“Bad how?” Emma glanced at the door. No sign or sound of movement from Frank, yet.
Oliver didn’t answer. His pawing grew frantic. Emma moved to pick him up, but as she did, she saw a flash of gold between the cushions.
Emma momentarily forgot about moving her dog and instead dug her fingers down between the cushions. When she pulled her hand back, she was holding an earring.
It was a lovely piece of jewelry, clearly vintage, a fan shape dripping with jet and gold beads.
Emma recognized it. It was one of the earrings Marcie had been wearing when she came to the B&B.
“Oh,” she breathed. “Oh, dear.”
She closed her fingers gently around the earring. She should probably put it somewhere, or give it to Frank when he came back. She looked around, searching for the other one. She was just about to reach under the cushion, but Oliver barked.
“There! Emma! Somebody’s coming!” Oliver stood up on his hind legs and pressed his front paws against the window. “Look! Look!”
“Shhh! Oliver! It’s all right.” Emma leaned over next to him. A lime-green convertible pulled around the circular drive.
“Oh, that’s just Gus,” she said. “Headed for the . . .”
Snick.
Slowly, the window swung open. Oliver yipped. His front paws scrabbled against the empty air.
Oliver tipped, and fell forward.
27
The next thing Emma knew, she was two full meters back from the window seat, staring at the open window, with Oliver clutched tight in her arms.
“That was bad,” wheezed Oliver. “I’m sorry, Emma. I’m . . .”
“Not your fault,” Emma whispered. Her heart was banging against her ribs like it wanted to get out. She couldn’t stop seeing Oliver tilting forward over the empty air, his paws waving.
“It’s okay.” He licked her chin. “I’m okay, and so are you. Nobody fell. It’s all okay.”
“Yeah, I know.” She pressed her forehead against the scruff of his neck.
“Emma, you can let go now.”
“Yeah, yeah, okay.” Emma sucked in a deep breath and put Oliver down. She pressed her palms against her face and tried to will herself to stop shaking.
The window hung open. The breeze blew the dark curtains back. Emma smelled the summer air.
Emma made herself walk to the window. She needed to get it shut. It was dangerous. Somebody could fall.
Somebody already fell. She swallowed hard.
Emma made herself lean in and look more closely at the latch. It was dangling loose. It was the kind of latch with a little bar that rested in a bracket. When you wanted to open the window, you turned the latch up and pushed the window open. When you pulled the window shut, you turned the latch and dropped that little bar into the bracket again.
But the bracket was missing. Nothing was holding the windows closed except the hinges.
She could picture what came next so easily. Marcie had arrived back home. She was tired. She was sad. She’d come into her office to drop off her bag, and she’d slumped down on the window seat and leaned against the pane.
And the latch had given way, and she’d tipped out and fallen. Just like Oliver almost had.
It had been an accident.
Except for Caite Hope-Johnston sneaking into the house to get at the computer, she reminded herself. And except for Bert making so sure that everybody knows it’s suicide.
And what about Oliver saying something’s bad here?
“Oliver . . .” she began.
“What are you doing?” demanded Frank. “Get back from there!”
Startled, Emma shrieked and whirled around. Frank stood in the office doorway, his face flushed red.
Oliver barked.
“I, uh, sorry.” Emma tried to calm her heart down, but it wasn’t interested. “Oliver got up on the seat, and he put his paws on the window, and it came open.”
Frank swore and hurried forward. He grabbed the window latch and pulled it shut. “This house! I swear the place is held together with caulk and baling wire! But my dear sister kept saying she’d handle it. Didn’t want anybody’s help. She could take care of everything and she was going to, whether the rest of us wanted her to or not.” He glared at the window. Then he stopped, and the color drained from his cheeks. “I didn’t mean that,” he said. “I don’t want you to think I’m blaming her. Because I never would.”
“No, no, of course not,” Emma murmured.
