Day of Vengeance: Dorothy Martin investigates murder in the cathedral (A Dorothy Martin Mystery) by Jeanne M. Dams
Authors: Jeanne M. Dams
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at the Andersons’, I was rueful. ‘I’m more than a little annoyed with myself.’ I shook my head. ‘I’m not usually susceptible to a flim-flam artist. I’m feeling very stupid.’
‘Don’t,’ said Lynn. ‘I was taken in at first, too. Tom and I had heard so much about him, we went one Sunday, and I thought he was marvellous for about five minutes. I think he employs a form of mass hypnotism, actually.’
‘I admit the thought that came to my mind when I first heard his voice was “mesmerized”. But I’ve always thought I was one of those people who can’t be hypnotized.’
‘You probably can’t,’ said Alan, ‘not when you have any idea what’s happening. You have a strong will, so you set yourself against anyone who tries to manipulate your mind. But in this case you had been lulled into a receptive mood by music and the soothing, familiar words of the service. You were open to suggestion. And the fellow has a golden voice and uses it, I have to admit, to maximum advantage.’
‘So why didn’t you succumb?’ I still felt stupid and, illogically, annoyed with Alan.
Alan covered my hand with his. ‘Don’t shoot the messenger, love. I didn’t succumb, as you put it, because, for one, I’m a male. A honey-voiced Greek god has limited appeal for me. Second, I’m a policeman, trained to look behind a façade. What I saw beyond his wasn’t very pretty. And third, I remembered what Kenneth had said about the man’s “charisma”, so I was on my guard.’
Lynn said, ‘Tom was livid with the man that one time we went, said he was an Elmer Gantry of the worst sort. He wasn’t very happy when the man ended up on your shortlist, Alan, and if we’d known you were on the commission, I imagine you’d have heard from him. We’re not C of E, and we don’t even go to church all that often, but the man has ambitions, and we’d hate to see him get to be Archbishop. Anyway, enough of that. What will you have to drink?’
After a leisurely cocktail hour and dinner, Tom and Lynn asked about our plans for the next day. ‘I trust you’re not rushing back on the first train,’ said Lynn. ‘Because I thought you and I could do some shopping. There are some new spring hats at Harrods you’d adore, Dorothy.’
‘You know quite well I can’t afford their hats, and I don’t need a new one, anyway.’
‘When did that ever have anything to do with it?’ asked Alan. ‘A hat is not an object that one needs, except in the coldest of weather, and very few of yours, my dear, are made so as to keep your ears warm. Here’s my credit card. Go and buy yourself a spectacular hat, and we’ll call it your birthday present.’
‘My birthday is in October.’
‘Your unbirthday present, then.’
‘Well, we do need to stay in London to spend some time with Walter and his girlfriend. I promised Jane we’d phone him.’ I explained to Lynn that we wanted his opinion about Mr Lovelace. ‘Though now I’m not sure we need another opinion. But I’d like to see him, anyway, and meet his lady-love.’
‘Let’s do both,’ said Lynn. ‘We’ll go shopping, just us girls, and then meet Walter and his girl and the guys for lunch. There’s a trendy new place in Parliament Square I’ve been dying to try. That part’ll be our unbirthday treat for you, Dorothy.’
SIX
W hen I’m with Lynn, we take taxis. Cost is not an issue with the Andersons. So we pulled up at Harrods’ main door in splendour, and found the millinery department after only a brief survey of the Food Halls, which I can never resist.
The hats were stunning. Many of them were the ‘fascinator’ type, entirely unsuited to a woman my age, but the clerk tactfully steered me to the ones designed to flatter grey hair and cover wrinkly foreheads.
The one I chose at last was pale blue, a cloche made of some sort of stiff net, with a bow and spangles. It was utterly impractical, and utterly gorgeous. ‘And it goes with that outfit,’ said
‘Don’t,’ said Lynn. ‘I was taken in at first, too. Tom and I had heard so much about him, we went one Sunday, and I thought he was marvellous for about five minutes. I think he employs a form of mass hypnotism, actually.’
‘I admit the thought that came to my mind when I first heard his voice was “mesmerized”. But I’ve always thought I was one of those people who can’t be hypnotized.’
‘You probably can’t,’ said Alan, ‘not when you have any idea what’s happening. You have a strong will, so you set yourself against anyone who tries to manipulate your mind. But in this case you had been lulled into a receptive mood by music and the soothing, familiar words of the service. You were open to suggestion. And the fellow has a golden voice and uses it, I have to admit, to maximum advantage.’
‘So why didn’t you succumb?’ I still felt stupid and, illogically, annoyed with Alan.
Alan covered my hand with his. ‘Don’t shoot the messenger, love. I didn’t succumb, as you put it, because, for one, I’m a male. A honey-voiced Greek god has limited appeal for me. Second, I’m a policeman, trained to look behind a façade. What I saw beyond his wasn’t very pretty. And third, I remembered what Kenneth had said about the man’s “charisma”, so I was on my guard.’
Lynn said, ‘Tom was livid with the man that one time we went, said he was an Elmer Gantry of the worst sort. He wasn’t very happy when the man ended up on your shortlist, Alan, and if we’d known you were on the commission, I imagine you’d have heard from him. We’re not C of E, and we don’t even go to church all that often, but the man has ambitions, and we’d hate to see him get to be Archbishop. Anyway, enough of that. What will you have to drink?’
After a leisurely cocktail hour and dinner, Tom and Lynn asked about our plans for the next day. ‘I trust you’re not rushing back on the first train,’ said Lynn. ‘Because I thought you and I could do some shopping. There are some new spring hats at Harrods you’d adore, Dorothy.’
‘You know quite well I can’t afford their hats, and I don’t need a new one, anyway.’
‘When did that ever have anything to do with it?’ asked Alan. ‘A hat is not an object that one needs, except in the coldest of weather, and very few of yours, my dear, are made so as to keep your ears warm. Here’s my credit card. Go and buy yourself a spectacular hat, and we’ll call it your birthday present.’
‘My birthday is in October.’
‘Your unbirthday present, then.’
‘Well, we do need to stay in London to spend some time with Walter and his girlfriend. I promised Jane we’d phone him.’ I explained to Lynn that we wanted his opinion about Mr Lovelace. ‘Though now I’m not sure we need another opinion. But I’d like to see him, anyway, and meet his lady-love.’
‘Let’s do both,’ said Lynn. ‘We’ll go shopping, just us girls, and then meet Walter and his girl and the guys for lunch. There’s a trendy new place in Parliament Square I’ve been dying to try. That part’ll be our unbirthday treat for you, Dorothy.’
SIX
W hen I’m with Lynn, we take taxis. Cost is not an issue with the Andersons. So we pulled up at Harrods’ main door in splendour, and found the millinery department after only a brief survey of the Food Halls, which I can never resist.
The hats were stunning. Many of them were the ‘fascinator’ type, entirely unsuited to a woman my age, but the clerk tactfully steered me to the ones designed to flatter grey hair and cover wrinkly foreheads.
The one I chose at last was pale blue, a cloche made of some sort of stiff net, with a bow and spangles. It was utterly impractical, and utterly gorgeous. ‘And it goes with that outfit,’ said
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