“Okay. It’s probably nothing, but let’s just make sure. I don’t know much about diabetes. You?”
“Not the insulin-dependent type. I can speak to someone.”
“Find out what you can–especially about dosage. See who the deceased’s doctor was or if she was seeing any specialists. I know the report has gone in, and God knows I don’t want to ruffle any feathers, but just make sure you tie up any loose ends and get the file closed to my satisfaction.”
CHAPTER THREE
Several hours later, and there was scant time for a brief glimpse of the modern, stylish office before a man came forward and, to her surprise, enveloped Grace in a bear hug.
She stiffened and pulled back. Seeing her unease, he released her. “Forgive me, my dear. I am afraid you caught me unawares. Kate was a dear friend first and a client second, and seeing you is like seeing a young Kate walk into the room. I’m Paul Armstrong, Kate’s executor, but please let us be on first-name terms?”
At Grace’s nod, Paul gestured for them to sit on the brightly coloured chairs set on either side of a low glass table.
“Paul, as my father explained in his email, he is heading up a class-action lawsuit and is due to give the closing arguments this week. I am afraid he had to concede it would be inappropriate for him to leave New York at this time. He asked me to pass on his sincerest apologies to you.”
“Not a problem. Kate specifically wanted you to be here.”
As they sat, Grace glanced around the room, taking in the eclectic decor and artwork. A long, lacquered wooden sideboard lay along one wall, and it was covered in framed photographs, many showing a much younger Paul Armstrong with a smiling older couple. Grace’s heart flipped as she immediately recognised them—Kate and Samuel Avery.
Paul noticed her gaze. “I knew Kate and Samuel for years. I started out doing some legal work for the company and ended up with two lifelong friends.”
Grace asked the question that had occupied her mind since the tragic early morning call from her father.“What actually happened to Kate? My dad wasn’t that clear, but I was told she fell off her balcony.”
With an exhalation of breath that resonated in the quiet of the room, Paul sat back in his chair, hands clasped over his slightly protruding stomach. “Kate was having a light supper. The police found the remains of a plate of biscuits and cheese and half a bottle of wine. Their opinion is that she was befuddled by the wine and mistakenly took too much insulin.”
Paul took his glasses off and carefully wiped them with a cloth from his pocket. “The inquest will take place over the next couple of weeks, but I understand the initial thoughts are that if the fall hadn’t killed Kate, the insulin dose would most certainly have done so–at the very least she would have been in a coma.”
Grace reared back in disbelief. “I can’t believe she would have been so careless. She ate like a bird and only needed tiny doses of insulin.”
“I’m afraid we just have to accept that Kate had a terrible accident, a tragic overdose of the very stuff that was meant to keep her well and alive. We’ve lost her.”
The finality in Paul’s tone was made all the more poignant by his watery eyes. They were brought back to the present by the opening of the office door.
Sam Avery walked in. The smile on his face widened as he saw Grace, and she resisted the urge to grin back. Sam reached out to take the older man’s hand in a firm handshake. “Paul, good to see you.”
Grace took the opportunity to size up Sam. She had to admit that he was looking good. His dark chinos and open-necked shirt were suitable for the weather, the meeting and, of course, for mourning. The top two buttons were undone, and Grace glimpsed fine blond hairs highlighted against his tanned skin.
“Grace, are you all right?”
Startled, it took her a moment to realise he was talking to her.
“Sorry, I was just wool-gathering.”
Grace caught what looked like a smirk cross Sam’s face as if he knew precisely what wool she’d been gathering, and a hot blush crept over her face.
Paul stood and crossed the room. “Perhaps we’d best take this to the conference table?”
He gestured for them to sit side by side while he took the chair at a right angle to his guests. A thin, buff-coloured folder lay in front of the lawyer, the name “Kate Avery” typed on a white label affixed to the top righthand corner.
“Kate and Samuel had mirror wills. Their estate passed to the survivor in its entirety. Most of their assets were jointly held anyway. On the subsequent death of the survivor, the assets—that is, the movable assets—were to be split into two portions.”
Her father and Sam’s had been the couple’s dearest relatives. No surprise that the two men would be the beneficiaries of Kate’s estate.
Paul coughed and poured himself some ice water from the jug on the table. He took a sip and then continued, “So, as I was saying, two portions. One for you, Sam, and one for you, Grace.”
“What!” The word burst forth from each of them, and Grace figured the puzzled look on Sam’s face would match her own.
“Kate and Samuel knew their nephews were successful and wealthy. They wanted you to have choices. Each of you has taken up your father’s profession. Hopefully, it’s because that’s what you wanted to do. If not, Kate and Sam’s legacy gives you the monetary freedom to decide how you want to spend the rest of your lives.”
Paul named a sum of money, the amount each had inherited, and Sam’s whistle of disbelief almost drowned out Grace’s gasp. It was enough to live on comfortably for quite some time.
“Sam, you’re a good lad, always have been. Grace, you seem to have something of Kate about you. They wanted all they worked so hard for to be enjoyed by their two favourite people.”
Paul rifled through the papers in front of him, evidently looking for something in particular; however, he seemed a little flustered. He cleared his throat several times as he pulled a sheet of paper out of the pile.
