A Killer Ball at Honeychurch Hall (31 page)

“Where's Iris off to?” he demanded as I climbed into the back of the Golf and Edith took the front seat. “I passed her speeding through Little Dipperton.”

“That wasn't Iris,” I said and told Alfred about my encounter with Joan Stark.

“Bloody hell!” he exclaimed. “Leave it to Alfred. Where do you think she's going?”

“Just drive, Alfred!” Edith shouted and slammed the dashboard. “We're wasting valuable time.”

As we tore out past the gatehouses and turned into Cavalier Lane, the headlights caught a flash of metal. “I think that was Joan's tricycle,” I said as I clung to the rear door handle and held on for dear life. Joan must have abandoned it.

We took three hairpin bends without slowing down. The Golf fishtailed on the wet road but Alfred didn't flinch. His hands gripped the steering wheel; his foot was hard on the accelerator.

“Shouldn't we change gears?” I said as Alfred repeatedly shifted from first to second despite the ear-splitting protests coming from the poor engine.

Edith started to laugh. “Good heavens, Alfred,” she hooted. “Anyone would think you were driving a getaway car!”

I caught Alfred's eye in the rearview mirror. He winked.

“But where are we going?” I wailed.

“Rupert got Joan's address out of Mrs. Cropper,” said Edith. “Some hideous housing estate in Paignton.”

“Where's Iris?” Alfred said. “She wasn't at the Carriage House.”

“She's been arrested,” said Edith cheerfully. “Can't you drive any faster?”

“Arrested!” Alfred exclaimed. “Why?”

“It's too long a story to go into now,” I said as we approached a roundabout and Alfred just shot right over the middle hump.

As we entered the Paignton suburbs, we encountered a bit of traffic but that didn't slow Alfred down until suddenly he slammed on his brakes.

“Bloody hell!” he said. “There's Iris's MINI!”

The car had been abandoned at a traffic light and was holding up half a dozen motorists who were sounding their horns.

Alfred's eyes met mine again in the rearview mirror. They danced with laughter. “I reckon she ran out of petrol.”

“There she is! That's Joan!” I shrieked as I spotted a yellow caped figure hurrying along the pavement. “I forgot to tell you—she's got a shotgun!”

Alfred wasn't fazed. He pulled over and stopped the car, leapt out and set off at a jog.

“I'll help him—”

“No! Stay!” Edith commanded as if I were Mr. Chips. “Alfred knows what he's doing. I must say he's very fit for his age.”

Edith and I watched open-mouthed as Joan jaywalked across the road. Cars screeched to a halt, horns blared but she didn't seem to notice.

She made her way toward another roundabout and clambered over the barrier.

Alfred was closing in.

Joan pulled out the shotgun from under her cape.

“Oh! I can't watch!” I cried as Alfred vaulted over the barrier.

The shotgun got caught in Joan's cape. She screamed. Alfred yelled and promptly brought Joan down in a rugby tackle. The pair tumbled to the ground in a flurry of limbs and flashing yellow PVC.

“I always remember that as one of Alfred's signature moves in the boxing ring,” Edith mused.

“I think that's a rugby tackle.”

“Who cares?” Edith's grin was so wide I realized she had all her teeth and made a mental note to tell Mum. She had always wondered.

Alfred straddled Joan and turned to us, waving the shotgun aloft.

“Bravo! Bravo!” Edith yelled and we both began to clap. “This is the most fun I've had in ages.”

Lavinia must have been successful in contacting the police because minutes later there was a cacophony of sirens and a convoy of police panda cars converged at the roundabout surrounding it completely.

“Thank God.” I turned to Edith. “It's over.”

“Yes. It's over,” she said grimly. “Justice for poor Pandora—and for Bryan—although I never really cared for him. He drove the poor girl to it—but that's no excuse.” She paused for a moment. “There is something I have been meaning to tell you.”

“I hate it when people say that,” I said.

