Mrs. Jeffries in the Nick of Time Read Online Free PDF Page B

kitchen.”
    Imogene inclined her head politely in acknowledgment of the introduction. “It’s this way, Constable,” she said as she moved off toward the far end of the hallway.
    “Let’s at least go sit down so we can be comfortable. This has been an awful day and I’m very tired.” Annabelle smiled wanly as she led him back into the drawing room.
    “Of course, ma’am.” He followed after her. She sat down on the ivory empire couch and motioned for him to take the chair opposite. She waited for him to sit before saying, “What would you like to know?”
    “Can you tell me what happened here this afternoon?”
    She closed her eyes briefly before she spoke. “Uncle Francis had invited several people for tea today. That wasn’t unusual—he often had people in for tea. He didn’t like having dinner parties. He said they were too much trouble and kept him up past his bedtime.”
    “How many guests were here?” Witherspoon asked.
    She thought for a moment. “From the family, there was myself and Imogene, we both reside here, our cousin by marriage, Pamela Humphreys, another cousin, Joseph Humphreys, and Michael Collier. Oh yes, the Elliots came up from Dorset. They’re distant cousins. Then Mr. Kirkland was here and Mr. and Mrs. Brown from next door. Mr. Eddington was here as well. Let’s see, that makes eleven of us. All of the guests arrived minutes before four o’clock.”
    “You had very punctual guests,” Witherspoon observed. In his experience people were always late to social functions.
    “Uncle Francis was well known for getting cross if people were late,” she replied. “As a matter of fact, he was exceedingly concerned with punctuality in all things. He was a very kind man, but he has been known to fly into a rage when the train is late.”
    “Many people are like that,” the inspector said softly. “Do go on, Mrs. Prescott.”
    “We sat down and the housekeeper wheeled in the tea trolley. I went ahead and poured. We waited for a few moments but no one got really concerned . . .”
    “So your uncle’s preoccupation with punctuality didn’t extend to himself?” Witherspoon asked.
    “He was always on time,” Annabelle said. “But lately, he’s been showing his age, so when Imogene suggested someone go up and see what was keeping him, I simply thought he was having difficulties retying his cravat. In the past few months, he’s had trouble doing ordinary, mundane tasks.” Her eyes filled with tears and she blinked hard to hold them back. “But if I’d only listened to Imogene and sent someone upstairs, he might still be with us.”
    “If someone else had gone upstairs while the killer was here, that person might be dead as well,” he said quickly. “You mustn’t blame yourself.”
    “But I do, Inspector,” she whispered. She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “I do. Uncle Francis has been so good to me. He took me in when my husband passed away and now he’s gone, too.” She took a deep breath. “But you want to know what happened next, don’t you. As I was saying, we were drinking our tea and waiting for him to come downstairs when we heard a dreadful noise coming from upstairs. At first I’d no idea what it might be, but then one of the men yelled that it sounded like a shot—”
    “Which man?” Witherspoon interrupted.
    She thought for a moment. “I’m not certain, but I think it might have been Mr. Kirkland. Yes, yes, I’m sure it was Mr. Kirkland because he also said the shot was in the house.”
    “Mr. Kirkland was a friend of your uncle’s?” Witherspoon asked.
    “Oh no, as a matter of fact. We were quite surprised when Mr. Kirkland arrived this afternoon. You see, Inspector, he and Uncle Francis hated each other. One could almost say they were bitterest of enemies.”

CHAPTER 2
    Smythe stared down at the beer he’d been nursing for half an hour and wondered how a pub this empty could stay in business. He hoped that Wiggins was having better luck