“There is one final matter: Rocque View. Kate and Samuel had many happy years in their home. Kate left a letter about the place. It’s best if I read it to you:
‘My dear children,
If you are reading this letter, then I am undoubtedly dead. I’ve always wanted to say that. It sounds like it belongs in one of those mystery specials on the television.
You are, I assume, in the company of Paul Armstrong, a good man, and you’d do worse than to take his advice should any be required.
Paul will have told you of our primary bequest. All I ask is that you live your lives exactly as you want to. ‘No regrets’ was always my motto, and I have to say that I definitely don’t have any. Not everything I did was successful, or even warranted, but I do not regret anything I have ever done.
Of the many possessions Samuel and I gathered during our lives, the most precious by far is Rocque View. It has made for the most beautiful home, but it was much more than that. It has a sense of peace and quietness, a calm that is so at odds with the frantic pace at which we tend to live our lives.
I don’t want to keep you waiting, so let me get to the point.
I ask this favour of you.
Please live at my home for three months and let it weave its spell over you.
If at the end of that time, one of you wants to keep the place, then a sum of money has been set aside to compensate the other. If neither of you wants the place, then it goes on the market, and both of you will split the sale proceeds and the separate cash account.
Please think about what I have asked and don’t be hasty. Good-bye, darlings. I know you’ll make the right decision.’
Paul laid the letter down on top of the open file, the rustling of the papers deafening in the unnatural silence of the room.
Grace and Sam began talking at once.
“It’s impossible. I already have a beautiful apartment.”
“But I live in New York.”
“I can’t take care of a house that size.”
“But I don’t live here,” Grace almost shouted, her frustration rising.
Sam raked his hand through his hair, causing tufts to stand on end, making him look much younger. “Paul, it’s obvious that neither Grace nor I want the place, so maybe it’s best just to proceed with the sale?”
“It isn’t that easy, I’m afraid. Kate’s letter merely skimmed over the finer details of the legal arrangements she put in place.”
“Legal arrangements?” queried Grace.
“Yes. To Kate and Samuel, that house was a labour of love; it was their child, where they poured their creative energy. Kate’s detailed instructions are based on the simple fact that she couldn’t bear anyone, but family, to at least try living there. So if neither of you wants the place, if you can’t see your way to even giving it a go, then Kate’s instructions are self-explanatory.”
Paul paused, again looking uncomfortable as the silence lengthened and grew in weight. “The house is to be bulldozed, levelled to the ground. The gardens are to be dug up, where permitted by covenant, and the total acreage sold as a building plot.”
Sam was quick to protest. “You can’t do that! Kate loved that house; my uncle adored it. He oversaw every single item renovated in that place. He made it beautiful for Kate, and now it’s going to be senselessly destroyed. How can that be right?”
“Whether it is right or not—and I’m not saying I disagree with you, Sam—those were Kate’s wishes, updated just a few weeks ago. I don’t need your decisions right now. Take a day or two.”
“Let me get this straight, unless we agree to live in the house for three months, the place will be completely destroyed?”
“I am afraid that is correct.”
Grace glanced at Sam. “Obviously, I can’t...”
“Yes, I can see that.”
“Could you...”
“I’m going to have to, aren’t I? My great-uncle worked too damned hard for it to be bulldozed like some derelict eyesore.”
Relief flooded through Grace. “Thank you. That’s settled. Sam will move in for three months.”
“That won’t do, I’m afraid. Kate was quite explicit. You both have to stay in the house, together, at the same time, for three months.”
“That is an outrageous suggestion.” Grace’s voice betrayed her shock, and she could hear the tremble in her words.
“Yes, my dear, but it is still what Kate wanted.”
Sam rose to his feet. “We need time to think this over, especially Grace, who, lest we forget, actually lives on a different continent.”
“Of course. The funeral is tomorrow, and you have until the day after to make up your mind.” At the startled looks of his guests, Paul raised a hand. “I am sorry, but those were Kate’s instructions. I cannot do other than follow them.” Turning to Grace, he said, “I’ll order a car to take you back to the hotel.”
Sam cut in before Grace could accept. “No need. I’ll give you a lift. We need to talk.”
Paul placed a hand on each of their shoulders, a comforting gesture. “Think carefully. It would be a crying shame to see that fine house destroyed. I’ll see you both at the church tomorrow. Grace, what time shall I send the car?”
Sam interjected again, “I’ll pick her up.”
◆◆◆
Night had fallen, and a single lamp illuminated the bedroom. He stood by the window as he thought, calculated and considered.
Crossing to the wardrobe, he selected a plain black suit and crisp white shirt. Hooking the coat hangers over the bedroom doorknob, he added a dark silk tie before laying out a good watch and some discreet cuff links. He carefully picked a piece of lint from the shoulder of the suit jacket. Satisfied, he got ready for bed.
Once the funeral was over, he could finally start making plans.
CHAPTER FOUR
Le Claire had to walk through the open-plan office to get to his own small private space. Wooden desks were jostled together, computer screens whirred through data and piles of papers looked as if they would soon topple over. The smell of strong coffee and pastries hung in the air—the debris from hastily consumed breakfasts strewn across tables.
