Part 10 (1/2)

Miranda hung our coats on pegs protruding from the door and motioned for us to be seated on a fat little sofa draped with paisley shawls and set at an angle to the redbrick hearth.

”I'd like to thank you,” she said to Nicholas as she bent to add coals to the fire. ”I can't tell you how grateful I am to you for convincing George to dispense with secrecy.”

”I wasn't aware that I had convinced him,” said Nicholas.

”He told me you were most persuasive.” Silver rings glinted on Miranda's fingers as she caressed a black cat curled on the burgundy-fringed ottoman. The cat opened its luminous yellow eyes, b.u.mped its head against Miranda's knuckles, tucked its nose under its paws, and went back to sleep. ”Seraphina isn't alarmed by you,” Miranda noted. ”Should I be?”

Nicholas smiled. ”Ms. Morrow-”

”Miranda, darling. We don't stand on ceremony here. Not the usual ceremony, at any rate.” She sat in an overstuffed armchair that was set, like the sofa, at a slight angle to the hearth. ”I shall call you . . . Nicholas. He's the patron saint of wolves, I believe. Have you come to Finch seeking prey?”

”I've come seeking the truth,” said Nicholas. ”I want to find out who murdered Prunella Hooper.”

”So, presumably, do the police,” Miranda murmured.

”My aunt tells me that the villagers aren't cooperating with the police,” Nicholas said. ”No one's come forward with information.”

”That's where you come in, is it?” There was a taunting lilt to Miranda's voice. ”Scrounging for tidbits to feed to the authorities?”

”I'm doing what needs to be done to give my aunt and uncle peace of mind,” Nicholas answered calmly.

I spoke up. ”We're trying to help Kit Smith, too. The police are treating him as a suspect.”

”Sweet Kit? A suspect in a murder inquiry?” Miranda rolled her eyes heavenward. ”I thought we'd already scaled the heights of absurdity, but I can see we've a ways to go yet. What utter rot.”

”I'm with you,” I a.s.sured her. ”But the police aren't, and the pressure's getting to Kit. If this case doesn't break soon, I'm afraid he will.”

”Poor lamb,” Miranda cooed. ”First Mrs. Hooper picks on him and now the police.”

My ears p.r.i.c.ked up. ”You've heard the nasty story Mrs. Hooper concocted?”

”Had it straight from the source.” Miranda folded her legs beneath her and shook her hair back from her face. ”She came here one day not long before she died. Brought me a potted geranium. She said she was being neighborly, but I knew what her game was the moment I laid eyes on her.”

”Did you invite her in?” Nicholas asked.

”Naturally. I knew I'd have to purify the place after she left, but her brand of pathology fascinates me.” Miranda stretched her arm out dramatically. ”Evil incarnate, offering me a potted plant. I leapt at the chance to observe her at close quarters.” Miranda's gaze fell on me. ”She sat where you're sitting now.”

Her gaze lingered long enough to make me acutely aware of how small the fat little sofa was. Nicholas couldn't help pressing his thigh against mine. There was nowhere else for it to go.

Miranda seemed to sense that it wasn't the fire's warmth alone that brought a flush to my cheeks. Her eyes twinkled merrily as she went on.

”We had a scrumptious chin-wag,” she said. ”She'd been collecting tidbits, too, pinp.r.i.c.ks of poison sprinkled judiciously into the chatter. Had I heard that Sally Pyne hated little boys? Did I know that d.i.c.k Peac.o.c.k was engaged in shady dealings? What about Mr. Barlow's vicious terrier? Wouldn't I agree that Buster should, for safety's sake, be put down?”

”Good grief,” I muttered.

”The nonsense was presented so artfully, with so much charm, that I wanted to applaud.” Miranda's green eyes flashed. ”Until she came to Kit. When she told me he'd taken advantage of Nell Harris, I simply had to laugh.”

”You laughed?” I said, nonplussed.

”What else could I do?” Miranda shrugged. ”It was the best joke I'd heard in years. Sweet Kit a.s.saulting Nell the Invincible? I think not.”

”Did you voice your opinion?” inquired Nicholas.

”I told Mrs. Hooper that I envied her,” Miranda replied. ”Most gardeners are forced to labor over heaps of compost, but she could manure her geraniums simply by talking to them.”

I snickered, Nicholas grinned, and Miranda sighed with pleasure, as if reliving the memorable moment.

”I imagine she was offended,” Nicholas said dryly.

”It took a moment for the insult to register, but once it did, yes, she was offended.” Miranda studied the silver rings on her left hand. ”That's when she began lecturing me on my morals.”

”Had she seen you visiting George Wetherhead?” I asked.

”Watching us was, apparently, her idea of early-morning entertainment,” said Miranda. ”She had our schedule by heart. She accused me of corrupting an innocent.”

”She accused George of philandering,” I told her.

”Lovely!” Miranda clapped her hands. ”Men like George so rarely get the chance to be seen as naughty boys.”

”He was pretty upset by it,” I said.

”Was he?” A puzzled frown crossed Miranda's face. She tilted her head back, as if giving the matter profound consideration, and murmured, ”I wonder if I should be offended?”

Nicholas, too, looked upward, at the bundled herbs hanging from the rafters. His glance seemed perfunctory, but I felt his body tense as his gaze came to rest on a gap between two of the bundles.

He looked at Miranda. ”How did you respond to Mrs. Hooper's accusation?”

Miranda shook her head mournfully. ”I told her that jealousy was a sad emotion and that I'd be perfectly willing to step aside if she wanted George for herself.”

”You didn't,” I said, delighted.

”I did.” Miranda ran a finger along her skirt's patchwork seams. ”That's when she began to discuss the unusual variety of plants in my garden. She was under the impression that I'd not only corrupted George's morals but introduced him to the demon weed as well.”

”Marijuana?” I said. ”What made her think you grow pot?”

”My herbs, presumably.” Miranda swept a hand through the air to indicate the bundles overhead. ”I cultivate medicinal plants, but to a woman with Mrs. Hooper's vicious imagination, any medicine that isn't dispensed by a chemist is automatically suspect.”

”Marijuana has therapeutic applications,” Nicholas pointed out.

”True.” Miranda went on speaking as she got up to toss more coal onto the fire. ”Its use in treating glaucoma is well doc.u.mented. It can also help to reduce nausea and increase appet.i.te in people undergoing chemotherapy or radiation treatment. It can work the same way for people afflicted with AIDS. It's an extremely useful plant.”

”It must be frustrating to be unable to use it,” Nicholas commented.

”It is,” Miranda agreed. She dusted the palms of her hands together lightly and returned to her chair. ”But its production must be specially licensed.”

”Do you have such a license, Miranda?” Nicholas asked.