02 Murder at the Mansion (11 page)

Annabelle could not bear to wait any longer. She sat at the kitchen table, head resting on her hand, her other hand drumming against the table anxiously. Gazing out of the window that looked up the church driveway, waiting for Constable Jim Raven’s police car to pull up alongside her house, she allowed her mind to wander over her conversation with the Inspector. She hadn’t told the Inspector about the two female investors, thinking that it might be more prudent to wait patiently and learn more about them. Currently, she knew little more than what she had heard from the other side of the kitchen door but things were beginning to fall into place. The arrival of the “French” investors and the revelation that the cigarette had been smoked by Woodlands Manor’s previous owner had thrown up a whole host of new questions. But they had also provided plenty of answers.

With Philippa keeping a close eye on the two women and Inspector Nicholls on the hunt for Poppy Franklin, Annabelle was left to muse over the one question with which she had been struggling. Who had screamed when she had knocked on the door a second time? Her mind had conceived of and ruled out dozens of possibilities, from the idea that it had been an animal (it hadn’t, Annabelle knew very well what animals sounded like), to some kind of “death groan.” Harper herself had dismissed this as ludicrous when Annabelle posited the idea to her. Annabelle was so wrapped up in her questions that when the good Constable rolled into her driveway she afforded him only a distinctly British balance of politeness and briskness before setting off on her way.

As soon as she got there, Annabelle entered the manor house and slowly made her way up the stairs to the master bedroom. Had she been any less focused on every detail of the impressive building, she might have been frightened. Entering a large, empty house that had been the scene of a murder was something only the very brave or the very determined do. Annabelle’s curiosity had given her an abundance of both.

She entered the room that had played at the edges of her mind for weeks and was surprised. It seemed larger than it had previously when her focus had been dominated by the shocking figure of Sir John’s body on the floor. Now that her eyes allowed her to study the room, it felt lighter and a lot more spacious. After looking over the room for any object that could have made the sound, such as an unseen speaker or discreet TV, Annabelle decided to investigate the other rooms on the second floor. Though she was concentrating on her goal of finding the secret to the “bedroom screamer,” Annabelle still found herself taken aback by how beautiful the house was. There were roughly a dozen rooms of all shapes and sizes shooting off from the second floor passage, from elaborate, luxurious parlor rooms filled with antiquities to tastefully arranged bathrooms with wonderfully preserved fittings.

Annabelle cooed her appreciation at the wonder of the house, then refocused herself on the goal at hand. She re-entered the master bedroom and stood precisely where the body of Sir John Cartwright had been brutally slain.

“Right. Let’s see.”

It was, of course, entirely plausible that the scream had come from another of the many rooms on the second floor. Yet Annabelle’s intuition would not let her consider it. The scream had been shocking, quick, aggressive. It sounded primal, like death itself. Not until she had entirely ruled out the possibility of the scream occurring in the master bedroom would Annabelle allow herself to consider the alternatives.

“How would the screamer leave the room so quickly?” Annabelle whispered to herself.

The first possibility was, of course, the window. But upon opening it and looking down across the face of the building, Annabelle dismissed the idea completely. Not only was the drop leg-breakingly long and the outside wall slippery and steep, but also the ground surrounding the building was lush with bushes and fauna. Even if the screamer had made his way down the wall safely, he would surely have left noticeable signs of his descent.

The other escape route was the bedroom door, and though there had been a few seconds between the scream and Annabelle reaching the staircase, enough time for the person to enter one of the other rooms, the door itself had been locked. Annabelle studied the locking mechanism of the door closely. It was old and well-worn. She remembered how it had given way when she had applied pressure to it. Stranger still, she discovered that when the door was slammed shut, it would lock itself – such was the weakness in the ancient mechanism.

For a brief moment, Annabelle thought she had cracked it but then realized that should the screamer have slammed the door upon his hasty escape, she would have heard it. Even in her heightened state of fear and excitement rushing up the stairs, she wouldn’t have missed the sound of the slamming door. As exemplified by the scream itself, sound traveled very well in the large house. Annabelle felt frustrated and deflated. Perhaps she would never figure it out. Then she noticed the bathroom door.

She opened the door expecting to find something impressive, and yet was still stunned by what she saw. The master bathroom was huge! Larger even than her living room! She stepped onto the marble flooring, marveling at the extravagance on display. Along one wall, there were two vast sinks with a framed mirror set into the wall above them. In one corner, a shower stall big enough for four people ascended from the marble flooring to the high ceiling. In the center of the bathroom, in the dappled light that poured in through the frosted window, was a porcelain and cast-iron bath set upon four elaborately engraved feet.

Once Annabelle had regained her breath, she scanned the walls and discovered exactly what she had expected. Another entrance. She marched toward it, cast one last longing look at the opulent bathroom, opened the small, plain door, and went through it. Annabelle found herself in a slim, barren passage, far more rough and dirty than any other part of the house she had seen.

“A servant’s entrance,” she said to herself. “This must have been how they transported household items to the masters of the house.”

