A Grave Gala (Sugar Martin Vintage Cozy Mysteries Book 2)

by Shéa MacLeod

  “Oh, it must have been around one. Everyone else was still up, but I had a bit of a headache.”

  He scribbled some more. “Go on. What next?”

  “I got ready for bed as per usual, then took my tea along with my sleeping powders and just a drop of whiskey. Medicinal of course.” Her eyes danced with humor.

  “Who brought the tea?” Cobblepot demanded.

  “Penny, of course. She always brings my tea. Her or Johnson.”

  More scribbling. “Are you absolutely certain the tea was unaltered when it was brought to you?”

  She laughed. “But of course.”

  “How can you be sure?” His eyes narrowed.

  “First of all, Penny would never harm me. The very thought is ludicrous,” she said with assurance. “And secondly, the tea was black and on the weak side. Just about anything added to it would have stuck out like a sore thumb. I simply took my usual whiskey and powders and went to sleep. Nothing suspicious there, Detective.”

  He grimaced but didn’t bother correcting her again. “You slept through the night? You heard nothing?”

  “I never do,” she assured him. “The draft knocks me out quite thoroughly, I’m afraid. I’d no idea what had happened until Penny woke me this morning with my hot chocolate.”

  It seemed awfully decadent to have a maid wake a person, hot chocolate in hand. I was pretty sure I could get used to it, though.

  “How about enemies?” Cobblepot pressed. “Threats?”

  “No threats, I’m afraid. That would wrap it up neatly, wouldn’t it?” Her tone was teasing and Cobblepot blushed crimson. Toni had that effect on men when she wanted to. “As to enemies, well, no one that would want to smother me, though Lady Terry was rather upset with me for wearing the same dress as she did to the last soiree we attended. I wore it better, of course.” She winked, and Cobblepot grew even redder. “Still, she wouldn’t bother killing me over it.”

  “Who else knows your nightly routine?” he pressed.

  She shrugged and sipped her tea. “Only the household. Johnson, Penny, Cook. How did they get in?”

  “Smashed in a back window,” Cobblepot said.

  “Johnson’s having it fixed,” Jack assured her.

  Cobblepot cleared his throat. “Anything else you can add?”

  “I’m afraid that’s it,” she said.

  He drained his cup and stood. “Well, I’m off then.”

  “Aren’t you going to investigate?” I demanded. “Take fingerprints or something?”

  “From what? You said the intruder wore gloves.”

  So I did. Still, it seemed like he should do something.

  Clearly, Cobblepot had other ideas, for he stomped out, leaving us to our tea and toast. Really, I was going to have to figure this out myself, or my new friend would be toast herself.

  Chapter 10

  Once breakfast was finished, Toni dressed in a pair of navy-blue wide-legged trousers and a knit sweater with horizontal red-and-white stripes. She looked swell, as always. The two of us took a walk along the cliff. There was an excellent view of the sea, and it was the chance to get a bit of sun before the weather remembered it was fall. Plus, there’d be no one to overhear us.

  Tippy trotted alongside, for once happy to be out for a walk. He moved from one patch of grass to the next, sniffing in delight and occasionally letting out a yip.

  “About last night,” I began.

  “Oh, do let’s talk of something else,” Toni begged. “I really don’t want to think about it.”

  “Not thinking about it won’t make it go away,” I reminded her. “Someone tried to kill you, and they’d have succeeded if Jack and I hadn’t arrived in time. It was only sheer luck that we did.”

  She took my arm in hers. “More like genius. You’re the one who figured out it was me the killer tried to shoot, not Peter. Poor Peter.”

  “Yes, well, that’s fine and dandy, but it doesn’t get us any closer to figuring out who the killer is. Are you sure you can’t think of anyone who would have a grudge against you? Not even Lady Terry?”

  She giggled. “Lady Terry is plump, short, half deaf, and over sixty. Trust me, she’s not involved in this.”

  Since the intruder had been neither plump nor short and had moved much faster than a woman of sixty probably would, it was very unlikely it was Lady Terry. Although, she could have hired someone. I grimaced. “No one else? Are you sure?”

