Mydworth Mysteries - A Shot in the Dark (A Cosy Historical Mystery Series Book 1)

by Matthew Costello

  “Aha, my two ‘detectives’” she said. “Solved the case yet?”

  Harry smiled at that. “Not quite,” he said.

  He watched as Kat went over to the horse, reaching out confidently. The horse seeming instinctively to know that she was to be trusted.

  “Oh, you ride?” said Lavinia to Kat.

  “Whenever I can,” said Kat.

  “Wonderful,” said Lavinia. “The trails here are superb.”

  “My boots and clothes are in the trunks – or I would have come with you today.”

  “We shall share riding stories tonight over dinner,” said Lavinia. “Which is early by the way – turns out, some of our guests intend to leave at first light.”

  Then she turned to Harry: “I’ll get Benton to deal with your bags. In the meantime, why don’t you both help me with the mucking out and tell me where you’ve got to?”

  *

  Kat lay back in the bath, the water so hot and deep it felt like that steamy hammam she’d visited back in the day with her pals from the Embassy in Istanbul.

  Nothing beats a real Turkish bath!

  Strictly women-only, of course, with massages inflicted on them all by a giantess with a missing sense of humour and arms like a butcher.

  This bathroom though – their very own private suite off her dressing room – was so very English. The pipes had rattled and groaned as the scorching hot water – probably a rarity still for a lot of people in the area – finally spluttered forth in clouds of steam.

  And the claw-footed bath looked like it had been in use since the time of the War of Independence.

  Now though, filled with her familiar bubble bath and scents, it was absolutely the perfect antidote to an hour’s muck-raking – and a frustrating day’s investigations.

  Harry had been called to the telephone and had been gone for ages – which gave her time before cocktails and dinner to review in her mind the whole case in the light of what Lavinia had said earlier in the stables.

  “Poor old Reggie’s on the ropes. Lost half his money on the tables last year – and pretty much the rest has now gone down the pan with all this trouble in Malaya. Afraid that losing the jewels will be the last straw.”

  It seemed that Reggie – an old Far East hand apparently – had massive investments in rubber plantations. The very plantations that Harry said were in really big trouble – and which probably weren’t going to recover.

  Taking a lot of City investors with them.

  Like Harry, she’d sympathised when she heard this tale. But now, luxuriating beneath these scented bubbles, she’d begun to think differently about the case.

  What if Coates wasn’t the real brains behind the theft?

  What if there was no “second man”?

  After all, they’d found no sign of anyone running away below.

  And there was this: Coates apparently needed no help in locating the jewels.

  So, what if the whole thing was a scam – maybe a con that went terribly wrong?

  What if the affable, but broke and desperate Lord Tamworth – unimpeachable member of the English aristocracy – had planned the whole robbery so he could claim on the insurance?

  Means, motive, opportunity.

  Aren’t those the rules of any crime? she thought.

  That certainly had been the mantra of her mentor back in New York.

  And Reggie hit the ticket on all three. He had the gun. He needed the cash. And he absolutely had the perfect set-up with the jewels unguarded, and a loyal wife who would back him up.

  What if Reggie was the real villain of the piece?

  All she and Harry had to do was figure his connection to Coates.

  *

  Harry hung up the receiver, made a final note in his pocket-book, slipped it into his jacket then sat back in the hall chair.

  Whatever did people do before they invented the telephone? he thought.

  Because these had been two very useful calls.

  First, Sergeant Timms. Timms had been grateful for the information about the train ticket and promised to liaise with the French police and have stations across the country watched.

  There was still no sign of the accomplice. Timms suspected the man was probably a professional thief. But all the relevant authorities were on the lookout and they were sure to catch him soon.

  Harry’s other call was a little more unorthodox – to a trusted source not available to the police: his old batman Alfie Withers.

  Before the war, Alfie had done time in Pentonville Prison, the result – he swore – of a little “misunderstanding”. And though he was now – for sure – on the straight and narrow, looking after Harry’s London apartment, he still retained certain privileges as an “old lag”.

