by Sara Rosett
I blinked at him a moment and decided to cut my losses. Simon clearly thought he’d worked out a way that I’d murdered Toby in a clever, convoluted way, and he wouldn’t even consider any argument I made. I turned to Hopkins. “He’s completely wrong. I have not been on that balcony,” I said. “I don’t know how that hairpin got there, but I certainly didn’t put it there.”
“So you were in this room all of last night?” Hopkins asked. He gestured for me to precede him into the room, and I walked back inside on legs that were suddenly shaky.
“Yes.”
“Alone? No one else can verify that?”
“No. Of course I was alone. I don’t have a companion this weekend. Who else would be able to verify that?” I asked, my voice rising.
“Please, Ms. Sharp. These questions, must be asked.” He looked at Simon, who had followed us into the room. “And you, Mr. Page. Where were you last night?”
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not the one under suspicion here. In fact, Sir Harold hired me to look into a few things for him.”
“Did he? What sort of things?” Hopkins asked.
Simon frowned and looked as if he didn’t want to say anything, but then reluctantly said, “I suppose you’ll have to know. Sir Harold hired me to find out who was saying some rather unsavory things about him.”
“Why would Sir Harold hire someone who works in a plastics company?” I asked.
Simon pulled at the collar of his polo shirt that hugged his large neck. “Fact is, that was a cover story. I’m a private detective.”
Hopkins said, “I’ll need to see your license.”
Simon removed a card from his wallet and handed it over.
“What about Audrey? Is she undercover, too?” I asked. “Is she even your wife?”
Hopkins looked inquiringly at Simon.
“Yes, of course she’s my wife. One and only time that she’s gone on a job with me. Sir Harold invited her as well, said we’d blend in better if we were a couple. Audrey was over the moon when she found out it was a Regency weekend.”
“How did Sir Harold come to hire you?” Hopkins asked.
“I met him on the train last week up from London. We chatted. When he found out what I did, he explained the problem they were having and invited me to come to help sort it out.”
“And where were you last night?” Hopkins asked.
Simon looked offended. “In my room. With my wife. All night.”
“Very good.” Hopkins had removed his notebook and printed Simon’s answer. “If you’ll both take a seat again. I have a few more questions.” Once we were seated, Hopkins said, “You look bemused, Ms. Sharp.”
“I am. Beatrice asked me to come this weekend to do the same thing Mr. Page is doing…to figure out who was sending these poison pen posts about Sir Harold.”
Simon looked incredulous. “That can’t be. Why would she do that when there was a real private detective on the job?”
Perhaps she knew the caliber of your detecting skills, I thought, but managed not to say aloud. “Sir Harold is a bit forgetful and vague at times. He may have simply forgotten to tell her that he’d hired you.” Simon looked even more offended. “And Beatrice is not one to wait around for someone else to do things. She probably asked me to come this weekend and didn’t know about your double role.”
“And why would she ask you?” Simon asked. Hopkins looked interested, too, and I felt a little uncomfortable, but there was nothing to do but get it out in the open.
“There have been a couple of times when I noticed a few things that were relevant in police investigations. Beatrice thought I might notice something this weekend.”
“So you’re not a location scout,” Simon said, his tone triumphant. “There’s another lie.”
“Mr. Page,” Hopkins said, warningly.
“No, I am,” I said. “And I am here to research the possibility of using one of these country home weekends as a short feature in a television documentary. The two things—the research and keeping an eye out for Beatrice—just dovetailed nicely, timing-wise.”
Hopkins cleared his throat. “Back to the hairpin.”
I felt my insides sink. We were back to that.
“Did you remove your hairpins last night or did the maid,” he consulted his notes, “Ella, do it?”
“No, I did it myself, and I left them there on the dresser. I haven’t touched them, but if the door was open,” I glanced at Simon, “anyone could get in here and pick one up.”
