by Sarah Kelly
“We could help, if you want,” India said.
“Oh, no, I wouldn’t hear of it. These are my duties and my duties alone.” She looked embarrassed. “Though since you’re going out to talk to them anyway, you couldn’t just take along these, could you?” She held out a delicate china plate with cake slices carefully arranged and India took it. Then Mrs Rowan handed an ornate ceramic teapot to Xavier. Steam was dancing out of its spout in barely-there wisps. “That man asked for tea. So I go and make him up a whole teapot, and then when he pours it he pulls a face like I’ve killed his cat and says not this muck. Can you believe it, calling it muck! Well, it turns out that his pain-in-the-backside highness wants green tea, and expected me to know this by telepathy, of course.” She laughed as she reached over for a peeler. “Ooh, I am getting quite annoyed, aren’t I? Don’t take any notice of me, dears. Anyhow, that’s the green tea and the lemon drizzle cake, as usual. Do be dears and take them out, won’t you?”
“Of course,” India said.
“There are actually a number of cups and saucers out there already, and milk and sugar and the like, so I’m sure you’ll find enough to suit you,” she said, already beginning to peel the cooking apples.
“Thank you, Mrs Rowan,” Xavier said, and then they left the kitchen through the back way that led onto the herb garden.
Through the gate they went, then made a left onto an area of the garden where the plants were more carefully tended, with fewer stray tendrils. Everything seemed to be perfect, meticulously so. With a sad feeling that India didn’t expect washing over her, she wondered who would tend the gardens now that Liam was gone. He truly had been a talented gardener. The image of him in the pond flashed through her mind and startled her. She wondered when his post-mortem was scheduled and if it would dredge up any clues.
“But why didn’t Tom bring me?” they heard a voice say as they approached a small patio area. “I tried calling his cell and he wouldn’t answer.”
Xavier and India made their way through the arch that separated the patio from the rest of the garden. It really was pretty in there, with hanging baskets and sandstone paving and borders of all sorts of flowers and shrubs. Laurence and Alexander were sitting at a patio table with a large sun umbrella atop it.
“It’s a mobile, not a cell,” Laurence said testily. “And maybe Tom won’t bring you because he thinks you’re an insufferable git, just like the rest of us do.” That was when he noticed Xavier and India. His eyes lit up and he broke into a smile.
“Do be civil,” Alexander snapped at him. He took a sip and then spat it back into the teacup. “Ugh, no, I really cannot tolerate this. Where’s that servant of yours?”
“Xavier, India,” Laurence said. “What a pleasure to see you. Please, come and put those down. Take a seat.”
“This is green tea,” Xavier said, placing it on the table.
Alexander began pouring it immediately. “About damn time.”
India put the cake plate on the table, and both India and Xavier took a seat.
“This is my extremely rude brother, Alexander, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, given the unfortunate fact we look exactly alike.”
“Tosh,” Alexander said. “Our facial features resemble each other, but I have far better dress sense and grooming, that’s plain for anyone to see.”
Laurence took a slice of cake and placed it on a floral china plate. “You see, extremely rude.”
“You do look different,” India said, hoping she could get on Alexander’s side. Maybe then they’d be able to squeeze some info out of him. And it wasn’t a lie, either, they did look different. Laurence was scruffy, but he looked gentle and kind artistic. Alexander was immaculately put together but looked hard and sharp as a knife’s edge.
Alexander took a huge gulp of green tea, then nodded. “This girl’s got some sense.”
Laurence actually looked vaguely wounded, and India hastened to change the subject. “We’re so very sorry for your loss, Mr Drummond-Coe.”
“Yes, we are,” Xavier said. “All our condolences, for what they’re worth.”
Alexander had been reaching out for a slice of cake, but his hand froze in mid-air. “Yes,” he said, or attempted to say, because his voice stuck in his throat. He cleared it. “Yes,” he said again, avoiding eye contact with everyone. “Thank you.”
“We’re here to try and get some justice for her,” Xavier said. “To find out who killed her, and Liam.”
