A Date with a Werewolf Page 5

  "Come on, Eliana. A kidnapping? A Tokyo bathhouse? Both of those stories were based entirely on hearsay."

  "All right, so the Journal has gone a bit overboard. But I'm certain the stories are selling a lot of newspapers. Why do you think there's something sinister behind them?"

  "Joy's murder was not the first one of its kind. You know about Dr. Neville and Poo-Poo. There was also a nurse, about a month ago. Every time, the newspaper had the information, but buried it toward the back of the paper, or refused to run the stories altogether. Doesn't it seem odd to you that the owner of the Journal was at a murder scene yesterday, yet there's no mention of it in today's newspaper? He's protecting somebody, Eliana. And I intend to find out who."

  "Actually, it doesn't seem odd in the least," Eliana said, "not if you know Lord Pembroke. The man has a terrific fear of scandal. For instance, he had the courtroom closed to the public the last time Robert was arrested for traffic violations. And when Robert was kicked out of his most recent school, Lord Pembroke endowed a new wing for the school's library—in exchange for having the records say Robert transferred out of his own accord."

  "So you think Lord Pembroke is using the princess stories to cover up something terrible Robert has done?"

  "I didn't say that!" Eliana protested. "I'm just trying to explain that Lord Pembroke doesn't want to sully the family name—for instance, by allowing a newspaper article that says a body was found at Pembroke Manor. He may not be covering up the identity of the murderer, Liz. He could be more interested in covering up the location of the murder."

  "I know what it's like to have your family's name dragged through the mud," Elizabeth admitted, biting her lip. "Not long ago, I was in court myself—Jessica's boyfriend was killed in an accident, and I was driving the car. The accident turned out to be someone else's fault. But I would have given anything for a news blackout up until that point!"

  Eliana looked startled. "Oh, Liz! How awful that must have been for you. I had no idea. But maybe that experience will help you understand Pembroke's actions. I remember hearing that the Pembrokes were involved in some sort of scandal fifteen or twenty years ago. Since then, Lord Pembroke has been fanatical about keeping the family name clean."

  "What kind of scandal?" Elizabeth asked.

  "I don't remember. It must have happened a year or two before I was born. But as a child, I heard of a deep, dark secret that was causing the Pembrokes great embarrassment."

  Very interesting, Elizabeth mused, wondering if the old scandal was somehow tied in with the current goings-on. Now if I could only find out what the big scandal was.

  Unfortunately, the Pembrokes were the only logical source of information on the old scandal. Jessica would have a fit if Elizabeth went anywhere near Robert; besides, Robert would have been a baby at the time. The elder Lord Pembroke was already suspicious of Elizabeth. That left only Robert's mother. Elizabeth decided she would have to question Lady Pembroke about the twenty-year-old scandal—and about the recent murders.

  I'll get to the bottom of this mystery if it's the last thing I do!

  Chapter 4

  "What with Lucy gone and all, this is going to be a crazy week for me," Tony Frank told the twins early Monday morning. "And I'm sorry to say that supervising interns isn't terribly high on the priority list. You'll have some assignments, but I'm afraid you'll be on your own a lot, too. So plan to do a lot of sight-seeing, or whatever it is that American teenagers do in London."

  Jessica grinned, thinking this way she'd finally have time to hit the stores. Will it be Harrods or Bond Street?

  Elizabeth, though, had a thoughtful look on her face.

  "Tony," Elizabeth began, "you don't mind if I spend some of that extra time tracking down some stories on my own, do you?"

  Jessica rolled her eyes. It was just like her narg of a sister to want to spend the week writing. Well, she was still mad at Elizabeth for criticizing Robert, and she wasn't going to waste a moment worrying about whether Elizabeth was having fun this week.

  "Still thinking about that Pulitzer, Liz?" Tony replied. "Go right ahead. I like reporters who take the initiative. Just don't get in over your head. Leave the breaking news to the professionals. Well, I guess that's singular now," he said, referring to Lucy's absence.

  "Do you think Lucy is gone for good, Tony?" Elizabeth asked, taking his cue.

  "I'm afraid so, Elizabeth," Tony answered. "And I'm also afraid you're looking at the London Journal's new crime desk editor."

