Deadly Treasures

by Vivian Conroy

  Peartree laughed softly. ‘The dumb fool actually wanted a search made of the inn and livery stables and barns for the missing item, certain the lad had hidden it there. Do you think the local police are going to search the house of one of their own for something gone missing from some fancy city crew?’

  Alkmene shook her head. ‘Not likely. So the missing find was never recovered.’

  ‘No. It wasn’t.’ Peartree finished his apple and carelessly tossed the remains down on the cobbles. He crossed his ankles like he was sitting in his easy chair at home. ‘I think the kid never had anything. Duncan only accused him to get rumours started that there really was a golden item dug up. People had started to say there was none, as he made no progress at all. He felt pressured to turn up results and he believed such a tale would aid him.’

  He shook his head. ‘That was stupid. It only brought out vultures. People with spades digging in the fields, trying to find something themselves. He had to guard the site at night to make sure nobody got on there.’

  ‘And on that guarded site the man was murdered? This Reiner Goodman?’

  Peartree nodded. ‘But don’t expect the night guard to tell you anything useful. The old sod saw nothing. I bet he was drunk and sleeping it off in a dry ditch. These local people aren’t good for anything.’

  He rose and stretched himself. ‘I suppose the police didn’t want to let you see Duncan, huh?’ He didn’t add ‘told you so’ but his tone clearly implied it. ‘Shall we go back to the cottage?’

  His smug attitude irritated Alkmene, and she wanted to go to the inn, not the cottage. On the other hand, she would be spending enough time at the inn later, getting her chance to speak with Sarah and maybe also her brother, who had allegedly stolen this gold item from the dig.

  Right now she needed all the information she could get about the victim and his movements before his death. As she had no access to Duncan, he could not tell her what the argument with the victim had been about. But Peartree had allegedly overheard it, so he had to know. Perhaps if she acted like she was accepting his better judgement, he would start to thaw and give her what she needed?

  With Jake already on his way to Blackcastle, determined he could solve the crime before she could, she didn’t have a lot of time to gather something big and revealing.

  She nodded. ‘All right, let’s return to the cottage. My throat is parched; I need some tea.’

  In the car on their way down the country road she began, ‘So Reiner Goodman came to see Duncan, the night before he died. I assume this happened at the cottage? That that is where you overheard them arguing?’

  Peartree nodded. ‘It was right underneath my bedroom window.’

  How convenient, Alkmene thought. ‘What did they say exactly?’

  Peartree kept his eyes on the road. ‘Duncan said he’d break his head for what he had done.’

  ‘Yes, I know that. But what had Goodman done exactly? What did they say before that threatening remark?’

  ‘I have no idea. I was about to turn in. I walked over to the window to close my curtains. The weather was so warm and dry that I had left the window open. They were standing below in the yard. I heard Duncan’s voice clearly. Goodman was speaking much more softly. I have no idea what he said.’

  How convenient again. Alkmene shifted her weight in the seat. She didn’t trust Peartree’s testimony at all, but the local police would have no reason to doubt him.

  Unless she could prove Peartree had a grudge against Duncan and therefore a reason to incriminate him. What was the true reason for his visit to the dig?

  Peartree said, ‘Look, nobody out here knew the murdered man. Usually killers don’t strike at victims they do not know, unless they’re insane. Are you suggesting we have a madman out here?’

  On the contrary. She considered Peartree very sane, rational and organized. He had overheard a conversation where Duncan threatened the man who had come to see him. It might have given him an idea or two. If Peartree had never wanted Duncan to be in charge of the expedition, as his own bitter words earlier had clearly suggested, this might have seemed the ideal opportunity to remove Duncan from the scene.

  But would you really kill a man to frame another? It seemed like such a risky thing to do. Despite her dislike of Peartree’s attitude now, and also in town earlier, she had to keep an open mind and look for other suspects besides him.

  Suddenly Peartree braked hard, and she was thrown forwards. She just got her hands against the dashboard, but she felt a painful twinge in her neck. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Ruddy dog,’ Peartree cried, gesturing at the road in front of them.

