DEATH BEFORE WICKET - Poisoned Pen Press (UK)

Kerry Greenwood
‘Yes, they were beautiful. We ordered three for that shady
spot near the roses. Frilly pinks. My wife was very taken with
them. They’ve been working on a new azalea for some time.
Pure white. Lovely things. But how I’m going to survive if the
Dean dismisses me without a reference, as he is threatening to
do, I don’t know, I don’t know at all…’
He was about to burst into tears again and Phryne did not
want to expose Sykes to what Professor Bretherton was evidently
about to say.
‘Now, Mr. Sykes,’ she said firmly, ‘brace up. If I find Professor
Bretherton’s papyrus I’m quite likely to find your books. You are
sure that the contents of the safe were all tickety-boo at noon
on Saturday?’
‘Er…yes, Miss Fisher, perfectly, er…tickety-boo,’ replied
Sykes.
‘Good. Now cast your mind back. Look at the office. Someone
who took all that stuff out of the safe would need something to
carry it in, wouldn’t they? Is there a box missing? A case?’
Sykes surveyed the office. It was cluttered. All the walls were
lined with bookshelves stuffed with miscellaneous volumes. Sykes’
desk was loaded with papers. In the inner room, the Dean’s was
bare and polished, carrying only an inkstand, a tray of pens and
the broad white expanse of faultless blotting paper. The safe hulked
in a corner. It was large enough to store a small rhinoceros.
‘No, nothing missing, as far as I can tell.’
‘Interesting,’ commented Phryne. ‘All right, now, off you go,
Mr. Sykes. Leave it to me and enjoy your garden.’
‘Yes, push off, Sykes, that’s enough emotion for one evening,’
said Professor Bretherton.
Mr. Sykes, seemingly heartened, abandoned his papers, collected
his hat and left, babbling apologies for his loss of control.
When he had bowed his way out, Professor Bretherton shut the
door. Phryne inspected it. It was not a deadlock but needed a
key, and did not appear to have been forced.
‘How many keys are there?’ asked Phryne.