by Sara Rosett
Ella’s tone shifted from professional inquiry to sympathy. “Oh, Kate. I’m sorry this is lousing up your honeymoon. Inspector Quimby came and talked to me today, too. I thought that whole thing was cleared up.”
“It doesn’t seem to be, but you probably know more than I do,” I said, thinking of her boyfriend Lucas who was a constable in another village.
“Um—I mean, that’s what I heard,” Ella said. “About it being nearly wrapped up.”
“Really?” I asked.
“Yes.”
I waited and after few seconds, she said, “Okay, I don’t suppose it will hurt to tell you. Everyone in Hedgely knows it anyway. Lucas wouldn’t have told me otherwise.”
“I won’t say anything, except to Alex, of course.”
“I’d expect nothing less from newlyweds.” I could hear the smile in her voice.
“I’m putting you on speakerphone then,” I said.
“Okay. Well, it’s not much. Remember the woman at the wedding who made a fuss in the back corner of the room? Did you notice her?”
“Yes. She had long dark hair and was dressed in a jean jacket.”
Alex raised his eyebrows. “You noticed that from across the room?”
“She stood out. Everyone else was dressy,” I said to Alex, then angled the phone closer to me as I said to Ella, “You hustled her out quickly.”
“I happened to be on that side of the room and was able to get her out before she made a scene. I couldn’t understand everything she said, but I did catch few words. She was saying, ‘I knew it. I knew there was someone else.’ She was trembling and near tears. I got her out of there and calmed her down, but she wouldn’t say anything else. I told her she had to leave Parkview, that the wedding was a private event. I thought she might argue, but she went without a murmur. Of course, I had someone escort her off the grounds. I didn’t think a thing about it until this afternoon when Lucas called and said Inspector Quimby was on his way over to speak to me. They’d managed to figure out the identity of the guy who was killed.”
“Nick Davis,” I said.
“Yes. They’d found out he was staying in the inn and traced some of his movements. They knew he came to the reception and sat at the back. One of the waiters mentioned ‘the crazy crying girl,’ and since she had done her shrieking near the guy who died, they talked to Neal, who escorted her to the gates. Do you know Neal?”
“No, I don’t think so.” I’d met a lot of people at Parkview when we filmed there, but the estate employed too many people to know them all by name.
“You’d know him, if you’d met him. He’s not one to sit in silence, even for a few minutes. Big on finding out where people are from. He usually works the entry desk. You know that map on the wall with all the pins in it?” she asked, referring to a wall-size world map with the heading “The World Visits Parkview.” It bristled with push pins.
“Yes. I put a pin in southern California for me.”
“Neal takes care of the map, and he’s not one to let someone leave Parkview without hearing where they’re from. Once he got her talking, he found out she was from California and was staying in Hedgely while she was here. After the police interviewed Neal, they tracked her down. She’s still in Hedgely, and get this—she’s Nick’s fiancée. She followed him here because she was sure that he was cheating on her. Lucas interviewed the owner of the B&B where she’s staying. Apparently, she tried to find a room in Nether Woodsmoor, but couldn’t. Doug sent her over to Hedgely. Like I said, the word is out about her in Hedgely. She’s been stroppy ever since she arrived and hasn’t bothered to hide it.” I detected a trace of disapproval in Ella’s tone.
“Not keeping a stiff upper lip, then,” I said.
“Far from it,” Ella said. “No one in the police force actually came out and said that they think she…you know…did it, but she was engaged to him. I got the feeling that they were concentrating on her. She’s their main suspect, I guess.”
“Thanks for telling us, Ella.” At least my parents weren’t the only people Quimby was talking to. “Do you happen to know what her name is?”
“Let me think…I’m sure I heard someone—either Neal or someone else—mention it. It was a name related to plants, I remember that. Maybe Ivy or Willow? Oh, wait—Fern! That was it. Fern.”
“But what do the police think happened?” Alex asked. “You said Fern was escorted off the grounds. Did she come back later? And how did she and Nick end up in the maze?”
