Murder at Honeychurch Hall: A Mystery (13 page)

“A
suitcase
?” said Rupert sharply.

“Of course she’d have a suitcase,” Lavinia said. “She was leaving.”

“Color?” said Shawn.

“Pink,” I said. “Or more of a fuchsia pink—wouldn’t you say, Rupert?”

“
You
saw her at the top of the drive, too?” Shawn exclaimed. “Why on earth didn’t you say so?”

“I didn’t see her,” said Rupert quickly. “I was in a bit of a hurry.”

“I was blocking the entrance with my car,” I said. “By the time I’d moved it, Gayla had disappeared.”

“Where were you going, m’lord?” Shawn asked.

“Good question,” Lavinia put in. “I’d love to know since you missed supper.”

Rupert reddened. “I—I—”

“Some sheep escaped,” said Vera smoothly. “I got a phone call from a passing motorist. It happens all the time.”

“Wasn’t William around to help you?” Shawn asked.

“He visits my mother at Sunny Hill Lodge on Friday evenings,” said Vera. “As you know, she’s got Alzheimer’s.”

Was there no end to William’s saintly gifts?

“Does it matter?” Rupert snapped. “I heard Vera on the phone and I offered to help.”

Lavinia gave a snort of derision. “That’s a first.”

“And what time did you get back?” said Shawn, pencil poised.

“Around nine, I suppose. I went to the Hare & Hounds for a quick snifter,” said Rupert. “Bumped into Eric, as a matter of fact. You should go and talk to him.”

“We intend to,” said Shawn.

Chuffah-chuffah-chuffah-chuffah.

“What’s that noise?” said Mum, head cocked. “Surely that can’t be a train.”

The chuffing sound grew louder, drowning out all further conversation as Shawn fumbled in his pocket and withdrew his iPhone. “Actually, it’s the Scarborough Spa Express from Wakefield Westgate to Ardsley Tunnel,” he shouted as the ringtone reached its crescendo with a loud
whoop, whoop, whoop!

Shawn hit the answer button, barked, “D. I. Cropper here,” and walked over to the window to take the call.

Mum turned to me, highly amused, and mouthed the words, “
Whoop, whoop?
”

“Shawn’s always been fascinated by trains,” said Lavinia dryly.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, I fought the urge to giggle. It all seemed surreal. Gayla hadn’t even been missing for twenty-four hours and here was the local plod—with dried egg on his shirt—convinced of foul play. I couldn’t imagine the Metropolitan Police conducting such an investigation.

We waited in silence whilst Shawn finished his phone call behind one of the brocade curtains. When he rejoined us, his expression was grave. “Bad news, I’m afraid. Gayla’s suitcase has been found but there is no sign of her.”

My stomach gave a lurch and Mum grabbed my hand. Suddenly, it was no laughing matter.

Lavinia bit her lip. “Oh dear, you don’t really think something frightful has happened, do you?”

“Let’s hope not,” said Shawn.

“Where did you find this suitcase?” demanded Rupert.

“In the hedge along the bridleway to Cavalier Copse,” said Shawn. “Tom from Home Farm found it concealed in the undergrowth.”

“Why would she leave it there?” Lavinia cried. “How odd.”

“Perhaps it was deliberate,” said Vera. “She didn’t want to go back to London to see her dad because she knew she was in trouble for thieving. Maybe she’s crying wolf.”

“Yes, I think Vera’s right.” Rupert nodded in agreement. “Did you find anything of interest in the suitcase?”

Shawn regarded Rupert thoughtfully. “Just the usual effects. Why?”

“What I mean is—” Rupert hesitated. “How do we know for sure it was Gayla’s suitcase?”

“Oh for heaven’s sake,” cried Lavinia. “The poor girl is obviously in some kind of trouble. This is your fault, Vera. You and your meddling.”

“Mine?” Vera’s mouth dropped.

Lavinia suddenly stood up. “This is all frightfully distressing but frankly, I’m not sure what more we can do.”

“Quite right, quite right,” Rupert said. “I think we’ve done all we can to assist you, Shawn. Life goes on and all that.”

Clearly we were all being dismissed.

“Right then,” said Shawn. “I suppose I know where to find you.”

Lavinia moved toward the library door. “And Katherine, six o’clock sharp. Staff always eats in the kitchen.”

Mum and I trooped out after her.

“Kat!” Shawn called out. “A quick word, please.”

