A Death in Devon

by Shéa MacLeod

  “Why, I’d bash him on the head with a fire poker,” she said.

  It sounded like she meant it. Good grief, these people were bloodthirsty. Or at least Lil was. Everyone else seemed to laugh it off except for Raymond Frain who looked unaccountably nervous. Then a look came over his face, one of understanding as if a lightbulb had just gone off. I swear I heard him mutter, “That would be too easy.”

  Interesting. Could he then be the thief? Or perhaps know something about the burglaries? Or maybe he was simply referring to something he was writing.

  I decided to ask him about it as soon as possible but didn’t get a chance. He excused himself early and disappeared to his room. Since the rest were getting increasingly drunk and loud, I, too, excused myself, though I took a detour on the way to my room.

  Raymond’s room was down the hall perpendicular to mine, but the light was already off. I hesitated, then decided I could always speak to him in the morning.

  I found Tippy snoozing on the bed.

  “No dogs on the furniture, Tippy!” I shooed him off, and he gave me a very dirty look for it. A look which I completely ignored.

  My room was overly warm and smelled a bit of dog, so I opened the window and let in the fresh spring breeze. The air was redolent with the sweetness of wisteria. A night bird called to its mate while in the distance a train whistled mournfully. Still, my brain was too busy trying to work out what was going on with Lil, Raymond, the burglaries. It took forever to fall asleep, but at last I nodded off.

  It felt like I’d only been asleep mere minutes when I started awake. A glance at the clock showed it was six in the morning. The sky was just turning that gunmetal gray right before dawn and a bird was singing an annoyingly incessant five notes over and over. Except that wasn’t what woke me up. It wasn’t what had my heart racing against my ribcage.

  Tippy stood, lips pulled back, ears pointed. A slight growl emerged from his throat. Whatever it was had disturbed him as well.

  Groggily, I tried to recall what it was. A scream. Someone had screamed.

  “What’s wrong?” a male voice shouted from up the hall. I thought it was Simon.

  “I heard a scream.” A woman’s voice this time. I had no idea which one.

  I staggered out of bed, snagged my bathrobe, and shrugged it on. I didn’t bother with slippers despite the chilly floor. I was used to going barefoot. With Tippy hot on my heels, I hurried out the door.

  Simon and his sister stood at the head of the stairs staring down into the foyer below. They turned at my approach.

  “You heard it, too,” Mary said. Even without makeup and her hair under a kerchief, she was stunningly beautiful.

  I nodded. “Do you know what happened?”

  They both shook their heads in unison. It was kind of creepy.

  I started down the stairs with Tippy leading the way, the Parlance siblings reluctantly following. I wondered where the others were and who it was who’d screamed. And why?

  Tippy aimed straight for the sitting room. There was a single light on, and the embers glowed orange in the fireplace. I immediately spotted Lady Antonia perched on the edge of a settee still wearing last night’s dress, her hair mussed as if she’d fallen asleep on the couch. She stared into the coals, her face a mask, as if she’d seen a ghost.

  And there, lying on the rug face down next to the fire was a man. He wasn’t moving.

  Tippy trotted over and sniffed at him. Still he didn’t move.

  “Tippy, get away from there,” I said, my voice sounding tight and frightened even to myself. Why wasn’t the man moving? I felt a sort of sick dread, a tightness in my throat. Still, I forced myself forward. “Toni, what is it? What’s wrong?”

  She didn’t answer. She just started rocking back and forth. Shock. I’d seen it before when one of the welding girls was injured. Burned herself pretty horribly. But Toni didn’t look injured.

  I swallowed hard. “Tippy, go sit with Toni.”

  Tippy whined, but trotted over to Toni and sat, his chin resting on her knee. She absentmindedly stroked his head, and he let out a little doggy sound of ecstasy.

  “Who is it?” Simon asked from behind me.

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. The man was dressed in a bathrobe which had come undone and spread out, partially hiding his build.

  “Is he dead?” Mary asked.

