Death at an English Wedding (Murder on Location Book 7)
Page 17
“Want to go anywhere else?” Alex asked.
I ran through all the questions I had, trying to think of anyone else who could shed some light on what had happened with Nick…or with Malcolm. “We haven’t talked to Carl, but I can’t come up with even a halfway reasonable excuse to show up on his doorstep and ask him if he knew Nick.”
“We can stop by Parkview tomorrow and try to work it into the conversation,” Alex said. “I need to talk to him about extending our stay at Cart Cottage anyway.”
“That’s a much better plan than appearing at his house unannounced.” I tipped my head back and rested it against the seat. We were both quiet as Alex drove through the narrow village lanes. As the last of the stone cottages disappeared behind us, the headlights picked out swaths of gently undulating countryside laced with dry-stone walls. I said, “Is it just me, or are things getting more confusing?”
“I’m right there with you,” Alex said. “In fact, I’ve been confused from the beginning. Why would someone kill Nick? I still don’t understand that.”
“Other than the fact that it seems he was a compulsive liar and liked to blackmail people?”
Alex shot me a smile before returning his gaze to the dark road. “When you put it like that, it makes him sound like a good candidate for murder, but the only person we know he tried to blackmail was your mom, and…” He shook his head. “I don’t see it. Your mother’s journal…embarrassing, yes. Motivation for murder? No.”
“But we know from Fern that he talked about coming into money,” I said. “That could be another blackmail scheme—a scheme gone wrong since he’s dead. But we haven’t found anyone remotely connected to Nick who has a lot of money. Fern works as a paralegal and used her savings to pay for the trip here—so that doesn’t sound like she’s rolling in the dough. And Fern and Nick were engaged. He wouldn’t blackmail his fiancée…” I lifted my head and shifted out of my lounging position as I rearranged some ideas. “Could he have been blackmailing Fern? We only heard her side of the story. We don’t know anything about her, except her job. Maybe she comes from a wealthy family or has a trust fund or something. She could have something she wants to keep quiet from her family or employer.”
“And she’s the one who told you Nick mentioned big money.”
“That’s true. Sylvia said Nick mentioned an investment opportunity, but that didn’t sound like a windfall like Fern described.” Had Fern lied to me? What if Nick had never mentioned coming into money? What if Fern made that whole thing up?
We were silent a few moments, then Alex said, “Going back to possible blackmail targets, it doesn’t sound like Sylvia would be a good candidate either. If she had a lot of money, I bet she would be going to auditions all day, not teaching music lessons and playing at weddings.”
“She’d probably still be in California, but she was the last person to see Nick alive.” At Alex’s questioning glance, I added, “Albertson mentioned it when we were talking about the cameras.”
“That’s right, he did,” Alex said.
“Sylvia said she left Parkview with Nick standing in the parking area, but she could be lying, too, I suppose.”
“You mean she might have arranged to meet Nick later at the folly?” Alex tilted his head as he thought about it. “It’s possible she drove out of sight of the monitoring cameras then parked along the road and walked to the folly.”
“Someone must have set up a meeting with Nick at the folly. I don’t think he decided on his own to wander around the grounds of Parkview at night and then hiked over to the folly—that’s a long way…unless he got lost.”
The lights on the dash illuminated Alex’s brief smile. “From what Ella and Shannon said, he was prone to wandering, but I agree, the area around the folly and maze wouldn’t be my choice for a nighttime stroll. It would be pitch dark out there. Only the gardens near the house are illuminated.”
“And then you mix in someone poisoning Malcolm, and it just adds an extra layer of confusion,” I said. “Is Malcolm’s poisoning related to Nick’s death somehow?”
“It would be quite a coincidence if it’s not.” Alex turned off the main road onto the asphalt lane to Cart Cottage. “An unrelated murder and a poisoning at Parkview within a few days of each other? I don’t buy it.”
“I don’t either, but the methods are very different.”
