Betrayal at Blackcrest by Jennifer Wilde

said. “It’s just as well. Derek doesn’t like people here. I’m afraid Blackcrest isn’t a happy place. You’re much too nice to be here.”
    I wanted to ask her to explain her words, but she had gone. She had vanished among the shadows. I was alone, surrounded by the dark plants. What a very strange girl, I thought, and how very odd her last words. I hesitated for a moment and then started down the spiral staircase. I would think about Honora later on. Now I was interested to see what Derek Hawke had to say for himself this morning.

5
    Derek Hawke was just putting down the telephone receiver when I stepped into the breakfast room. He set the instrument aside and smiled at me, nodding his head in greeting. He was wearing a pair of brown pants and a bulky knit sweater of dull gold. His hair was as untidy as it had been the night before, spilling over his forehead in thick black waves. There was a strength and vigor about him this morning that made me uncomfortable. He was like a healthy animal confined to a small space and deliberately restraining great energy.
    He ignored me for a moment as he jotted something down on a pad. I felt weak as I smelled the heavenly odors of coffee and toast. I hadn’t eaten in almost twenty-four hours.
    â€œThere,” he said, putting down the pad and looking at me. “How are you this morning, Miss Lane?”
    â€œHungry,” I said, despite myself.
    â€œI’ll have cook bring in some breakfast. We’ve got quite a lot to talk about, haven’t we?”
    â€œUndoubtedly.”
    Derek Hawke pressed a bell. After a moment a fat, belligerent-looking woman came shuffling into the room. Her steel-gray hair was done up in curlers, and her angry brown eyes glared at me. She wore a light blue uniform and a pair of tennis shoes. She clutched a yellow tabloid in one hand, and the other one held a half-eaten sweet roll. She was clearly put out at being interrupted in her reading.
    â€œAnother ax murder, Jessie?” Hawke inquired.
    â€œFound a severed head in a vacant lot. Police suspect a schoolmaster.”
    â€œWell, if you don’t mind waiting awhile to pore over the details, Miss Lane would like her breakfast now. I’ll have another cup of coffee to keep her company. Hurry it up, too, Jessie. Miss Lane is hungry.”
    Jessie shot me a venomous look and shuffled out of the room. I felt highly uncomfortable.
    â€œWill she put ground glass in my eggs?” I asked.
    â€œJessie’s been with us for twenty years,” Derek Hawke explained in a smooth voice. “She’s a bit eccentric, a bit set in her ways, but we overlook that. No one can cook a roast or make a pudding to match hers. With help so hard to find nowadays, Jessie’s a treasure. She knows it, too, which complicates matters. I’m afraid she’s got us over a barrel.”
    â€œFrightening thought,” I remarked.
    He grinned. He seemed to be in a very agreeable mood this morning, gracious, expansive. I wondered what had caused the change.
    â€œDid you sleep well?” he asked.
    â€œFairly. I thought I heard loud voices.”
    â€œYou probably did. I had words with my aunt’s ward. The girl’s seventeen and thinks she can stay out at all hours without a fare-thee-well from anyone. I hope it didn’t disturb you too much?”
    â€œI was too exhausted to let it really bother me.”
    â€œYou had quite a day yesterday, didn’t you?”
    â€œThat’s putting it mildly.”
    â€œAnd quite a shock, as well. I’m sorry about that. Here’s Jessie. Put the tray down anywhere, Jessie. We’ll help ourselves.”
    Jessie slammed the tray down on the sideboard with an unnecessary clatter and shuffled heavily out of the room. The door banged behind her with an ear-splitting retort.
    â€œWe generally eat at seven-thirty,” he said, not at all perturbed by the cook’s conduct. “Jessie