  “I don’t know,” I repeated, annoyed. Why was I the one being asked these questions?

  “Well, why don’t you check his pulse?” Simon suggested.

  I shot him a glare over my shoulder. What a wimp.

  Swallowing my own trepidation, I knelt down next to the body and felt for a pulse. Nothing. But then I wasn’t exactly used to taking pulses, so I turned his head in order to check his breath. I gasped. “It’s Raymond Frain.”

  “Jeepers,” Simon said, although I notice he didn’t seem surprised. His expression was as calm and unruffled as ever.

  I held my hand in front of Raymond’s nose, but there was nothing. No hint of breath. And in dim light I realized that on one side of his head his hair was sticky and matted. A dark stain spread out into the pale carpet under him, as if he’d been bleeding.

  “I think he’s dead,” I said through stiff lips.

  Mary let out a gasp and Simon muttered something that sounded like a word that shouldn’t be said in polite company. Toni didn’t even blink; she just kept stroking Tippy’s fur.

  And then I saw it, lying there so innocently. A poker.

  I’d smash him in the head with a poker.

  My mouth went dry. “We need to call the police.”

  “I DON’T BELIEVE IT.” Lord Chasterly ran a hand through his thick hair. It looked to me like his hand might be shaking a little.

  We were currently gathered in the dining room while the police inspected the crime scene. Crime scene? Good heavens, how shocking! I was definitely going to leave this out of my next letter home, or Mama would be jumping on the next airplane.

  Johnson had served everyone coffee, although many of us were drinking something stronger. Even I had downed a bit of brandy. For the shock, you know.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I should have figured this out sooner. Maybe he’d still be alive.”

  “Nonsense,” Freddy said bracingly, pulling me away from everyone. “You just got here. How were you supposed to figure anything out?”

  He had a point. Not only that, but the rest of the guests, save one, had arrived mere hours ago. I’d nothing to go on. No one who’d roused my suspicions except the man who lay dead in the sitting room.

  “I can’t believe someone killed Raymond Frain,” I said. “Do you suppose he could have been... well, you know?”

  Freddy shook his head mournfully. “He must have been, mustn’t he? Why else would anyone kill the poor chap?”

  Well, I could think of a number of reasons one person might kill another, but in Raymond’s case, I didn’t want to speculate. I simply hadn’t known him well enough. But there was the one glaringly obvious reason.

  “Did he need money?” I kept my voice low knowing that the British considered talk of money vulgar. And also there was the whole under cover thing to consider.

  “I know his last book didn’t do as well as he’d hoped,” Freddy admitted. “Recently he’d been a bit hard up. Didn’t make much during the war, and his older brother inherited everything when their father died. Wouldn’t even give him a loan. He was counting on his latest release to get him in the black again, but...” He shrugged.

  “So things were tight. Was he the sort of person who’d do something illegal if he was desperate?”

  Freddy mulled it over. “He’d have to have been even more desperate than I realized. And he would never hurt anyone or steal from anyone who couldn’t afford the loss.”

  Which would explain why only the wealthy had been hit. Raymond had probably considered that those of his friends who spent their time lounging around at house parties dining like kings would
hardly miss a bauble or two.

  “It isn’t looking good for the old chap, is it?” Freddy asked.

  “I’m afraid not,” I admitted. “But the question is, who killed him and why? Why here? Why tonight?”

  “Maybe one of my other guests caught him in the act,” he said.

  “Possible, except why not just admit it?” Then, recalling the previous evening, I said, “Unless it was Lil. She did, after all, threaten to beat the thief to death with a poker.”

  “And that’s just how he died!” Freddy looked aghast.

  Not that I blamed him. He’d known these people for ages. It would be shocking to discover that one of your friends was capable of murder. And Lil certainly struck me as being capable. But had she done it?

  A smooth-shaven man in a cheap navy suit appeared in the doorway and cleared his throat. All heads swiveled his direction.

  “I am Detective Chief Inspector Cobblepot.”

  I nearly snickered, but managed to hold it in. No one else seemed to think it was funny.

