Death in the English Countryside

by Sara Rosett

  “You’re lucky she didn’t run over your toes,” I said when he returned.

  “Oh, she’ll come around someday,” Alex said easily. “At least, that’s what I tell myself.” He grinned. “I live in hope.” He removed more stuff from the front seat of his car, this time a stack of books. While he was occupied positioning those in the trunk, I stepped in for a closer look. Bits of paper, Post-it notes I realized, dotted the dash.

  “What kind of car is this?” I asked. The exterior lines were sleek and stylish.

  “It’s a 1976 MG Midget. Appropriately named, right? Not much space.” Alex came back to the passenger side and removed handfuls of crumpled paper from the footwell. He picked up two narrow Sprite cans along with a wadded paper bag and added them to the bundle of trash he cradled in his arms. “It’s not as bad as it looks.” He dropped everything in the appropriate bin at a recycling point a few feet away and spoke over his shoulder. “There’s nothing biodegradable in there, I promise. No decomposing pizza slices forgotten under the seat.”

  He came back to the car, plucked the sticky notes off the dash, gave the passenger seat a few swipes with his hand, and stepped back. “Go ahead. My car is my office, usually. I would have tidied up if I’d known you’d be riding with me.” He left the door open and walked around to the driver’s side.

  “It’s fine. No worries,” I said, too cheerfully.

  “Top up or down?”

  “What?”

  He looked at his phone, which he’d popped into a holder attached to the dash. “It’s a lovely day. Should I put the top down? I can, now that all my papers are battened down. It’s still on the brisk side, but we can’t be too picky about our weather here. We have to snatch the good days when we can.” He looked at me as if he expected me to say no.

  “By southern California standards this would qualify as winter.” The sky was vibrantly blue, and the sun was streaming down, picking out drops of water clinging to the moss on the dark gray stone walls. “Sure. Let’s put the top down.”

  After he folded the top back, I slid into the seat and buckled up. He settled into the driver’s seat. “On the surface, it looks like a mess.” He pulled a sticky note off the gearshift and handed it to me. My name and phone number were written in neat block printing. “I’ve got a system, but I’m sure you are more organized than I am. You’re probably the sort who carries those wet antibacterial wipes. I bet you a pint that you’ve got some in there.” He pointed with his chin toward my feet as he accelerated onto the road. “Feel free to decontaminate everything, if it makes you feel better.”

  “No, I’d never...” I edged my purse to the farthest point in the footwell and checked to make sure it was closed.

  The road cut through the countryside of open, gently rolling green fields divided by the stone walls and layered with occasional groves of trees. He leveled his gaze at me. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, you know,” he said with mock seriousness. “Carrying antibacterial wipes. I bet you have hand gel cleaner stuff, too.”

  I wanted to be irritated with him, but found myself smiling instead. “Okay, it’s true. I carry wipes and hand gel.”

  “Wonderful.”

  “Wonderful?”

  “Yes. It means you’re organized, orderly, neat. The kind of person who carries tissues and plasters and bug repellent. I bet you’re always prepared. Nothing wrong with that.” Alex shifted down, slowing the car to a crawl where a lane bisected the major road. He pointed down the lane. “That’s Grove Cottage, the future Longbourn for the film.”

  The lane ran up a hill, then dipped down. The house was set in the hollow, so I had to stretch to get a glimpse of the pale yellow two-story stone building. I braced my arm on the door, inching higher, trying to see as much of the square Georgian-style home as I could. Front windows, four on each floor, flanked a central door under a medium pitched roof with a pair of chimneys on each end of the house. “You don’t sound too excited.”

  “Don’t I? Better work on that. Of course, Becca Ford is probably excited enough to make up for any lack of enthusiasm on my part.” He merged back onto the main road.

  “The owner?”

