Death on the Diagonal - By Nero Blanc Page 0,61

abrupt culmination of her phone call to Sara call might have a logical explanation.

“Why don’t you phone from our landline as soon as we get home? You can use the excuse that your cell reception broke up, and you couldn’t hear everything she said. After all, maybe she’s imagining you hung up on her rather than vice versa.”

Belle considered the suggestion, wrapping her arms around herself as if the cold were bothering her instead of her troubled thoughts. “I don’t think that’s the case, Rosco. Sara was really, really cranky. But I’ll give it a try.” She sighed again. “And that was odd how Martha intuited the problem, wasn’t it?”

“She was talking about her father, Belle,” was the gentle answer. “You know Sara’s not in the same boat.”

“I know. But the two cases struck me as being painfully alike—”

“Except that Sara Briephs isn’t losing her marbles.”

“Mr. Sensitive.”

“Okay, she’s not undergoing memory-loss issues. Is that better?” Rosco swerved to avoid another darting critter—this one had the bushy tail of a fox—and when it gained the safety of the underbrush bordering the lane it turned red and baleful eyes on the passing car. “No problems with foxes streaking by us, are there? No Celtic myths or Norse legends?”

Belle shook her head, and Rosco continued. “But we have to bear in mind Sara’s age, and that she took a serious tumble. She may not be firing on all cylinders as a result, albeit a temporary condition. She has been given pain medication, remember.”

“Which is all the more reason to worry about Dawn Davis’s potential ploys.”

“The cunning vixen, as it were.” Rosco chuckled briefly.

“You’re not allowed to speak for the rest of the ride home,” Belle told him, although she was smiling as she spoke.

“Not even to remark about playing possum if we happen to pass one of them scurrying into the weeds?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Kit and Gab are going to be awfully disappointed,” Rosco laughed.

“They’re exhausted and asleep. And besides, all they hear when we’re yakking is blah . . . blah . . . blah . . . walk . . . blah . . . blah . . . treat.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure. Remember they live in an erudite household.” Then he patted his wife’s leg again. “Don’t worry, Belle. Sara’s a smart lady. No one has ever pulled the wool over her eyes, and no one ever will.”

“You’re getting dangerously close to the forbidden critter terrain, buddy.”

“I didn’t say anything about wolves in sheep’s clothing, did I?”

“Just stop right there.” But she couldn’t help smiling.

Returned to their cozy abode, however, Belle’s concerns about her friend increased when she called White Caps and was informed by Emma that “Mrs. Briephs has already retired for the evening.”

“But it’s only seven, Emma,” Belle asserted while the response was an implacable, or so it seemed, “Madam has been feeling poorly. Possibly you could try again tomorrow?”

Frustrated and unhappy, Belle hung up and turned to Rosco. “Emma’s lying; I’m sure she is. I’ll bet Sara’s right there in the room and refusing to speak to me.”

“You don’t know that—”

“Yes, I do!” Then Belle did something she seldom allowed herself to do; she began to cry.

Concerned but not altogether surprised by his wife’s reaction, Rosco put his arms around her. “Sara’s an old lady,” he said gently. “No matter how much she dislikes admitting the fact. As I said before—and as Martha also suggested—maybe that spill did more than damage Sara’s knee. Maybe it genuinely scared her, gave her a frightening glimpse of her own mortality. It makes sense that she’s emotionally as well as physically shaken. And it also seems logical that she could have a delayed reaction . . . and even that her anger over her own failings could find a scapegoat in you.”

But Belle was not to be consoled. “That awful Dawn Davis!” she railed. “This is all her fault!”

Rosco continued to hold his wife while the sleepy dogs roused themselves from their torpor and ambled close to lend their own furry support. Belle felt their two wet noses nudging her. “Two . . .” she mumbled. “Two . . . two—” Her words abruptly ceased, and she stood straighter until her eyes looked into Rosco’s face. “When I spoke with Sara, she insisted her experience of Dawn and the allegations against her were ‘two very different things.’ That was the phrase she used.” Belle reached into her pocket to retrieve a tissue, then blew her nose and frowned in concentration. “What if—just