No Nest for the Wicket(20)

“I’ve always thought of him as a walking cadaver, but yes, those Wentworths,” Michael said. “Getting back to the forbearing thing—did I mention that she broke an antique Delft chamber pot over his head?”

“Ouch! Please tell me it was full at the time.”

“Yes, but only of sticky-sweet green punch that no one was drinking anyway, because everyone else found it slightly off-putting to serve punch in a chamber pot, however thoroughly sanitized.”

“Yuck,” I said. “I agree. She did this in public?”

“At one of their pretentious garden parties,” Michael said. “To which I don’t get invited anymore, thank goodness. History department only. Or maybe she didn’t find my behavior suitable.”

“What did you do?” I asked, though I wasn’t altogether sure I wanted to know.

“Nothing at first. I mean, what are you supposed to do when the woman you’ve escorted to a party is found in flagrente delicto with the host? Punch someone’s lights out? Slink home and brood for a few centuries? After Claire did her number with the chamber pot—I couldn’t help it—I started laughing.”

“Not very dignified.”

“Yeah, but you should have seen it,” he said, grinning at the memory. “There was Claire standing there with the broken chamber pot’s handle in her hand, and Marcus sitting on the floor covered with fizzy green slime, like some extra from The Exorcist—well, it was funny.”

He laughed, and I joined him. Less at the thought of the Wentworths in such an uncharacteristically embarrassing situation than at the relief I felt. No motive for murder here—not for Michael anyway; once his sense of humor kicked in, he didn’t hold a grudge, I’d found. Which gave me even less reason for jealousy.

“I take it the thing with Wentworth wasn’t true love?”

“More like a last-ditch attempt to hang on to her job.”

“And that was the end of it?” I asked.

“With Marcus, probably. With me, definitely. She did come over the next day to apologize. To explain that it wasn’t personal; she only wanted to save her career. I think that was supposed to make me feel better.”

“And did it?”

“Didn’t matter by that time. I was relieved to have grounds for breaking up. But you can’t expect Mrs. Wentworth to take as philosophical a view.”

“No,” I said. “If you ask me, Claire Wentworth has motive for murder. Possibly Marcus Wentworth, too, but he wasn’t hanging around here all day like Claire.”

“She was hanging around here? Why?”

He didn’t sound thrilled.

“Playing eXtreme croquet,” I said. “She’s on Henrietta Pruitt’s team.”

“Here I thought croquet was a nice ladylike sport that would help you find some genteel, respectable associates,” Michael said. “Instead, I find you consorting with the likes of Claire Wentworth and Henrietta Pruitt.”

“If it makes you feel any better, they were well on their way to ignominious defeat at the hands of my team when Chief Burke interrupted the game.”

“Well, that’s something,” Michael said. “So maybe I should go talk to Chief Burke.”

“Talk to me about what?”





Chapter Ten

We both started. The chief was standing in the door of the tack room, frowning down at us.

“I can identify your victim,” Michael said, holding up the photo. “Her name is Lindsay Tyler. She used to be on the Caerphilly College faculty, so they can give you more information.”

“Sammy!” the chief called over his shoulder, his eyes fixed on Michael. A few seconds later, Sammy appeared at his shoulder. “Get hold of the personnel director at the college.”

“They’re probably closed now, Chief,” Sammy said.

“I’m sure they are,” the chief said. “If you can’t get hold of the personnel director, call President Hayes. You can find his number, I’m sure. Tell him we want the file on a former faculty member named Lindsay Tyler. Pronto.”

“Yes, sir,” Sammy said, and disappeared.

“While we’re waiting for what the college can tell us, suppose you tell me what you know,” the chief said to Michael.

Michael nodded.

“You can close the door on your way out,” the chief said, glancing at me.

I did so with exaggerated care.

At least Michael’s beastly all-day faculty meeting had one unexpected benefit: He’d have an alibi.

I realized that I was trying not to breathe in my efforts to overhear what Michael and the chief were saying in the tack room. Better to remove the temptation to eavesdrop. Also the suspicion.