All good questions that I hadn’t thought of. I hadn’t gotten past feeling relieved that the police had another suspect in view besides my mom.
“You know how wide open Parkview is,” Ella said. “Fern could have come back later and parked down the road. It’s not that far to walk in.”
“We considered it earlier,” I said more to Alex than Ella, and he nodded.
Ella must not have heard because she went on. “I have no idea about how the maze fits into it. Maybe he agreed to meet her there or something. Maybe she snuck back in and followed him. Maybe he got lost again. I went back to the estate office to get a sweater after the speeches and found him wandering the halls.”
“That’s a long way from the conservatory,” Alex said.
“Happens all the time with tourists,” Ella said. “They lag behind the group and get turned around. The corridors and staircases can get pretty confusing. He said he’d left to go to the loo and taken a wrong turn.” Her voice changed, becoming brisk. “But you’re newlyweds. Don’t worry about it. The police will sort it out. You go enjoy your honeymoon at your cute little cottage.”
“Does everyone know we’re staying in Cart Cottage?” I asked after I ended the call.
“Looks that way,” Alex said. “Nether Woodsmoor is just like Hedgely when it comes to secrets. It’s hard to keep anything quiet here.”
“And yet no one seems to know what Nick was doing here, or why he wanted to go to the wedding.”
CHAPTER 12
“T hat’s a good one,” Alex said.
I made a humming noise of agreement, selected the photo, and swiped to the next one. It was late Monday morning, and we were at the White Duck seated at a tall round table, studying my phone. Louise’s newest hire, Shannon, had already whisked away our empty breakfast plates, but we were lingering over our coffee. Normally, the pub was only open in the afternoon, but Louise had been experimenting with opening for breakfast during Nether Woodsmoor’s busiest season. Now that it was September, things were slowing down. Parkview was now only open for weekend tours, and I supposed by the time we returned from our honeymoon—if we got to go—Louise would have switched back to normal hours at the pub. I’d have to go back to making my second cup of coffee myself.
“Really like the giraffe in that one,” Alex said.
“Um-hmm.” I selected the photo and swiped to the next one. “Wait.” I went back to the photo. “Did you say giraffe?”
“Just checking to see if you’re paying attention.”
I put my phone down and reached for my coffee. “Sorry.” I shook my head. “I can’t concentrate on wedding photos this morning.” The photographer had sent the digital proofs, but I was having a hard time narrowing down the images from the hundreds she’d sent.
Last night, we’d picked up Chinese food then gone back to Cart Cottage where we’d eaten in front of the fire. Ella’s phone call had given me some reassurance that the police would arrest Nick’s murderer soon—and it wouldn’t involve my mother—so I was able to put the whole thing out of my mind and have a nice evening with Alex, but this morning all my worries had returned. “I keep wondering what Quimby is doing. Do you think he’s made an arrest?”
Alex took a sip of his coffee. “I think we’d know if he had. It wouldn’t take long for the word to get around.”
“You’re right.”
Shannon paused at our table. “More coffee?”
“No, I’m too edgy,” I said.
“So have you heard the
news from Parkview?”
I sat up. “No. What?”
“They’ve found that guy’s wallet, the dead guy’s. It was blocking one of the drains from the lake—you know they use the water from the lake for the other fountains and things, right? It’s incredible what they were able to do so long ago.”
“Yes,” I said. “We’ve done the tour.” Parkview’s water features were an intricate connected system. Water pumped from the lake, which was at a higher level, powered several of the fountains in the gardens. I knew the groundskeepers were winterizing the system and many of the fountains had already been shut down like the one at the center of the maze, but several in the gardens around the house were still working.
“They found a mobile, too. It wasn’t with the wallet, but it was in the same part of the lake. Raked it right out, Gabe said. He’s a groundskeeper. He stopped in here after going to the church hall to sign his statement. Whoever did in the poor murdered bloke tossed his mobile and wallet in the lake, but didn’t realize it was so near one of the drains. And the wallet was full of cash and credit cards. Must have chucked it in the lake without even looking inside.”
