by Ruby Loren
“I hope he wraps the case up quickly,” I said, looking for something neutral to say after I’d nodded my agreement with Tiff.
“Me too. We’ve got a wedding to plan!”
“When’s the next house-hunting expedition? Say the word and I’ll be there,” I told her.
It turned out not to have been the best phrase to use as Tiff announced we were already late for a meeting at Herriot’s Houses.
I saw an estate agent stick her head out of the door and then bob back inside when Tiff and I walked down the street towards Herriot’s Houses Estate Agents. The reason became clear as soon as we walked in the door. Ashley, the male estate agent who’d shown us around the horror house, walked towards us, partially hidden behind the gift basket he was holding. I saw all sorts of fruit and various fancy spreads and biscuits secreted beneath the polythene wrapper.
“We all wanted to give you this as a thank you for allowing us a second chance after…after…” He stammered, seeming unable to continue.
“After such an unfortunate incident,” Tristan Herriot finished, walking out and handing over the basket to Tiff himself. I was quick to note that I wasn’t included in this little gesture of appreciation. Whilst it was true that I wasn’t the one searching for a house - and therefore they weren’t concerned about losing my business - I couldn’t help but wonder if Tristan would have extended the same courtesy to someone with a smaller budget, and more pertinently, someone who wasn’t Tiff.
The way he was looking at her and smiling his brilliant whitened smile seemed to answer that question for me.
I turned away and my eye was caught by the board of keys on the wall. It was right after you walked into the shop. Anyone entering the estate agents would notice it, and it was very definitely accessible to any who walked in. However, it was also in the direct line of sight of the young man sat behind reception. I also noted that there was a female estate agent sitting at her desk with a great view of that wall, too. I wondered if either of them had seen the person returning the key to the board. The police hadn't arrested anyone to my knowledge. I was certainly feeling nervy hanging around a bunch of estate agents who might be harbouring a killer amongst their ranks.
“Esme! It’s nice to see you. What can I do for you today?” Tristan said in his best and most false cheery voice.
I turned around to look at the woman whom he’d implied had far too much expensive taste to bother killing Harry Farley. She was dressed in a designer cream suit that looked striking but incredibly impractical. On her feet she wore six inch nude stilettos that complimented the cream suit and elongated her legs. It was only once you got over her dashing dress-sense that you realised the woman wearing the outfit had a pleasant face, but was doing everything she feasibly could to make herself look as attractive as possible. Judging by the way Tristan Herriot had spoken about her, it must work.
“Hello, Tristan. I just came by to say I’m so sorry you had to find Harry that way. I would have come sooner, but the police have had me and Felicity in and out for questions. As you know, Farley and Sons is a pretty small group of people, which I suppose is why they think one of us did it…” She shook her head and looked incredulous. “I soon put them right on that front. They had the audacity to ask if Harry Farley and I were involved. As if!” she spluttered and then calmed back down. I noticed that her accent had slipped out of being quite so well-spoken as she was doing her best to come across when she’d made her exclamation. It did make me wonder… if she was so good at pretending to be someone she wasn’t, might she be lying about Harry, too?
“Do you know who was being shown the house by your agency?” I jumped in, finding that I was curious.
Esme regarded me with a blank look for a moment before answering. I found it was almost a delight not to be recognised. “I have no idea. That big old house has been on the market forever and a day. It’s far too expensive to run and far too expensive to buy in the current economic climate. Whoever Harry was showing round, he didn't think much about his prospects of selling the place to them. When I gave him the key, he definitely implied the client was a she, but I don’t know anything beyond that.” She shrugged.
I silently concluded that this mystery ‘she’, combined with Harry’s lack of enthusiasm over a potential sale, could mean that he’d never intended to sell the place to this client. Instead, he might have simply planned to use the vacant house for a potential romp.
“Come on Esme… don’t hold back on us,” Tristan said, sliding over to the other estate agent and laying a hand on her shoulder.
An icy smile graced her lips for a moment before she brushed him off. Right at the last moment she shot him a coquettish look that told me, despite his claims otherwise, Tristan Herriot was definitely in her league when it came to expensive tastes.
“There was something I wasn’t going to tell the police, but one of the dratted neighbours saw me. That got me in a bit of trouble, I can tell you! I live a mile or so down the road from the house and I walked my dogs up by the lane that leads to the house. When I walked by, I saw Harry’s car parked on the gravel, but I didn’t see any other cars. Maybe one was tucked away round the corner, but I don’t think so. The nosy neighbour who told tales about me also had a good enough view to note that no other car arrived that night, but apparently they saw one leave the house later.” She shook her head. “I don’t understand why the police were so hard on me. I mean, isn’t it obvious why I didn’t tell them about walking my dogs up there? It makes it look like I had something to do with it! And then when that neighbour filled them in, it made me look even worse. Thankfully, there’s not a shred of evidence, because obviously I had nothing to do with it.” She shuddered. “Harry Farley might have believed he was God’s gift to women, but he knew better than to try with me after all those years we spent working together. If you ask me, they should be looking at his wife, Felicity…”
I blinked a little. I’d still been trying to marry up the image of the woman in cream in front of me with the idea of her walking a dog down muddy country lanes when she’d dropped her suspicions about Felicity Farley being the killer. So much for workplace loyalty!
