Page 17 of Murder in Highbury

“Is there anything else, my dear?” George asked.

She tendered what she hoped was a smile as innocent as a babe’s. “No. We must let Dr. Hughes be on his way. I’m sure he still has much business to attend to.”

George ushered the doctor out to the entrance hall. As the two men made their goodbyes, Emma sank down into her chair, mulling over everything she’d heard.

When her husband returned, she tilted her head. “That was quite something, wasn’t it?”

He settled into his chair. “Vastly entertaining. I did warn you, though.”

“I’m grateful you did. I must say, George, I cannot be impressed by Dr. Hughes. The general consensus seems to be that he is a competent enough physician, but what is your opinion of his skills as a coroner?”

“I have always found him to be perfectly adequate in terms of his medical assessments.”

She scoffed. “That is a nonanswer, dearest.”

His smile was wry. “Do I think he’s a pompous ass? Yes, but he takes his duties seriously, and he is punctilious in meeting the legal obligations of the role.”

“Don’t you agree, though, that he was too ready to jump to conclusions? To assume that the killer must be a thief when several valuable pieces in the church were left untouched seems a rather hasty assumption to make.”

“As he mentioned, perhaps Mrs. Elton frightened him off.”

“He was so frightened that he murdered her,” she dryly replied.

“Point taken. But it’s also possible that matters simply got out of hand. Mrs. Elton may have challenged him or was about to cry out for help. And after he killed her, perhaps he was so rattled that he fled the scene rather than look for more items to steal.”

“After taking her necklace, which is admittedly very valuable,” she mused. “Still, he wasn’t so rattled that he didn’t fail to wipe down the murder weapon and put it back in its place on the altar.”

George frowned at the ledger on his desk. “I admit it’s a detail that troubles me.”

“Because?”

He looked up, and their gazes locked.

“Because all of this might suggest that it was not a random theft or a crime of opportunity.”

Emma sighed, hating his answer but unable to disagree. “And if it wasn’t, then it means it had to be someone who knew her.”

“Yes.”

And that was precisely what her little niggles had been suggesting all along. “How utterly ghastly. But who could hate Mrs. Elton so much as to bash her over the head with a candlestick?” When her husband simply lifted a sardonic eyebrow, she threw him a mock glare. “Yes, very comical. But I’m serious, George.”

His spark of humor vanished. “You’re right, of course. And I am indeed grieved that the poor woman came to such a horrible end. She did not deserve such a fate.”

“Nor does Mr. Elton deserve to be so shockingly served, either. I will be the first to admit that they were not a likable couple, but how utterly tragic her murder is. It’s hard to imagine how Highbury will ever really recover.”

As far as she knew, never in living memory had such a violent deed been committed in their heretofore peaceful village. To her, it felt like an essential innocence had been forever lost.

George studied her for several long moments. “Are you going to tell me? Or shall I guess?”

She sighed. “It’s terribly annoying that you can read me so well.”

“I’ve had many years of practice, Emma. I’m assuming it has something to do with your question regarding a woman’s ability to commit murder.”

She placed both her hands flat on his desk and studied her fingernails. Well, actually, she was avoiding his ability to see right through her.

Coward.

Looking up, she met his gaze. “I found something else at the church today. It might be nothing, but combined with the noises I heard in the vestry . . .”