“Yes, they must have.” My heart sank as the last hope of the police closing the case quickly disappeared. I’d wanted to hear through the village grapevine this morning that Nick Davis had died in a botched robbery, that Mom’s journal was irrelevant, and that the feather from her hat found at the crime scene had been a bizarre coincidence. Or, that if it was murder, then the fiancée had done it and was under arrest.
Alex must have been tracking along the same distressing thoughts because he looked as somber as I felt. But Shannon had shifted to talking about Alex’s greyhound, Slink, and I could tell Alex made an effort to put his worries aside and focus on what she was saying. I tried to do the same thing.
Louise and I had both taken care of Slink in the past when Alex had to go out of town, but Louise was extra busy with the longer hours at the pub. She had mentioned that Shannon was always working odd jobs to earn some more money, so we’d asked her to watch Slink. Since Alex and I had both stayed in Parkview the night before the wedding, Shannon had taken Slink home with her that day, saying she’d keep her for us until we returned from Venice. “She’ll settle better if she’s not going back and forth,” Shannon had said, and Alex had agreed.
Shannon said, “Slink is such a good dog. I took her to the green last night and threw the tennis ball for her, like you said to do. I can’t believe how fast she is. She’s like a blur when she lets loose.” I was glad to see Shannon looking so relaxed and happy. I knew that Louise had some trouble training Shannon, but hadn’t wanted to let her go.
“Butterfingers,” I remembered Louise had said, her tone exasperated. “She’s broken three glasses and two plates, but she’s got nowhere else to go, poor lamb.” Louise had sighed. “Dad’s done a bunk. There’s some trouble there. Something shady, I think, so it’s probably best he’s gone, but her mom is scatty and can’t seem to hold a job.”
Fortunately, Shannon hadn’t broken much more of “the crockery” as Louise called it, and had settled down, growing more self-assured as the days went by. She was extremely fair and had a long thin nose and small dark eyes. The fact that she parted her fine pale blond hair in the center of her head and pulled it back into a long braid only increased her resemblance to a mouse, but over the last few months she’s gained confidence and looked less like a mouse hungry for a bit of cheese. Now she smiled at regular customers and easily carried trays stacked with dishes, confidently stepping through the tables.
Shannon said, “Don’t worry about Slink. She’s such a sweetheart. She’s adjusted to my house, no problem. I love having her around. When do you leave for your trip?”
Alex and I exchanged a glance. “Tuesday afternoon,” I said in a tone that masked my uncertainty about leaving Nether Woodsmoor. With the investigation going on would we even be allowed to go?
I felt a presence behind me as Shannon looked over my shoulder and said, “Oh, hello, Mr. Sharp. Can I bring you something?”
“Ah—yes. Coffee, black,” Dad said in a preoccupied way then looked after Shannon as she departed.
He asked, “Does everyone in this place know who I am?”
“Pretty much,” I said. “It’s a small village. Visitors stand out. Shannon probably recognized you because you were in here the night before the wedding.”
“Right. Right,” Dad said. “Then why does no one remember that kid, Nick?” He spoke more to himself than to us.
I patted the table. “Sit down with us, Dad. What do you mean?” I asked as Alex dragged over another chair.
Dad hitched himself onto the tall chair. “I’ve been asking around about this Mr. Nick Davis. No one remembers him. The only person who I could actually pin down who definitely recalled talking to Nick was the squat guy who looks like a bodybuilder.”
“That would be Doug, the owner of the inn,” Alex said.
“Right. He said he remembered the young man checking into the inn, but beyond that strange haircut, he couldn’t describe him. Said he saw the guy once, and only for a minute or two.” Shannon brought his cup of coffee. Dad waited until she’d moved away, then he leaned over the table.
“What I want to know is why Nick Davis was keeping to himself. What was he up to?”
