“Apis mellifera is the secret ingredient in my homemade cherry brandy.”
“Bee venom,” said Shawn flatly.
“It’s what makes it taste so sweet,” said Mrs. Cropper. “Vera knew that.”
Lavinia frowned. “Vera gave me the cherry brandy—”
“Vera knew what was in it,” said Mrs. Cropper.
“And she knew Kelly was allergic.”
“So, I’m not to blame?” gasped Lavinia.
Rupert sat down.
“Kelly was a tart, Rupert,” said Lady Edith. “Everyone knows she was sleeping with Detective Constable Banks.”
All eyes swiveled to Clive who turned beetroot red. “It—it—only happened once,” he stammered. “Or was it twice?”
“And—as you already admitted—with you, Eric,” added Lady Edith.
“That was before Kelly married his lordship,” he said defensively. “It doesn’t count.”
Bong! Bong! A deafening shimmer of sound silenced the room. Cropper stood next to the Gibraltar gong, hammer in hand.
“Thank you, Gramps,” said Shawn. When everyone had settled down he added, “When did Vera start blackmailing you, Lavinia?”
Lavinia blanched. “You knew? But how?”
Shawn motioned for Clive to step forward again. This time he withdrew the box of vol-au-vents and set it down next to the Eiffel Tower keepsake tin.
“We found one thousand pounds in this empty box of vol-au-vents in the bottom of the freezer. Did you put the money in there yesterday morning?”
Lavinia nodded.
I stifled a cry of relief. Thank God I’d been wrong about my mother succumbing to blackmail.
“One thousand pounds!” shouted Rupert. “One thousand! Do you think we’re made of money?”
“Oh shut up, Rupert,” snapped Lavinia. “It’s from my trust fund. I do have my own money, you know.”
“But why pay Vera?” said Rupert.
Tears welled up in Lavinia’s eyes again. “She threatened to tell you that I’d stolen Kelly’s EpiPen. I was terrified you’d divorce me if you found out because … I love you, Rupert. I always have.”
Rupert looked surprised. “You do?”
“The silly thing is that I realize now that Vera couldn’t have proved any of it. I panicked. I suppose you’ll divorce me now.” Lavinia pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket and gently dabbed at her eyes. “How frightfully embarrassing this all is. I am so sorry, Edith.”
“I don’t get it,” said Eric suddenly. “Why would Vera want to blackmail anyone?”
Shawn motioned to Clive a third time. He pulled out the two sausage roll boxes and put those on the coffee table, too.
“I told her I didn’t like sausage rolls,” said Eric sadly.
“They are jammed with credit and department store statements,” said Shawn. “Vera was heavily in debt but somehow she was able to make hefty payments to her credit cards.”
“What the hell was she buying?” Eric wondered.
Was he blind? “Shoes!” I said, exasperated. “Didn’t you ever wonder how she could afford them?”
Eric’s face darkened with fury. “Bloody Vera. I warned her. I told her—”
“Told her what, Eric?” said Shawn. “That you’d kill her?”
“I didn’t say that,” shouted Eric. “And you know I’ve got an alibi.”
“According to the landlord, he was very drunk, sir,” Clive put in. “Unable to stand. There’s no way he could have driven, let alone walked back to the Hall on Saturday night.”
“Well, that’s strange because Ms. Stanford tells me that she heard you at the Hall with his lordship late on Saturday night,” said Shawn. “Where did you get those bruises, Eric?”
“Ms. Stanford doesn’t know what she’s saying,” said Rupert. “And as for the bruises, Eric tripped and fell into the suits of armor.”
“I wondered who did that,” Cropper said, speaking for the very first time.
“No more, no more, please,” said Lady Edith wearily. “I’ve known all along about your little scheme to turn the Hall into flats when I’m dead and gone. I know you plan on building a ghastly adventure playground and go-kart track. But what disgusts me the most is your determination to tear up the equine cemetery and make it a caravan park.”
“What caravan park?” Lavinia said, bewildered.
Rupert turned on Eric, his expression thunderous. “You bastard! You told her.”