“It was Pandora who gave me
Lady Chatterley's Lover,
” said Edith. “She bought it when she was traveling in Italy. I got rid of it, of course,” Edith went on. “I couldn't have that in the house but not through any sense of being a prude. I find D. H. Lawrence's work far better than
Fifty Shades of Grey.
”

“I agree,” I said.

“I was a fool,” Edith continued. “I'd confided in Pandora about my love affair with Walter. She kept dropping silly hints to my brother—saying wasn't I just like Lady Constance of Wragby Hall and remarking on the physical resemblance Walter had to Mellors. Rupert was already suspicious…” For a moment, sadness washed over her graceful features. “But of course, the rest you know.”

“What happened with the Cleopatra costume?” I said. “My mother was so upset.”

“Poor Iris. Yes, Pandora deliberately stole the costume your mother had worked so hard on. Pandora had to be the center of attention, you see.” Edith gave a heavy sigh. “It was all so long ago. Age is a funny thing, Katherine. Most of us can move on after having our hearts broken. Cousin Edward—the man I did marry—was a good man. I never forgot Walter but I saw that time in my life for what it was. Young love and infatuation and it was wonderful.” She paused again. “Joan never could let go.”

Edith's words struck a chord. I was not like Joan. I could move on—and now that Alfred had gotten rid of the drawings, I wouldn't need to have anything more to do with David. I was free at last.

An hour later we dropped Edith back at the Hall. Rupert told us that Mrs. Cropper was on her way to Totnes Hospital and that he had dragged Cropper out of his rotary meeting. Fortunately, her ankle had just been badly sprained but they were keeping her under observation overnight.

The courtyard was a blaze of light when we pulled into the carriageway. Mum came scurrying out to meet us.

“Where on earth have you been? Alfred! Oh! Oh! Is it really you?” And she promptly burst into tears.

I was feeling pretty emotional myself as I watched them embrace.

“You daft bat,” said Alfred affectionately. “Told you it would be alright, didn't I? Just got one more thing to take care of tonight and we're dandy.”

“Good God, Katherine!” Mum gawked. “You're completely covered in black paint.”

“It's soot, actually,” I said. “A long story but I've been up a chimney.”

“Oh. Well, whilst you've been doing
that,
” said Mum dismissively, “I've been fighting for my freedom. Then, suddenly, there is a phone call and a policewoman who I've never seen before says she'll give me a ride home.”

“We were right about Joan, Mum.”

“I knew it! Let's go inside and you can tell me everything over a gin and tonic.”

 

Chapter Thirty-four

“Katherine—are you awake?” Mum knocked on my bedroom door. “Shawn's downstairs and he wants to see you.”

It was Tuesday morning. I hadn't realized just how traumatic the events of the last few days had been nor how deeply I had needed to sleep.

“Now?”

Mum opened the door a crack and smiled. “He said it was very important. Perhaps he's going to ask you out on a date?”

“Very funny,” I mumbled. “Give me five minutes.”

“I think you'll need more than that if you want to make yourself presentable. At least you got rid of all that soot.”

I climbed straight into my jeans and a sweater and just pulled my hair back into a ponytail.

When I entered the kitchen, Shawn was chatting to Mum holding a mug of coffee in his hand.

“Good news.” He beamed. “Ginny confirmed that Joan was her abductor.”

“That
is
good news,” I said.

“Apparently, Joan paid Ginny an early morning visit to tell her that she'd read her article and that she had more information to sell.”

“That wasn't what I expected,” I said. “I would have thought she was afraid of her own secrets getting out.”

“Joan needed the money,” said Shawn. “As it is she's been claiming all kinds of benefits that she's not entitled to. Gran told me that after her brother—that would be my great-uncle—died…”

“I must write that down for my family tree,” said Mum.

“Well—put it this way, Joan was penniless. She never could hold down a job so the council gave her a house.”

“Sponging off the government,” said Mum. “That's why this country's going to the dogs.”

“Joan promised Ginny even bigger stories—”

“Joan was always manipulative,” Mum declared. “Look at the way she tried to frame me!”

