Death at an English Wedding (Murder on Location Book 7)

by Sara Rosett

Louise said to her, “Kate’s here, luv. Tell her what’s bothering you.”

  Shannon’s fingernails were jagged, and her cuticles looked raw. She closed her fingers into a fist, hiding her bitten nails and looked at me with wide eyes. Louise closed the door behind us. I looked around for a place to sit. Since Shannon was huddled in the chair behind Louise’s desk—the only seat—I perched on the edge of the desk. As Alex and I had walked into the pub a few minutes earlier, Alex’s phone had rung with a call from Grace. He’d dropped back to take it, waving for me to go ahead without him.

  “What’s wrong, Shannon?” I hoped it wouldn’t be too long before Alex poked his head into the room and checked on us. His soothing attitude would go a long way to calming Shannon. She blinked her swollen eyelids and sniffed. Beyond the obvious signs of tears, her attitude had changed too. She looked like she had when she first came to work for Louise, frightened and worried.

  “No one will believe me.” Her hand strayed back to her mouth, but then she quickly crossed her arms over her abdomen in a defensive posture. “They won’t believe me. They won’t. I can’t go to the police. They’ll think that I was in on it somehow. They twist your words and try to prove things that aren’t true—that’s what Dad said.”

  I tried to sort out her rambling statements and failed. “I’m a bit confused. Why don’t you start with what upset you. It happened today?”

  She unclasped one skinny arm and nudged a newspaper on the desk. “I saw that.”

  It was the new issue of the local weekly paper, which was a thin stack of newsprint pages, folded in half, tabloid style. Usually the local “news” consisted of updates about events like garden shows or the schedule for the Guy Fawkes fireworks display. The announcement of an independent cheesemaker leasing a shop on the high street was considered hard news, but this issue, the first since Nick’s death, carried a grainy image of Nick Davis along with the headline, American Killed While on Holiday. “And it upset you?” I asked, feeling my way.

  She nodded. “I didn’t know it was him until today. All I’d heard was that a man had been killed. I’d heard the name, but didn’t realize…” She sniffled and squeezed her locked arms tighter around her waist.

  “So you saw his picture, and it shocked you?” When Louise walked me back to the office, she’d said that Shannon dropped a tray of dishes and hadn’t been coherent since then. In a small village like Nether Woodsmoor, it would be possible to not see a photo of the man who was killed. Everyone would know about the death of course, but if it rated a mention on the television news at all, it would only be in passing. The headlines of news broadcasts were focused on the bigger cities. And I doubted that Shannon, who was in her early twenties, got her news from the local nightly newscasts anyway. If the man’s face had shown up on Facebook or some other social media outlet, then she might have seen it.

  “Yes, I had no idea that it was Nicolas.”

  “Nicolas?”

  “That’s what he said his name was, not Nick, like it says in the article.”

  “So you knew him as Nicolas?”

  She nodded a confirmation. “Yes, just Nicolas. I never knew his last name.”

  “How did you meet him? Was it in the pub last week?”

  “No, it was during the summer.”

  I felt my eyebrows rise in surprise as I said, “Nick—I mean Nicolas—was here, in Nether Woodsmoor, during the summer?” If he was, that was an interesting new angle. We’d thought that this was Nick’s first visit to Nether Woodsmoor. If he’d been here before, it opened up all sorts of questions. Did he know anyone in the village other than Shannon? Was he returning to visit someone this time?

  “Yes.”

  “You’re sure it was him?” I tapped the photo in the newspaper.

  “I’m positive. His hair was a little shorter than it is in the picture, but it’s him. It’s Nicolas.”

  “Okay. How did you meet him?”

  “It was when I was helping out at Parkview in August. I worked there for extra hours. It’s their busy time, you know. Mornings, I worked here at the pub, then I went over to Parkview in the afternoon. I helped in the estate office, answering calls and filing papers.”

  I nodded. It wasn’t surprising that Shannon had taken on extra work at Parkview during the summer. Most people in the village had some sort of tie to the stately home. Either they worked there themselves, or they had a relative or friend who worked there. It was the largest employer in the area.

