“Ah,” Freddy said, brightening. “In the fridge, sure. A big bowl of them on ice.”
“But you didn’t sample?”
“Not really a fan of raw oysters, if you must know,” Freddy said. “Did you have one?” he asked his wife.
“I saw them too but no. I didn’t have one.” Aubrey looked at the plastic bag still in the Inspector’s hand. “Is that what killed her? An oyster?”
“Early days, madam.”
“The one to speak to is the chef,” Freddy said. “She was in the kitchen when we were there with the children.”
“And the maid, Gini,” Aubrey said. “Dinner was still underway at that time. They were bustling around. It hadn’t yet been postponed.”
“What time was that?” The Inspector asked.
“Just after five,” Aubrey said. “We arrived back from visiting White Castle. It was nearly dark and the children were starving. We went straight to the kitchen.”
“Ah, I love the old White,” the Inspector said. “Used to scamper all over it myself when I was wee.”
“Did you see anyone or anything unusual on the drive in?” The Chief Constable asked.
Aubrey looked at her husband. “No. We were all tired.”
Chief Constable Rogers looked at his notes then at the Inspector. “Should we speak to the staff then?” The policemen left the room, pointed toward the kitchen through the dining room.
“I guess this means no dinner for us,” Richard complained. “Again.”
“Honestly, Richard,” Cecily said. “All you think about is your stomach.”
Conor stood next to Elise. “Are we free to go?”
“Where to?” Evans asked, frowning.
“Into town for some supper.” Conor said, patting his stomach pointedly, giving Richard a smirk. “Give the Inspector my number. Maybe he wants to reminisce.”
He took Elise’s arm and led her toward the door. “Oh, and you might want to check on Duncan. He’s passed out in the bathroom. Pauline said not to move him but he didn’t look terribly comfortable on the tile.”
Chapter Three
Isabelle watched Conor and his friends leave the cottage and wished she could leave too. Why couldn’t she? Her sense of duty, of responsibility for everyone here, was too strong. She even felt responsibility for her stupid cousin, Sabine, who had apparently got drunk, eaten a bad oyster on a cold night, and perished alone.
The policemen were still rummaging around in the rubbish behind the cottage. Surely they had found the oysters by now. But there were at least twelve full bin bags at this point. There were always twenty or more by the end of their Solstice-to-Twelfth-Night holiday.
Isabelle glanced at her husband. Evans was deep in conversation with his brother, Richard, heads together like they were plotting. Her sister-in-law, Cecily, paid them no attention, having extracted a novel from somewhere, kicked off her shoes, and pulled her feet up under her on an armchair to read.
Aubrey and Freddy had retreated upstairs to mind their children. Specifically, no doubt, to keep them from seeing that police were at the house. It had been traumatic enough this morning for them. Toby had seen Sabine’s foot in the hedge and, before anyone could stop him, told his sister and little brother. “It’s a dead lady!” rang out over the hills. Freddy was mortified. He was very sensitive about the children.
Isabelle decided to check on Duncan, although she didn’t really want to. Her son was an embarrassment. Evans would have to intervene, very soon. She had looked into some rehab clinics near London. Somewhere quiet would be nice, away from the trains and the bus lines. Calm and quiet, where Duncan could dry out and get his life back on track.
She knocked on the door of the green room where Pauline and Duncan had been staying despite its annoying lack of closet space. Duncan had been cross with her for not putting him in the much bigger bedroom where Conor and Elise slept. Was it her fault that he had decided to spend his holiday indisposed by alcohol? It was not.
No one came to the door. She knocked again, harder, then turned the knob. “Pauline? Es-tu là?”
A drawer closed with a bang, then Pauline came to the door, opening it wider. She had a sad smile on her face. “Bonjour, Isabelle.” She motioned for her to enter the room.
They spoke quietly in French. “How are you?” Isabelle asked. “Okay?”
Pauline nodded silently.
“Are you sure? You look upset.”
Pauline wiped her eyes. “No, no. Just— Sabine. So shocking.”