Alex said, “Maybe that was a strategic choice, an effort to make the incidents appear unrelated.”
“If the same person killed Nick and then tried to poison Malcolm, we come back to the same question—why?” The car’s headlights flashed over rich russet and blazing orange leaves that edged the lane. As I stared at the vibrant colors, I said, “I’ve been trying to think of a way that Nick and Malcolm were connected, and I don’t have any ideas. Sylvia said they spoke briefly at the reception, but that doesn’t seem like it would be long enough for any sort of significant exchange.”
“A blackmail threat might not take that long to deliver.”
“But then why did Nick want to get into the wedding? If he wanted to blackmail Malcolm, he could have asked Shannon to introduce them earlier this summer. In fact, she offered, and Nick turned her down.” The arch of trees fell away, and Alex downshifted as we crossed the clearing to the parking area near the cottage’s door. “You’d think that as we learned more, things would come into focus, but it’s the opposite. Everything gets more blurry. Let’s forget the whole thing for a little while.”
“Excellent plan,” Alex said.
I blinked and lay still in the bed. What had woken me? Was it the faint daylight? The pillow beside me was empty and the covers on Alex’s side of the bed had been thrown back. I shifted around and squinted in the thready light penetrating through the bedroom’s single small window. Almost dawn on a cloudy day. Maybe Alex couldn’t get back to sleep and had gone downstairs to keep from waking me.
We’d spent the evening in front of a blazing fire. It was the best thing that had happened all day. When we’d gone upstairs to bed, I’d thought I would toss and turn all night. But my last memory was of curling up on Alex’s shoulder.
I spotted a piece of paper propped up on the nightstand on Alex’s side of the bed. It was an old receipt from the White Duck. I tilted the backside toward the window and read Alex’s neat printing. “Can’t sleep. Going for a walk. Will bring back breakfast.”
A floorboard creaked downstairs, and I snuggled down into the sheets, drawing the blanket tighter around me. Alex was back, but there was no hurry to get up. The air had a definite coolness to it this morning. He’d turn up the heat. I’d let the cottage warm up before I got out of bed. Maybe he’d even make another fire, I thought as I felt my limbs relaxing in the warmth of the bed.
Distantly, I heard another footstep on the floorboards, then the snick of a match being struck. I shifted around so that I could see the stairs and waited for Alex to trot up quietly.
A metallic click sounded. I recognized it. It was the noise that had woken me. I knew with an instinctive certainty that it was the sound of the lock sliding home on the front door as it closed. We were probably out of firewood, and Alex had left to get more logs, which were stored in a covered shed on the side of the property.
I waited a few moments, listening for the click of the door lock fastening again, but the cottage was silent. When the silence continued, I tossed back the covers. I slipped into my robe and padded silently to the staircase. I don’t know why I was so careful not to make a noise, except that I suddenly had an uneasy feeling.
I took a few cautious steps down the circular staircase, the metal cold on the soles of my feet. As I came around the twist that gave me a view of the main room, I stopped, stunned.
A fire burned in the grate, but the hearthrug was also ablaze. Little flames danced across the tight-coiled fabric of the rug.
I raced down the rest of the steps and grabbed a heavy blanket from across the back of the couch. I tossed it on top of the rug, praying that t
he blanket was thick enough to smother the flames. It seemed to work because the blanket didn’t catch fire, but for good measure, I hurried into the kitchen, intending to pull the fresh flowers out of the vase and use the water to douse the hearthrug, but a wall of putrid air hit me.
I gasped, instinctively stepping back. My gaze shot to the two-burner cooktop where one knob was tilted to the side. The clicking sound that signaled that the gas was on finally penetrated my brain. I clapped my hand over my mouth and nose, trying to ignore the awful smell as I darted forward and flicked the knob to the OFF position.
