Free The Boat House by Pamela Oldfield Page B

Warner now.’
    ‘Well, congratulations! I envy Mr Warner.’
    Pleased by the compliments, which nonetheless flustered her, she drew herself up, pushed her spectacles up and sat down at her desk. ‘How can I help you, Mr Watson?’ she asked with an attempt at formality, indicating a chair.
    Donald sat down and quickly explained that he needed to make an appointment with the boss. ‘They are reopening the file on Mrs Leonora Matlowe. Do you remember? She went missing about seven years ago.’
    ‘The young American woman?’
    ‘That’s her.’
    ‘So she didn’t turn up?’
    He shook his head. ‘No sign of her but now I need to refer to the old files in case we missed anything. Leonora’s younger brother is coming to England, determined to find out what happened to his sister. He’s employing me to help him simply because I’m familiar with the original investigation.’
    ‘And because you’re good at what you do.’
    He tried a modest smile but was secretly flattered. ‘We’ll see if there’s anything new to discover,’ he said.
    Minutes later an appointment had been arranged for him to talk with Leo Croom and Donald rose as though to take his leave. However, he hesitated. ‘I don’t suppose you’d know what happened to the punt the Matlowes once owned. I’d like to know if they purchased it from here. It seems to have disappeared over the intervening years since the young woman went missing. There may or may not be a connection.’
    She raised her eyebrows. ‘You think maybe she took the punt out and was drowned? Something like that?’
    ‘Who knows? Something certainly happened to her.’
    ‘And you want “private” information?’ She looked at him sternly but there was a twinkle in her eye. ‘You’ll get me into trouble, Mr Watson!’
    He nodded. ‘You’re quite right – and that would never do!’
    She regarded him earnestly. ‘I recall all the excitement although I was only seventeen, but everyone was talking about it. A real mystery, wasn’t it?’ She glanced towards the door to make sure they were alone. ‘Do you have any idea what happened to her? I mean, maybe the police do know something but can’t prove it so you all have to say nothing . . . because the police seemed to think it might be the husband who . . .’ She frowned then lowered her voice. ‘He might have killed her and just pretended she’d run off.’
    Ah! Light dawned for Donald. Mrs Warner wanted something in exchange for the information about the Matlowes’ boat, which was fair enough. ‘Mrs Matlowe said something to the police about a quarrel the husband and wife had had the night before she disappeared and I daresay that made them suspect him. There was never any other evidence that he might have harmed his wife but . . . mud sticks.’
    She was rising to her feet now and his hopes rose. He said, ‘This young man – the brother – has come over from America and wants to know the facts. I think he wants to prove to his parents that his sister didn’t just abandon the children willingly.’
    ‘I suppose that if they find out she is definitely dead they can start to grieve. It must be dreadful to go on hoping year after year!’ She was now opening the top drawer of one of the filing cabinets and riffling through the various files.
    At last she drew one out and opened it. ‘The Matlowes purchased one of our punts in 1898 – that’s fourteen years ago. Paid for by cheque in the name of Herbert Matlowe.’
    Donald made a quick note as she turned over another sheet.
    ‘They have never sold it back to us . . . nor have they advertised it for sale on our notice board.’ She closed the file and returned it. ‘Not much help, is it?’
    ‘You never know what might come in useful.’ He smiled. ‘You’ve been a real brick! Thank you.’
    He said his goodbyes and had reached the door when she said, ‘They say that Mrs Matlowe hated the punt. She was terrified of the river. One of her uncles drowned in a