  A big shaggy dog had jumped away from the car. It stood looking at them disdainfully, then jumped into the meadow to their left and ran off. Alkmene looked to the right to see where it had come from. She spied a crooked man carrying a big sack over his shoulder.

  Peartree honked at the man, swinging his fist at him, before he drove on.

  ‘That crackpot also worked on the site,’ Peartree said to Alkmene. ‘Old Paul, they call him. Nobody knows if he even has a last name. Seems he had family living near the Black Castle for centuries. He can trace his genealogy back to Noah if you ask me. I thought it was only the Irish who were obsessed with their family line and heritage, but the Cornish are just as bad.’

  ‘I’ve never had a problem with a man who was proud of his legacy,’ Alkmene said, looking back at the sturdy little man. ‘What on earth is in that sack he’s carrying?’

  ‘His finds for the day. Old Paul is a beachcomber.’ Peartree grimaced. ‘Seems he has laid claim to the land Duncan is digging on. He has an old deed that says the land belongs to his family and Duncan is not allowed to work there. But Price got permission for Duncan via a relation in London. I think the former mayor of this place or something? Anyway, if Duncan recognized the little man’s claims, he would have to share the finds with him. Duncan is not the sharing type, you know.’

  Alkmene nodded. ‘It sounds like Duncan was at odds with a lot of people out here. How long had he been working here?’

  Peartree shrugged. ‘For months I think. I came in a little later. I had been to Monaco on business first.’

  ‘Yes, what do you do exactly?’ Alkmene studied him.

  ‘I’m into wine. Import, export. I met Duncan when I delivered some fine Chardonnay to his father. Duncan told me all about his work here and invited me to come take a look.’

  The meeting surprised Alkmene. She had guessed that Duncan and Peartree had met via Duncan’s patron Price. Or maybe even were old acquaintances, for instance from Duncan’s time at Eton. After all, you didn’t invite someone over for a stay, for weeks on end, without knowing him fairly well.

  With Peartree turning out to be a wine merchant who had just delivered some goods to his father’s house, it seemed a bit odd that Duncan had immediately sought his friendship.

  Jake would probably have considered that a typical class-conscious conviction, but Alkmene knew better than most how Duncan had been raised. He had to have changed a lot to act so at odds with his upbringing.

  As if Peartree sensed her disbelief, he smiled and spoke slowly. ‘No, actually it wasn’t like that. I spread that tale to be kind to Duncan. I don’t want to embarrass him with the truth.’

  Alkmene waited.

  Peartree said, ‘Duncan and I met at a club, playing cards. Duncan was a bit drunk at the time and boasting about a treasure he was going to unearth in Cornwall.’

  Alkmene’s heart beat fast. The Black Castle gold, again.

  Peartree said, ‘I bet Duncan he couldn’t find this alleged treasure and he bet me that he could. I’m afraid that he was so drunk at the time he wagered quite a lot of money on it.’

  Alkmene blinked. It wasn’t Duncan’s excess drinking that baffled her, although it was disconcerting that he had also been drunk when he had been attacked by the locals recently. How much was he drinking and why?


  But far above this unfortunate revelation, Peartree had handed her a far more vital clue. In a few callous words he had explained that Duncan had wagered part of his family fortune on the chances of finding an elusive treasure here on site.

  It was so like Duncan.

  It was so…

  Dumb.

  Alkmene suppressed a deep sigh. ‘So if Duncan doesn’t turn up this alleged treasure, you’ll be rich?’

  Peartree shrugged. ‘Rich is a big word, but I’ll be able to travel to France on holiday instead of business for a change.’

  Alkmene nodded. It still didn’t explain how Peartree had known Duncan. She refused to accept that they had been in the same club by coincidence. They had to have known each other before the unfortunate wager. But the wager did explain why Peartree had come out here. He wanted to see for himself how Duncan was getting along.

