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

by Sara Rosett

  The wooden floors squeaked with Albertson’s heavy tread. “Your mum is with Quimby in the offices in the back. He said no one else is allowed in,” he added.

  “Oh.” I shot a worried glance at Alex. Who knew what Mom would say?

  “It’s about Malcolm, isn’t it?” I asked. Albertson knew Alex and me, and I hoped our past interactions gave us a little credit with him. He might feel comfortable talking about the investigation with us. “Can you tell us anything about what’s going on?”

  “We’re not treating it as accidental.”

  “Oh,” I said, again, feeling as if half the air had been sucked out of my lungs. That was not a good answer for my mom. Alex reached for my hand, and I was glad to feel the warmth of his fingers. He asked, “How is Malcolm? Do you know?”

  “Expected to recover. He may be able to leave the hospital tomorrow.”

  “Was Malcolm able to tell you anything else?” I asked. “After he had lunch with my mom, did he do anything else? See anyone else? Have a cup of tea, maybe?”

  “I’m afraid not,” Albertson said. “He said he met you in the entry hall immediately after he left the conservatory.” Food was usually served either on the terrace with the view of the gardens or indoors in the conservatory. On soggy days like today, the food service moved completely inside in the conservatory.

  My face must have shown my worry because Albertson said, “Your mum isn’t the only person who was near Mr. Stewart’s table at lunch. We’re tracking down several other people. That’s all I can say, but you can probably hold off on a call to the solicitors.”

  The mention of lawyers made me feel even worse as I thought of my mother entangled in the British legal system.

  “That’s good to know,” Alex said, filling the gap in the conversation. “At least you have the security cameras from Parkview. You should be able to tell exactly what happened, right?”

  Albertson shook his head, his craggy face shifting into dissatisfied lines. “The conservatory is too large. They weren’t worried about theft in there. At Parkview, they put their money into monitoring the rooms and hallways with the high-end valuables.”

  “I suppose the urns and the massive statues would be hard to cart out of there discretely,” Alex said.

  Albertson gave a small grin. “Exactly. Only one camera covers the entire room. It’s behind Mr. Stewart and at the other end of the room. It isn’t powerful enough to record small details. We can only see the big picture.”

  “I’d forgotten about the cameras.” A frisson of excitement went through me as my thoughts turned back to Nick. “You should be able to use the camera footage to trace Nick’s movements on the night he died. You can tell exactly who he talked to and where he went, even who went outside, right?”

  Albertson shook his head. “The tech is good, but not that good. We’ve been able to confirm his presence at one of the back tables for most of the event, except for a short period when he went to the loo then got lost on his way back. He wandered around the halls, stepped into a few rooms, but didn’t meet anyone until an employee directed him back to the conservatory. The outdoor cameras only monitor the area immediately around Parkview. We know he walked a young lady to her car. She was the last person to see him, apparently,” Albertson said. “Don’t spread that around. I know I can trust you to keep those details to yourself. And I know you two are always in the thick of things. Have you happened to run across anything we should know about?”

  “Not about Malcolm,” I said, “but I did hear that Nick may have been into drugs—marijuana.”

  Albertson ran his hand down either side of his mouth as he nodded. “Heard that from the folks at the inn, but we’ve seen no evidence of it.”

  “Really? I thought you would have found some trace of it in his suitcase or his car.”

  A man across the room caught Albertson’s attention and waved. He said hurriedly as he began to move away, “Nothing like that in his belongings, and Davis used the bus to get around the village.”

  My mother’s voice carried across the room. “See, I told you it was nothing to worry about.” Several heads popped up and watched my mom as she crossed the room, her umbrella tapping out a counterpoint to her steps. She reached us and lowered her voice. “It was about poor Malcolm. Such a shame. You never can tell, even at nice places. You have to be so careful. That’s why I never have chicken or tuna salad, which is a shame because I do like a good chicken salad.”

