Free 12- Mrs. Jeffries Reveals Her Art by Emily Brightwell Page B

dieu
,” Nanette whispered. “
C’est impossible.
”
    “I’m afraid it’s quite possible,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “He popped a peppermint in his mouth and a few moments later, he was gone. Now I want to know what’s going on. What, precisely, is your relationship to this man and, most important, when was the last time you saw him?” She was certain she was right. It wasn’t that Mrs. Jeffries didn’t believe in coincidences. She did. She’d seen them happen all the time, but she didn’t think there was anything coincidental between the death of James Underhill and the alleged disappearance of Irene Simmons. At first, she’d not been sure that Nanette had even known the dead man. But after seeing her reaction to his name and glimpsingthe wariness in her eyes, she realized that the events were connected.
    Nanette said nothing for a moment. Finally, she sighed and looked toward the open window. “I used to love him.”
    “Used to love him?”
    Nanette nodded slowly, her gaze still locked on the window, her eyes unfocused. “Zhen I found out what kind of a man he really was”—her voice trembled—“and I stopped loving him. I made myself stop loving him.” She wiped at a tear that rolled down her cheek.
    “When was the last time you saw him?” Mrs. Jeffries asked again.
    “Yesterday afternoon.” Nanette sniffed and wiped her cheeks. “He was here right after zee noon meal.”
    “Why?” Mrs. Jeffries queried. “It certainly doesn’t sound like you had any love left for the man.”
    “I didn’t,” Nanette said hastily. “I hated him. I’ve hated him for a long time.”
    “Then why was he here?”
    “Because I had no choice. If I wanted any peace, I had to see him. He came to get his payment…it was already a week late.” She leapt to her feet and began pacing the room.
    Mrs. Jeffries ignored the histrionics. This was starting to sound interesting. Despite what the romantics would have one believe about love making the world go round, it had often been Mrs. Jeffries’s experience that as a motive for murder, money was usually the culprit more often than affairs of the heart. “What kind of payment might this be?” she asked. “A loan, perhaps?”
    “A loan? From Underhill?” She stopped next to the window and laughed bitterly. “
Mais, non.
He was toomean to loan anyone money.” Nanette turned and stared out onto the street. Her back was ramrod straight and her arms held stiffly against her sides. Her hands were balled into fists so tightly her knuckles turned white.
    Sensing that the Frenchwoman was waging some terrible internal battle, Mrs. Jeffries simply waited patiently, saying nothing.
    Nanette sighed deeply. “James was blackmailing me.”
    “How long has it been going on?”
    “Almost from the day I opened zhis shop.” She turned and shrugged. “I’ve told you now. I suppose you’ll want to tell zee inspector. Underhill is dead. I had a reason to kill him,
non?
”
    “Nanette,” Mrs. Jeffries said gently, “why don’t you tell me the whole story?”
    “I’m afraid it’s an old one, madam. A foolish young girl. A clever man and voilà, I am in chains for zee rest of my life.” Nanette smiled wearily. “Two years ago, I was uh…given a painting by a gentleman friend. It was a nice oil painting. Quite old and very pretty. It was a picture of a city along a river somewhere in Italy. I didn’t zink it was very valuable, but I liked it. My friend died. He was quite an…er, elderly gentleman. At his funeral, I met James Underhill. We were immediately attracted to one another, or so I thought.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I was alone in zee world. I wanted to leave my employment and make a better life for myself. James and I began seeing each other. Within a short while, he began asking questions about zee painting. He told me it was worth a lot of money and he offered to sell it for me.” She waved her arm in a wide arc. “Zat’s where I got zee money for