by Sara Rosett
I was fuming at his accusations, but a cold tendril of fear curled through me.
Chapter Nine
I spun away from the inn, strode off through the parking lot, then took the path that ran along the main road, but turned away from the village. I saw the signpost for the walking trail that Doug had mentioned. I jogged across the road and made for the path. Heavy footsteps thudded behind me, and then Alex came abreast of me on the hard packed dirt lane. “That was pretty intense back there. You okay?”
I picked up my pace, moving along an aged stone wall that lined the trail. “You shouldn’t have followed me,” I said over my shoulder as Alex dropped back. “Quimby probably noticed it and added it to the list of things we’ve done that are suspicious.”
Alex caught back up. “Who cares? Everything he’s got is circumstantial.”
I whirled to face him. “I care. Don’t you see that every moment Quimby spends focused on you and me takes him away from finding out who really killed Kevin?” I resumed my brisk pace.
The path angled away from the road through an open field, the ground rising gently, but steadily. By the time I reached the apex of the small hill where the path led to a stile over another stone wall, I was out of breath. Instead of going over the stile, I clambered onto the stone wall and sat down, my feet dangling a few inches above the ground. The day was overcast and darker than yesterday with low gray clouds. The coolness of the stone seeped into the back of my legs. Alex climbed up beside me.
I sat a moment, taking in the view. The ground dipped rather steeply to the yellow stone house Alex had shown me yesterday. Grove Cottage nestled in the hollow at the base of the hill. We were looking at the side of the house, and I could see the exterior brickwork for the chimney as well as a stretch of gardens in the back. A thick line of trees ringed the back of the property.
We weren’t that far from the main road, and I could still hear the faint swoosh of traffic, but the noise didn’t spoil the beautiful scene. Just looking at the view calmed and steadied me. I shifted so that I could look back over the wall to the path we’d walked. The tiny squares of the village clustered by the silvery curve of the river. Stone walls crisscrossed the rolling green hills at all angles, creating patches in slightly different shades of green, making the whole countryside look as if someone had tossed a quilt over it. Fuzzy white dots—sheep—speckled some of the distant hills.
I blew out a breath. “Sorry about that, back there.” The wind whipped up, and I reached up to pull my hair out of my face as I looked at Alex. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”
He waved away my apology. “It’s fine. I have a thick hide. What you should apologize for is that bruising pace you set. An impromptu hike up Strange Hill is quite a workout, especially after a full breakfast.”
I had to smile at his exaggeration. He’d been breathing hard like me when we reached the wall, but he’d recovered just as quickly as I had. I looked out over the quiet countryside. “I just had to get away. I do that when I’m stressed. There’s something about being out, looking at the trees, the grass, the sky.” I shook my head. “I don’t know how to describe it. It just helps.” I shifted a bit on the wall. “Why is it called Strange Hill?”
Tendrils of ivy clung to the stone wall. Alex picked up a dried ivy leaf and rolled the stem in his fingers. He pointed to Grove Cottage below us. “That used to be called Strange House. All of this area was owned by the Strange family. Old-timers in the village still call it that.”
“What happened?”
“Becca renamed it. Apparently ‘Strange House’ didn’t set the right tone for her country estate.”
I smiled. “I can see why she’d want to change it. Grove Cottage is much more English country home-ish.” I heard a noise and turned to see two people approaching, a man and a woman, both dressed in outdoor gear—rain coats, hiking boots, and backpacks. They nodded a greeting, climbed over the stile, and continued down the path that turned away from us and ran along the stone wall. They followed it, dropping down the hill’s descent until we couldn’t see them anymore.
“Ramblers,” Alex explained. “Hikers.”
“Aren’t they on private property?” I asked, assuming that Grove Cottage’s land stretched to the stone wall.
“Yes and no. The stone wall is the property line, but the footpath is a public right of way. Anyone can walk on it. Public footpaths have a long tradition here. Property owners can’t obstruct or shut down the footpaths.”
“So you can stroll around the countryside—that’s wonderful.”
Alex turned toward me. “I understand that a police investigation is upsetting, and the questions were—well—awkward, but the inspector is only doing his job.”
I kept my gaze on the patchwork of rolling green hills. “I was in grad school when my dad divorced my mom. That doesn’t sound like a big deal—happens all the time, right? But it devastated my mom. She’s…fragile. Actually, she’s as tough as an old boot, but she thinks she’s fragile. I had to move from San Diego to L.A. and give up grad school. It was supposed to be temporary. The plan was to move back to L.A. for a few months to help my mom get back on her feet and work to save some money so I could go back to school. But then my dad fell off the edge of the earth. Disappeared. The alimony stopped and my mother was not prepared to earn a living, to put it mildly. I wasn’t either. Turns out, an undergraduate degree in English Literature and Language isn’t a thing human resources people jump at. Anyway, after a year of living on mac and cheese and Ramen noodles and lying awake at night wondering how long it would be before the landlord evicted us, I ran into Kevin. He needed an assistant. I’d been working temp jobs and falling farther and farther behind on my student loans and the rent on my mom’s tiny condo. Kevin took me on, taught me a marketable skill that allowed me to survive. He was there for me when things were bad, and I’m not about to sit around and wait for the police to figure out I’m not the one who hurt him—”
The roar of a heavy engine cut through the quiet. It grew louder as it neared, and I twisted to look along the wall in the opposite direction from the way hikers had gone. A white SUV came into view, pausing at a gate. A mechanism whirred to life, the gates swung open, and the SUV accelerated through them only to come to a sharp stop.