“I didn’t tell anyone,” jabbered Eric. “And Vera didn’t know. I swear.”
Shawn snapped his fingers and Clive stepped forward again holding the blueprints.
“Gayla mailed those plans to my mother,” I said. “She wanted Lady Edith to know what was happening to her home.”
Lady Edith looked taken aback. “Why would she do that? I hardly knew her.”
“She wanted revenge, m’lady,” said Mum with relish.
“Revenge on Eric?” said Lavinia blankly. “Why?”
“Where were you on Saturday night, m’lord?” said Shawn.
Rupert bristled. “With my son, waiting for my wife to return from Shipley Abbey. Harry loathes the dark. I would never leave him alone in this house. You all know that to be true.”
“Yes, I believe that to be true,” I chipped in. And I did.
“Thank you, everyone,” said Shawn. “You’ve been most helpful.”
“Is that it?” said Lavinia. “I thought you were going to make an arrest?”
“So that just leaves our new neighbors,” said Shawn. “Ms. Stanford, does the name Trudy Wynne mean anything to you?”
My stomach turned over. “Yes, I already told you she’s a tabloid journalist.”
“But she’s also your fiancé’s wife.”
“Actually—” I took a deep breath. “David is not my fiancé.”
“But weren’t you celebrating your engagement in the Hare & Hounds on Sunday night?” said Shawn. Seeing my look of surprise he added, “Rumor has it that your so-called fiancé made a generous contribution to Vera’s post-service shindig.”
“You’re right,” I said. “But we were celebrating something else—something business related.”
“But you let everyone believe they were toasting your good health.”
“I suppose it would seem that way,” I said, thinking that Lavinia was right. Shawn was pompous.
“Regardless of the misunderstanding,” Shawn went on, “I’m sure you wouldn’t want David Wynne’s current wife to find out, would you? Did Vera threaten to tell her?”
“For heaven’s sake, no,” I exclaimed. “Vera did not and frankly, my relationship with Trudy Wynne goes back years. She couldn’t do any more damage to my reputation than she already has.”
“But perhaps she could damage your mother’s?” said Shawn.
There was a deathly silence. My heart sank. I daren’t meet my mother’s eyes because I knew exactly what was coming next.
“Clive, the honors, please.”
Clive stepped forward a fourth time. He set a plastic Ziploc bag containing yellow Post-it Notes down on the coffee table. He withdrew all three and laid them out.
“Would you care to read what those notes say, Mrs. Stanford?” Shawn asked.
Mum leaned forward and said, “Shotgun, murder, and meet me in the grotto.”
“And is it in your handwriting?”
“Yes,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“My mother is always writing Post-it Notes,” I put in. “The dashboard of her MINI is covered in them.”
“Do you know where we found these Post-it Notes?” Shawn asked.
Mum shook her head. “No, but I suspect you’re going to tell me.”
The room was so quiet you could hear the proverbial pin drop.
“In Vera’s bathroom,” said Shawn.
“I’ve never been in Vera’s bathroom,” Mum said coldly.
“But you did go to her cottage late on Saturday night, didn’t you?”
“No,�
�� said Mum.
“Are you quite sure about that?” said Shawn. “Gran told me you were hammering on Vera’s front door, demanding she let you in.”
“Yes, that’s right,” said Mrs. Cropper. “She was making a hell of a din.”
Mum reddened. “Saturday night? Yes, sorry, I thought you meant Friday night. Vera didn’t answer the door and I came home. I assumed she was asleep.”
“You also left a message on Vera’s voice mail saying it was urgent that you speak with her,” Shawn went on.
“This is ridiculous!” I cried. “Anyone can see that my mother couldn’t attack anyone. Look at her! Her arm is in a cast—”
“That cast could knock someone out cold,” chipped in Clive.
“I agree,” said Shawn. “Can you vouch for your mother being in her bed all night, Ms. Stanford?”
“Well—”
“Answer the question.”
“No. Not really,” I said.
“And is it true that Vera asked you for one thousand pounds, Mrs. Stanford?”