“What makes you think that?” Tristan asked, still doing his best to ooze charm.
Esme was practically preening by now. “Well… I’m sure you know he cheated on his first wife with Felicity. That alone should have been enough to clue her in that he wasn’t exactly the faithful type. Of course, she married him anyway - probably believing him to really be as successful as he made out. They hardly had the happiest marriage, believe me. I’ve been a fly on the wall for years. Harry was running around town with other women and Felicity felt like a laughing stock. Maybe she finally got tired enough of his ways to put an end to them for good…”
“She must have known she’d be the prime suspect if she did that,” Tristan cut in conversationally.
Esme tipped her head from side to side, fluttering her false eyelashes as she did so. “Well, she hasn’t been arrested yet. I think the police just want to give her some sympathy time before they bring her in for real.” She frowned for a moment before ironing out her expression again - probably afraid to cause wrinkles. “There is that woman who’s been on our books since forever. She’s been claiming to look at houses - big ones - but there’s always something wrong with them. We did some background research on her of course, in case she was just a time waster, but she does have the means to buy a property, she just doesn’t seem to want to. That’s weird, isn’t it?”
“Very strange,” Tristan purred.
I frowned as something occurred to me. “Do either of you know Andy Wright, or Annabelle Wright?”
“The lawyer and the history buff?” Tristan said, looking at me in surprise. “Sure, everyone in town knows them. Just between us, I don’t think things are going too brilliantly for them at the moment. They’ve put their house on the market with us and Blanky Country Houses. I think their marriage must be on its way out.”
&n
bsp; I nodded, remembering how distraught Andy had been about his relationship with his wife, Annabelle. While it was sad, it wouldn’t surprise me if they were calling it quits.
“I think you should pass on information about this house-hunting woman to the police. She may have been looking around the houses in order to case places before returning to steal their animals,” I announced.
Both estate agents gaped at me.
“I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before,” Tristan said, in such a way that implied he was a fool for not seeing it, not that I was smart for figuring it out. “What was the name of your client, Esme? She sounds similar to someone on our books…”
“Rachel Masters. She’s an American, who I believe is renting locally, but looking for property in the UK countryside to sink her giant fortune into,” Esme said with an eye roll.
“We’ve got her, too,” Tristan said, looking annoyed. “I thought she was just a hard sell…” He rubbed his chin. “To be honest, she did give off a vibe that she was looking for more than just houses… if you follow my meaning.” He grinned and glanced across at the man behind reception, dropping him a wink. The receptionist’s cheeks turned red and he ducked down beneath the computer on his desk, pretending to be busy.
“Leave it to the police,” I said, feeling quite proud of myself for doing the right thing and suggesting the authorities got involved.
“Have you had a lot of trouble with clients losing their animals?” Esme asked Tristan, ignoring my comment.
“From time to time. Mostly, it’s just been general robberies, but animals went missing at the same time.” He lifted his shoulders into a gentle shrug. “I didn’t think much of it, to be honest. The houses were empty for long hours - as owners know we need time to show their houses. It would be a great opportunity for any kind of thief. Anyway, there’s only been the odd theft. That's why I never thought anything of it. That kind of thing happens in the countryside all the time! Animals are an asset to we country folk. The horses especially will have fetched stunning prices, even when sold without questions asked.”
“Horses have been taken?” Tiff asked.
“They’re always being taken. That’s why owners have insurance,” Tristan told her with an affectionate smile that made me want to be sick.
“Their owners must be devastated,” Tiff said in that subtle but pointed way she had of showing people they were being callous.
“That goes without saying,” Tristan covered. “We will of course be reporting our suspicions,” he said to my beautiful friend.
I noticed Esme shoot Tiff some serious evils and wondered if she hadn't noticed the diamond on Tiff’s ring finger. Or perhaps she simply thought it counted for nothing in these circles. I was also unamused by the way Tristan had skilfully taken over all responsibility for noticing the potential thief.
“Just in case it’s not your mystery house-hunter… have any of you noticed anyone else getting surprisingly rich?” I asked, unwilling to put everything on one strange woman.
The estate agents all looked thoughtful.
“No, we’ve been getting along as normal,” Esme said. “The economy isn’t the best, but we do all right. People are still buying and selling.”
“That’s about the size of it,” Tristan agreed.
“I don’t think Felicity did it,” a stern female voice piped up. We all turned to look at the woman who’d been silently sitting behind her computer the whole time we’d been chatting. She lowered her square-rimmed glasses and shot us a formidable look.
“I would love to know your thoughts on that, Ms…?” Detective Gregory walked into the estate agents at exactly the right moment. He looked surprised to see Tiff there and then bemused when his eyes fell on me.