  “My only enemies are your enemies,” she reminded me.

  “Lord Chasterly and Mary Parlance. Yes, I thought of them, but Cobblepot assured me they’re both locked up tight.”

  “They could have hired someone,” she pointed out.

  “True, except our friendly neighborhood DCI also insisted that they couldn’t have hired anyone as they didn’t have access.”

  “Well, that’s a bother,” she said. “What about Simon Parlance?”

  I watched a sailboat bob at anchor in the bay. “Mary’s brother would definitely have a motive, but wouldn’t he be more likely to go after me?”

  “I suppose so. You are the one that put his sister away.” She shook her head, glossy waves shining. “It’s really too bad about Mary. I always rather liked her. She was fun.”

  Personally, I thought she was snooty, but I supposed in Toni’s world the two weren’t mutually exclusive. I was surprised she enjoyed my company as much as she seemed to. I was a veritable stick in the mud compared to many of her fellow socialites. I barely drank (at least until I moved to England), had never dated anyone famous or rich, and had to work for a living. I only had a fancy—if limited—wardrobe and got to go to glamourous parties and fashionable places because of my job. Most nights, when I wasn’t working, I was at home with Tippy, reading a book or listening to a radio show.

  Toni bent down and picked up a stick which she tossed. Tippy stared at her, then the stick, then back at her as if to say, “What do you expect me to do about that?”

  “Fetch!” she ordered.

  Tippy snorted and plopped down among the daisies.

  “Are you certain he’s actually a dog?” Toni asked.

  “I’m pretty sure he thinks he’s a human,” I replied.

  She shook her head and reached down to scratch his ear. “Your aunt spoiled him, no doubt.”

  “No doubt,” I said drily.

  In fact, I knew that to be the case. And she was still spoiling him from beyond the grave. Thanks to the stipulations of her will, I could afford to keep him in as many juicy bones as his heart desired, while I got by for the most part on beans and toast. This was not a dining experience I’d ever had before coming to England, but I found it was actually pretty good, if a little dull. Especially since I’d had it several times a week. I hoped to go home for Christmas. Mr. Woodward had agreed Jack could watch Tippy while I was gone, but I’d have to pay for my own ticket home, so I was saving like mad even though I had a bad feeling I’d have to wait until next year before I could afford it.

  “So if it isn’t Mary or Lord Chasterly, and it isn’t Simon, then who could it be? What about one of the other guests?” I suggested.

  She sank elegantly down onto the grass. I joined her, slightly less elegantly. Tippy curled up beside me, and I absently stroked his soft fur.

  “Impossible,” Toni declared. “These people are my friends. They’d have no reason to harm me.”

  “Even Vivien Moreton?” I asked, knowing the two had some sort of rivalry going on. Probably because when Toni walked into a room, nobody paid attention to Vivien, and Vivien hated that. She was one of those center-of-the-spotlight types of people.

  Toni laughed, but it was a bit strained. “Vivien is a pain in the backside, but she wouldn’t kill anyone. Besides, she was standing near the veranda when Peter was shot. I saw her there. She couldn’t have done it.”

  “But she could have hired someone, just like Simon could have.”

  A line formed between her brows. “I suppose, but I don’t see why she would b
other. What would be her motive?”

  “I was hoping you could tell me.” I sighed. “Maybe she was in love with Peter and was mad you’d snagged him.”

  “You know very well that Peter was my date for appearances only.”

  “I know that, but did Vivien?”

  She mulled it over. “I’m fairly certain she knew about his preferences because she wasn’t happy about him spending time with Jerry. She was seeing him, you know. Jerry, I mean. Maybe she wasn’t angry because Jerry was neglecting her, but because she was afraid he was cheating on her with Peter.”

  I nodded. “That would make sense based on what we know. But then she’d have a motive to kill Peter, not you.”

  “Well, Peter is the one who’s dead.”

  “As you pointed out, Vivien isn’t the killer, so her motive for killing Peter is moot.”

