Murder Always Barks Twice

by Jennifer Hawkins

“It wasn’t that much.”

  “I know it doesn’t seem that way, but, well, Helen was in a really bad way, and, Daphne was no better, I’m afraid.”

  “I’m glad I could help.”

  Bert was watching her carefully. Emma resisted the urge to take another drink to cover the silence. Between her time in finance, and then as an aspiring baker with a new space to kit out, Emma had been glad-handed by some of the best in the business. Daphne said her uncle was a charmer. She could believe it. He projected an air of casual confidence, and she could easily picture him being as comfortable in a London club as he was here in the Roundhead.

  She also remembered Daphne’s suspicion, and his brother’s insinuation, that her uncle had something to hide regarding Marcie’s death.

  Bert smiled again. “I guess by now you’ve figured out I’ve got an ulterior motive here.”

  Emma smiled. She took another sip of cider.

  “I understand Daphne’s been down at the B and B, talking with Pearl?” Bert went on.

  “They’re friends,” said Emma. “It’d be a surprise if they weren’t talking right now.”

  Bert grimaced. “All right, I guess I see how that sounded. But I worry about her. Daphne loved her aunt, and what’s happened . . . I know she feels horrible and she blames herself.” He paused and dropped his gaze to his beer. “It’s my fault, really.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “I should have listened better. To Marcie, I mean. But I was busy. I’m on a lot of charity boards, hospital boards, that sort of thing. It kept me too busy to see what was really going on. I’ve got to give Gus credit—he tried to tell the rest of us something was wrong, but, well, Gus has always been the type who gets himself worked up over nothing. I just didn’t listen, and this was the one time I should have.” He sighed and waited.

  Emma made a noise she hoped would sound sympathetic, and took another small sip of cider. For someone who said he blamed himself, Bert certainly was spreading a lot of blame around to other people, like Gus.

  But she also couldn’t help wondering about the difference between his conciliatory tone now and the way he’d shouted at his brother the other day.

  Here’s little Gus, all ready to take charge, because he’s so sure Marcie left him everything!

  If that was true, it meant that Gus had almost lost out to Daphne in terms of his inheritance. Emma frowned. Strange, though. If Marcie had been planning to leave the grange to Daphne up until recently, the normal thing to do would be to leave it in trust with her parents until Daphne came of age. So, why hadn’t she done that? Or if she had, why hadn’t she said anything to the family?

  Or maybe I’m just being paranoid? Emma scratched the top of Oliver’s head. He licked her hand.

  “I want to talk to Daphne’s mother about getting counseling for her,” Bert was saying. “What we don’t want is her talking to her friends and getting all worked up and spreading silly rumors. You know how things are in a village. Somebody says something once, people like the story and it gets written into local lore, whether it was ever true or not.”

  Emma took another drink, but this time, the cider bit too hard against the back of her throat. She pushed the glass away. What she really wanted to do was glance around the pub and see who was within earshot. Bert may have been trying to warn her that whatever Daphne said to Pearl might get round the village, but she couldn’t help thinking his words applied to this conversation right now. This was the definition of a public place. Anybody might overhear them.

  So why are we talking about this here? And now?

  “Are you going to ask about Rain Lady?” grumbled Oliver. “He smells a little like Rain Lady. Only less green.”

  Right. Emma steadied her nerve. “So, Bert . . . and I’m sorry, this is awful, but I suppose there’s no question in your mind about what happened?”

  His sigh was long and gusty. His shoulders slumped, and he looked out the window for a long moment. “You know, I’ve gone back and forth over it so many times, and I don’t see how there could be. When Daphne rejected her inheritance, it was like she’d rejected Marcie, and so Marcie killed herself.

  “God knows I feel for poor Daphne. I’m sure she had no idea what she was doing. But we’re all thoughtless when we’re kids, aren’t we?”

  Despite the cider, Emma felt a spark of anger. She remembered Daphne’s helplessness as she told Pearl all her fears, as well as her reasons for refusing to tie herself to Truscott Grange. “Thoughtless is not how I’d describe Daphne.”

