Johns regarded the octogenarian Polly was pointing out. Mr. Murdock, the grocer, sported a red bow tie and extremely bright white tennis shoes. Catching Polly’s eye, he sent her a flirty wink.
“Mr. Murdock is here and I may need you around. He may try to get frisky with me.”
Johns stiffened. “I think I need a drink, Mum. Smells like something is burning.”
The tactic worked and Polly hastened back to the Aga to check on her meal. Johns saw Alistair tending bar and made his move in that direction secretly wishing his mother had a better filter regarding the things she felt comfortable sharing with him.
“Would you like a drink, Chief?” Alistair asked. “We’re having something Hemingway is known for.” Alistair was in every way the elegant maestro of the cocktail bar. Both he and Perigrine were in black dinner suits.
“Good evening, Mr. Turner. After my last conversation, I need one,” Johns said and scanned the room for red hair. Nothing.
Feeling underdressed, he added, “I’m sorry, I didn’t get the memo that this was a black-tie event.”
Piers walked over holding a tall, slim glass with a milky-green opalescent liquid inside, smiled at the Chief and said, “The decision to dress was impromptu, Merriam, and doesn’t carry weight when one, such as yourself, is dedicated to a higher purpose.”
“Sorry, Cousins, but I would disagree entirely,” Alistair said as he poured a jigger of absinthe into a Waterford stemmed glass. “The decision to dress, some would say, is what indicates one’s dedication to a purpose.”
Piers laughed and tipped his glass to Alistair’s sagacity. They were joined by Helen, dressed in a deep purple colored dress with a scoop-neck reminiscent of Grace Kelly.
She held a delicate piece of stemware in her hand filled with a white wine. “How are you, Merriam? Did you get to visit with Thomas Albright today?”
“I haven’t been able to run him to ground. He’s not answering his phone or his door. Does he travel much or would you know of any close friends I might contact?” Johns asked.
The pretty brunette’s face turned slightly dark. “Did you see…perhaps sneak a peek in the windows?”
Johns knew immediately what she was concerned about. “No bodies anywhere in his house, well, at least not that I saw.” A feeling of frustration, or was it foreboding, began to creep upon him, but he didn’t have time to dwell on the condition of Thomas Albright’s health because Helen moved swiftly around him. A slight sensation akin to static electricity tingled through his being.
“Martha! You're gorgeous,” Helen said.
Johns turned around. For a split-second, he lost control of his facial expressions. There, in a sleeveless black cocktail dress with a v-neck and an above-the-knee gathered chiffon skirt, was Martha, stunningly beautiful. She wore a wide black belt and her red hair was pulled up in a loose chignon with soft, curling amber tendrils falling loose to lightly touch her shoulders. A brilliant green jade necklace, coupled with her white skin and red hair, glowed in the soft light.
Forgetting the presence of others, Johns made three quick strides toward her. “You are beautiful.” His voice sounded far away.
“Thank you.” She smiled, gazing up at him.
With all his heart, he wished they didn’t have to stay at the dinner party.
“Here’s your drink, Chief,” Alistair said at his side, bringing him grudgingly back to terra firma.
Johns stared down at the green colored bubbly drink. At its rim perched an extremely slender wedge of lime stabbed through with a sprig of thyme. “What’s this masterful concoction, Mr. Turner?”
“Death in the Afternoon. A mixture of absinthe and champagne. It goes well with creole food which is what we’re having tonight.”
“If you would please take your seats, dinner is ready,” Polly announced.
The dinner guests moved into the dining area and settled into their places.
Transformed for the evening, the farmhouse table resembled something seen in decorator magazines. White table linens and the red pottery plates coupled with light-catching Waterford crystal stemware. Polly was using her grandmother’s silver. Two multi-armed candelabras graced the table allowing the guests to enjoy the soft glow of candlelight.