Isabelle gave the girl a hug of condolence. She was so thin, her shoulders and scapulas felt sharp even with the thick sweater. At least she dressed for winter finally, with woolly black leggings and socks.
“You should come downstairs and talk with us. Have some tea and cheese. Staying alone up here isn’t good for the mood.”
“No, no. I am fine. Really.” Pauline looked beseechingly at Isabelle. “I am afraid of saying the wrong thing. With the police here.”
Isabelle smiled. “But you have nothing to fear. You didn’t see Sabine after she disappeared, did you?”
Pauline shook her head. “I helped to search with Elise but— no.”
Isabelle nodded. “So, where is Duncan? In the bath?”
Pauline led the way out into the hall to the shared bathroom. She knocked, put her ear to the door, then tried the knob. It turned but opened only a few inches before hitting something. She peered through the crack.
“It is him. On the floor.” Pauline rolled her eyes. “I can’t do this anymore.” She turned and ran back to the bedroom.
Isabelle sighed, watching Pauline dash into their bedroom, slamming the door. So many personalities, it was hard to keep up with all of them. At least she knew what she was dealing with here, with Duncan. Her older son had always been a bit of a trial. He had some anxiety issues, she was sure. But she loved him so much, and wanted nothing more than for him to be happy. And healthy.
She pushed the door. It gave a little more. “Duncan. It’s Mum. Come on, get up off the floor.” There was no answer. “At least move your legs so I can come in. I need to see that you’re still breathing.”
There were murmurs of reply, incomprehensible. She implored him some more, speaking loudly, forcefully, getting annoyed. “Duncan!”
At last he turned over, moving his legs to one side. The door opened a foot or so, enough for her to slip inside, shutting it behind her.
Duncan sat sprawled on the tile floor next to the toilet, his head lolled back against the wall, his Adam’s apple prominent on his slender neck. He was pale, as white as the bathtub porcelain. His lips had a tinge of blue, unsurprising as the bath was chilly.
“Are you unwell?”
A groan. One eye opened. “What do you think?”
“Why are you doing this? You’ll kill yourself with drink.” She turned on the faucet and filled a glass with water. “Drink this. It’s just water.”
He drank some water and promptly gagged, vomiting it into the toilet. Isabelle flushed it down. “That’s fine. Drink a little more.”
He set the cup on the floor where it tipped over and spilled over the tile. Isabelle picked it up, filled it again, and set it on the floor next to him. She threw a hand towel over the spill.
“Your girlfriend is very upset with you. As am I. We came here to have a nice quiet holiday en famille and this drinking is making everything so much more difficult. That and Sabine, of course.”
“That bloody bitch,” he hissed.
“Stop that. Right now. She was my cousin, as much as I disliked her. You will not make disparaging comments about her. No one deserves that after they are gone. All is forgiven. She is dead and we will deal with that.” No reply. “Try to drink some. Little sips, chéri. I’ll bring up some cream crackers and check on you later.”
He moaned and hung both arms over the side of the tub, hooking his chin on the edge, as she left the bathroom.
At the door to the green bedroom she knocked again and
called for Pauline. “Please come down with me, will you?” No answer. “I will have the chef make you something special to eat, okay? And a little tea or a glass of wine will do you good. You can sit by the fire.”
Isabelle put her ear to the door. “Pauline? Ça va?” Silence within. “Duncan is okay. He will probably sleep in the bathroom tonight. I will bring him a blanket and pillow. He won’t be a bother. Pauline?”
The door was now locked. Isabelle jiggled the knob. She called for Pauline a few more times. Poor girl, she was traumatized by Sabine’s death. Isabelle didn’t really blame her. It would be awful to die outdoors in winter, in the icy rain and snow. Or indoors, for that matter. Or anywhere before your time. Isabelle felt a pang of hurt for Sabine, a small regret for the way they had spoken, a hurt that was new, one that set all the arguments aside. Isabelle closed her eyes and said a small prayer for her cousin. Sabine must have been afraid, all alone, and very, very cold.
She turned back to her task at hand, coaxing Pauline. “I will bring you up some tea and quelque chose à manger. You must eat.” She listened again but there was nothing from inside the room. Maybe she’d gone to sleep. “You are okay, Pauline? Je reviens vite.”
