Being a girl, and approaching the age of ten, the prospect of having not one, but two, real babies to play with, came as a nice surprise. However, Mother not only hadn't wanted more children, but two at once was more than she could handle. I became the twins' second mother, doing almost everything their real mother had either no time or no energy for. Thanks to them being exceptional babies (they cried, drooled, spat up, and wet themselves, but adorably, like moist robots), then model children, and even bearable teenagers, we all survived. In fact, the bond which formed between the twins and me became a super-strong one.
Despite the chores forced on me, I managed to get through my own turbulent teens and four years of college as well. "Nine to five" was only a cute idea to me, and I dreamed of taking classes in my sleep. I married right after college graduation, which some relatives hinted was my escape to a life of my own.
However, my first husband, Stephen, died in that freeway accident a few years later, leaving me alone. Brad and Samantha, independent beings since kindergarten, had their own careers and even their own apartments but, as if still considering me their "backup" parent, made sure I was never lonely. Insurance money making me financially comfortable, I had filled my time by teaching bridge and with charity work, making school backpacks and delivering stuffed bears to children in hospitals. Then, barely two years before, I fell in lust with Lamar Grant and married him, a marriage thankfully now over. So here I was at last, divorced this time, but once more in England.
Despite the intervening years since my last visit, on stepping into the great hall I felt as if I'd come home. I loved my extended family, and I belonged there. I might never inherit any of the Mason fortune, no matter what Inspector Kincaid thought. Frankly, if it happened, I decided I could adjust to being called "heiress" in the tabloids. Yet it didn't matter. I didn't need it, since my divorce resulted in a settlement guaranteed to keep me in designer shoes for some time.
Aunt Alice's voice brought me back to the current family problem, a dead body in the lily pond and a detective in the dining room. "Do tell us what the inspector asked you."
I obliged. "Probably the same things he asked you. Who I am and how I happened to find the body." I didn't chide her for having revealed the contents of Edward's will. Kincaid could be intimidating and probably they already knew those things or had ways to find out. "And not to go near the lily pond or to leave town," I added.
"Not go near the lily pond?" Aunt Beryl asked. "Not leave town? Whyever would he say that?"
"They do when they believe someone has been murdered," Elizabeth answered.
"Noreen wasn't murdered," Beryl insisted.
I heard Chaz's voice from behind me. "I shouldn't be surprised at all if someone's gone and murdered the—witch."
The pause before he said "witch" made Elizabeth's eyebrows rise. She took a sandwich and came over to sit next to me. She didn't look at him, but her tone could have frozen boiling water.
"If I recall correctly, you didn't have such a low opinion of her in the not-too-distant past."
"Right you are," he answered, not denying it, and I wondered if Elizabeth could be hinting at some relationship between Chaz and Noreen. Call me a victim of Hollywood stereotypes, but when a younger woman marries an elderly man, it isn't beyond the realm of possibility she'd find a substitute in the sex department. Besides, Chaz was nothing if not sexy.
William, whom I'd already guessed had difficulty hearing, spoke as if he hadn't heard Elizabeth's last remark. "I say, I'm afraid Noreen wasn't much liked. It's possible someone might have murdered her."
From what I'd already learned, I presumed Noreen's habits could provoke aggression in the Mona Lisa.
"We know she was disliked," Beryl said, "but surely she couldn't have been killed by anyone she knew. If she was murdered, it must have been by a stranger, perhaps whilst walking her dog. These days it's dangerous for a woman to go out of doors alone."
Elizabeth scoffed. "A prowler on the grounds? That makes no sense. The lily pond is rather far from a public thoroughfare."
She exaggerated. Although I'm not good at estimating distances, or anything pertaining to geography, the pond couldn't have been more than a football field away from the road.
Still, the whole idea of a prowler killing Noreen seemed absurd to me too. I couldn't make myself believe a stranger saw Noreen walking her dog and casually decided to bump her off.
