by Dean James
And well worth killing for, I reflected.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
After seeing Giles safely to the front door of Blitherington Hall, and after a few more kisses, I headed home. I had much to think about, not the least of which was the motive behind the poisoning of Luke de Montfort, alias Luc d’Amboise.
Tris had mentioned that Luke came from a family of well-known restaurateurs, but I hadn’t made the connection between Luke and Adele and a chain of high-priced French eateries. Like most vampires, I was not overly concerned with haute cuisine, so I rarely paid much attention to where the elite went to eat. There were some among us, however, those moving in the highest social circles, who were often to be seen in such establishments. The hoi polloi like me rarely entered them.
If Adele were the sole heiress to the family business, that certainly made her worth courting, at least to a venal businessman with an eye to the main chance. I suspected that Murdo Millbank very much fit the profile. Could he have poisoned Luke to get him out of the way, thinking that Adele would be easy prey? From what I had seen of Adele thus far, she hadn’t impressed me as being a particularly strong or forceful personality, but beside her brother, almost anyone would fade into the woodwork.
Adele herself, tired of always being cast in the shade by Luke despite her obvious physical charms, might have decided to take a rather drastic way out of her dilemma. She could easily have poisoned Luke, more easily than anyone else, in fact. They shared a tent, and she would have known his habits better than the other suspects.
One of the crucial questions to be answered was when Luke was given the poisoned fig pastry, if indeed that was how the poison was administered. The rich, sweet taste of the pastry would mask the taste of the digitalis, and given Luke’s well-known predilection for the delicacy, it seemed perfect for the task. But confirmation would have to wait, until the results of the postmortem. I would winkle the information out of Robin Chase somehow.
At the very first opportunity, I would try to get Adele alone and question her, as delicately and discreetly as possible. Robin would not be happy with me, but she might speak less guardedly with me, particularly if she had had a hand in her brother’s death.
At home in Laurel Cottage again, I undressed and put away my medieval dress. I would have to don it again tomorrow, to blend in more readily as I went nosing about the encampment, and so I spent a few minutes brushing away some of the dirt and grass that had clung to it here and there. By the time I had finished, I was just on the point of going downstairs when I heard the front door open and close. Tris had returned.
I moved to intercept him before he could retire for the evening. I was determined to talk to him and get some answers, one way or another.
Downstairs I found Tris in the sitting room, comfortably ensconced in a chair. Puffing away at his pipe, he was reading the Times as if nothing untoward had occurred this day.
“Found anything of interest, Tris?” I said as I sat down on the sofa across from him.
The paper came down, and Tris regarded me with a sardonic gleam in his eyes.
“So you are speaking to me, Simon,” Tris said, his pipe clenched between his teeth. He looked every inch the professor about to dress down one of his recalcitrant students. “Lucky, lucky me.”
I snorted. “Don’t try that tone with me, Tris, it won’t work.”
The paper went up, and smoke streamed from behind it.
“Put down the bloody paper, Tris. I want to talk to you.”
A heavy sigh issued forth from behind the newsprint. Tris folded up the paper and put it down on the table between us. “Very well, Simon, what is it you want?”
“I want an explanation for your behavior today, Tris. I have known you to be many things. Rude, insensitive, selfish, to name but a few. Rarely have I seen you be deliberately cruel, though, picking on someone who has done nothing to you. Furthermore, someone who has no defense against you.”
“I gather, Simon, you are speaking of my little joke with young Blitherington?” Tris arched one eyebrow.
“Don’t play coy with me, Tris,” I said, endeavoring to hold on to my temper. “It doesn’t become you in the least. Of course I’m talking about what you did to Giles. That really was beneath you, Tris. Why should you pick on Giles like that?”
“All is fair in love and war, they say,” Tris replied. “One has to get the measure of the enemy, so to speak.”
