Part 11 (1/2)
”Ready to settle up?” the barman asked.
”No hurry.” Rex extracted a head and shoulders snapshot of his son taken during his last term at school. ”This is Campbell.”
”Handsome,” Helen said, scrutinizing the picture in her hand, ”though I don't see much of a resemblance.”
”No, he got his blonde hair from his mother. And he's lanky, not stocky like meself.”
”He looks very formal in his tie.”
”Aye, he looks like it's choking him.”
Helen laughed, and Rex was glad to see the tense mood between them broken. ”So, is he a chip off the old block? Planning to go into law?”
”Noo. He's not really one for the books. He's studying marine science in Florida. He decided he wanted to save the dolphins.”
”That's very commendable.” Helen returned the photo.
”It would be, but I think it was more a question of sun, surfing, and scoping out girls in thongs. Anyway, he's staying with his roommate in Miami for Christmas.” Rex drained the last of the Guinness and wiped off his mustache with a paper napkin.
The barman approached, drying a gla.s.s. ”Are you staying at the hotel?”
”Aye. D'ye know anybody up there?”
”I'm acquainted with the cook, Sandy Bellows. She joins her husband of an evening for darts. A dab hand, she is.” The barman, a middle-aged man with elaborate tattoos on his forearms, paused to think. ”I don't know the new girl, but her sister used to come in all the time with her young man. He worked for the phone company-heard he moved to Ess.e.x. Marie went home to London in July last year to share her birthday with her sister, and we never saw her again. Killed on the seventh, the day of her birthday. n.o.body'll forget that day in a hurry.”
”Tragic,” Helen said with feeling.
The barman eyed her with a glimmer of primal interest. Rex was stunned by the emotions that look roused in him-pride mixed with a protective instinct that made him want to grab the man by the throat. Rex, me old man, he thought with wry amus.e.m.e.nt.
”I wouldn't live in London for nothing,” the bartender was telling Helen. ”Nor in any big city. I like it right here where it's peaceful and nothing happens out of the ordinary, except for a freak snow storm.” He winked at her. ”One for the road?” he asked them.
”Not for me,” Rex said. ”Helen?” She shook her head. ”But I'll buy a bottle of Croft Sherry off you if I may. For Clifford,” he explained to Helen as the barman went to fetch one down from the shelf. ”And a bottle of your best vintage port,” he called after him.
A local who had appropriated the neighboring bar stool leaned in toward Rex. ”There were two men from the hotel in here before the snow started,” he imparted in a broad Suss.e.x dialect. ”Saying as how they'd like to give the old manor a face-lift, if they could get it for a knockdown price. I think one of them was in the antiques business.”
”Anthony Smart,” Helen murmured.
”Got quite boisterous after a few shots.”
”I remember him and his young friend,” the barman said, returning with the bottles. ”Thought I'd have to throw 'em out.” He rung up the total and Rex delved into his wallet.
”I don't suppose your phone is working?” Rex asked.
The man lifted the receiver of the phone behind the bar, put it to his ear, and shook his head.
Rex cursed to himself. He'd wanted to call home and ask the housekeeper if a letter had come for him postmarked Iraq. ”Oh, I almost forgot.” He pulled a sheet of paper from his coat pocket. ”Could ye put this sign up somewhere? A puppy was abandoned by the station.”
The barman nodded and took the sheet, wis.h.i.+ng them a good Christmas.
As Rex and Helen headed toward the entrance, she whispered, ”Did you feel me kick you when he was going on about nothing out of the ordinary ever happening in Swanmere? I couldn't keep my face straight.”
A blast of frigid air hit Rex as he held the door open for her. ”Well, time to head back,” he said, collecting the skis and poles he had propped against the wall.
Helen pouted in jest. ”Must we?”
”Aye, la.s.s. I've undertaken an investigation in the absence of the police. No one can leave until they've been cleared.”
”I hope nothing happened while we were gone,” Helen said, sounding slightly out of breath as she bent over to tighten her bootlaces.
The movement stretched the fabric of her ski pants over her backside, and Rex thought it a pity he had nothing better to entertain himself with later than a dreary game of charades.
And the more daunting challenge of catching the killer.
Helen pointed across the street from the pub. ”Oh, look, there's a shop open on the corner.”
Rex resisted the impulse to look at his watch, though he was now anxious to get back to the hotel. ”Do you need anything?”
”Not really, but I never pa.s.s up the opportunity to look. There might be something interesting in the way of souvenirs.”
Rex carried the skis through the slush to the store. The front door opened with a tinkle.
A young Pakistani stood reading a paper behind the counter. ”Most Merry Christmas,” he greeted them. ”And how may I be helping you today?”
Rex felt he should buy something to reward the man for being open on Christmas Eve and asked for his brand of tobacco while Helen surveyed the shelves.
”Oh, look at these,” she squealed, holding out a pair of earrings in the shape of swans.
”These are very popular,” the man enthused. ”They are hand-crafted by my wife using sterling silver and turquoise stones for the eyes.”
Rex indulgently held out his hand for the earrings and asked the shopkeeper to add them to his purchase.
”Oh, Rex, thank you. I love them!”
The man smiled happily as he packed the earrings in a small box wadded with cotton wool. They wished him a Happy Christmas and left the shop.
”Isn't it lucky we went in there?” Helen chirped as they retrieved their skis. ”Now that nice man can tell his wife how much we liked her jewellery and that it was worth staying open today.”
”Aye,” Rex said, suppressing a grin. It never failed to amaze him how women always managed to find a way to justify their purchases.
___.
It was almost dark by the time they finally made it back up the hill through the forest. His gloves had become soaked through when Helen, toppling into a shallow ravine, had dislodged her ski and he'd had to wipe off the ice to get her boot back in the binding. The lights blazing in the windows of the hotel were a welcome sight, and Rex hoped all was as peaceful inside as it looked from the south garden.
He stood his skis against the wall by the scullery door and helped Helen off with hers. Once inside, he gratefully pulled the boots off his feet.
Mrs. Smithings waylaid them in the kitchen. ”Good afternoon, Ms. d'Arcy. What a nice colour you have in your cheeks.”
”Oh, we had a wonderful time.”
”I dare say you did,” the hotel owner replied, watching with a curious expression as Helen walked on through the kitchen. She turned her attention to Rex. ”Reginald, you never cease to amaze me-you found yet another way across the snow. Even as a child, you were always one step ahead of everyone else. How was the skiing?”