“Why were you asking about Nick?” I asked. I hadn’t wanted to disturb Dad last night, but I probably should have called him after I talked to Ella to let him know the police had suspects other than Mom.
“The police inspector came to see me again this morning. He wanted to know what size shoe I wear.”
“That doesn’t sound good,” I murmured, then asked, “Did he tell you why?”
“No, but I have a pretty good idea.” He took a slug of his coffee then continued. “I told him size ten, and he looked over at the guy who came with him—a junior officer of some sort. That guy looked up something online. He nodded and said, ‘The converted size matches, sir.’”
“They converted your shoe size from an American measurement to a UK measurement,” I said slowly, and my large breakfast suddenly wasn’t settling so well. “The only reason to do that would be…”
“Because they’re looking for a man who was at the crime scene,” Dad finished, his tone grim. “And if the look those two men exchanged this morning means what I think it means…then they’re pretty sure they found the guy.” He pointed his thumb at his chest. “Me. They think it was me.”
“But that’s—crazy. Why would they think that?” I asked.
“Because they think your mother was there,” Dad said. “I’ve already admitted that I butted in when the guy was giving her problems the night before the wedding. I’m the first person they think of when they ask themselves who would help your mother.”
I rubbed my temples. “You’re saying that the police are trying to link both of you to the murder?”
“They’re operating on the assumption that your mother was out there at the Greek temple thing with Nick Davis. I’m sure their thinking runs something like this: Ava is traveling in a foreign country and runs into trouble. Who is she going to ask for help? Not her daughter, the bride. And not her new son-in-law either. Especially not on their wedding night. No, she’d go to the one person she could. She’d hate to ask anything of me, but if she had no one else…well, it wouldn’t matter would it? She’d come to me.”
“On second thought, I think I need more coffee.” I signaled Shannon. “Did you say something about the folly? That’s not where the body was found.”
“No, but I think that’s where the murder happened. I went out there this morning after the Inspector left. He took my shoes with him, by the way. I took a look around the maze and the folly, as you called it.”
“Inspector Quimby took your shoes?” My stomach churned.
“Sealed up tight in an evidence bag, just like on a crime show. Now, don’t look so worried, Katie. I haven’t been out in the gardens or
even over that hill until this morning, so once they figure that out, it will all be fine.”
Dad hadn’t called me Katie in years, and I knew he was trying to make me feel better, but I couldn’t ignore what he’d told us. “But that could take weeks,” I said. “It’s not like on television when they get the results back the same day.”
“Everything at the maze is cleaned up now.” Dad went on with his train of thought. “The police have taken away all their crime tape, but it’s obvious from the trampled grass which area they were most interested in—and that’s the area around the folly. The section right around the stairs, in particular. I’m not an expert on cleaning, but even I could see that someone had given the steps on the folly a serious scrubbing. The treads are a pale white stone. One section was much lighter than the rest. I chatted with the girl who brought my coffee this morning at Parkview. She’s dating one of the groundskeepers, and he said that someone had been dispatched early this morning with thick gloves and plenty of bleach to clean several drops of blood off the steps.” He smiled briefly. “So I suppose this tight-knit community thing where everyone knows everyone else’s business has its advantages.”
“It can come in handy,” Alex said.
“I found one other thing out there by the folly.” He gave the word folly an exaggerated flourish. He took out his phone then began tapping and sliding his finger across the screen.
“A smartphone, Dad?” My dad was not a fan of innovation. I could remember him complaining about Facebook. He’d said, “Virtual friendship—what is that? I’ll tell you what it is. It’s an oxymoron. How can you be friends through a computer screen?”
He spoke with his attention still fixed on the screen. “I know. It’s a sad sign when a Luddite like me gives in.” His voice turned regretful. “I had to do it. Too much happens online now for me not to be ‘connected,’ as they say. But it turns out that I’m quite the social media whiz. You should check out the bookshop’s Instagram feed. Oh, here it is.” He turned the phone toward Alex and me. “I found that, too.”
