Beatrice: An Alarming Tale of British Murder and Woe by Tedd Hawks (the reading list book .TXT) 📕

been losing themeverywhere. They slip off so suddenly. At school one must always be wearing gloves,or you can be taken to the headmistresses for The Grating. I suppose I keep carryingthem and dropping them out of habit.”

“What is ‘The Grating?’” This question was posed by a chorus ofvoices, all interested, yet also fearful, of the response.

            “Well,” Kordelia began, “theheadmistress raids your cheese cupboard and takes your supreme cheese, whichshe grates vigorously in front of you as punishment.”

            “Supreme cheese?” June awkwardlycombed her hair with her fingers; she gazed on her youngest daughter inconfusion.

            “It is a Sviss tradition,” Robertsaid. “All Sviss have zer favorite cheese—ze supreme cheese.”

            Crockett coughed loudly. He hopedthis would refocus attention on the incapacitated Petrarch.

            “Well, supreme cheese or no,” Kordeliawent on, “I didn’t shoot Petrarch. I can barely lift the weapon.” She motionedto the gun lying at the door to the room.

            “Vy vould zey try to kill him? He isa harmless old man,” Robert looked, Crockett thought, the most concerned he’dseen him since he’d arrived at Hawsfeffer Manor.

            “Theeey were loooking for this.” Corinthianaheld out the tomb key. It shone a dull gold in the dark.

            Everyone subtly scanned the expressionsof the others.

            “That’s why everything is turnedout,” August said. “They thought he’d hidden it away.”

            “Who knew you had the key?” Crockettasked.

            “No one,” Corinthiana said fluffingher white hair. “Heee gaaave it tooo meee in secret.”

            “So, it could be any of us,” Brontë’svoice simmered with anger, “just like with everything in this sillyhouse.”

            June gasped. “My dear, we are allfrustrated with this bizarre string of sadnesses, but that is no reason to usesuch foul language.”

            “Apologies, Mother, but the web onlygrows more tangled. I thought something happened to Grandfather but thenBeatrice and now Petrarch! I thought…” In frustration she raised her hand toher forehead. “I thought we were getting closer to the end of it.” Earnestlyshe threw a glance at Crockett. The earlier jolt of affection still existedbetween them, but it was dimmed, less powerful under the duress of Petrarch’sinjuries.

            “Well, murder or no,” June stoodtall, “we must act as ladies. We should also get this glass cleaned up and calla doctor.” She turned to her husband. “Where is Dexter? Didn’t he hear any ofthis? We could have woken the dead.”

            “I haven’t seen him since he cleanedup the remains of Beatrice,” August said.

            Martha stomped forward and handedover a sheet of paper to Corinthiana. “Found in the pantry this evening beforeI went to bed.”

            Corinthiana looked around nervously.“Theee lights aaare raaather low. Caaan aaanyone reeead in this daaark?”

            Brontë grabbed the note from hergrandmother and read slowly.

“Deer Peeples of the howse. I don’ like the corrant climatt andwill excoose meeself from the danjer. Tis bin an intertanen fyoo decates wityou all. Cordelilly, Dexter.”

            “Really not bad for someone who isborderline illiterate,” June said.

            "He did seem very perturbed andupset when I spoke to him yesterday," Crockett added.

            The discussion of Dexter’s abruptexit from his service was interrupted by a loud banging coming from the frontentry hall. Corinthiana grasped at her neckline, searching for an absent,opulent necklace, as she looked around in panic.

            “Whooo?” she asked staring into thedark hallway.

            August, Robert, and Crockett fledthe room toward the main foyer. Upon entering the main hall, they were met witha menacing sight. Three men were gathered. Two of them were of an ordinary sort—onehad a thick mustache and wore a policeman’s uniform; the other was dressed in abrown suit, thick scarf, and bowler. The man in the bowler looked as shaken bytheir arrival as the men of the house. Although his hat was pulled low over hiseyes, Crockett felt he looked familiar.

            The third man stood in the center ofthe group, his bald head shining. He was far from ordinary, one of the most bizarre-lookingmen Crockett had ever seen. He wore a red jacket lined with shining goldmaterial. A large feather jutting from the lapel pocket added anoverenthusiastic exclamation point to his whole appearance. On his nose were apair of small, pince-nez which twinkled in the light of the lamps. Despitehaving no hair on his head, two large sideburns decorated the sides of hisface. His nose twitched as he assessed the three men before him.

            “Hullo,” he said shortly. “My nameis Detective Lucian Lucretian Pimento.” His voice was as crisp as his oxfordshirt, more polished than his brown shoes. “You may simply refer to me asPimento.”

            “Ah! It vas very good you could comeso qvickly!” Robert Edward looked with relief at August and Crockett. “I calledhim as soon as I heard ze gun!”

            “How did you know who to call, oldman?” August’s mustached twitched suspiciously.

            “Vell,” Robert said, “zings haven'tbeen….Hoe do you say…non-murderous here? I asked Corinziana for ze contact ofze local police.”

            “Oh, no,” August shook his head. “Ithink I’d trust the local milkmaids to solve a crime before these incompetentgentlemen. We’ll be looking for squirrels who can shoot guns as part of theinvestigation.”

            “Do you know any?” The man in thepolice uniform pulled out his notebook and began scribbling frantically.

            “No, old chap.” August, for thefirst time since Crockett met him, looked thoroughly defeated.

            “It alarms me that you have solittle respect for the local constabulary, sir.” Detective Pimento looked disgustedlyat August.

            “Master Pigmanto, was it? You allhaven’t really solved anything since the reign of Victoria, so you’ll excuse meif I have my reservations.”

            “Well, we shall take thisopportunity to prove ourselves.” Pimento turned very sharply to the man in the scarfand bowler. “Which reminds me, Doctor, please go see the victim. We have muchto do.”

            The old man nodded. He turned toCrockett, who led him out of the foyer and into the bedroom. As they marchedaway, Crockett furtively tried to steal glances at the bowler-man’s face,trying to place him in his memory.

            In the foyer, Detective Pimentoremained motionless staring skeptically at August and Robert. “And who are yougentleman?” he asked.

            “I am Augüst Winterbourne.”August did not extend his hand but looked with contempt at the detective.

            “August, a pleasure.”