by Fiona Grace
“Excuse me,” he called.
Keith powered down the chain saw. He looked a bit surprised to see a cop facing him. “What? I’m not doing nothing wrong.”
“I wondered if you might be able to spare a minute. Just to have a chat.”
“I don’t chat with cops. Not without a lawyer.”
“Then you’d better call your lawyer quick,” the detective said. “Because if you don’t answer my questions voluntarily, I’ll have you arrested.”
Keith looked instantly furious. “Arrested for what?!”
“Burglary.”
“What?” Keith bellowed.
It was all getting a bit tense, and Lacey hoped the altercation couldn’t be heard inside the auction room, though she suspected the tone of their angry voices would carry.
“Karl, please can you do this elsewhere?” Lacey pleaded with Superintendent Turner.
“Sure,” the detective said. With a nonchalant shrug, he stepped over the fence into Taryn’s garden and walked right up to Keith. “Come on, mate. Let’s talk inside.”
Lacey watched as the flabbergasted handyman was led inside the boutique.
Her mind felt scrambled. Taryn must’ve gotten Keith to break into her store. But then that meant the burglary and the murder weren’t connected at all. Was her theory completely wrong?
Though Lacey’s mind felt all over the place, she knew there was no time to dwell on it. She still had an auction going on inside.
She hurried back into the auction room to discover Percy had finished selling all the jewels and they were down to the final item. The grandfather clock itself!
Lacey took her position back at the podium. But her confidence that she was about to catch a killer had been shaken by the revelation of Keith being the robber. Perhaps the moment of clarity she was expecting from the sale of the clock wouldn’t come after all.
“It’s time for our final item,” Lacey announced, hearing her own voice sound robotic as her mind reeled through everything at a mile a minute, desperate to make sense of it all.
She removed the screen to show the grandfather clock and an appreciative murmur went up around the audience.
“It’s a one of a kind, handmade, eighteenth-century grandfather clock,” she said on autopilot. “Made from fine burr walnut. The key is missing so the clock cannot be fixed, but it is beautiful as an objet d’art.”
She scanned the audience with her eyes, looking from one sibling to the next. Before, she’d been so certain that whoever of them bid on the clock would be the murderer. But now, she didn’t know what to believe.
“Let’s start the bidding at ten thousand pounds.”
The first bid was immediately put in by none other than Henry Archer.
Lacey looked at the youngest of the trio, doing her best to keep the suspicion from her eyes.
“Ten thousand,” she said, pointing at him with affirmation. “Can I get ten thousand five hundred?”
“Here!”
The next voice belonged to Benjamin Archer.
Lacey snapped her gaze to him. So two of her three suspects were in on the bidding. But her third, Nigel, remained mute. He watched placidly, not making even a peep. If the dog bites on Keith’s legs hadn’t been enough evidence to exonerate Nigel in itself, well, his silence now was certainly enough. Nigel wasn’t her guy. Not for the robbery. Not for the murder.
But was it one of the brothers? The two seemed intent on outbidding one another for the clock.
As the price was pushed up higher and higher, the battle passing back and forth between the two brothers, Lacey spotted something very curious. Between each pause after Henry made his bet and Benjamin countered it, the younger brother looked to Clarissa. It appeared to Lacey as if he was looking for some kind of assurance from her. Perhaps even instructions?
And then, while her focus was supposed to be on Benjamin during his bid, Lacey saw Clarissa give a small nod of the head.
“Thirty thousand,” Henry announced.
Lacey could hardly stop herself from frowning. Henry and Clarissa were working together. They must’ve pooled their cash to outbid their elder brother.
Benjamin confidently bid thirty-five thousand five hundred pounds, his hand shooting up in the air, his gold wedding band flashing in the light. Lacey took the bid and turned to Henry, but she was starting to feel unreal, like her mind was filled with thick molasses. It was becoming hard to stay focused on the proceedings, because her mind was racing at a thousand miles a second.
