A Forgotten Murder

by Jude Deveraux

  The trio was used to working together and Puck fit in well with them. She pulled things from the fridge and the larder while Jack cooked. There was a skillet of thick English bacon, another of eggs scrambled in butter that had been churned at a local farm. Berries came from the Oxley Manor kitchen garden. Puck put a bowl of bread rolls on the table.

  They sat down and dug in.

  Sara was the first to open the dreaded conversation. She turned to Puck. “I assume you know that you’re in danger from someone. Your shoes bother me. If the murderer didn’t see them, you’re fine. But if he—”

  “Or she,” Kate said.

  “If someone did see them and did nothing, that means you’re known to them. Knows you’re the type to keep your mouth shut. Are you known for keeping secrets?”

  “Yes,” Puck said.

  “But who saw the shoes?” Jack asked. “Or did they? I couldn’t see that anyone had been in there.”

  “At least not this year,” Sara said. “For all we know, those vines were cut back last year. All we can be sure of is that there was no trampling there in the last six months.”

  “We don’t know when he was killed,” Kate said. “Maybe he did run away, but came back years later. I don’t know how long it takes for a body to, uh, become a skeleton. Maybe...” She trailed off. None of them believed that.

  “1994,” Sara said. “In May of that year Diana and the groomsman disappeared.” She turned to Puck. “How do you know it’s him in that hole?”

  Puck went to a cabinet against the far wall, opened a drawer, removed the watch and handed it to Sara.

  She read the inscription, then passed the watch to Jack.

  “You found this by the body?” Sara asked.

  Puck nodded. “It was on the ground under some leaves.”

  “You cleaned it?” Sara asked.

  “With a toothbrush.”

  “So there’s no hope that fingerprints were left on it.”

  “Oh!” Puck said. “I’m sorry.”

  “Probably wouldn’t have been any anyway,” Jack said. “I guess we’re all aware that not reporting this to the police is a crime.”

  They nodded.

  “Do we tell anyone that we found the body?” Kate asked.

  “Bella should be told,” Sara said.

  “No!” Jack said. “Too many people already know.”

  “But the more people who do know, the less we’ll be in danger,” Kate said. “The killer can’t do away with all of us.”

  Puck looked at them. “A fire. An explosion. Locked doors.”

  They stared at her in silent shock. But Puck was right. Locked doors at night. A fire started. Old Oxley Manor would light up in an instant.

  Kate leaned forward. “Who do you think killed him?”

  “Clive,” Puck said.

  “The banker?” Sara asked, and Puck nodded. “Go on. Plead your case.”

  “He’s Nicky’s cousin, but Nicky got all and Clive got nothing. Clive hated Nicky, and it was mutual. But they both knew that Nicky couldn’t run the place without him. Clive said that when Bertram, Nicky’s father, died, he’d get rid of me.”

  “Sounds like a nasty piece of work,” Jack said.

  Kate was more skeptical. She looked at Puck. “What did you do that caused him to say that?”

  “Nothing specific. It’s just that I knew things he didn’t. It made him jealous.”

  Kate nodded in understanding. “Why do you believe Clive murdered the groomsman?”

  “There was talk of making Sean the estate manager. Clive would have been out of a job.”

  “Clive wanted the job enough to murder to keep it?” Sara asked.

  “He wanted what he thought might come from it,” Puck said. “If Clive lasted until Bertie died, he would have ruled the whole estate.”

  “Nicky was incompetent?” Jack asked.

  “Yes,” Puck said. “That’s why he wanted to marry Diana. She could do anything.” There seemed to be stars in her eyes at the mention of the woman.

  “Seems like Clive would have killed Diana,” Sara said, then they were all silent. Maybe someone did. She hadn’t been heard from, but a body hadn’t been found.

  Kate changed the subject. “What about Sean and the women? I gather he was a gorgeous man and women liked him.”

  “Like you.” Puck was looking at Jack.

  “I can see that,” Kate said. “Plays around with women’s feelings, never serious about any of them.”

