Read Online The Young Widow by Cassandra Chan - Free Book Online

met them at the kitchen door, her dark eyes snapping with irritation.
    â€œYou’d be Chief Inspector Carmichael,” she said. It was an accusation.
    Carmichael admitted it.
    Her eyes travelled over his figure. “You don’t look like you never eat.”
    â€œI’m very sorry, Miss Whitcomb,” he said. “We weren’t aware that you had made lunch for us.”
    Kitty was unappeased. “What,” she demanded, “do you think people have cooks for?”
    She did not appear to require an answer. She turned and pointed to the kitchen table, which was set for three. “I’ve put you there,” she said, in a tone that did not bode well for them if they were not seated and eating in the next ten seconds.

    They sat.
    With brisk efficiency, she brought three pint bottles of Bass from the refrigerator, and then removed a steak and kidney pie from the oven. A basket of towering popovers followed, and lastly she placed a thermos on the table.
    â€œThere’s coffee in there,” she said. “Can you serve yourselves?”
    They thanked her and assured her they could.
    â€œAll right then.” She stripped off her apron. “I’ll be in my sitting room if you want anything more—just knock.”
    The pie was wonderful, the popovers crisp and delicate. While they ate, they brought each other up to date and compared their notes to the reports in the case file.
    â€œWhat this is missing,” said Carmichael, tapping the file, “is a profile of Berowne himself. That’s understandable—all the Surrey officers knew him.”
    â€œI think we’re beginning to get a picture, sir,” said Gibbons.
    â€œYes.” Carmichael nodded. “Miss Wellman called him deeply religious—I think perhaps it might be wise to pay a visit to the vicar, just to round out the picture.”
    â€œThat’s a good idea.”
    Carmichael reached for the thermos. “One more cup of this fine coffee,” he said, “and then we’d best be off to the Little House.”
    Bethancourt knocked on Kitty’s door before they left and was told to come in. She was sitting cross-legged in an armchair, a cookbook open in her lap and a pad and a pencil balanced on the arm.
    â€œLunch was luscious,” he said. “We’re uncommonly grateful to you.”
    â€œI’m glad you liked it,” she answered.
    â€œWe’ve put the dishes in the sink,” he added.
    â€œWell, thank you, but you really shouldn’t have bothered. Clearing up is part of my job.”
    Bethancourt only smiled. “I wanted to ask you something.
About McAllister,” he said, and she looked curious. “I just wondered if he came in to lunch at the same time every day.”
    â€œOne o’clock on the dot,” she said. “Occasionally, if he’s in the middle of something, he’s a bit late. But he’s no trouble—he wants a plain ham sandwich and a packet of crisps every day. Sometimes, if it’s cold, he’ll have a little soup.”
    â€œThat’s fascinating,” said Bethancourt. “There’s Jack calling me—I’d better go. Thanks again.”
    Kitty shook her head as he closed the door. “Daft,” she said, and returned to her book.
    â€œNo flowers in her sitting room either,” Bethancourt reported to the others as he joined them outside.
    â€œNot now,” said Gibbons.
    Â 
    Â 
    The side door of the house opened onto the terrace, from which one could either go down into the garden proper or follow a gravel path that led off at an angle between the trees. They chose the latter course, following the path until they came to Little House, which was little only when compared to the main house. This one was much more attractive and was far older—a small, late Georgian manor house.
    â€œThis must have been the original house,” said Bethancourt, interested.