Читать книгу Murder at the Falls - Arlene Kay - Страница 10

Chapter 2

Babette bonded immediately with Irene Wilson over a shared love of books and dogs. She stepped into the cozy studio apartment, sized up the tasteful furnishings, and beamed at its occupant as if they were old friends. Clara sealed the deal by approaching Irene and licking her hand.

“That’s a good sign. She’s particular. Doesn’t do that with everyone,” Babette said. “Clara likes you.”

Irene, a woman in her eighties, was a tall, imposing figure with light brown skin, neatly coiled gray hair, and large, expressive eyes. Her years in the classroom and stately bearing lent her an air of authority. She grinned at Babette and chuckled. “Kids and dogs—my specialty. For years I bred springer spaniels. Showed them too, even at Westminster. Shucks. Sometimes I had more luck with canines than my human pupils, but I loved them all. Still do.”

I excused myself after explaining that I was seeking Magdalen Melmoth. A momentary frown flashed across Irene’s face, but she quickly banished it.

“Be gentle with her. Mags is one of my best friends here. My only friend, actually. I don’t want her to get hurt.”

I was intrigued. “Anything else you can tell me?”

Babette had little patience for delay and tact was seldom her strong suit. “Come on, Irene. Spill. You can trust Perri. Don’t worry.”

Irene bit her lip as she framed her words. “We all have our illusions, even as we age—especially as we age. Just let her talk. Mags …she’s a sweetheart. Not an ounce of harm in her.”

“Good to know she has a friend like you. We’ve already met.” I wagged my finger at them before heading out the door. “Behave, you two, or I’ll report you to Nurse Ross.”

* * * *

Magdalen Melmoth’s flat was a one-bedroom directly down the hall from Irene’s. She answered the door and immediately waved us in.

To my surprise, her head bowed, as if she was too shy to make eye contact. “Oh, Perri. Ms. Morgan. I was afraid you weren’t coming after meeting the powers that be. I made tea.” She pointed to a beautifully embossed silver tea set. “Don’t often get the chance to use this old relic. It’s kind of like me. Put on the shelf. No use to anyone.”

Keats and Poe eyed the goodies on the tray but settled into a sit-stay without complaint. Their good manners were a constant rebuke to me when I felt tempted to overreach. Breeding triumphed over baser impulses every time, and all three of us waited before diving in.

The interior of Magdalen’s flat was art deco, surprisingly modern and tasteful but austere. Reminiscent of a monk’s cell or a convent, it yielded few clues as to the identity of its occupant. The only exception was color: buttercup yellow walls and red lacquered woodwork. One side of the room contained a lovely chinoiserie bookcase filled with red leather-bound volumes.

“You look surprised,” she said. “Not exactly what you expected, is it? You probably envisioned relics and family pieces.”

I shrugged. “It’s obvious you enjoy nice things. I’m fascinated by your library.” I walked over and scanned the titles. Most were classics—Shakespeare, Austen, Tolstoy, and Wilde, although to my surprise, three contemporary books by a certain Wing Pruett were also present. I flushed and turned away, hoping Magdalen had missed my reaction. Unfortunately, she had not. I suspected there was very little in life my new friend missed.

She poured tea and passed the tray of sandwiches my way. “Forgive me, dear. That was my little joke. You see, I read about you and Mr. Pruett, and when you volunteered for this assignment, I couldn’t believe my luck. Forgive me, won’t you?” Before continuing, Magdalen unwrapped two meaty bones, placed each on a Limoges saucer, and shared them with my dogs. “Treats for everyone today,” she said brightly. We sipped our tea in silence before my hostess continued. “Now, let me explain myself.”

I didn’t know what to expect. Why hadn’t I heeded Joan Fergueson’s warning and found a nice, uncomplicated animal lover with no agenda? Stubbornness and pride were the bane of my existence and always had been. Always would be.

Magdalen reached over and patted my arm. “Don’t worry, dear, I’m not a lunatic. Not really. Just a determined woman. At my age, a woman on a mission is either feared or discounted.”

I faked a smile. “No problem. Tell me more.”

