Death in an English Garden: Book Six in the Murder on Location series

by Sara Rosett

  I spoke slowly as I worked through my thoughts. “If they were doing that, planting false threats, and then Arabella was killed, they’d be worried about how it would look once the police found out.”

  If Torrie had another threatening note prepared to “send” to Arabella, and she wanted to get rid of it, my tote bag would be a great place to drop it. Either I would carry it off the grounds of Tate House unknowingly, or if it were found, it would implicate me and draw the police’s attention to me.

  Chester nodded. “That’s what happened. Sending a couple of threats is bad, but it’s in a whole different league than murder.”

  “Yes, I can see how Arabella’s death would rattle them. What did you hear them say?”

  “When I came inside Torrie was yelling, saying she wouldn’t stand for it, and then Sylvester said he’d take care of it. She calmed down a little, and I couldn’t hear exactly what they said. I wasn’t paying that much attention then. Torrie has been on edge since yesterday. I figured she was having another one of her temper tantrums and ignored it, like I had been. Then I heard my name. Sylvester said whatever they did, they’d make sure it looked like I did it. Torrie said that wasn’t any good. ‘Too close to us,’ were her exact words. Then she said you’d be a better choice.”

  “When was this?” I asked, realizing now I was the one glancing around the grounds of Tate House nervously.

  “A few hours ago. I went and slammed the door. They got quiet then, and I didn’t hear anything else. I laid low then went to pack when they weren’t paying attention. They think I’m going out to pick up dinner.”

  “But you’re not. Where are you going?”

  “Away. The train station in Upper Benning for a start. I’ll park the SUV there and leave the keys under the floor mat. They have an extra set and can pick it up later. You seem like a nice lady. You always treated me right, didn’t look down your nose at me like some people. That’s why I told you this, but now I have to go.” He gave a little nod, like he’d completed a job and was satisfied with the results, then put the SUV in reverse.

  “But what about the investigation into Arabella’s death? You can’t just leave.”

  “The police haven’t told me not to, and they know where to find me.”

  “It won’t look good—you leaving. The inspector will think…”

  He patted a sealed letter on the console. “I wrote out everything for the inspector, why I’m leaving and where I’ll be, but I’m not sticking around here. I didn’t kill Ms. Emsley—I barely knew her. Why would I want to murder her? But I know how these things go. If they can pin those threats on me somehow, then the police will think I might have had something to do with getting rid of Ms. Emsley. Being the only one here with Ms. Emsley that afternoon is a strike against me. I’m not waiting around so they can pin the threats on me, too.”

  “If you leave, the police won’t see it that way,” I said.

  “I’ve got a kid, and if my ex ever gets wind of this, she’d be back in court so fast. She’s looking for an excuse to cut me out of my son’s life.”

  “How could she not know? Arabella’s death has been in the news.”

  “My ex-wife doesn’t know I was working for Arabella Emsley. She doesn’t even know I’m in the UK I don’t think the death of a British actress will be at the top of the news in Vancouver.”

  “Won’t Sylvester tell her?”

  “Nah—he never liked her,” he said with a small smile. “Besides, he’d never sell me out…well, not to her. He does have some standards—they are low, but he wouldn’t do that to me.” He gave me another little nod and released the brake. I let go of the window as he said, “Good luck.”

  The tinted window glided up, a square of blackness hiding his face, and then he swept away through the gates.

  Chapter 23

  AFTER CHESTER DROVE AWAY, I stood in the driveway, debating if I should ring the doorbell and talk to Torrie, which had been my original reason for stopping at Tate House. It didn’t seem like the smartest move after what Chester had told me. He could have made up the whole story, but I believed him. He’d looked genuinely pained when he mentioned the possibility of being cut off from his son. And someone had planted a threatening note in my bag. Torrie could certainly have done that at some point without me noticing.