“And you stated,” he paused and flicked the pages of his notebook backward, “the glass doors to the balcony were locked this morning when you entered the room next door?”
“Yes, but surely there are other ways to get into the room? Perhaps there is a third key to that room, or maybe someone repelled down from the roof.”
I gave a little half-laugh as I made the last statement, but Hopkins said, “No, that is not a possibility,” his tone serious. “Parkview has closed circuit cameras mounted on the roof—helps them with maintenance, it seems. Constable Albertson reviewed all the footage, and no movements or activity were recorded on the roof during the night. Likewise, the hallway is under observation. No one entered or left through the hallway door after the Clays retired for the night. The first person to enter was the maid at eight-ten.”
“Oh,” I said, optimism whooshing out of me. I felt like a deflated balloon that sags near the ground a couple of days after a party. “And the courtyard? Are there cameras there, too?”
“No,” Hopkins said, a shade of disappointment shading his voice, “but the groundskeeper tells me one of the shrubbery enclosures cracked open and the heavy rain washed most of the soil out of the enclosure, which completely covered the flagstones. Since it didn’t rain again during the night, anyone crossing the courtyard would have left footprints in the soil, and there were none this morning when one of the groundskeepers hosed down the courtyard.”
I closed my eyes and leaned back. I had looked down on the courtyard this morning myself and seen the coating of unmarred soil on the flagstones. At the time, I’d simply thought what a mess—glad I don’t have to clean up that mess.
“We have the testimony of several witnesses that the soil was undisturbed this morning.”
“Yes, it was.”
Hopkins closed his notebook. “The classic locked room mystery, it seems.”
Chapter 11
HOPKINS TUCKED HIS NOTEBOOK INTO his jacket pocket. “Of course, despite the seeming impossibility of the crime, there’s always an explanation.”
That was true. There had to be an explanation. “Since I know I didn’t climb over the balcony and get into the Mahogany bedroom, you’ll have to look for another explanation. Is there a servants’ entrance?”
“No. The servant staircase is at the end of the hall. No passages connect directly to any of the bedrooms.”
“An air vent?” I was reaching, I knew, but it was all I could think of.
“None that would be large enough for a person to crawl into.”
“Well, what about Monique? She was actually in the room with him. Isn’t she a suspect?”
A corner of Hopkins’s mouth twitched. “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that. Normally, I wouldn’t share this information, but,” he narrowed his eyes and studied me then gave a small nod, “yes, I think you are the type who will hound my people, preventing them from doing their work and generally interfering, so I will tell you that the medical team who examined Monique Clay this morning confirmed that her vital signs and physical appearance were consistent with the ingestion of a greater dose of sleeping pills than would be prescribed for her.”
I opened my mouth, but Hopkins held up a hand. “Her bottle of sleeping pills was a new one and contained the exact number of pills that it should contain. Three were missing. She says she took two and that her husband took one, a usual occurrence, she says.”
“So she actually slept through t
he night and wasn’t aware of…anything?” I asked.
“That is the opinion of the medical personnel who examined her this morning.” Hopkins watched me with his blank face. I had no idea if he thought I might actually be a murderer, or if he thought Simon’s accusation was complete garbage—but there was the hairpin, my hairpin, on the balcony. He wouldn’t be able to discount that. He’d have to investigate.
“Look,” I said. “I’d never met either Toby or Monique before yesterday. I have no reason to want to break into their room or harm Toby in any way, but I do know that Holly Riley has been acting odd today. Perhaps you should look at the staff instead of focusing on access to the room. The death might be tied to the poison pen posts. Beatrice thinks someone on staff was responsible for those. And with the Mahogany bedroom being Sir Harold’s usual room…”
Simon said, “That would be convenient for you, wouldn’t it? Take the attention off you.”
Hopkins’ eyebrows drew together producing a wrinkle. “Holly Riley, the publicity director?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“What odd behavior have you observed?”