  “Now, before I ask your whereabouts and such, is everyone present and accounted for?” Cobblepot asked, tapping his pencil against his little black notepad.

  Everyone glanced around and Freddy said, “We’re all here, Detective Chief Inspector, except the staff. They are gathered in the kitchen.”

  Cobblepot nodded. “Good. Good. Now, is anything missing from the house?”

  There were gasps and mutterings, and then once again Freddy spoke up. “I apologize, DCI Cobblepot, but we never thought to check.”

  “Can you check now please? Everyone,” Cobblepot said. “And come straight back here once you’ve had a look. No one is to leave the premises.”

  While Freddy had Johnson round up the servants to check the house, the rest of us went to our rooms. Mine was entirely undisturbed, save Tippy who gave me an annoyed look when I roused him from his perch on the window seat.

  “I don’t suppose anyone snuck in here without you knowing, did they?” I said.

  He whined a little. I was taking that as a solid no, but I looked around anyway just in case. And then, conscious I was still in my nightclothes and slippers, I took the chance to make sure at least my hair looked halfway presentable and my teeth were brushed.

  I was about to return to the dining room when I stopped. “Oh, dear.” I rushed to the wardrobe and pulled out the dress I’d been wearing the previous evening. The one I’d pinned Jack’s brooch to. It wasn’t there.

  I scrambled around the bottom of the wardrobe to see if it had fallen off. Nothing. I felt positively sick to my stomach. What was I going to tell Jack?

  I was the first back downstairs and poked my head into the dining room. I was still debating whether or not to report the theft when the detective chief inspector stepped in front of me.

  “Anything missing, Miss...?” Cobblepot prompted.

  “Miss Martin. Miss Sugar Martin.”

  His brows went up.

  I heaved a sigh. “Euphegenia, that’s my first name, but everyone calls me Sugar.”

  He nodded and jotted it down in his notebook. “American?”

  “Yes. And I checked my room. Nothing’s missing.” The lie slid off my tongue. I don’t know why I didn’t tell him the truth.

  “Very good.” He jotted something else. “When did you arrive?”

  “Day before yesterday by train from London. I was the first to arrive.” I didn’t mention the real reason I was there.

  “How do you know Lord Chasterly?”

  “Family friend,” I lied glibly. It wasn’t entirely untruthful. After all, he was the friend of my great-aunt’s solicitor.

  “I see.” More scribbles. “Where were you at between midnight and three?”

  “Is that when he died?”

  “Answer the question, Miss Martin,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “I was in bed asleep.”

  His pencil scratched against paper. “And how do you know the deceased?”

  “I only met him when he arrived last evening. We had a brief discussion about his books—I discovered he was a writer—and that was about it. He seemed a nice man, if a little sad.”

  Cobblepot eyed me but didn’t comment. “Very well. Thank you, Miss Martin.”

  “There is another thing,” I said, trying not to feel guilty for ratting on Lil.

  He sighed heavily. “What is it?”

  I took him by the elbow and steered him into the room, away from the door, keeping my voice low. “We were all in the sitting room having drinks after dinner, and the topic of the house party robberies came up. You know about them?”

  “I’ve heard.” His tone was long-suffering.

  “Well, one of the guests, Lady Fortescue, said that if she ever ran into the thief, she would beat him to death. With a poker.”

  This caught Cobblepot’s attention. He stopped scribbling, and his shrewd gaze fell on me. “She did, did she?”

  “Yes,” I said. “She did. Now, it may have just been one of those silly things people say in anger. ‘I could wring your neck’ — that sort of thing. But I thought you should know.”

  “Thank you, Miss Martin, you’ve been very helpful.” Although his tone said otherwise. He turned and beckoned to the uniformed officer standing guard by the door.

  Clearly, I was being dismissed. I debated for a split second telling him the whole truth about Woodward hiring me to investigate, then decided against it. I didn’t fancy having him laugh in my face.

  “The others are in the library, Miss,” the officer said as he showed me out.

