by Sara Rosett
“Oh no. He didn’t mention it. He was in quite good spirits though. I could tell something had happened to cheer him up, but he wouldn’t say what it was. He was enjoying keeping his secret to himself. No, it was Eve.”
“Eve?”
“Yes, she stopped by that afternoon to drop off some flyers for a ramble she’s leading. Wanted them to be here for the open house. We have a display of flyers and brochures of local events in the entrance area.”
“And she mentioned that Coventry House was going to be used as a location?” I asked, my thoughts spinning.
“She didn’t mention it directly, no. I said how good it would be for Nether Woodsmoor to have the film people in town, and she muttered something about Mr. Dunn getting his hooks into Edwin and using Coventry House for Longbourn.”
“She mentioned Kevin specifically?”
“Yes, but I told her I thought it would be good for Edwin.”
“And was she upset?”
“Well, yes,” Beatrice said reluctantly. “But I told her not to worry too much, that I thought it would work out for the best. I’m glad to see she took my advice. Took her a few days to come around, but she has.” Beatrice frowned. “I wish she would have brought Edwin today. She said he’s feeling down and gloomy. It would be good for him to get out.” Beatrice’s gaze strayed from my face to the house. “I’d love to chat longer, but I really must get up to the gift shop.”
“Of course.” She thanked me again for my help and strode off. I sat back down on the bench with a bump, one thought reverberating in my mind: Eve knew.
She knew last week that Kevin had visited her uncle and obtained permission to use Coventry House. Either from finding the camera or some other way, she’d discovered Kevin’s visit to Coventry House, and she hadn’t been happy about it. Beatrice didn’t see anything untoward in these little facts, but she didn’t know what Quimby had told me about Kevin’s time of death. He’d died that day. In fact, Eve’s route from Parkview Hall to Coventry House would have taken her along the bridge.
I had to call Quimby. I scrolled through my list of recent calls until I found his number. It went directly to voicemail, and I left a rather long, rambling message that probably wasn’t extremely coherent. I hung up and considered calling back to leave a more concise message, but decided that would only make things worse. I stood and made my way out of the garden, intending to go to the car and back to the inn. I was heading for the exit without taking in any of the beauty of the place when I heard my name.
I looked around and saw Alex leaning over a stone wall above me, waving. I waved back, and he pointed to a wide set of shallow stairs flanked by urns. I nodded and met him at the top of the stairs. A lean greyhound stood beside him, the dog’s leash looped loosely around his hand. He held a white paper bag in his other hand. As I approached, the dog, which had a brindle coat of black and brown, ambled toward me. I reached out and let the dog sniff the back of my hand. “Hello,” I said in a low voice. “Who are you?”
“This is Slink. Short for Slinky. I thought I’d bring her along today, let her get a run in.” The dog dipped her elegant head under my hand, and I rubbed her ears.
“She’s gorgeous.” Leggy and lean, the dog looked from Alex to me, her brown-eyed gaze sharp and her ears pinned back against her head. A feeling of relief washed over me as Alex smiled at me. Quimby was wrong. I knew Alex hadn’t been involved. It was Eve that I should be wary of, not Alex. “So that was you. I saw a little red car from the top of Strange Hill, but there was a dog hanging out the window.”
“I bring her along sometimes when I’m scouting.” I was relieved that his stilted manner that had been so evident on the church steps was gone.
“I bet you do.”
“Yeah, she can smooth over those first awkward minutes so that I can make my pitch.”
“Hmm…I’d never thought of adding a dog to my bag of tricks, but I might have to consider it now.”
Alex lifted the paper bag. “I was on my way to have lunch at the garden overlook. Want to split a sandwich with me? It’s roast beef. There’s plenty.”
“That sounds great. I am starving.” The questions about Eve had driven all thoughts of lunch from my mind, but now that I could smell the scent of toasted bread wafting from the bag, my hunger came rushing back.
With Slink loping along behind us, her long leash dragging on the sand path, Alex led the way through intricately shaped flowerbeds edged with low boxwoods. It was too early in the year for all the flowers to be in full bloom, and most of the beds only had tender green shoots coming up through the dark earth.