  Or rather not getting along. After all, it would be in Peartree’s interest that Duncan did not find anything. That his excavation here would end in abject failure.

  She tried to sound light and teasing when she said, ‘You do realize how you just handed me a wonderful motive for accusing Duncan of murder. If he is in jail, he cannot look for the treasure. Every day he spends locked up gets you closer to a win in the wager and therefore closer to a lot of money.’

  Peartree didn’t seem to take offence at her suggestion. He grinned. ‘Maybe. It would explain why I was so eager to tell the police what I overheard the night before the murder, right?’

  He glanced at her as if to read how seriously she was taking his playful suggestion.

  Alkmene kept her expression blank. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of Peartree. He seemed self-absorbed, rude to people he considered not in his league, or merely provocative for the sake of the provocation. But some people were like that without ever doing any real harm.

  Peartree continued, ‘There’s a big difference between mentioning you heard someone threaten another and actually killing the threatened party on the belief the police will then arrest the threatening party as the killer. It would be a rather big gamble.’

  ‘You just told me you’re a gambling man.’

  ‘When money is at stake. Not lives. It would be rather tricky to kill someone only to remove Duncan from the scene so he cannot find a treasure that may or may not exist, don’t you agree? Did Goodman really have to die for that? What if the police had not even believed me? Or had not weighed my testimony as they have?’

  ‘Oh, but you knew they would. Because there was already so much tension and antagonism in town against Duncan and his excavation. That beachcomber we just saw claimed the land was his. Workers had been fired, one of them even accused of having stolen something. Threats had been left on Duncan’s tool shed. He had even been attacked in the night and beaten up. He was putting pressure on the local constabulary to find the culprits, while they were not eager to do so. Under those conditions you could be fairly certain that the police would jump at the chance to take Duncan in and lock him up. They might have done so for a lesser crime than murder.’

  ‘Very good.’ Peartree glanced at her again. ‘You should have been an attorney. You put one and one together fast and make it all sound so convincing. Are there even other possibilities left in your mind? Or do you really claim you have been on the scene for two hours and you have already solved the whole thing? Pinning it all on me?’

  Alkmene flushed. He was right that she was jumping to conclusions. The facts as she had them could be construed this way, but no doubt it was not the only way. Perhaps her eagerness to stay ahead of Jake was making her a little careless?

  She said, ‘My approach is simply a matter of method. My father is a botanist and he studies plants under his microscope. For identification he focuses on the leaves, or the stem, or the roots, to see details that can lend meaning to the whole. Right now I’m focusing on one bit of the case. Your involvement. But I’ll also look at others and what they might have contributed. In the end I’ll have a complete picture of things and then I’ll know who did it.’

  Peartree smiled. ‘Very methodical indeed. Not without danger though. This person you are hunting, if we assume it was not Duncan, has already killed once. Who knows if he won’t kill again, hmm, to stay safe?’

  Alkmene stared ahead. She was not quite sure if this was just a well-meant warning on Peartree’s part or something quite different.

  A direct threat.

  Chapter Five

  Back at the cottage where Duncan had lived during his adventure here in Cornwall, Peartree went to put the car at the back, leaving Alkmene outside the cottage looking around.

  She raised her arms over her head to loosen up her stiff back muscles and yawned.

  ‘Dear me, that sounds like you’re really tired.’

  Alkmene jumped and turned to the voice behind her. A little woman with the face of a naughty elf had come from the cottage and smiled up at Alkmene. She was carrying a cloth bag in both hands. ‘If you put a twig of lavender under your pillow at night, you’ll sleep better.’

  ‘I have lavender drops to sprinkle on the pillow,’ Alkmene responded at once. ‘But thank you for your advice.’

  She held the woman’s gaze. It was impossible to tell how old she was. Her skin was smooth without wrinkles, her eyes bright and lively, but her hair was already grey.

  ‘Master Duncan is not here,’ she said with a wink. ‘You can find him on the meadow digging for his gold.’ She clicked her tongue. ‘Quite obsessed he is with his gold.’

