts were rudely interrupted when Artemisia reminded him, ‘We’ve reached Chapter Three, and we want to find out what’s going to happen to PC Plod.’

He smiled at her, pleased to see her spots had nearly disappeared; but the smile turned to a frown when he saw that Peter’s were just appearing.

‘Don’t forget,’ said William, ‘that PC Plod always tells his children not to pick their spots.’

Peter nodded as William opened the book. ‘Where did we get to?’

‘PC Plod has just been told to go to the manor house,’ said Artemisia. ‘Immediately!’

‘Do you remember what was missing from the house?’

‘A pearl necklace belonging to Lady Doubtful.’

‘And what’s the name of PC Plod’s wife?’

‘Beryl!’ said Artemisia. ‘She thinks he ought to be an Inspector.’

William nodded, and began to read.

‘When PC Plod arrived at the manor house, he propped his bicycle up against the shed and joined the other policemen, who were searching the grounds for clues. He doubted they’d find any, as he was sure it was an inside job.’

‘What’s an inside job?’ asked Peter.

‘PC Plod thinks someone who lives or works in the house must have stolen the pearls.’

‘Who?’ demanded Artemisia.

‘I’ve no idea,’ said William, stifling a yawn as he turned the page.

‘But you’re a detective, Daddy, so you must know,’ said Artemisia, with the unquestionable logic of a child.

‘PC Plod noticed the front door of the manor house open,’ continued William, ignoring her, ‘and saw a scullery maid who’d served the Doubtfuls for years being led out of the house by Inspector Watchit, who looked rather pleased with himself. Plod frowned. He knew that Elsie wouldn’t have stolen a chocolate biscuit from a tea trolley, let alone a pearl necklace. He would have to go back to the station and put Watchit straight, before he charged the poor girl with a crime she hadn’t committed. He left the lads to get on with their job, and walked back to his bike. He was about to put on his safety helmet when he spotted a fishmonger’s van coming up the drive to deliver the catch of the day. Plod was surprised to see Mr Nettles the fishmonger park his van right outside the front door and not at the back of the house by the kitchen entrance. Nettles got out of the van and strolled up the steps to the front door which was opened by Lady Doubtful even before he had a chance to press the bell. Her Ladyship handed the fishmonger a large cardboard box, then quickly disappeared back inside.

‘Why hadn’t Nettles gone to the tradesman’s entrance and delivered the fish to the cook as he did every Friday, wondered PC Plod. It didn’t make any sense, so he decided to investigate. Plod plodded across to the van, where Mr Nettles had left the cardboard box on the passenger seat and was now sitting behind the wheel about to leave.

‘Plod tapped on the window and said, “What are you up to, my lad?” Nettles turned as red as a traffic light. He quickly switched on the engine, crunched the gear lever into third, and shot off towards the front gate. Plod dashed up the steps to the house and banged on the front door. When the butler opened it a few moments later, he told him to quickly close the electric gates. The butler touched the switch just in time to prevent Nettles from getting clean away.