  Jack ignored the comment. “What was Diana like?”

  “She cared about the horses,” Puck said. “She was a very good rider and she fixed a broken leg on a swan.”

  “It still sounds like it was possible that Sean and Diana did run away together,” Sara said. “Nicky and Clive were fighting to rule this place. Everyone seemed to be waiting for Bertram to die.”

  “I agree,” Kate said. “Diana and Sean got fed up and left.”

  “And when Diana found out that Sean didn’t love her, she murdered him.” Sara looked at Puck. “Was she strong enough to put Sean’s body down that hole?”

  Puck didn’t hesitate. “More than strong enough. Sean was slim and lithe while Diana was thick and sturdy.”

  “So,” Sara said, “maybe there was a fight, an accident, and in a panic Diana hid Sean’s body. After that, she disappeared.”

  “And she’s still hiding,” Jack said.

  “She would have to be,” Kate said. “Murder has no expiration date. This is all a mess, isn’t it? Love and hate.”

  “Jealousy,” Sara said.

  “And death,” Puck said.

  “Murder,” Sara said.

  “Whether we like it or not,” Jack said, “at some point we have to contact the police. They’re going to be PO’d that we didn’t tell them right away.”

  “Why don’t the lot of you go—?” Sara began.

  Jack and Kate didn’t let her finish her sentence. Their eyes said no.

  “All right,” Sara said. “We’ll keep to our original plan.”

  Jack spoke first. “You were bored, with nothing to do. You heard of the mystery and you wanted to research it.”

  “I wasn’t exactly bored,” Sara said. “But I—”

  “And since you paid for this place, Bella owes you,” Jack said.

  “And there’s the singing for Jack,” Kate said. “When you heard that Byon Lizmore was—”

  “Mere,” Jack and Sara said in unison.

  “Whatever,” Kate said. “When you found out he was here, you saw a bestseller in the making.”

  “If you tell him he has a place in my novel, he’ll want part of the royalties,” Sara said. “Any person who thinks they’ve given a writer so much as a single idea wants a cut. A woman at a party said I’d met her before and had used her name in a book so she wanted money. Her name was Beverly. She said I had stolen her name and I had to pay her. If someone begins a sentence with, ‘Why don’t you?’ I walk away. If I write anything like what they suggest, they demand money. One time—” She cut herself off. “Right. Uh. I think we’d better say it’s to be a highly fictionalized account of what happened. No real names used.”

  “Good idea,” Jack said.

  Puck was staring at Sara with wide eyes, but Jack and Kate were used to her impromptu tirades.

  “Monday,” Kate said. “This is Thursday. I vote that we give ourselves until Monday at...at teatime to solve this. We find out all we can by then and on Monday at 4:00 p.m. we go to the police and tell them where the body is hidden.”

  “And we pretend it’s all for a book?” Puck asked.

  “Yes,” Sara said. “I used to spend months researching my historicals.”

  “Think these people will tell us anything?”

  “For sure, one of them will w
ant to know what we’ve found out,” Sara said.

  Kate drew in her breath. “We may have awakened a killer.”

  “It won’t be the first time,” Jack said.

  Sara looked thoughtful. “Did someone kill Sean and hide the body? Or were there two people involved?”

  They were silent until Jack spoke up. “I hope Byon wasn’t the murderer. I really like his plays.”

  Sara said, “Although...prison is possibly a writer’s paradise. I’ve often wondered about that.”

  “Because you thought about murdering someone and the possible consequences?” Jack asked.

  “Oh yes. Many times.” Sara looked at them. “We need to make some decisions here. This weekend the place is going to be filled with people, one or more of whom could possibly be a killer.” She paused. “Or we could go home. We could just pack up and leave. As you said, we could call the police from the US. We could say we found the body when we were exploring. That would leave Puck out of it. She’d probably be safe.”

  “Probably,” Kate whispered. “In this context, that’s a frightening word.”

  “And we’d be leaving it to the police to find out who committed a long-ago murder,” Sara said.

