A Date With Death: Cozy Private Investigator Series (Flora Lively Mysteries Book 2) (18 page)

‘We’re coming with you. We need to report this.’

‘Did you get a good look at him?’ Flora asked, walking ahead. All she could remember was the green jacket, the hood pulled low. Her imagination could provide a lot more detail if she let it, but she had to focus on the facts.

‘Not really,’ said the woman. ‘He was kind of behind you, and it’s raining and all. We were looking at the map.’

Her husband held out the laminated map again, then shrugged apologetically. ‘Sorry,’ he said.

‘That’s okay.’ Flora was so grateful to the couple for even being there she could have hugged them, regardless of what they had or hadn’t seen.

As the car park and visitors’ centre came into sight, Flora began to wonder if she had really been in any danger at all. Down here everything was so normal, so everyday – cars in their multicoloured rows, signs telling people to take their rubbish home, to keep dogs on a lead, to stop at the tea room and visit the gift shop – that she couldn’t quite believe she’d been followed at all. He was probably just on the same path as her for a while, just shy, not wanting to talk, and then he had slipped off onto another path just at the point the couple came into view. A coincidence. And wouldn’t the distance, the perspective, have made it seem as though he was right behind her when really he might have been five or ten feet away? Flora said as much to her companions, and was rewarded with a considering nod from the woman.

They insisted on taking her into the centre to report the incident, but Flora played it down. She didn’t mention seeing him on the hillside earlier, or how frightened she’d felt on the path through the woods. You made yourself frightened, she thought. She extricated herself finally, and headed back to Celeste’s car. But in the car her hands started shaking. When she tried to turn on the engine they shook so badly she dropped the keys twice. She sat back and closed her eyes, then opened them again and checked the central locking was engaged. Then she closed her eyes and laid her head on her arms on the wheel. She stayed like this until the tears stopped, then she wiped her face and started the engine.

***

Hanley Manor sat at the end of the drive, reassuringly solid and safe, despite what Flora knew about the rats and the damp and the house’s uncertain future. She pulled into a parking space, happy to see that Shakers’ van was back. What she really wanted more than anything was to find Marshall, tell him about her adventure on Stiperstones, then slip into a hot bath. She wondered whether Sidney would find her a bath to use. Or maybe she could ask Celeste for the loan of her bathroom for an hour or so. Showers were great, the yurt was fab, but nothing could beat a hot bath.

First, she had a job to do. Flora had decided to check in the house and see if anyone was missing. It would need to be someone with access to transport. Vincenzo had his motorbike, of course, which Flora could see parked in its usual place next to the van, but that didn’t mean anything – on a motorbike he could have got back to Hanley Manor before her, easily. Nick’s car wasn’t in view, but Flora remembered that he let Gabriella use it sometimes – she’d seen her driving away in it the day she and Marshall arrived. Celeste would still be in town, unless she’d got a taxi back already, but Flora knew it hadn’t been Celeste out there on the hillside. She was still half convinced that it was either just some random stranger acting weirdly, or nothing at all, but a tiny part of her mind kept insisting that it might have had something to do with Alberto’s death. What, she didn’t know. Maybe she knew something, something she wasn’t fully aware of, or had seen something, or had said the wrong thing to someone. To the murderer. Maybe the murderer had followed her, thinking she was going to meet with Jack, to share what she knew. Her imagination was working overtime, but she was certain that she needed to see for herself that Nick and Vincenzo were here, and hadn’t been out of Marshall’s sight all afternoon, to feel completely reassured.

She spotted Vincenzo at once. He was in the music room, seated in front of the grand piano with Raquel on his lap. When she saw Flora, Raquel scowled and slipped off his lap and onto the piano stool by his side, then she turned and whispered something in his ear. Vincenzo lifted the piano’s cover and began to play. Flora had nearly reached the other end of the room, intending to carry on through the house in search of Nick, but she stopped in her tracks to listen. The music was delicate, haunting, rising and falling as if on a breeze, filling the space with a vibration that seemed to go beyond the scope of the notes themselves. If she hadn’t seen for herself that it was Vincenzo playing, Flora might not have believed it. Raquel listened with her eyes closed, her hand resting on his thigh.

Marshall was in the third room along, the drawing room, sitting in front of the open French windows reading the sports pages of a newspaper. ‘The food of love,’ he said, tipping his head in the direction of the music.

