Under Cover: A World War II Mystery

By Linda Shenton Matchett

In the year since arriving in London, journalist Ruth Brown has put a face on the war for her readers at home in the U.S. Thus far, juggling her career and her relationship with Detective Inspector Trevor Gelson hasn't proven too challenging. The war gets personal for Ruth when her friend Amelia is murdered, and Trevor is assigned to the case.

Life gets even more unsettling when clues indicate her best friend, Varis, is passing secrets to the enemy. Convinced Varis is innocent, Ruth must find the real traitor as the clock ticks down toward Operation Husky-the Allied invasion of Sicily. Circumstantial evidence leads Trevor to suspect her of having a part in Amelia's death, and Ruth must choose between her heart and her duty.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shortwave Press
• Release date: Feb 15, 2020
• ISBN: 0998526541

Linda Shenton Matchett

Linda Shenton Matchett is an author, speaker, and history geek. A native of Baltimore, Maryland, she was born a stone's throw from Fort McHenry and has lived in historic places all her life. Linda is a member of ACFW, RWA, and Sisters in Crime. She is a volunteer docent at the Wright Museum of WWII and a trustee for her local public library.

Book preview

BIO

Chapter One

A scream pierced the air. Ruth Brown's head jerked up at the sound, halting her rush through London's lunchtime crowds on Old Street.

There was a motion from above. A body hurtled to the ground from the brick building across the street. Her eyes widened, and a wave of nausea swept over her.

She turned toward her best friend, Varis Gladstone, whose blue eyes bulged in her whitened face. Murmurs rose from the throng who pointed to the open window in the building, one of many manufacturing plants that had been converted to war-material production two years ago after Hitler declared war on England. A canvas shade flapped in the breeze.

From amidst the mob, a shout rang out. Is anyone a doctor? We need a doctor!

Ruth tugged at Varis's arm. Come on. They need our help.

Varis pulled away. No they don't. We're not medical professionals.

Surely we can do something of value. I'm going over.

Ruth threaded her way through the mass of people. A lanky, dark-haired man bullied his way toward her. His shoulder slammed into hers, and he scowled when she stumbled. She glared at his retreating back then broke through the circle that had formed around the lifeless figure lying on the concrete walkway. Ruth froze at the sight of the familiar face and flowing red hair of her friend Amelia Harrell. A sob sounded from behind her, and Ruth turned. Varis stood with her arms wrapped around her middle, tears streaming down her cheeks.

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A pair of helmeted bobbies cordoned off the accident scene with wooden barriers while several other officers corralled the surging mob of gawkers. Waiting to be interviewed, Ruth and Varis huddled near one of the police vehicles. Ruth's gaze strayed from the blanket-covered corpse on the ground to the ogling faces behind the barricade. She chewed on her lower lip and trembled when Varis's icy hands grabbed at her arm.

How had Amelia fallen from the building? With her fear of heights, she wouldn't have intentionally stood so close to an open window. Maybe she didn't have a choice. Did anyone inside see it happen? Were there others in the room with her? Ruth's fists tightened, fingernails biting into her palms.

Varis, this is taking too long. I'm going inside to see what I can find out.

Must you?

A sigh slipped from Ruth's lips at the wan expression on Varis's face. No, I guess I can wait. Do you want to find somewhere to sit down?

Varis shook her head, silent tears trickling from her eyes. Ruth fumbled into her purse and drew out a handkerchief. She dabbed at the wetness on her friend's face. We could go home. The police can come see us there. Would you like that?

Miss?

Ruth turned toward the voice, and recognition dawned. Sergeant Phillips. I haven't seen you since Detective Inspector Gelson and you solved the case about the skeleton found under my house. Has the murderer gone to trial yet?

A grim smile creased the man's face. You have a good memory, Miss Brown. I'm afraid the wheels of justice move slowly. The trial hasn't started yet. He looked at Varis. Nice to see you, Miss Gladstone.

Varis nodded mutely.

Are you still chasing stories for the Associated Press, Miss Brown?

"Yes, keep your eye on The Times. I submitted an article this morning."

Good for you. Phillips jerked his head toward the cordoned-off area. One of the folk I've already interviewed indicated you knew the deceased. Could you answer some questions? Either here or down at the station, if that would be more comfortable.

Here is fine, and her name was Amelia Harrell, Ruth said.

Ah, yes, of course. My apologies. How long did you know Miss Harrell?

Ruth's chin trembled. About six months, I think. Sometimes it felt much longer. We clicked right away. Seemed to have a lot of the same interests.