  A phone call to Torrie would work fine, I decided. I climbed into the car and headed back to Cottage Lane. I parked the MG in front of Alex’s house. As I walked back to my cottage, I called Torrie. She didn’t answer, so I left her a message telling her I needed to coordinate with her about when they were leaving Tate House. I ended the message and hung up, thinking that even if she didn’t call me back I did have the codes to enter the house. If she didn’t want to meet with me—which sounded like a good idea now—I could have her leave the keys and remotes inside and pick them up later.

  I was glad to see no sign of Quimby either outside my gate or inside my cottage. I did a quick walk-through. It didn’t look as if anything had changed. I didn’t find any stray papers, and my only computer was still locked away in Alex’s messy closet. Slink had greeted me enthusiastically and then went into raptures when I picked up the leash.

  I locked up again, then Slink and I headed for the village green. The network of paths that crisscrossed the village offered a variety of walks, but it was getting late, and I didn’t want to be anywhere lonely. A sprinkling of people were on the green, including a man doing what looked like Tai Chi and a woman sitting on a bench talking nonstop into her cell phone. I went to the other end of the green where we wouldn’t disturb anyone. I unhooked Slink’s collar then tossed a long stick for her.

  As she skimmed along the grass, I thought about the computer searches. If Torrie dropped the note into my tote bag, had she also managed to get into my cottage and type in the search terms that were so incriminating? Or had it been Sylvester? Chester had said his cousin was wily. Would Sylvester’s skill set include something shady like lock picking?

  But if they had already settled on me as a good target for the notes why were they arguing about throwing suspicion on Chester? Did they have more notes to get rid of? If they did, wouldn’t it be easier to destroy them…burn them or tear them into tiny pieces and flush them down the toilet?

  I sat there for a long time, letting Slink enjoy the freedom of galloping across the wide space as the sun sunk lower in the sky. Eventually she trotted back and dropped at my feet, exhausted. I bent down and rubbed her ears. “I hear you, girl. I’m tired, too.” It had been a long day. Too many unanswered questions were floating around in my mind, not to mention the stress of worrying about Inspector Quimby showing up with a warrant. Soon, Scotland Yard would be involved. I didn’t want to think about that topic.

  Quimby should receive the note I’d put in the mail by tomorrow. I was sure he’d have it analyzed, and I hoped I hadn’t inadvertently left anything that could identify me…like a stray hair or smudge of a partial fingerprint. I shook my head, trying to dislodge my worries. At least I wasn’t still carrying the note around or hiding it in the cottage. “We need food,” I said, and Slink pricked up her ears.

  I wasn’t up for dropping in at the pub tonight. It was Friday, so it would be even more crowded. Louise would have her hands full and no time to chat anyway. I stopped and placed a takeaway order at the Palace, the Indian restaurant a few blocks from the green. While I was waiting for my order, my phone rang. I knew Alex would be busy today clearing up last minute details in Chawton, and I hadn’t expected him to call, but I still felt a bit of a letdown when I saw it was Torrie.

  I used my brightest voice as I said, “Torrie, hello,” hoping it disguised any wariness that I felt after talking to Chester.

  “Kate. Are you at your cottage? Can you come here now?”

  “Ah—no, I’m afraid I can’t.” I smiled a thank-you to Mrs. Sardana as she handed me my dinner. “You got my message?” I asked Torrie.

  “Yes. We’re not leaving for a few more da
ys.”

  I pushed the door of the restaurant open with my shoulder and let Slink head home. It had taken a while to get my food. It was dark now, and the evening air was cooling rapidly. The breeze felt chilly on my bare arms. “Okay, that’s fine. Just leave the keys and remotes in the house. I’ll have Claire meet me there to let me in for the walk-through.”

  “Someone else has a key to Tate House?” she asked sharply.

  “Yes, of course. The property manager has a key. Ms. Emsley only rented it for a few days.”

  “Right. Yes. I hadn’t thought of it—with everything that’s happened I’m extra cautious.”

  “I understand.” I was, too, that’s why I wasn’t going to meet her at Tate House alone.

  “I suppose this property manager is on the police’s list as well? She certainly should be if she isn’t.”