Annabelle imagined how many people must have scurried up and down this bare-walled passage, loaded with buckets of hot water for the bath or coal for the parlor’s fireplace. She explored it carefully, opening doors that poked into various rooms of the house, many of which she hadn’t even noticed when exploring the house from the other side. Eventually, Annabelle found herself descending rugged stone steps that seemed to delve even deeper than the house itself. Sure enough, the cold, blank walls of the house’s secret passage gave way to the textured stone of a vast coal cellar. Though there was barely any light, the Vicar continued onwards through the thick, dusty air and long forgotten cobwebs. Somewhere to her right, she could see a vague glow, and she let it guide her out of the coal cellar and down a long tunnel where wooden rafters held up the stone.

The glow grew larger and larger with each of the Vicar’s careful steps, until she recognized it as a large entrance. She put some haste into her gait and was astonished to find that the entrance emerged all the way out in the woods!

“This must be where coal and firewood deliveries were made,” she said. “The perfect getaway for the mysterious screamer. I’m sure to find a road nearby.”

She left the stone tunnel behind, breathed in the cool, clean air, and was struck by a strangely familiar smell. Once again, Annabelle focused her senses and walked slowly forward in search of information – only this time it was her nose guiding her, not her curiosity.

The smell intensified, and Annabelle could not shake the sensation that this was something she knew well. Something that she liked. It reminded her of her kitchen. Of tea. Of…cupcakes! Annabelle looked down at the ground and saw, barely a few yards away, a stash of stale, nibbled-upon cupcakes, in precisely the same shape as the walnut delights Philippa had made earlier. The Vicar picked the freshest one up and sniffed it. There was no mistake. The cake was one that the church secretary herself had made.

“Surely not! This is from the very batch she made today!” She prodded at the remainder of the pile. “And these at the bottom must have been made weeks ago – on the day of the murder!” Annabelle said, finding the words she was saying too incredible to understand. “I don’t believe it! Philippa is involved in this!”

As her blue Mini rolled into the driveway of the church, Annabelle noticed a light on in her house and wasn’t sure if she was pleased or afraid of confronting Philippa just then. She parked the car, breathed deeply, and stepped inside.

“Hello, Vicar,” Philippa said, as she wiped her hands on her apron. “I was just washing the church bowls. I’ll be done in a jiffy.”

“Actually, Philippa,” Annabelle said, in a solemn tone, “I’d like to speak with you.”

“Oh,” Philippa said, noticing the seriousness of the Vicar’s speech, a tone she reserved for bad news alone, “I see.”

Annabelle took her coat and gloves off and put them away while Philippa took off her apron. They took their seats around the kitchen table, facing each other, and sat down with a sense of ritual and purpose.

“It’s time, isn’t it, Vicar?”

“I’m afraid it is,” Annabelle said.

“I’ve been meaning to bring this up for a long time. I just didn’t want to cause a scene.”

“I understand, Philippa. It’s difficult for me too.”

“I just didn’t want to cause you any problems, Vicar.”

“Philippa!” Annabelle gasped. “It’s you I’m worried about!”

“That’s kind of you.”

 “Well?”

Philippa sighed, readjusted herself in her seat, and spoke slowly. “I know about the cakes.”

“You know how they got there?”

“I don’t know where they are. But I know what happened to them, yes.”

“Wait a moment,” Annabelle said, growing slightly confused. “You don’t know where they are?”

“Well, I imagine you ate them, Vicar.”

“Philippa! Why would I eat old cupcakes that have been left outside in the rain?!”

“Why would you leave them outside in the rain?!” Philippa exclaimed, in the exasperated voice she usually only used when the church accounts failed to add up. “Oh, Vicar, you don’t even know when you’re doing it!”

Annabelle tried to speak but found herself so confused she didn’t know what to say.

“What are you talking about exactly, Philippa?”

“About the cupcakes, Vicar!”

“What about them?”

“You steal them!”

Annabelle slumped back in her chair. She had never been accused of theft in her life and certainly not in as strange a manner as this.

“Why on earth would I steal cupcakes, Philippa?”

“The thrill of it. The excitement of the chase.The feeling of getting away with it. It’s that kleptomania I told you about! Oh, I know it’s not your fault, Vicar. You can’t help it. I see you eat one or two, but then three are gone! You probably stash it in your pocket when I’m not looking. Maybe you feel guilty about eating so many. I don’t know. I’m just glad it’s out in the open now!”

Annabelle could not help but smile at the insanity of the accusation. Partly because Philippa’s conviction removed any doubt that she was involved with the mystery screamer’s escape into the woods.

“I can assure you, Philippa, I do not steal cupcakes.”

Philippa sighed deeply again, as if in the presence of a child caught red-handed but too stubborn to admit guilt.

“If not you, then who?”

With the perfect timing of a grand entrance of which only cats are capable, Biscuit sidled through the cat door, slinked her way toward her bowl, and began lapping up water noisily.

“I believe we won’t need to find a suspect. The suspect just found us.”

“Biscuit?” Philippa said, incredulous. “That’s impossible!”

Annabelle waved her finger as if pointing at her thoughts. “Actually, it makes perfect sense, the more I think about it. I did find her out in the woods a few days ago, where the stash of cupcakes was. You said yourself that she had stopped eating, and whenever you bring those cupcakes out, Biscuit seems to make a timely entrance.”

“That’s incredible!”

“What’s incredible is the fact that this is the second mystery I’ve solved today!”

CHAPTER 6