Read Mulled Murder (Pennyfoot Holiday Mysteries) for Free Online Page A

wrappers. “Nothing much there but rubbish.”
    Cecily was inclined to agree. She started to replace the contents of the basket, but then another piece of crumpled paper caught her eye. She closed her fingers over it, but the constable had sharp eyes.
    “What’s that?”
    Cecily sighed, and unraveled the paper. Smoothing it out with her fingers, she held it up to the fading light from the window. “It looks like a note of some sort.” She read the words out loud. “‘Spotsman seen nearby. Already made run. No sign batman. Still looking. Stop.’”
    Northcott frowned. “Makes no sense to me. Let me take a look.”
    Reluctantly, Cecily handed the note over.
    Northcott stared at it for several long seconds, then uttered an exclamation. “Got it! It’s got something to do with cricket. Look!” He pointed out the words to her. “He must have been in a bloomin’ hurry when he wrote this. He spelled sportsman wrong.”
    “So he did,” Cecily murmured.
    “Well, when you look at it now, it makes sense.” Proud of his achievement, Northcott puffed out his chest. “Look, ‘sportsman seen nearby. Already made run.’ Cricket’s a sport and you have to make runs, right?”
    Cecily nodded in agreement.
    “Well, then, it says ‘no sign of batman.’ That’s the next chap up to bat. See? Cricket! He must have been involved with a cricket match.”
    Cecily frowned. “In the middle of winter?”
    Northcott blinked. “Well . . . er . . . I s’pose some people play cricket in the winter.” He looked back at the paper. “Yes, that’s what it is, all right. A cricket match. Now, if I can just find out where it’s being played, I might at least find someone who knows where this chap lives.”
    Cecily plucked the paper from Northcott’s hand. “Good idea, Sam. Why don’t you get to work on that.” She looked around the room. “I really don’t see anything else of interest here.”
    Northcott headed for the door. “All right, Mrs. B. I’ll just pop by the kitchen and see if anyone down there knows anything, then I’ll be off.” He paused, looking back at her. “You know I’ll have to report this to the inspector. We’re dealing with a murder, here. He’ll want to know about it.”
    Cecily felt her stomach muscles clench. She considered Inspector Cranshaw a bitter enemy. Having long suspected that illegal card games were being held in secret rooms under the floorboards of the Pennyfoot, he’d sought long and hard to shut down the hotel.
    Now that the hotel was a country club, the card games were no longer illegal. The secret rooms had been closed off, and gentlemen played their games in the new card rooms upstairs. That hadn’t stopped the inspector from seeking a way to put an end to the Pennyfoot once and for all. Every time they met, the inspector and Cecily conducted a cat and mouse game that invariably played havoc with her nerves. She was mortally afraid that one day the inspector would win, and the Pennyfoot would be lost to everyone.
    Staring hard at Sam, she said quietly, “Will you and your wife be taking your usual Christmas holiday in London?”
    The constable nodded. “All being well, yes. We’ll be off day after tomorrow.”
    “It might well take a long time to solve this murder.”
    Northcott looked worried. “I suppose it might.”
    “If the inspector is here, he will insist on you staying here until it is solved.”
    Northcott’s face took on a look of desperation. “He will, that.”
    “Perhaps you should wait awhile before informing him. Until you have more evidence to give him. After all, you don’t even know where the victim lived.”
    Relief banished the pained look from the constable’s face. “You’re quite right, Mrs. B. We need to find out first where our victim came from.” He pulled back his shoulders. “Which I shall h’endeavor to do first thing in the morning. I’m going to find that cricket match and we’ll see what we shall see. Thank you, m’m. I