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He looked up as I placed my parasol into the umbrella stand. “You didn’t bring coffee.”
“I didn’t think you’d want it since you just had tea.”
He slotted his pen back into the holder and flipped the lid of the ink pot closed. “Good detective work.”
“I saw you through the window, then I returned to the hotel to warn Miss Hessing. She’s going to tell her mother about Mr. Liddicoat’s change of address the moment she enters their suite, before she has a chance to get a word out. It’s the only way to salvage the situation. If it is salvageable.”
“Don’t look at me like that, Cleo. I’m not the villain. I didn’t tell her about Liddicoat’s financial situation.”
I sat heavily on the chair. “You didn’t?”
“No. But I do think Miss Hessing ought to tell her.” He showed me the letter he was writing. It was addressed to Miss Hessing and suggested she inform her mother about Mr. Liddicoat’s change of address and the reason for it. It wasn’t finished.
“Were you going to breach your client’s confidentiality and tell Miss Hessing her mother hired you?”
“No. I was going to leave it vaguely worded. If she worked it out based on this, then so be it.”
I smiled warmly. “That’s kind of you, Harry. Your letter won’t be needed now. And don’t worry, Miss Hessing still doesn’t know her mother hired you. I simply warned her she was about to learn the truth without saying how. If you weren’t telling Mrs. Hessing about Mr. Liddicoat, what were you two discussing?”
He screwed up the letter and tossed it into the waste basket. “That’s confidential.”
I narrowed my gaze. “What have you learned?”
He stood and buttoned up his jacket. “I thought we’d call on the Rigg-Lyon household and speak to the servants. It’s the only way to find out if Mrs. Rigg-Lyon came home immediately after the presentation of the winner’s cup on Saturday.”
I swiveled in the chair as he passed me. “Stop avoiding the question.”
“I’m not avoiding it. I gave you my answer.” He picked up my parasol and held it out to me. I stood and accepted it, but he did not let go. “I don’t want to argue with you, Cleo.”
There was a simple way he could assure there was no argument—he could answer my question. But since he was as stubborn as me, I knew he wouldn’t. I’d simply have to employ my detective skills to find out on my own.
It suddenly occurred to me. There was something else he’d learned in the last few days about Mr. Liddicoat. “Did you tell her he lied to the police about seeing the brown-coated man?”
“No! If the lie leads to us proving Broadman committed the murder,thenI’ll inform her. But only then.”
“Good, because I asked him about it this morning and he admitted he lied.”
Harry had been about to open the door but stopped. “You confronted him?”
“He claims hedidsee a man wearing a brown coat and hat, but he wasn’t in the vicinity of the stables. He was in amongst the trees, too.”
“Nowhere near the stables.” He opened the door and followed me out. “He could have lied about that, too. Perhaps the brown-coated man is completely made up.”
It was entirely possible. His lie had been convincing. We’d all fallen for it, and we could no longer believe anything Mr. Liddicoat said.
Loyal servants area problem for detectives. They can’t be bought or charmed. Mrs. Rigg-Lyon’s housekeeper proved to be one such employee, refusing to be drawn into answering our questions when we spoke to her. The young maid who’d greeted us at the staff entrance seemed terrified of disobeying the housekeeper’s instruction to speak to no one about the death of Mr. Rigg-Lyon and had immediately fetched her superior.
With a squaring of her shoulders, the doughty housekeeper indicated the open door and the steps beyond leading up to the pavement. “If you don’t mind, I have work to do.”
“As do we.” I spoke tartly out of sheer frustration. Our investigation was in danger of stalling if we didn’t find a way to push forward. “Don’t you want to find out who murdered Mr. Rigg-Lyon?”
“Of course. But any questions you have about Mrs. Rigg-Lyon’s movements can be answered by Mrs. Rigg-Lyon. I suggest you ask her directly instead of coming down here and engaging in gossip.”
“Your refusal to answer makes your mistress look guilty.”
She went very still.
It was a small sign that I might be able to convince her to talk. It was enough to encourage me to press on. “We know she’s dying. She informed us herself.”