“If you are truly trying to win me back, as you claim, you have a bloody funny way of showing it,” I said. “First you play a reprehensible trick on Giles, and then, right in front of me, you flirt outrageously with a handsome young man. And I have little doubt that you didn’t stop at a mere flirtation. Past experience has taught me that much.”
Tris remained unruffled. “Why, Simon, you sound like a jealous spouse. How flattering. I was beginning to think you no longer had any feelings for me.” He smiled smugly.
I glared at him, momentarily speechless.
“I had forgotten how chivalrous you can be, Simon,” Tris mused. “Yes, it might be no more than that. Your sense of fair play is outraged because of the trick I played on young Blitherington. After all, if I considered him to be a worthy rival, I could end this contest very quickly and very simply.”
The room threatened to spin around me as the full implications of what Tris had said began to sink in. This was no time for dithering. I had to make a quick decision, and I did.
I laughed, and I hoped it was convincing. “Really, Tris, now I am the one feeling flattered. You would put Giles permanently out of the way, just for me? Perhaps I’ve underestimated the strength of your devotion to me after all.”
Tris’s eyes narrowed. “I rarely fail to get what I want, Simon. I would remind you of that.”
“I know it well, Tris,” I said, forcing myself to relax. I leaned against the back of the sofa and struck what I hoped was a seductive pose. “But you certainly can’t blame me for being a bit cynical where you’re concerned. The problem is, what you want seems to change on such a regular basis.” My left hand caressed the empty spot on the sofa beside me.
Tris ignored my invitation. “I can’t dispute that, Simon. I wouldn’t be foolish enough to try.” He paused to relight his pipe. “But perhaps I have finally realized that some choices are more important than others.”
I felt a noose tightening around my neck. If I rejected Tris completely, there was no telling what he might do in retaliation. He disliked being thwarted whenever he wanted something, and I had no desire to see Giles pay the price for my turning Tris down flat. I had to continue to appear undecided until I could think of some safe way out of this dilemma.
“You have a very forceful way of getting what you want,” I said. “I am faced with quite a dilemma, Tris. Power, strength, experience, confidence, on one hand. On the other, youth, beauty, enthusiasm, devotion. Sometimes making a choice can be difficult.”
“You’re forgetting one thing, Simon.”
“Oh, what’s that?”
“I won’t run screaming in the other direction because you’re a vampire.” Tris had never sounded so smug.
I refused to let him rile me. “True. But I know Giles far better than you, Tris. I rather doubt he would react in that way.”
“So you say, Simon, but you can’t count on that, now can you?” Tris laughed. “Far better to rid yourself of him now and not let this foolish flirtation of yours go any further.”
“Why, Tris, how tiresomely mean-spirited of you,” I said mockingly. “I was quite enjoying the thought of two very attractive men vying for my affections, and here you want to spoil it all by eliminating your competition. That isn’t quite cricket. Certainly not what I would expect from a true gentleman.” Indeed, if what Tris had once told me was true, he had been born an aristocrat, the youngest son of an earl, albeit more than two centuries ago.
The slight emphasis I placed on the word true had hit the mark with Tris. He shifted slightly in his chair.
I saw no further need to press my advantage. I would have to keep on my toes, though, to stay a move or so ahead of Tris in this bizarre little game.
“As much as I do love talking about myself,” I drawled, “I must change the subject for a moment, Tris, if you don’t mind.”
“And what subject would you like to discuss now, Simon?” Tris said warily. “The price of tea in China?”
I laughed as if I found that inane little sally amusing. “Ah, Tris, such a ready wit you have. No, I have no interest in the price of tea. But I am rather curious about whether you might have murdered Luc d’Amboise. Tell me. Did you poison him?”
“What would you do if I told you that I had, Simon?” Tris said. “Would your notions of chivalry demand that you hand me over to that rather handsome young policeman? Chase, isn’t that his name?” He offered a wolfish grin. “Not that I would mind spending a few hours gaining a closer acquaintance with him, you understand, but I have no intention of being arrested and tried for murder.”
