A Date With Death: Cozy Private Investigator Series (Flora Lively Mysteries Book 2) (12 page)

‘Why are you here?’ he said. The accusatory tone was back.

She shrugged her shoulders. ‘I was just … I was curious, that’s all. I’m sorry. The doors were locked, I wondered why, I thought I’d take a look.’ It sounded terrible now, shameful even. She bit her lip and looked down at the floorboards.

‘So,’ he said, slowly, ‘you won’t tell anyone about the Beaumonts?’ His eyes betrayed a hopefulness that made Flora wince.

‘Why would I? You’re doing a brilliant job. No one would suspect it’s only you working here. Besides,’ she said, getting up and brushing the dust off her knees, ‘what does it matter if the rest of the house is closed off? Lots of stately homes are like this, aren’t they? Public rooms and private rooms, and the rooms that no one ever goes in. I doubt Rojo Productions would care either way.’ She didn’t add that they had one or two other things on their minds right now.

Sidney also got to his feet, but his expression was still grim. ‘It’s a matter of pride with the Beaumonts. There’s this upper class thing – once you’ve been rich, once you’ve had it all, it’s hard to admit that you can’t even afford the rat poison for the house the locals think is their grand piece of history.’

‘Fur coat and no knickers,’ Flora said, smiling. ‘My mum used to say that about rich people all the time.’

The butler laughed, but the laughter didn’t reach his eyes. ‘I thought you were a spy or something,’ he said. He held the door back for Flora, and she was glad to see that he’d dispensed with the bowing. ‘Their creditors have tried all sorts of tactics to try and make them sell.’

But now you know I’m just an over-inquisitive busybody, Flora thought. She said nothing.

‘I guess it won’t help any, what happened to Alberto,’ she said, as they headed back towards the stone staircase.

‘Oh, I don’t know. Young Tommy has already been on the phone, talking about playing up the haunted house theme for Halloween.’

‘Isn’t that in bad taste?’ Flora turned to look at him as they descended.

‘Absolutely, Miss. But that’s the upper classes for you. No taste at all.’

Sidney led her through the kitchens, evidently deciding they were no longer off limits for her, at least. Flora kept her thoughts to herself, but she was shocked at the conditions in which the old man was working. And working all alone. She followed him out into the main hall, watching with a sombre expression as he locked and checked the door behind him. He turned to her, was about to speak, when a voice called Flora’s name from the top of the stairs. It was Celeste.

‘Flora, where have you been? We’ve been looking for you everywhere! It’s Marshall. You’ll never believe it. He’s only been arrested.’

***

Flora burst out of the house, just in time to see the rear of a police car as it disappeared down the long driveway. Sidney came out behind her, his face creased into a puzzled frown.

‘It’s all wrong, Sidney,’ Flora said, looking around wildly. ‘It doesn’t make sense. Marshall didn’t do anything. This is ridiculous.’

‘I was just about to tell you that I gave him your message at breakfast. It was why I came looking for you earlier.’

Flora wasn’t listening, could only think about Marshall sitting in the back of the police car. What on earth would he be thinking?

What on earth could Jack be thinking?

Sidney pointed towards the lawn. ‘Your policeman, the one who’s been here all week? I think I just saw him heading around the side of the house. But that message –’

‘I have to go and speak to Jack,’ Flora shouted, running across the gravel. ‘He’s got this all wrong.’

She saw Jack on the other side of the lawn. He was wearing a blue sweater over dark denim jeans, but she recognised his tall form and nearly white-blonde hair even from this distance. She sprinted up to him and grabbed his arm, pulling him around with all her strength.

‘What are you doing, Jack? Have you lost your mind?’

‘Flora, calm down.’ He took hold of her hand and removed it, but his grip was gentle, his face kind. ‘Just take a breath. You’ll make yourself ill.’ The pity in his eyes made her even more angry.

‘No. No, you can’t do this. Marshall didn’t murder Alberto, the idea is ridiculous. How can you just jump to conclusions like this? You should be doing your job, not taking Marshall away. You should be looking for the real killer.’

‘We are,’ Jack said. ‘Come over here and sit down.’ He began to walk towards a wrought iron bench on the edge of the lawn, but Flora stood her ground.

‘You’d better have a good reason for this, Jack. And more than just his cap being found in Alberto’s room.’ She had to clasp her hands together in front of her chest to stop them shaking.

