Mrs. Jeffries Takes the Cake Read Online Free PDF Page A

shocking coming from a member of the family. But apparently his was a minority opinion.
    Mary Anne Frommer didn’t say a word to her husband. She ignored him and huddled in one corner of the settee. She seemed to have visibly shrunk in size.
    The inspector silently chided himself for being so insensitive. Why, the poor woman was probably so over-wrought, she wasn’t capable of saying anything. How could he have been so impolite? Mrs. Frommer was in shock. It would be his duty to relay the terrible news. Hetook a quick step toward the angry man striding impatiently through the doorway.
    “I’m sorry, sir,” he said quickly. “I’m Inspector Gerald Witherspoon. I’m afraid I’ve very bad news for you.”
    Frommer stopped abruptly. He tilted his head in a gesture which had the unfortunate result of fattening his face by adding another chin. “Bad news? What sort of bad news? Has there been a robbery?”
    “I’m afraid it’s worse than that, sir,” the inspector said. “Your father-in-law is dead. He’s been shot.”
    “Shot? Roland? But that’s ridiculous. He was a bit of a windbag and a fool, but I can’t see why anyone would want to shoot him.” Frommer didn’t so much as glance at his wife as he spoke. “When did it happen?”
    “We’re not sure,” Barnes interjected softly. “We think it was sometime late this afternoon.”
    “I can’t believe this.” Frommer began to pace the room, the thud of his footsteps masked by the thick carpet of the drawing room. “It couldn’t happen at a worse time. The party doesn’t need this sort of thing. I’ll have to make some sort of statement. Good Lord, this isn’t going to look good at all. A murder in an MP’s home.” Without so much as a glance at any of the others in the room, he whirled on his heel and stalked back toward the hallway.
    “Excuse me, sir,” the inspector called just as Frommer reached the door, “but I do need to ask you some questions.” Witherspoon was appalled by the callous way the man treated his wife. Good gracious, the poor woman had only just learned her father had been murdered, and here her husband couldn’t be bothered to offer one word of comfort.
    “Questions? Me?” Frommer looked outraged. “Whatever for? I haven’t seen Roland since breakfast this morning.”
    “That’s not true,” Mrs. Frommer said. “I saw you talking to him in the garden before he left.” She straightened from her slumped position and stared at her husband speculatively. “It looked to me as if you were having quite an argument about something.”
    Clearly stunned, Frommer gaped at his wife. “Don’t be absurd,” he said. “I merely stopped to tell the old fellow to be careful and to say good-bye.”
    “You two were arguing,” she countered, pointing a finger at him. “Papa was all puffed up like a bullfrog and your face was as red as a cherry. So don’t tell me you weren’t having words.” She smiled maliciously at her spouse. “And you’ve never told my father to be careful in your entire life.”
    Witherspoon felt some of his sympathy for Mrs. Frommer evaporate. What on earth was wrong with these people? He stifled a sigh. Unfortunately, as a policeman, he’d seen all too often that many families not only weren’t happy, but positively loathed one another. He was beginning to think that might be the case here.
    He looked at Mrs. Frommer. “What time did your father leave the country house?” he asked.
    “It must have been around two o’clock,” she replied. “He took the two-fifteen train. I believe he was planning on going by his office.”
    “His office?” Barnes asked. “And where would that be?”
    “On Russell Street near the East India Docks,” she replied. “He wanted to have a word with—”
    “Look, Inspector,” Andrew Frommer interrupted, “if you need to ask me questions, please do so now. You can question
her
”—he jerked his head toward his wife—“later. Considering that old