Varis broke in with a tremulous grin. And sense of humor. Amelia was a bit of a prankster, and so are you, Ruth.

I must admit we did come up with some good ones. Ruth swallowed against the growing lump in her throat.

Phillips pushed his tan fedora back on his head. Was Miss Harrell married, single? Did she go out much? I'll speak with her employer, but anything you could add would be helpful.

A warm breeze lifted Ruth's curls, and her purse slipped from her shoulder. She tucked her pocketbook under her arm and narrowed her eyes. I'm not sure what I can tell you. We sort of lived in the moment. You know how it is. You get too close to someone, and the next thing you know they're gone. Lost in a bombing raid.

She scrubbed at her face. I don't remember where she is...um...was from. Somewhere in the north, near Scotland. She was dating some guy for a while. She talked about him but never brought him around.

Phillips scribbled in the notebook engulfed in his large hand. She wasn't seeing him currently? Did she ever mention his name?

I think they broke up. His name is Owen, but she never gave us a last name.

Wonder why not.

Varis colored. A few of her coworkers had a theory, but we thought she simply wanted some privacy.

A theory?

Ruth shrugged. Married. Some of them thought he might be married, but Amelia wasn't like that. She was a good girl, very educated. In fact, she spoke several languages. I think her dad was an ambassador or with the Foreign Service, something like that. She didn't talk about him much. I gathered he was a bit overbearing when she was growing up.

What was she like? Phillips asked.

Varis's face lit up. Kind. Generous. She'd give you the shirt off her back. The life of the party, too. Quite chipper, knew how to make everyone laugh. Didn't seem to ever get upset or depressed. Even with the bombs coming every night like they do.

A frown wrinkled Phillips's forehead. Then why would she kill herself?

Ruth's voice rose. Kill herself?

Phillips pointed to the gaping window. She jumped out the window. Perhaps she was distraught over this boyfriend. Or maybe it was her job. Women can't always take the pressure of being in the workforce. Maybe she should have stayed at home.

Ruth drew herself to her full height and met Phillips's eyes with a piercing stare. And do what, Sergeant? Roll bandages? Knit hats for soldiers? There's real work to be done, and we women are quite capable to doing it. Besides, we just told you she didn't get depressed. To kill herself over a man she had been casually seeing? Her job? No. There are any number of reasons for her death. Maybe it was an accident, although I doubt it. Amelia hated heights and would have stood far from an open window. She wasn't 'distraught.' She liked her job and enjoyed her friends.

Phillips raised an eyebrow. Okay, so Miss Harrell didn't kill herself. If it was an accident, then she should have been more careful.

Are you always this callous when interviewing witnesses, Sergeant, or is it just when you're talking to me? Ruth slung her purse back on her shoulder and crossed her arms.

Phillips reddened. I'm sorry, Miss Brown. I don't mean to be insensitive.

Ruth's voice faltered. Amelia Harrell was neither careless nor suicidal. Do you think murder has found me again, Sergeant Phillips?

Chapter Two

Detective Inspector Trevor Gelson squinted into the morning sun as he and Ruth sauntered the manicured paths that circled Round Pond in Kensington Gardens. Pink, white, and yellow blooms bobbed in the breeze, and unseen birds chirped and called to each other among the trees. Trevor clasped his hands behind his back and grinned. It had been days since he had seen Ruth. Between his caseload and her deadlines with the newspaper, they had to snatch time when they could get it, which wasn't often enough.

Thank you, Lord. I still can't believe Ruth cares for me. She's such a gift.

Trevor glanced at her. What would Amelia's case do to their budding relationship?

Ruth took a deep breath and spread her arms. Thank you for this. I don't miss New Hampshire nearly as much after I've spent time in one of your beautiful parks.

Nearly as much?

You don't have any mountains.

He grinned. No, but we do have air raids and shortages.

She nudged his shoulder and returned his smile. What more could a girl wish for?

They continued along the walkway in companionable silence. Several minutes later, they passed a stone bench on which an elderly man and little girl sat, heads bent together over a picture book. The youngster pointed at the page and chattered in a high-pitched voice.

Trevor's gaze lingered on the two for a moment before coming to rest on Ruth's face. That reminds me; you haven't told me if you'll attend my father's birthday party. He'd very much like to meet you.

I know, Ruth said as she finger-combed her hair. What if he doesn't like me? I'm not like most women. I hate to cook and almost never clean the house. She stopped walking and gestured to her legs. And I wear slacks.