"Why would a stranger come onto the property and kill someone for no reason? A burglar might try to enter the house to steal valuables, but he'd avoid people."
Elizabeth sounded annoyed. "There was no burglar. No one killed Noreen. She killed herself accidentally. It's the only logical explanation."
"Maybe." Chaz got up and headed for the door. "If the inspector wants me, I'll be in my studio." He glanced around the room before leaving as if daring anyone to forbid his exit. No one did.
I turned to Elizabeth. "Chaz has a studio in the house? An art studio?"
"It's on the third floor. He plays with a band, and he had one room soundproofed so he could practice his music." She said the last word as if it described a strain of anthrax.
After a short silence, while we all continued to eat our lunch, William spoke up loudly. "I say, I shouldn't have minded doing her in myself, but I'm too old for that sort of thing."
"William!" Beryl's voice rose to a "shocked" level. "You mustn't say such things. Someone might take you seriously. I hope you don't plan to say that to the inspector."
"If I were speaking under oath, I should certainly do so. The woman not only drank excessively, she was a fortune-hunter and undoubtedly promiscuous as well." He shifted in his chair and stretched his legs out in front of him. "Some people presume that inasmuch as I don't hear everything, I'm dotty, but I know what's been going on."
Beryl sighed and leaned toward Elizabeth and me, speaking in a quiet tone. "William is upset because there's been talk since Edward died that Noreen would sell Mason Hall, and we'd have nowhere to live."
"Could she do that?"
"I suppose so," Elizabeth said. "Before Edward married her, we understood that, on his death, the property would come to William. Now, however…"
I remembered my father telling me he learned, at the reading of the will, Edward had left everything to Noreen, not William.
Elizabeth continued. "Mother told me a solicitor came often in the first year after they were married, and when he read Edward's will last week, right enough, she'd convinced him to change it in her favor."
Beryl looked close to tears. "It's all so sad. First Edward died. He was such a dear old soul. And now Noreen may—" She added hastily, "Oh, I tried to like the woman, but I worried. What would become of us? What about Jason, who should inherit the property after William? What about Chaz?"
I didn't believe a total stranger had come upon a woman walking her dog and killed her. I hoped Noreen had taken an accidental fall, struck her head on a rock, and then tumbled into the pond. Otherwise, I'd be forced to think that one of my very own relatives might be a murderer.
My brother, Brad, as well as every detective novel I'd ever read, has pointed out that a murder suspect needs three things—motive, means, and opportunity. An opportunity arose, Noreen was alone near the lily pond. The means, the rocks, were at hand. Finally, inasmuch as they'd all be out on their rear ends when Noreen said the word, everyone in the house had a motive.
I put my sandwich back on the plate. My appetite had vanished like a penny down a well.
CHAPTER THREE
Uncle William glanced at his wristwatch and rose from the chair. After adjusting his shirt cuffs, he proceeded toward the door, head held high, like Sidney Carton going to the guillotine in A Tale of Two Cities.
Beryl called after him. "Do remember, William, you're not to be silly and tell him you wanted to kill Noreen." He didn't answer, and Beryl sighed and settled into the cushions on the sofa.
Elizabeth, who hadn't stopped frowning all morning, mumbled,
"It's all some man's fault, wait and see."
Although my ex-husband's character left something to be desired, I thought a discussion of inexplicable male behavior inappropriate at that time. Instead, I asked Aunt Alice if she'd show me to my room so I might unpack.
Despite her weight, Alice vaulted from her chair and scurried to the doorway. "Heavens, with all the excitement this morning, I'd completely forgotten. You'll be wanting a nice wash-up after your long trip, and possibly a bit of a lie-down." She started off before I could answer.
I retrieved my bags, and we crossed the great hall, which was every bit as impressive as I remembered. Two stories high, with shields, swords and battle-axes fastened to the walls, red, blue, and gold flags and pennants hanging from rafters, a stone floor covered in several places with Persian rugs, and four Medieval-looking chairs, two residing next to a heavy oak table.
