Betrayal at Blackcrest by Jennifer Wilde Page A

reserves the time between eight and eleven for her tabloids and astrology charts. She doesn’t like her routine disturbed.”
    â€œSo I’ve noticed.”
    â€œHelp yourself, Miss Lane.”
    I heaped my plate high with fluffy yellow scrambled eggs and curls of crisp bacon. Derek Hawke poured coffee into thick blue cups and set a rack of fresh toast on the table. He watched with an amused expression as I devoured my food, going back for a second helping of bacon. When I had finished he lit one of his slender brown cigars and strolled over to the window, pushing the curtain aside. I poured another cup of coffee. I felt strong now, ready for battle.
    â€œIt seems I owe you an apology,” he began.
    â€œOh?”
    â€œI’m convinced you’re no blackmailer.”
    â€œHow did you reach that cheerful conclusion, Mr. Hawke?”
    â€œI’ve been on the telephone all morning,” he said, “talking to some of my connections in London—a quite reliable firm, in fact.”
    â€œIndeed?”
    â€œThey did some checking up and called me back. The phone bill is going to be enormous, but it’s been worth it. I’ve found out quite a lot about you, Miss Lane.”
    â€œHave you?”
    He nodded. “It’s amazing what you can learn if you put the right people on to it. I made my first call at seven, and within an hour and a half I learned all I needed to know about you.”
    â€œAnd what would that be?”
    â€œFirst of all, that you’re quite respectable and have no police record of any kind. Secondly, that you do indeed have a cousin named Delia Lane who left London a month ago with, supposedly, every intention of making a suitable marriage. It seems she didn’t give the man’s name to any of the people my man contacted, but they all agreed that she left to be married.”
    I waited, reserving any comment until he was finished.
    â€œShe quit the show she was with— Mod Madness , some kind of musical revue—and drew eleven hundred pounds out of the bank. The producer was furious and had some very unpleasant things to say about people who quit without proper notice. Miss Lane left London on April 14 and hasn’t been heard from since.”
    â€œSo?”
    â€œI’m not finished. Miss Lane was seen once or twice in the company of a tall, dark stranger—you’ll pardon the expression—who might possibly resemble me in essentials. She didn’t introduce this man to any of her friends. In fact, she went out of her way to keep his identity a secret. The choreographer of the revue met them in a pub and felt properly snubbed when she didn’t introduce her companion.”
    â€œIs that all?”
    â€œNot quite. It seems she told one of the chorus girls she was coming to Hawkestown and would live in a tremendous old house. That’s all my man could uncover in such a short time, although he did pick up a few savory items about Miss Lane’s romantic life.”
    â€œReally?”
    â€œHe’s had no time to check any of this, mind you, but gossip has it that your cousin was hardly selective in her choice of male companions. She once dated a member of Parliament, married variety, but threw him over for a trombone player. Her name has been linked with a French film star, a bartender, a soccer player, and the proprietor of a left-wing bookstore in Chelsea. I’m sure there are others, but my man hasn’t had time to discover them yet. His assistants are working on it.”
    â€œI’ll just bet they are,” I said angrily.
    â€œAre the reports false?”
    â€œYou know how theater people gossip and backbite.”
    â€œStill, where there’s smoke—”
    â€œAre you suggesting that my cousin is promiscuous?”
    â€œNot at all. I’m merely trying to corroborate my theory.”
    â€œAnd what would that be, Mr. Hawke?”
    â€œIt’s quite simple. Your