Tales: Short Stories Featuring Ian Rutledge and Bess Crawford Read Free Page A

adding. “We met the Freys six months ago. They’d been in Kenya for some years and have just returned to England. Miss Abernathy is traveling with them, at the request of her parents.”
    “Thank you.” Rutledge studied the short list. “Why were they in Kenya?” he asked.
    “Something was said about growing coffee,” Lowery replied. “Miss Abernathy told us her father is the doctor in Nairobi.”
    Mrs. Lowery smiled. “She’s quite charming, kept all of us laughing with tales of her life out there. Her story about trying to stalk and shoot a springbok in Ngorongoro Crater had us all laughing.”
    “Indeed?”
    “I can’t believe that our guests—it’s not likely that they’re involved with this,” Lowery said. “To what end?”
    “It’s what they may have seen as they left your house that interests me.”
    “Yes, of course.”
    Rutledge asked for their direction and was sent to a hotel near Kensington Palace.
    Dunstan said, “I’m sorry to pull them out of bed,” as he and Rutledge took the narrow elevator to the third floor. “But for Cecily’s sake, we have no choice.”
    Miss Abernathy was in Number 307 and Rutledge knocked at her door first.
    A sleepy voice called, “Who is it?”
    “The police, Miss Abernathy. There’s been a thief in the hotel. I need to make certain that you’re all right.”
    “Yes. Yes, I am.”
    “Could you come to the door and verify you are not being held against your will?”
    Dunstan said, “What the hell—” but Rutledge silenced him with a raised hand.
    “I’m in bed,” the voice behind the door said plaintively. “Must I?”
    “I’m afraid so,” Rutledge answered.
    There was a long silence, and then Miss Abernathy came to the door, her long red hair spilling down the back of her dressing gown.
    “As you can see, I’m perfectly fine,” she told him. “Now am I allowed to return to my—” At that moment she recognized Dunstan, over her shoulder.
    With an angry cry, she shouted, “Tom!” and made to slam the door in Rutledge’s face. But she hadn’t reckoned with his quick reflexes.
    Rutledge’s shoe was in the crack, and his shoulder hit the door in the same instant, propelling her back into the room where she stumbled and fell against the bed. She was still calling for Tom, and Rutledge wheeled as Dunstan shouted, meeting the man as he charged into the room.
    “Police,” Rutledge warned him, but he didn’t stop. They grappled, Tom driven by fury. Rutledge was slowly getting the better of him when the woman from the bed threw herself on his back, and another woman ran into the room, her hands out like claws, attacking Dunstan. He swore as her nails raked his face, then beat her fists against his chest.
    There was a faint sound from the wardrobe behind him. Dunstan, hearing it, caught the woman by the shoulders, spinning her around with some force, and whipped the dangling sash of her dressing gown around her wrists before shoving her into a chair. Then he went at the door like a madman, flinging it open and saying something Rutledge couldn’t catch.
    Rutledge was able to put his shoulder into the next blow, and the man fell to the floor, dazed. He turned on Miss Abernathy and, without ceremony, snapped his handcuffs over her wrists and pushed her back down on the bed. He wheeled to where Dunstan was standing in front of the wardrobe, trying to lift his daughter out of the cramped space but his ribs wouldn’t allow him to shift her. She had been bound with cloths, and there was barely room for her to crouch. Rutledge stepped forward, lifted her out of the wardrobe and carried her to the only other chair in the room. Dunstan began to tear at the knots but Rutledge brought out a pocket knife and quickly cut them.
    The odor of ether was on her clothing, and in a black rage, her father turned on the man Miss Abernathy had called Tom. “You dined with us, you bastard, and when we left, you attacked us and used ether on my child.”
    Frey