The driver door opened, and a thirtyish woman with voluptuous curves and a cloud of reddish-gold hair hopped out.
“Becca Ford,” Alex murmured to me as he stood and tossed the dry leaf away.
I scooted off the wall as well. “Ah, the friend of the production with lots of ideas.”
“Alex,” Becca called as she made her way to us, leaving the car door open, an annoying warning ding pulsing through the air. She wore a hip-length caramel-colored trench coat. The belt was cinched tight at her waist, which showed off her figure. Riding breeches hugged her legs, and leather boots came up to her calves. She barreled along the trail, flicking mud on her boots and the lower edge of her coat. A gauzy scarf trailed off one shoulder. It caught on a bush, and she impatiently jerked it off the prickly branches. I figured that scarf—a designer brand—probably cost more than a car payment, but she didn’t give it a second look. “I thought that was you,” she said to Alex.
She ran a quick glance over me, but she must have decided I wasn’t worthy of her attention because she fixed her gaze on Alex as she stopped in front of him. “Do you need more photos?” She pressed his arm. “You know you’re welcome anytime at Grove Cottage.”
Alex shifted, causing her hand to fall away. “That’s very kind of you, Mrs. Ford,” he said formally, and I tilted my head to study him. I hadn’t heard him speak in that tone of voice.
She pouted, sticking out her collagen-enhanced lips, which were covered with a heavy layer of apricot lipstick. Living in Southern California and working with movie and television people, I’d picked up a smidgen of knowledge about plastic surgery and other enhancements. Becca’s lips, like so many of the fixes, had all the subtly of a poorly done CGI sequence.
“How many times do I have to tell you? Call me Becca.”
“At least once more.”
She flicked a glance at me and shook her head, “He’s oh-so-proper.” She looked back to Alex. “You don’t call Beatrice, Lady Stone.”
“Because she would flay me alive, if I did.”
The pout reappeared. Alex added, “And I can’t call the most beautiful young woman in Nether Woodsmoor by her first name. Think of the rumors.”
I looked down at my feet to hide a smile. Obviously, Becca Ford’s weak point was vanity, and Alex knew how to work the flattery to keep her happy.
She tapped his shoulder playfully. “You exaggerate, but I love it. So, any news on my idea?”
For one second, Alex had that deer in the headlights look, but he recovered almost instantly. “Gilding the ceiling of the entrance? I’m afraid it’s a no-go.”
Her shoulders sagged. “Is everything a ‘no’ with these people? Don’t they realize I don’t like it when I don’t get my way? Well, you must have some news for me, since you’re here.”
Alex and I exchanged a glance. He raised his eyebrows a fraction of an inch, and I knew he was asking me if he should tell her about Kevin. I gave him a little nod. There was no need to try to keep anything a secret. In fact, I was surprised she didn’t already know about Kevin’s death.
Becca picked up on the nonverbal exchange, and I could tell she didn’t like it. She ran a slower, more assessing look over me, her blue eyes narrowing as if she were examining something on a sales rack that didn’t meet her standards.
“This is my colleague, Kate Sharp,” Alex said.
Her face relaxed into a bright smile. “Oh, you’re one of the film people. How delightful.”
“There is some news,” Alex said. “You haven’t heard about Mr. Dunn?”
Her coquettish manner faded slightly, and she said quickly, “No, I ran up to London. I stayed in the flat there. I had a look at the plans for the visitor’s kiosk.”
“Visitor’s kiosk?” Alex asked.
“We’ll have to have somewhere to collect the fees from the scads of tourists who will be arriving, you know.” She frowned suddenly. “I am worried about coach parking, though. It will be a bit of a squeeze on the road.” She flicked a hand. “But never mind that now. I’ll work that out with the council. What did I miss? I’m just arriving back now.”
“It’s sad news, I’m afraid. Mr. Dunn has died.”
Her blue eyes widened. She had been constantly moving, fiddling with her hair, and fingering a dangling thread where a button was missing on her coat, but now she went still. “Oh, that’s terrible. When…did it happen?”
“We don’t know exactly. Sometime after Friday. The police are investigating,” I said.
“Why? What happened?”
“That’s just it—no one knows what happened,” Alex said. “His car was in the river near the bridge by Parkview Hall, but he was found downstream.”
She looked away from us, out over the hills and murmured, “Then that means…” She refocused on Alex. “What does it mean for the production?”
I was almost sure that she’d been about to say something else, but changed her mind. “We don’t know yet. Things are still being sorted out,” I said. “Were you going to say something? Something about Kevin?”