“Forget Liam!” Alexander burst out, his eyes flashing with rage. “Liam! Who cares about him? Just some worthless gardener. Felicia is… was… an heiress.”
“His life isn’t worth less,” Laurence said hotly. “Someone’s wealth or status doesn’t make them less of a person.”
“Oh yeah?” Alexander’s whole body was full to the brim with tension. Every movement was sharp and jerking. “All right. Take the news, for example. One hundred poor people in Thailand die today, killed by some rebel army force, let’s say. And then let’s say five millionaire businessmen, part of a social club, for example, are murdered in London, all at once. Which do you think will gain the most media attention, the one hundred, or the five? Which of these events will make people care?”
India had to concede, as unpleasant as he was, he had a point. People did place a different value on people’s lives, depending on money and status. Not her, though. “Every life is just as important to us,” she said.
“Bleeding hearted liberals, are we?” He stirred sugar into his tea and shook his head down at the teacup. “This stuff just isn’t the same as what I have in the States.”
“Oh!” Xavier said out of nowhere, then pulled a scrumpled up ball of paper out of his trouser pocket. “I totally forgot!”
Laurence leaned back in his chair, sipping his tea. “What’s that?”
India looked at him quizzically. “What is that, Zave?”
“I found it,” he said, “on the pathway on the way up. But I had forgotten about it.” He made wide eyes at India, letting her know he’d forgotten because of meeting Mary. She understood instantly, and wondered if their telepathic powers were getting better or if they were just getting closer – or perhaps those were kind of interchangeable?
“It’s the to do list you left for Liam,” Xavier said to Laurence. “We’ll be straight with you, Laurence. You said you didn’t tell him anything about the freezer.” He pointed to the bottom of the list. “But there it is, in black and white. Take freezer upstairs, with directions of which room it should be put in.”
Laurence paled. “What?”
“Laurence, what is this?” Alexander said, sounding genuinely shocked. “Did you… did you…” His voice took on a note of horror. “Did you have something to do with Felicia… being…?”
“No!” Laurence exclaimed. “No, no, no, of course not. Let me look at that note, Xavier.”
CHAPTER 13
“We didn’t come here to accuse Laurence,” India hurried to explain. “Only to talk. And there is just one other thing,” she said, watching Laurence as he looked over the paper with wide, scared eyes. She was beginning to believe that perhaps they were closing in on the inevitable, that she had held out hope against for so long. “Did you return to the Hall on the night you left this note, after Liam and Charlie had taken the freezer upstairs?”
“Well, I… I didn’t know anything about any freezer, for a start,” Laurence said, looking at them both in the eyes, first Xavier, then India, then Xavier again. “I know this looks bad, but I can assure you I’m innocent. And no, I did not return from the conference. Tom took me up there and left me there. That was all.”
Xavier and India exchanged looks.
“So you didn’t, forget any art materials, say, and need to come back?” Xavier suggested.
“No.”
India thought quickly. “Was there anyone at the conference who could vouch for you, that you were there around 7pm to 9pm that evening?”
Laurence grimaced. “No,
because I was in my room sketching. They have bedrooms at the conference center, you see.” India could tell he was panicking, though he smiled and tried to stay cool. She wanted to focus on the note first, in any case. That was the more concrete evidence, she thought. “So it has a note about the freezer on the paper. Why did you lie to us?”
“I didn’t.” Laurence looked up at them and his voice sounded like his heart was almost breaking. “I swear, I didn’t. I didn’t write this.”
“Any of it?” Xavier asked.
“No, no, I wrote all of it. Everything except the freezer part.”
“You’re hiding something, Laurence,” Alexander snapped. “You are.”
India wanted to snap back that he was hiding plenty himself, what with all his shady dealings and Mafia-esque business exploits, but she managed to keep her mouth shut.
“No, truly, I am not,” Laurence said. His eyes lit up. “And I can prove it!”
Xavier leaned forward. “How?”