  The brotherhood of ex-cons.

  Privileges that allowed him access to an intelligence network far superior even to the official one that Harry belonged to at the Foreign Office.

  Alfie had spent the day digging into the background of the late Mr Alfred Coates and what he’d told Harry had been very interesting.

  Very interesting indeed.

  It seemed that Alfred had quite a reputation amongst the below stairs staff of the country’s great estates.

  Not a man to be trusted. Keep an eye on the silver. Watch out for your wives and daughters.

  In the last five years, Coates had taken positions at four houses – barely lasting more than six months at each.

  There were rumours of his “attitude” rife amongst the staff. And only last year he’d been “let go” by Lord and Lady Arbuthnot – the exact nature of his “offence” hushed up.

  Yet somehow he always managed to escape with glowing references – nobody quite knew how. And he was always in demand – especially with employers that travelled to the Continent. It seemed Coates had excellent French, picked up as a driver on the General Staff in the war.

  Nice work if you can get it, thought Harry. Beats being at the sharp end where they’re lobbing shells at you.

  Perhaps the Army was Reggie’s connection to Coates? Had the two served together in France? Certainly possible. Much as Harry disliked war stories, he sensed Reggie would be happy to tell tales of glory if he steered conversation that way.

  France, he thought. Maybe there’s a French connection here somewhere.

  He heard the clock striking in the library: six o’clock.

  He looked across the hall into the main reception. Benton and his staff were preparing the room for drinks. Delicious smells were already rising from the kitchens – and he knew that all the guests would now be upstairs.

  Just an hour to their early dinner.

  And tomorrow, right after breakfast, Reggie and Claudia would depart.

  He and Kat were running out of time.

  *

  “Ah, there you are,” said Kat, as Harry tapped on the dressing room door and entered.

  “Wow,” he said. “Whatever happened to the girl with the straw in her hair?”

  Kat laughed. “That farmyard look is so passé,” she said, turning so he could zip her dress, the black silk with diamanté straps that she knew he loved. “Now be a darling, won’t you?”

  She waited for that familiar gentle touch of his hand on her shoulder, then the slide of the zip – followed by a kiss on the back of her neck.

  Always a thrill.

  “There,” he said, turning her round. “And may I say, madam, that you look absolutely exquisite tonight?”

  “You may,” said Kat. “And what kept you? I was having a lovely bath and I kinda imagined you might be back in time to share it?”

  “Did you now?” said Harry, holding her waist. “You’ll frighten the servants with these brash American ways, you know.”

  “Oh really?” she said, edging close so their noses just touched. “They don’t seem to frighten you.”

  “Oh, I’m made of much sterner stuff.”

  “Hmm. I expect you to prove that later.”

  “That’s
a promise,” he said, kissing her, then stepping back and smiling, his eyes bright. “And I never break a promise.”

  “Good,” she said. “Now you’d better hurry and get dressed – this girl’s ready for cocktails.”

  She watched him cross to his wardrobe and take out his dinner jacket, shirt and studs.

  “By the way,” she said, sitting to watch him dress for dinner, loving watching him dress for dinner. “I’ve had some thoughts about the robbery.”

  “Me too,” he said, taking off his jacket and then shirt. “You go first.”

  “What if there’s no second man?” she said.

  “Or rather,” said Harry, “let me guess. Great minds, and all that. What if the second man is actually Reggie?”

  “Exactly!” said Kat. “But Harry – what made you think that too?”

  “Process of elimination,” he said, popping the studs into his shirt, then walking over to her with his tie.

  She stood and put the tie around his neck. “It was an insurance scam,” she said.

  “Precisely,” said Harry. “But – here’s the thing – somehow it went wrong.”

  “Yes! Maybe Claudia wasn’t supposed to go up to the room during cocktails.”

  “Right. So, Reggie had to chase after her.”

  “He found Coates and Claudia tussling,” said Kat, making loops in the tie.