  “Malcolm didn’t eat something that disagreed with him. He was poisoned. I told you that earlier on the phone,” I said.

  “Yes, I know, dear. So unfortunate for him. I’m only saying that it’s a good idea to avoid certain things. They tend to spoil.”

  “Mom, that has nothing to do with—”

  “Let’s get out of here,” Alex said, moving us toward the door and ending that conversation, a wise move on his part, I realized as I blew out a breath.

  While we’d been inside the church hall, the storm had cleared out, leaving the sky a pearly blend of pink and orange as the sun dipped to the horizon. The streets were still damp from the rain, and the grass of the village green looked more vibrantly emerald than usual.

  “Mom, I don’t think you understand the seriousness of the situation with Malcolm.”

  “I understand it perfectly, Kate. Malcolm obviously crossed someone he shouldn’t have—probably the same person who killed Nick. It’s frightening to think about it. Who knew a little English village like this could contain so much violence—a knifing and a poisoning. The ladies at bridge will never believe me when I tell them about it.”

  “Mom, did it occur to you that Inspector Quimby might find it suspicious that you were with Malcolm right before he was poisoned?”

  “Why should that matter?”

  “He didn’t act as if he suspected you might have something to do with it?”

  “Me? What would I—oh, Kate. There you go again speculating and getting yourself all worked up. He only had a few questions for me. He wanted my help.”

  I turned away in frustration. I knew from long experience that I wouldn’t be able to change her mind. Once Mom was set on an opinion, she didn’t budge. Alex raised his eyebrows, conveying do you want me to give it a shot?

  I shook my head and muttered under my breath, “It’s no use. It’s just wasted energy. She’ll never believe us.” Mom would go on in her own way, and I might as well give up trying to convince her she might be in danger either as a target of the murderer or as a person of interest in the investigation.

  A double-decker bus pulled away from the village’s bus stop, revealing Dad juggling several books and his phone. His head was down as he concentrated on his phone, but as soon as I called out to him from across the street, he looked up. He smiled and put away his phone as he trotted across the zebra crossing on the street, making it just before the light changed. “Hello, Kate. Alex.”

  I could tell from his upbeat tone that either he’d found more books, or he had some other news to share. He gave Mom a wary nod. “Ava.”

  “Oliver.” She matched his reserve.

  “Looks like it was a good shopping trip,” I said to Dad in an effort to gloss over the tension between my parents.

  “What?”

  I pointed to the bundle he held. “The books.”

  “Oh, right.” He looked at the stack as if he’d forgotten about them. “Yes, they had an impressive selection,” he said quickly, as if it didn’t matter. “I found out a few things about Nick. After I spoke to you—”

  Alex cleared his throat and indicated something behind us.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” Quimby said as he strode up, his unbelted brown trench coat flapping with his swift pace. He stopped beside Mom. “One more thing, Mrs. Sharp. Please do not leave Nether Woodsmoor.”

  Mom stared at him a moment. “But that’s not possible. I have an overnight trip to London scheduled for tomorrow.”

  Quimby’s phone began to ring. “I’m afr
aid you have no choice. You’ll have to reschedule. ”

  “But—”

  “Sorry. No exceptions.” He pressed his phone to his ear and walked back to the church hall, his raincoat beating against his legs.

  “It’s an all-day tour…” Mom called, but Quimby didn’t turn back. She switched her attention to me. “He can’t do that. He’s treating me like some sort of criminal, telling me where I can and can’t go. It’s outrageous. I’ll complain to…someone—someone at Parkview. They can set him straight.”

  “I’m afraid Quimby can do that,” I said. “You were with Malcolm right before he was poisoned. I think you’re actually lucky he let you leave after he questioned you. Did he ask for your passport?”

  “No! That would be absurd,” she said, but for the first time, I saw a shade of worry in her expression.

  Dad rocked on his heels. “A poisoning. That’s interesting.”

  “It’s not interesting,” Mom snapped. “It’s tragic.”