  “As is her motive for killing me.”

  I let out a frustrated breath. “This is useless. We’re getting nowhere.”

  “Where we’ve got is that none of my guests had a motive to kill me.” She was awfully calm for someone who’d nearly been murdered just the night before.

  “What about the staff?” I felt guilty even suggesting it.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” She laughed. “The only one who left was the chef, and I didn’t fire him, he quit. The others were happy to stay on. They’re all locals, so they’re close to home and I pay them better than Freddy did.”

  Freddy was Lord Chasterly. “So they’re happy then.”

  “Yes. They certainly seem to be.”

  Penny’s attitude bore that out. She had always been cheerful, but she was especially chipper working for Toni.

  “I suppose it could have been someone from the outside. Someone we don’t even know about. They could have heard about the gala, saw their chance, and snuck onto the property.”

  “Then lay in wait for the right moment, saw their opportunity, and then bam!” She clapped. “Yes! That must be it.”

  It was possible, if a little farfetched. So convenient to blame it on an outsider. Except that, according to Toni, there was no one who’d want to kill her. This was not a crime of opportunity. This had been planned, right down to the last detail. Except there’d been that unexpected moment and the wrong person had ended up dead. Not to mention, the killer had returned in an attempt to smother Toni.

  No. I was convinced that the killer wasn’t a stranger or an outsider. The killer was very close at hand. Close enough to strike again.

  It may have been a balmy seventy-five degrees, but I shivered.

  BACK AT THE HOUSE, we found Jack waiting for us. “I talked to my uncle,” he said once Penny had taken Tippy off for some water and a nap.

  “About?” I asked.

  “We should talk somewhere more private.” He opened the library door and ushered us both inside.

  Toni went straight for the liquor cabinet and poured herself a glass of gin. “Want some?”

  I shook my head, as did Jack.

  She shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  “Now what’s this about?” I demanded, taking a seat in one of the leather armchairs.

  Jack leaned an elbow against the elegantly carved mantle. “I asked my uncle to double check that our jailbirds are still safely locked away.”

  “And are they?” I asked.

  He nodded. “The only person who’s visited Mary is her priest.”

  That was a surprise. “Simon hasn’t been to visit? But they were so close.” Weirdly close, in fact.

  “When she was arrested, he was furious,” Toni informed me. “Said he couldn’t bear to be in the same country as she was. That she was a disgrace to the Parlance name. I think he was afraid people would think he was somehow involved.”

  I’d actually never been totally convinced he wasn’t. Oh, I knew he wasn’t involved in the murder, but the thefts... well, I was suspicious, but there’d been no proof.

  “Simon’s gone off to Italy,” Jack informed us. “He’s staying at the villa of the Contessa de Lauria.”

  “Ah!” Toni said as if it all made sense.

  “What do you mean by ‘ah?’” I asked.

  “The Contessa is a very wealthy widow with a penchant for younger men. I believe our Simon has landed on his feet.” She winked.

  “Good for him, I guess, but that definitely puts him out of the running.” I sighed. “What about Freddy? Did he have any visitors?”

  “That’s where it gets interesting,” Jack said. He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. “He refused to see a priest, so no visitors. At least not until up to about a week before the gala. That’s when he had a single visitor. One visit. This is the name.” He handed me the paper.

  Slowly I unfolded it, my insides quivering. I felt suddenly nervous as if I were about to have the secrets of the universe revealed to me.

  The paper was plain, unlined, and had a single name written on it in Jack’s scrawling hand: Frankie Smith.

  I huffed an exasperated sigh. “Frankie Smith?”

  “Clearly an alias,” Toni said dryly over the rim of her gin glass.

  “And no way to tell if it’s a man or a woman.” I glanced from Toni to Jack and back again. “I have an idea, but you might not like it.”

  “Spill,” Toni demanded, setting her glass on the end table.

  “I say we draw the killer out.”

  “Great idea,” Jack said. “Question is, how?”

  “This is the part you won’t like,” I admitted. “We use Toni as bait.”

  Jack grimaced. “You’re right. I don’t like it.”

