“It went missing at the funeral directors?”
Fred nodded. “I’ve been to Mr Bentwhistle, but he denies all knowledge of ever seeing it. Helena swears blind it was on her grandad’s body, you see. I have been to see her now to check that she hasn’t found it. I don’t know,” the man sighed. “It’s a rum business.”
Mark frowned and thought about the messages that had come through the psychic circle. One of the messages mentioned a fob watch being in a jar. Bentwhistle had told everyone that it hadn’t been found but someone must have been referring to it being in the funeral directors somewhere. It couldn’t have been Helena; she hadn’t even been at the séance. So who? Why? Were they trying to point the finger at Bentwhistle, or did they know that he was the thief?
“Does this Mrs Cridlingham go to séances at all?”
“Miss Cridlingham?” Fred shook his head. “I can’t see her being that familiar with anyone to be honest with you. She isn’t married and has lived with her grandfather for many years,” Fred replied knowingly. “She is a strange one. Some say that she is a witch. It is highly unusual for her to report anything to the police, but she was adamant the watch had been with her grandfather when he had left the house on the day of his death.”
“But does she go to séances though?” Mark snapped impatiently when Fred appeared happy to continue to ramble.
“Not as far as I am aware, although there are rumours that she knows more than she lets on,” Fred tapped the side of his nose and gave Mark a knowing look that was completely ignored.
Mark mentally shook his head and tried to stop Fred from rambling again. “So the grandfather went to the funeral parlour for preparation and examination by the Doctor and had the fob watch on him?”
“He was returned to the house without the fob watch apparently.”
“Thank you for that. Where does this Miss Cridlingham live?” Mark listened to the direction and nodded. “Tomorrow afternoon, Detective Isaac and I will pay her a visit.”
Fred looked astonished. “Do you think it might be linked to the murders?”
“I have absolutely no idea just what is going on in this village at the moment,” Mark sighed. “Or who is involved in what, but I am going to find out.” He took a couple of steps away before he reluctantly turned back. The thought of the paperwork that littered his desk was ruthlessly shoved aside and he studied Fred thoughtfully.
“Tell me, Fred, what other thefts have there been?”
“A couple of people have reported missing jewellery and personal effects from houses.”
“Do any of them have any links to the funeral directors? I mean, have the families recently had deaths in the family that Mr Bentwhistle has dealt with?”
Fred frowned and nodded. “Well, I am not entirely sure, but now that you come to mention it, I think most of them have. There has been a theft from the house of Mr Snodgrass. Some valuable ornaments went missing just after his funeral, and then there was some jewellery that went missing from old Mrs Barnathy, but that was a couple of weeks after her death. I have got the details on my desk.”
“Good, get them to me first
thing in the morning. Meantime, keep your eyes and ears open for anything untoward.”
Mark turned around and studied the sleepy village, nestled in the hills. Outward appearances made it look tranquil and idyllic, however he now knew that it held hidden secrets; sinister threats, murder, thieves and vices, to name but a few.
He had no idea how to unravel the tightly wound ball of mysterious confusion, and wondered if he stood a chance of ever finding out just what on earth was going on.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The following morning, when Mark arrived at his desk, he was tired, grumpy and more than a little fed up. The huge mound of paperwork that awaited him would take days to get through, but held little interest. His thoughts were very firmly locked on the events in Tipton Hollow. In particular, the latest revelation of several thefts from customers of Bentwhistle Funeral Directors. He couldn’t help but wonder if other items had been stolen that hadn’t been reported. But did that make Alan Bentwhistle the thief?
With a sigh, he pushed away from the table and threw a dark look at the paperwork before he left his office and called for Isaac, who sat with his boots propped up on his desk and a pile of papers on his knees.
“Come on,” Mark sighed. “Let’s go and pay a visit to Miss Smethwick.”
“Smethwick?”
They left the building and headed toward Tipton Hollow. Mark brought Isaac up to date on the last night’s revelation, although he didn’t mention Babette’s evening visit to the solicitor. He wasn’t sure whether he was a little unprofessional in his belief that it was a family matter, but wanted to discuss it with Harriett before he considered it worthy of inclusion in his investigation.
They arrived at Morningside Cottage in Tipton Hollow half an hour later. Mark ordered the carriage to pull up at the end of the road and they walked the last hundred yards. They were a few feet away from the gate when Miss Smethwick appeared out of her front door with a large square wicker basket in hand. Mark shared a glance with Isaac.
“Ah, good morning to you, Miss Smethwick,” he called. Miss Smethwick froze and turned to watch them approach with wary eyes. “I am glad we caught you before you head out. I need to ask you a question or two.”
“I was just going out,” Miss Smethwick replied with a pointed glare. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“We called around yesterday but you were not at home.” Mark was fairly certain that if the woman could have gotten away with curling her lip then she would have done. As it was, she retreated behind defensive glares. He stood close to her and took the opportunity to study her facial features.