Murder in the Manor

by Fiona Grace

  Percy wiped the cake crumbs from the corners of his lips. “What makes you think they’ll reveal themselves?”

  “I have a theory. Well, a few actually.”

  “I have time,” Percy chuckled, holding up his half full teacup.

  “Okay,” Lacey said. “Theory one. It was common knowledge the children weren’t set to inherit anything after Iris’s death. The sons always thought they’d be able to circumvent it because of some old law about being male heirs, but they weren’t. The only thing Iris left to them in the will was the contents of their childhood playroom. One of those things was the grandfather clock. My theory is that one of them murdered Iris, and hid a valuable painting of hers inside the clock. But the clock had been moved out of their playroom into the study, which meant it wasn’t amongst the items they could claim. I think they panicked and broke into my store to try and steal the painting back, getting bitten by Chester in the process.”

  “Sounds perfectly plausible to me,” Percy said. “Our history is filled with stories of wealthy heirs doing away with their parents for the inheritance. And yet you have another theory?”

  Lacey nodded. “Iris left Penrose Manor to her valet, Nigel.”

  “Her valet?” the old man repeated with bemusement. “That’s… unusual to say the least. What are you thinking, an illicit affair turned crime of passion? A secret child to whom she felt obligated to support in her death? A charlatan who wormed his way into her life?”

  Lacey’s stomach squirmed at the thought that Nigel could indeed be any one of those, and that his likelihood of being involved was just as strong as the sons’.

  “I think it might be a little less salacious than that,” Lacey countered. “The valet was left the estate by Iris in the will, but all her money and any profit from the sale of her belongings was going to charity. He had nothing to upkeep it with.”

  “I see,” Percy said, nodding with understanding. “I’ve heard of this before, heirs sitting in rotting manor houses because they can’t afford the upkeep of such protected historic buildings. And gosh, the taxes! Those alone could ruin him!”

  “Exactly,” Lacey replied. “Nigel was the only one who knew Iris had sought additional legal protections against the loophole in the will being exploited upon her death. He was the one who moved the grandfather clock out of the playroom to stop the children taking it. He was the one who knew that Iris owned an exceptionally rare and expensive painting, the sale of which alone would make him a millionaire.”

  “You have quite a case against this man,” Percy noted.

  “Yes,” Lacey said with a sigh. “And then there’s the limp…” She felt her shoulders slump again at all the signs that pointed to Nigel.

  “The limp?” Percy asked inquisitively, the cake crumbs stuck to each corner of his lips making him look like an absentminded old professor.

  “Remember when my store was broken into?” Lacey reminded him, and he nodded with affirmation. “I think the person who did it knew I had Iris’s things. They were looking for something. Perhaps something hidden in the clock. Chester bit the perp on the leg.”

  Percy nodded with understanding. “The sale of the clock will lure the killer here. A dog bite will confirm a robber. Buying the grandfather clock will confirm a killer.”

  “And I suspect the same person is behind both.”

  Silence fell. Percy appeared to be lost in deep contemplation. Lacey felt heavy from the burden of what she was about to do.

  “What a tangled mess,” Percy said finally. “I hope you get your answers, Lacey.”

  Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of the bell above the door tinkling. Ivan had fixed it for Lacey, reasoning he was her handyman for everything at the cottage, so why not the store as well?

  “Could that be your first patron?” Percy asked.

  “Maybe,” Lacey replied, standing. “Excuse me.”

  She left Percy to finish slurping up the last dregs of his tea, and exited the auction room. Her stomach swirled with anguish. She may very well have just had a murderer walk into her store.

  But when she made it back into the main store and saw who was examining the furniture in the “Nordic Corner,” her mouth dropped open, and she wondered whether having a murderer there might’ve been better.

  “SASKIA?” Lacey cried.

  Her former boss swirled around to face her. She widened her arms—not in an embracing gesture but in an I-have-arrived one.

  “Did you think I’d miss this?” Saskia said.