“If you say so,” said Mum.
Shawn nodded at Clive who produced a navy polka-dot Wellington boot from behind a chair.
“That’s my Vera’s,” Eric cried.
“According to your daughter, Vera was only wearing one Wellington boot when she was murdered,” said Shawn. “We found this one in your dustbin.”
“My dustbin!” shrieked Mum.
“Someone is trying to frame my mother,” I said angrily. “If Mum had done it, she would hardly have disposed of the evidence in her own dustbin.”
“You have quite a few secrets, don’t you, Iris—or should I say…” Shawn paused dramatically. “Krystalle Storm.”
“Iris!” said Lady Edith sharply. “Iris?”
“Iris Stanford, born Bushman, your ladyship,” I said pointedly.
“Katherine!” squeaked Mum.
“Iris Bushman!” cried Lady Edith. “Little Iris?”
“Krystalle who?” said Rupert.
Lavinia gasped. “Krystalle Storm? The writer?”
“Vera found out who you were,” said Shawn. “It seemed she was quite a fan of yours. She knew everything about you and was an avid member of the Krystalle Storm fan club. According to her journal she had already gotten through to the semifinals of some contest run by your publisher. She dreamed of flying to Italy but then perhaps … she discovered she wouldn’t have to travel very far at all.”
“It’s not what you think,” Mum exclaimed.
“That’s what everyone says when they are caught out.” Shawn seemed to be enjoying himself immensely and it would seem the other spectators in the room did, too. They were all gobsmacked.
“Your website made very interesting reading,” Shawn went on. “Where exactly in Italy is your home? Presumably you own another manor house in Devon because we hardly put the Carriage House in that category—and as for your husband’s career as an international diplomat—”
“All right, all right!” Mum cried. “I can explain but I’d like to go somewhere private.”
“We can certainly accommodate you down at the station.”
“Good,” she snapped. “Then let’s go but I’ll tell you one thing. I didn’t kill Vera Pugsley. Yes, I have secrets but it would appear that every single person in this room has a secret, too.”
“Let’s go,” said Shawn.
“I want a solicitor—and not someone who went to Little Dipperton Primary School or is related to anyone in this room.” Mum stood up. She was shaking with anger. “And I am coming willingly nor am I under arrest. Is that clear?”
“This is unbelievable,” I said. “I’m coming—”
“I’m afraid not, Ms. Stanford,” said Shawn.
“Let’s get on with it, shall we?” Mum turned on her heel and stalked out of the drawing room quickly followed by Shawn and Clive. I stood there, stunned.
“Ms. Stanford!” Lady Edith hurried over to join me. “There is something I must ask you.”
“Yes, your ladyship?” I said.
“Jazzbo Jenkins—the mouse with the blue cardigan?” she said, eyes bright. “Where did your mother get him?”
“From you, your ladyship,” I said. “From you.”
“Yes, I thought as much,” she whispered.
“Mother, please,” said Rupert. “I must talk to you. Please hear me out.”
“I have nothing to say to you,” Lady Edith said acidly. “You are never going to inherit this estate now. It’s over.”
“Mother—”
“Let her be, Rupert. Leave her.” William took Lady Edith’s arm and gently walked her away.
Even though my mother had lied to me about everything, I knew she wasn’t capable of murder. It was too ridiculous for words. The whole ordeal had turned into a farce of epic proportions.
Once word got out about Mum’s early nomadic life at the Hall as well as her current incarnation as Krsytalle Storm, the newspapers would have a field day—Trudy Wynne in particular. My stomach lurched as I could very well imagine myself being featured on Walk of Shame! Celebrity Family Secrets Revealed.
My mother had been framed—first, by the Post-its and secondly, the Wellington boot. And then I remembered something Vera had said to me that fateful night when I’d found her hysterical in the woods. She’d said she was going back to her cottage to change into her Wellington boots.
The footage Mum and I had watched of Vera’s joyride had been taken before I met Vera. Later that night I’d heard voices outside my window.
I just hoped—prayed—that Vera’s return had been captured on camera. And most importantly, who had returned with her.