“She went into the woods today, crushed a cell phone with a rock, then threw the pieces into the river.” There was a second of silence as both men processed the information. I added, “She had two cell phones, actually. A newer smartphone in a pink cover, and an older flip phone. Because the one she destroyed was the older phone, I had the feeling it wasn’t the cell phone she used all the time…maybe it was a backup phone or a burner.”
“Burner phone?” Simon said with a short laugh. “Like she’s a spy of some sort? That little blond? I’ve never heard of anything so ridiculous.”
“I’m only telling you what I saw.”
Pen poised over his notepad, Hopkins asked me exactly what I’d seen. I related the whole incident in detail, then added, “There was something interesting about her calendar, too. I saw it this morning when I was waiting for the interview with you. It may be nothing, but—”
My phone rang again. “Let me put that on silent.” I crossed the room. It was another call from Alex. He wouldn’t call again unless it was important. “I’m sorry, but I have to take this.”
Hopkins waved a hand at me, indicating to answer, and turned to Simon, saying something about an official statement.
“Kate. Where are you?” Alex asked, and I could tell he was walking quickly because of the breathy rhythm of his words.
“In my room.”
“Is Holly with you?”
“No. I haven’t seen her.”
“Good. Steer clear of her. Which room are you in?”
“The Rose bedroom.”
Alex repeated this information to someone then a muffled female voice came through the line saying, “This way.”
Then Alex was back on the line, his voice strong. “We’re almost there.”
“We? Where are you?” I asked, but the line was dead.
Before I could call him back, Alex knocked on my open door and stepped inside. Louise followed him in. Today her ponytail and fringe of bangs that framed her round face were tinged purple.
“Alex,” I said, crossing to him. “What is going on?”
“I stopped by the pub on the way home and asked Louise about Holly…” He’d been focused on me, but his voice trailed off as he caught sight of Hopkins and Simon.
“This is DCI Hopkins,” I said. “And one of the guests, Simon Page,” I added. “Simon thinks I jumped to the other balcony, used a hairpin to get the latch open on the glass doors to the Mahogany bedroom, then killed Toby.”
Simon lifted his chin. “I saw a piece of evidence and reported it.”
“He saw a hairpin on the balcony of the Mahogany bedroom,” I said. “I’ve just told DCI Hopkins that Holly might be a better suspect than me.”
Alex gave Simon a long look, then shifted his attention to Hopkins in a way that excluded Simon from the conversation. “Then you’ll want to hear this, I think. I pulled up a picture of Holly from Parkview’s staff page on the website and showed it to Louise.” He motioned to Louise.
She stepped forward. “Louise Clement. I own the White Duck Pub in Nether Woodsmoor. I’ve lived here most of my life, except for a short stint in Manchester when I was trying out my wings, you might say. Anyway, I recognized Holly’s picture as soon as Alex showed it to me. She’s older now, and I’ll grant you that it’s been years since those days when she visited her gran in Aster Cottage, but it’s Holly, all right. Same heart-shaped face and freckles. I watched over her a few times for Eileen. I was about, oh I don’t know, ten years older than her, I suppose. Amazing to see her grown up now. I’m surprised I haven’t seen her in the village with her working here at Parkview.”
“You said Aster Cottage was where her grandmother lived?” I asked. “That’s in Cottage Lane, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Her grandmother lived there until about fifteen years ago, I think. Holly often visited her in the summer. Then Holly’s mum died. Tragic situation. Father not on the scene and then the mother, Mary, I think her name was, died from a fast-moving cancer. Holly came here and lived with her grandmother for a bit, then one day Eileen and Holly were gone. I mean, literally overnight. Packed a suitcase of clothes and left. I wondered what had happened to them, sometimes. There were rumors, of course…but no one is sure what happened.”
“So Holly lived in Cottage Lane with her grandmother until they moved out suddenly. Could she have been one of the people upset about the changes Beatrice made with the cottages?” I asked.
