Free Mrs. Jeffries & the Yuletide Weddings by Emily Brightwell Page A

tired, perhaps, but certainly not depressed or upset or worried about anything.” She poured the boiling water into a waiting teapot as she spoke. “She said the trip was the most wonderful time she’d ever had in her life and even said she might take another trip in the spring.”
    “She didn’t make any mention that anyone had bothered her or that she’d had any trouble on the trip?” the inspector pressed.
    “She said everyone was very nice and that she’d made some new friends. Mind you, she got right back to work the very next day and didn’t give herself any time to rest. The next morning she took all the correspondence and receipts and even the old newspapers into her office. When she came out later that afternoon, I could see something had upset her. But she wouldn’t tell me what was wrong.” Her voice broke and she turned her back on them and went to the drying rack by the sink. She got down three mugs and, still keeping her face averted, pulled a tray off the worktable shelf and put cream and sugar on it.
    Neither man spoke. Jane Middleton was a proud lady who’d had a deep shock, and it was only right to give her a few moments to get her emotions under control.
    She sighed, loaded the tray up with the rest of the tea things, and came to the table. “Help yourselves to cream and sugar,” she commanded as she handed them their mugs. She took the seat next to the inspector. “Then you can ask your questions.”
    Barnes reached for the cream. “How long has Miss Moran owned this place?”
    “Thirteen years.” She smiled wanly. “I started to work here the day the workmen left. Miss Moran was smart; she’d bought this old place and done the rooms up nicely so they could be let to ladies. She’s run it all on her own since she opened the doors for business. This trip she took was the first holiday she’s had in all these years.”
    Witherspoon knew he ought to start asking questions, but as sometimes happened when he learned new facts, his brain needed a few moments to comprehend the information. Agatha Moran had been out of the country. What, if anything, did that mean?
    “As I said earlier, ma’am, you weren’t surprised when we arrived on the doorstep.” Barnes took out his notebook and flipped it open. “You were shocked and upset, but not surprised.”
    “I was afraid something terrible was going to happen. But Miss Moran wasn’t one to be told what to do. But she was in such an awful state yesterday afternoon; she went to the window in the front parlor so often she liked to have walked a hole in the hall carpet. When she finally left the house, I was afraid.”
    “Why were you frightened?” Witherspoon picked up his mug and took a sip. He watched her carefully over the rim.
    “Because she’d been acting odd since Monday.” Jane clasped her hands together and pressed them under her chin as she spoke. “She wasn’t eating. She would go out for hours, and when she’d come back, she’d either be pale as a ghost or so angry she could barely speak. I tried to get her to tell me what was wrong, but she wouldn’t, and I couldn’t press her. Yesterday afternoon was the worst of all; she was like a woman possessed. She’d jump every time there was a noise out front and then run to the door.”
    Barnes stopped scribbling. “Was she expecting someone?”
    “She didn’t tell me that specifically, but it was obvious from the way she kept watching out the window of the front parlor. She wasn’t ordinarily one to waste time in such foolishness. Finally, as it got later and later, she got very calm and told me she was going out—”
    Witherspoon interrupted. “What time was this?”
    “I’m not sure,” Jane replied. “I was in such a state, I didn’t notice the time. But it was past three; I know that because the afternoon mail had come. Miss Moran had been standing by the door waiting for it. When the postman finally shoved it through the slot, she snatched it up like a