“Everything was going well until Ginny mentioned Alzheimer's,” said Shawn. “To quote Ginny's words—
Joan went psychotic.
”

“But Ginny's decades younger than Joan,” Mum said. “How on earth did Joan overpower her—enough to bundle her in the back of her car and dump her off on Dartmoor?”

“Joan had a shotgun,” I said. “According to Bryan, she was a crack shot.”

“A crackpot if you ask me,” Mum muttered.

“And those deep scratch marks we saw in the boot of Ginny's car,” said Shawn. “They were from her tricycle.”

“What's going to happen to the series for the
Daily Post
?” I asked. “Is Ginny still going to write her exclusives?”

“I have no idea,” said Shawn. “She was pretty shaken up. But that's not the only reason I am here.”

Mum winked at me across the room and mouthed the words, “A date!” I ignored her.

“The most extraordinary thing happened last night,” said Shawn. “Someone broke into Luxton's warehouse and returned all the artwork.”

“What?”
I was horrified.

“They really need to get a new alarm system installed,” Mum declared.

“So it looks as if the dowager countess will be able to sell the Hollar drawings at the auction, after all.”

“That's wonderful,” said Mum. “Isn't that wonderful, Katherine?”

“Amazing,” I said bleakly.

“Well—I'd better get on,” said Shawn. “I have a number of reports to write up what with Bryan, Pandora, Ginny and two break-ins—I always laugh when someone tells me that nothing ever happens in Little Dipperton.”

I saw Shawn to the front door. “And you're certain that the Hollar drawings were among the items returned?”

“Yes. It was confirmed.”

“Will you continue to look into it?”

“Since they've been put back and—to be honest—I've got my hands full with all these other cases and Newton Abbot aren't bothered—probably not.”

“So they aren't going to look at the CCTV footage?” I just had to ask.

Shawn regarded me with suspicion. “Apparently not.” He hesitated for a moment. “Kat—I feel I have done you a disservice and I apologize.”

“Whatever for?”

“I thought you were protecting your mother or Alfred over all this business and I was wrong. I'd like to make it up to you. Perhaps we can have a drink one evening.”

“Lovely!” I said with forced heartiness. At any other time, I would have been happy at the invitation but not now—and especially not after the auction that would probably be attended by a bevy of officers from the Art & Antiques Unit. I could see them swarming in with David at the helm.

I returned to the kitchen to find Alfred had slipped in through the back door.

He was tucking into a huge breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast and jam and looked as if he hadn't slept all night—which I suspected, he hadn't.

“I don't know how you can eat at a time like this,” I said with dismay. “The police have just been here.”

“He knows,” said Mum.

Alfred just laughed. “Oh ye of little faith.”

Mum hovered over him as if he were a god. “More tea, Alfred?”

“What's going on?” I said suspiciously. “You do realize what just happened, don't you?”

“You'll see,” said Mum, shooting a knowing look at Alfred.

I dragged out a chair and sat down. “I'm too tired to argue.”

“There is something I've been meaning to ask you,” said Alfred suddenly. “I was looking at those drawings and I noticed something. They're topographical drawings, right? They were done to record as accurately as possible the properties and grounds…”

“I didn't know you were so knowledgeable, Alfred,” I said.

“Alfred knows a lot about the art world,” Mum chimed in.

“I've been doing a bit of research and you said that Warren Lodge burned down in the English Civil War, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then Jane's Cottage was built on the foundation?”

“I suppose so.”

“Ah—but you see, it wasn't built on the exact foundation,” said Alfred. “I reckon it was moved about twenty-five yards farther south.”

“How can you tell?” I asked.

“Ah! That's a secret,” said Alfred.

“What else did you notice?”

“The warren well isn't there anymore. But it is in the drawing.”

Joan had said her ancestor had put the silver in the warren well and it had disappeared. Harry had said that the warrener always had a well because they needed water for the rabbits for skinning carcasses and cleaning the skins. Was it distinctly possible that the well was still there—but under the floor of Jane's Cottage?

“Of course!” I rushed over to plant a kiss on a very startled Alfred's forehead. He turned pink with pleasure.

“Thank you, thank you!” I raced out of the kitchen shouting, “I have to go.”