  “One day, I was leaving the estate office and this guy was wandering around, lost. He’d gotten separated from his tour. I helped him find the group, but the tour was over. They were in the gift shop. He offered to buy me a cup of tea.”

  Nick and his cups of coffee and tea, I thought. He must have used the line a lot. And hadn’t Ella said that Nick had told her he was lost on the night of the wedding? His pattern of behavior—lying and getting lost—didn’t seem to vary. “What was he like?”

  “He was nice.” Shannon had relaxed a little. She’d uncrossed her arms and now sat less stiffly. “He said he was here doing research for a book.”

  “Of course he did.”

  “What?”

  “Never mind. What else did he say?”

  “His research was all about…um…what was it? The economics of the country home in modern times, I think. Something like that, anyway. He was interested in Parkview. How it was set up, what it was like to work there, that sort of thing.”

  I swung a foot as I balanced on the desk. “Can you remember what sorts of questions he asked? Anything specific?”

  “Well, he wanted to know how long Parkview was open. How big the crowds are. When the busy time of the year was. How many people were on staff. What my job was like. Stuff like that.”

  “Couldn’t he find some of that out online?” I asked.

  “That’s what I told him. I said he should set up an interview with someone like Mr. Stewart or maybe even Beatrice. They could tell him so much more than I could, but he said that he’d wait on that. Right then he wanted an insider look, the perspective of an average employee.”

  I made a murmuring sound of encouragement to keep her talking, but as a part-time temporary hire, Shannon was hardly a typical employee.

  “He was interested in everything, really. He had lots of questions about the estate office, and how it worked, and everyone who worked there.”

  “So he asked detailed questions about the office?”

  “Yes, he even wanted to know if we got breaks and what we did on them. If we could eat in the restaurant or bring in our own food, and if we ever had to work overtime. What our schedules were like, did anyone have to do shift work—that sort of thing.”

  “That seems sort of odd for a book on country homes.”

  “He said he wasn’t sure what would go in the book and what would be left out, so he wanted as much information as he could get to start with. He said you never know what will be valuable.”

  I made another murmuring noise, wondering what Nick’s game had been.

  “He even got my email and phone number. For follow-up questions, he said, but I never heard from him again. And then when I saw his picture in the paper and realized he was the dead bloke in the maze—I panicked, I guess. I don’t want anything to do with the police. Dad always says they make a mush of everything and try to confuse you and take what you say and twist it—”

  “Shannon, calm down.” I put a hand on her shoulder. She’d shifted back to nervous and edgy, her voice rising with each phrase. “It’s going to be okay. I know Inspector Quimby. You can trust him. He’ll want to hear what you told me—”

  “But he might think I did it. Why else would I have kept quiet until now—days after Nicolas was killed? He’ll think I was involved somehow, I know it.”

  Her voice was creeping up again so I said sharply, “Where were you on Saturday night? Late, like between ten and midnight?”

  She frowned, and I could tell she was mentally runni
ng back through the days. “At home with my mum,” she finally said.

  “So she can vouch for you, that you were home all evening?”

  “Yes. We started watching a show, and it rolled into the next episode when one finished. I think we watched about four. It was one in the morning before we finally turned it off.”

  “Then you’re fine. You weren’t anywhere near the maze when the murder happened. You can tell the inspector what happened and not worry. I promise it will be okay. Inspector Quimby is a good guy. He’s smart and thorough and will treat you right.”

  “Okay…but only if you stay with me. Will you do that?”

  “Yes, I’ll stay if the inspector will let me, but he might want to talk to you by yourself.”

  She breathed a little easier. “I’ll insist.”

  I sent Quimby a text with the news that Shannon had met Nick earlier this summer.

  He texted back. Yes, we know he was in the area at that time. Keep her there. I’ll be there shortly.

  With their ability to gather information, I should have realized that the police would already know about Nick’s earlier visit to Nether Woodsmoor. They had probably already checked his flights, his credit cards, and his phone records.