  I refrained from pointing out that she only thought it was tragic after it affected her plans. Dad looked at his watch. “It’s late. Has anyone eaten? If not, let’s go somewhere, and I can tell you what I learned. Any good Indian places here? I want to try an authentic British Indian curry.”

  I glanced at Alex for his agreement that Indian food was okay with him then said, “Up the street and around the corner.”

  As we set off, Dad turned and called over his shoulder, “We’ll be around the corner. Indian place.”

  The light still hadn’t changed. The man who had sat so quietly not reading his newspaper in the pub this morning waited on the other side of the street with the rest of the bus passengers. When he realized Dad was speaking to him, he looked irked.

  CHAPTER 21

  “M e! Of all people,” Mom said. “The thought that I would poison someone…have you ever heard anything so absurd?”

  Dad murmured something under his breath, and Alex coughed hastily into his napkin. Mom ignored them both, but sent me a glance that clearly said, men! Then she continued, “I don’t see why it matters that I had lunch with Malcolm.” She pushed her half-full plate of Tandoori chicken away.

  Mrs. Sandara brought us more naan. When we arrived she had been delighted to escort our group to a secluded table. At a word from Alex, she’d seated Dad’s watchdog at a table near the front window on the opposite side of the room where he could barely see us. Dad had nodded his approval. While we waited for our food, Alex and I recapped our day, describing what we’d learned from Sylvia, Shannon, and Ella.

  I reached for a piece of bread. “We’ve been over this Mom. You were the last person to be around Malcolm before he collapsed. It looks suspicious. And that’s not even mentioning the feather at the crime scene.”

  “The whole situation is idiotic. I can’t believe that the inspector thinks I could stab someone. If I were going to kill someone, I’d find a better way to do it.”

  “Like poison?” Dad asked with a mischievous sparkle in his eye.

  “Dad.”

  “Just a little joke to lighten the tension. I know you didn’t do anything of the sort, Ava. That’s why I asked around today about Nick. The police are obviously on the wrong track.”

  Mom shifted forward in her chair. “Speaking of asking around, why are you and Alex spending all your time running around asking people questions? Your father…well, he always did have rather odd interests so I’ll let his activities go, but you two—you’re on your honeymoon. You should be doing—er—honeymoon things.”

  “Mom, the police think either you—or you and Dad together—are good possibilities as prime suspects for Nick’s murder.”

  “That’s unbelievable. They can’t really think—”

  I tilted my head at the man at the front table. “Mr. Five-O’clock Shadow has followed Dad all day, and you’ve been questioned—twice. Then Inspector Quimby told you not to leave the village. The police don’t do things like that on a whim.”

  “But that’s…it’s your honeymoon. You’re taking time to do that…for me?”

  “Yes,” I said, surprised at her stunned expression. “For both you and Dad. You can’t expect Alex and me to ignore Nick’s death and jet off to Venice, leaving you and Dad at the center of the investigation. In fact, I don’t know if they’d even let us leave at this point.”

  Dad pointed his fork at Mom’s chicken. “Are you done with that?”

  “I don’t have an appetite anymore,” she said, and I could see she realized the seriousness of the situation for the first time.

  Dad picked up the plate and transferred the chicken to his empty plate. “No use letting good food go to waste, even if you are upset.”

  Mom looked away from the pile of food. We fell silent as the waiter refilled our water glasses. Once the server departed, Mom took a long sip of water, then set it down and squared her shoulders. “I’m not sure talking to people will make any difference, but I know that I wasn’t the only person near Malcolm’s food today. Several people came to our table—a waiter to take our order, and then a different person actually served us our food. A different girl refilled our drinks. I told the inspector all of that.”

  “Quimby will check out everyone,” Alex said.

  “But does he know about that organist person? What was her name?” Mom looked at me.

  “Sylvia? Sylvia was there?”

