Cassandra Chan - Village Affairs (A Phillip Bethancourt and Jack Gibbons Mystery)

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Table of Contents

Firstly to Kelley Ragland, who had to work extra-hard on this one, even while training a new assistant and then not having one at all (he probably quit because I was late, again). And also to Jennifer, without whom I would be utterly lost, and to my mother, whose store of encouragement is endless.

Thanks to Dr. Lawrence Watkins for suggesting Seconal, and to Steve Krull for explaining about it. And a huge debt of gratitude goes to Linda Pankhurst, Brit extraordinaire, who undertook the monumental task of replacing all the unintentional Americanisms with proper Britishisms. And a special thank you to Beth Knoche for volunteering to proof the manuscript and for calling to say she loved it.

Im also very grateful for all the support the crew at the bookstore has shown me, both in doing their utmost to sell the first book, and in putting up with me while I wrote the second one.

Lastly, Id like to extend my deep appreciation to Jack and Mary Dodge for author photos, drinks, and friendship.

The Young Widow

G ood God, said Marla, as she entered her sitting room.

On the table to her right was an arrangement of two dozen red roses, received that morning, and around her throat was a jade necklace which had arrived from Aspreys the day before. Bethancourt had been back in town for almost a week, and although she had yet to speak to him, the evidence of his return was all around her. Presents had arrived with regularity, always accompanied by romantic notes (mostly plagiarized from the great poets). There was a new silk scarf in her drawer, and a framed charcoal sketch of her face was propped up on her desk. She couldnt imagine who he had found to do that in such a hurry. In the kitchen was a box of her favorite chocolates, also accompanied by flowers.

But none of this was what attracted her attention now. She thought she had heard some noise from the street, and the cause of this was now apparent. Outside her window, which was tightly closed against the inclement October weather, Bethancourt was standing on the fire escape. Behind him, pressed up against the railings, was anotherman with a guitar who was accompanying Bethancourt while he sang Greensleeves in a quite passable voice.

Marla simply stared at him for a moment. She toyed briefly with the idea of leaving the flat by the back entrance, but she knew she had been relenting in any case, and in another moment she began to giggle. She crossed to the window and opened it.

and who but my lady Greensleeves? Bethancourt sang at her.

How on earth did you get out there? she demanded.

I bribed the woman downstairs, he responded. Are you tired of Greensleeves? I wasnt sure how well you could hear through the window.

Marla squinted out in the darkness at the man behind Bethancourt, who was still playing the tune.

Who is that? she asked.

This is Jim, a friend of mines younger brother. Jim smiled and nodded as he continued to play. Hes at university and is an aficionado of English folk music. Perhaps, he added to Jim, we had better go on to the next one. She doesnt seem too taken with Greensleeves.

I think, said Marla, you had better come in. Its going to rain.

Bethancourt bowed. My lady, he said, we had not hoped for so great an honor.

Oh, yes, you did, she said, standing aside as they climbed in. She paused while Jim politely closed the window behind him. The necklace is beautiful, Phillip, she said softly.

He shrugged. Less than you deserve after the disgraceful way I behaved, he answered, but he eyed the necklace as he spoke. It had not come cheap, nor had the roses or the scarf, and even Jim had had to be bribed before he would consent to drag his guitar out on a damp night and spend his evening perched on a fire escape. No one, Bethancourt reflected, seemed to believe in romantic love anymore.

Excuse me, said Jim, but if weve finished playing, I think Id better get on. It was very nice to meet you, Marla.

Delighted, said Marla vaguely, while Bethancourt thanked hismusician and ushered him swiftly out the door. As he turned back, he found Marla standing close beside him, a smile playing about the corners of her perfect mouth.

Phillip, she said, I think Ive decided to forgive you.

Have you, Marla? he replied. Im awfully glad.

But his last words were lost as she reached to kiss him. And as he gathered her into his arms, he decided that winning her back had not really been so expensive after all.

I t was Marlas idea. Phillip Bethancourt himself was not entirely convinced that the best cure for a broken heart was to surround the afflicted with attractive members of the opposite sex. But Marla Tate, one of Englands most in-demand fashion models, was not a woman known for her generous impulses and she was likely to turn sulky if this one was rebuffed. Or so Bethancourt judged.

Just the thing, he said, putting as much enthusiasm into the words as he could. He succeeded so well that the large Borzoi hound at his feet pricked his ears and lifted his noble head. Bethancourt bent to stroke his pet. It ought to cheer Jack right up, he continued. I dont know why I didnt think of it myself.

Marla tossed her head, shaking a loose lock of copper hair off her forehead. I dont know why you didnt, either, she agreed. Youve certainly been thinking of little else lately.

This was true. It was now more than a month since Bethancourt had returned home from a polo match to find his friend Jack Gibbonssitting on the front steps of his Chelsea flat, bearing the news that Annette Berowne had left him. It helped not at all that Bethancourt had seen it coming; he had been suspicious of Annettes feelings from the beginning and had at first tried to put Gibbons on his guard. But since Gibbons had spent the summer plotting the most romantic way to propose, his friend had stifled the alarm bells that rang in his mind and hoped that his own bleak outlook of the suit owed more to his distaste of Annette than to the true state of affairs. He was very sorry to have been proved right in the end.

Bethancourt had done all he could to see his friend through those first miserable days, but what now concerned him was the fact that Gibbons did not seem to have improved much. It would have been inaccurate to say he was developing a drinking problem since he was usually sober; still, the pint after work was now usually two or three, and on the occasions when he visited Bethancourt, the level in the malt whisky bottle seemed to drop more rapidly than it once had.

So are you going to ring him up? asked Marla impatiently.

Yes, of course, answered Bethancourt.

But he paused in reaching for the phone, having caught a gleam in Marlas jade-green eyes. It occurred to him that there was more to this than a simple desire to dispel Gibbonss gloom. Marla had never liked Gibbons, mostly due to the fact that it was he who enabled Bethancourt to indulge in his hobby of amateur sleuthing, an activity that Marla abhorred. And it was undeniably true that during the summer of Gibbonss affair, Bethancourt had seen much less of him. He wondered who among Marlas friends she had earmarked for Gibbons.

Right then, he said, capturing the phone. Lets ring Scotland Yard.

Detective Sergeant Jack Gibbons sat at his desk, buried in paperwork. He did not much like the clerical side of his job, but one had to takethe bad with the good in any job, and if he could just keep his mind on it all, he thought he could clear his desk by six, providing he was not sidetracked by chatting about other peoples cases. That was far more distracting than paperwork, and he badly needed distraction. There had been no truly interesting cases since the summer, and these days, when time hung heavy on his hands, he found himself continually contemplating the wreck of his hopes.

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