A Death in Devon

by Shéa MacLeod

  The patio was a lovely warm golden stone with a low balustrade around it, no doubt to keep tipsy guests from falling off into the shrubbery. A small pond sat off to the right, little golden fish flitting back and forth and fresh blooming peonies dipping their fluffy pink heads in the slight breeze.

  “Did you want something?” she asked rudely.

  “I was just talking to your brother.”

  “Oh?” She sounded bored.

  “He was telling me about the first house party robbery.”

  She sniffed but remained otherwise relaxed and unaffected. “What would he know about it? He wasn’t there.”

  “He told me what you went through,” I pressed on, hoping to get something out of her. “Must have been terrifying.”

  “I guess.” She tilted her chin as if to catch more sun, but I’d a feeling she was peeping at me from beneath her glasses.

  I kept my gaze on the pond as if there were nothing more fascinating in the world to me than the fish. “I can’t even imagine it. I wouldn’t have slept a wink.”

  “Who says I did?” This time her tone was coated with amusement.

  “You’re so brave.”

  She turned her head, lifted her glasses, and stared at me. “Why do you say that?”

  “Well, you kept going. To the parties, I mean. Even with all those terrible robberies. I think I’d have given up and stayed home with my doors locked.”

  “Oh, well, I had Simon with me after the first one, so it wasn’t so bad.” She dropped her glasses back into place.

  “Yes. Simon told me he was sick and had to miss it.”

  She laughed as if whatever I’d said was hysterically funny. “Of course.”

  “You mean he wasn’t sick?” I said, feigning surprise. It was no shock to me I’d been lied to. Simon had struck me as the sort who liked to color the truth to suit his purpose.

  “That’s what we told everyone, but the truth was he was having a torrid affair with a married woman, and her husband was gone that weekend. He didn’t want to upset Lady Olivander—she’s terribly sweet—so we pretended he was sick.”

  “Oh, I see,” I said, trying not to sound judgmental. I did not approve of philandering. Nor did I approve of lying to one’s hostess about being ill. I wasn’t here to judge, but to solve a crime. If Simon hadn’t been ill, he could have been involved in the robbery. Unless, of course, the married woman could give him an alibi. “Are they still seeing each other?”

  “Who?”

  “Simon and the married woman? Is it anyone I know?”

  “I doubt it, and no, they broke it off ages ago.”

  I’d hoped she’d give me a name, but apparently she either wasn’t interested in juicy gossip or that easily manipulated. Still, maybe Jack would be able to dig it up.

  “Anyway, now he’s dead. Raymond, I mean. So there won’t be any more robberies, will there?” she said.

  “I suppose not,” I agreed, a little shocked at her callous tone. She seemed completely unperturbed the poor man had been brutally killed mere hours before. “Aren’t you upset?”

  “Well, he wasn’t our sort of person, was he?”

  That was the second time someone had said that to me in as many days. As if having not been born into wealth and power, Frain somehow deserved his death. Or, at the very least, his death was inconsequential. Never mind that he had achieved success on his own without it being spoon-fed to him, or that he’d been a kind person, at least to me in the brief time I’d known him. I still couldn’t wrap my head around him being the thief. It just didn’t sit right.

  But I said none of this. I wasn’t sure I could trust Mary, so I made my excuses and went up to my room.

  Could Mary have been involved?

  According to Toni, Simon and Mary had plenty of money, which meant they didn’t need to go around stealing things. But people stole for reasons other than necessity.

  Growing up, we’d had a neighbor, Mrs. Dudley. She was a dear woman. Very kind. Always bringing us fresh baked coffee cakes and jam made from blackberries she picked herself. Unfortunately, every time she visited some little trinket would go missing. Fortunately, her long-suffering husband would appear on our doorstep later that day with the same item clutched in his sweaty hand and stammering apologies. I later read about kleptomania at the library. Fascinating stuff. I’d felt very sorry for poor Mrs. Dudley.

  I doubted the thief—or thieves—in this case were kleptomaniacs. Mrs. Dudley had never taken anything valuable. She’d usually stuck to small things like thimbles or a lipstick. Often we wouldn’t even realize they’d gone missing until Mr. Dudley returned them.