  Jack raised his hand. “I vote with Kate. We search until Monday at 4:00 p.m.”

  “I agree,” Sara said, then they looked at Puck. No one had to say that it was her neck on the line. “Maybe you’d like to visit Florida. I’ll buy you a plane ticket to there or to anywhere in the world. You could—”

  “No!” Puck said. “Sean was my friend. Besides, I’ve had a lifetime of watching. As the people here love to tell, I can be invisible. I could be useful to you.”

  Sara smiled. “I think you would be a valuable asset.” She held her right hand straight out.

  Jack put his hand over hers, then Kate, with Puck’s hand on top.

  It was a pact.

  When they broke apart, Sara said, “I want to know as much as possible about these people before they arrive.”

  “Clive is tall,” Puck said. “He is cold and always angry. He—”

  “No, no,” Sara said. “I want to know them. Like in a really good novel where they tell all about the characters. Show, don’t tell.”

  Puck looked blank.

  “Tell us something that happened,” Kate said. “I think these people came here often, so tell us about one of their get-togethers. Take us through one of their weekends.”

  “I want to know about you with them,” Sara said.

  “During the week the house was quiet,” Puck said. “Bertie lived here but he was gone most of the time. He liked to talk to people about his beautiful horses.” There was fondness in her voice. “Too bad none of the animals he bought could run very fast. Sean said—” Puck waved her hand. “Anyway, Clive was here too but he stayed in his office.” Her voice hardened. “Everyone kept away from him because he was so bad-tempered.”

  “And Sean was in the stables,” Sara said.

  “He had so much work to do,” Puck said. “He had to look after six horses by himself. Diana helped on weekends, but she was at university during the week. She—”

  “Wait!” Kate said. “Wasn’t Clive about the same age as the others? Why wasn’t he in school?”

  “He was for a while, but Bertie pulled him out after two years,” Puck said. “Clive was an orphan. His grandmother was related to Bertie’s. Clive’s whole family had died by the time he was fifteen or so, and Bertie took him in.”

  “So Clive grew up in Oxley Manor?” Sara asked. “He was part of the family?”

  “I guess,” Puck said. “He probably had a room somewhere but I don’t know where. At the top, maybe.”

  “And Bertie pulled him out of university after just two years and he had to run this place?” Sara asked.

  “How he must have hated seeing the others return on the weekends,” Kate said.

  Puck shrugged. “I don’t know.” She looked up. “Back then I saw everything through the eyes of a child. All I knew was that Clive was a horrible man. I had to keep secrets from him, lie to him, trick him, sneak and spy, and—”

  They were staring at her.

  “I think you should tell us everything,” Sara said. “And in context.”

  Puck took a moment to think. “What I remember is that the others would arrive on Friday and—” she smiled in memory “—things would begin to happen. But there was one weekend...” She stopped.

  “Tell us about it,” Sara said.

  “It was when I saw Sean in the cemetery. And that was the day when I saw inside this house for the first time. Afterward, it became my own secret hideout. Or I thought it was.”

  “Nicky must have known you liked it because he willed the place to you,” Jack said.

  “He did. I thought no one knew where I hid from them all. But maybe it was only my mother who didn’t know.” Puck smiled. “But then, she knew very little about anything.” She leaned back in her chair. “It was about... Yes, a year before they disappeared.”

  Seven

  OXLEY MANOR

  AUTUMN 1993

  Puck sat in the big Oxley Manor kitchen with her mother. At fourteen, she was tall and thin and did her best not to call attention to herself.

  “Really,” Mrs. Aiken said in the tone of dissatisfaction she always used with her daughter. “Couldn’t you at least sit up straight? You are so much like your father! I keep telling you that you need to make yourself useful around here. If you only knew what was actually going on! I worry that I may not have a job for long. And what about you? You have no real purpose here. You’ll be the first one thrown out.” She sighed at the futility of what she was saying. “Do something.”

  Puck had just finished chopping four huge onions and her eyes were red and burning. She felt no need to reply to something she’d heard many times.

