Part 12 (1/2)

”-beyond temptation. I know.” I c.o.c.ked my head to one side and regarded him thoughtfully. ”But I think I may be.” I tucked my hand into the crook of his arm. ”Come on, old bean. We've got a lioness to beard.”

The jangle of sleigh bells announced our arrival at the Emporium. Nicholas closed the bell-adorned door behind us as I paused to survey the shop. A computerized cash register had replaced the Emporium's ancient model, but nothing else had changed since I'd last been there.

To our right stood a long wooden counter with a grilled window at the far end, denoting the post office. The s.p.a.ce to our left was filled with shelves and racks holding a colorful array of groceries, toiletries, and a.s.sorted odds and ends. A small brown door at the rear of the shop led to Peggy's wondrous storeroom.

Jasper Taxman perched on a wooden stool behind the counter. He and Peggy could still be considered newlyweds, since they'd been married for less than a year, but he looked as if he'd always been behind the counter of Peggy's shop.

He was extraordinarily nondescript-his brown suit and tie matched his brown hair and eyes-but a pa.s.sionate heart beat beneath his bland exterior. He'd astonished the village once, by breaking the law to keep Peggy from leaving Finch. I had little doubt that he'd do it again, to keep her from going to prison.

He stood as Nicholas and I approached the counter.

”Good morning, Mr. Taxman,” I said. ”I don't believe you've met Lilian Bunting's nephew. May I introduce Nicholas Fox?”

I wasn't surprised that Jasper had allowed me to make the introduction without interruption. Peggy's husband was as reticent as he was nondescript. I pitied the poor policeman who'd tried to question him.

”How do you do?” he said, nodding to Nicholas.

”Very well indeed, sir,” said Nicholas. ”And you?”

Mr. Taxman stepped forward to face Nicholas across the counter. ”I am extremely worried about my wife.”

Now I was surprised. Mr. Taxman rarely offered information of any kind to anyone. For him to comment on such a personal subject to a complete stranger was, to my knowledge, unprecedented.

”Sally Pyne tells me that you're making an informal inquiry into the death of Prunella Hooper,” Mr. Taxman went on. ”I would urge you to speak with my wife.”

”Why?” asked Nicholas.

Mr. Taxman gazed down at the counter in silence. When he looked up again, his brow was furrowed, and his eyes were dark with apprehension. ”Peggy isn't behaving . . . normally, Mr. Fox. She hasn't behaved normally since Mrs. Hooper came to Finch, and now that Mrs. Hooper is dead, her behavior continues to be . . . abnormal.”

Nicholas laid his trench coat across the counter. ”Can you tell us what you mean by abnormal?”

Mr. Taxman glanced toward the front entrance, as if to rea.s.sure himself that we wouldn't be disturbed. When he saw no customers peering through the display window, he gave Nicholas his full attention once again.

”My wife has run the Emporium successfully for eleven years,” he began. ”It's not been easy for her. Compet.i.tors in surrounding towns spring up every day, tempting her regulars to shop elsewhere.”

Nicholas looked over his shoulder at the bulging shelves. ”Her business appears to be doing well.”

”It's doing well,” said Mr. Taxman, ”because Peggy keeps a tight hold on the purse strings. I was a professional accountant before my retirement, but there's nothing I could teach my wife about money management.”

”Does your wife's abnormal behavior have something to do with money?” Nicholas prompted.

”It has everything to do with money.” Mr. Taxman rubbed his furrowed brow. ”Peggy allowed Prunella Hooper to live in Crabtree Cottage free of charge. She removed sums of money from the till without accounting for them properly. She's throwing money away on flowers to put on Prunella Hooper's grave. It's not like her to be so frivolous, sir, not like her at all.”

Nicholas inclined his head toward Mr. Taxman. ”Did you mention any of this to the police?”

Jasper lowered his eyes. ”It was none of their business. My wife had nothing to do with Mrs. Hooper's death.”

”Was your wife with you that morning?” Nicholas asked.

”She was in the storeroom, taking inventory.” Mr. Taxman gestured toward the brown door. ”She'd been up all night.”

It was an evasive reply, but Nicholas didn't push. Instead, he addressed what was, to me, a more interesting subject.

”What do you know of Mrs. Hooper?”

Mr. Taxman shrugged. ”She and Peggy grew up together in Birmingham. They lived on the same street, went to the same schools, worked at the same shop. They lost track of each other after Peggy married Mr. Kitchen, her first husband, but when Mrs. Hooper's husband died last year, she contacted Peggy.”

”I see.” Nicholas pursed his lips. ”Did your wife invite Mrs. Hooper to live in Crabtree Cottage?”

Mr. Taxman lifted his palms toward the ceiling. ”I don't know whose idea it was for Mrs. Hooper to come to Finch,” he said, ”but I wish to G.o.d she'd stayed away.”

”Mr. Taxman, I don't mean to offend you,” said Nicholas, ”but your wife's pattern of behavior suggests that she may have been subjected to some form of blackmail by Mrs. Hooper. Has such a possibility presented itself to you?”

”It has,” admitted Mr. Taxman. ”But I have no idea what kind of hold Mrs. Hooper might have had over my wife. Peggy is a formidable woman, but she's led a blameless life. She has strict moral standards and a keen sense of social responsibility. She's been a pillar of every community she's called home.” He looked at me. ”Ask Lori if you don't believe me. Peggy's dedicated her life to Finch, hasn't she, Lori?”

I could have said a word or two about Peggy's strict moral standards-Kit had felt their sharp end, as had Nicholas and I-but decided to comment only on her community spirit.

”We depend on Peggy,” I told Nicholas. ”She organizes nearly every activity in the village.”

Nicholas gazed at Mr. Taxman reflectively. ”Have you broached the subject of blackmail with your wife?”

”I've tried.” Mr. Taxman seemed to wilt. ”Peggy won't talk to me. She won't tell me what's troubling her.” He looked imploringly at Nicholas. ”Please, Mr. Fox, make her talk to you. Sally Pyne said you could charm water from a rock. Please make my wife tell you what she won't tell me.”

Nicholas studied Mr. Taxman's face before saying, ”It may be something you don't want to hear.”

”I don't care!” Mr. Taxman cried. He laid his palms flat on the counter as if to steady himself. ”I will stand by my wife no matter what, but until I know what's wrong, I can do nothing to help her. Please, sir, help me to help my wife.”

Nicholas looked at the brown door at the rear of the shop. ”Is she here?”

Mr. Taxman shook his head. ”She's at the churchyard, visiting that vile woman's grave. She was there for more than an hour yesterday.”

”I can't promise anything.” Nicholas put a hand on Mr. Taxman's shoulder. ”But I'll speak with your wife.”

Mr. Taxman stood straight, smoothed his tie, and responded with dignity, ”Thank you, Mr. Fox. That's all I ask.”

Chapter 18.

A freshening breeze ruffled Nicholas's hair as we entered Saint George's Lane. He slipped into his trench coat, and I pulled on my jacket. Although no rain was falling, the rising wind gave fair warning that another April shower would soon be drenching Finch.

”You're awfully quiet,” I said to Nicholas as we pa.s.sed the old schoolhouse. ”Are you worried about confronting Peggy?” I smiled wryly. ”I don't think you'll have much trouble getting her to talk.”

”You're counting on my charming ways, of course,” he muttered.

I glanced at him sharply. His hair had fallen forward to hide his face, but there was no mistaking the bitterness in his voice.