  “I have no idea. I’m sure they’re checking everything.”

  “Well, it’s about time they asked someone else questions besides me. Just because I was her assistant doesn’t mean I knew her every movement or stayed with her every second of the day. And now Chester has disappeared. At least, if the police go chasing after him that will mean I’ll get a break from them.”

  “Chester’s gone?”

  “Yes! Left to go pick up food and didn’t come back.”

  “Do you think he was…involved…?” I asked. I didn’t think Chester had anything to do with Arabella’s death, but I wanted to see what she had to say about it.

  “I don’t know. That’s what I keep telling the police. I only met him a few days ago. I have no idea what type of person he is. I know he was cleared by the agency Arabella used to find the Hibberts, but that’s all. Now that he’s bolted, though…it does make you wonder…”

  I heard a long intake of breath. I supposed she was drawing on a cigarette and hoped she wasn’t smoking inside Tate House.

  “I can’t wait to get out of this horrible village and away from the police,” she said. “They don’t listen. I’ve told them over and over again that I know nothing about the garden or that messy little shed, but they keep asking about it. They found some sort of wires in there. The police went on and on about how the wires were the exact length needed to replace the wiring that was tampered with. But really, how do they know that’s what they were for? They could just be bits of wire left over from some project that didn’t get in the rubbish. That’s what all this is—rubbish. They’re quite fixated on those scraps of wire. It makes me wonder about their ability.”

  If what Torrie said about the wires was true, the murderer had planned not only a stealthy way to kill Arabella, but also had prepared to remove all the evidence of the electrocution. I shivered at the thought of such meticulous planning.

  Torrie drew in another breath. “It’s frightening to think how dim the police are—it really is—when you think of the power they have. That’s why I’m leaving as soon as I can.”

  “So the police don’t want you to stay until the inquest?”

  I hadn’t thought of the inquest until now. I would have to be there, and Chester, too.

  “I’m not going to ask them if I can leave, am I? I learned that lesson a long time ago. If the answer could be no, don’t ask. I’m willing to come back, if they need me. But why they would need me, I don’t know. I was in Upper Benning—and Sylvester was with me.”

  She said she had to go. I said goodbye automatically, thinking about her confident statement that she wasn’t at Tate House when Arabella died. But that didn’t matter at all. A trap had been set for Arabella—or someone. Would anyone else have gone down the stairs barefoot? I didn’t think so. Torrie wouldn’t even go on the back terrace because of the plants and bees, and I couldn’t picture either one of the Hibbert cousins going for a barefoot stroll in the garden. No, someone had set up the wires for Arabella and waited, someone very patient.

  When we got back to the cottage I fed Slink and changed into a pair of comfy pajamas then went back downstairs and transferred my food to a plate. I settled at the table, but didn’t bother to get either my phone or a book. I’d been so wrapped up in getting rid of the note that I hadn’t thought of much else, but now the questions were popping into my mind.

  I tore off a piece of naan. Why was Arabella killed? I’d barely stopped to think about the answer to that, but it was the elephant in the room, so to speak. Chester, Sylvester, and Torrie seemed to be the best suspects—they were staying at Tate House and had easy access to the stairs and could have set up the wiring. But why would they? Arabella was difficult to work for, but she was their employer. Now they were all out of a job.

  If Torrie thought she was in Arabella’s will, that might have been her motive, but after talking to Violet, it didn’t sound as if Arabella had left anything to Torrie. Could Stevie Lund really have orchestrated—or had someone orchestrate—Arabella’s death? Just because the cameras at Tate House showed he didn’t go into the garden didn’t mean that someone else hadn’t set it up for him.

  And what about Violet? She had been to Tate House several times. If Gil Brayden could get over the wall, she probably could too. She was young and fit. Did she know anything about electricity? Did Gil? But then I thought of the computer searches someone had planted on my laptop and realized that anyone who knew how to do an Internet search could find out how to go about setting up the wires. And who had knocked the stones off the wall into the path?