  "Congratulations!" Jessica said, happy for Tony's success but sorry that it meant she wouldn't be seeing any more of the grouchy but glamorous Friday. "That's more exciting than covering tea parties for the society desk."

  "I've wanted this job all my life," Tony admitted. "Though I hate the idea that I'm here only because Lucy resigned."

  "And I guess this isn't going to make her any more likely to want to make up with you," Jessica said sympathetically.

  Tony's face fell. Jessica had known from the start that Tony was in love with Lucy, even though they spent most of their time together bickering, arguing, and just plain yelling at each other. Lucy had accused Tony of sensationalizing the princess story in order to get the crime desk job for himself. Now that Tony had the position, Jessica reflected, their chances for a reconciliation were zilch.

  "It's too bad about Lucy," Elizabeth said. "She seemed difficult to get to know, but she's a first-rate journalist."

  "You're right on both counts," Tony agreed. "I'm the first to admit that Lucy's really the best man for the crime desk job. It'll be tough to fill her court shoes."

  Jessica stared at him. "Huh?"

  "You know, court shoes." Tony laughed. "High-heeled pumps, in American."

  Jessica sighed. "Why can't the English speak English, like regular people?"

  "Because regular people are naffs and nargs," Elizabeth said, reminding Jessica that she'd been dropping a few Briticisms herself.

  "Speaking of words," Tony said, laughing, "I've got an assignment I want you both to work on this morning." Jessica's visions of shopping dimmed. "In the last week you two have been assigned a number of disparate topics—everything but the kitchen sink, in fact. Today, we'll remedy that deficiency."

  "That sounds ominous," Elizabeth said.

  "We're calling this the Case of the Flying Sink," Tony continued. "It seems that a university student was walking down Tottenham Court Road, when he was hit on the head by a kitchen sink that came soaring through the air."

  The twins groaned in unison. "Another Bumpo story!" they exclaimed. Sergeant Bumpo was the bungling Scotland Yard detective who always handled the most ridiculous cases.

  I'd rather be shopping, Jessica thought ruefully.

  "Well, I guess we'd better catch up with Bumpo," Elizabeth said with a sigh after Tony dismissed the twins. Jessica knew that Elizabeth was itching to show off her journalistic skills on the Case of the Werewolf Murders. How could calm, reasonable Elizabeth have turned into such a basket case that she actually believes in werewolves?

  Jessica glanced up and saw the answer to her question: Luke. He had somehow convinced Elizabeth that a werewolf could be responsible for the deaths of Joy and the other victims.

  Luke smiled warmly at Elizabeth. "Would you like to go to the cinema with me tonight, Liz? The Howling is playing at the Paradiso."

  "That would be great," Elizabeth replied, smiling and actually sounding pleased at an invitation to watch a werewolf movie.

  Jessica shook her head. The old Elizabeth thought horror movies were childish. Then Jessica remembered a snatch of an old Warren Zevon song and began singing tunelessly: " 'Ow-ooooh! Werewolves of London! Ow-ooooh!' "

  "Jessica!" Elizabeth protested.

  Jessica folded her arms in front of her. "I can't believe this. You two are taking this goofy werewolf stuff too seriously."

  "Don't make light of werewolves, Jessica," Luke said in a quiet voice. "They're very serious business."

  Luke leaned over to kiss Elizabeth on the forehead. "I'll come by your dorm at eight," he said, then crossed the room and disappeared through the door, leaving Jessica shaking her head in disgust.

  "So, Sergeant Bumpo, have you determined where the flying sink came from?" Elizabeth asked the short, round detective, trying to keep the impatience out of her voice.

  "Certainly. It was dropped from the window of the sixth-floor flat."

  Jessica grimaced. "Why would anyone try to kill a college student by dropping a kitchen sink on his head?"

  "I have conducted an intensive investigation on that very point," Bumpo said in an important-sounding voice. "Fingerprints, interviews with witnesses, analysis of the forensic evidence—"

  "And what did you discover?" Elizabeth interrupted. Bumpo loved using every investigative technique known to criminal science—and he loved talking about them even more. Usually, Elizabeth found him amusing, but today she was in a hurry to go question Lady Pembroke—if she could find an excuse to get away from Jessica.