A chuckle escaped Trevor's lips before he could prevent it. You've helped the police solve two cases when you took on a corrupt company president and helped bring art smugglers to justice, yet you tremble at the thought of meeting my father. Where's that stalwart reporter I've come to know? Hmmm?

Ruth blew out a breath. Be serious. I'm sure I'm not what he expects, and I don't want to embarrass you.

He turned her toward him, put a finger under her chin, and raised her head until she met his eyes. Neither was my mother, and he fell madly in love with her. He's going to love you, too.

Trevor nodded toward a nearby bench. They ambled to it and sat down. She was a wonderful mum, telling me stories and playing hide-and-go-seek. She always had snacks and hugs ready for me and my chums when we came home from school. I was twelve when she died.

"On the Titanic?"

Yes. She was going to visit her parents: Americans, living in Boston. I almost went with her, but at the last minute, my dad changed his mind. He thought I might fall too far behind with my lessons. The memory of his mother waving at him from the carriage when she left for Southampton filled his mind, and he swallowed heavily. I never told you she was a suffragist. She worked tirelessly to get women the right to vote, and unfortunately she died before her work came to fruition. Many a night I fell asleep to the sound of women's voices plotting and planning their strategies. Once, to my father's chagrin, she was arrested.

Ruth's hand flew to her mouth. What did he say to that?

Trevor shook his head. I don't know. They never argued in front of me. Even though he was part of law enforcement, I think in some perverse way, he was proud of her for breaking the rules while fighting for injustice. One time, he sent me to get something in his nightstand, and I found the newspaper clipping from the arrest. She was front and center in the article's photograph. So, you see, he's not going to be shocked by anything you do. He'll probably be as intrigued as I am.

Ruth's face pinked, and she fiddled with the clasp on her purse. Okay, you talked me into it.

Trevor rubbed his hands together. Splendid! You don't need to bring anything. We're having Dad's favorite: apple crumble and coffee. I've been saving my sugar and gave it to my neighbor, Mrs. Cookson, so she could do the baking.

Are you sure I can't bring anything?

You just admitted you hate to cook, he said with a grin. Bring Varis, if she can get the night off. She could probably use a night out.

She's been working terrible hours. We hardly see each other anymore. Our lunch date with Amelia was our first social engagement in a long while. I still can't believe she's dead.

Leaning forward, Trevor rested his arms on his thighs. It's a terrible thing. He cleared his throat. I'm going to look into her death.

A sneer crossed Ruth's face. Even though everyone thinks she committed suicide?

Everyone?

Okay, so not everyone. Sergeant Phillips does. And I also heard the medical officer's comment about some women not being able to handle the war. Like we're all a bunch of shrinking violets. Amelia wasn't like that.

What was she involved in recently? Did she talk about her job? Her homelife?

Why? So you can prove she killed herself?

Trevor straightened and held his hands up in surrender. Her death is suspicious. She fell out of a window. I have to determine why. He softened his voice. She was your friend, but you need to prepare yourself in case I discover something you don't like.

Ruth sagged against the bench. Like suicide.

The word hung between them like a black cloud, and Trevor took Ruth's hand in his. Her tear-filled eyes met his. Ruth, you know me. I don't start a case with preconceived notions. I'm not making any assumptions about what happened to Amelia.

A tentative smile formed on Ruth's face, and she stilled. Then you think she might have been murdered?

Like I said, I make no assumptions, but I will explore all possibilities. I hate to ask you to relive her death, but anything you can tell me about what you know or saw will help.

Ruth straightened and squeezed his hands before releasing them to retrieve a handkerchief from her purse to wipe her eyes. She tucked the creamy piece of linen back into her pocketbook and took a deep breath. I'm ready.

Trevor tugged down his sleeves and nodded before pulling out his notepad and pencil from the inside breast pocket of his jacket. Start at the beginning, and I'll only interrupt if I need clarification.

Okay. She rubbed the back of her neck. Varis and I hadn't seen Amelia in several weeks. We've all been so busy. The girls both work terribly long hours, so when they do get time off, all they want to do is sleep. That is, if they can get any sleep between bombing raids. Anyway, Amelia called me on Wednesday and said she had news. She asked if Varis and I could meet her for lunch yesterday. Varis was able to squeeze an hour out of her schedule, so we agreed.

By any chance, did she hint at what the news could be?

Ruth frowned. Unfortunately not.

Trevor's pencil hovered above the paper. Go on.

She called me yesterday morning to see if we were still coming. I told her we were.