“I should have seen that coming…” I heard him mutter under his breath. I hoped Tiff would set him straight later. I really wasn’t a hound for murder!
“Yolanda Arabella,” the woman informed the detective. “Felicity is far too sensible for that. She made mistakes when she was younger, make no doubt, but she’s a grown-up woman now. She was saddled with Harry, but it was a burden that she bore because she loved him - hard as it was. You’re all overlooking the exceedingly obvious,” she told us primly.
“Which is?” Tristan asked, immediately looking annoyed that he’d had to say it.
“Although our esteemed clients instructed us all to share a single set of keys, that doesn’t mean there aren’t other copies floating around. Any one of us could have taken the key at some point or other and had a copy made, just waiting for this very opportunity.” Her cheeks glowed a little with excitement.
“That doesn’t explain why the key - the real key - was returned. Esme says she didn’t do it, right?” Tristan asked the well-dressed woman.
“I certainly did not return it. I assumed Felicity must have done so,” she said with a careless shrug.
“That’s actually why I’m here today,” Detective Gregory cut in before the gossip train could get rolling again. “I was coming to ask if anyone remembers seeing who returned the key to the board. Or failing that, is there any CCTV footage?”
“No to the cameras. We’re old school estate agents. We don’t go in for any of that modern security stuff, our clients sometimes don’t like to feel watched, or spied upon. We trust the people who walk in through that door,” Tristan said with pride that I thought bordered upon idiocy. “Josh, Yolanda,” he said, addressing the receptionist and the formidable woman, “you were here all morning on the day before we were due to see the house. You must have seen whoever returned the key?”
The pair exchanged a nervous look, and I knew that it wasn’t the first time Tristan had asked them. Once more, he was trying to paint himself in the best light, whilst throwing everyone else to the wolves.
“We didn’t see anything. Unfortunately, there was, ah, a time we now realise when no one was in the shop. Josh had popped to the loo, and I was taking a call from a client outside on my mobile,” Yolanda informed the detective. “We can only assume the key was returned during that brief window. It was only for a moment. We’re talking thirty seconds tops when we were both gone,” she said, covering for herself in front of her boss.
Detective Gregory walked over to the board of keys and inspected it. I looked past him and noted that there were names, numbers, and letters next to every peg. I supposed it might be simple enough to figure out if you knew the names of the people who owned each property, but it was definitely something that would take a little working out. More than thirty seconds, anyway.
“It must have been someone who knew the system,” I observed and received a scathing look from the detective for my trouble.
“They must have realised that the key being missing would be an even bigger giveaway - especially when it’s not a property that we show all that much. If Harry had taken someone round the property and the key had been back and we hadn’t shown anyone around for a week or so - or even given the key to one of the other estate agents - it might have taken some time for anyone to find Harry,” Yolanda contributed all whilst looking over her glasses at us.
“How would it have been a bigger giveaway?” the detective was frowning.
“Simple - that house does not get shown much. Until someone new and fancy moves to this area with a pot of money to spend, there’s no way it’s going to sell,” Esme jumped in. “We only get around one client a month who might be suitable for that place.”
“It’s the same for us,” Tristan confessed.
“So, it was bad luck for the killer that you showed us around the house the day after they killed Harry Farley,” I observed.
“Someone would have noticed his absence,” Detective Gregory jumped back in, looking steadily more disgruntled by his lack of control.
“Maybe not,” Esme countered. “He was known to shack up with other women for whole stretches of time, often under the guise of sudden unexpected ‘golf breaks’. Anyway, the first place we’d have looked
for Harry was in the woods. He was always on that horse of his. I know that I’d have assumed he was thrown off and broke his neck.”
The detective inclined his head. “Well, that confirms one thing…”
We all waited until he’d enjoyed his moment of regained control.
“…Harry Farley’s horse has gone missing. I presume now that the killer must have taken him to bring about the very assumption you just made - that Harry was lying somewhere in the woods. The truth would only have been discovered much later,” Detective Gregory revealed.
“That means it should be easy to find the killer, if their plan has already gone wrong… right?” Tristan said, starting out strong and ending with a wobble and a questioning look at the detective.
Detective Gregory’s lips thinned. “Unfortunately, it would appear not. However, if any of you do remember anything about who might have returned the key, I would be very interested to hear it.” He eyeballed all of us in turn, making it very clear that all of the estate agents were suspects, and there would be deep trouble if anyone was lying.
“Did you find Harry’s car?” Esme asked, having been questioned about it by the police.
“Yes, we did. It was parked behind his office. His wife reported it there as soon as we informed her of her husband’s demise,” Detective Gregory said.
Esme frowned, realising that the truth had been deliberately concealed from her in order to make her slip up under questioning.
“There was nothing suspicious inside it and nothing to suggest that Harry didn’t return it himself - which of course, seems quite impossible,” the detective continued.