  Bert looked at her sharply. Her answer had clearly put him on the alert. He’d been spinning a sympathetic story, and he’d been expecting her to just go along with it.

  “No, I suppose not. She’s a good girl, I’ll say that much. Her mum’s done a decent job. Maybe a bit too sporty, but what’s the harm there? And Frank, he hasn’t exactly gone out of his way to make sure his daughter had a connection to the family the way he should. So I guess it wasn’t really her fault in the end.”

  “I wouldn’t say it was her fault at all,” said Emma. “No one should pin the family future on a twenty-one-year-old girl. It’s not fair.”

  “I can see how it must look to an outsider,” said Bert loftily. “But it’s different when your family has been here for generations. It changes your perspective. That house was Marcie’s life. When Daphne turned her down, well, it was like all her years of work had been for nothing. I think in the end none of us were really surprised when she . . . she took her own life.”

  Emma blinked. Bert sounded not only wounded but absolutely certain. “But what if she didn’t?”

  His head jerked up. “I’m sorry?”

  “What if it’s discovered that Marcie didn’t kill herself?”

  Bert’s handsome, well-groomed attitude shifted smoothly over into pure, dismissive contempt. “This isn’t anything like that sordid business with Victoria Roberts, Ms. Reed. I’d take it very much amiss if I heard you were encouraging Daphne or Helen to think it might be.”

  Looming while seated was not something everybody could pull off, but Bert managed it. Emma kept her expression calm, but barely.

  “I meant, what if it turns out to have been an accident?”

  Emma watched with a certain amount of satisfaction as Bert’s measured contempt melted into a puddle of confusion.

  “Oh! Yes, of course.” He started to chuckle and then seemed to think the better of it. “Sorry. Yes, I suppose an accident is a possibility. But I think we all need to prepare for the worst. Including Daphne.” He had regained his poise, and his smooth charm. “I’m hoping I can count on you, and Daphne’s other friends, to understand how confused she is right now and help to keep her, well, on an even keel, you understand?”

  “I’m sure we’ll all do our best.”

  “Thanks, that’s all I’m asking.” He finished his beer. “Well, I’m off. Good to see you again, Emma.” He stood up.

  “Sorry,” said Emma. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure,” he said, although there was some hesitation in that one word.

  “I know it’s a very awkward time, but has the family made any decisions about whether the festival is still going to happen?”

  Bert looked at her blankly. Then realization dawned. “Oh. Oh, well, no, I don’t . . . that is, that’s not really on my list, you know. You should probably ask Helen or Gus about that.” Then, a thought seemed to strike him. “Still, I imagine it’s a bit of a big deal for you and your friends?”

  “My partners,” said Emma. “Yes, it would be. We’ve already put a fair amount of work into it.”

  “Well, how about I see if I can get an answer for you, then.” He pulled out his mobile. “Give me your number and I’ll let you know soonest.”

  There it was. The man who did business on the golf course and liked to be seen as the power b
ehind the throne, however small the throne might be.

  “Thanks so much,” said Emma. They exchanged numbers. Bert waved to Liza and Sam, and headed out, whistling softly.

  Emma watched him leave. Oliver did too, even stretching up to put his paws on the windowsill to see him climb into the silver BMW parked across the street and drive away.

  Emma stayed where she was, playing their conversation over in her mind.

  What exactly had that been about? Daphne said her uncle tried to cover things up. And yet here he was in the pub talking about the certainty of his sister’s suicide within earshot of a half dozen different people.

  Usually, if there was a suicide in a prominent family, uptight relatives would jump at the chance to call it an accident. But Bert hadn’t done that. In fact, he’d been unusually quick to assume she’d been talking about murder.

  And to demonstrate he wasn’t above a little light tit for tat.

  “He doesn’t like dogs,” said Oliver. “That’s sad.”

  “Yes. That too,” murmured Emma. “That too.”