How did she seem when she called?

Excited. Agitated. I'm not sure which. She's normally voluble, but she was more talkative than usual. Practically bubbling over. I wondered if she and her boyfriend, Owen, had gotten back together, and if he might have proposed. She said she couldn't wait to see us. Ruth's forehead wrinkled. Does that sound like someone about to kill herself?

I must admit, it does not. Did she say anything else?

Not much. Just that she would see us later.

Tell me what happened when you went to meet her.

Fresh tears filled Ruth's eyes. The time was nearly eleven thirty. That's when we were supposed to meet her. The sidewalks were crowded, and as we approached the building, I heard a scream.

Even with all the crowd noise?

She nodded. The cry was very shrill. When I looked up toward the sound, I saw her. I didn't know it was Amelia at the time. Falling. Tumbling. Her arms flailed. Like a rag doll. Ruth bit her lip and hunched into herself, shaking her head. Her voice dropped to a whisper. It was awful.

I'm sure.

Ruth shifted and stared into the distance. Then someone called for a doctor, and I ran over to see if I could help. That's when I saw it was Amelia. Lying there with her hair fanned out around her head. Her beautiful hair.

Was there a doctor?

No, we had to wait for the ambulance. Pain crossed her face. She was already...gone..., anyway.

Can you think of anything else? Think hard. Anything unusual? There were a lot of people there, to be sure, but does anyone stand out in your mind?

Ruth closed her eyes for a long moment, then they snapped open. Yes! There was a man. Very tall and dark haired. He shoved past me.

Trying to get to the scene?

She shook her head. No, away from where Amelia fell. He was the only one moving against the crowd. Everyone else was running toward the building.

Trevor leaned forward. "He ran from the accident? Ruth, are you sure? Think very carefully."

I'm positive. He came toward me.

Then we might just have a suspect.

Chapter Three

Two days later, Ruth and Trevor stood with the mourners at Amelia's graveside where the late afternoon sun cast a soft glow on the stained glass windows of the nearby church. An occasional sob cut through the vicar's words.

"Our beloved Amelia was taken from us. Although we don't understand why, we know she is in a better place where she is no longer suffering the trials of this world. God understands your grief. His son lost a loved one. Lazarus. Jesus wept for Lazarus's death and the loss experienced by Lazarus's family. Let his words comfort you."

The breeze whipped the tissue-paper pages of the man's Bible when he opened the slim, leather-bound volume to read. From John, Chapter Eleven, we read, 'I am the resurrection and the life; he who believes in me will live even if he dies, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.'

Ruth sniffed then knuckled at the tears filling her eyes. Trevor pulled his white handkerchief from his front pocket and pressed it into her hand. After drying the moisture from her face, she gave him a grateful smile. Too bad Varis couldn't get time off from work to attend the funeral. She would have appreciated the pastor's words.

Thoughts of her sister, Jane, flooded Ruth's mind. Jane who had been killed because she tried to blackmail a powerful, evil man. Lord, help me. Being here is so painful. Suffering through the funeral of one so young. Is Amelia like Jane? Dead because she did something she shouldn't have? Father, guide Trevor. Help us find the truth.

The vicar intoned the benediction. The grieving group moved forward and tossed handfuls of dirt into the grave. The rocky soil fell with muted thuds onto the plain wooden casket. Ruth and Trevor filed past the hole then shuffled across the grass toward the cars parked on the macadam.

Ruth surveyed the cemetery. Dozens of fresh graves bore testament to the effectiveness of Hitler's bombing raids. There was talk of a German invasion. Would the Nazis succeed? Would there be more freshly dug graves in the churchyard in the not-too-distant future? She shuddered and gripped her purse tighter.

Light flashed from a grove of shrubs about fifty yards away. Ruth stopped walking. Shielding her eyes, she squinted across the grassy knoll. Trevor, did you see that?

See what?

She pointed to the foliage. I'm not sure. There was a reflection or something from over there. Or maybe my eyes are playing tricks on me.

The bushes rustled, and a man emerged from among the branches.

Ruth's eyes widened. That's him. The man who ran into me after Amelia fell.

We should talk to him. Trevor shouted at the man. You there!

The man cast a look over his shoulder at them and exclaimed. Yanking his coat closed, he sprinted toward the church.

Stay here! Trevor dashed toward the retreating figure.

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Ruth checked the small, heart-shaped watch pinned to her blazer. Trevor had been gone more than ten minutes. Had he caught the mysterious man? Sighing loudly, she crossed and uncrossed her arms.