Relaxed conversation and occasional laughter, both light and uproarious at times, mixed with the soft tinkling of silverware touching plates or crystal brushing crystal. Perigrine mesmerized the dinner guests with a story about an abandoned manor house in Prague he and Alistair found themselves staying in for a few days years ago.
“Did you think it was haunted?” Martha asked, her expression hopeful.
“Definitely,” he said smiling thoughtfully. “It was rumored to have treasure buried within its walls. You would think it hadn’t been touched in sixty years. Dust covered the floors, the window sills, and the old crystal chandeliers.”
Helen put her napkin down beside her plate, indicating she was finished. “Surely you weren’t the first people to cross the threshold in all that time?”
“No, others were more than willing to hunt for the diamond cache the original owner, a wealthy entrepreneur, supposedly hid from the Nazis as they marched on Prague. The owner was collected and sent to a death camp. He never got back to his home.”
“Who’s the ghost?” Martha again tried to bring the story back to the hoped-for haunting.
“His daughter. According to locals, she was extremely beautiful and as the armed men pursued her through the mansion, some threatening what they would do to her, she ran to an open window on the second story and threw herself from it. They left her body where it fell and for many days the local people were too afraid to come near the house. Finally, one of her childhood friends, a young man, stole into the grounds and buried her in the garden.”
“Have people seen her?” Helen, as enthralled as Martha, asked.
Perigrine shot a glance at Alistair who said, “You started this. I’m staying out of it. I refuse to acknowledge it was anything more than moonbeams hitting the mirrors.”
Perigrine shrugged and finished his tale.
“It’s not so much they see her as that they hear her, but Al and I did have a moment in the upper story gallery, which if you asked me to go there again late in the autumn with all the trees bare of leaves and the moonlight filtering through the dusty windows, I’d probably decline.”
“Oh, come on, man! Tell us what you saw,” Polly demanded.
The table of guests unconsciously leaned in closer to hear Perigrine’s finale.
“We were sleeping on bedrolls in a room overlooking the garden where she is supposed to be buried and it was a foggy night so when I awoke from a sound, the first thing I saw was dense fog outside the windows. The moonlight created a luminescence intensifying the brightness in the room. Alistair was snoring about five feet away so I rolled over and pulled the bedroll over my head. I was now facing the hallway.”
No one moved. Like children telling ghost stories around a campfire, they waited for the final reveal.
“That’s when I saw her. She stood in the door, staring at me, wearing a dressing gown and nothing on her feet. Her face was so pitiful and sad. That’s when I heard footsteps. She turned and with one last glance, she was gone. I pulled myself from the bedding and moved as quickly as possible to the door where I’d seen her standing. There was a faint, barely audible cry and it was taken away by the scratching of branches outside.”
“Did you see if she was outside?” Piers asked.
Johns chuckled.
“What? I love a good ghost story, too,” Piers said unapologetically.
“No, because the footsteps sounded so real, I was sure other people were in the house. My mind wouldn’t wrap around the vision other than it had to be someone trying to scare us.”
Perigrine lifted his wine glass and took a drink. “I turned to go back and wake Alistair, but—”
“I was already out of my bed roll,” Alistair said. “It was time to go.”
“Ah, come on Alistair. Did you see anything?” Martha needled him.
Leaning back in his chair, the strangely handsome man’s dark eyes gave nothing of his inner thoughts away. Instead, Alistair changed the subject, which was something he was extremely deft at doing.
“I only heard the wind and voices in the garden. Real people’s voices. We needed to leave. Someone turned the polizei onto us. We never found the diamonds.”
Johns shook his head, but he was smiling when he said, “Oh, what I wouldn’t give to know a quarter of the things you two have been up to in your…line of work. Which brings up something interesting.”
Perigrine and Alistair gave the Chief their full attention along with the others at the table.
“I think I may take you up on translating Rossar-mescro’s letter, Mr. Turner. We can’t find Thomas Albright so we’ve sent a copy of the letter to Scotland Yard to have it translated and for forensic testing, but in the meantime I don’t see a problem with having you do a quick read, if you’re still interested?”
