Foxden Hotel (The Dudley Sisters Saga Book 5) by Madalyn Morgan (ebook reader ink txt) 📕

Frank stood up, took Bess by the hand and sat her down in his chair. ‘Now read them both again - every word - and look closely at the writing.’

‘Apart from the fact that the grammar isn’t correct in the last letter, I-- Hang on. Good Lord, his grammar hasn’t only worsened, it’s almost as if he’s written it badly on purpose.’ Bess picked up the first letter and scrutinised it. Then she picked up the last letter. ‘The writing is slightly different too, but the initials…’ Bess looked up at Frank, ‘they really are different when you look closely, aren’t they?’

‘And that is why McGann didn’t believe me when I said Sutherland was alive on January the second. I don’t think he’s bright enough to have noticed the deterioration in Sutherland’s grammar, but you can bet your life he noticed the difference in his initials.’

Bess took a bundle of receipts from the drawer in her desk. ‘Look, I put my initials on receipts when they’ve been paid, before I file them, and mine aren’t identical.’

‘Of course they’re not. Sutherland’s wouldn’t be either, but this is just the thing McGann will be looking for. The man’s desperate to solve this murder before the inspector from London does - and he’s doing his damnedest to pin it on me.’

‘Did Henry say anything to you at the police station?’

‘No, only that he had to go somewhere this morning. Follow up on another line of enquiry... He said he’d call in this afternoon. I’ll show him the discrepancies in the letters as soon as he arrives.’

‘You know what this means Frank?’ Bess looked from the letters to her husband.

‘Yes. Whoever sent this letter on January the second was in on the blackmail. If they weren’t, they were close enough to Sutherland to know he was extorting money from me.’

Bess took a sharp breath and put her hand up to her mouth. ‘Which means they knew Sutherland was already dead.’ Frank’s brow furrowed. He looked questioningly at Bess. ‘Think about it. Why else would they go to the trouble of demanding money, copying Sutherland’s handwriting and forging his initials, if not to make you - and later the police when his body was found - think Sutherland was alive on January the second?’

‘To cover up the fact that they had murdered him on New Year’s Eve.’

Maeve had asked for a few hours off so Ena was on reception. She waved to Jack to take over from her. Maeve had been training the likeable young man to be a receptionist, but until another day-porter could be found, Jack had agreed to work as a porter in the mornings - meeting and greeting guests on arrival, taking their luggage up to their rooms, and bringing down the luggage of those who were leaving. She looked at the clock. If she didn’t go soon Katherine Hawksley might have gone home for the day.

Ena put on her coat as Jack arrived at reception and, after filling him in on who was where, she took the keys to Frank’s Ford Anglia from the desk drawer. Leaving by the back door, she walked out into the sunshine. It felt warm on her face. She crossed the courtyard and, breathing deeply, caught the familiar smell of manure and wrinkled her nose.

As Ena turned onto Mysterton Lane, she saw her husband driving towards her. She stopped and wound down her window. ‘Hello, you,’ she said, when Henry pulled up alongside the old Ford in his new cream coloured Hillman Minx. ‘Where have you been?’

‘The Vicarage in Kirby Marlow, where Maeve O’Leary is lodging. I’ll tell you about it later. Where are you going?’

‘To see Katherine Hawksley at her stables.’

‘What’s your cover story?’

‘I’m looking for somewhere to stable a horse, so I’m driving around the area comparing stables to see which have the best facilities at the most competitive prices.’

‘She might recognise you from New Year’s Eve.’

‘I doubt it. Claire and I were in the background most of the time she was in the hotel.’ Henry raised his eyebrows. ‘The last thing she’d have done was look at who was there. Even if she did, it’s been six months. I doubt she’d remember anything about the evening after the set-to between Sutherland and her father.’

‘I expect you’re right,’ Henry said, putting the Hillman into gear.

‘Of course I am.’ Ena laughed, and waving out of the window with one hand she steered the Ford onto the Market Harborough road with the other.

She drove through the quaint village of Kirby Marlow. A black and white fingerpost pointed to the junior school on the right, and another to the market square and St. Peter’s Church on the left. Paved with cobblestones the square was surrounded on three sides by double-fronted buildings. There was a newsagent and pub on the left of the square, a cobbler and blacksmith on the right - and along the top, facing the road, a baker and a butcher on either side of a general store. There was no market.

The Hawksley Stables was on the outskirts of the village. Ena pulled off the main road, not into the driveway leading to the stable block, but into a tractor-made lay-by a few yards south of an open five-bar gate. Blast! She was too late.

She watched Katherine Hawksley lock a small barn and run across the yard to her father’s silver Bentley. She opened the passenger door, dropped onto the seat, and the car pulled away. At the gated entrance the Bentley stopped and Katherine jumped out. She closed the gate, secured it with a chain attached to the gatepost and padlocked it.

Ena ducked down. She heard the car door slam and, turning left, the Bently accelerated away in the direction of Market Harborough. When Hawksley’s car had disappeared over the brow of the hill, Ena drove back to