Oliver barked again, but then immediately ducked his head in apology. Emma desperately wished she could ask him what he smelled that was so bad. But it was too late.
“Emma.” Oliver tentatively bonked her calf. “Emma, tell him about the bad. And you dropped the sparkly!”
What are you . . . ? Emma looked around, confused. Oliver pawed the carpet. Oh! Oliver was pawing at the earring on the Persian carpet. Emma picked it up. “We found this. It was Marcie’s.”
Frank took the earring from her fingertips. “Where was this?”
“In between the window seat cushions.”
“Oh. I expect it’s been there for ages.” He tucked it into his pocket. “I’ll give it to Helen. She might want it. Did you find the other?”
“No, just that one.” She paused. “How long has that window latch been broken?”
“I don’t know that I’d ever noticed it was.” He considered. “I think I remember Marcie saying last winter she was going to get somebody in to fix all the windows. It’d help with the heating costs and all. But she didn’t get round to it. She decided that the roof repairs were more important.” He glowered at the window again. “You don’t think, I mean, that it might have been an accident after all, do you?”
“I don’t know,” said Emma. “I mean, it could be.”
“Yes,” muttered Frank. “I wish I knew—” He stopped again. “Yes. Right. Well. You pick out those books, then?”
“Oh, no. Sorry.” Emma hurried over to the bookcase. She reclaimed the copy of Rebecca from the desk and then started pulled additional titles as quickly as she could: Jamaica Inn, The Scapegoat, My Cousin Rachel, and Mary Anne (a dark horse favorite). “This should do to begin with.”
“And then some, I’d say,” said Frank, striving to lighten the tone. Stiff upper lip. “Well, you’ve got a lot to be getting on with I’m sure. And so do I.”
“Yes, thank you. Sorry to have taken up so much of your time.”
“No, no, glad to. Well. Yes.” He looked back over his shoulder to the window. “And no.”
“I understand,” said Emma.
Frank murmured something under his breath that sounded like I very much doubt that, and walked out the door.
Emma trailed behind with Oliver. She tried frantically to think of some excuse to linger in the office. She wanted to try to get into the computer. She wanted to find out what it was around the window seat that had upset Oliver and Dash so much. This room was full of answers, and all she was taking out was a stack of old books.
She was grateful Frank couldn’t see her face as she followed him down the hallway to the main stairs. They met Gus coming up from the first floor.
“Oh, Frank, I was looking for you. Do you have a second?” He pointed down the hallway toward what Frank had said were the family rooms.
“Yes, sure. You can find your way all right?” he said to Emma.
“No worries,” she answered brightly.
“You can call if there’s anything else you need.” There was an undercurrent in Frank’s voice. Call. Don’t just show up again. We’ll decide if you can be let in.
“I’ll do that, thanks,” said Emma. “Come on, Oliver. Genny’s waiting for us.”
She brushed past the brothers, smiling in what she hoped was an apologetic fashion.
Something is wrong. Something abo
ut all this doesn’t add up, and I don’t know what it is.
“Oliver,” she muttered, “as soon as we get out of here, we are going to have a long talk.”
“Yes!” Oliver yipped. He hopped down two more stairs. “I’ve found out many important things!”
That makes one of us.
She wanted to talk to Genny. She wanted time to think. She wanted an excuse to run back upstairs to Marcie’s office.
But Genny wasn’t alone when Emma got to the kitchen. Daphne was sitting on a stool beside her, pouring out a fresh mug of tea.
“Are you all right, Emma?” Genny asked. “You look like somebody just took a swipe at Oliver.”
“Nobody takes a swipe at a warrior corgi!” grumbled Oliver as he went to nose at the food bowl by the cast-iron stove. “Dash has eaten all the kibble again.”
“Yeah, sorry.” Emma shook herself. “But Oliver did almost fall out the window.”
“The window?” echoed Daphne. “Not . . . the same one as Aunt Marcie?”