  21

  When Emma got to the B&B on Sunday, she started to take herself round the back to the kitchen entrance as usual, but then she saw Angelique’s husband, Daniel, sitting on the front porch. He raised a mug in salute to Emma.

  “Hullo, Daniel. All right?”

  “Just about,” he answered. Of course, Oliver immediately sniffed his shoes and trouser cuffs. Daniel held out his hand for further canine inspection. “Hullo, Oliver.”

  “Salt, salt and diesel, sand and wood and fish and tea!” Oliver sat down and opened his mouth in that way that made him look like he was laughing. “It is a good morning!”

  “Most intelligent dog I think I’ve ever seen.” Daniel rubbed Oliver’s head. “You could swear he understands every word.”

  “You have no idea,” said Emma. “No trippers today?”

  “Taking a couple days, in case Angelique needs something. She’s still pretty rattled.”

  Emma had liked Daniel from the first time she met him. As a sailor, he had a firm grasp of the difference between what was really important and what was just loud and large.

  “Can’t say as I blame her for being upset,” Emma said. “I still can’t believe it even happened.” She paused. “Erm, Daniel, have Pearl and Angelique had a row? Only they were barely speaking to each other yesterday.”

  “Yeah, they did that.” Daniel put his mug down and rested both elbows on the table. “Got quite heated.”

  “What was it about?” she asked, and then immediately shook her head. “Sorry. I should ask them that. Never mind me.”

  “No, it’s all right. The truth is, it was about you.”

  “Me?” Emma’s voice broke and Oliver yipped.

  Daniel nodded. “Angelique found out that Pearl asked you to try to get some news, or something, about poor Marcie.”

  “Oh, well, yeah, that happened. Sort of. But she was really just trying to help Daphne.”

  “I’m sure, but Angelique’s a woman of strong principles. She thinks it wasn’t fair for Pearl to ask, because you’re renting your space from us, you see. You might feel pressured to go along, even if you didn’t want to.”

  “Oh, dear.” Emma looked toward the peaceful old tavern. “I mean, I never thought— Do you, um, think I should say something?”

  “If you find the chance. But it’ll probably work its own way through, maybe even by this afternoon, if my weather eye’s any good.” He tapped his temple.

  “Well, thanks for the warning anyway. I better get on.” Emma hitched her bag up on her shoulder.

  Daniel raised his mug again. “Cheers. Oh, and, Emma?”

  “Yes?”

  “I know you’ve got a nose for these things”—Oliver barked—“oh, not as good as yours, old chum. But if you are going to look into the Cochranes’ business, you might want to tread lightly there too.”

  “Any particular reason?”

  Daniel stared out toward the horizon, as if scanning the sky and the sea for squalls. “That family’s always had its own troubles, and always set great store by appearances. My da said he heard old Mr. Cochrane say that the modern world stopped at the door of Truscott Grange.”

  “Wow. That could be very peaceful, or utterly smothering.”

  “It could,” he agreed. “But it was also pretty serious stuff. I remember how Archie Hope-Johnston started speculating on the possibility that Cochrane had made more than a bit of his money off some sharp dealings in the City. After that, old Archie started having a lot of trouble getting clients. Had to close up shop and go into partnership down in Penzance.”

  She paused. “Wait. Is Archie Hope-Johnston related to . . .”

  “To the Hyphenated Caite?” said Daniel. “Her dad. Local solicitor before things went bad. I was at school with Caite. They tried to make out like it was just a career move, but everybody knew.”

  Well. A family feud. That could explain the origin of Caite’s malice toward Marcie.

  “What was it old Mr. Cochrane did?”

  “Stock trader. Made a pile in the City, cashed out and retired early.”

  Emma let out a long, slow breath. There were a lot of ways to get rich in the City. Not all of them stood up to being examined in the cold light of day. Daniel nodded, clearly aware of the direction her thoughts had taken.

  “And what happened to Archie Hope-Johnston?”

  “Very bad business, that,” said Daniel. “He was never able to make a go of the new position, and in the end, he hanged himself.”

  They both sat silent for a minute, letting those words settle between them.

