Free 7 Pay the Piper by Kate Kingsbury Page B

“She’d have my head, she would, if she knew.”
    “Don’t worry, I won’t say anything.” Cecily started as a motorcar, belching smoke and fumes, stopped in front of them with an explosive bang. The chestnut whinnied, stepping sideways in alarm, and Samuel’s attention switched immediately to the restless horse.
    “I’d better get her into the stables,” he said, glaring at the driver of the gleaming black monster, who had climbed out and was frantically cranking the starter handle in an attempt to get the motor running again.
    Cecily watched the stocky young man lead the nervous horse around to the stable gate. His words still echoed in her mind.
I told him to keep his filthy hands off Doris
.
    Not liking the way her thoughts were progressing, she made her way up the steps to the hotel. It seemed urgent now that she pay Dr. Prestwick a visit and determine exactly what time Peter Stewart had died.
    She couldn’t imagine for one moment that her stable manager was involved in murder. But Samuel had been extremely jealous of Peter Stewart. And Samuel had been the one to discover the body.
    If Elsie was right about Tom, and her husband wasn’t the killer, then someone else must have had good reason to cut the piper’s throat. But then why choose the butcher’s shop to do the ghastly deed? And how did the killer manage to get not only himself inside the shop, but his victim, too?
    Nothing made sense—on the surface, that was. But Cecily had dealt with murder enough times to know that everything made sense once the truth was uncovered. It was unearthing that truth that could be so frustrating … not to mention dangerous.

CHAPTER
7
    Gertie heaved the monstrous iron pot onto the stove, letting it crash down with a clatter that would have made Michel proud. Water slopped over the side of the pot, sizzling as it landed on the hot surface. Gertie barely noticed. She was too busy glaring at the two housemaids who stood in the corner of the vast kitchen.
    The noise had at least interrupted their squabbling, which had been going on half the morning. Gertie, in charge of the kitchen during Mrs. Chubb’s absence, had spoken sharply to the girls more than once. Now her nerves were as frizzled as fried bacon. Gertie had had enough.
    “Now you listen here, you bleeding rattle mouths. I’m sick and blooming tired of listening to you two screeching at each other. It’s a bleeding wonder my babies aren’tscreaming their bloody heads off, it is. What’s the bloody matter with you?”
    “Daisy called me a crybaby,” Doris said, looking ready to prove her sister’s words at any minute.
    “Strewth, is that all? I thought she’d at least socked you one.”
    “It’s all right for her, she hasn’t lost someone she cared about.” Doris stared mutinously at her twin. “She’s cruel, that’s what she is.”
    “You only knew him two days,” Daisy muttered.
    “He was my friend. He was going to help me get on the stage, he was.”
    Daisy snorted. “Anyone that believes that is stupid.”
    “ ’Ere, ’ere,” Gertie said, sounding more like Mrs. Chubb than she cared to admit. “Put a sock in it, you two. I’ve got enough to bleeding worry about without having to bother with the likes of you. If you don’t behave, I’ll tell Mrs. Chubb. She’ll lock you in your bleeding room without any grub, she will.”
    “Then you’ll have to look after your babies yourself, won’t you?”
    Gertie scowled at Daisy. “None of your blinking sauce, now. I’m in bleeding charge here, I am, until Mrs. Chubb gets back. So you just watch your mouth, both of you. Now get on with your blooming work, before Michel comes in here chucking his weight around.”
    To her immense satisfaction, both girls sullenly headed toward the door, bumped into each other, snarled something at each other under their breath, and disappeared.
    Gertie shook her head and gathered up the peeled potatoes from the sink. Dropping them a few at a time into the