  I moved the food around my plate. I wasn’t eating much. Slink was stretched out with her head on her paws a respectful distance away, but her steady gaze communicated, if you don’t want that, I’ll finish it off.

  “Sorry, girl. If Alex comes home and you won’t eat your dog food, I’ll be in the dog house.”

  I pushed the plate away, took my Moleskine notebook, and began to jot down everything that had happened along with all my questions. It took a long time to get it all written out, and when I was done, I still had more questions than answers. I was tapping my pen against the pages when Slink lifted her head, her ears pricked. She turned her long nose toward the door to the back garden.

  I heard a faint metallic clicking sound, the latch of the back gate closing. Slink stood and turned to the door, her nose at the frame. I glanced at the time, nearly ten, and felt a twinge of worry. I lifted the curtain at the window over the sink. There were no lights along the walking path behind the cottages. Bright squares of light from the windows in the back door and kitchen were the only illumination. I switched on the feeble light over the back door, and it lit up about half the garden, which was empty.

  Slink was weaving back and forth beside me, dancing from foot to foot, but she wasn’t growling, just on alert. I waited a few moments more, but nothing moved. I opened the door. She ran lightly down the steps, nose to the ground, and crisscrossed the garden to the deeper darkness under the oak tree at the back of the garden. I had on flip-flops, and the cool air swept over my bare feet. She whined and ran back to me then darted away beyond the light to the tree. She made the circuit again, whining louder.

  “What is it, girl?” I made my way across the garden leaving the splash of light and plunging into the darker area, but it wasn’t complete blackness. With the faint light glowing from the cottage, I could see the dim outline of Gil Brayden seated in one of my new wooden chairs under the oak tree.

  Chapter 24

  “GIL, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” I meant for my voice to be sharp, but it came out in a hoarse whisper. He didn’t move. Slink went forward, paused, then nudged Gil’s hand, which dangled over the chair arm. No response.

  I stepped closer. Gil’s legs were stretched out in front of him, loose and relaxed like the limbs of a rag doll. His head tilted forward and to the side so that his chin was almost resting on his shoulder. I could make out the longish curtain of dark hair that fell over one of his eyes. He looked pale, but that could be because the darkness had bleached the color out of everything in the garden.

  “Gil.” I shook his shoulder. Hi
s upper body tilted and slid a few inches. Only the arm of the chair kept him from toppling to the ground.

  Not another one, I thought as my skin prickled. “Please just be passed out,” I muttered as I leaned down to look at his face, but I needed more light. Where was my cell phone? It had a flashlight on it. I patted my pockets, then remembered I was in pajamas. I had left the phone in the cottage. I reached out and felt for a pulse in the wrist of his hand that dangled even farther over the arm of the chair now.

  His skin was clammy, and I recoiled, then swallowed and made myself grip his wrist again, searching for a pulse. Maybe he wasn’t…? Was that a flutter? I pressed harder and held my breath. Slink had stopped pacing and whining and now sat at attention beside me.

  After a few moments, I released his wrist and pressed my hand over my heart, which was now pounding away. I had to call the police, but—what a mess. A dead man in my back garden. My thoughts tumbled around in my mind. What would they think? And so soon after I’d been the first on the scene when Arabella died…this couldn’t be a coincidence.

  I turned and made for the cottage, my legs feeling like they might give out at any moment. I blinked and squinted in the strong light of the kitchen. My crossbody bag was on the table where I’d dropped it beside the tote bag. I unzipped the purse and dug around inside, but didn’t find my phone. Thoroughly rattled thinking about Gil’s clammy body in the chair outside, I couldn’t remember where I’d left my phone. I checked the tote bag then threw it down. My phone must be upstairs in the pocket of my shorts. I raced up the stairs with Slink at my heels and found my phone in the pocket of my discarded shorts.

  I tapped out the code to unlock my phone as I trotted back downstairs and out the door, once again plunging into the pool of blackness under the tree. I skidded to a halt.