  That was totally unlike the items stolen from the house parties. Those must have all together been worth thousands of pounds. Which, to my mind, indicated that this was neither the work of a kleptomaniac, nor someone who was simply bored and wanted to see if they could get away with it. No, the thief was in it for the money, of that I had no doubt. Which meant that someone at this house party was lying about their financial status.

  Based on the list of robbery victims, I couldn’t really narrow it down. While not all guests had been robbed at all the parties, everyone had at least one item stolen. Which was smart. That way the actual thief didn’t stand out.

  Lil was the only person I could absolutely guarantee hadn’t been lying about her income. She was broke. Everyone had said so, and she had even admitted it. For her, the robberies had been devastating both financially and emotionally.

  A woman of her status would never lie about being broke. I mean, they would lie and say they weren’t broke, but they wouldn’t admit they had no money and were basically using the house parties to keep a roof over their heads and food in their bellies. So while that gave her an excellent motive to commit the robberies, the very fact she had admitted it and that it was known amongst her set meant she likely wasn’t involved. It would have put too big of a mark on her.

  No, the thief or thieves had to be keeping up appearances. Poor, but not admitting it. Desperately holding on to their image by a thread, terrified that someone might find out. Which meant it could be any one of the others. It also meant that it was someone willing to steal and murder their own friends to keep their secret. And that made them extremely dangerous.

  JACK MET ME AT THE cafe as planned. It was a cute little place with a thatched roof and a forest green door. There were half a dozen tables covered in green and white polka-dot cloths and set for two. The wooden chairs were painted white to match. A long counter displayed glass-covered plates of fluffy looking scones and rich layer cakes.

  Over leek soup and cheese sandwiches—a nice change from the lavish meals up at Endmere—he told me what he’d found out about the alibis.

  “Alexander Malburn’s alibi holds true. He was with a few mates at a drinking establishment in London until gone midnight. According to them, he went home earlier than usual claiming he had to drive to Devon early in the morning.”

  I frowned, mulling it over. “He could have driven straight from the club here and made it in time to kill Raymond.”

  “True. Except that I also spoke with his neighbor, a Mrs. Merriton. She’s...” He hesitated. “She’s quite up on the goings on in the neighborhood.”

  I laughed. “You mean she’s nosey. Like Mrs. Dudley back home.”

  He raised a brow. “Mrs. Dudley?”

  “Sure. Growing up, Mr. and Mrs. Dudley were an elderly couple who lived across the street. Any time one of us kids stepped a foot wrong, Mrs. Dudley was over at our place telling Mama all about it. The time a neighbor kid stole a pear off our tree, Mrs. Dudley was over in a flash. Someone new moved to the neighborhood, Mrs. Dudley knew who they were, where they’d come from, and why they’d moved in all within an hour or two.”

  “Good lord. She’d give MI6 a run for their money.”

  “No doubt.” Except for the petty theft part, but I didn’t mention that.

  “Well, Mrs. Merriton appears to be the exact same s
ort of woman. She assured me that not only did Mr. Malburn arrive home around half past twelve—she doesn’t sleep well, apparently—but that he left at the ungodly hour of six in the morning.”

  “That would jive with his arrival time.” I sighed. “I guess he’s out. There’s no way he could have killed Raymond Frain.”

  “Doesn’t let him off the hook for the robberies though, does it?”

  “No, it doesn’t. Although it would definitely mean he had an accomplice.” I bit the nail of my right thumb then reminded myself ladies don’t bite their nails. “What about Simon Parlance? He told me he was ill during the first party which was why he missed it. However, his sister claimed he was actually with a married woman. What’s the truth?”

  He smiled grimly. “Apparently, it is a not-very-well-held secret that Simon Parlance was having an affair with Abigail Bently, the wife of Sir John Bently. I spoke with her and Simon was, indeed, with her during the party. They’ve since split up, and she’s not happy about it, so she told me something else.”

  “What?” I leaned forward eagerly.

