The Connicle Curse by Gregory Harris Page B

Denton nor his assistant gave so much as the whiff of a response as they headed for the corner of the house where their wagon was parked. I knew it would be too much for Colin to stand and after a moment was not surprised when he could not stop himself from calling out, “I look forward to reading your findings!”
    â€œWell . . .” I said as they disappeared from view, “it would appear you were right about Albert keeping something from us last night. I can think of no other conclusion to draw.”
    â€œIndeed,” he grumbled irritably. “Only Varcoe and that morgue monkey could be fooled by such a thing. And even Varcoe appears to be having second thoughts.” He glanced back to where Albert’s body had lain before turning and starting for the house. “Let’s get inside and speak to Alexa and Mrs. Connicle before Varcoe manages to pollute the whole of this confounding investigation.”
    â€œPendragon!” The inspector’s voice assaulted us again before we could reach the portico. Even so, Colin kept moving, his chagrin evident as we climbed the porch. Only then did he bother to glance back at Varcoe and the two bobbies bearing down on us. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
    â€œTo knock on the door,” he said as he did so. “I am under the employ of Mrs. Connicle and would like to pay my respects to her.”
    â€œThe hell you are. You’re going in there to ferret about and I won’t have it.”
    â€œWe have a magisterial order allowing us great latitude to—”
    â€œI know what you have!” he howled back. “But that won’t stop me from hounding your every blasted move.” He abruptly leaned forward and pounded on the door himself. “And that’s precisely what I intend to do.”
    â€œOh, come now, Inspector—”
    â€œDo not be impudent with me, Pendragon, or you will need a magisterial order just to wipe your buggered nose!”
    I could tell Colin was on the verge of an unfortunate reply just as the door was swept open by Miss Porter, wearing a surly frown that blemished her otherwise lovely face. “Gentlemen! We are a household in mourning,” she scolded. “Must we suffer additional disregard with such a racket?”
    The inspector reddened as he puffed out his chest and gave a rudimentary nod. “Of course. My men sometimes forget themselves in the midst of an investigation,” he blustered inanely, as neither of his men had accompanied him onto the porch. “Just the same, this is an investigation and we shall require the household to rally in order for us to proceed.”
    Miss Porter’s eyes narrowed the slightest bit as she took a curt step back to allow us entry. Whatever she was thinking, her decorum remained intact as she showed us to the library. Varcoe had waved one of his men to follow, which meant there would be four of us confronting whomever Colin meant to query. Hardly the sort of informal environment conducive to confession.
    â€œWho is it you wish to see, Inspector?” Miss Porter asked as she prodded a fire back to roaring life.
    â€œNot me,” he answered with pointed artifice. “Mr. Pendragon here. Who will it be, Pendragon?”
    Colin’s displeasure was evident from the vitriol in his eyes to the rigid way he was standing. Still, his voice remained smooth and cordial as he turned to Miss Porter with a smile. “Perhaps you would be so kind as to speak with us a moment?”
    Miss Porter sucked in a breath that seemed to carry the weight of the day. Nevertheless, she gestured for the three of us to sit, Varcoe’s man having remained at the door, as she perched herself on the edge of a settee.
    â€œHow is your mistress faring?” Colin asked.
    â€œIt was a terrible night. We had to send for the doctor after she learned about her husband. She was inconsolable and I feared for her safety.”