India’s pace was quickening, hoping that he really could prove his innocence. She tried not to be so invested in the fact it wasn’t Laurence, but she always felt a sense of dread when they thought over the possibility that it could be him. And it was as if a weight had come off her shoulders when he said he could prove it.
“Wait there,” he said, leaving the to do list on the table and rushing away from the patio. “I’ll be two minutes.”
Alexander sipped his tea, his eyes almost scarily sharp and present.
“We don’t think it was Laurence,” India said. “We just want to follow up some things that are confusing us.”
“If he did it,” Alexander said stiffly, “I’ll shoot him in his face myself.” His sharp eyes cut over to them. “And neither of you will tell a soul.”
Xavier nodded sagely. “It would be the worst kind of betrayal.”
“It would,” Alexander said, his eyes slowly fading into some far away look, like he was thinking deeply about something that had happened in the past. “It would.”
India desperately wanted to dig up some info about his business exploits, and how they could possibly be connected with Felicia’s murder. She knew she had to tread carefully. “Mr Drummond-Coe, I hate to ask you this, but… is there anyone that might hold so much ill will toward you, that they might consider killing your daughter to hurt you, in retaliation? Maybe some… misunderstanding from the past,” she said charitably, thinking more about how he might have screwed someone over or killed a member of their family.
His eyes took on that scarily intense look again. “Who have you been talking to? Is that crazy journalist woman here? Very short, blonde… Nancy somebody?”
India flicked her eyes over to Xavier for the briefest of moments. “I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He peered at them very closely. “Oh no,” he said, then sunk down into his chair, his head in his hands. “Oh no, oh no.” It sounded like he might be about to have a panic attack, but then he straightened up and managed a breath. “You’re here to spy on me, aren’t you? You’re private investigators, sure, but you’re not here to investigate a murder. You’re here to investigate me. To shut me down.”
“No, sir,” Xavier said.
But Alexander was already too far gone to listen. “Laurence is in on it. Everyone’s in on it. That’s why they killed Felicia, isn’t it? To get me away from all my protection, to get me out here on my own. That journalist, she killed Felicia, didn’t she? Just to get her damn story! Just to destroy me and my work.”
India looked at Xavier in alarm. “No, Mr Drummond-Coe, that’s not true.” But potentially it could be, couldn’t it? India felt as disorientated as if she’d been punched in the face. Ideas and doubts kept flying through her mind, and her gut thrust between horror and fascination and relief and excitement until she felt quite sick.
To try and get out of her mind and into the world around her, she began to make up a sweet tea for herself.
“The tea has gone cold, you fool!” Alexander blurted out.
“I know,” India said in a measured way. “It doesn’t matter.” It seemed that the only thing right then that would keep her sane was making up the tea, adding cream and sugar, and stirring.
When she took a glance at Alexander she saw he was shaking. It looked like he was on the point of breakdown. She almost allowed herself to feel sorry for him, but stopped herself just in time. If he was paranoid, and the world was closing in around him, that was surely his karma, for all the ways he’d wronged people in the past. The chickens were finally coming home to roost. Still, it was not pleasant to watch him shaking, his face staring into the thin air like even that traumatized him.
Laurence came back within a few moments, clutching a whole load of notebooks to his chest. He ran over to India and Xavier and dropped the notebooks on the table, desperation all over his face. “Look,” he said, snatching the to do list and placing it down in front of them.
“You set me up,” Alexander said to him. “Just admit it, Laurence.”
But Laurence was so laser-focused on what he was desperately saying to India and Xavier that he didn’t even seem to notice. “Look at the to do list,” he said. “The note about the freezer is written in the bottom margin. The very bottom. I never write there. Look.” He began to flip through the notebooks, some of them containing to do lists, others with various notes, schedules and lists. India and Xavier looked over them. India did indeed notice that Laurence had never ever written in the bottom margin. Not even once.
But before she let herself breathe a sigh of relief, she said, “But, look. On this note, it was the very last thing you wrote about. It wouldn’t have made sense to turn over the page.”