Chapter Twenty-five
I went straight up to Mum’s office, ignoring the persistent ring on my mobile. I knew it was David and I was definitely not in the mood to talk to him.
Luckily, the surveillance camera had still been running all this time because Mum had not thought to turn it off.
I took the remote, dragged over the three-legged stool, and settled down to watch the screen. It didn’t take long to find Vera’s nighttime performance. There she was, driving manically around Eric’s field on his brand new Massey Ferguson.
I paid close attention to the footage where Eric’s tractor toppled into the old tunnel and Vera dropped the keys.
When Vera climbed down to get them, she disappeared from sight. The tunnel wasn’t that deep. Now I realized I should have at the very least been able to see the top of her head.
Vera was gone a long time but because Mum and I had been laughing so hard at her expense, we hadn’t noticed. The time code registered a full ten minutes before Vera reemerged, clambered out of the gulley with her muddy Louboutins in one hand, then hurried out of the frame.
Now, only the tractor filled the screen. The odd cow ambled into view. A solitary rabbit hopped on by but other than that, nothing.
I fast-forwarded five minutes, ten, and then one hour. Still nothing until two figures finally appeared at twelve-fifteen.
My stomach turned over.
Vera had brought William back with her. She was wearing a jacket over her dress and, yes, she’d changed into her polka-dot Wellington boots.
William strode into frame with a flashlight and a roll of black plastic dustbin liners. He helped Vera climb down first then—with some difficulty because of his size—followed her.
Both of them vanished from sight.
There was a bright flare as the flashlight was turned on and then, darkness. I waited for both to reappear. They were gone much longer this time—the time code registered twenty-five minutes.
When they finally emerged, Vera scrambled out and turned back to lift up two bulging black plastic dustbin liners from William’s outstretched hands. William bent down and popped back up again to toss out a telescopic mailing tube—similar in shape and size to the one I’d seen in Rupert’s bedroom. He then heaved himself out of the tunnel.
Vera seemed excited and happy. She was doin
g little bunny hops and William—towering over her—grabbed Vera around the waist and they danced an awkward jig in their Wellington boots. Whatever they’d found was obviously important and I was mesmerized.
William had lied.
He’d said he’d been with Jupiter all night but he hadn’t. And there was something else that I remembered. This afternoon in the drawing room, William had told Lady Edith that I’d found the snuff box in the sunken garden. I knew that I had told him I’d found it outside, but not where.
What’s more, William had access to Mum’s Post-it Notes and could have easily placed them in Vera’s cottage. And as for her Wellington boots—
“Hello, Katherine.”
“William! You startled me.” I exclaimed and realized the tape was still running. I hit stop on the remote control and added hastily, “I was just watching a DVD to take my mind off things.”
William closed the door behind him. My mouth went dry and my knees turned to jelly. “I can’t believe my own mother has been arrested, can you?” I said lightly.
“The whole thing is ridiculous.” William seemed nervous. “But we’ll sort it out. Don’t worry. What are you watching?”
The DVD case of Downton Abbey was on the top of the television set. “Downton Abbey,” I said. “Although I think Honeychurch Hall has far more intrigue, don’t you?” It was a pathetic attempt at a joke and I knew it.
“That must be difficult,” said William. “Because your mother loaned the DVD to me.”
“There were extra bits,” I said quickly. “You know, outtakes.”
My heart began to thunder in my chest as I became aware of how enormous William really was—certainly large enough to carry Vera effortlessly to the grotto.
“I’ve never been in here before.” William scanned the room. “Your mother always kept it locked.”
“She’s very private.”
“I can’t believe she’s the author Krystalle Storm,” he said. “I really enjoyed Gypsy Temptress.”
“Yes. It’s brilliant, isn’t it?”
“I lent it to Lavinia,” said William.
“Good.”
William ambled over to the corkboard and pointed to the newspaper clipping of Lady Edith. “Isn’t she an astonishing woman? It’s hard to believe she’s eighty-four.”
Murder at Honeychurch Hall: A Mystery Page 24