“Yes. Yes, I was.” She smoothed down her coat and tightened the belt. “I wasn’t going to say anything, but I’ve changed my mind. You should know I won’t give up. I don’t care what Kevin said. It’s terrible that he’s dead. Quite shocking and tragic and all that, but we had a verbal contract. Grove Cottage will be Longbourn.” Her playful flirting had vanished. She was coldly serious, her puffy lips mashed into a grim line. I made a mental note to tell Marci that if the production went on, Alex needed a raise.
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.” Alex glanced from Becca to me. “What do you mean?”
She rolled her eyes. “Mr. Dunn’s second thoughts. I was really quite put out with you, Alex, that you didn’t talk him out of it before he came here again.”
“He came here? Without me?”
“Yes. You should have stopped him before he even considered the idea of changing.”
Alex held up a hand. “Wait. Changing what?”
“The location, of course. Said he was having second thoughts and wanted another look,” she said, her tone incredulous as if Kevin had decided to change the location to some absurd place like the moon.
I stepped closer. “So Kevin came back here on his own. When was this?”
“Friday afternoon.”
“What happened?” I asked.
“He walked around the house and left.”
“Did he say anything? Mention where he was going when he left?”
“No, he wouldn’t even come inside.”
Chapter Ten
I probably offended Becca Ford with my abrupt departure, but I didn’t care.
“Hey, wait up,” Alex called from behind me. I turned back, spotted him sprinting down the slope of Strange Hill, Becca a small figure at the top, watching us.
While I waited for him, I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and sent a text to Marci. Alex caught up, and I resumed my quick pace.
“I see you want the full hill-walking workout—up and down at a jogging pace.”
I threw a smile at him as I said, “No, I only want to get back to the inn.”
He looked at my cell phone. “What’s going on? Everything okay?”
“Yes. I sent a text to Marci, asking what she knows about Kevin and Frank Revel’s history. I should have done that yesterday. I also want to find out what else Kevin did Friday afternoon. If he visited Grove Cottage did he go anywhere else?”
I could feel Alex’s gaze on me as we resumed walking. “What?”
“You’re a real take-charge kind of person, aren’t you?” he said. “You know Quimby is going to check into Revel and Mr. Dunn’s past and that he’ll try to reconstruct Mr. Dunn’s movements.”
“That’s what he should do, but if those questions he asked are any indication of how he investigates, then he’s going to be so scattered all over the place that something really important could slip by him. I know I had nothing to do with Kevin’s death, and I don’t think you did—stop me now if I’m wrong, but my gut says you’re in the clear.”
“No, I swear I had nothing to do with it.”
“Good. Just checking, you know.”
“No offense taken. You only met me yesterday, so I can see how you might not trust me implicitly…yet.”
“So, there you go. We’re both innocent, but Quimby is obviously taking the time to investigate us, poking around to check out our stories, which is eating up time. All the while, the real trail that Quimby should be looking for is getting colder and colder. You know what they say about police investigations, that the first two days are critical. By the time Quimby eliminates us and focuses his attention where it should be, it may be too late.”
“Some important clue will have disappeared?” Alex said.
“Possibly. Or been hidden or destroyed.”
“I think you’re not giving Inspector Quimby enough credit. You don’t think he can pursue multiple leads?”
“He may be doing that, but if there’s anything I can do to move the investigation along, I’m going to do it. I mean, what else am I going to do? I’m certainly not going to tour the English countryside—as beautiful as it is—and I’m not going to sit around twiddling my thumbs in my room, waiting for Quimby to call with news.”
“You don’t seem to be the thumb-twiddling sort.”
“You’re laughing at me,” I said.
“No, I can understand the need to do something. I think you should be careful. I doubt Quimby will look kindly on anyone ‘helping’ him.”
My phone rang. “It’s Marci,” I said, halting so I could answer it.
“How are you holding up, kid?”
“I’m okay,” I
said, realizing it was true. After the emotional dust-up that Quimby’s accusations had caused, just deciding to take action, to do something proactive had steadied me. “What about you?”
“Things are falling apart here. The news is out. That’s why I’m up early. Trying to do some damage control.”
“What does Mr. O’Leery say?”
“Haven’t heard from him since I broke the news. He said he’d get back to me.” Her gusty sigh came over the line. “And I’m hearing rumblings about funding trouble. You know what that means.”
“It may not be that bad. Mr. O’Leery may really be trying to sort out everything.”
Marci snorted. “Sure, honey, you keep thinking that way. In the meantime, dust off the résumé. I know I’m updating mine today. I told Zara and Lori to do the same.”
I asked, “So is anyone making noises about possibly starting up their own company? Or trying to take over Premier Locations?”
“No. Why do you ask? Are you thinking of it?”
“No, just something that has come up in the investigation. They’re looking for motive.”
“Well, if someone…did away with…Kevin to get control of Premier Locations, it was the stupidest move someone could have made. I probably shouldn’t say anything, but it’s all going to come out anyway. I think you already suspected how tight we were running.”
“Yeah, I wondered.” So much for one of Quimby’s theories.
“Now if they’re looking for motive. I’ve got a doozy for them. Frank Revel and Kevin were partners. They opened Premier Locations together fifteen years ago. They had a falling out over a woman—couldn’t find out her name—then they went their separate ways. Kevin got the business, and Revel left town.”
