Constance smiled ruefully and rose to her feet. “I don’t honestly know. I think I’m just clutching at straws. But thank you for your time and your help, Mr. Heron.”
The constable jumped to his feet to accept her offered hand and bowed as far as he could with the desk between them. “My pleasure, ma’am. You’ll let me know before you go making accusations, won’t you? Just in case of trouble…”
His sudden anxiety was not lost on Constance, though she merely replied, “Of course. Good morning!”
From the police house, she walked on to the Keatons’ shop, which she found surprisingly empty.
“Good morning, ma’am. How are you today?” Mr. Keaton greeted her so professionally that she had no idea whether he was pleased to see her or not. There was no sign of his wife or of any other customers. As though he saw her looking, he added, “You have caught us at our quiet time, after the morning rush and before the afternoon surge. Are you looking for anything in particular?”
“Just information again, I’m afraid. We are trying to establish a more definite delivery time for the letters, which could make identifying the culprit a bit easier. Your letter was pushed under the shop door, was it not?”
Keaton nodded.
“Do you have a separate entrance to your house?”
“Yes, by means of the outside stairs round the corner.”
So the shop was by far the easier to access. “And you found the letter when you opened the shop in the morning?”
“Well, my wife found it when she opened the door to Mavis Cartwright, who cleans the step and the windows for us each morning.”
“Does she?” Constance didn’t know why she was startled, except that Mavis’s name had been mentioned several times this morning. No doubt the woman’s pension didn’t stretch very farand she would need some kind of work. A bit of a comedown from a lady’s maid at the manor to a village shop cleaner.
“Has done for years,” Keaton said, watching her.
“I see. What time does she come?”
“About a quarter to eight, so that we can open at eight o’clock.”
“An early start for you all, then. So Mrs. Keaton found the letter at about a quarter to eight or so?”
Keaton nodded.
“Could it have been put there the previous evening?”
He appeared to think about that. “Well, it wasn’t there when I locked the shop at ten o’clock.”
“You are open so late?”
“Oh, no! I was at a church meeting and tried the door on my way home. My wife had left it unlocked, so I had a quick look around the shop to make sure all was in order, and then left, locking it behind me. There was no letter underfoot.”
“Why had Mrs. Keaton left it unlocked?” Or was her husband simply blaming her?
Keaton shrugged. “She is a little forgetful sometimes.”
Like forgetting she had put a shawl away and accusing Nell Dickie of stealing it?
“There is little danger of theft in the village,” Keaton said quickly. “Our neighbors are honest.”
“Apart from the Dickies?”
Keaton colored slightly. “It was of no moment and no harm was done. Faye had been doing some work in the shop during the evening and come up to the house by the internal staircase in the back.”
The explanation was not really necessary, so Constance moved on. “I believe I saw your children coming home from school yesterday. Twins, are they not?”
“They are,” Keaton said proudly.
“They must be a handful—double the trouble, as I have heard it said. Mr. Grey is a twin.”