  Quimby arrived about fifteen minutes later, his face serious and manner solemn. Shannon was still seated behind Louise’s desk, but she looked more composed than she had earlier. Louise had insisted she have a cup of tea and a scone. For any sort of problem, food and a cup of tea were always part of the solution according to Louise.

  I introduced Quimby to Shannon, glad that she looked more like her usual self. Quimby nodded his thanks to me and indicated I should leave.

  “Can’t Kate stay?” Shannon asked.

  “I’m afraid not,” Quimby said in a tone that left no room for pleading. “There’s nothing to worry about,” he said to Shannon, his tone softening. “I only want to hear about what you know about Nick Davis. Anything you can tell us will be a help.” Louise had added an extra cup to the tea tray, and Quimby poured himself a cup then held the teapot out to Shannon. “More tea?”

  “Ah—sure.”

  “It won’t take more than a few minutes, and then you’ll be on your way,” Quimby said as he poured. He reached for his cup, then settled down across the desk from Shannon, using a stack of boxes as a makeshift chair. “We’ll chat for a few minutes. What you have to tell us could be extremely valuable.” His tone indicated it was a conversation, not an interrogation. Shannon looked reassured, and I closed the door.

  I returned to the pub and spotted Alex. “How’s Grace? I hope they have better weather than this.” I slid into the chair beside him and glanced outside. The gray clouds still lingered, but the rain had tapered off to a drizzle, spotting the windows.

  “It’s clear where they are, but I think she’d have a great time even in a downpour. She’s riding every roller coaster she can find, and she’s seen all the shows—all the shows, Dad emphasized. He said he hasn’t had such a rigorous schedule since the prime minister came to visit Chile. I ordered lunch for us. Sandwich sound good?”

  “Delicious.”

  Ella came into the pub and hurried across to us. Droplets of water dotted her hair, and the shoulders of her long-sleeved pink oxford were saturated. “What’s wrong?” I asked as Alex pulled out a chair for her, but she didn’t sit down.

  “Where is Inspector Quimby? They said he was here.”

  “He’s in Louise’s office, but he’ll be out soon. What’s wrong, Ella? Why don’t you sit down?” She looked like she might fall down, if she didn’t sit soon. I’d never noticed that she had freckles, but a few stood out bright against her washed-out skin. She held a folder in the crook of her arm, her knuckles white where she gripped the edge of it.

  She looked at the back of the pub. “I really should talk to him right away.”

  “I promise you, he doesn’t want to be interrupted. He’s interviewing someone.”

  “Oh. Okay.” She perched on the edge of the chair. She kept the folder clasped tightly to her chest and looked like she was ready to leap up the moment Quimby appeared. Louise stopped at the table. “Ella, you look shell-shocked. Can I bring you something?”

  Ella glanced around as if she’d forgotten she was inside the pub, but she knew Louise well enough not to turn down her offer. “Tea, I suppose.” Her tone indicated that the kind of beverage didn’t matter at all.

  Louise gave her a concerned look, then shifted her glance to Alex and me, clearly indicating we should sort out what was bothering Ella.

  “What’s wrong, Ella?” I asked again, and this time instead of ignoring me, she blinked quickly. “Malcolm was poisoned.”

  CHAPTER 18

  “P oisoned?” I asked. “How do you know? Are you sure?”

  She nodded, her fingers flexing tighter around the folder. “The hospital called. Malcolm doesn’t have anyone—no relatives, so they called Parkview to ask some questions and give us a report. Of course, with Beatrice still gone, I said I’d take it since I work with him all the time. The hospital said they’re still sorting out what exactly it was.” Her fingers trembled as she used her free hand to brush her hair behind her ear. “I feel terrible now.” She lowered her voice. “You know what he’s like. So difficult. There were days that I actually thought it would be nice if he’d just go away. But to think of him now in the hospital, all alone…It must be awful for him. Who would do something like that?”

  Alex and I exchanged a silent glance. It had to be related to Nick’s death. I’m sure my face looked as troubled as Alex’s. He twisted around and called to Louise, “Ella needs something stronger with that tea. She’s had a shock.”