Downstairs the three policemen were gathered in the front hall. Evans stood at the drawing room door while the chef, Audette, and the maid, Gini, cowered by the dining room. Tears streamed down Gini’s face, and Audette didn’t look far behind. Both of them stood hunched into themselves, trembling.
Isabelle paused on the bottom step, took a breath, and stepped down. “What is it? Are you finished with the rubbish?”
The Detective Inspector turned from his colleagues. “Ah, madam. Yes, we are done there. However your staff here has something to say to you.”
Isabelle raised an eyebrow at the chef. “Oui? En français?”
“English, please,” Evans said.
Audette swallowed hard and took a step forward. “We did not throw out the oysters, madame. I am very sorry.”
“No? What happened to them?”
The chef glanced back at the maid, then faced Isabelle with a brave, resigned expression. “We, both of us— we ate them.”
Chapter Four
The four of them, Elise, Conor, Merle, and Pascal, were seated in a semi-circle in front of the fire at the King’s Hearth. The flames were appropriately blazing, making them scoot their wing chairs back a bit. Their supper in the Inn’s dining room had been simple and quick, leading them to linger with another glass of wine by the fire.
Conor’s phone pinged. “My sister,” he said, reading the message.
“Some news?” Elise asked.
“Has someone been arrested?” Pascal asked.
“But it was an oyster,” Merle said. “An accident.”
Conor looked up at them. “Apparently not. The oysters were not thrown out at all but were eaten by the kitchen staff. They didn’t want such luxuries to go to waste.”
“All of them? There had to be dozens,” Pascal said.
“They were going to be thrown out anyway,” Elise said. “But then—”
“They weren’t bad,” Merle added.
“Are they ill?” Pascal asked. “The chef and the maid?”
“No. They’re fine,” Conor said, slipping his phone back in his jacket pocket. “My sister says the police were quite put out. They were hoping for a quick one. Now it might be a murder investigation.”
“Might?” Pascal scoffed. “How long will it take for the autopsy?”
Conor shrugged. “Someone put that oyster shell by the body. Someone wanted us all to believe she died by a tainted oyster.”
“She was so excited about her réveillon,” Elise mused.
“Could it be a message?” Merle said, leaning forward, elbows on her knees. “Someone who resented her coming in and planning that dinner?”
Conor squirmed. “Like my mother?”
“No! No, I mean—” Merle bit her lip and looked away.
“She was angry about the land, I’ll give you that,” Conor said. “And Sabine just showing up, out of the blue. They weren’t great friends. But Mum’s a physician. She wouldn’t harm anyone. She had options with the land. She was dealing with it.”
“I didn’t mean—” Merle stammered. “Sorry.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Pascal reassured Conor. “She isn’t the devious type.”
“Of course she isn’t,” Elise said. Conor glanced at her with a worried look. She squeezed his arm. “Don’t worry about your mother. Sabine had plenty of nasty interactions with people at the house. She seemed to cultivate them.”
“And what of our general?” Pascal asked. “He seems like the obvious culprit.”
“I wish he’d bring back my hire car,” Conor said. “Have the police seen it? I wonder if they’re even looking.”
“I gave them my mobile,” Pascal said, pulling out his phone. “Nothing yet.”
“Have the police searched their rooms?” Merle asked.
Conor texted his sister, Aubrey, with that question. She replied that she didn’t think so, that the inspector and his friends were gone and planned to come back in the morning.
Merle looked pointedly at Pascal. “What? We go look for ourselves?” he asked.
“You said we should wait for the police,” Merle replied.
He shrugged, noncommittal.
Conor was listening. “I am curious about this general or whoever he is.”
“Casino magnate,” Merle answered.
“It seems strange, doesn’t it,” Elise said, finger on her chin, “that a wealthy man like him, someone worth millions, would let himself be dragged into the Welsh countryside over a long winter holiday with a bunch of strangers and spend his nights in a cramped chauffeur’s quarters.” She glanced at them. “I don’t get it.”