All the major first floor rooms could be entered from this hall, and a grand staircase at the far end, its banister carved like a lion's tail, led to the second floor. Pale sunlight drifted in from high windows at either end, and as my gaze traveled over everything, fond memories returned of playing in the hall and especially sliding down that banister when no authority figures lurked about.
As we walked, Alice told me again how Noreen had sacked all the live-in servants so there was no one to carry my suitcase, help me unpack, or turn down my bed.
"I'm an American," I reminded her. "Middle class at that. I'm not used to servants and can manage quite well without them."
"Dusting and mopping?" Her frown as well as her tone implied she thought me terribly deprived. "I'd best be ringing them up to try to get them back. It's been almost a fortnight. Perhaps they've found other positions by now." We climbed the stairs to the second floor, and she continued her monologue, breathing heavily between phrases. "Cook comes afternoons, but I shall insist she return to us full time."
We turned right at the top of the stairs and walked down the long hallway past three closed doors. Alice opened the fourth, and I followed her into a large room containing an ornately carved chest of drawers and wardrobe. A narrow padded bench sat at the foot of the canopied double bed, with vanity, mirror, and seat in one corner, and a small desk and chair in another. I'd not slept in this room during my previous visit, and it boasted more furniture than my bedroom at home but no closet or adjoining bathroom. I surmised that rich Britons didn't believe in upgrading some things, but I liked what I saw.
The walls were covered with a flower-patterned wallpaper that had turned slightly brown, the floor with a large Oriental carpet, and two mullioned windows draped in flowered chintz looked out on the side yard.
"Lavatory's in the passage," Alice told me, "right there." She pointed to her right, then plumped the comforter on the bed, as if testing its softness, and ran a finger over the dresser top looking for dust. Although I couldn't detect she'd found any, she rubbed her thumb and forefinger together, looking annoyed. Memories of Aunt Alice's cleanliness fetish returned. Show her "Winged Victory," and she'd want to go after it with Clorox.
She opened the bottom drawer and pointed to a set of yellow towels. "You may leave them in the loo, if you like. Elizabeth and I are the only persons you'll share it with, and I've given us all different colors. Hers are pink, mine are blue."
"What a good idea. Do the men have a similar arrangement?" Like schools with boys' and girls' bathrooms?
"A few rooms have their own lavatories, but there are two more on this floor and two upstairs as well."
I remembered the third floor. "Is there still a nursery and playroom up there?"
"Oh, yes. It's larger than this floor, of course. Rooms for servants too. Lots more than we ever employed."
I put my bag on the bench and opened it. "How long have you lived here, Aunt Alice?"
"Almost thirty years now." She sat on the side of the bed and crossed her arms over her bulk. "Soon after my husband died. Hans was German, you know, and we lived in Munich, but I never felt I belonged there, so after he died, I moved back home with the three children."
Poor Hans had popped off almost immediately after siring them, as if he'd done his duty and needn't hang about any longer. I'd met him that summer I visited, and, looking back on it, decided he seemed like a drill sergeant minus the charm.
I opened the wardrobe doors, found two wooden hangers, and used one for my blazer. The dearth of hangers didn't bother me, since I always travel with a few plastic ones in my bag. I arranged my dresses, blouses, and pants inside the wardrobe and stored folded garments in the remaining drawers of the chest. Not that there were a great many. Although my purse and tote bag might be filled with gadgets and goodies, I travel with few clothes. My sister, Samantha, who's made shopping her second vocation, doesn't understand me, but I look forward to the future when, as in all those science fiction films, everyone will wear black boots and colorful one-piece jumpsuits with a planet logo across the front.
Alice went on talking. "Edward never married, you know, that is, until Noreen came along, so he quite liked the idea that I could run the household for him. And, unlike some men who never had children, he enjoyed mine."
