Three Little Maids(16)

‘Hi! Is it safe to come in?’ He chuckled, viewing Beazy cautiously from across the room. ‘You’re two of a kind, Viviane. You’re both incurably nosy, you go on the defensive when you’re rattled and you’re even alike in colouring.’ He grinned. ‘Except your eyes are a shade darker honey gold than his,’ he said staring at her till she blushed. A man hadn’t paid her a compliment in a long while or so it seemed to her at that moment. ‘Are you sure you don’t turn into a cat at night?’

She sighed. ‘What are you after Jonathan Kent?’

‘There you’ve proved me right. Who gave the cat that weird name?’

‘My great-aunt, Ida. It’s her cat. And she acquired a bit of a reputation for her herbal cures around here and Joseph Carey showed his disapproval often as her neighbour, because she offered Gwynith Ludlam some Feverfew; a herb for her headaches, and included Esmeralda Corrie the clairvoyant amongst her best friends. So Aunt Ida went a stage further and bought Beazlebub. He’s a Maine Coon cat. Do sit down and push Beazy out. Have you had a hard day? I heard you leave early.’

‘Yeah - you could say that. Hasn’t the bush telegraph told you what I’ve been working on?’ he said easing himself into the chair which the cat vacated quickly in a huff.

‘Let’s forget work. Have you had anything solid to eat?’ She hesitated. ‘I cooked too much chicken supreme and Simon’s in London this weekend with his sister. If you can face anything hot? I can rustle up some salad and ham though if you’d prefer it?’

He smiled. ‘Don’t worry, Viviane. I shan’t make a habit of turning up to mess up your routine. Mine kinda got mucked up today.’ He yawned and ran his fingers through his hair. ‘I’m bushed. But I could do with something to eat. I’m starving.’

She laughed. ‘Come on then. I’ll put it in the microwave.’

He followed her out into the kitchen and sat up at the table where Beazy viewed him suspiciously from the fridge top. ‘The chicken smells good. I suppose you have heard something about the girl’s death that we’re dealing with right now?’

‘I did, this morning in the library. The Wilberforce sisters brought in the news. They live at the White Rock Hoteel and they were told by Fred Hill, the hotel porter.’ Jon’s high forehead creased at this. ‘It was Nathan, his nephew, who found the body this morning.’ She chuckled. ‘You’ll soon discover that nothing gets by the locals here. Gossip spreads like a forest fire. Was she a local girl?’

Viviane figured if she got her questions in while his mouth was drooling for the food that was sending out a mouth-watering smell, he might be a shade less cautious.

He grinned. ‘Who are you kidding, Viviane? You know just as much as me. She was a local girl, as it happens, and it wasn’t an accidental death. I don’t suppose you’ve had that many murders here.’

‘Not that I can remember.’ She filled up the kettle automatically. And had to force herself not to sound too inquisitive. ‘So-o - how was she killed? Or can’t you say? Is it too early to tell?’

His hazel eyes were giving nothing away except amusement so far. The microwave pinged and she served up the meal.

‘Was she sexually assaulted, Jon?’ she asked exasperated by his silence. ‘What was the motive? Do you know?’

‘Hard to tell so far,’ he said, drawing the chair in closer to the table. ‘We shall have the news hounds making themselves heard outside the station tomorrow. We’ve managed to contain it so far and it couldn’t have happened at the worst possible time,’ he groaned picking up his knife and fork. ‘High summer with the carnival week starting on Monday and everything geared up for the celebrations. Sounds like fun.’

‘It usually fills the place with covered floats, great features, fancy dress and fireworks.’ She nodded sympathetically. ‘You know who she is though - I heard from my last reader to come in that it was believed to be Maureen Carey. Is that correct?’

‘Yeah, it was. Just a kid, Maureen Carey, the fifteen year old daughter of the local undertaker, Joseph Carey. You’ve just mentioned him?’

‘Yes, I know him,’ she said, holding the kettle over the teapot with a shaking hand. ‘My God! It must be terrible for them!’

She made the pot of tea automatically, bringing it over to the table with her thoughts whirling around in her head like a snowstorm in a glass bauble. ‘The Carey’s are neighbours of mine. They own that big mausoleum of a place, with the Gothic towers, down on the corner.’ He obviously knew this already. ‘How was she killed? You said it wasn’t accidental.’