  “A beautiful young woman with golden hair and a stunning figure, right?” At my nod, Mom said, “She came to ask Malcolm a question about a wedding that’s scheduled for next week.”

  “Did she join you? Eat with you?” I asked.

  “No, she apologized for interrupting, then asked her question. Something about which song the couple decided on. Then Malcolm introduced us, and she stood there a few minutes. We talked about how nice your wedding was. I didn’t see her do anything to Malcolm’s food, but I wasn’t particularly watching. I suppose she could have dropped something onto his plate or put something in his glass. And the inspector doesn’t even know about her. He only asked about why Malcolm and I ate together and what we ordered.”

  “The cameras.” I looked at Alex.

  He nodded. “They’ll be able to see it on the footage. They probably already know.” Alex explained to Mom about the video monitoring at Parkview.

  “Well, I don’t care if Parkview has a video. I’m calling Inspector Quimby now. Maybe he hasn’t seen the recording yet. He gave me his card.” Mom took out her phone. I thought she was probably looking forward to interrupting Quimby at whatever task he was focused on—a small revenge for her canceled sightseeing tour. Mom turned her back on us as she dialed then requested to speak to Quimby.

  Dad touched his napkin to his lips and placed it beside his plate. “I took a detour on my way back today. Stopped off at two historic sites, Ridgeford Court and Aslet House.”

  “Dad,” I said, my tone admonishing. “I don’t like to think of you poking around on your own. It worries me.”

  “Oh, let your old dad have his fun. If you can snoop around, I can too. I had my shadow with me the whole time, so there was nothing to worry about. It will be interesting to see what the police make of my detour, if anything. I could have just had a hankering to see some historic Britain. Neither estate was far away from where I was. I took the train to both places and was able to walk to them—only a few miles each way.”

  He nudged his plate away and leaned forward so we could hear him over Mom insisting that it was urgent she speak to Quimby and that she would hold as long as necessary. “I found a news article with Nick’s picture on my phone. I showed his photo around on the tours to see if any of the guides remembered him. No dice at the castle place, but I got lucky at Aslet House. I got the same guide Nick had. She remembered Nick well, said he was charming and had lots of questions.”

  “Questions about what?” I asked.

  “Everything,” Dad said with a snort. “Architecture, English history, irrigation methods, gardening, fl
owering plants, ghosts, urban foraging, tourism statistics, and—get this—fine china. I got the feeling that he was a question-a-minute tourist. She said she was exhausted when his tour was over. He did the whole thing, too. The house and gardens, as well.”

  “Did you do both tours?”

  “Of course. I managed to get into the last slot of a departing tour, so my shadow had to wait for me,” Dad said with obvious pleasure. He turned serious as he said, “I don’t know that it helps us understand Nick any better, though.”

  “We know Nick lied all the time about his interests, so I don’t think we can assume much from what he asked. Did the guide say if he had any specific questions?” I asked.

  Dad rubbed his hand over his face. “I’ve been thinking about that all the way back here on the bus. The guide remembered a few specific questions. Nick wanted to know about ghosts and spirits connected with the house, about the engineering of the water features, about the famous people who had stayed there.”

  Mom slapped the phone down onto the table. “He said they were already aware of Sylvia. Imagine! Cutting me off from leaving Nether Woodsmoor when he has plenty of other people to investigate. Let him meddle with their schedules.”

  “He probably already has,” I said.

  Mom sniffed and said she was ready to go back to Parkview. She called Neal to pick her up, but Dad said he’d rather walk. We said goodnight outside the restaurant in deep twilight. As the Range Rover pulled away, Dad said, “You don’t have to worry, Katie. I’ll keep an eye on her.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  Alex offered him a ride back to Parkview, but he declined. “I need to stretch my legs after that bus ride.” He set off along the path that would take him back to Parkview, and Alex and I headed for the church hall where the windows were still bright and the parking area was crowded with official cars. I was exhausted and glad to climb in the MG.