“Absolutely, Chief. Happy to help,” Alistair said as he sat his wine glass firmly on the table.
Just then, Amos, who had been busy working the underside of the dining table for possible crumbs, growled in a low, menacing way.
Helen peeked under the table to see what the fuss was all about just as glass shattered inward from the kitchen window accompanied by an ear-piercing explosion.
Johns yelled, “Get down! Everyone down!”
Helen froze in her chair. Piers grabbed her and pulled her to the wall under the window. When Martha heard “down,” she scrambled under the table only to meet Perigrine and Alistair under there. A bullet ripped past Polly’s head, nicking her ear and causing her to fall to one side of her chair. Martha reached over and pulled her to the center where they all huddled on the floor littered with broken glass.
Johns called out, “Is anyone hurt?”
“Your mother’s been nicked but—” Martha answered, cut short by a blast ringing through from the living area.
Perigrine moved first, crawling from under the table and neatly turning out the dining room lights, leaving only the candles to illuminate the space.
Johns, in a hushed voice, said, “I want all of you to crawl toward the pantry. Who has their mobile phones?”
“I do,” Piers said.
“Call the emergency number and tell them it’s the Chief’s house.”
Piers reached up, grabbed some napkins, and offered them to the women so they could wrap their hands to protect them from the shards of glass.
They moved quickly to the pantry and once safely inside, it was Martha who asked, “Where’s Alistair and Perigrine?”
Johns yelled, “Turner? Clark?” No answer came. “Where the hell did they go?”
It took some time before sirens were heard coming toward the farm. Johns instructed everyone to stay put until the area was declared safe. As the constables surrounded the area and checked barn stalls, the back garden shed and the outlying fields, it became sickeningly apparent that whoever fired on the dinner guests was a professional, most likely a team.
It was only thanks to Amos’ growl, which had caused Helen to bend down to look under the table that their intended target was still alive.
“Did you see where Turner and Clark went?” Johns asked Piers.
“No, too dark, and I wasn’t paying attention. I’m sorry.”
Johns said in a firm voice. “This is much bigger than what my constabulary is able to handle. We’re dealing with professionals and whatever they’re after and didn’t get, they’ll be back. I think I need to put the girls in police protection. I should have done it already.”
The muscle in Piers’ jaw flexed. “If anything happens to Helen, I’ll see to it the men are tracked down and…”
“What?” Johns demanded.
Piers didn’t answer. He left the room to presumably find Helen. Johns turned to see Martha’s fearful face and her red hair hanging tumultuously from its chignon. He held out his arms and she allowed him to embrace her.
“It’ll be okay. I promise,” he said holding her tightly.
Across the field and toward the river Calder two slim figures hurried down to a boat. They were being watched by Alistair and Perigrine who, after the motor started and the small watercraft made its way toward Marsden-Lacey, got up and headed not back to Johns’ house but to where their car was parked down by the entrance to the farm.
Looking at his watch, Alistair saw it was already ten o’clock. “We’re running out of time.”
“Let’s get to the boats and pray they haven’t figured it out yet,” Perigrine responded.
They moved quietly and found their car. Within ten minutes they were on their way to The Traveller’s and three slumbering narrowboats waiting for destiny to finally come knocking.
Chapter 25
STANDING IN THE DARKNESS OF his room, Emerson scanned Healy’s front lawn with the telescope he and Piers were learning to use. With the rain over, the bright harvest moon could be easily seen. More white than yellow, it crested above the tree line brilliantly illuminating the wet grass causing the lawn to sparkle whenever moonlight touched the millions of tiny water droplets. A few wisps of fog were beginning to unfold their tentacles and wrap around the trunks of the massive oaks down near the river Calder.
He saw Mr. Chattersworth coming back from the far stretch of field where the fox trap was hidden. Earlier that day, Emerson heard the old gamekeeper mention that he would be checking that evening to see if the trap worked. The boy hoped the fox didn’t take the bait. Tomorrow, if Celine was up to the walk, they would explore the area and if the fox was in the trap, he would set it free.