  “Yes. One of those managing types who wants to be involved in every detail. I receive an average of four calls a week from her. Already had one from her yesterday. I talked her out of adding a circular portico over the front door so that it would look more like the house in the BBC miniseries version of P & P.” He sighed. “She doesn’t seem to understand we want it to look different. Mr. Dunn almost nixed it from the list before I took them to see anything because of the yellow stone being too similar to the ochre-colored Bennet house in the other production.”

  I nodded, knowing Alex would have given Kevin and Mr. O’Leery a preliminary overview of the locations they were going to see before actually visiting any properties.

  “It will do fine, I’m sure,” Alex said.

  “But it wasn’t your first choice, was it?” I asked.

  He frowned. “You read me a little too well.”

  “I recognize that wistful tone, is all. You had something else in mind, didn’t you?”

  “Yes. Coventry House. Would have been perfect. Grove Cottage will work, but it will be tight—tighter than I’d like. The house is small and the land around it is quite limited.”

  “Space is important,” I agreed. Not only did you have to figure out if the location itself was right for the production, you also had to take into account if the surrounding area could handle the influx of people and equipment that a shoot would bring. The area around the possible location wasn’t the first thing to consider, but it was a critical factor. The crews that accompanied a production had to have room to work, not to mention proper electrical capacity as well as restrooms and trash disposal, all very non-glamorous items that added up to the success or failure of location shoots.

  “Coventry House is bigger, but not too ostentatious for the Bennets. Plenty of area around the house to set up. Completely different look than Grove Cottage, too. No one would think our P & P is the same as one that’s already been done. But it’s Eve Wallings house.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  “She won’t see me. You saw her reaction this morning. She flat out refused to take a call or open the gate at the end of their drive. She can stonewall like no one I’ve ever seen.”

  “You couldn’t talk to the uncle?”

  “No, Edwin Wallings is ninety-three. Eve is his niece or great-niece, or niece twice removed, something like that. She’s related to him, anyhow. She moved into Coventry House several months ago after Mr. Wallings fell. She guards him like a Rottweiler, making sure nothing upsets him. Eve says he’s too frail too even consider the possibility of a film crew on his property.”

  “Did you offer a temporary relocation to somewhere nice and warm, perhaps with nursing care for the uncle? It would be a bit of a vacation for her, too.”

  “I would have, if she’d talked to me. No, the best I could do was float the idea to her through her friend Beatrice.” His hands relaxed on the wheel, and he smiled. “Now, Beatrice is a definite friend of the production. Astute, too. She’s got Parkview Hall, our version of Pemberly, actually producing income. A tiny income, but to get any of these old piles to earn their keep, so to say, is an accomplishment. I’ll show you Parkview Hall on the way back. Here’s Upper Benning now.”

  ***

  I pushed the buzzer for the third time, leaving my finger on the white button for a full ten seconds, which doesn’t sound like a long time, but listening to the drone of the bell on the other side of the front door was beginning to annoy even me. Frank Revel lived in a modern area. With its mix of angular duplex homes and three- and four-story apartment buildings crowded into a small patch of land, it was the antithesis of picturesque Nether Woodsmoor.

  “I don’t think he’s home.” Alex stood behind me, his combat boots sinking into the mushy strip of grass that ran between the sidewalk and the concrete slabs that mark
ed the entrance of each home.

  “I’m not giving up. This guy is the only lead I have. If we can’t track him down, then I think my next stop either has to be the police or the local hospital.” I stepped off the concrete, moved to the front door of the other half of the duplex, and leaned on its buzzer. Same result as the first time.

  I walked back to stand beside Alex, hands braced on my hips as I surveyed the street. Location scouting is not for the timid. “Kevin always says the front door is the easiest to close. Or keep closed, in this case.” I moved up the street until I found a muddy path that ran between the duplex buildings. I straightened my shoulders and moved down it, mentally bracing to be pushy, if I had to. Alex followed me.

  The path opened onto a small alleyway behind the duplexes. I counted the homes until we were back to Frank Revel’s house, then opened the gate and found a man kneeling beside a row of upturned earth. He levered himself up with a grunt and turned to me, a spade dangling from one hand. He was carrying plenty of extra pounds in his gut and didn’t move quickly, but I stopped where I was. His expression under a fringe of gray hair was anything but welcoming. “Take yourself off. I don’t want whatever you’re selling.”