  Just the sound of her voice sent a bolt of familiar anguish through Lacey, as if she was about to be told off for something she’d failed to do perfectly. It left Lacey completely tongue-tied.

  “What are you doing here?” Lacey finally managed.

  Things hadn’t exactly ended well between the two of them, not that they’d ever been good to begin with.

  Saskia flapped a hand dismissively. “Water under the bridge, Lacey darling. We’re business associates now. You’re not a subordinate anymore, you’re a potential colleague.”

  So now I’m worthy of your respect? Lacey thought, wryly.

  Saskia’s eyes flicked over Lacey’s shoulder. Lacey turned to see Percy emerging from the auction room into the main store.

  “Ah,” Saskia said with barely veiled irritation. “I heard on the grapevine that Mayfair’s finest was helping you on your little venture. I suppose that explains why we’ve not had much in the way of correspondence these last weeks?” She held her bony hand out to Percy. “Mr. Johnson.”

  Percy looked flustered as he took it and shook. “Business is business, Saskia. You know that as well as I do.”

  “Of course,” she replied through pursed lips.

  This was all getting too tense for Lacey.

  “Cake!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands. “Saskia, please, help yourself.” She gestured to the display of pastries.

  Saskia raised an eyebrow. “You have food at an auction?”

  Typical Saskia, trying to make Lacey feel inferior for her choices. But Lacey found the hold her old boss’s opinion had once had over her seemed to have dissipated.

  “Call it the Bishop touch,” Lacey replied jovially, wiggling her eyebrows with confidence.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Percy smirk.

  “Looks like you’re catering for an army,” Saskia added, looking over at the display. “I’m surprised you’re expecting that many people since it’s the day before Easter. I mean, in my experience, not many people like to attend events like this before a public holiday.”

  “I don’t know how many people to expect,” Lacey said with a breezy shrug. “I’m just thrilled to be realizing yet another one of my dreams.”

  She smiled at Saskia in a way that showed her boss she couldn’t bring her down anymore. Saskia’s top lip twitched, but she failed to smile in return.

  Just then, the door flew open, the bell letting out an urgent-sounding jingle, and in waltzed a group of smartly dressed people Lacey had never seen before. They weren’t locals to Wilfordshire, that much was obvious, and they definitely hadn’t wandered in off the streets from curiosity.

  “We’re from the English Antiques Society,” one of the women said. She grinned with excitement. “Here for the Penrose Estate auction.”

  “We’re thrilled to be here,” a man beside her added. “I heard the house had a Victorian ottoman in every bedroom.”

  “That’s right,” Lacey said, her heart leaping with pride. “And they’re all on sale today.”

  Getting the word out that they were selling items from the manor house had been the right call. Not only would it lure the murderer out of the shadows, but it had lured in other antiques dealers in the vicinity of Wilfordshire. She started to feel her nervousness for the upcoming event begin to channel itself toward excitement.

  “Please, help yourself to refreshments,” Lacey added.

  “Refreshments? How delightful!”

  The socie
ty members began babbling to one another as they selected pastries from the display and poured themselves mugs of tea.

  Before Lacey even had a chance to show them into the auction room, she heard the bell above the door ting-a-ling again.

  She turned, and was surprised to see some locals were entering the store. Her hairdresser. Carol from the B’n’B. Hester the librarian.

  The door didn’t even have time to close before they were followed inside by a group of curious tourists. Streaming right in after them was the vacationing Danish couple who’d been her store’s first ever customers.

  Hope blossomed in her chest. She had not known what to expect from today, but it certainly looked like she’d be holding a proper auction.

  Which was the perfect time for Superintendent Turner to enter and ruin her mood.

  Lacey tensed. The detective was with his partner, DCI Beth Lewis, and Lacey prepared herself from them to present her with a court document preventing the auction. But instead, Superintendent Turner kept his eyes averted and it was DCI Lewis who took the lead role.