  “Go tell Nicky that lunch won’t ready be until one thirty. I hope he’s not upset by it being late.” By the time she finished, Mrs. Aiken’s voice was a purr. She adored Nicky. The son she’d never had.

  Grateful to get out of the kitchen, Puck slid off the stool, went into the long hall, then up the old stairs toward the drawing room. When she heard music, she stopped and leaned against the wall to listen. Nicky was in there with his friend Byon, who was playing the piano. It was a tune she’d never heard before. Byon was a talented musician and a writer of very clever plays. He was oh so creative and everyone liked him. Well, maybe not everyone.

  The music stopped.

  “That was beautiful,” Nicky said. “I especially like the chorus. What about the lyrics?”

  “Haven’t made them up yet,” Byon said. “What do you think they should be?”

  “About love, of course. What else is there?”

  “A contract?”

  Nicky didn’t laugh. “You haven’t heard from them about your play?”

  “Nothing,” Byon said. “I think I should write another one. Something lighter and easier.”

  “But I like the other one,” Nicky said. “Lovers who never get together.”

  “People want a happy ending.”

  “That’s so plebeian,” Nicky said. “Not at all like real life.”

  “I agree,” Byon said. “Love that is never achieved. Speaking of which, where is our darling Diana?”

  Nicky scoffed. “With my darling father, of course.”

  At that absurdity, the two men laughed, and in the hall, Puck smiled. She knew they saw nothing “darling” about Nicky’s father. She didn’t think there was going to be any more music so she stepped into the drawing room. The two men were by the piano, their heads close together as they looked at the sheets of music.

  Byon was the first to see her. “Ah, the elusive Puck. Illusion personified. And what can we do for you today my little waif?”

&nbs
p; Puck could never tell if what he said was a compliment or if he was making fun of her. But then, most people felt that way about Byon’s little quips. Whichever it was, they made Puck smile. “Lunch is late today. At one thirty.”

  “Let me guess,” Byon said. “She is cooking something special for her beloved Nicky.”

  “Scallops with butter,” Puck said.

  “How prosaic,” Byon said. “How simple. How divine. Tell me, is the butter browned? Clarified? Or is it dropped into a skillet in its raw state?”

  Nicky spoke before Puck could. “I believe Mrs. Aiken measures butter rather than sauces it. The scallops will be immersed in cups of it. Am I right?” He winked at Puck.

  She couldn’t help but laugh—which was the objective of the men. Her funny little laugh delighted them.

  “Oh,” Byon said, “to find an actress who could duplicate that sound! I would write a play about it.”

  “And call it The Sound of Angels,” Nicky said.

  “Perfect,” Byon said.

  Puck could feel her face turning red, but she was pleased by their attention.

  Byon turned to Nicky. “Where did I see those pashminas? In a cupboard somewhere, I believe.”

  “Yellow sitting room.” Nicky’s eyes were alight. “We can use them for staging.” He turned to Puck. “Get them and bring them down. They’re in the bottom of the big walnut armoire.”

  She started for the door.

  “Puck!” Nicky said. “If you see Nadine, avoid her. Her father is here.” He waved his hand. “They’re...you know.”

  “Talking,” Byon said with a laugh. They all knew that was a euphemism for arguing.

  Puck hurried up the stairs to the yellow sitting room. It was small but it was very nice—thanks to Nadine. Or more correctly, to her father. Puck tried not to look at Oxley Manor too closely, but it was easy to see how shabby it was. Flaking ceilings, peeling wallpaper, furniture with the stuffing exposed. Clive, the estate manager, said that next year the roof had to be repaired, but no one knew where the money for that was going to come from.

  Nadine’s father was rich. Byon made fun of the man’s accent and his bad table manners, but the cars he sold had paid for the old piano to be tuned. And he’d paid for the remodel of a bedroom and sitting room for his precious daughter to use when she stayed at Oxley Manor. He said that the ratty place reminded him too much of where he’d grown up. “I’ve come too far to put my daughter through that,” he said.