Smile and be a Villain by Jeanne M. Dams Page A

when he’s been naughty, much less use violence to a human being.’
    â€˜I’m not so sure he was a human being,’ I grumbled, but Alan was right, of course.
    I jumped up suddenly and reached for my purse, pulling out my phone. ‘Alan, I want to call Jane.’
    â€˜To check on the animals? You know they’re fine. She spoils them.’
    â€˜Well, it was the mention of Watson that made me think of it, but it’s not just that. I want to hear her voice. She’s so sane and sensible and just plain good. She’ll be an antidote to all this poison.’
    Jane Langland is one of the saints of the earth. She doesn’t look like it. I’ve never been able to decide whether she looks more like Winston Churchill or one of her many bulldogs, not that there’s a great difference. Her gruff manner hides the kindest heart imaginable. She’s a retired schoolmistress, who has been my next-door neighbour ever since I moved to England years ago, and is a dear friend, pet-sitter and source of information about everything under the sun. I badly needed a dose of Jane.
    She answered the phone promptly. ‘Hello, Dorothy. Thought you might be calling about now. Missing your miserable little toads?’
    â€˜I am, badly. How are they all?’
    â€˜Fat and lazy. Cats sleep all the time they’re not eating. Not even interested in chasing the birds.’
    â€˜They never catch them, anyway. Thank goodness. And Watson?’
    â€˜Oh,
Watson
.’ Her voice had softened. She enjoyed the cats, and was always good to them, but dogs were the great love of her life, and she pampered our mutt just as much as her own highly pedigreed pets. ‘Missing you, of course, but being good. Needn’t worry.’
    â€˜I know. I just – oh, Jane, I just wanted to talk to you. Something awful has happened here.’
    â€˜Man on the cliff.’
    â€˜Jane! How on earth …? It can’t have made the news. A man falls down a hill and hits his head – it’s not the most riveting news.’
    â€˜Been keeping an eye out for Alderney news. Friend used to live there; saw this in a Guernsey paper; told me.’
    Of course. If Jane had relayed news from a friend in Kathmandu or Kamchatka, I wouldn’t have been surprised. ‘I should have known. You have your spies everywhere.’
    â€˜Suppose you were the ones who found him.’
    â€˜Now I’m sure your friend didn’t tell you that!’
    â€˜No. Know you two. Good at finding trouble. Accident, was it?’
    I hesitated just a fraction too long, and heard her chuckle.
    â€˜Thought not. Know a little about the man.’
    I sighed. ‘Why does that not surprise me? Just a second, Jane, I’m going to put you on speaker phone, so Alan can hear, too. Wait a minute, he may have to do this for me.’
    When Alan had pushed a button or two, I said, ‘Okay. Shoot.’
    â€˜Don’t know much. Student went to America, some uni in Ohio. Wrote back about a local priest. Saint on earth, apparently. Too good to be true, boy thought. Left without much ado. Fishy.’
    I’m used to Jane’s style, and translated without much difficulty. One of her former pupils had gone to America, heard about Mr Abercrombie and mistrusted him, especially when the priest flew the coop.
    â€˜We’re hearing some things, too, Jane, that have made us wonder, but it still seems as if the guy just fell down that hill. It’s awfully steep.’
    â€˜Jane, there’s another thing,’ Alan put in. ‘What do you know about gambling in Alderney?’
    â€˜Big business. Huge business. Big source of income for the island. All on the up-and-up. Why?’
    â€˜It’s too complicated to get into, Jane. We just wondered, that’s all.’
    â€˜Hmm.’ Jane was given ‘furiously to think’, as Hercule Poirot used to say.
    Alan signalled me with his eyebrows, so I said,