  “Lacey, we’re here to observe your auction,” Beth Lewis said. “We think it may be helpful for our investigation.”

  “Do you?” Lacey asked, frowning with suspicion at Karl Turner, who’d evidently had a change of heart and U-turned on the whole matter.

  DCI Lewis looked at her superior as she spoke, in a strange role reversal. “Superintendent Turner wants to apologize. He’s come to accept that it makes a lot of sense to hold the auction in order to lure the killer, and that it may indeed help in the investigation.”

  Superintendent Turner looked sheepish, like DCI Lewis was his mother getting him to apologize for some discretion. All of his usual bluster and bravado seemed to have drained out of him entirely.

  “Karl?” Lacey said, deciding to address him by first name rather than the formal title that implied respect he most certainly had not gained. She waited expectantly, arms folded.

  “If we could sit in on the auction that would be helpful,” he mumbled.

  “So it’s not a ludicrous idea after all?” Lacey prodded.

  “No. It’s not ludicrous.”

  “Fantastic,” Lacey said, smiling. “Then help yourselves to pastries.”

  She watched, feeling triumphant, as the two detectives selected treats from the counter and went inside the auction room to take their seats.

  To Lacey’s surprise, the place filled up quickly, so much so that the fifty chairs she’d rented weren’t enough to seat everyone. Word must have spread that the items she was auctioning were very expensive, that perhaps as a novice she was likely to make mistakes that would earn some clever types some bargains. Lacey could hardly keep track of everyone entering, and was surprised to see all three of Iris’s children had slipped in undetected and taken seats, separately, in the auction room. She wondered if they’d been forced to sit apart because of which seats had been taken when they arrived, or if it was out of choice. A sign of disharmony amongst the trio? None of them were eating the pastries either, she noted.

  Just then, Nigel hobbled inside. It was the first time Lacey had seen him since he’d moved up, then back down, her list of suspects. She felt awkward, not knowing what to do or how to greet him. If he’d really backstabbed her and played her for a fool, she didn’t think she could bear to carry on with the charade.

  Luckily, there was a sea of people separating them. Nigel had no choice but to just wave to her over everyone’s heads. Even returning that gesture made Lacey’s stomach turn with the feeling of deceit.

  She watched him closely as he took his seat. His limp was definitely more pronounced now, and Lacey twisted her lips as the feeling overcame her once more that Nigel was indeed the robber. Whether he was also a killer, though, remained to be seen.

  Just then, the sound of Chester growling pulled Lacey out of her thoughts. She looked over to see Cruella de Taryn entering her store.

  What’s she doing here? Lacey thought, angrily, as she marched up to the woman.

  “Lacey,” Taryn said in her fake syrupy voice. “I thought I’d come and show some moral support.”

  Lacey narrowed her eyes with skepticism. Taryn was far more likely there to disrupt proceedings. “How kind of you,” Lacey said.

  “Isn’t it good that my DIY work finished today?” she continued. “Just in time for your auction.”

  “Yes, what a wonderful coincidence,” Lacey said through clenched teeth.

  “I do hope Keith isn’t too noisy in the garden, though,” she added, punctuating the statement with her fake-friendly giggle.

  Lacey narrowed her eyes. “What?”

  “Oh, didn’t I tell you?” Taryn said sweetly. “I’m getting Keith to remodel the garden. Those sheds I have out there are an eyesore, especially in comparison to your lovely garden. He’s building some nice new wooden sheds to replace them.”

  If Lacey gritted her teeth any harder they’d crack. Of course, on the one day she needed to use the back room, Taryn had arranged for the noise to move from the adjoining wall to the adjoining garden! The noise would very easily travel into the auction room, and was absolutely going to interfere. Taryn was only here so she could have a front row seat to watch the whole thing go down.

  “Doesn’t Keith want to join in the fun?” Lacey asked.

  Taryn looked amused by the suggestion. “Keith doesn’t know the first thing about antiques. He’s an all brawn, no brain type. Ooh, are these pastries made by Tom?”