He stopped at a bench on the edge of the garden near a balustrade where we could look down over the terrace below and view the sweep of the grounds from the tea shop to the dome of the folly in the distance. Slink settled down and watched us attentively. The light changed, and I looked up. A thick band of dark clouds was rolling in.
Alex removed the sandwich from the bag and handed me half. I peeled back the paper and took a bite. “That’s quite a stare she has,” I said, looking at Slink.
“Yes, it’s her best mooching look. I do feed her, you know. She looks thin, but she’s healthy.”
“I wouldn’t say thin, more like lean.” I tilted my head. “She’s got that supermodel look—toned and sleek with zero fat. But I don’t think she would turn down some of my sandwich.”
“She wouldn’t. You can save her a bite if you’d like. She’ll love you forever, if you do.”
“Growing up, I always wanted a dog,” I said with a sigh.
“You didn’t get one?”
“No. Oh, no. We couldn’t have one of those dirty, smelly, messy, and—above all—expensive things.” I shifted on the bench, not wanting to dwell on my childhood wishes that hadn’t come true. “I thought greyhounds were a bit hyper, but she’s very calm.” Slink hadn’t shifted from her alert pose, her big brown gaze bobbing from Alex to me—or probably from his sandwich to mine, to be more accurate.
“Greyhounds are surprisingly mellow dogs. One good sprint and then they lounge around all day.” Alex placed the last bite of his sandwich on the ground. Slink ate it, then looked hopefully to me.
“All right,” I said with a laugh. “You’ve been very good.” I broke the last few bites up and fed them to her. She delicately plucked them out of my fingers.
“Softie,” Alex said with a shake of his head. He removed two bottles of water from the paper bag and handed one to me. Then he took out a flattened paper cup from the inside of his jacket, flexed it open, and poured some of the water from the second bottle into the cup. He held the cup down for the dog. She dipped her long nose into the cup and drank. When she was finished, she collapsed in a heap, her long legs angled under the bench, tangling with ours, and let out a contented sigh.
Alex took a drink from the water that remained in his bottle and stretched an arm along the back of the bench, his attentive gaze focused on me. “Something has changed. You’re different.”
“Am I?” I said as lightly as I could. I felt better since I’d made that call to Quimby.
“Yes.” Alex tilted his head as he studied me, and I thought of our first meeting, when he’d scanned my room and picked up on the detail of Kevin’s suitcases. He was attentive to small things, even my change in mood. I looked out over the gardens, debating whether I should tell him about Eve’s lie and the camera, but then I saw the voluptuous woman moving along one of the sandy paths below us.
“Who is that? The curvy-figured woman with the brown hair in the pink sweater and jeans.”
“Don’t want to talk about it, hmm? Okay.” Alex looked in the direction I pointed. “That’s Sherry. Cooks for Mr. Wallings.” As Alex spoke, a young man approached Sherry. They paused, she said a few words, and touched her watch. The younger man looked at his watch, nodded, then they each walked away in opposite directions.
“That was the gardener from Coventry House,” I said slowly. I’d seen him in the garden the day
I’d met Mr. Wallings, but I’d seen him somewhere else, too.
Alex dug into the paper bag and removed a chocolate bar. “Not much in the way of pudding—or what you’d call dessert—but it’s all I’ve got.” He unwrapped the bar and offered me a square of chocolate, which I ate absently, not really tasting it because I was so absorbed in trying to work out where I’d seen the two people.
“Now, Sherry is an excellent cook,” Alex continued. “Makes wonderful custards. Although, she doesn’t seem to have a clue about what to use a mortar and pestle for. I was waiting in line behind her this morning to get in and tried to strike up a conversation. There was a very nice granite mortar and pestle in the kitchen in Coventry House, and I asked if she liked it. She looked at me like she had no idea what I was talking about.”
I stared at Alex, my thoughts suddenly whirling.
He said, “I have a marble one that I use for pesto and salsa.”
Momentarily distracted, I said, “So you’re a chef.”