‘Play on,’ she answered, smiling. ‘
Twelfth Night
, the perfect love triangle.’

‘Huh?’

‘Shakespeare. You just quoted it.’

‘Did I?’

Flora picked up Marshall’s paper, then gave it back to him. ‘You should read something more cultured. Your mind is going to mush.’

‘It’s the company I keep.’

‘Ha. Funny. You know, you really are the light of my life at the moment.’ She meant it to come out sarcastic – it was the way they usually related to each other, after all. But somehow her words, layered over with the romantic music, took on a meaning of their own. Marshall fixed his eyes on hers. Neither of them moved.

‘Ha,’ Flora said again, breaking the spell. The music stopped, leaving in its wake a swelling silence. She cleared her throat. ‘Have you seen Nick today? I mean, is he here?’

Marshall lifted his shoulders up and down. ‘He was here a while ago. I think he said something about going to get a new suit. It’s this memorial dinner thing tonight, isn’t it? I’m not sure how sober he was. Gabriella offered to drive him, but he said no.’

‘Did she help you with the scenery?’ Flora said. She hadn’t seen the wardrobe girl around much since Alberto’s murder, although she knew Jack had told her not to leave until he said so.

‘Kinda,’ Marshall said. ‘Mostly she was packing up her props. Messing about with Eduardo’s sling, that kind of thing. Nick told her to put it all in the props room for now, he said Jack wanted it locked up in case it was evidence.’ He made a kind of humphing sound, but Flora didn’t know whether it was being reminded of the props room or just the general thought of Jack Harding that had got him riled.

Flora was about to tell Marshall about her adventure on Stiperstones when she was interrupted by loud voices coming from somewhere back in the house. Marshall looked at her and pulled a face.

‘Your admirer,’ he said. ‘PC Plod. He’s been throwing his weight around this afternoon. Well, he’s too high and mighty to do it himself, it seems. Sent his team over here this afternoon to find Eduardo. Celeste’s really pissed.’

This wasn’t the time to call him out on his Americanisms. Flora knew what he meant. She checked the time on her phone. It was later than she’d thought, but she was still surprised that Celeste was back already. She said, ‘I’d better go and see if she’s okay.’

‘Sure,’ Marshall said, standing. ‘You go ahead. I’ll see you back at the –’

But Flora didn’t hear the rest of his sentence, she was already jogging out of the room. She could hear Celeste’s voice, high-pitched and full of emotion. And another voice, unmistakably Spanish, shouting over the top of Celeste. She reached the main hall, practically skidding to a standstill. It took her almost a minute to process the scene in front of her. The first person she saw was Sidney, standing by the door that led to the props room, clutching his oversized bunch of keys. Then she saw Celeste, dressed in a thin pink slip, and by the looks of it, not much else. Celeste was gripping onto Eduardo, who in turn was being pulled towards the door by a uniformed policeman. Eduardo was also barely dressed, wearing boxer shorts and sandals but no top or shorts. Another policeman stood by the door, speaking on a mobile phone. Celeste was demanding they let Eduardo go, and Eduardo was still shouting in Spanish. Flora couldn’t understand a word of it, but she could guess pretty well. Over by the staircase, Vincenzo and Raquel looked on, Raquel with a kind of flown-open expression on her face, her hand resting just above her breasts. Flora rushed forward and slipped around the back of the policeman who was trying to restrain Eduardo. She caught hold of Celeste’s other arm and gave it a shake.

‘Celeste, don’t be stupid. Let go of him. You’re just going to make things worse.’

Either her friend couldn’t hear her over the racket or she plain didn’t care. Flora found herself pushed to the side, while the strange little tableau edged ever closer to the open door. The second officer snapped his phone shut, then reached out for Eduardo. He said,

‘I’m arresting you for the murder of Alberto Caro. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence –’

‘He didn’t do it!’ Celeste screamed. ‘You can’t just walk in here and drag him out of my room. What gives you the right to do that?’

‘– do say may be given in evidence.’ The officer carried on reading Eduardo his rights, ignoring Celeste’s protests, while Eduardo continued to struggle. He’d switched to English, but still wasn’t making much sense. With two of them to hold him steady, the policemen had no trouble manoeuvring the actor into the waiting car. Celeste wailed and stamped her feet and told them they’d be sorry.

