Free Mrs. Jeffries and the Best Laid Plans by Emily Brightwell

banking. He’s on the board of half a dozen charities, serves on a couple of local political committees, and he has the ear of the chancellor of the exchequer.”
    “So he’s quite well known,” Mrs. Jeffries murmured. Drat, that might make things difficult for Inspector Witherspoon. If their inspector didn’t get results quickly, she had no doubt that Inspector Nigel Nivens would try to horn in on the case.
    Nivens was politically well connected and ethically underhanded; in short he was a boot licking dog. He was desperate to rise in rank, and he let nothing, including justice, stand in his way. He loathed Witherspoon and would do everything in his power to ruin him. Nivens was a worry, but she couldn’t think what to do about him.
    Hatchet, not wanting to be outdone by Luty, blurted out a few of the tidbits he’d been saving. “I overheard Lord Dinsworthy comment that Boyd’s paintings were considered top quality, but he never sold them.”
    Luty grinned slyly. She knew it was just killing Hatchet that she had found out more than him. “’Course he didn’t sell ’em. He gave ’em away to charities and institutions. Lady Dinsworthy claimed that was how he got on so many prestigious boards.”
    Mrs. Jeffries forced her concern about Inspector Nivens to the back of her mind. She needed to concentrate on the task at hand. “Did you hear anything else?”
    “Not really, just people jawin’ over the murder,” Luty replied. “Oh, I did hear Eudora Higgleston makin’ some comment about who would get Boyd’s paintings. But when I pressed her on the matter, she didn’t really know anything.”
    “His paintings are that good?” Smythe asked. “I mean, good enough that people are already speculating on who will inherit them?”
    “Sounds like it.” Luty shrugged. “He’s exhibited at the Royal Academy, and from what I hear, every amateur in England would sell their grandmothers for a chance to have their work hanging on those walls. But like I say, there was a lot of talk last night and it’s hard to tell what’s true and what ain’t. You know how people are: everyone wants to pretend they know more than they do.”
    “That’s certainly true,” Hatchet said with a sideways glance at Luty. “I, on the other hand, only repeat information I know to be factual.”
    Luty grinned at her butler but didn’t rise to the bait. She turned her attention to Mrs. Jeffries. “I thought that if it was all the same to you, I’d see what my sources in the city have to say about Boyd.”
    “That’s an excellent idea,” Mrs. Jeffries replied. Luty’s access to the financial community in London was unsurpassed.
    Hatchet leaned forward and said, “I’ve a number of sources in the art community that I can tap for information, if, of course, you think that line of inquiry would be useful.”
    “At this point, all lines of inquiry are useful,” Mrs. Jeffries replied. “And if his work is as good as we’ve heard, perhaps his death is connected to his painting.”
    “But that was just a hobby,” Mrs. Goodge protested. The one area she was sadly lacking in sources was the art community. None of her previous positions had been with anyone connected with the creative world. She’d mainly worked for aristocrats or the wealthy, and none of that lot was remotely artistic. “Surely no one would go to the trouble of murdering someone over a painting!”
    “But we don’t know that,” Betsy said. “And according to what we do know, he was in his studio working on a painting when he was killed.”
    “That’s true.” The cook frowned. “I wonder what happened to the painting. I mean, maybe the fire was set to destroy it, not hide the fact Boyd had been murdered.”
    They all stared at her. Finally, after a long moment or two, Mrs. Jeffries said, “That’s a very interesting idea, Mrs. Goodge. We really must find out. I’ll ask the inspector tonight. But really, we mustn’t get ahead of ourselves. We’ve much