  “Okay. So then, he shot Coates as he got away – couldn’t afford to let him talk, reveal the whole game – that it?“

  Kat nodded. “Then he grabs the rest of the jewels, shoves them in his pocket…” She took a breath, thinking all this through. “Claudia knew,” she said, pulling the bows tight.

  “Maybe,” said Harry. “But maybe not. In the scuffle, she might not have seen Reggie do it.”

  “Reggie goes to the window, empties his gun, invents the accomplice…”

  “Ah, no, wait,” said Harry, adjusting the tie in front of the mirror, then turning. “Claudia said there were two of them – remember? Gave a description of the other fellow.”

  Kat thought about this. “Hmm, right. Okay then. How about, Reggie says to her – I don’t know – something like ‘just do what I tell you, and we can turn this to our advantage’? Not in so many words, of course. That work?”

  “Hmm, maybe,” said Harry, putting on his jacket. “In which case, she’s part of the scam, but late to the party?”

  “Last-minute invite, so to speak, but yes. Though, hang on—”

  “Why the seven shots?”

  “Exactly,” said Kat. “Seven shots. And also – how does Reggie connect to Coates?”

  “Aha! If we knew the answer to that we’d be home and dry. I did at least get the – think the expression your people use is ‘lowdown’? – on Coates, and he does indeed have a rather chequered past.”

  “Your secret London contacts?”

  “Something like that,” said Harry. “Unfortunately, apart from that, all we have are theories.”

  “Right. So the plan for tonight – we talk to Reggie and Claudia, yes?”

  “And hope they give something away.”

  “Not much of a plan, Harry, is it?”

  “Nope – but it’s all we’ve got,” said Harry, buttoning his jacket. “More importantly, how do I look?”

  “You’re the handsomest man in the world,” said Kat.

  “And you’re the beautifullest woman. Is that even a word?”

  “Who cares?” And Kat leaned close for a kiss. “Enough with the compliments, let’s go get a drink,” she said, picking up her clutch bag and heading for the door.

  “You bet your ass,” said Harry, beating her to it, and holding the door open.

  Kat laughed: “Your language these days is disgraceful Harry Mortimer.”

  “Only since I met you, Kat Reilly.”

  “Lady Mortimer, please,” said Kat, taking his arm as they walked to the grand staircase together and went down to dinner.

  16. A Dinner to Remember

  Harry didn’t have to work hard to get Reggie’s attention. Lord Tamworth buttonholed him the second Benton had poured him a Martini. He dragged him away from the other guests to a quiet corner.

  They stood by the open French windows, the early evening air still warm, soft sunlight on the perfect lawn, the fountain on the drive babbling.

  And with Reggie properly lubricated, Harry hoped he’d soon babble as well.

  “Just wondering if you’ve picked up anything more on the grapevine, old chap?” asked Reggie, his face creased in a frown.

  “More?” said Harry innocently, though he knew what Reggie was driving at.

  “Malaya, dear boy, Malaya. Markets will open on Monday and any inside knowledge might save me a pretty penny.”

  “Sorry, Reggie,” said Harry, truthfully. “I know nothing more than you do.”

  “Dammit. Shame. Spotted you on the old blower earlier, thought you might be getting the latest insider stuff, you know?”

  “As I said, not my theatre,” said Harry. “Middle East, me. Out of interest though, Reggie – how did you get involved in that market anyway? Damned risky.”

  “Served out there in the war, old boy. Penang defences – for the duration.”

  “Ah. I thought, um… You were never in France, then?”

  “Oh, no. Missed that dreadful show completely. Suspect I wouldn’t have made it through – not many did – so probably a good thing.”

  Harry nodded.

  Interesting. So, Reggie and Coates didn’t share an Army connection. He looked across the room and saw Kat chatting to Lavinia and Claudia.

  “Can I get you a top-up, Reggie?” he said, draining his glass.

  “Capital idea. Come with you,” said Reggie.

  And Harry headed over to Benton and the drinks.