  "After serious examination of the evidence," Bumpo said, "I've determined that the young fellow was hit entirely by accident. It seems a carpenter in the sixth-floor flat was installing a new washbasin. The old one was rather heavy to tote down the stairs, and the lift wasn't working, so he dropped it out the window instead. Unfortunately, he failed to notice the poor chap walking past, below."

  "So what's the condition of the, uh, victim?" Elizabeth asked.

  "The fellow's doing splendidly—conscious and in good spirits," the detective replied. "He's in hospital, of course, but it's only a slight concussion. Luckily, he's a jolly strapping youth—university football player, you know."

  Jessica brightened. "Football player?"

  Bumpo wiped a hand across t
he top of his head, as if to assure himself that his few wisps of hair still shielded his rather large bald spot. "I suppose that's soccer to you Americans, isn't it?"

  Suddenly, Elizabeth knew how to get away from her sister. In love or not, Jessica never passed up a chance to meet a good-looking college boy.

  "Jessica," Elizabeth said, "I think it's very important that we interview the victim. Would you mind heading over to the hospital to question him? I'll stay here and finish up with Sergeant Bumpo. Then I'm meeting Rene for lunch. I'll see you at the Journal later this afternoon, and we'll write up the story."

  Jessica smiled gratefully, ignoring the fact that she was angry with Elizabeth. "I think you're absolutely right," she said. "I'll get over to the hospital right away."

  After Jessica was gone, Elizabeth hurried through the rest of her discussion with Sergeant Bumpo and then took a taxi to the Pembrokes' fashionable Eaton Square home, Pembroke Green.

  Ciao for now to the Case of the Flying Sink, she thought as she sank back into the cushy seat of the distinctive black Austin, London's standard taxi. As exciting as it was to work for a real, big-city newspaper, Elizabeth had been bitterly disappointed by the types of articles she was assigned to write. She knew it was unrealistic to expect to cover a major story—she was just a high-school intern. But she was sure she could do it. Maybe her private investigation of the werewolf murders would give her the chance.

  As London flew past her window, Elizabeth imagined her byline on a page-one Journal exclusive, "Murder Suspect Apprehended."

  She smiled at the familiar daydream. Then she gave a long sigh and forced herself to concentrate on her upcoming interview with Lady Pembroke.

  "What do the Pembrokes have to hide?" she asked under her breath. Lady Pembroke might not know about the Journal's cover-up of the murders, but she would certainly remember the scandal that had rocked the family name fifteen or twenty years earlier.

  Whether she would tell Elizabeth—or rather, Jessica—was another question entirely. Unclasping her hair from its neat ponytail and stuffing the barrette into her purse, Elizabeth began her transformation into Jessica, who usually wore her hair down. Then she pulled out a lipstick and applied it liberally; Elizabeth seldom wore makeup, but Jessica wouldn't think of walking into the Pembrokes' town house without it.

  A few minutes later, "Jessica" sat in a sumptuously furnished parlor with Lady Pembroke. A butler hovered nearby, waiting to refill their teacups—and glaring suspiciously at Elizabeth.

  Why didn't I put more thought into my clothes today? she silently chastised herself, looking down at her simple navy skirt and white blouse. Lady Pembroke, of course, was dressed impeccably, in a cream-colored silk suit and a strand of pearls. Not surprising, considering this was a woman who owned at least one mink coat that was worth roughly as much as a four-year college education in the States.

  "Thanks for seeing me on the spur of the moment like this, Lady Pembroke," she said with exactly the right amount of Jessica's bounce in her voice. "I was in the neighborhood, and had just a few questions to go over with you, about your missing mink coat."

  Lady Pembroke looked down her long, thin nose. "I thought we had exhausted the topic when you and that dreadful Sergeant Bumpo interviewed me last week," she said. "But go ahead, if you must. Especially if it will help recover my mink."

  "As I understand it," Elizabeth said carefully, "you checked your mink while you were having tea at Browns. When you went to claim it afterward, you were given a chinchilla instead."

  "A simply wretched chinchilla," Lady Pembroke emphasized.

  Elizabeth stifled an urge to roll her eyes. Instead, she pretended to write in her reporter's notebook. "I suppose you were having tea with your husband, Lord Pembroke?"