“Hey, Le Claire—over here.”
Le Claire suppressed a wince as he recognised the cocky voice. DI Bryce Masters was a walking advert for the States of Jersey Police. His suits hung beautifully on his tall, broad-shouldered frame. His black hair was always perfectly gelled into the latest style, and his megawatt smile aimed to best advantage. He had even appeared in a few TV slots advertising police-driven community initiatives. Masters was also a smug bastard who frequently cut corners but always had a charming smile and a ready answer to get him out of trouble. Le Claire couldn’t stand him.
“Masters, what’s up?”
“Just wondered why you aren’t busy? I mean, that girl of yours has been poking about in the strangest places. Some old dear gets drunk and falls off her balcony, and your DS is wasting her time, and ours, by asking stupid questions.”
Le Claire didn’t know what thought to process first—that an experienced female sergeant was being referred to as a “girl” or the fact that Masters had been involved in the case in question. Or maybe he’d just think about what an utter chump this guy was.
“Now, now, Masters, don’t be falling foul of the new discrimination laws. As for the questions—I don’t believe there is any law against making sure the department’s cases get closed properly.” Le Claire let the subtle reminder hang in the air. He outranked Masters.
“Bit of a comedown for you, isn’t it? From London gang wars to old grannies tippling on the sherry brandy and taking a nosedive.”
Masters' ill-mannered description and mocking laughter followed Le Claire as he walked to his office. He would not rise to the bait—he couldn’t. For if he did, he’d lash out, and that was something he didn’t need on his record again.
“Sir—wait, sir.”
Dewar burst into the main office and made a beeline for him. It never seemed to amaze him that Dewar, who certainly wasn’t overweight, clumped around on loud, heavy feet, especially when she was in a determined mood.
She followed him into his office. “I spoke to one of the specialists at the Diabetic Clinic sir. Apparently, Mrs Avery had recently had her annual checkup. There was nothing out of the ordinary. Given the amount of insulin that was in her bloodstream, she’d need to have injected almost a whole vial. The doctor I spoke to said that he couldn’t see any way that could be done by accident.”
“What are we looking at? A potential suicide?”
“Perhaps. However, one thing did seem puzzling. The doctor said that the insulin would have worked quickly on her. She was careful with what she ate and kept her mealtime dosages relatively low. She was taking, on average, twelve units with her supper. The amount of insulin she must have taken would have started shutting down her senses pretty quickly. He can’t see how she could have been alert enough to unscrew, remove and discard the needle.”
“But we know it was removed, and the Crime Scene Investigation team went over the whole area. Well done, Dewar. Keep digging. I don’t like loose ends. Find out who the next-of-kin is and get me a list of relatives. There’s no harm in us asking a few questions.”
◆◆◆
Sam picked up Grace as promised. His car skirted the main town and kept heading east. As they drove along the coast, he pointed to a long, private drive on their left.
“That is the entrance to Rocque View. A reception has been set up there for afterwards. I understand Kate was very explicit as to how she wanted everything handled.”
The car slowed as Sam pulled over on the roadside, tight against a high granite wall. He helped Grace out of the car and, as she felt his strong fingers clasp hers, she almost recoiled at the electricity of his touch. She wasn’t usually so sensitive. It had to be the situation, the melding of grief and sorrow that was wreaking havoc with her senses.
Sam locked the car and let out a long, low whistle
.
“What is it?” asked Grace.
“Look at this line of cars.” He pointed to the parked vehicles, around fifty, maybe more. “It looks like it’s going to be busy.”
They walked through a thick stone archway and followed the narrow, tree-lined path towards the ancient church. Grace spotted an older couple standing at the side of the pathway, watching their progress towards the heavy wooden doors. The woman was discreetly made up; her carefully highlighted hair was pulled back and framed a face that belied its years but in a natural way. The man was tall, and the similarity with Sam was striking.
They both smiled warmly, although sadness clouded their eyes. As the couple moved towards them, the man hugged Sam tightly, just as the woman pulled Grace into her arms.
“I’m Susannah, Sam’s mother, and this is my husband, Richard. We’ll talk later. Come, let’s say good-bye to Kate.”
Kate Avery’s funeral lasted thirty-five minutes, a little over thirty seconds for each year of her life.
◆◆◆
Tall iron gates towered over the car as it swept through the white stone columns flanking the entrance. A black marble sign carried the house’s name picked out in contrasting white. Wooden fencing enclosed the grounds, running parallel to the hedging, which further screened the property from view.
The car slowly travelled up the winding drive, wide borders on either side ablaze with brightly coloured flowers, vivid foliage and towering evergreens.
As they exited the car, Sam’s parents parked beside them. Sam led Grace around to the front of the house, which overlooked the sprawling gardens and faced the sea.
Three storeys high, the house was still wider than it was tall. Walls of glass afforded panoramic sea views that could be enjoyed from the balconies that ran the length of each floor.
Blood In The Sand: Betrayal, lies, romance and murder. (A Jack Le Claire Mystery) Page 2