  “Thanks for that, Daniel,” said Emma at last.

  “Good luck.”

  Thanks, I might need it. But Emma didn’t bother to say that out loud. The look in Daniel’s weather eye told her he already knew.

  * * *

  * * *

  The great room was empty, waiting for the breakfast setup to begin. Emma automatically checked the Reed’s Classic Cakes counter to make sure everything was, as Daniel might have put it, shipshape. Then, she crouched down and rubbed Oliver’s chin.

  “Oliver, I need your help. We need to get Angelique and Pearl talking to each other again,” said Emma. “Can I count on you to break the ice?”

  “Yes! Yes!” Oliver grumbled affectionately and licked her face. “They should be playing together, not growling. They love each other.”

  “Right. So. You first, and I’m right behind you.”

  “Watch me!” Oliver wagged, whisked around in a tight circle and headed straight for the kitchen. Since a corgi at high speed is basically a little, furry battering ram, he barreled right through the swinging door.

  “Oh my goodness!” Angelique exclaimed. “Oliver!”

  Emma followed her dog inside. The preparations for breakfast were already under way. Angelique and Pearl were both at their cutting boards, chopping piles of onions and tomatoes. A huge carton of eggs stood between them like a barrier. Neither woman was looking at the other.

  Oliver immediately went on the charm offensive. He trotted over to Pearl and poked her firmly in the calf with his nose. She looked down and smiled when he laughed up at her. “Good morning to you too, boyo,” she said.

  Oliver yipped and bounced, and immediately raced over to Angelique and gave her ankle a poke.

  “Shameless flirt you are,” she murmured. Oliver yipped again and zoomed back to Pearl, and then back to Angelique, and somewhere in this, mother and daughter both caught each other’s gaze, and held it.

  Oliver barked approvingly and bounced. And laughed.

  “Emma, I’d swear you’ve got him doing this on purpose,” said Angelique sternly.

  “Oh, come on,” said Emma. “How would I do that?” She went to her station and pulled out
her baking list for the morning. “Do you know,” she said, “I had the weirdest conversation in the pub with Bert Cochrane yesterday.”

  “How so?” asked Pearl.

  “He was trying his best to make sure I knew that Marcie killed herself.”

  “What?” exclaimed Angelique, pausing her precise onion disassembly.

  “Yeah, right?” Emma flipped the page on her baking list. “I mean, given everything everybody’s said about the Cochranes and how old-fashioned they are, I would have thought they’d be trying to hide that possibility as far under the bushes as they could.”

  “You’d think so, wouldn’t you,” murmured Pearl.

  “And then he tried to convince me that Daphne’s all troubled and guilty . . .”

  “Which she is, poor girl,” added Angelique.

  “Yeah, but I think he also wanted me to snitch on her.”

  Pearl laid her knife down. “Tell me you’re not serious?”

  “Very. It was so odd.” Emma paused to make sure she had everybody’s attention. “I think something weird is going on up at the grange.”

  Angelique and Pearl looked at each other, both stubborn and wary.

  “What kind of weird?” said Pearl.

  “I don’t know, but I’m sure it’s something. And I know what I said before, Pearl, but now I think Daphne might be right to be worried.” Especially about her uncle Bert.

  “Emma, I wanted to talk to you about that,” began Angelique.

  “No, Ma. I should say it.” Pearl cut her off, but there was no rancor in it, only a subdued determination. Oliver flopped down beside her, no doubt intending to provide furry moral support. “Emma, I’m sorry about the other day. I shouldn’t have let Daphne put you on the spot like that.”

  “You were trying to help out a friend who is having a bad time,” said Emma. “Maybe even worse than we realized.”

  “So what is it you want to do?” asked Angelique.

  Emma looked at her baking list. She wanted to be making her scones and her biscuits, and frosting the vanilla sponges she’d made with the almond-cherry mascarpone cream. And then she had to assemble the new chocolate cake for the Towne Fryer and deliver it along with a batch of Deluxe Ginger Biscuits, which generally sold better than the lemon bars . . .