Murder Goes Mumming Read Free Page B

Madoc’s car, and bummed a lift in a helicopter that happened to be headed up Dalhousie way.
    The pilot knew Graylings even without Madoc’s directions. According to him, the place wasn’t all that close to Dalhousie but ’way the hell and gone out in the middle of nowhere. He was surprised Madoc and Janet had got invited. The Condryckes were a clannish lot, though he guessed they did throw the odd bash for visiting swells when the mood was upon them.
    “Big place, I understand,” Madoc observed.
    “Cripes, I’ll say. Looks from the air like one of those old castles or something.”
    “Costs a packet to keep up, eh?”
    “Oh, I doubt there’s any dearth of money in that crowd. You warm enough, Janet? There’s hot tea in the Thermos behind you, and an extra blanket if you need it.”
    “Thanks. Right now I’m so excited I couldn’t tell you whether I’m cold or not. I’ve never been up in one of these things before.”
    “Besides, she’s got her thermal underwear,” Madoc added, reaching from the seat behind to tuck Janet up in the blanket and get in a squeeze or two. Even in ski pants and a down jacket, Janet was an eminently huggable young woman.
    They had their tea. After a while, Janet began to weary of white snow and green-black forest and the noise of rotor blades overhead. The sky grayed, then darkened. It was an ineffable relief when the pilot shouted at last, “We’re going down,” and brought his craft’s skis to rest on a vast plowed-out driveway in front of the biggest private dwelling she’d ever been this close to.
    By now it was really dark, a beautiful clear night with each separate star glittering like the diamond in her new engagement ring. As she climbed stiffly out of the helicopter, Janet could feel tiny icicles forming inside her nose.
    “Thank you again for the ride,” she called up to the pilot. “You come and see us as soon as we have a house.”
    “Don’t forget your thermal underwear. You’ll want it up here, that’s for sure.”
    He handed down the bags. Janet and Madoc walked up the steps of Graylings and thumped on the knocker.
    A tall, handsome, elderly replica of Donald answered the door. This must be Squire himself. He was all affability.
    “Here you are, just in time. Delighted you could come. Good God, what’s that racket? Donald, Babs, they’ve flown up in a helicopter. Come and see, quick!”
    A great many large blond people crowded to the front windows to watch the flying bug take off. They all appeared to think young Rhys and his bride-to-be had done something screamingly funny by arriving in this really not so unusual way. For a country as big and as underpopulated as Canada, small aircraft were often the most practical form of transport.
    Anyway, it was pleasant to find themselves getting off on the right foot among so merry a party. Mrs. Condrycke came forward to do her part as hostess. She was wearing an ankle-length skirt of handwoven wool in the Black Watch tartan and a dark green mohair pullover with a rolled neck, managing to look chic and warm at the same time. Her only ornaments, Janet was pleased to note, were her diamond rings and a nice string of pearls.
    “Do call me Babs,” she urged. “The only Mrs. Condrycke around here is Granny, who hasn’t come downstairs yet. My husband is Donald, as you doubtless know. Squire is Squire and he gets livid if you call him anything else. Don’t you, Squire darling?”
    “Positively foam at the mouth,” he agreed. “We must get these young adventurers into something comfortable right away. You must be half-frozen, Miss Wadman. Or may I say Janet?”
    “Please say Janet.”
    She couldn’t picture Squire foaming at the mouth, except perchance over a tankard of brown October ale. He looked like the embodiment of all the Squire Allworthys who’d ever galloped across a British countryside. He even had on suitably ancient plus fours and knitted wool socks in a brown and yellow argyle pattern, with a