  “Let’s not jump to conclusions,” I said to Ella.

  “Right,” Alex said. “Are they sure it wasn’t food poisoning?”

  “No, something about his reaction. They said it was more likely he was poisoned.”

  She looked so distressed. “Then maybe it was just a mistake,” I said in an effort to soothe her. “Did Malcolm take any medicine? Maybe he mixed up some tablets or something.”

  Ella shook her head so adamantly that her hair whipped around. “No. That’s something they asked about before they took him away in the ambulance. I’ve never seen him take any prescriptions. He makes a point of living clean, and he makes sure everyone knows about it. You saw his smoothies. Everything has to be organic, pure, no additives, no preservatives. I thought he was off his head, but he always makes a big deal about all-natural ingredients being better. He won’t even take an aspirin. He says a glass of water—filtered, of course—can cure most headaches.”

  “I’m glad this subject didn’t come up when my mother was around him,” I said. She would have had a thing or two to tell him about migraines.

  Louise arrived with tea as well as a glass with a little brandy, which she commanded Ella to drink first. She did and made a face after she swallowed. “Hand me that tea,” she said hoarsely between coughs. “I definitely need it now.” She swallowed a few sips, and her shoulders relaxed an inch.

  When she recovered her equilibrium, Ella said, “They know it was some sort of poison. Something to do with his symptoms.”

  Alex took out his phone and began to type as Ella added, “I don’t know how they’ll ever trace it, if it was in his food at lunch. The dishes are washed and put away. Any leftover food has been disposed of in the garbage. It’s all in one big…well, pile.” She took a longer sip of her tea. “I’m so thankful no one else got sick.”

  I wasn’t listening to Ella at that point. I was stuck on the thought of who Malcolm’s lunch companion had been. I reached for my phone and dialed Mom’s number. I listened to it ring with a sinking feeling, telling myself that she didn’t like to answer her phone and that she usually ignored it or had it turned off. I was about to hang up when the ringing stopped, and a voice said, “Kate, why are you calling me? I’m in the middle of paying for the cutest pair of shoes.”

 
I leaned back in my chair and tilted the phone to speak to Alex, who had looked up from his phone to watch me. “She’s exactly the same as she always is.” I shifted back to speaking into the phone. “I’m just checking on you. How are you feeling?”

  “Fine. I told you the migraine is gone.”

  “I remember, but nothing else is bothering you?”

  Alex consulted his phone and said in a low voice, “I think I found it. Digitalis—signs of overdose…irregular pulse, vision changes, loss of consciousness.”

  “Any heart flutters or trouble seeing?”

  “Kate, hold on,” Mom said, her voice impatient.

  I tilted the phone away from my mouth and said to Alex, “What does it say about vision changes?”

  “It doesn’t give any details.”

  “Well, maybe that explains what Malcolm was saying. Maybe he saw flashes or something. I thought he was confused, but he said the word shiny and then later something about a man with a hawk.”

  Ella tilted her head. “It couldn’t have been Guy Fawkes, that he said, could it?”

  “Oh—the fireworks. Yes…it could have. His words weren’t clear, but…yes, I think that might have been what he said. Maybe he was seeing flashes of lights and it made him think of the fireworks display.”

  Mom’s voice came back on the line “Okay, Kate. What did you ask?”

  I repeated my questions.

  “No. Why do you ask? I’m feeling fine. Well, a tad worried about how I’ll get these shoes in my suitcase, but I can always mail them—”

  “Dizziness?” I persisted.

  “No, Kate. It’s so rude to interrupt people, you know.”

  “Are you seeing flashes of light or brightness?”

  “On a dreary day like today? Of course not.”

  I whispered to Alex, “Does it say how long before symptoms start?”

  “Immediately, it looks like.”

  “Kate,” Mom said in my ear. “What is this about?”

  “It’s bad news about Malcolm Stewart. He was…” I hesitated then decided there wasn’t an innocuous way to say it. “He was poisoned. Since you had lunch with him, I wanted to make sure you were okay.”