  She swirled off toward the counter, her upturned nose sniffing like a dog for a bone.

  Speak of the devil, Tom entered next. He walked up to Lacey with his wicker basket radiating the smells of sugar and pastry.

  “I brought reinforcements,” he said, gesturing to his wicker basket of delights. “I saw everyone streaming in and thought there’s no way I’d catered enough for everyone.”

  His sunny disposition instantly melted the frosty feeling that had seeped into Lacey’s bones thanks to Taryn’s presence.

  “You don’t have to cater for anyone,” Lacey reminded him.

  He looked at her like she was crazy. “What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t support you on your first ever auction?”

  Friend, Lacey thought. Had Tom given up on her dithering and decided to friend-zone her? She certainly hoped not.

  As Tom stocked up the refreshments table with newly baked goodies, the smells of butter and sugar permeating the store, Lacey caught sight of the clock. It was auction time. She swallowed her nerves and entered the room.

  *

  So many eyes stared at Lacey as she took her position, she couldn’t help but feel nervous. Amongst the people present she had her mean old boss, her nemesis, and a murderer. But scanning the audience and seeing Tom, as well as Gina, Ivan, Stephen, and Martha, helped to bolster her. Her allies outweighed her foes. And, of course, she had Percy Johnson for moral support, too.

  Lacey began by presenting Iris’s collection of Victorian vases. A coo of pleasure emanated from the English Antiques Society members and Lacey couldn’t help but smile.

  The bidding began, mainly taking place between the group, who seemed absurdly jovial and congratulatory to one another. It was a far cry from the New York auctions Lacey was accustomed too that were much more vicious and frantic. In fact, her auction had a very genteel atmosphere.

  With the vases sold, Lacey moved onto the ottomans, removing the shoji screen behind which they were displayed.

  Once again, the society members oohed and ahhed with appreciation. It was extremely endearing, and even the audience members seemed delighted by their antics.

  But just as the bidding was being pushed up and up over the collection, the sound of hammering came from the garden.

  Lacey felt instantly flustered. She began to stammer over her words.

  Taryn smirked. Saskia looked at her watch and yawned. Superintendent Turner stood up and took his smoking tin from his pocket.

  “You c
an’t smoke in here,” Lacey said, pausing the proceedings.

  The detective shrugged, put a cigarette in his mouth, and crossed the floor for the garden, passing right in front of her as he went, with no regard for how impolite that was.

  Lacey frowned. Determined not to let anyone or anything throw her off, she finished the bidding for the ottoman collection.

  Next was the jewelry—the items in the acrylic boxes she’d first appraised. But just as she began, the banging from the garden stopped and was replaced by the sound of a chain saw! And on top of that, Lacey heard the sound of Chester barking furiously.

  “Sorry,” she said to the audience, finally giving in. “I have to see to this.”

  Percy stood. “Don’t worry, Lacey. I’ve got this.”

  Lacey left the auction in his extremely capable hands and ran out into the garden.

  There, she saw Superintendent Turner smoking, with his back resting against the greenhouse. Over the fence, in Taryn’s lawn, Keith was working with a circular saw, cutting up bits of wood.

  Between the two of them, barking loudly, was Chester.

  Lacey had never heard Chester so wound up like this. It wasn’t like him to bark. In fact, she’d only seen him become agitated once—when her store was being robbed.

  That’s when Lacey realized what was happening. Chester was trying to tell her something. Something important.

  She looked over the fence at Keith to see his pant leg had ridden up. On the pale flesh of his ankle, red, raw, and as clear as day, was a set of puncture marks made by teeth.

  Lacey gasped. Keith was her robber.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  Lacey took Chester by the collar to calm him down and looked over at Superintendent Turner.

  “That’s him!” she mouthed.

  The detective frowned at first, but then when he looked over to where Lacey was frantically pointing, his eyes widened with understanding. He chucked his cigarette butt onto the grass and walked over to the fence.