I fumbled with the catch on the window over the sink and shoved it open. I yanked the vase off the table and tossed the flowers on the floor as I ran to the fireplace. The acrid smell of smoke was heavy in the air. The rug wasn’t on fire or smoldering, so I tossed the water on the flames in the fireplace. It sizzled and smoked, but I didn’t stay to see if the fire was out completely. I wrenched open the front door and collided with Alex.
CHAPTER 22
A lex’s arms closed around me, and I pressed into him.
“Kate—?”
“A fire—and gas. One of the burners on the stove was on.” I realized I still held the vase, and it was pressed between us, the water drops on the outside of it soaking into my robe and Alex’s jacket. “You didn’t start a fire before you left this morning, did you?”
“No, of course not. I wouldn’t want to leave it burning since I was going out.”
He pushed back from me and ran his hands over my shoulders and arms then cupped my face. “You’re okay?”
“Yes.” I leaned against one of his hands for a moment.
He gave me one of his penetrating looks then nodded. “I’ll be right back.”
“Alex—” But he was already inside, moving swiftly from the living area to the kitchen. He checked behind the stove then opened another window in the living area before he returned to the porch.
“That was no accident.” He gave me a tight hug. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
I’d never seen his eyes look so dark. I put a hand on his chest and felt his heartbeat racing. “Yes. I’m not hurt. Now that you’re out here, I’m fine.”
“What happened?”
“I woke up and heard someone in the cottage. I thought it was you. I found your note and thought you’d come upstairs, but when you didn’t climb the stairs I went down to find you.”
He ran his hand over his mouth. “I didn’t even go into the kitchen this morning on my way outside. There’s no way I bumped that knob on the stove and turned it on as I left.”
“And the fire…” I trailed off, suddenly feeling sick. Someone had been moving stealthily inside the cottage, building a fire, clicking on the gas, and then leaving quietly, closing the door with only a whisper of sound. I felt cold, and it had nothing to do with the chilly air that circulated around my bare feet.
Alex pulled off his coat and wrapped it around my shoulders. He took the vase from me and set it down on the porch then picked up a to-go cup that was sitting beside the door beside a crinkled paper bag. “Have a sip of this.” He handed me the coffee then retrieved the bag. “Let’s go over here.” He indicated two wrought-iron chairs situated in the grass. “The smell of gas was faint when I went in, but let’s give it a few more minutes.”
The aroma of coffee wafted from the cup, and I sipped gratefully after I curled up in the chair, tucking my bare feet under the hem of my robe.
“I already had a cup this morning at the pub,” Alex said, “but brought this one back for you, along with some food.” He opened the bag, took out a squashed cranberry muffin, and broke off a piece for me. I shook my head, but he said, “Go ahead. You’ve had a shock. A little food is probably what you need. And I think we’re going to be here a long time this morning. We shouldn’t touch anything downstairs.”
“You’re right.” I reached for the muffin, knowing we needed to call the police and report what had happened. After a few bites of muffin and sips of coffee, I said, “But we don’t know anything—anything, at all. Why would someone do that? All we’ve done is talk to people. We don’t have any answers.”
Alex looked out across the little clearing to the dense growth of the trees. The sky had lightened to a grayish-blue, but the trees were still black. I could barely distinguish the faint outlines of the tree trunks from the low-growing plants that filled in around their bases. “Maybe we do,” Alex said, still looking at the wall of darkness under the pale sky. “Maybe we just don’t realize it.”
Despite the warmth of Alex’s coat and the coffee I held, I couldn’t suppress a shiver.
We finished the muffin in silence, then Alex said, “I’ll call the police. Why don’t you change into something warmer?”
The frigid flagstones of the little porch made me hop quickly to the door, but I hesitated beside the front door, which we’d left open to help circulate the air. Inside the cottage, the gas odor had faded. The temperature had dropped as air swept in through the kitchen window and then out the front door, bringing with it an earthy, damp smell. The ground was saturated from yesterday’s rain. The fire smoldered in the grate, sending out thin lines of smoke. With my hands buried in the pockets of my robe, I bent over and peered at the handle on the front door. Both it and the latch were shiny. Not a single scratch marred the lock, the door, or the doorframe.