  ‘Do you think it is there?’ Alkmene asked.

  ‘Oh, there is something there all right,’ the woman said. ‘Different from what he thinks maybe, but there is something there.’

  She glanced around her as if she was worried about being overheard. Catching sight of something past Alkmene, she shrank and inched back. ‘I have to be going.’ She turned and ran off on her short legs.

  Alkmene glanced over her shoulder and saw Peartree coming for her. He asked with a frown, ‘Was that the charwoman?’

  ‘You should know her. You live here, not me.’

  Peartree shrugged. ‘I had no dealings with the man who provided the cottage to Duncan or the people who came and went to help him keep it clean. Came and went, I say, for Duncan managed to get into arguments with all of them within a day or two.’

  Perhaps the innkeeper’s daughter, Sarah, had started off as charwoman in Duncan’s cottage. Was that how they had met?

  Peartree checked his watch. ‘I suppose we could find some meal in the kitchen. Cold cuts at the least – and bread.’

  ‘Great, I’m starving.’

  They went in. From the hallway that was no bigger than a closet at her home in London, two doors led into a living room full of polished furniture and a kitchen dominated by a stove. On the table’s scratched top was a plate with buns. Peartree took one and wolfed it down. ‘Have one too – they’re fresh. Lukewarm even. I suppose that charwoman just pulled them out of the oven. Did she say anything to you? She is slightly off in the head, you know. Imagines things.’

  ‘Oh,’ Alkmene said, hurriedly picking up a bun and taking a big bite so she was prevented from answering any more questions. The woman had obviously been frightened of Peartree as he had come upon them. She didn’t intend to share one word of what the woman had said to her with him.

  ‘I think,’ Peartree said, leaning against the sink, ‘that in these isolated parts people still marry family members and all of this uhm…inbreeding – if you’ll forgive me the crude term – leads to deficiencies.’

  ‘She seemed quite normal to me,’ Alkmene mumbled. Peartree’s self-righteous attitude was getting on her nerves.

  Peartree laughed. ‘She is definitely not normal. But I suppose she comes cheap. Duncan didn’t want to spend any money on things that weren’t essential to the dig. The quest for the gold.’

  Peartree looked over his shoulder into the unruly yard
. His eyes narrowed. ‘Excuse me…’ he said and left through the back door. Creaking, it seemed ready to fall off its hinges as he slammed it shut.

  Alkmene followed his progress through the backyard around some bushes. She had no idea what he had seen there that had required such immediate action. But his departure opened up the way for her to have a quick look around in the cottage. There might be a clue there.

  Pushing the rest of the bun into her mouth, Alkmene went into the living room. The furniture had obviously once belonged to an old lady with a fondness for embroidered pillows and china figurines. The hearth didn’t seem to have been used recently. The poker, however, was hanging crookedly in the holder.

  Alkmene leaned over and took a better look at the metal object. Her heart was beating fast as if she expected to see something grisly. But there was nothing there. The victim had been killed with a hammer, right? She assumed the police had found that hammer on the spot and had taken it in to keep it with the rest of the evidence.

  She was about to turn away from the chimney when she caught sight of a piece of paper sticking out from behind a silver clock on the mantelpiece. She reached out and pulled at it.

  It was an envelope. A strong hand had written the address. The Hon Duncan Woolsbury.

  She turned it over, but there was no sender anywhere on the envelope. When she peeked inside, nothing was there.

  The handwriting reminded her, though, of the blackmail letter she had received some time back. It had accused her of consorting with a convict and threatened her to reveal this to her father unless she paid money, by putting it in a hat box and leaving this hat box on a bench near a specified church. The letter had closed with the warning she was being watched.

  Although no new letters had arrived after the first one, the being watched part had been on Alkmene’s mind a lot. When she went out shopping, she imagined seeing a man following her around, watching her from the other side of the street. It could be just a bum who had nothing better to do than linger in the street here and there. But she had been quite sure it had been the same person on several occasions.