  Toni grinned. “Well I do.”

  Chapter 11

  Despite Jack’s objections, Toni and I sat down immediately to plan another gala. The plan was to invite the same people as had been at the original event—most of whom were still at Endmere. Except for Peter, of course, seeing as how he was unavailable due to being dead. Perhaps by recreating the event, it would draw out the killer, and we’d be able to catch him or her.

  Jack muttered a lot about “idiotic ideas” and “utter rot” and “abject nonsense,” but Toni and I mostly ignored him. I was convinced this was the only way to stop Toni getting murdered in her bed—quite literally.

  Penny was over the moon and kept popping in with suggestions for everything from decorations to canapes. When she recommended her mother’s recipe for black pudding, Toni finally sent her out to walk Tippy.

  “I’ll go with her,” I said. “I could use a break.”

  “And I could use a cocktail,” Toni said, stretching languidly. “Jack?”

  “No, thank you. I need to get back to London.”

  “I’ll have Johnson ring for Old Tom.”

  While she did that and I searched under the couch for my shoes, Jack muttered for the umpteenth time, “I don’t like this.”

  “Tough cookies. This is my investigation, and Toni’s on board, so we’re doing it.”

  “I don’t want you putting yourself in danger,” he muttered.

  I stared at him. “I didn’t know you cared.”

  He flushed scarlet. “I mean the general you. As in the you and Toni you. Not the specific you.”

  “Uh-huh.” I fished out my left shoe and scrabbled around for my right. “Of course. The general you.”

  “Yes, exactly.” He fidgeted.

  “Well, we’ll be as careful as we can, but it’s happening, Jack.” I shoved my shoes back on my feet. “Now I’m off. When will you be back?”

  He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “For the gala.”

  “Excellent. You’ll be my escort,” I blurted. “Have a safe trip.” Before he could refuse, I hurried out.

  Penny was waiting for me in the hall with Tippy on his leash. He looked sullen and unconvinced that we should be walking anywhere on a day like this. A day like this being any day that ended in y. One walk was bad enough. A second one was simply unheard of.

  This time we strolled toward town, enjo
ying the gentle breeze and the warm sun. Penny chattered about the upcoming gala and the various guests. I only half listened, my mind turning things over.

  “Penny,” I said at last, interrupting something about the vicar being obsessed with Elvis, “what do you know about Lord Chasterly?”

  “Quite a lot, I should imagine,” she said with a giggle. “I worked for him four years. All sorts of comings and goings.”

  “What about relatives? Lovers? Close friends? That sort of thing?”

  She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Well, can’t say as I recall much in the way of relations. He had some distant cousins or other, but they never came ‘round. We all know about him and Mary, of course.” She glanced at me. “Although I swear, I had no idea at the time.”

  “Of course not,” I murmured.

  “Friends... well, Lady Netherford, of course. They always seemed close friends. And Mr. Malburn, they spent a bit of time together fishing and shooting. But I wouldn’t say there were a lot.”

  “How about gossip?” I prodded. “Even old stuff from years ago? Anything... juicy?”

  “Not that I know about,” Penny admitted. “But you know who would.”

  I grinned. “Mrs. Johnson. Come on then. Let’s go talk to her. She’ll have a treat for you, Tippy.”

  Tippy approved of that notion.

  “SCANDAL, YOU SAY?” Mrs. Johnson handed Tippy a dog biscuit and gave him a scratch on the head. “Well I do recall something, but it was a long time ago.”

  Penny and I exchanged glances. The Post Office was empty and dim, the sun barely filtering through the wisteria vines outside the narrow windows. It was the perfect place and time for gossip.

  “How long?” I pressed.

  “Let’s see now... oh, must be nearly twenty-five, thirty years ago.” She hoisted her plump posterior onto her stool and smoothed down her apron. “I don’t know as I should be telling it, though. Shouldn’t make much difference now.”

  “If it won’t make much difference now, then there’s no reason you shouldn’t tell it,” I urged, propping my elbows on the counter. “It could save a life.”