The Riverboat Mystery (Jenny Starling #3)(55)

‘Of course you can. Would cocoa be all right?’

Dorothy nodded. ‘I haven’t had cocoa in years,’ she said wistfully and followed her through into the main salon to hover by the galley door as the cook quickly set about making her the hot drink.

Hearing a rustle behind her, Dorothy half turned in surprise as Inspector Rycroft, who’d gone unnoticed on a large sofa, suddenly rose.

This time he was going to hit the sack. He only hoped that Graves didn’t snore. As if on cue, the burly sergeant also rose from the depths of a shadow, where he’d been putting his feet up on a recliner chair in one corner.

Dorothy quickly glanced through the door to the games room, and gently coughed.

Jenny heard it first, and walked to the door. ‘Inspector,’ Jenny said quietly yet firmly.

Rycroft rounded on her. ‘What is it now?’

Jenny, however, didn’t take offence. Instead she merely nodded to the woman stood beside her.

‘I think Mrs Leigh has something to say to you,’ she hazarded gently.

Dorothy Leigh gave her a rather surprised look, then quickly glanced at the inspector, then once more cast the games room a rather anxious look.

Graves and Rycroft stiffened like dogs picking up a scent. ‘Yes, Mrs Leigh?’ Rycroft said softly, instinctively moving away from the games room and closer to the pretty, fair-haired woman who chewed her lower lip in a becoming, if indecisive, manner.

‘Well, it might be nothing,’ Dorothy said, a touch nervously, ‘but I suppose I really should mention it . . .’

‘Anything can be important, Mrs Leigh,’ Rycroft agreed firmly.

Dorothy nodded. ‘Well . . . it has to do with Mrs Olney.’





CHAPTER TWELVE

Rycroft’s eyes briefly flickered at the name of the grieving widow, but other than that he merely raised his expressive eyebrows. This silent demand, designed no doubt to intimidate more information from its recipient, wasn’t really necessary on this particular witness, Jenny thought, but supposed it had become something of a habit of his, and one that must have served him well in the past.

As it was, Dorothy quickly wrung her hands together and glanced yet again towards the games room, as if fearing that the woman in question had super-sensitive hearing and could somehow listen in on her near-whispered words.

‘It was during the darts match,’ Dorothy began reluctantly, her pretty blue eyes creasing into a frown. ‘I don’t know what it was, exactly,’ she admitted, confusingly, ‘but I’m sure it was the real reason why she suddenly left the room.’

Rycroft smiled politely. ‘Yes, Mrs Leigh. Now, could you tell me exactly what it is that you’re talking about?’

Dorothy flushed. ‘Oh. Sorry, aren’t I making any sense? I happened to look across at Jasmine to ask her if she wanted a drink, when I saw her turn a page of her magazine.’

‘Magazine,’ Rycroft repeated blandly. He glanced at Graves, who merely gave an infinitesimal shrug of his mammoth shoulders.

‘Yes. Her magazine,’ Dorothy continued, apparently unaware that the two men were beginning to regard her as something of a featherbrain. ‘And in between the pages of the magazine, I saw a white piece of paper.’

‘Oh?’ At this, Rycroft perked up considerably. Jenny, who was watching both of them carefully, was struck once more at the pug-like looks and tendencies of Inspector Neil Rycroft.

Dorothy nodded. ‘At that moment, of course, Mrs Olney glanced up, but I’d already begun to look away.’ She said this with some evident relief, and Jenny could understand why. A woman like Dorothy Leigh would have been raised to try and avoid embarrassing little moments as if they were the plague.

The information was definitely interesting and Jenny nodded to herself as she quickly took in its full import, but neither of the policemen seemed to notice. She doubted that they’d picked up on Dorothy Leigh’s obvious piece of very clever feminine deduction, either. Namely, that it could only have been from a man. It took another beautiful woman to second-guess someone like Jasmine Olney.

So. There was more to Dorothy Leigh than one might think, the cook mused. But then, wasn’t there always more to any woman than a mere man might think?

‘Anyway,’ Dorothy said, beginning to look a little shamefaced, ‘I waited a moment or two and then looked back. I was . . . well, curious, I suppose. And I saw at once that Jasmine was reading it. The piece of paper, I mean, not the magazine,’ Dorothy added hastily.

Rycroft nodded, apparently insensible to the fact that he’d just had his intelligence rather cleverly insulted.

Graves’ lips, however, did their usual twitch. So, there was a lot more to the burly sergeant as well, Jenny mused fairly, than was obvious at first glance. Jenny had never been able to understand why the public in general always thought that a big, hefty man had to have a small brain.

She began to wonder whether it might be Graves, and not Rycroft after all, who provided the intelligence for their successful partnership.

‘After she’d read it, she sort of turned a few more pages, yawned, and said she was going up for a nap,’ Dorothy concluded. ‘Naturally, I wondered who the note was from.’

Again the cook nodded to herself. It all sounded very much like Jasmine Olney-type behaviour to her. She didn’t doubt that Dorothy Leigh was telling the truth.