I remembered him and smiled. "He was a quiet gentleman who never went anywhere and seldom spoke to adults, although he liked to gather us children around and tell stories. He never minded if we ran through the hall yelling or brought mud inside."
Alice laughed. "Well, he didn't have to clean it up, did he? We had numerous servants in those days, and I did my share in keeping things tidy. Those were good days." She paused, then turned morose. "Not like the last three years, let me tell you." She pulled herself off the bed and moved to the windows where she made barely noticeable adjustments to the drapes.
"You mean when Noreen came? What about those years?"
"Hell." She said the word so softly I almost didn't catch it. She turned around. "She wanted to manage the household, but she didn't know how it should be done, and when I tried to help, she cut me dead. She was always sweet as pie to Edward and the other men but off-putting to Elizabeth and me."
"Isn't Elizabeth just visiting, as I am?"
"Oh, no. Hildegard and Hans Junior are both married with children, but Elizabeth's divorced and moved here about six years ago. She teaches German at a public school, but the new term hasn't begun."
I checked Elizabeth on my mental list of people living in the house. Thanks to my father, I knew that in England a public school is what we would call a private school, and often they opened in late September or even October.
I returned to the subject of Noreen. "I get the impression no one liked her, even if she was 'sweet as pie' to the men."
"Actually, Chaz first brought her to the house."
"Chaz?" I'd been putting my toiletries on the vanity and stopped, hairbrush in midair, and turned to face Alice, my mind spinning with this new information. "Do you mean she was his, er, girlfriend?"
"That's what we all thought at first." Alice lowered herself to sit on the bench. "Although a good bit older than he, they seemed attached. She was years younger than Edward, but she played up to him straightaway."
Edward, I realized, being somewhat reclusive, would have had few opportunities to meet women on his own, but Noreen must have been quite a femme fatale to have managed to marry him. I wished I'd seen her before she turned into a corpse.
"I recall my father telling me about the marriage. He said he was shocked when he heard. So, how did Chaz take that news?"
"Nary a peep out of him." Alice added, "Of course, I thought exactly what William hinted at earlier, that Noreen and Chaz had a, er, relationship on the side."
"Poor Edward."
"I'll say this for them, they were discreet about it. And Edward seemed happy. He had to live his own life, after all. None of us wanted to interfere."
I didn't want to voice my suspicion that everyone in the household seemed to have a motive to murder the woman, although I wondered whether Alice thought about that.
"If they did have a relationship, Edward's death should have made things easier for Chaz, but from the comments he made, it would seem he disliked her."
"Who knows what goes on in that head of his? Loud music all day, again all night. I shouldn't be surprised if he hasn't two brain cells left to rub together."
"Did Noreen have any friends?"
"Well, there are the three women she played cards with, if that's what you mean."
"What women? How did she come to know them?"
"I'm not sure how they met, but one day, about a year ago it was, these three doxies showed up. Saucy, they were, said they'd been invited. Noreen took them into the drawing room, and they played cards all afternoon. I suspect they played for money, and they did a good bit of loud laughing. I stayed far away, let me tell you."
"I gather you didn't care for them."
"Dyed hair, too much makeup, and the kind of dresses you'd see on some sleazy shop's racks."
"What card games did they play?"
"Bridge, if you can believe it. To look at them, you'd never think the lot had enough brains to know their way outdoors without written instructions."
Yes, bridge is somewhat complicated, but, since I teach the game part-time, I've had enough students, including a few with the intellectual capacity of lima beans, to know it's not a game only bright people can play. Still, brains help. Evolved from whist, which is quite simple, it's always been more popular in England.
Alice rose from the bench. "Sorry, didn't mean to gossip." At the doorway, she turned to me again. "Your Mum told me you play bridge very well and even teach other people how to play."
I grinned. "It makes a great hobby, and scientists say it preserves ones memory. But don't tell anyone. Few people in my generation play the game, and I'll be thought weird if they discover I do."
Dead in the Water (Olivia Grant Mysteries Book 1) Page 3