Henry’s hand shot up for the next amount. There was no glint on his wedding ring finger. No band. She heard Nigel’s words echo in her mind. “Since he found his wife and settled down and started his surfing business, he’s been much calmer.”
He’s divorcing! Lacey thought. That’s why he was visiting Clarissa in London. Have the two teamed up? Are they in this together?’
But just as Lacey thought she may have found her answer, Clarissa gave Henry a small shake of the head. On his next turn to bid, Henry fell silent. He’d dropped out of the race.
In that one small gesture, Lacey’s theory smashed into a thousand pieces around her.
She paused. Stumbled. Heard the keen silence that followed as the whole room seemed to draw in a breath. All eyes were on her, staring, blinking, waiting.
Lacey straightened up and turned her gaze to Benjamin. With a firm, confident voice, she announced, “Going, going, gone. Sold for thirty-five thousand five hundred pounds to Benjamin Archer.”
She hit the gavel. The noise sounded like a bomb exploding in her ears.
Clarissa and Henry had indeed teamed up. But not to kill their mother. Because of sibling rivalry. Clarissa’s failed business. Henry’s failed marriage. And an older brother who had everything. Who rubbed it all in their face. Who’d succeeded where they’d failed. They’d been bidding on the clock not because they wanted what was hidden inside, but to get back at their older brother.
Their older brother who, in purchasing the clock, had moved back into the prime position on Lacey’s list of suspects.
Was Benjamin Archer the murderer?
*
Lacey needed some air. Her mind was reeling. She staggered out into the garden, Chester nudging her with his nose as she bent over and tried to catch her breath.
Suddenly, Nigel was there.
“Lacey!” he exclaimed. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, Nigel,” she said, throwing her arms around him. “I owe you an apology.”
“What? Why?” Nigel asked, patting her back kindly.
“I… I thought you’d broken into my store,” Lacey blurted. “That you’d stolen Iris’s painting and hidden it in the clock, and then tried to steal it back but now I know I was wrong. Can you forgive me?”
There was a long pause. Lacey thought Nigel must be reeling from her accusation. He was probably so hurt that she could even accuse him he couldn’t even look at her.
“There’s nothing to forgive,” Nigel said. “Because you’re right.”
Now it was Lacey’s turned to be stunned into silence. “What? You… broke into my store? Why?”
“Lady Isabelle’s painting. I hadn’t been in Iris’s room since her death. I couldn’t. It was too painful. But that night, after I had you move her things to your store, I decided to. And I noticed the painting was missing right away. Besides me, there were only three other people who could possibly have known about its existence. Benjamin. Clarissa. Henry. It made me certain that one of the children was the murderer. That they’d killed their own mother, and my dearest friend, for a painting.” His voice cracked as he spoke. “I saw red. I was overwhelmed with grief. I paced about for an hour working out what must’ve happened. I thought about the clock, and how incensed they’d been about it when they barged in here. It occurred to me that the key might not have been lost at all, that they may have hidden the painting inside, assuming the clock was amongst the handful of items they were set to inherit. I had to know for certain. I
was mad with grief. I’m so sorry. So, so sorry.”
Lacey paused, letting his words sink in. She’d been right about Nigel, but wrong about his motives. He’d acted out of grief, out of devastation that his best friend had been killed for a painting. And hadn’t she, too, stood over that very same grandfather clock with a crowbar held over her head, ready to smash it up and find out whether her theory was correct? Perhaps she’d not gone as far as to actually damage anything, but she sure as heck was close to it. She could empathize with Nigel.
“But why didn’t you bid for the clock?” she asked. “If you thought the painting was inside?”
“I have no money,” Nigel replied.
“But you know that painting is worth millions. You’d easily earn enough for the clock from the eventual sale of the painting.”