She dabbed daintily at her mouth and began. “How much do you know about Oscar Wilde? His life, not just his magnificent prose.”

“Just the basics.” I hesitated to mention the sensational legal action that had placed the great man in Reading Gaol. After all, Magdalen was a lady from another generation when such matters were not discussed.

She nibbled a smoked salmon sandwich and watched me closely. “Does genealogy interest you at all, Perri?”

I shook my head.

“You’re still young. When you get to be my age, it’s comforting to know your heritage.” Magdalen chuckled. “After all, I might be meeting some of them fairly soon.” She leaned over and stroked Poe’s silky coat. “Funny, isn’t it? Pedigree dogs like these fine specimens come to us with extensive family trees. Most humans don’t.”

Against my will, I began to question Magdalen’s mental state. The conversation was bizarre as well as confusing, and I wasn’t certain what she wanted from me.

“Where do I fit in?” I asked, “not to mention Wing Pruett.” Pruett, an acclaimed investigative journalist and my romantic partner, inspired fantasies in many women. Magdalen was way beyond his usual demographic, but anything was possible. I had proof positive that Pruett’s physical assets far exceeded anything DC scribes even hinted at. That memory made me smile.

Magdalen suddenly clenched her hands and rose to her feet. “Listen closely, Perri. I want you both to undertake a mission, one of historical significance. A quest of sorts.”

The Therapy Dog guidelines never mentioned anything like this. I sought to placate Magdalen while I plotted a quick exit strategy. She was confused. Had to be. Buttonholing a complete stranger made no sense at all. Only the thought of Nurse Carole and Dr. Fergueson kept me glued to my seat. To ward off their sneers, I allotted Magdalen more time to spin her fantasy.

“What is it that you think we can do for you?” I asked.

Her sweet smile told me I had already lost the battle. “Bring him here. You see, I have a secret.”

I visualized Pruett’s reaction, and it wasn’t pretty. When it came to business, he was hard-nosed and data-driven. “Don’t be mysterious, Magdalen. Give me more details.” My tone was too harsh, and immediately, guilt welled up in me. After all, I was charged with comforting Magdalen, not confronting her. Suppose she cried or fainted? I would never survive being bounced from the Therapy Dog Program on my maiden voyage for brutalizing a resident.

Fortunately, she was made of sterner stuff. “Research is his specialty, right?” Magdalen was clearly enjoying herself. “Okay, then. Dig into the background of Oscar Wilde before you come back here. That should get your juices flowing.”

I tried to hide my disbelief. “The famous writer?”

“Yes, dear. I believe he was my grandfather and left me a valuable legacy.”

Gaping like the village idiot was unseemly, but I couldn’t help it. “Legacy?”

Magdalen was thoroughly composed, unlike me. “Quite a coup for a hotshot author, don’t you think? Mr. Pruett will get full access to everything I own. I’ll sign any necessary legal documents.”

Keats put his face in Magdalen’s lap, looked up, and watched her with sad, soulful eyes. Poe edged closer to me.

“I don’t know what to say, Ms. Melmoth.”

Once again, her manner floored me. “Don’t worry, dear. Tell Mr. Pruett that I have an original, unpublished manuscript written by my grandfather. That should pique his interest.” Magdalen placidly sipped her tea as she watched me closely.

“I don’t understand.”

“Don’t worry. You soon will. My health is fine, but after all, I’m no spring chicken. Someone trustworthy. That’s what I need. Before it’s too late.”

I rose slowly, uncertain of what to do. For some reason I fumbled in my bag for a business card and handed it to Magdalen. “You can contact me in case your schedule changes or something.”

“Thank you, dear. Nicely done. That’s important for a businessperson, especially a woman.” Magdalen placed it in a lovely bronze box with elaborate engraving on it. “Perhaps we could meet here next week,” she said. “That will give you time to do some research. I understand Mr. Pruett is very thorough.” Magdalen smiled, as if she was sharing a secret joke. “Time, you know, makes slaves of us all. No need to prolong things. As the Bard said, ‘Delays have dangerous ends.’”