  “I’m not selling anything. I’m looking for Kevin Dunn.”

  From his bushy eyebrows to the tip of his chin, his face flushed, and his grip around the spade tightened. He muttered something that I didn’t catch then said, “Out. Get off my property.” He came toward me diagonally across the small garden, stepping carefully over the rows of turned earth.

  Alex put a hand on my shoulder, and shifted in front of me. I dipped my shoulder and moved in front of him. “So Kevin isn’t here?” I asked.

  Frank Revel stopped a few feet away and gave out a bark of laughter. “Here? No, the scheming louse is not here.” He focused on Alex. “You’re Norcutt, from Nether Woodsmoor.”

  “Yes. Good to see you again, sir.”

  A roughly-framed shed stood beside the gate. Clear plastic covered half of it, creating a greenhouse. Frank Revel tossed the spade onto a bench positioned by the door to the shed and picked up a towel. “What’s this about,” he asked as he wiped his forehead.

  The flush had faded to pink and since he wasn’t holding the spade any longer, I stepped closer. “I’m Kate Sharp. I work for Kevin.” I wished I could gloss over the truth, come up with some glib lie, but I knew looking into his hard face that it wouldn’t work. “I don’t know where Kevin is. As far as I can tell, no one has seen him since you were with him at the pub. Louise said you argued.”

  He rubbed the cloth over his face again and muttered a curse, his gaze fixed over my shoulder. “If that don’t beat all,” he finally said, switching his attention back to me. “That’s vintage Kevin, all right.” With a quick snap of his arm, he threw the towel down by the spade. “Managing to bring me trouble even when he’s not around.” The movement was so unexpectedly sharp and crisp, I tensed, ready to move backward, but he turned away, picked up a shovel that was propped against the shed, and walked down one of the garden rows. “I haven’t seen him since Friday,” he said over his shoulder. “We went our separate ways.”

  “Did he mention where he was going later that day?”

  “No. Close that gate on your way out.” He half turned and pointed the shovel at me. “If you can’t find him, don’t send any coppers around here.”

  ***

  I slid into the car, dropped my head onto the headrest, and blew out a breath.

  Alex spun the steering wheel and pulled away from the curb. “Dealing with people isn’t your thing, is it?”

  I rolled my head and looked toward him. “That obvious, is it?”

  He shrugged one shoulder. “You seemed to brace yourself before we went around the back. You know, shoulders back, hands clenched at your sides. And you got this fiercely determined look on your face. You did the same thing before we talked to Louise.”

  “I didn’t realize it was that noticeable. It’s not so much the confrontation bit—I don’t mind that. I like getting things done. It’s interacting with people. I know it’s not my strong point. Give me a list of locations, a schedule, and a budget, and I’m your girl. Sweet-talking the homeowners, though, that’s hard for me.”

  “Well, you got information out of Louise earlier.”

  “Oh, I can do it. I’ve learned. It’s just not my favorite part of the job. After I started working with Kevin there was no way I was going back to manning the reception desk and listening to the whine of the dental drill all day. I love everything else about what I do—being out, seeing interesting places, researching possible locations, taking photos, hitting on that exactly right location, and working with the pre-production teams to slot all the locations into the best schedule possible. I’m getting better at the cold meet-and-greet as Kevin calls it. Maybe someday it will be a breeze for me. It is for Kevin. He can’t wait to meet people. He can’t imagine anyone not wanting to talk to him.” I rolled my head back and looked out the window. “I hope his…enthusiasm…didn’t get him in trouble. There have been a few times Kevin pushed too hard. The result wasn’t good.”

  “So what’s the history between Kevin and Frank Revel?”

  “I have no idea, but I can ask Marci. She might know.” I found my cell phone in my bag, but stopped before I dialed. It was something like two or three in the morning. I couldn’t call her now. I shoved the phone back in my bag. “Too early, though.”