“I’m afraid so,” said Emma. She had no idea how Daphne was going to take this revelation. “The latch is broken. It’s missing the lower bracket, so that when it slipped, the window just swung open.”
“Yikes!” cried Genny. “You must have been scared to—” Genny evidently realized she was about to choose a bad figure of speech and changed course. “Out of your wits!”
“For a minute there, yeah,” agreed Emma. “And we found an earring too, under the cushions. It was one that Marcie had been wearing when she came to see me.”
“Oh,” breathed Daphne. “Well, I mean, all that says is that she was up there. We knew that.”
“And that’s it? That’s all you found?” said Genny.
“I didn’t have a lot of time. But so far, yes, that’s it.”
Daphne tugged at her ponytail, caught herself and brushed it back over her shoulder. “Well, I mean, I guess—Gah!” she grunted. “I was just so sure Uncle Bert must be covering something up.”
“He still might be,” said Emma. “I just don’t understand why he’d be so anxious to call her death a suicide rather than an accident.”
Daphne looked away and tugged at her ponytail. “I suppose. But it’s going to take a lot more than some confusion and an earring to convince Mum. But thanks for trying. I mean that.” She was trying to be polite, but she was also clearly disappointed.
“We’ve just started,” Emma reminded her. “There’s still plenty we don’t know.”
“Right, right.” Daphne took a deep breath. “Keep calm and sleuth on?” She tried to smile. “I’d better go get a shower,” and with that, she headed toward the door to the main house.
When she was gone, Genny turned to Emma. “All right, Emma Reed, I know that look. What didn’t you tell her?”
“Nothing. I mean, nothing really. It’s just, there is one more thing I want to check on.”
“So you did find out something else,” said Genny eagerly. “I knew it!”
“It’s a maybe,” Emma warned her. “I’m really, really not sure.”
“So, tell me all about this maybe.”
Emma looked over at the door to the main house. “Outside.” She collected her bag and gathered up the books from Marcie’s office. “Come on, Oliver!”
“Yes! Yes!” Oliver zoomed up the steps to the courtyard. He paused by the Mini, his whole body quivering, and then he made a beeline for the old carriage house. It was a low brick building with a sloping roof with wide eaves. Clearly, it was now doing duty as a garage. Even Emma could make out the tire tracks leading up to the three sets of bay doors. The doors didn’t lift open, like on a modern garage, they swung open sideways. They also sagged against their hinges and could have used a good coat of paint. Various vermin had gnawed at their edges.
Oliver nosed the gravel, moving back and forth, searching for something.
“What’s got into him?” asked Genny.
Premonition closed Emma’s throat tight.
Oliver froze in place for one strained heartbeat, and then started pawing frantically at the gravel, just like he had at the seat cushions upstairs.
“Emma! Emma!” barked Oliver. “It’s here! There’s more bad!”
Without a word, Emma dumped Marcie’s books into Genny’s arms and ran over to her dog. A cold, sinking feeling dragged hard at each step. Genny mumbled something not entirely complimentary and hurried to catch up.
“Bad! Bad!” barked Oliver. “Dash said it. He said! It’s bad!”
“Oliver, it’s okay, calm down.” Emma knelt down and wrapped an arm around him. “Calm down now.”
“Bad!” he barked again. “She was here!”
Emma leaned in close and rubbed Oliver’s head. “What . . . what do you mean she was here?” she whispered in his ear. “Which she?”
“The Rain Lady . . . Marcie! Marcie was here!” he whined sharply. “She was dead here, Emma! Just like upstairs!”
28
Emma froze. Her breath rasped hard inside her throat.
“Is Oliver okay?” asked Genny. “He’s awfully agitated. Maybe he got into a patch of nettles or something?”
“No.” Emma stood up slowly. She felt the blood draining from her cheeks. Her hands had gone cold. “Nothing like that.”
“Emma,” said Genny. “You’re scaring me. What is going on?”
How do I even . . . ? Emma forced her mind into motion. “Um, Genny. I’m going to have to ask you to take a leap of faith with me here.”