“Sell it?” Nigel exclaimed. “I don’t want to sell it. Iris wanted the world to know the story of Lady Isabelle. She wanted the painting donated to a museum after her death. It’s one of the reasons I was so distraught when we bumped into one another in the hallway. I had been sitting in Iris’s room realizing I would never be able to fulfil her wish.” His eyes welled up again with tears. “Then you showed me that photo. I don’t know if you noticed, but Iris was wearing the clock’s key on a pendant. It made me even more convinced the key wasn’t lost, but that the children are in possession of it. I wanted to come clean to you right then, and then tell you my suspicions, but I couldn’t bring myself to say the words.” He looked at Lacey, eyes shining. “Please, I beg that you don’t hand me in to the police.”
Lacey suddenly remembered Keith, who was being questioned at this very moment. He must’ve gotten the dogs bites on his leg from some other event entirely. In her moment of stress, she’d made a rookie mistake and connected two unrelated things, building up a picture that was completely inaccurate.
“I won’t,” she told him. “They have their hands full with the wrong guy anyway…”
Nigel looked puzzled, but Lacey reached out and patted his arm.
“I understand what you were going through, and why you did what you did. I just wished you’d trusted me enough to tell me your theory.”
“I’m sorry. But I was suspicious of you too.”
“Me?”
“Yes. You appeared out of nowhere. I wasn’t sure what you were all about at first.”
“Huh,” Lacey said, slightly stung. “Well, I thought you were the one who’d hidden the painting.”
“Me?” Nigel exclaimed. “But I … I told you about it!”
Lacey blushed. “I thought you were hiding in plain sight. That you were using me because I was naive. And I’m sorry I suspected you.”
Nigel tutted and shook his head. “I can see how I made myself look suspicious. Please, let’s move on from this whole debacle.”
Lacey nodded.
With the robbery situation resolved and decoupled from the murder once and for all, Lacey’s mind went back to the theory that she and Nigel had independently come to. That the painting was in the clock, and thus the murderer was Benjamin.
“We need to solve this once and for all,” Lacey said with determination. “We need to break the clock.”
If only she’d had the guts to have done that all along! If only she hadn’t disturbed Nigel that night while he’d been attempting to do the same thing. If either of them had gone through with their plans and gotten confirmation that Lady Isabelle’s painting was hidden inside the clock, then the murder would already be solved.
She looked up at Nigel, resolved. “It’s the only way.”
He nodded morosely. “Then let’s do it.”
*
They hurried back into the auction room. But Benjamin was already moving the clock.
“You can’t do that!” Lacey cried, running over.
He turned, checkbook already in his hand. “I’m going to pay and take this away today,” he told her with the firm authority of a CEO.
“That’s not how it works, Mr. Archer,” Lacey explained. “We require a ten percent deposit on the day to secure the item, the rest to be paid upon safe delivery.”
Benjamin looked unflappable. “I will take it today whether you accept my payment or not.”
“It’s an insurance thing,” Lacey tried to explain. She could hear the tremble in her voice, though. She was talking to a murderer. “To protect you and I both. We use special couriers, with their own protection, but anything outside of that puts us both in a legal quagmire.”
“I don’t care two hoots about your quagmires, young lady. Give me the name and number of your courier and I’ll arrange it myself.”
He was adamant, and not backing down, and Lacey felt herself starting to falter beneath his imposing demeanor. The sort of man who beat his own mother to death wasn’t the sort of man she wanted to get into an altercation with, even if DCI Lewis was present, watching the interaction with a piercing, curious look.
Lacey glanced across at Nigel. He gave an almost imperceptible shake of the head, and she understood what he was communicating to her immediately. They had to back down. They weren’t going to get their answers, not now anyway.
Lacey gave in. She provided Ben with the details. Without thanking her, he marched off to make his call and arrange for their main piece of evidence to be whisked away.
Lacey sagged with disappointment. She had taken two steps forward but one step back, and, for the time being, the mystery must remain unsolved. But she wasn’t giving up. She’d come up with something, some way to expose Benjamin for his crime once and for all.
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
Nigel and Lacey sat at the kitchen table. Through the windows, the sky was black. A thick mist had rolled in off the ocean. Hours had passed since they’d watched Benjamin take their only piece of evidence away, and neither had come up with a plan to catch him out yet.