Emerson continued to watch the lawn. He controlled his breath to keep his vision steady. That’s when he saw it. Another smaller figure came out from behind a massive oak trunk. It was Tallant, his new friend from the boats. Emerson knew Tallant was going to try and save the fox by setting it free.
The thrill of a night’s adventure easily suppressed any objections Emerson’s conscience tried to make regarding safety. He quickly put on his shoes and a jacket. Grabbing his backpack, he shoved in a flashlight, his iPod and all the cookies he’d been saving from teas for the last week. They might need rations, if the night was long.
The only trick would be eluding the dogs outside, but if Chattersworth was mucking about they must be in their kennel. Without so much as a squeak from his bedroom door, Emerson let himself out. Down the long, shadowy corridor to the staircase, he went on tiptoes, trying with all his might to not make a single sound. Celine and the rest of the household would be sound asleep.
Like all children, Emerson knew his surroundings well. Household systems and the physical layout of his home he’d learned by simply paying attention to what the adults around him were doing daily. So, being a bright boy, he memorized the security code to turn off the alarm system by watching Celine or Piers operate it.
He typed in the four-digits and pressed off and waited to hear the click. Within minutes he was running across the long, sloping lawn of Healy toward the Calder, his new friend, and a trap made for foxes.
“I WON’T GO TO NOTTINGHAM,” Polly said staunchly. “Put me in one of your holding cells at the constabulary. I’ll be fine there.”
“Mum, I’ve already texted Detective Richards to come get all three of you and take you to a safe house in Nottingham.”
The entire dinner party of guests, minus Perigrine and Alistair, were gathered in the living room. Helen and Martha were standing close by one another with their shoulders touching. There was a certain comfort that comes from knowing your best friend is close.
“Would you accept the idea of Helen, Martha and Polly coming to Healy?” Piers asked. “I’ve an extremely advanced security system in place plus there are the dogs.”
Helen and Martha exchanged quick glances. They well remembered the ste
althy German Shepherds which patrolled the grounds of Healy.
Not responding at first, Johns said, “Cousins, if they go to Healy, I need your word they won’t leave. They typically don’t listen to…directions.”
“Of course. You have my word,” Piers said, nodding at Johns.
“Fine, that would be more comfortable for them, but tomorrow we’ll need to make better arrangements for their safety. I’ll send Richards another text and tell him to hold off and that they are going to Healy for tonight.”
“Um, out of curiosity, what were you going to say a minute ago about what we don’t typically listen to?” Martha asked with her eyes suspiciously narrowed.
Johns pressed his lips tightly and smiled more with his eyes. “Authority. I was going to say, you don’t listen to authority.”
“I think I may speak for both of us,” Helen shot a look at Martha who appeared to be on slow boil, “when I say Martha and I are going to check into a nice hotel.”
Martha nodded her consent.
“Absolutely not!” Johns and Piers stated in unison.
Taken off guard by their uniform response, it was Piers who pushed on first. “Helen, there is no need to take a hotel for the evening. You will be comfortable at Healy.”
The girls exchanged glances and Martha said, “You’re kind to offer, Piers, but we’ll manage at a hotel fine. Thank you but we’d only be putting your household in danger.”
“I’m going with them,” Polly said matter-of-factly, “if you’ll have me?”
The girls both laughed and Martha said, “Sounds like fun. Still have your gun, Polly?”
“Polly, you’re welcome to come to my house. I’d be honored to protect you,” Mr. Murdock said with a gentlemanly bow.
Polly pursed her lips together. Giving Mr. Murdock a critical eye. “I don’t think so, Murdock. Good try. I may consider allowing you to escort me to the Neighborhood Watch meeting tomorrow, if you don’t try any funny business.”
A Debt Is Finally Paid (A Marsden-Lacey Cozy Mystery Book 2) Page 13
