The Riverboat Mystery (Jenny Starling #3)(56)

Rycroft pursed his lips. ‘Could you see what was written on this note?’

But Dorothy quickly shook her head. ‘Oh no, I was sitting several seats away. I can only tell you that it wasn’t a very long note.’

Jenny gave a very slight cough. ‘Did you notice which magazine it was in?’

Dorothy smiled. ‘It was one of those fancy French fashion things. I remember particularly because I’ve always admired the actress who was on the cover.’

Jenny’s eye quickly scanned the room and alighted on the coffee table, on which resided two magazines. Rycroft, catching on, all but sprinted for the table, moving off the spot like an athlete hearing the starting gun.

Jenny, of course, who’d had no intention of making such an undignified dash for the evidence, felt her own lips begin to twitch. Ruthlessly, she firmed them into a hard straight line. Sergeant Graves’ example of hidden mirth could be most habit-forming.

The junior officer was a handsome man, too, Jenny noted absently and then frowned ferociously. If mixing business and pleasure was a no-no, then how much more of a no-no was mixing murder enquiries with pleasure? She quickly turned away from the sergeant and turned her mind strictly to Rycroft, who was returning to their position clustered around the door and riffling the pages of the magazine as he did so.

Then he gave a soft exclamation and withdrew a single piece of paper. ‘I’d have thought she’d have got rid of this by now,’ he said, avidly scanning the few lines.

As he read the ‘B O’K’ signed at the bottom of the note, he drew his breath in sharply.

‘O’Keefe again,’ he said, then suddenly remembered that Dorothy Leigh was still present. He quickly curled the note into his fist. ‘Oh, er, thank you, Mrs Leigh, for bringing this to our attention.’

Jenny very helpfully poured Dorothy’s milky drink for her and urged her to get to bed.

She was not quite as pale as she had been earlier on, and indeed, dressed in a long-sleeved mint-green dress, she now looked very fetching. But her eyes showed signs of strain, and the cook didn’t urge her to bed merely to help out Rycroft, who obviously wanted her gone.

As she watched Dorothy move across the main salon, her husband quickly joined her from the games room. Obviously, he’d been watching out for her, too. Together the young couple left the room. As a show of simple togetherness it was touching in a way you seldom felt about couples nowadays, Jenny mused with just a little sigh.

Obviously the sergeant thought so too.

‘Sweet,’ Graves said succinctly, but Rycroft was once again scanning the note. He handed it to Graves, who then, after a moment’s thought, handed it to the cook.

Jenny read the note thoughtfully. It purported to be from Brian O’Keefe, and it urged Jasmine to go to her room and wait for him. It asked her to keep a lookout at the door in case her husband should show up.

It was a very clever note, Jenny thought judiciously. Very clever indeed.

‘Right then,’ Rycroft said. ‘Let’s get O’Keefe in here. I want another word with him,’ he added ominously.

But as Graves started off, Jenny halted him in mid-stride with just one quiet, very well placed word. The word was, ‘Why?’

Rycroft and Graves both stared at her. ‘Why?’ Rycroft squeaked. ‘Because I want an explanation for this damned thing.’ He rattled the note. ‘That’s why.’

‘But O’Keefe didn’t write it,’ Jenny said patiently.

Graves returned to the doorway. He looked interested more than upset. Rycroft, on the other hand, was beginning to feel decidedly frayed at the edges.

‘Oh? You’re a handwriting expert, are you?’ he snapped. Jenny sighed crossly.

‘No, I make no such claim. But why, if he was all set to search Gabriel Olney’s room, would Brian invite Jasmine Olney to meet him there? He chose lunchtime to do the search precisely because he thought there would be nobody about to disturb him. So he’d hardly invite Jasmine to come and do just that, would he? Admittedly it was at the end of lunch, but it would’ve been cutting it too fine for him to take a risk like that.’

Rycroft opened his mouth and then abruptly closed it again. He stared at the note in his hand, his face openly aggrieved.

‘Perhaps they’re in it together?’ he said tentatively, then instantly corrected himself. ‘No, if that were so, there’d be no need for them to pass cute little notes to each other.’

‘Then who did write it?’ Graves finally asked.

Jenny shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

But she was sure that she should know. All the clues, she was convinced, were right there in front of her. She just wasn’t seeing them clearly. She needed to rearrange them. She needed to sift through the camouflage. She needed to sleep.

‘I think we should all turn in,’ she said wearily. ‘I’m almost asleep on my feet now.’

But Rycroft, terrier-like, had the rat between his teeth once again, and had no intention of giving up shaking it about just yet. ‘Well, I for one want a word with Mrs Olney. Graves,’ he snapped.

The sergeant dutifully went into the games room and extracted the widow. As soon as she saw the magazine and note in the inspector’s hand, she stiffened, then seemed to wilt.

Her smile was somewhat ironic. ‘I see you’ve found the mysterious note, Inspector,’ she murmured. But she seemed more amused than afraid. She was wearing a low-cut black evening dress, and her eyes were heavily accentuated with mascara — despite her grief, Jasmine Olney hadn’t neglected to dress for dinner. She looked both attractive and dangerous. Both men felt themselves put on their mettle.