  “They were not in London. Simon had rented a small seaside cottage about a twenty-minute drive from the manor house where the first party took place. She claims to have woken in the middle of the night to find him gone. He did not return until right before dawn. When she asked where he’d gone, he told her he couldn’t sleep so had gone out for a drive.”

  “That’s rather suspicious.”

  “It gets better. When news came out about the robbery, she thought nothing of it until he told her that if anyone asked, she was to say they were in London together.”

  My jaw dropped. “Did he really?”

  “Indeed he did. She was immediately suspicious, but he claimed it was because he had no alibi and was afraid the police might accuse him wrongfully.”

  “She no doubt brushed it off, not wanting to think of her lover as a criminal,” I mused.

  He nodded. “Yes, that is what I assumed as well. She confirmed it.”

  I mulled it over. “So he has no alibi at all. In fact, he was within easy drive of the crime. He could very well be the thief as well as the murderer.”

  “I have something else for you.” Jack handed me a piece of folded paper.

  I unfolded it eagerly. There were three handwritten columns. The first held a list of items—the stolen ones, I assumed. The second, a list of names, each one lining up with one of the items. And the third were what looked like the names of the manor houses from which the items were stolen, numbered one through five.

  “This is brilliant!” I said. “And none of these items has turned up in pawn shops or anything?”

  “Not that the police have found.”

  “And the thief would have had no time to sell the ones from the most recent burglary.” An idea was taking shape. “I need to search the house.”

  Chapter 12

  After collecting Tippy, I charged back up the hill to the manor house. He was not happy about it and dragged his feet, giving me the evil eye every time I turned around to scold him.

  I knew that Lil’s bracelet had been stolen, but I hadn’t yet heard if anything else had been taken other than my—Jack’s—brooch. I hadn’t managed to escape the thief’s clutches even though I’d had Tippy in my room. Either the thief had watched me closely, knowing when Tippy was there and wasn’t, or he’d taken a chance and gotten lucky.

  By the time the manor came into view, I was puffing and panting. I handed Tippy off to Johnson who promised to pass him along to Penny. He gave me one last glare as they departed—Tippy, not Johnson. Johnson barely looked at me.

  The list hadn’t had Lil’s bracelet on it, of course, nor any mention of Endmere. It had only had the first four robberies. There was one person who would be able to tell me what had been stolen. I went in search of Lord Chasterly.

  The sitting room was empty, as was the dining room and library. I found Toni on the back patio, drinking a blue cocktail out of a martini glass.

  “Oh, Sugar, why don’t you join me!” she called from behind her big, bug-eyed sunglasses. “Johnson makes the most marvelous Blue Moon. It tastes like heaven!”

  It did sound tasty, but I had work to do. “Sorry, Toni. Maybe later. Right now, I need to speak to Freddy.”

  “Oh, he’s gone off with Simon hunting or fishing or something.”

  Tarnation. I may have even said that aloud.

  She slid her glasses down her nose and peered at me over the white plastic frames. “That’s an interesting word. What does it mean?”

  Yep, I sure did say it aloud. “Erm, nothing important. Where’s everyone else?”

  “Lil is taking a nap in her room, and Alex and Mary went to the village. Why?”

  “Listen,” I sat down at the table next to her, “do you know if anything else was stolen the night Frain was killed? Besides Lil’s bracelet, I mean.” I didn’t mention my—I mean Jack’s—brooch.

  She tapped a coral colored nail against the table. “I do believe Mary had a ring go missing. An opal dress ring with yellow diamonds. Worth a few bob. She was furious about it.”

  “I’m surprised she didn’t mention it.”

  “She told the police of course,” Toni said, taking a sip of her drink. “But she didn’t want anyone else to know. I only do because I overheard her telling her brother. Or rather, screaming at her brother.”

  It seemed strange she wouldn’t want anyone to know and then scream about it, but then Mary did come off as a bit arrogant. Maybe she saw losing the ring as a weakness or something. Or maybe yelling about it was her passive aggressive way of letting everyone know without actually admitting anything was wrong. “Anything else?”

  “Freddy said a Dresden figurine that belonged to his mother was missing from the mantle in the morning room. He never uses the room, so I’m surprised he noticed it was gone.”