“You haven’t answered my question, Tris,” I said. “Not, I suppose, that I really expected you to. But you can’t ignore the fact that the man was murdered, and you were rather quick off the mark with the idea that he had been poisoned with digitalis. How could you have known that, I wonder?”
“I told you,” Tris said in a bored tone, “I have seen the results of digitalis poisoning before.”
“I’ve no doubt that you have. You certainly had a nice little collection of noxious plants here at Laurel Cottage. At least, before I had them taken out.”
Tris made no reply.
“The question about the poisoning remains. Was it by your own hand,” I asked, “or by someone else’s? I really am rather curious to know, Tris.”
“I find it rather amusing, Simon, to leave you wondering,” Tris said. “Frankly, I don’t care whether Luke was poisoned with digitalis or with something else. My problem has been dispensed with, and thus ends my interest in the subject.”
“I don’t really care whether you poisoned the man, Tris,” I said, hoping that Tris would not be able to detect the lie, “but if you didn’t do it, someone else did. And that person shouldn’t be allowed to get away with it. Don’t you see?”
Tris yawned. “I haven’t the slightest interest in the requirements of human justice, Simon. I dispensed with all that nearly two centuries ago when I became a vampire.” He placed his pipe in the ashtray beside his chair and stood up. “If you will pardon me, Simon, I rather think I’ll have a bit of rest now.”
I wanted to scream at him in frustration, but I knew it would do me not the slightest bit of good. Tris would remain obdurate, and I would simply grow more and more frustrated.
“Very well, Tris,” I said, getting up from the sofa. “Perhaps we could both do with some sleep. This has been a most peculiar day.” I turned and headed for the hallway.
Before I had taken more than three steps, I felt Tris’s hand on my shoulder. I stopped and turned to face him. He slid his arms around me and brought his lips to mine.
This is for you, Giles, I thought as I kissed Tris back with feigned enthusiasm. Whether you would understand or not. At that moment I would rather have sucked blood from a bat than kiss Tris, but I couldn’t afford to let him know how much I distrusted him.
When at last he ended the embrace, he was the one with a dazed look in his eyes, I was amused to note. “Good night, Simon,” he said, heading for the stairs. He paused on the bottom step and turned around to face me. “I don’t suppose you would consider joining me upstairs?”
A kiss I could fake, but that was my limit. “Now, Tris,” I said playfully, “remember that I’m going to play fair with you and with Giles. You’re not going to get anything he isn’t getting. Understand?”
Tris frowned, then shook his head. “Damnation, Simon! You’ll end up driving me quite mad.” He turned and walked loudly up the stairs and into the guest room.
In my office, I closed the door and leaned back against it. Talk about relief! I had managed to get through that confrontation in good shape. But it wasn’t going to get any easier from here. There were plenty more bullets to dodge, until I could come up with a solution that wouldn’t bring harm to anyone.
In the meantime, until I came up with a scathingly brilliant idea, I would expend my mental energies on trying to figure out who had murdered Luc d’Amboise. I had the uneasy feeling that the killer was upstairs in my cottage right this very moment.
Tris might have no qualms about murdering someone if he felt threatened, but just because he seemingly had no conscience didn’t mean that he was automatically guilty. He did have a compelling motive for getting Luc d’Amboise out of the way, but there were other motives, as I had discovered. There could be even more, once I really started digging.
I sat down at my desk and turned on the computer. Once it had completely booted up, I clicked on my word-processing program and started writing. I always found it helpful to record things, and if I put down everything I could think of that had anything to do with this murder, I might see something, some useful point to investigate further.
Once I had finished, I read it through a couple of times, making a few small additions here and there, but nothing jumped out at me. There were still too many gaps. I would be busy tomorrow, asking questions and hoping not to get caught by Robin Chase.
Frustrated, but too awake now to attempt even a brief nap, I worked on my current novel for a while. Finally, I tired my brain out enough that I felt able to go upstairs for a bit of sleep.