‘I know your boss,’ she shouted. ‘Jack Harding. He’s a friend of mine, and you’re going to be in so much trouble. He’ll have you for this.’ The wind took her words and whipped them away, but one of the policemen looked back and gave her a pitying smile.

‘Give him a call,’ he told her. His voice was deep and carried all the way into the house. ‘It was him what told us to bring this one in.’

Chapter 11

‘He was in my room when I got back from town. He hasn’t been there the whole time, I swear it.’

Celeste was sitting at the end of the long dining table with Flora close by her side. They couldn’t talk in Celeste’s room because it was still being searched.

‘They’re looking for the tiara, I suppose. They must think Eduardo stashed it there.’ Celeste lowered her head all the way down to her hands, which were clasped on top of the table. ‘Oh, Flora. It’s all such a mess.’

Flora tentatively patted her friend’s back. She’d tried to comfort her earlier but had been thrown off and turned upon – Celeste had run the gauntlet of blaming everyone for Eduardo’s arrest, even Flora. But now she seemed to have run out of fight, so Flora risked another pat. She also decided to risk a potentially tricky question.

‘Celeste, does Jack know that Alberto was blackmailing you?’

Her friend nodded, just the barest movement of her head in her hands. ‘Someone told him. I thought it was you. He was really angry that I didn’t tell him myself.’ She lifted her head and sighed. Her face was streaked with tears, her mouth blurred and swollen, her nose pink at the tip. She still looked stunning, Flora thought with a slight sigh of her own. That star quality just shone through, no matter what. When Flora cried she looked like a blotchy-faced monster. Which was why she cried as rarely as possible.

‘Did you see him today?’ Flora said. ‘Jack, I mean.’

‘I saw him in town. Just after you dropped me off. We had coffee, and then he brought me back here. Maybe he saw Eduardo in the window, or maybe he just got lucky, I don’t know. But about an hour after he left, a load of uniformed officers turned up and started banging on my door.’ Celeste shivered and hugged herself. Flora had asked Sidney to bring her a wrap along with their coffee, but neither seemed to be having much effect. ‘By that time I’d found Eduardo in my room, obviously,’ Celeste said, looking up at Flora. ‘And we were … Well, I’d been worried about him. It was only natural for us to want to be close.’

Flora had guessed as much from their attire – or lack of it. Oh to have the kind of sex drive that overcame all dangers, and a partner who shared it. She sighed again, then picked up her coffee.

‘So, Jack thinks Eduardo killed Alberto because he found out the director was blackmailing you.’

Celeste nodded. ‘They said I might be charged with aiding and abetting him, hiding him from the police, and for tampering with evidence.’ Her voice rose to a wail.

‘I don’t suppose messing up the crime scene helped much,’ Flora said, staring into her cup. She felt Celeste stiffen by her side, but she pressed on. ‘Look, if you did it the way you said you did, it’s the same as admitting you think Eduardo killed Alberto too. Think about it from Jack’s perspective. Why try to cover up for your boyfriend if you knew he was innocent?’ She paused to allow this to sink in, then went on. ‘But if you messed up the room by accident because you were looking for the photos, that’s a different matter. What I’m saying is, maybe you should have come clean with Jack from the start. Completely clean.’

Celeste got up and walked to the window. The drapes were pulled back, and even from the other side of the room Flora could see they were dusty and threadbare. Outside, the early evening sun was finally poking through the rain clouds. She wondered whether they would bother having Alberto’s memorial dinner now. If she and Marshall were going home tomorrow, it seemed a shame not to have the chance to say goodbye to the others. Crazy bunch though they were, Flora was starting to think she might miss them. Even Raquel.

‘Flora, it’s too late for me to talk to Jack now. He won’t listen to me. But you could.’ Celeste turned and held out her hands, held them out straight, palms together, as though praying. ‘He’d listen to you. He thinks the world of you.’ She laughed once, the laugh Flora didn’t like much. ‘You can wrap him around your little finger, always could.’

Flora shook her head. ‘No, I can’t.’

‘He let Marshall go, didn’t he?’

‘Yes, but that was because Marshall hadn’t done anything wrong!’

‘Neither has Eduardo,’ Celeste cried. ‘Flora, you have to help me. I’m in … Eduardo’s in trouble. He doesn’t speak the language very well, he’ll be frightened, he might –’