  “The police did tell us all to look around,” I pointed out.

  “True. Maybe that’s it.”

  It was interesting, though. Why would he think to look for missing items in a room that was never used? Perhaps he was just paranoid. After five robberies, he had the right to be. I was beginning to think I was as bad at this undercover business as I was at being a secretary.

  “What about you?” I asked. “Were you missing anything?”

  “Not a thing,” she said cheerfully. “In fact, no one else was. Alex, because he wasn’t here. Frain, because he was the thief. And I’m assuming Simon and I lucked out because Lil caught Frain and coshed him upside the head.”

  “You seem sure Lil is guilty.”

  “Isn’t she?” Toni said placidly. “I admit, I don’t like the woman much, but she did threaten to kill the thief in exactly the manner poor Raymond was killed.”

  “Yes, well, I’m not so sure. And I’m not sure Raymond was the thief.” I rose and started for the house.

  “Where are you going?” she called after me.

  “Just thought I’d explore a bit. Haven’t had a chance to,” I said.

  “How dull. Well, I’ll be out here with drinkies if you need me.”

  I took the stairs to the second floor—or what everyone else called the first floor—and hesitated on the landing, unsure where to start. I knew what I was looking for: an opal ring and a Dresden figurine, as well as my brooch and Lil’s bracelet. Problem was I wasn’t sure where to look.

  The obvious answer was everyone’s rooms. Frain hadn’t had any of the items on him, so I was betting the real thief had taken them. No doubt they were far too valuable to be left behind. Otherwise it would have been an excellent opportunity to make sure the frame stuck. Although, everyone seemed happy to consider Frain the thief anyway.

  But would the thief really keep stolen items in his or her room? It was hard to say. I supposed it depended on their psychology. Whether they were the sort to want to keep the objects close where they could keep an eye on them, or far away in case they were found.

  Since Lil
was in her room, I couldn’t search there. The whole frame job was an obvious red herring. Of course, it could be the sort of red herring to make me think she was innocent when she really was guilty, but I doubted it. Yes, she had the motive, being impoverished and angry about losing precious heirlooms, but she seemed far more focused on snaring a man to solve her problems rather than solving them on her own.

  Uncertain when everyone would be back, I decided to search Simon’s room first as, to my mind, he was the most likely suspect. After all, he had no alibi for the first robbery.

  What I found was a man who clearly had no respect for his possessions. Clothing and accessories were strewn willy-nilly around, and the room reeked of cologne as if a bottle had been overturned. A pile of dirty towels sat in the chair, and the waste bin was overflowing. I remembered Penny telling me Simon hadn’t wanted the maids in his room. Interesting. Could it be because he was hiding something nefarious?

  What I did not find was any sign that Simon was the thief. There wasn’t a single trace of any of the stolen items, nor was there anything suspicious like a balaclava or a set of lock picks. Although he wouldn’t need lock picks, of course, having been invited in. And while there were gloves, they were fingerless lambskin driving gloves, so it wasn’t like those would have done him any good in the breaking and stealing department. It seemed that my suspicions were unfounded.

  Frain’s room was next. He was dead, of course, but maybe there was some clue there.

  Unlike Simon, Raymond Frain had brought few possessions. The wardrobe contained a tweed jacket—far too heavy for this time of year—a pair of neatly pressed trousers, and two white button-down shirts. A pair of brushes and some hair oil sat on top of the dresser which contained his incidentals. Next to the bed was a fountain pen and a notebook filled with scribbled notes, perhaps ideas for his next book. Inside the single drawer of the nightstand was a bottle of pills for blood pressure. Next to that was his wallet and bank book.

  Curiosity hit me and I scooped up the book. It contained all Raymond’s deposits and withdrawals into his accounts. And, if these were correct, so much for Freddy’s claims that Raymond was broke. Far from being destitute, our struggling writer had five thousand pounds in the bank! Why would Freddy lie about something like that? Perhaps he didn’t know. After all, the English thought money talk was crass, so perhaps Freddy was assuming things based on outward appearances. After all, Raymond certainly didn’t dress like a man with a wad of cash.