My hands shook as I tossed the last of my clothes into my suitcase. I wasn’t staying in Cart Cottage a moment longer. Someone had tried to end our honeymoon, our life—everything. I shoved my shoes on top of my clothes and zipped the suitcase. Normally, I could pack quickly and efficiently. Traveling light and moving rapidly were part of being a location scout, but I had thrown everything in the suitcase without bothering to fold or arrange anything. I’d worry about wrinkles later. Right now, I wanted out.
Alex carried my suitcase down the circular stairs, and I followed him slowly. The cottage itself still looked cozy and inviting, despite the lingering smoky smell and the mass of charred rug in front of the fire. Thank goodness for the hardwood floors. If it had been carpet…I shut down those thoughts.
We’d closed the windows, which trapped the sooty smell inside. I crossed the room quickly, not wanting to linger. Alex and I had agreed that we should move somewhere less secluded. Going back to either of our cottages was not an option. Honeysuckle Cottage was no longer my cottage, and repair work was going on at Alex’s cottage. I knew from all the wedding-planning discussion with Malcolm that Parkview’s rooms were full, so I called Doug. He said he’d hold a room for us. After checking in, I would drop off the keys to Cart Cottage at Parkview. I’d already left a message for Carl to let him know what had happened. If he didn’t already know… I pushed the thought away. Alex and I hadn’t talked about who could have set the fire. We’d been too busy packing and contacting the police. I didn’t want to think about it until I was away from the cottage.
Alex placed my suitcase into the trunk of the MG beside his. “I’ll be there as soon as they finish here.”
Constable Albertson had already examined the cottage and called for the crime scene investigators. He had told us that normally something like this would be handled on the local level, but since it might be linked to Nick’s death, which was an ongoing investigation, the crime scene people would “have a look.”
They were on their way and would take fingerprints and gather any other evidence they could find. I’d told Albertson all I could, which wasn’t much. I’d heard the noises, thought it was Alex, and waited a few moments, then went down to check on things.
“Good thing you did,” Albertson had said. “With the little red car still parked out front, the person who did this thought you were both asleep upstairs. It would have been quite early for honeymooners to be up and about.” He had glanced at the thick growth of trees that enclosed the clearing around the cottage. “Lonely out here. Easy for someone to walk or even drive in without being seen. You didn’t hear a car?”
“It’s a shame it’s an asphalt approach. Otherwise we might have been able to get some tire tracks.”
Alex closed the trunk and handed me the keys to the MG. Albertson was currently examining the back and sides of the cottage for footprints. He’d checked the asphalt lane first and came back shaking his head.
I opened the door of the car. “You won’t stay here by yourself?”
“Once they finish here, Albertson will give me a lift to the inn.” Alex felt that one of us should stay at the cottage and make sure it was locked up after the crime scene techs left. Albertson could have handled it by himself, but I hadn’t argued with Alex. I knew his years of location work were kicking in. Experience had taught both of us that it was smart to oversee things personally, especially the final shutdown of a location, which was what this situation was beginning to feel like.
I kissed Alex quickly. “I think I’ll check on my mom this morning after I get our room. Make sure she didn’t ignore Quimby and leave on her tour anyway,” I said.
“Sounds like a good idea. Send me a text if you stay at Parkview. I’ll ask Albertson to drop me there, if that’s where you are.”
The sun was bright now, and the rolling landscape sparkled in the morning sunlight. Splashes of gold, red, and copper leaves flickered along the road, but I couldn’t concentrate on the change of season. Alex’s words from earlier this morning echoed in my mind.
Did we know something, but didn’t realize it? I pulled into the inn’s parking lot and sat there a moment, running through everything that had happened. I could think of one person who was connected—or could be connected—to everything that had happened…well, almost everything, but I didn’t have proof.