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behind her friend. “If you’d care to come with me, Sam, I’ll take you to Mr. Evans’s room. I just have to stop at the desk for the key. You can look at the guest book while we’re there.”
    The constable nodded, picked up his helmet, nodded again at Kevin, and followed Cecily out the door.
    Cecily didn’t see the doctor leave. She noticed as she crossed the lobby that Madeline had finished decorating the tree. It looked magnificent as always, and she couldn’t wait to examine it closely when she had more time.
    Right now she had to search the room of a dead man—a man who had been a guest at the Pennyfoot when he was brutally murdered. As sad and unsettling as that was, at least this time she wouldn’t have to be hot on the trail of a cold-blooded killer.

CHAPTER
3
    If there was one thing Cecily couldn’t abide it was watching P.C. Northcott rummaging around in one of her guest rooms. Even if that guest was no longer alive. Even more so in that case. Sam Northcott tended to rifle through drawers full of personal belongings with an avid curiosity that was far beyond his official duty.
    She watched him lift a pile of shirts from the drawer. “Cheap material,” he muttered, fingering the top garment. “Must do his own laundry. These look like they’ve been dragged around in the Thames.”
    To hasten the procedure, Cecily decided to take matters into her own hands. “We really should inspect beneath the bed,” she told the constable, as he prepared to open yet another drawer.
    Northcott stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. “Under the bed, m’m?”
    “Yes, Sam.” She gave him an encouraging smile. “In the past when I’ve had occasion to search a room, I’ve found all sorts of interesting things hidden under the bed.”
    Northcott’s eyes lit up. “Is that so? Well, then, I shall h’endeavor to get down on my knees and take a good look.”
    “Good.” Cecily crossed the room to the chest of drawers. “Meanwhile, I’ll finish searching the drawers for you.”
    “Oh, I don’t know about that, Mrs. B. After all, it’s my job to do the investigating.”
    Cecily pulled open a drawer. “Now, Sam, you know me well enough to know that I’m quite capable of conducting a thorough search. After all, I’ve done so many times before and, may I add, I’ve contributed to the capture of many a criminal in the process.”
    “You have that, m’m, but—”
    “You know, if we don’t finish up here shortly, it might be too late for you to have a taste of Mrs. Chubb’s mince pies. Once she’s caught up in the suppertime rush, she won’t have time to cater to you.”
    Northcott opened his mouth, then shut it again and dropped to his knees without a word.
    Pleased with herself, Cecily carefully sorted through the socks, handkerchiefs, and starched collars. She was about to close the drawer when she spotted something in the corner. It seemed to be a torn piece of cardboard, with a corrugated padding.
    She was turning it over in her hand when she heard the constable grunt as he climbed to his feet.
    “Not as young as I used to be,” he muttered, brushing dust from his tunic.
    Cecily was about to slip the cardboard into the pocket of her skirt when Northcott asked abruptly, “Whatcha got there, then?”
    Sighing, she held it up. “Just a piece of cardboard, that’s all.”
    Northcott grunted again. “Too blinking lazy to throw it in the waste paper basket.”
    Pushing the cardboard into her pocket, she murmured, “Speaking of the waste paper basket, I should take a look in there. The maids won’t have had time to clean the room yet.” Before the constable could forestall her, she hurried over to the basket and tipped the contents onto the bed. Out fell an assortment of mint wrappers, a torn train ticket, and a crumpled, out-of-date notice of a Christmas bazaar that was held at St. Bartholomew’s church three days earlier.
    Northcott joined her at the bedside and poked a wary finger at the