  “Thank you.”

  I had no intention of heading to the library. I wanted to see if I could get another look at the crime scene. Unfortunately, the officer insisted on walking with me, so I had no choice but to go along.

  Sure enough, they were all sitting in the library, most with drinks in their hands. They glanced up as we entered.

  “Lady Fortescue, if you will come with me?” the young officer said.

  She rolled her eyes. “If I must.”

  While she joined him, I went to sit next to Toni. Maybe she would have some gossip.

  “What’d I miss?” I asked, taking the chair next to her.

  “Not much. Lil has been complaining non-stop about the inconvenience. As if poor Raymond wasn’t far more inconvenienced by being murdered.” She took a drag on her cigarette then stubbed it out in a crystal ashtray. “I really need to stop. Filthy habit.”

  I was in complete agreement on that but didn’t say so. “Does anyone have anything missing?”

  “Well, Lil claims a bracelet is missing, but the police didn’t find it or anything else on Raymond.”

  Which meant they hadn’t found Jack’s brooch either. “Either he isn’t the thief—”

  “Or more likely Lil is lying,” Toni interrupted, pulling out another cigarette then shoving it back in its case. She tapped her long red nails nervously on the silver case.

  “Why would she lie?” I didn’t bother mentioning the third possibility. That Raymond had an accomplice. That was something I needed to mull over a bit, but it fit.

  Toni waved her hand as if to brush away an annoying insect. “Lil is always terribly dramatic. Comes from disappointment, I suppose.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Her eyes glittered and she leaned in, clearly excited to share juicy gossip with someone from outside the usual circle. “She was engaged before the war. Devastatingly handsome young man, very heroic. Title, money, everything.”

  “What happened?”

  “He died, darling. Like so many young men. He was a fighter pilot, and you know how they fared.”

  Not well. I felt a stab of empathy for Lil. I, too, knew what it was to lose one’s beloved to war. “How sad for her.”

  “It was,” Toni admitted. “We were all very sorry. She was devastated of course. And then his younger brother inherited everything... title, money, house. Everything that should have been hers
was now the domain of his shrewish wife. Being the second son, no one had expected him to inherit, so their father hadn’t objected when he married the daughter of a mere knight. Lil considers the woman common. Well, everybody does really, but now she’s lady of the manor, and poor Lil has nothing.”

  “I thought she had money of her own,” I said.

  Toni snorted. “Hardly. Her brother gives her a small stipend, and she’s allowed to use the family’s London house, but nothing is hers, and her brother’s wife constantly lords it over her. She’s very bitter about it. Lil, I mean—not the wife.”

  I could see how it would be a hard pill to swallow. Going from the expectation of a life of luxury and position to having to take handouts from family. “I guess she never found anyone else.”

  “Oh, there were a few proposals, at least in the early days, but none of them were good enough for her.” Toni shook her head. “But look where her pride has got her.”

  I leaned in and whispered, “Is it true she’s in love with Freddy?”

  Toni gave me a shrewd look. “You don’t miss much, do you? I don’t know about love so much as she’s set her cap for him. Properly titled, plenty of money, and possibly her last chance. She’s not getting any younger.”

  “Except he’s clearly not interested,” I said, my pity for the woman growing by the minute.

  “Not even a little,” Toni said. “But don’t feel too sorry for her. Her own pride and bitterness has been her downfall. If she hadn’t been so uppity, she might have found happiness.”

  “Is that what you did?” I could have bit my tongue. I knew Toni to be a widow.

  But she wasn’t angry. She laughed. “Oh, you are a delight. In fact, no. I didn’t marry for love. I married for money. Loads of it.” She winked.

  I wasn’t sure whether she was pulling my leg or not. Oh, I was certain she was telling the truth about having lots of money, but I wasn’t sure if that was her reason for marrying in the first place, and I suddenly felt unable to pry further.

  There was a commotion out in the hall, and Lil stormed past, marching up the stairs. Cobblepot appeared in the doorway, shaking his head. He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, there was a shriek.