  *

  While Lavinia talked to Claudia about what she intended to wear at the State Dinner in the week, Kat sipped her Martini and watched the woman carefully.

  The stress of the weekend’s events had clearly taken their toll – there were dark rings under Lady Tamworth’s eyes, presumably from lack of sleep.

  But she clearly hadn’t lost her enthusiasm for the great event. The only problem seemed to be what to wear.

  “All three tiaras gone, of course, Lavinia. All of them.”

  “Dreadful,” said Lavinia. “And those pieces that Coates had on him?”

  “One or two of value, yes. But it was the other tray that had my real beauties. That’s what I called them you know. My beauties. And my fortune!”

  “That awful man Coates,” said Lavinia. “I can’t believe Benton didn’t pick up what a cad he was.”

  “Please – you mustn’t blame Benton,” said Claudia. “Sergeant Timms said Coates and his associate were devilishly clever to plan the whole thing and get away with it.”

  “Guess at least you’ll pick up on the insurance?” said Kat, seeing Harry heading over with Reggie to join them.

  “Insurance?” said Claudia, reacting as if Kat had said something obscene.

  “My dear Kat,” said Lavinia. “Insurance can never compensate for the loss of a family heirloom. The history. The memories.”

  “Of course,” said Kat, thinking that the only family heirloom she ever inherited was the pewter beer mug her grandfather brought from the Auld Country.

  Good for drinking a cold beer, but that was about it.

  “Still,” said Harry, joining them, “it might go some way to softening the blow, eh, Reggie? Few thousand guineas?” Harry took a breath. “Maybe more than a few?”

  Kat saw a brief look between Reggie and Claudia – a guarded look, as if both had agreed not to raise the subject.

  “Yes, well, er,” said Reggie, dropping his voice. “We’ll still have to tighten our belts, you know.”

  “I’m sure it can’t be that bad,” said Lavinia.

  “Have to cut down on the travel,” said Reggie.

  “Surely not!” said Lavinia. “But Claudia – a
ll those delicious parties with the Murphys!”

  “Gerald Murphy?” said Kat, surprised. Gerald and Sarah Murphy were an infamous Boston couple; immensely wealthy socialites who now lived in the South of France like royalty.

  No shortage of cash there.

  “You know him, my dear?” said Lavinia, an undisguised note of surprise in her voice.

  “Not personally,” said Kat.

  “Me neither, Auntie,” said Harry, now standing at her side and grinning. “But I wouldn’t refuse a party invite from that pair. I hear they’re setting the Riviera on fire.”

  “Anybody who’s anybody drops by their place, you know,” said Lavinia. “The fabulously wealthy and the amazingly talented. I really must get myself invited.”

  Kat saw Claudia shrug. “Sarah Murphy’s a dear friend. Reggie and I spent last June with them.”

  “Really?” said Harry. “Where is their little place – remind me. Antibes, is it?”

  “Yes,” said Claudia.

  “Not so little, either,” said Reggie, grinning.

  “Not that Reggie saw a great deal of it,” said Claudia, smiling at the group as if Reggie wasn’t there. “Preferred to head up the coast to Nice – isn’t that right, darling?”

  Kat was studying Harry.

  He’s directing the flow of this conversation, she thought.

  And that was something to see.

  “Hit the gaming tables there, eh Reggie?” said Harry, with a wink.

  “Tables? Hmm, yes, well, might have dropped in once or twice to the odd casino. Just couldn’t stand all that sunbathing nonsense. Sitting around drinking champagne with noisy American movie people.”

  “I’m with you there, Reggie,” said Harry. “Love Nice anyway. Got any recommendations where to stay?”

  “Hotel Negresco, of course,” said Reggie. “You simply must. Is there anywhere else?”

  “Then I ‘must’ indeed,” said Harry looking straight at Kat and giving her the slightest of nods.

  The Negresco, thought Kat, looking straight back at him. Could that be the connection between Coates and Reggie?

  If so – well done, Harry!