‘Under his body, Flora, not just in his room.’ Jack’s voice was soft, careful. ‘And we have other evidence. I’m sorry, but we had to take him in for questioning. It’s routine.’

‘You’ve arrested him! That’s more than questioning. I’m going to call my uncle, he knows people, he’ll get a solicitor down here so fast you’ll –’

‘We found him in the props room. He was trying to wipe his fingerprints off the scabbard.’

Flora stopped mid-sentence. ‘The what?’

‘The scabbard – the sheath that held the murder weapon. We think – well, it looks as though he realised that he’d forgotten to wipe it for prints when he took it yesterday, so he went back to do it this morning after breakfast. One of my officers walked in, caught him red-handed.’

The ground seemed uneven suddenly. Flora steadied herself against a pitted stone bird bath. She shook her head. ‘No, he couldn’t have. There must have been another reason for him being in there. Just ask him.’

‘We will. That’s what questioning him means.’ Jack paused and rolled back his shoulders. He glanced at Flora, then looked away. ‘That’s not all, I’m afraid. I did a little digging last night. Marshall’s hatred for Alberto might have had its roots elsewhere. I mean, it wasn’t all about you.’

Flora regarded him blankly. She couldn’t think of a thing to say.

‘He has a sister back in America, a half-sister. She had a bad time a few years ago, got herself into trouble, ended up starring in an X-rated movie over there. Drugs, some time in jail … It looks like she was taken advantage of pretty badly. And it seems as though your friend held a grudge – holds a grudge – against anyone involved in the industry. I’ve got a witness who says Marshall went crazy the night of the gala dinner when he found out Alberto used to be involved in dirty flicks.’ Jack pulled a face, a little rueful, a little apologetic. Also a little disgusted. Flora continued to stare.

‘Was it Alberto?’ she said. ‘Was he the one who made the film with Marshall’s sister?’

Jack shook his head. ‘Not as far as we know. It was an American outfit, they’ve closed down since.’

‘He never told me.’ Flora looked off to the side, towards the wide expanse of trees. ‘He’s never even mentioned a sister.’

‘Maybe he’s embarrassed.’ Jack shrugged. ‘I certainly would be.’

‘You mean ashamed,’ Flora said, eyeing Jack levelly. ‘You’d be ashamed of her, but Marshall wouldn’t. So that was why he was so against Alberto, why he didn’t want me to be in the film.’ Even though
A Date With Death
clearly wasn’t that kind of movie, she could understand Marshall despising Alberto, despising anything he was involved with.

She let out a breath, and turned her face to the sky in frustration. ‘It’s still not enough of a reason to kill him. And think how many people had real reasons to want Alberto dead. Eduardo was angry with him, had already threatened him with that very sword. Nick was trying to throttle him only an hour before. Vincenzo might have decided to try and get Raquel out from his clutches, and of course there’s the possibility that it was a robbery that went wrong, just like you said …’ She tailed off, still looking up at the row of balconies.

‘We’re examining everybody’s alibi, don’t worry. I’m just doing my job, Flora. You have to understand that.’

She took a step back, shielding her eyes from the sun glinting off the windows above. ‘That’s Celeste’s balcony, isn’t it? So this one over here, this must be Alberto and Raquel’s room.’ The windows were closed now, but she was pretty certain of the geography. She looked down at the flowerbed. This was practically the exact spot where she’d been pushed over on her first night here, when Jack turned up at just the right moment to help her to her feet – at just the right moment to witness her embarrassment. She looked up at the reddish brick wall of the house, flat and featureless in the searing sun, then down again at the brown earth.

She said, ‘Have you checked here for prints?’

Jack looked at her. ‘What?’

‘The balcony door was open, wasn’t it? Well, if it was a robbery, if someone got in from the outside, there would be footprints here. And there’s no way to climb up without a ladder, so that would have left indentations. Have you checked?’

Jack laughed, but stopped laughing when he saw Flora’s expression. ‘Quite the detective, aren’t you? There are no footprints, no ladder marks. Our theory is that whoever killed Alberto came in through the house, was probably let into the room by Alberto himself, and then opened the windows to make it look like a robbery.’ He paused, then said, ‘There were signs of a struggle, of course, so it’s possible the murderer was disturbed by Alberto while stealing the tiara. Or possibly not.’

Flora thought about this. It was on the tip of her tongue to mention the two glasses and the whisky bottle, to mention the discrepancies in the room after the murder, but something held her back. She was too furious with Jack, for one thing. How dare he suspect Marshall, dig into his background like that? He had no right.