“Chef is too pretentious. I know how to cook a few things. Man’s got to eat. Anyway, back to Sherry. She’s famous for her custards.”
“I’ve heard.” I looked back at the panoramic view. Sherry’s figure was getting smaller as she moved farther away down the path, but the young man she’d talked to was nearing us. “When Beatrice and I stopped there yesterday, Mr. Wallings didn’t want his custard, and Beatrice ate it—” I broke off, remembering where I’d seen Sherry and the gardener before. “By the river,” I murmured. “The night I arrived.” My thoughts skipped over their conversation. I sat forward on the bench.
Little bits and pieces of odd events and overheard conversations came together. My jumbled thoughts arranged themselves, falling into a pattern that sent my heartbeat thumping. I looked at my watch. It was one-thirty.
I jumped up. “Coventry House. Someone needs to get there quickly.”
Chapter Nineteen
Alex, who had been lounging back against the bench, sat forward. Slink popped her head up and watched us from her prone position. “What’s wrong?” Alex asked.
“I can’t explain. It would take too long. I have to find Beatrice. Sorry. Thanks for lunch,” I called as I sprinted away, zigzagging through the people strolling in the garden. As I hit the stairs that flowed down the terrace, I pulled out my phone. I kept moving as quickly as I could while I found Quimby’s number. The call went straight to voicemail again.
I blew out a sigh of exasperation as I waited for the beep. “This is Kate Sharp. Look, I know this is going to sound crazy, but you need to get to Coventry House right away. It’s urgent—an emergency. It’s one-thirty now. You need to get there as fast as you can. It has to be before two.” I was sucking in a breath to continue the message when a beep cut me off. I pocketed my phone. No help there.
I hurried over to the tea shop, scanned faces, looking for Beatrice, but I didn’t see her anywhere. Eve was still at her post.
A man in a navy jacket moved by me. I caught his sleeve. “Beatrice Stone. Where is she?”
“She’s taken the next tour up to the folly, I believe.”
By the time I got up there and explained everything, it would be too late. I headed for the exit gate. As I pushed through, a streak of black and brown fur zipped by me, a long leash trailing out behind it. Alex caught up to me, his arm extended to give Slink as much leash as possible. He whistled, and the dog notched down her speed, shortening her long stride, and galloped back to us.
“What’s the hurry?” Alex asked.
“I have to get to Coventry House. I called Quimby but he’s not answering—” I stopped short. My car, parked in what had been a neat row first thing this morning, was now blocked in by several cars angled into spots that weren’t really parking slots. “I’ll never get out of there. Where’s your car?”
“I’m afraid I can’t give you a lift. I walked.”
I let out a groan and looked at my watch. One-forty now.
“But if you want to get to Coventry House,” Alex said, “there is a footpath on the other side of the bridge. It would probably only take a few minutes. There’s a short cut from here to the bridge, too.”
“Show me.”
Alex set off briskly, making for the path I’d taken yesterday, Slink trotting at his side. The path curved and dipped through a copse thick with undergrowth. It wasn’t long before I heard the whisper of running water, and we were on the road. We crossed the bridge, and Alex pointed to another footpath that branched off the road. “This path goes to Coventry House.”
“Thanks,” I said and hurried by him, almost at a sprint.
Slink jogged along beside me for a moment, then stretched out her long legs, easily pulling away from me. Alex trotted up beside me. “So you want to tell me what’s going on?”
The path narrowed, and tall trees closed in on each side. The heavy dark clouds had moved directly overhead, blotting out any trace of blue sky, making the forest even darker and gloomier. Alex dropped back slightly, but Slink stayed in the lead.
“I don’t think I could explain it—it’s too convoluted—and I don’t know that you’d believe me. I don’t have any proof, just a suspicion. But if I’m right—” I broke off, not wanting to think about what could happen if I was right.
“Try me.”
“Okay,” I drew a deep breath then said, “It is several things—bits and pieces, really—that don’t seem that significant, but when I put them together, they make a frightening patchwork-quilt-kind of sense. Like Celia. Do you know her?”
“Yes, she worked at Coventry House.”