“With that sort of money he could be drinking champagne in luxury at the Ritz or George Cinq,” Pascal added.
“Exactly,” Elise continued. “Why was he here? He wasn’t enjoying himself, always scowling at us.”
“He seemed to take his marching orders from Sabine,” Conor added.
“But why? Was it just his love for her? Could it be that simple?”
Merle scoffed: “Love? Please. Didn’t you say they had a huge fight and called each other all sorts of names?”
“And yet,” Pascal said, “he led the search for her.” He squinted, thinking. “Which direction did he go when you men went out to search?”
Conor frowned. “Um, I think he went down by the pond.”
“And the hedges,” Merle added.
Elise’s eyes widened as they all made the connection. Gabriel may have been responsible, may have known where her body lay hidden in the hedges, and pointed the other searchers away from it.
“I may not be able to sleep,” Merle declared.
Pascal stood up. “Let’s go have a quick look, shall we?”
Chapter Five
The outside stairs that led up the side of the carriage house to the rooms above were weathered and old, the blue paint peeling on the treads. The railing was wrought iron and wobbly. Elise waited until Pascal and Merle were all the way at the top before venturing farther than the bottom step. “Too much weight,” she whispered to Conor behind her.
The night was very dark, with snow clouds low on the hillside, spitting flakes at intervals. The roads were slick and wet but not icy yet. At nine o’clock in the evening the lights were still blazing in Monnow House, with the flickering of the fire sparking on the windowpanes. Icicles hung from the transom.
None of them had a key, an issue they confronted at the top of the stairs. The door was locked. Conor cursed under his breath and began to turn to go back down. “Wait,” Pascal said. “I think I hear someone.”
“Knock,” Elise urged.
Pascal rapped on the door. In a moment it creaked open. Gini stood inside, still in her uniform from earlier, the white shirt and black trousers. She glanced nervously at each of
them, then looked at Pascal. “Oui?”
He explained to her in French that they wanted to look at Sabine and Gabriel’s room for anything that might help them figure out what happened to her. Gini glanced over her shoulder. Someone answered then she opened the door wide. They saw Audette, the chef, sitting on an old armchair in a small sitting area, next to an electric heater. She wore a robe and slippers and didn’t stand up.
Gini said something rapidly. Audette listened then nodded. “Go ahead.” She waved her arm toward the two doors off the sitting room. Gini walked to the door on the left, turned the knob, and looked inside. She flipped a light switch and stepped back.
“Thank you, Gini. Audette,” Merle said. “We won’t be long.”
Elise hung back in the sitting room. The bedroom itself was small, dominated by a double bed on the small side that must have been very uncomfortable for two grown adults to sleep in. She watched through the open door as Pascal went methodically through the room, gently moving items, opening drawers, checking luggage. A large suitcase sat on a luggage rack, open and sagging with clothes and stockings and shoes. Merle and Conor handled the other side of the room, mimicking his actions.
Audette rose from her chair, retying her robe. She stepped up next to Elise. “I—we are very sorry,” she said in almost a whisper.
Elise gave her a smile. “Thanks. She wasn’t my relative but that’s nice of you.” She paused and took a second look at the chef. “She was your employer, right?”
Audette shrugged. “Sabine? Yes. But what I meant was— about the oysters.”
“That you ate them? And didn’t get sick? That’s fine, Audette. No one cares about you eating the oysters.”
“But it was wrong.” She hung her head.
Elise touched her arm. “Really, literally none of us cares. I’m glad you didn’t get sick.”
“They were fine. Delicious.” Audette glanced up and smiled.
“Good. No point in them going to waste.”
They stood at the door and watched the three in the bedroom. Merle stood by Sabine’s open suitcase, delicately moving her underclothes and looking underneath. She found a small velvet bag, heavy with jewelry. She patted down the dresses hanging from a curtain rod, including the gold sequined number Sabine wore the first night. Conor was on his hands and knees, looking under the bed. He pulled out a small leather valise about the size of a medical doctor’s bag.
Birds of a Feather: 3: Fly the Nest (Bennett Sisters Mysteries Book 16) Page 2