“No, this was long before that aggro.”
I’d lived in Nether Woodsmoor long enough to recognize the shortened term for aggravation, which basically meant trouble.
Hopkins looked up from his notepad. “So you think perhaps the granddaughter, Holly, was the source of the poison pen trouble?”
“It seems possible.” I explained about the calendar. “Beatrice said the posts were showing up every three days, and that’s what had been ticked off on Holly’s calendar. It could be something totally different, but there was also the postcard of Cottage Lane and the picture of the gray-haired woman—probably her grandmother.” I frowned. “But isn’t it strange that Holly would come to work here and not mention that her grandmother had lived in Aster Cottage?”
“Oh there’s more to it than that, luv,” Louise said.
Louise had spoken to me, but Hopkins drew her attention to him as he asked, “What do you mean?”
“Just that Eileen was resentful of the Stone family. I don’t know all the details because most of it happened before I was born, but I do know that Eileen was engaged to Sir Harold’s older brother, but he died before they married. She was bitter about it. It wasn’t any secret in the village. My mum said Eileen felt cheated out of her place, that she should be living in Parkview Hall, not in a little cottage in the village.”
Louise shook her head, her face creased with disapproval. “Eileen never liked living in Aster Cottage, which was just plain rude and ungrateful since it was more than generous of Sir Harold’s father to let her live there after Cecil died.”
“Cecil was the older brother?” Hopkins asked, his pen busy.
“Yes. I don’t know exactly when he died, but it was common knowledge in the village that the Stone family let Eileen Brogan live in the cottage. Grace and favor, you know.”
Louise saw my frown and said in an aside to me, “Charity. She stayed on there, too, even after she married. Her husband was an engineer. Traveled all over the world, but she had no interest in that sort of life and stayed put. They had a daughter. It’s a sad story, all the way around. Her husband died in an accident in one of those foreign places while he was working—was it Egypt? Or perhaps Syria?” Louise shook off the question. “Doesn’t matter, I suppose. Eileen stayed on in the cottage, raised their daughter, and then her daughter moved off to London and went to work in one of those big corporations. She married and had Holly.”
&nb
sp; “I see.” So Eileen had lived in the cottage long before the recent controversy about some of the cottages being turned into holiday cottages, which had happened only a few months ago. “But if Holly visited her grandmother, why didn’t Beatrice recognize her?” I’d asked Beatrice if any of her employees had links to the village or the cottages, and she’d said they didn’t. Beatrice wasn’t the type to lie or cover-up. She must not know of Holly’s connection to the village and Eileen.
“Eileen didn’t want to have anything to do with Beatrice. My mum thinks it was because Beatrice held a role that she would have had, lady of the manor, you know, if things had gone differently.”
“She doesn’t sound like a pleasant person,” I murmured.
“Right cranky, she was. As children, we gave her a wide berth. I was surprised when she asked me to sit with Holly. Holly was a fun child, which made it easy. Good thing, too, because Eileen wasn’t exactly generous when it came time to pay me.” She shook her head. “That’s neither here nor there now. Beatrice wouldn’t have seen Holly many times, maybe only two or three times when Holly was a wee one. Holly had darker hair then, too. Light brown, not blond like it is now.”
Holly did have dark eyebrows. Maybe she’d dyed her hair blond to disguise herself. “So Holly hasn’t come into the pub at all?”
“No,” Louise said. “In fact, I don’t think I’ve seen her in the village once.”
Hopkins looked back through his notes. “She lives in Upper Benning. Would it be possible for someone to work here at Parkview and not be seen in the village?”
Louise looked perplexed. “I suppose she could do that. The bus does make a stop here, outside the gates. She wouldn’t have to get off in the village and change buses. And I suppose she wouldn’t need to go into the village. We mostly have restaurants and shops. Not much business-related activity. No print shops or anything like that. For that, you have to go to Upper Benning.”