We waited for him to join us and yes, I was right. It was definitely dried egg on his lapel.

“If I seem overzealous it’s because nothing ever happens here—not that I’m making light of Ms. Tarasova’s disappearance, you understand.” Shawn smiled. “You are grockles—”

“Grockles?”
I said.

“Tourists—I mean outsiders. Sorry.” Shawn looked sheepish. “You may notice things that are unusual that we take for granted. If either of you think of anything else Gayla may have said—however insignificant—please call me on this number.”

Shawn pressed a business card into my hand and looked intensely into my eyes. His were dark brown with a speckle of gold freckles in the iris. Perhaps it was the steamy passage I’d just finished typing up from Mum’s
Forbidden
but a tiny frisson of je ne sais quoi passed between us.

I actually blushed.

“Oh! Inspector, there
is
something I’d like to talk to you about.” Mum lowered her voice and beckoned us over to the window. “It’s about Eric Pugsley.”

“You think he may have something to do with the nanny’s disappearance?” Shawn retrieved his notebook from his pocket and flipped it open.

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” said Mum. “But actually, this is about me. I’d like to file a complaint.”

“Not
now
, Mother,” I said, exasperated. “Inspector, I apologize for—”

“Eric Pugsley has launched a vendetta against me,” Mum declared.

“But does this have anything to do with Gayla?”

“No, it does not,” I said firmly.

“But it could,” said Mum.

Shawn looked puzzled. “Go on.”

“Pugsley wants me out of the Carriage House. He’s been deliberately turning off my water supply.” She waved her cast. “He did this, you know!”

“Mother—”

“And this!” Mum pointed at her bruised face.

“He attacked you?” said Shawn, appalled. “
Eric?
Eric
Pugsley
?”

“My mother is exaggerating, Inspector.”

“Pugsley parked a hearse in full view of my window and if that’s not a death threat, I don’t know what is.”

“Well, these are very serious allegations,” said Shawn.

“So you see, Pugsley is capable of violence,” said Mum.

Shawn nodded gravely. “If you’d like to come down to the police station on Monday morning, we can take a statement.”

“Thank you, Inspector,” said Mum triumphantly. “At least someone believes me. My daughter felt I was being overdramatic.”

Shawn gave a polite smile.

“And of course, if Kat remembers anything about Gayla, I will make sure she calls you immediately.”

“Yes. Please do.”

Mum beamed. “Good. We will see you first thing on Monday morning—if not before.”

Chapter Ten

“You’re impossible, Mother,” I said as we set off for home.

“That policeman seems a pleasant man. Nice sensual lips. I saw him give you that look. And no wedding ring.”

“He’s twelve years old and had egg on his shirt. Definitely not my type.”

“You’re just used to going out with old fogies.”

“And what about his phone ringtone?” I said. “A
train
?”

“But not any old train, dear,” said Mum. “The Scarborough Spa Express. If he’s passionate about steam trains he’ll make a steamy bedfellow.” She chortled at her own joke.

I groaned.

She clicked on her Dictaphone.
“He pressed his business card into her hands. His dark eyes searched her face for any sign of encouragement. A faint blush spread across her porcelain cheeks—”

“Ha-bloody-ha,” I said dryly. “You are so hilarious.”

“She was afraid to look at him. Afraid he would see her desire and find her lustful and wanton—”

“How can you be so frivolous at a time like this!”

“Nothing’s happened to that young nanny,” said Mum with scorn.

“How do you know?”

“I saw her and Rupert in the Greek garden one afternoon—all huddled together, whispering and laughing.”

“You think they were having an affair?” I said.

“I wasn’t sure until Lavinia mentioned how well—apparently—I knew Gayla,” said Mum. “I was obviously some kind of alibi.”

“Why didn’t you say so?”

“In front of Lavinia?” said Mum. “I wouldn’t do that. Besides, I don’t have concrete proof and it’s obvious she’s besotted with her husband.”

“Lavinia? Besotted? With Rupert?” I exclaimed. “You must be blind. She can’t stand him.”

“There is a thin line between love and hate, you know that,” said Mum. “I notice these details.”

“So why didn’t you tell Shawn all this when we were alone—instead of talking about Eric Pugsley?”

“It’s a good excuse for
you
to call him later.” Mum grinned mischievously.

“Stay out of my love life, please,” I said. “In fact, stop interfering. I mean it. Why on earth did you say I’d babysit tonight?”