  "No, I was not," Lady Pembroke replied, narrowing her eyes.

  "Then you were alone."

  "Miss Wakefield, a woman of breeding never dines alone in public. I was with friends, of course—as I said in my statement to the detective. But I fail to see what difference it makes who my companions were."

  Elizabeth smiled, hoping she looked friendlier than she felt. "I was just wondering if there were any other witnesses to the, uh, crime. But you're right; I can get that information from Sergeant Bumpo's report. So I won't waste any more of your time on it."

  Lady Pembroke sniffed. "See that you don't. But I am gratified that somebody at the newspaper is taking this case seriously. My husband certainly isn't. And that horrible little Scotland Yard detective seemed to think the disappearance of my mink was a simple misunderstanding. I, for one, am convinced that a crime has taken place."

  "I'm sure you're right, Lady Pembroke," Elizabeth agreed. Then she decided to press her advantage. "You know, a thorough newspaper article has a way of bringing a crime like this out into the open. The more information I have, the easier it will be for the police to recover your mink. For instance, does anyone have a reason to hold a grudge against you or your family? Even an incident that took place a very long time ago—like twenty years ago—could cause somebody to perpetrate a crime like this, for revenge."

  Lady Pembroke's perfectly manicured fingers gripped her teacup tighter, her long, pink fingernails clinking against the fine bone china. When she stood up, her eyes were flashing, and Elizabeth realized she had gone too far.

  "I have no idea what you are alluding to," Lady Pembroke said in a furious but perfectly controlled voice. "I understand that my son thinks quite highly of you, but I find you to be a boorish, ill-bred young woman. This interview is over."

  "So this is the newsroom," Emily said, coming up behind Jessica, who sat at a computer on Monday afternoon, typing the day's Bumpo article with two fingers. "Are you ready to go out for tea?"

  Jessica grimaced. "Not until I finish this stupid story for the evening edition."

  "Another exploding aubergine? Or was it a turnip this time?"

  "Ha, ha. Very funny," Jessica said. "But this happens to be an important article. A college student was injured in a major accident this morning. It was, uh, water-related."

  "Oh, really? A boating accident? That does sound important. Let me see—"

  Jessica tried to block Emily's view of the computer screen, but she was too slow.

  Emily burst out laughing. "A kitchen sink fell on his head? I've heard of it raining cats and dogs, but never plumbing fixtures!"

  Jessica laughed in spite of herself. "What a waste of a perfectly good morning. The guy who got clobbered by it wasn't even good-looking—tons of acne, and no neck!"

  "Speaking of good-looking, wasn't Elizabeth having lunch with Rene today? How did that go?"

  Jessica raised her eyebrows. "Apparently, it's going well. My deadbeat sister hasn't come back. That's why I'm stuck writing this story."

  "Elizabeth hasn't returned? Do you suppose she finally gave in and decided that she loves Rene, after all?"

  "A few weeks ago, I'd have said you were crazy. But Elizabeth has really gone off the deep end since she's been here." She shook her head. "Nobody back home would believe it if they heard I was sitting in a stuffy newspaper office, writing an article that Elizabeth promised to do, while she's out with a great-looking French guy. It's as if she's turned into me!"

  "What's so unusual about Elizabeth having a date?" Emily asked. "I thought she had a rather handsome boyfriend at home."

  "That's just the point. She's usually boringly loyal to Todd. If she can forget all about him to have a fling with Luke, maybe she'd go out with Rene, too! I never thought I'd say this about my sister, but I've got to hand it to her—juggling three boys at once! As I said, she's sounding more and more like me."

  "Are you still mad at her for what she said yesterday?"

  "I guess I'll get over it," Jessica said. "I wish she'd give Robert a chance. But she really thinks she's looking out for me. Liz can be kind of a mother hen. She's four minutes older than I am, and she thinks that gives her the right to boss me around!"

  The phone rang. Jessica picked it up to hear Robert's voice, inviting her to dinner at Pembroke Green that night with him and his mother.

  "My father won't be present, of course," Robert told her. "He's still at the manor house, taking care of some business. But I was hoping to bring you and Mother together to help you two become reacquainted. From what Mother said, I take it your interview with her at the house today was less than successful."