A Testament to Murder

by Vivian Conroy

  He got up, bumping into the table. Hush, he told himself, not so loud. He was almost laughing as this was really all very silly. Surreal. Not something that happened to Howard Jones.

  He managed to drag himself out of the room and up the stairs. He kept bumping into things, but fortunately the rain beat against the windows and the wind howled around the house. Those sounds would distract people. Cecily took pills and would sleep like a baby anyway. He bet that Patty drowned her sorrows in laudanum. Imagine being married to a weakling like Hugh.

  Howard blinked as he got to the top of the stairs and couldn’t quite remember which way the study was. Focus, man. Oh, yes, to the left.

  He held his head with both hands as he walked on, as if holding his nose in the same direction helped not to zigzag. Then he was at the right door. At least he thought he was. He opened it and looked in. Right. In a single try. He was a hero.

  Howard moved in and closed the door. He stared at the large desk behind which Malcolm would have sat down to fill in the name of the heir for that day. Bastard. He had always loved games. This had to be the most twisted game he had ever played. But hopefully it would kill him and not anybody else.

  Howard walked over to the desk and wanted to round it to get to the wall with the paintings. He knew Malcolm always hid his safe behind a painting. He just had to find out which one. But he had time. He didn’t exactly have steady hands, but he had time.

  His foot hit something. He looked down.

  A face frozen in surprise stared up at him. The white gown was spread around her like she was laid out for burial. Her hands were folded over her chest and a rose was clasped in them. A rose as pure and white as the dress.

  “Theodora?” Howard said with double tongue. He blinked. It was odd that Theodora was sleeping here, in the study. And why was she staring at him without saying anything?

  “Theodora?” he repeated, leaning down towards her.

  Her eyes were sort of glassy like mounted animals have.

  Up close he saw there was one thing not quite white about her dress. A spot half hidden under her folded hands clasping the rose. Bright red it was.

  He pushed himself back up to his feet. He teetered, but not because of the liquor. Because of the dreadful cold in his chest.

  She was dead.

  Murdered.

  She had said at dinner she knew something and she’d tell Malcolm.

  Had she ever had the chance?

  Was Malcolm dead as well?

  If he was, who was the heir now?

  What was in the will?

  Howard’s mind swam. One moment he was sure he had to check whether Malcolm was still alive and, if he was, ask him what Theodora had revealed to him.

  The next he just wanted to run away, out of this room, out of this villa, out of this country. Run away and never look back.

  But he resisted either urge. He went away softly and closed the door, pulled out his handkerchief and cleaned the knob. He was reminded of Hugh’s clumsy attempts to mess with the putter and he almost had to laugh. They were all screwed.

  They were all well and thoroughly screwed.

  Chapter Ten

  Jasper had not had time to shave or make breakfast when an urgent call from Villa Calypso made him dive into his car and drive the short distance to the pale pink home with the gorgeous garden. He didn’t need to ring the bell as the door opened before he had reached it. The butler looked at him with wide eyes. “I found her, sir. If you will come with me…”

  Going up the stairs ahead of Jasper, the butler said, “I always go into the study to open the curtains. I did so as usual and found the light on the desk burning. I walked up to switch it off and that is when I found her. I think she must have been dead since last night. She was all cold. I only felt for a pulse, I didn’t touch anything else.”

  Jasper nodded. “You shouldn’t have called me though, but the French police. I have no jurisdiction here.”

  “I’m sure that Mr Bryce-Rutherford will appreciate it if you are willing to look into this case and then act as liaison with the French police. He has lots of English guests here and he will want to avoid a scandal.”

  Jasper supposed it wasn’t impossible as he was very friendly with the local police chief and his lovely wife, but he didn’t say that right away. He first wanted to see what he was dealing with.

  In the study the light on the desk still burned and the curtains were still drawn just like the butler had declared.

  Jasper rounded the desk and looked down on the woman’s face. He had heard people say that bodies could look peaceful in death but as a homicide detective he had rarely seen a body with a peaceful look. This body’s expression, however, was not contorted in fear or despair. It didn’t suggest a struggle. Just surprise. As if in the last instant this woman had known she was dying and had wondered why.

  “Theodora Cummings,” he said slowly. “Malcolm’s former secretary.”

  “Excuse me for saying this, sir, but it might be important. Last night at the dinner table she suggested she knew something. Something about Mr Bryce-Rutherford’s wheelchair.”

  Jasper shocked upright. “She knew who had pushed it over the edge?”

  “She didn’t exactly say so, sir.”

  “Ah, no.” Malcolm had told him his secretary had always been rather secretive, hinting at things she knew about people. He had said it was a rather irritating streak in her, but right now Jasper would rather call it dangerous.

  Lethal possibly.

  After all, what else could have caused her sudden death other than her need to reveal she knew something?

  Had she known anything? Had she made herself look important?

  Whatever it was, someone had believed she knew something and had killed her for it.

  Had then laid her out like this, all in white and with the flower.

  “Do you know where that rose comes from?” he asked the butler.

  The butler shook his head. “There is a vase with yellow roses beside Mr Bryce-Rutherford’s bed, cut by the nurse, Miss Cane. But no white ones as far as I know.”

