Free The Grub-And-Stakers Quilt a Bee by Charlotte MacLeod, Alisa Craig Page A

rioted away his own paycheck every week, then came and mooched off my husband.”
    “Indeed? A most pernicious state of affairs.”
    “You don’t know the half of it. I couldn’t begin to tell you how much money he borrowed from us over the years and never paid back. My husband used to slip it to him without telling me. That was after we’d had a few dustups over Frederick’s constant sponging, I must admit. Then at last things came to a head.”
    “Aye, ‘tis ever thus. What happened, Mrs. Fairfield?”
    “I’m not quite sure, but I do know Frederick got into some dreadful scrape. I believe he was caught stealing from his employer and had to make good or go to jail. Anyway, he desperately needed five thousand dollars, and Peregrine absolutely insisted on lending it to him out of our savings. I shan’t pretend I yielded with any good grace. I made Frederick sign a note for the money, promising to pay within six months. I hoped that would force him to face up to responsibility.”
    “A vain hope, I mistrust.”
    “It certainly was. Instead of paying, Frederick skipped town and apparently changed his name so we couldn’t catch him. You could have knocked me over with a feather when he breezed in here this morning, brash and brazen as ever.”
    “You had not the slightest inkling yon Churtle was in this area?”
    “Heavens no. How could I? I told you we hadn’t seen hide nor ban” of him for thirty years. Not that we’d have stayed away on his account, I can assure you. My husband’s eyes were opened long ago about his dear old boyhood chum. In any event, the stipend here is hardly conducive to large-scale philanthropy. Not that I’m complaining you understand. I quite realize the trustees would pay more if they could afford to. I will say that if I’d known who this so-called Brown was, I’d certainly have recommended they find another roofer.”
    “But you never saw the soi-disant Brown working here?”
    “No. I believe he’d finished whatever he was supposed to do before my husband and I arrived. Those ropes were already hanging down the stairwell. I did ask to have them taken away because they’re such a nuisance, but Mrs. Monk’s aunt told me the trustees wanted them left in place until they’d made sure the skylight wouldn’t leak again. That made sense, of course, although I can’t see how I’m expected to get that stairwell papered with them in the way. I rather wish you’d let Frederick take them away, Mrs.
    Monk. Now every time I see them, I’ll think of him and that outrageous suggestion he made about Peregrine this morning.”
    “I have been wondering how I might broach that subject,” said Sergeant Mac Vicar.
    “Why? Surely you don’t think there’s any truth in it?”
    “Yon attic windows are extremely small, Mrs. Fairfield.”
    “Well, Peregrine was no giant,” the widow retorted sharply, then remembered she was bowed down by weight of woe. “Mrs.
    Monk did say something about the windows just now. It was she who opened them in the first place, you know.”
    That was too much for Dittany. “Yes, and I’d have closed them when we left, only you said not to.”
    The handkerchief came into play again. “Did I? I suppose I meant to send up the Munson boys or somebody. There are always so many people in and out of here, you know. It never occurred to me Peregrine might wind up having to shut them himself.”
    “We are not sure he did,” Sergeant Mac Vicar remarked.
    “What do you mean? Were the windows still open after we found him?”
    “Two were shut, two were open, one of which latter was the window under which Minerva Oakes found him.”
    “Well, of course it was. You’d hardly expect him to turn around in midair and shut it after him, would you?”
    “Nay,” Sergeant Mac Vicar agreed, “a man plummeting to his doom might well be excused for overlooking such a trifle. But you see, that raises another question. Not only were the windows unusually small, they were