***
The ringing of a bell roused me from sleep some time later. I sat up on the bed and glanced at the clock. It was barely five-thirty in the morning. I grabbed the phone and said, “Hello.”
“Simon,” Giles said, “sorry to wake you, but I knew you’d want to hear what happened.” He must have been on his mobile, because I heard a bit of static and, in the background, the sounds of a number of people talking.
“Where are you, Giles? What on earth is going on?” I asked before he could continue.
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Simon,” he said. “I’m at the encampment. Someone tried to kill the king last night!”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Someone tried to kill Harald Knutson?” I asked Giles, still a bit stunned.
“Yes, Simon,” Giles said. “It happened early this morning, about three-thirty, apparently.”
“Is he badly hurt?” I asked.
“He had a bit of a bang about the head,” Giles said, “but that was all.” He laughed. “Apparently His Majesty has rather a tough old bean.”
“What on earth are you doing at the encampment at this hour of the morning, Giles?” I asked, glancing at the clock again.
Giles had moved away from the source of the chattering. “I slept well, Simon, but I woke up a bit early. About twenty minutes ago, I looked out of the window of my sitting room, and I could see the people down here were stirring around quite like a hive of angry bees. I came down to see what was going on.”
The sun rose early here in the summer, so Giles would have had a pretty clear view of the meadow down below the Hall.
“Are the police there yet?” I asked.
“Not yet, Simon,” Giles said. “I gather that His Majesty is dithering a bit about calling them. He doesn’t seem to think this has anything to do with what happened last night.” He snickered into the phone. “He persists in the belief that Luke’s death was accidental. I wonder who it is he’s trying to persuade.”
“I’m beginning to think he’s a dimmer bulb than I had even imagined,” I said. “Tell you what, Giles. I’ll be on my way in a few minutes. M
eet me by that old oak near the entrance in about fifteen minutes.”
“Righty-ho, Sherlock,” Giles said cheerfully. “Watson signing off.” His mobile went dead, and I hung up my phone, smiling.
Hastily I took my morning pill, made sure I had several doses in my spare pillbox, then donned my tunic, hat, and shoes for my day of snooping at the encampment. Before I went downstairs, I opened the door of the guest room as quietly as I could, but my care was for naught. Tris’s bed was empty.
He was nowhere to be found downstairs either. Sometime while I had been asleep, he had slipped out of the house. I was used to his coming and going at his leisure, but I found this faintly disturbing. What was he doing, and where was he?
I sped through the village in my Jag, but very few denizens of Snupperton Mumsley were to be seen. At the encampment, however, a few minutes later, it looked like everyone was up and about, even at this hour. There was no one manning the guard post at the entrance, and I walked right in.
A few feet away, Giles waited patiently under the old oak. Dressed in his finery from the day before, he was young and handsome and incredibly appealing. Casting a quick glance about, wondering where the devil Tris could be, I took Giles in my arms and gave him a good morning kiss.
“Good morning to you, too, Simon,” Giles said, smiling. “Whatever has come over you this morning, I approve most heartily.”
“I’m simply pleased to see you, Giles,” I said, adjusting my sunglasses, which had gone slightly askew. “Looking so much better this morning, that is.” And you don’t know the half of it, my boy, I thought.
“I feel fine this morning, Simon,” Giles said as we left the tree and began walking into the encampment. “A good night’s sleep was all I needed. I am becoming a trifle peckish, however. As I recall, neither of us had any dinner last night, and I certainly had no time for breakfast this morning.” Responding to that broad hint, I led Giles to Mistress Maud’s bakery shop, where I had little doubt we would find something suitable for Giles to breakfast upon. While Giles helped himself to some of the victuals on display, I tried discreetly to avail myself of Mistress Maud’s secondary specialty. “I hear that you all had a bit of a to-do here earlier this morning,” I said to the proprietress.