  I propped my elbow up on the side of the door and watched the blurring shades of green swish by.

  Alex raised his voice. “Want me to put the top up?” Clouds had filled the sky, and we were flying through the checkerboard of alternating spots of sunlight and shadow.

  “No, it’s fine.” I blinked and brushed away some strands of hair that the wind whipped into my face. Earlier, while Alex gathered his sticky notes in a neat pile before putting the top down, I’d pulled my hair into a long braid. The buffeting wind had teased most of it loose.

  “The local police officer wouldn’t happen to be in your circle of acquaintances, would he?” I asked.

  Alex glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. “Sure, I know Constable Albertson. I have to coordinate with the authorities occasionally for road closures. You’re thinking of contacting him? Even after what Frank Revel said?”

  “I don’t have a choice. Not really. I can’t think of anything else to do. Kevin isn’t in Nether Woodsmoor, and I haven’t been able to run him to ground in any of the surrounding pubs. He had a public argument with an old friend and hasn’t been seen since. I think I better report it.” I rubbed my hand across my face. “The last thing I want to do is go to the police, but what else can I do?”

  Alex didn’t answer, and it took me a few moments to realize we’d left the main road and were traveling down a smaller one. We entered a stretch of road where towering trees crowded close, their bare branches touching overhead, creating a long tunnel-like archway. Alex eased off the gas and downshifted as a gap in the trees approached. He slowed to a crawl, and let the car roll to a stop on a gravel turnout.

  I reached for the door handle, ready to run, news stories about criminals who lured unsuspecting tourists to isolated spots flashing through my mind. Alex turned off the ignition and flung his hand out toward the windshield. “Now there’s a location. Haven’t been able to use it yet.”

  His voice was perfectly normal, and he wasn’t even watching me. I looked in the direction he’d indicated. A bridge of golden stone crossed a wide sweep of a river. The bridge’s three supporting arches reflected in the rippling water.

  “It’s gorgeous.” I climbed out of the car, but not with the intention of running away, only to get a better view. It was a Grade-A Prime location. My fingers itched to get my camera and record the quiet beauty of it, but I’d left it in my room at the inn.

  Alex moved around to the hood. I joined him there, leaning against the warm metal. Alex said, “This is the long way back to Nether Woodsmo
or. It’s further, but it’s a nice drive. The road we were on swings wide then curves back and runs over the bridge, but this is the best view.”

  The air was cool enough that the heat from the car’s engine felt good on the back of my legs. Overhead, the wind whispered through the tree limbs. The engine metal clicked and pinged.

  “Kevin always says to bring the camera, that the time you don’t have it, is when you’ll want it the most.”

  “You’ve worked with him a long time?”

  “Yeah, I was his assistant. I didn’t know anything when he took me on. Nothing about aperture or permits or white balance.”

  I looked over at Alex. “How did you get into location scouting?”

  “The roundabout way. I love snowboarding, skiing, mountain biking, anything to do with the outdoors. I filmed everything, lots of live-action material. I started posting my stuff on-line, then a buddy of mine created his own line of snowboards. He asked me to help him with the marketing. I created a YouTube video for him. It went viral and…well, after a bit, I realized I wasn’t going to win any X-Game Championships, but I might be able to make a living with my camera.”

  “Do you still do that? Sports photography?”

  “Some. Not too much demand for it around here. The sports stuff is the icing. Catalog shots are my bread-and-butter.”

  I was tempted to ask why he had tucked himself away in a sleepy English village if X-Game sports appealed to him the most, but he suddenly stood and paced to the edge of the clearing. “Best be getting on.”

  “Right.” I stood and joined him at the point where the gravel thinned and a band of long grass marked a drop of several feet to the water. “Thanks for bringing me here. It’s very peaceful.” The whole time we’d been talking only one car had driven over the bridge. I could imagine horse-drawn carriages and coaches making their way over the bridge and ladies in long skirts and bonnets strolling along its length.