“Wait,” Laurence said, flipping through one of the notebooks in a frenzy. “I know I can find it. I just saw it. I just saw it. Ah! Look!” Frenzied victory danced in his eyes. “Look! There, I put ‘PTO’ at the bottom of one page, and then there is only one line on the next page. Just one line.”
Xavier nodded, looking over it.
The tension inside India’s chest melted away. “So you really didn’t write that part about the freezer?” she said, studying his eyes. Though it was impossible to absolutely tell if someone was telling the truth through their eyes, sometimes it was obvious they were lying.
“No, I didn’t,” he said, his gaze pleading and innocent.
“You’ve all been conspiring against me, haven’t you?” Alexander said. He was still sipping his tea, but his tight grip on the teacup was with severely shaking hands, and when he set it down on the saucer it made the most dreadful clanking. “Nancy? Journalist woman?” He looked all over the patio, as if the diminutive women were hiding behind the archway or some potted plant. “You can come out now. Perhaps the Miami police department are here, too?”
Laurence suddenly flipped. “You absolute and utter loon! There is no journalist. No Miami police! Just two murders and not a single clue as to who committed them! Keep your mind, man!”
Alexander got up from his chair, narrowing his eyes. “That’s exactly what you would say if you had set me up. You’re all preparing for my downfall. Rubbing your hands, waiting to see it happen.” He cast his eyes over India and Xavier. “Did DeCosta send you? Or…” His eyes widened. “You’re undercover cops from Miami! I knew it!”
“Argh!” Laurence shouted, getting to his feet. “Just shut up, will you? Just shut your bleeding mouth, Alexander! You’re completely and totally delusional.”
Alexander looked at them all with a deep suspicion. “You just wait and see. I’m watching you.” Then he walked away as if to go back into the house. But a couple of steps away from the archway, he collapsed onto the sandstone paving.
***
Laurence closed the door to the bedroom in which they’d tucked Alexander into bed. He hadn’t been knocked out, but he was extremely weak and whenever he spoke it didn’t make sense.
India was feeling quite drained an
d her temples were thumping, so she was looking forward to heading back to Mrs Clitheroe and having another long hot soak in the tub.
“I think we’ll be going back now, Laurence,” Xavier said.
“Sure,” Laurence said. Then he suddenly started weeping, seemingly even catching himself off guard. He immediately wiped his eyes and kept trying to hold back the sobs. “Sorry, sorry,” he said over and over again, but the tears continued to stream down his face and his cries shook his body.
Xavier and India, both startled, led him over to a window seat that was built into the corridor underneath a wide picture window. It looked out over the woodland to the east of the mansion. On any other day it would have looked beautiful to India, but that day it looked creepy beyond words. She would have gladly traded all the grandeur and majesty and mystery of the enormous house and grounds for the comforting coziness of a tiny little cottage like Mrs Clitheroe’s. At least you could be sure there were no dead bodies lurking there.
“Don’t mind me,” Laurence said, still trying to stop crying and still unable to. “Go on, go off and enjoy the rest of your day. Please.”
“No way.” India sat down next to him. “We can’t leave you like this.”
Xavier stood a little way off looking mildly uncomfortable. But when India nodded for him to do something he came over and patted Laurence on the back in a brotherly sort of way. “Everything will turn out all right,” he said. “The truth will prevail, so the innocent have nothing to worry about.”
Laurence wiped his eyes on the back of his sleeve. “That sounds rather poetic. I’m not quite sure if it’s true, though. But no matter, I’m fine. That dastardly brother of mine. Goodness me.”
“Is he going to be okay?” India asked. She thought about Alexander’s threat to kill Laurence and wondered if he was truly in any danger. “Are you going to be okay? Here alone with him, I mean.”
“Of course,” Laurence said, then smiled wryly. “Losing my mind, no doubt. But okay nonetheless.” He sat up straight. “I’m going out to the studio, anyhow. The fundraiser is in just a few days and I need to make sure the main piece is finished.”
