Mourn not your Dead

hypothesis around the village—a vagrant, thinking the house empty, seizes the opportunity to pilfer it, then when caught red-handed by the commander, panics and kills him. That’s all very convenient for everybody concerned, Superintendent, but I can see at least one logical flaw. My ‘burglary,’ if you want to call it that, for I never found any sign of a break-in, occurred almost three months ago. If any vagrant had been hanging about the village for that length of time, someone would have seen him.”
    Although he privately agreed with her, Kincaid was beginning to form his own theory and merely countered with another question. “If you hadn’t a break-in, what alerted you to the fact that things were missing?”
    The music had finished as they talked, and in the silence Kincaid heard the cat stir, then the sound of purring as it stretched and repositioned itself. It seemed to him that Madeleine imitated the cat, stretching out her long legs and crossing her ankles before she said, “First, it was an antique garnet ring, a gift from my mother on my twenty-first birthday. I thought I must have misplaced it, that it would turn up, and didn’t think too much about it. Then a few days later I discovered a brooch missing as well, and I began to worry a little and to look around. I discovered some small pieces of family silver missing, and a few other odd things—a ceramic egg coddler, for instance. Tell me why someone would steal a Royal Worcester egg coddler, Superintendent.”
    “Have you any idea if all the things disappeared simultaneously?”
    Madeleine considered his question a moment before answering. “No, I’m sorry, I’m afraid I can’t be sure. I’d worn the ring more recently than I’d used the silver, but that’s as far as I would be prepared to go.”
    “And you noticed nothing out of order in the flat? No strangers about at that time?” Finding he didn’t care for the strong cinnamon bite of the tea, Kincaid unobtrusively replaced his mug on the tray without taking his eyes from Madeleine.
    She made a sweeping gesture with her hand, palm up. “As you can see, my living quarters are quite small, just this room, the kitchen, and a bedroom. I chose to give up many of my possessions when I came here, and I’m naturally tidy, so it would be extremely difficult for someone to ransack my things without my knowledge. Yet, I noticed nothing.” She gave a shrug almost Gallic in its eloquence. “It reminds me of the Brownie stories I heard as a child. They were benevolent elves, if I remember correctly, and I sense no malice in this.”
    Kincaid found her reference to her past and her last comment equally intriguing. While he was deciding which he wanted to pursue first, Deveney sat forwards and said, “But surely you have other people visiting your flat. Clients, friends—and what about Sarah, the girl who works downstairs? Could she have taken the things?”
    “Never!” Madeleine stiffened, pulling her feet back from their relaxed position, and for the first time she looked awkward, as if she were too tall to sit comfortably on the sofa. Fiercely, she said, “Sarah’s helped me since she was fourteen. She’s a good girl, and almost like my own child. Why would she suddenly take things from me?”
    The reasons a seventeen-year-old girl might steal struck Kincaid as too myriad to list (the foremost being either drugs or a boyfriend using drugs), but he didn’t wish to antagonize Madeleine further. And having met Sarah, he felt inclined to agree with Madeleine’s assessment. For a moment he wished urgently for Gemma, who would have eased tactfully into such a suggestion, if she had made it at all.
    “You can’t be too cau—”
    “I’m sure Miss Wade’s right, Nick,” interrupted Kincaid, giving Deveney a sharp glance.
    Deveney flushed and set his mug down with a noticeable thump.
    “Tell me, Miss Wade,” said Kincaid, “what exactly did you mean when you said you didn’t sense any malice involved in the thefts?”
    She looked at him for a moment, as if she were making a determination, then sighed. Her flare of anger seemed to have burnt away the amusement he’d sensed in her manner, and now she spoke with quiet gravity. “I was born with a gift, Superintendent. Not that it’s so very unusual—I believe that many people have psychic talents, which they either use or suppress according to their degree of discomfort with the phenomenon. I also decided long ago that the