‘You don’t have a bloody clue, do you?’ she said. ‘Robbery, murder, maybe this, maybe that. Well, I’m going to prove you wrong. I’m going to prove Marshall didn’t have anything to do with this. You just wait and see.’

Chapter 8

Frustrated that she wasn’t allowed to visit Marshall at the police station in town, and still angry with Jack for being so obtuse, Flora had been edgy all day, hanging around the gardens, watching Nick try to reassemble the cast of extras to keep the filming on schedule. She didn’t see how they could continue without their director, couldn’t understand why they would even want to, but Nick had already lined up a cameraman from the local arts college, and the rest of the company – Raquel included – seemed determined to see
Una Cita con la Muerte
through to the bitter end. Maybe Raquel felt guilty for cheating on her husband, or maybe she saw the film as some kind of tribute to him. Flora found, as she watched them speaking their lines and constantly arranging and rearranging themselves in front of various backdrops, that she really didn’t care. She wanted out. She wanted to get Marshall back, and then she wanted out. Contract or no contract, Celeste was on her own. Rojo Productions would have to find someone else to cart them around the countryside. She didn’t think Nick would have too much trouble arranging that.

But no matter how she tried to divert herself, thoughts of Marshall kept invading her brain. He would be fine, of course. He hadn’t done anything wrong. Except he was hot-headed enough, stubborn enough, to make things ten times worse for himself. She knew him too well. Which was why she knew she’d have to do something to divert Jack’s attention. And as the day wore on, as Flora began to piece things together, she began to realise what she had to do. The discrepancies between Jack’s crime scene and the one she’d originally observed were eating away at her. It was something she couldn’t simply ignore. No matter how much trouble it might cause.

Marshall was too important for that.

And if she had to make a choice, she knew whose side she would choose.

When Celeste finished her final take, Flora approached her, fixing a smile to her face.

‘Time for a quick Martini?’ she said. She had brought two glasses from the house.

‘Always,’ Celeste said with a theatrical sigh. They walked a little way into the trees, Flora mentioning a fallen log that was big enough for them both to sit on. She wanted Celeste away from any distractions, and wanted them both away from prying eyes or inquisitive ears. It was around four o’clock now, and the heat of the day was showing no sign of abating. They were glad to get out of the sun.

‘Okay, so that was intense.’ Celeste took a gulp of Martini, then another. ‘Nick is even more punishing than Alberto.’

‘Looks like he’s taking the filming in a different direction,’ Flora said.

‘You noticed? Clever girl. He’s going to look at the rushes tomorrow, probably edit them down some. Maybe re-shoot. Actually,’ Celeste said, smiling and pulling back her shoulders, ‘Nick has some pretty good ideas. This film might not be so bad after all.’

‘Let me guess,’ said Flora, swinging her legs a little. Celeste’s legs reached all the way to the mossy ground, but Flora’s stopped about a foot short. ‘He’s going to develop your part, put less emphasis on the love-slave thing with Imelda – Raquel, I mean – and more on the emotion between you and Carlos. I mean, Eduardo.’

Celeste regarded Flora over the rim of her glass. ‘Has Jack been giving you Spanish lessons?’

‘I think Jack has other things on his mind, don’t you? Which brings me to the reason I wanted to talk to you.’

Celeste said nothing. Flora steeled herself.

‘I know what you did last night. I’ve thought about it, and it could only have been you. And I know why you did it. But it’s not okay, Celeste. You have to tell Jack. You need to tell him everything.’

‘Flora, you are making no sense at all.’ Celeste stood up and threw back the rest of her drink. ‘And I have another scene to shoot.’

This was another lie, but Flora let it go. ‘You tidied away the glasses. There were two glasses and a bottle on the bar when I went in just after Raquel. You knocked over that little table, and you tipped up a picture to make it look like there’d been a struggle. When I went back in with Jack the glasses had gone, the bottle had gone, and I am absolutely positive the bureau had been closed when we found Alberto, so you must have opened that too. I’ve figured out that it was your plan to set up the room to look like a robbery gone wrong.’ Flora looked down at her hands, then lifted her eyes to meet Celeste’s. ‘But it hasn’t worked out quite like that, has it? Not now Marshall has been arrested. I suppose you did it for Eduardo. Do you really believe it was him who killed Alberto?’