  Jasper nodded. He couldn’t quite place the flower in the picture he had of her death. He imagined she had known something, or at least pretended she had, and the killer had asked to meet her here and then murdered her. A quick stab to the heart, perhaps with a pen knife?

  Jasper let his eyes wander across the desk. No, the pen knife was still in place. Something else then. Brought for the occasion?

  The killer had stood in front of her, talking to her and all of a sudden, out of the blue, he or she had pounced. Hence the surprise in the victim’s face.

  The body had sagged to the floor…

  Then the killer had arranged her dress around her and put the flower in her hands.

  That was odd. If you tried to get rid of someone who was a danger to you, you might take time after the murder to clear away traces of your presence, but you didn’t bother with a dress and a rose.

  Unless the killer wasn’t just practical and efficient but also particular.

  Jasper pursed his lips. All of these people knew each other. There was history between them. Had the killer murdered Theodora to prevent her from talking about something she knew but also wanted to make some kind of statement after her death? A subtle touch of… spitefulness? Ridiculing the woman who had never married by putting a rose, the symbol of love, in her hand?

  Jasper shook his head. He was taking this too far. He had to look for the obvious first. Like the murder weapon.

  He looked up at the butler. “I want to make some phone calls.”

  “Of course, sir. Please follow me.”

  * * *

  Cecily was just deciding whether light blue or coral was more her colour today when she caught male voices in the corridor, and clanking as if something was thrown.

  “Servants have not the decency to treat someone else’s things with care these days,” she commented to Howard, who was still in bed. She opened
the door a crack to spy out and see who the violator was so she could report him to Malcolm. It gave her a vicious pleasure to imagine him releasing the full force of his nasty temper on someone other than her.

  The men in the corridor were unknown to her, carrying metal cases. One of them also had a camera in his hand. They looked very serious as they entered the study.

  Cecily closed the door again and said to Howard, “I think something is wrong. There are strange men and… Do you think Malcolm is dead?”

  Howard grunted.

  She went to the bed and poked his figure under the duvet. “If Malcolm is dead, you are in charge of the household now. Why aren’t you up and about to tell these people not to bash into everything with their metal cases? They’re ruining the furniture.”

  Howard grunted again.

  Cecily said, “Come on. Out of bed. Or I’ll pour water from the jug over your head.”

  “You wouldn’t dare,” Howard growled.

  Cecily went to the dressing table and fetched the jug. “It would surprise you what I do and do not dare.”

  Howard pushed the duvet away and looked up at her with bleary eyes. “I have a terrible headache.”

  “A terrible hangover you mean,” Cecily retorted, disgusted at his looks. “Imagine the police being here for a death and you looking like that.”

  Howard pulled the duvet over his shoulders again and said, “Tell them I’m ill.”

  “That would look terribly suspicious. You have to get out, wash up and shave, dress in your finest. It all comes down to you now.”

  “I’m not even related to Malcolm. Let Hugh play the charming host.”

  “Hugh is a weakling. You don’t look much better right now, but at least you have a decent head on your shoulders most of the time.” Cecily put the jug on the floor and sat on the edge of the bed, squeezing the duvet where she supposed Howard’s shoulder was. “Darling, please. Don’t you see how important this is? You have to get up and act the part.”

  “What part?”

  “Shocked, surprised, mildly sad.” Cecily spread her hands. “You get the picture. We all knew he was dying of course, but we had no idea it would be so sudden.”

  Howard groaned. “Spare me.”

  “I want you out of this bed in five seconds, or I will pour the water over your head. What dress shall I wear? Should it be black? I know I’m supposed to be mourning but… Black just doesn’t work well for me.”

  “You’re not even supposed to know about any death,” Howard said. “Why wear black? Unless you want to suggest you knew because you…”

  “Shut up.” Cecily went to the closet and sighed. “I have nothing good in black to wear. I should have brought more.”

  “Like you already knew you’d need it.”

  “Will you stop being so morose?” Cecily turned her head studying her wardrobe. “Malcolm did mention in his invitation he wasn’t well so… I had every reason to believe I might need black clothes. Still…”

  Howard didn’t respond.

  Cecily heard more voices outside her door. The idea that her husband would be found lying in his bed acting like he was dying because he had an ordinary hangover was more than she could handle right now. She went to the bed and picked up the jug and poured the contents over what she could see of Howard’s head.

  He roared and jumped out of bed, grabbed her and shook her. His hands pressed into her shoulders so hard she yelped with pain. His red rimmed eyes stared at her with the ferocity of an animal released. “Don’t you ever do that again. If you ever do that again, I will kill you. You hear?”

  Knocking resounded at the door. It opened, and a face peeked in.

  Jasper. Malcolm’s police friend.

  Howard let go of her, and Cecily staggered back. She forced a painful smile at the former inspector. “Good morning. Is something wrong? I was just telling Howard I thought I heard strange voices in the corridor.”