“Until Eve let her go.” I swiped a low tree branch aside as we half-walked, half jogged along the narrow, twisting trail. “Nothing odd in that, right? Except that Beatrice says Celia is an excellent, conscientious employee, while Sherry, the person Eve hired is, well, apparently a slacker.”
“Doug and Tara didn’t seem heartbroken to see her leave the inn,” Alex said.
“So why fire a good employee and hire a worse one?”
“Maybe Celia and Eve didn’t get along.”
“I think it was more than that,” I said. “I think that Eve knew Celia wouldn’t go along with her plans for Mr. Wallings.”
“What plans?”
“To have him change his will to favor her before she killed him.”
I turned because Alex had stopped dead. “You do realize what you’re saying?” he asked.
“Yes, I do. That’s why I’m so freaked out. Firing Celia cut off Mr. Wallings from a long-time employee. It isolated him. Eve comes in, takes over everything, the running of the house, the care of Mr. Wallings.”
I could see the unbelief on his face, so I hurried on. “The mortar and pestle—there’s a reason Sherry has no clue what to use it for. She’s not using it for cooking. She’s using it to grind up pills to put in Mr. Wallings’ food, probably sleeping pills in his custard, judging by Eve’s reaction when she saw Beatrice eating Mr. Wallings’ serving the other day. Didn’t you notice the pill bottles when we walked through the house?”
“No.”
“Well, I did. Things like that catch my attention, I guess. I had to move in with my mom for a while after the divorce. I had to keep an eye on all her medicine. I recognized some of the names on the pill bottles when I moved Mr. Wallings food tray the other day. When I went back with Beatrice, those pill bottles were in the kitchen on the island with the food ingredients.”
“You’ve been back to Coventry House? With Beatrice?”
“Oh, I can’t stand here and explain, it will take too long to make you understand.” I turned and trotted away, moving as fast as I could over the rough, snaking trail.
Alex was at my shoulder in a moment. “In his custard, you said?”
“Yes,” I talked as we moved. “He gave it to Beatrice and Eve nearly ripped it out of her hands when she saw it, insisting it wasn’t fresh and that she should get another serving for Beatrice, then later that afternoon Beatrice could
hardly keep her eyes open. She said she’d been up late the night before, but now that I think about it, the drowsiness hit her very quickly.”
“So you think Eve and Sherry are drugging Mr. Wallings? But why? To make him easier to deal with?”
“It may have started out like that, but no, I think the real reason is so that he will be groggy and won’t realize what paperwork he’s signing. He told Eve he didn’t want to do any bills or paperwork or signing things that day in the garden. Apparently, she brings those things to him in the afternoon before he naps. If he’s sleepy and mentally fuzzy, how hard would it be to slip in an extra check made out to her, or a power of attorney, or even a new will?”
We came to a dry stone wall. Slink leapt lightly over it. Alex gripped my hand and steadied me as I climbed over. “And you think that’s already happened, that he’s signed a new will?”
“I’m afraid it may have. Remember the paperwork that fell off the table? When Mr. Wallings looked through it, he said it should be in his desk. There was a will there. I saw it. And, on the night I arrived in Nether Woodsmoor, I was visiting the pubs, looking for Kevin, and I stopped to look at the river. Two people, a young man and an older woman, walked by. It was Sherry and the gardener from Coventry House. I heard a bit of their conversation. He was worried, feeling guilty I think, about ‘witnessing’ something. The woman cut him off before he could say anything else and said that they’d only signed a paper.”
“A new will would require witnesses,” Alex said grimly.
“Something that Celia probably wouldn’t have done for Eve.”
“So you think the will has been signed for several days?”
“Yes. I don’t know what Eve’s plans were. Maybe she was going to file it away and wait before doing anything, but then Kevin interfered with her tightly run world at Coventry House. After speaking with him, Mr. Wallings seemed intent on taking back the reigns of the household, so to speak. Kevin forced her hand. There’s Coventry House,” I said. The trees had thinned, giving away to a wide green field. I could see the boundary hedge that enclosed the gardens of Coventry House.