“Ooookay. Where are we leaping?”
Emma swallowed. “Can you, just, go watch the kitchen door for a second and warn me if anybody comes out?”
Genny didn’t move. “Can I ask why?”
“I just need one second,” she said. “And then I’ll tell you everything.”
“You promise?”
Emma nodded.
“Yeah. Right. Okay.”
Genny, with a lot of backward glances, walked over to the Mini. She opened the driver’s side door and laid Marcie’s books on the seat. One at a time.
Emma sucked in a breath and got back down on her knees beside Oliver. “Tell me again, Oliver. What did you find?”
Oliver crouched low, as if getting ready to charge. “Rain Lady Marcie, she was dead here, and she was dead up there! I can smell it! It’s blood and it’s sick and it’s bad!”
It wasn’t always easy to understand Oliver, especially when he got upset, but this time Emma was sure she grasped his meaning, or at least its implications. The problem was, she really didn’t want to.
“Are you absolutely sure, Oliver?” she whispered. “I mean, it was raining hard all that night.” It should have washed away any scent.
“It’s dry here.” Oliver thrust his nose at the gravel.
“Because we’re under the eaves.” Emma glanced overhead. “If the rain was falling straight down, it wouldn’t have gotten this part of the ground . . . Oh, sugarplum fairies,” she breathed.
Oliver sprang forward, like he was trying to trap something under his paws. “Here! Here!” He scrabbled at the gravel. “Right here!”
Emma leaned in closer. Oliver dug harder. Another few bits of gravel shifted backward. Emma saw a glimmer of gold among the loose stones.
She slapped her hand over her mouth. Because there in the mud was another earring, all gleaming gold and shining jet beads. Just like the one she’d handed to Frank.
Gravel crunched. Startled, Emma fell over onto her backside. Genny loomed over her and did not look at all sorry.
“That’s it,” Genny said. “I’m done playing lookout. What is going on?”
Emma scrambled to her feet and dusted her hands. She also looked toward the grange. This was taking too long. Somebody in the house would see them. Frank and Gus could be looking down from a first floor wi
ndow right now. Or Bert, wherever he was. Somebody would come to find out why on earth she and Genny were hanging about in the courtyard.
“We need pictures,” she said.
“Of what?” demanded Genny. Oliver whined and wagged, and pawed at the ground. Genny bent closer. “Is that an earring?” She reached for it.
“Don’t!” shouted Emma. “It’s evidence!”
Genny straightened up slowly. Emma yanked her mobile out of her bag. She took a couple of photos of the earring close-up. Then she backed away, crouching down and angling the phone awkwardly, to try to make sure she could get enough of the garage and the door into the shot to show exactly where the earring was.
Genny hovered anxiously over Emma as she snapped her shots. Then, Emma fished a tissue out of her bag and used it to pluck the earring out of the gravel, then tucked it into a side pocket.
“So, what exactly is it evidence of?”
“What’s evidence?” said Helen.
Both Emma and Genny jumped. So did Oliver, only he came down wrong and flopped sideways.
Helen was crossing the courtyard.
“Oh, hullo!” said Genny brightly.
Helen stopped about a meter from them. Her skeptical gaze swept across the scene. Emma felt her cheeks heating up, as if she’d been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
“Tell her!” Oliver bonked Emma’s calf. “Tell her about the bad!”
“What is the matter with you two?” Helen looked from Genny to Emma, both anger and disbelief showing plainly on her face. “You picked up something, I saw you, and you were talking about evidence.”
“Um, yes, well . . .” began Emma. She looked to Genny for help, but Genny just gestured.
Emma sighed. “We found this.” She pulled the tissue out of her purse and carefully opened it up. Helen stepped gingerly closer and peered at the earring.
“That’s Marcie’s,” said Helen. “It was her favorite pair. She must have lost it the night she died. I remember her wearing them.”
Murder Always Barks Twice Page 17