  Jasper said nothing about the way in which Howard had been holding her when he had come upon them. He merely replied, “Yes, it’s French police securing the crime scene. I’m in charge. It’s all been arranged with the police chief here. He thinks it’s best if I ask questions and draw some preliminary conclusions. Of course I’m not in charge of any of the evidence. The French police will secure all of that. Fingerprints, the weapon.”

  “Weapon?” Cecily asked. She had somehow thought Malcolm had died in his bed. Poisoned perhaps. Or suffocated with a pillow. He looked so weak. Ready to die the moment you just looked at him.

  Jasper said, “We haven’t found it yet. I would appreciate it if you would get dressed and come down to the sitting room where I will tell all of you what happened and what will happen. Thank you.” He drew the door shut again.

  Cecily hissed to Howard, “Wonderful! Now he saw us like that. What do you think he will think?”

  “I don’t really care. My head is killing me.”

  Cecily sighed. “Shave and get dressed. At least maintain some dignity towards the others.”

  * * *

  Patty wasn’t quite sure what was going on as she came down the stairs and was asked to step into the sitting room. Kenneth was already there, standing in front of the window looking out across the rose garden. She came to stand beside him. “Why are all these people here?”

  “I think they’re police. They’re taking pictures of the study.”

  Patty’s heart skipped a beat. She had touched the safe. Could they find her prints there and accuse her of something? What had happened? Had the will gone missing?

  Kenneth stared into the cheerful sunshine with a forlorn expression. Patty touched his arm. “We can go do something fun today.”

  “Just like yesterday?” Kenneth asked.

  Patty withdrew her hand. “If you don’t want to, it’s fine with me. I can amuse myself.”

  She walked back to the door, just as Hugh came in. He looked like he was running from someone. “There has been a death,” he whispered. “In the study. I don’t understand it. Malcolm was there with the lawyer and the two witnesses to the will. How can he have died without any of them noticing?”

  “Or they did him in. Together.” Patty laughed, her head back.

  Hugh slapped her on the arm. “It’s not amusing.”

  “Sorry,” she said in a remorseful tone, but she kept grinning to herself.

  The others came in: Cecily sailing in a dark blue dress, Howard behind her looking like he had a cold, Koning tall and serious in his suit. Nurse Cane without any makeup, pale and worn as if she hadn’t slept all night. The butler…

  Jasper. With Malcolm.

  Malcolm… Patty couldn’t help staring at him like she had stared the other day when he had appeared with Kenneth. That man simply would not die. But then, if he wasn’t the victim the police were here for, who was?

  Jasper said, “You can all sit down.”

  Patty chose the sofa, with Cecily seating herself opposite to her. The men remained standing. Nurse Cane had retreated into a corner, avoiding looking at anyone. Kenneth was staring straight at her with an odd look on his face.

  Jasper said, “I’m sorry to be the bringer of bad news. Someone died in this villa last night. Miss Theodora Cummings.”

  Patty wanted to say that this was hardly bad news as no one had liked prying Theodora and it meant one fewer contender for the inheritance to worry about but she realized it wasn’t exactly smart to say this right now and maintained a stunned expression.

  Malcolm spoke, “Poor Dodo. She never knew when to quit.”

  Jasper said to him, “Can you expound on that statement?”

  Malcolm sighed. “Theodora was rather… curious. She liked to know things about people and hold them over their heads. Most of it was fairly innocent. She was rather old fashioned, you know, and easily affronted. She believed for instance that knowing about a little flirtation between a man and woman was a big thing.”

  Patty saw Malcolm glancing at Hugh as he said it and her
heart skipped a beat. Did Malcolm know about Hugh flirting with the nurse? Had Theodora seen something and reported it to him? Loyal Dodo…

  Malcolm said, “The so-called secrets she recorded about people were innocent and only shocking to her own eager mind. But I guess someone did take it seriously and… killed her.”

  “How?” Howard asked. He stood with his hands folded on his back. The strength in his tall posture contrasted oddly with the redness around his eyes as if he had to sneeze.

  Jasper said, “I’m not revealing anything about that until we’ve found the murder weapon. I mean, until the police have found the murder weapon of course. They’re searching for it now. I want to ask all of you questions. One by one. I asked Malcolm if I could use the music room for that. If you will all remain here…”

  “But we haven’t even had breakfast,” Hugh protested.

  “I’m sure that the butler can bring you some coffee and toast,” Jasper said.

  His gaze wandered through the room as in search of the first person he wanted to question. It passed Patty, and she suppressed a sigh of relief. But she couldn’t rejoice yet. Her turn would come. And what would the others say?

  “Mrs Jones…” Jasper smiled at Cecily. “If you would come with me?”

  Cecily rose and smoothed down her dress. Patty was reminded of the grease stain on the yellow dress Cecily had worn the other day. She’d be sure to mention that to the inspector. Right away.

  * * *

  Jasper seated himself at the piano and played a few errant notes. “Do you like music, Mrs Jones?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Cecily said, “although my mother always forced me to play and that didn’t exactly encourage me to like it.”

  Jasper smiled at her. “My mother was exactly the same. Parents make the mistake of thinking they know what is best for their children without giving them a choice.”

  “Often they are right though. Left to their own choices, children would just make mistakes.”