“Sorry about that,” said Mum sheepishly. “It just came out.”

“And why did you say that David was my fiancé?”

“You’re too old to have a boyfriend,” said Mum. “Anyway, David
should
be your fiancé by now. How long have you been together?”

Fortunately we’d reached the white angel memorial and it was the perfect time to change the subject. Stray rose petals scattered on the grass reminded me of Lavinia’s tantrum last night.

Cut like a Rose in Full Bloom

Only Good Night, My Beloved, Not Farewell

Kelly

July 31, 1982–August 26, 2005

I studied the dates. “Twenty-three years old. She was young. They couldn’t have been married for very long. I wonder how she died.”

“She was stung by a bee,” said Mum.

“A
bee
?”

“That’s what Muriel told me at the post office,” Mum said. “Apparently Lord Honeychurch’s first wife was allergic to bees. According to Muriel, Lady Kelly started life as one of the servants below stairs—”

“And she married Rupert! What a scandal!” I said. “I bet that didn’t go down well with the dowager countess.”

“They were star-crossed lovers,” Mum said wistfully. “He was tied by the duties of his class and what was demanded of him by his cold, heartless mother—”

“Who, I noticed, also has a knack of getting names wrong just like you—Kylie, Carly, Kelly—Dylan, David?”

“Surely you’re not accusing
me
of being cold and heartless?” Mum cried. “We mothers just want to protect our own, that’s all.”

“So you say.” I turned my attention back to the memorial. “Wasn’t yesterday the twenty-sixth of August?”

“Clever you,” said Mum. “So it was.”

“That would make it the anniversary of Kelly’s death.”

“How interesting,” Mum said. “How old is Harry?”

“Seven next week—oh!” I exclaimed. “I see what you mean. Rupert didn’t waste any time marrying Lavinia, did he?”

“The classic rebound,” said Mum. “And I suspect his lordship still loves his first wife. That angel memorial statue sticks out like a sore thumb.”

“Poor Lavinia. It must be a constant reminder,” I said. “How awful knowing that your husband is still in love with someone else.”

“Poor Rupert,” said Mum. “Losing the love of his life forever. Either way, their marriage is doomed.”

“And then there’s Harry,” I added. “Packed off to boarding school.”

“At least we didn’t do
that
to you,” said Mum.

Back at the Carriage House, three boxes sat on the doorstep. “Oh, good. Parcels!” Mum gestured for me to deal with them. “I’ve been waiting for the postman.”

I picked up the first box, and then the second. “These two are for Vera,” I said. “Shoes and—oh—goodness, one box is from Ann Summers.”

“Isn’t that something to do with sexy lingerie?” said Mum with delight. “Let’s open it and look.”

“No, we’re not opening Vera’s parcel!”

“I wonder why they’ve been delivered here?”

“Because that’s the address on the label,” I said.

“I bet she doesn’t want Eric to find out what she’s been buying.”

“The third box is for you. Something from a company called We-See-You!”

Mum beamed. “That’ll be the surveillance equipment.”

“I thought you were joking.”

“Your bedroom overlooks the cow field,” said Mum. “We’ll get William to install it this afternoon.”

“You can’t install a camera.”

“Why not? The government has them everywhere…” Mum trailed off. “I hope I’m not wrong about Gayla. You hear about these quiet country villages harboring serial killers.”

“All the more reason for you to come back to London,” I said.

“I told you I’m going to catch Eric out,” said Mum, changing the subject. “I’ll have evidence to support my complaint—and that’s just the beginning of the end for old beetle-brows.”

“Alright,” I said grudgingly. “But let’s leave William out of this.
I
will install the camera.”

Carrying the three boxes into the kitchen, I said, “I’ll ring Vera and tell her to come and pick these up.”

“Would you mind?” said Mum, already heading upstairs. “I must write something down before I forget.”

“I’ll bring up lunch and my laptop and we’ll get cracking,” I said. “Presumably you don’t have the Internet here.”

Mum paused, “Do I look as if I would?”

“It’s the twenty-first century. I’d like to see your website. It’ll give me an idea of what your books are all about.”

“I don’t get involved in that side of things,” said Mum quickly.

“But you must have a website.”

“Why are you asking, Katherine?” Mum sounded irritated. “Does it matter?”

“No, it doesn’t
matter,
I was just curious. You must get a ton of fan mail.”