A bottle of wine stood open between them—something to drown their sorrows.
Just then, Lacey heard a knocking on the door.
“Are you expecting anyone?” Nigel asked.
Lacey shook her head. Curious, she left Nigel in the company of Chester and another glass of Shiraz, and paced through the dark corridor to the front door. She pulled it open and saw Gina standing on her step holding a watering can.
“Great news, Lacey!” her neighbor exclaimed, stepping inside the cottage without waiting to be invited. “I’ve just got off the phone to the police. They arrested that loiterer. You’ll never guess who it was!”
Lacey frowned, utterly at a loss. She looked at her cardigan-clad neighbor, dripping water onto the rug from her watering can. Her friend was clearly having a senior moment.
“I’m sorry, Gina, but what are you talking about?” Lacey asked, gently.
“The man!” Gina exclaimed, wide-eyed with excitement. “The man I saw snooping around the other night!” She paused and put a finger to her lips in contemplation. “Wait. Didn’t I tell you about that? I told someone. Who was it? Honestly, sometimes I think I’m losing my marbles.” She chuckled. “Oh, I remember. It was Ivan! That’s right! He was going to pass the message on to you but I guess he decided it best not to worry you.”
Lacey shook her head, utterly dumbfounded. She was more than a little freaked out by what Gina was telling her, and the woman’s absentmindedness was making things worse.
“Start from the beginning,” Lacey urged her. “Someone was loitering around the cottage?”
Gina nodded. “It was the other night. I was out watering the plants. You know how they prefer to be watered under moonlight.” She waved the watering can as if to prove some point. “Anyhoo, I saw this fellow. Big, burly guy, coming up the path toward the cottage. The sheep didn’t like the look of him at all. They went lumbering off toward him, bleating blue murder!” She burst out laughing. “I’ve never seen a big man like that run so fast in all my life! He even tripped over and got nipped by a couple of them! Anyway, I told the police about it, and they just rang back to te
ll me the guy’s in custody. It was—”
“—Keith,” Lacey finished for her, her mind conjuring the memory of Keith in Taryn’s garden with his pant leg rolled up to reveal bite marks on his ankle. Not bite marks from a dog, but bite marks from sheep!
Gina gave Lacey a perplexed look. “That’s right. But how do you know who Wilfordshire’s local scallywag is?”
“Because,” Lacey began, “Keith has been working as Taryn’s handyman.”
Gina gasped, as if the pieces had suddenly slotted together in her mind. “You don’t think Taryn sent him up here, do you? To scare you? My goodness! What do you think she wanted him to do?”
Lacey shuddered. “I dread to think.”
“That woman,” Gina said, shaking her head. “Well, at least the police caught the guy. Identified him by the bite marks.” She laughed. “So what are you up to?”
“Nigel and I are discussing what to do next, now that we know who killed Iris.”
Gina nodded solemnly. “Would you like some help?”
“If you’re willing to give it,” Lacey said. “Three heads are better than two.”
“Then count me in,” Gina replied.
Lacey went to shut the door behind Gina when she heard a voice calling her from the darkness.
“Lace! Lace!”
She turned back and squinted to get a better look. Tom was hurrying up the drive. It was only then that Lacey realized he’d missed the auction, that after he’d returned back to his patisserie to bake more croissants, he hadn’t returned.
“Tom?” she asked, surprised. “What happened to you?”
“Long story,” he said, panting from the climb. “When I made it back to the patisserie, I discovered Paul had used baking powder instead of baking soda for tomorrow morning’s pastry batch. I had to drive all the way to the Cash ’n’ Carry to buy more, then make the whole lot again. By the time I got back to the auction, it was over and everyone had gone. So? What happened? Who bought the clock?”
“Ben,” Lacey said.
“So it was Ben!” Tom exclaimed. “He’s the killer? And the one who tried to burgle you?”
