Murder in the Mystery Suite (A Book Retreat Mystery) (13 page)

Sterling seemed satisfied. “Then respect yourself, your instructor, and your weapon.”

Lecture concluded, Sterling demonstrated the proper stance and then showed Jane and the twins precisely where to place their hands and fingers when nocking an arrow.

“Your index feather—the one that has a different color than the rest—should face outward,” he instructed.

Jane rotated her arrow so that her yellow feather pointed away from her cheek. The rest of the feathers were red. Fitz had chosen arrows with blue and white fletching, and Hem had gone for green and black. Like everything else at Storyton Hall, the arrows were a hodgepodge. There were quivers of new fiberglass arrows, old arrows with wooden shafts and tattered feathers, and sleek carbon arrows designed specifically for hunting. These were reserved for skilled archers, and Sterling was quick to mention that it would take months of training before he’d allow his three pupils to shoot using the elite arrows.

“For now, focus on your posture,” he said, pushing Jane’s shoulders back and barking at Hem to raise his elbow. “You are a straight, unbroken line. You. The bow. The nocked arrow. The line of sight to the center of the bull’s-eye.” Sterling moved around, making small adjustments. “Your pinkie doesn’t make contact with the string. It just hangs out in space,” he told Fitz. “Now. Everyone take a deep breath. Good. Let it out your nose. Relax. Release your arrow.”

Jane heard a
thwack, thwack, thwack
as the arrows struck the straw targets.

“Hem got blue. That’s five points. Fitz, you’re in the black with three. Miss Jane, you got the outer circle of red. That’s worth seven.” Sterling seemed pleased. “For the next ten shots, we’ll focus on your stance and aim. If you’re able to hit all ten shots in the yellow and red zones, then I’ll move your target back another five yards.”

Jane and her sons concentrated on making improvements while Sterling walked behind them, pointing out errors and praising good shots. Jane was glad of her arm guard. Even with it on, she could feel the stinging snap of the bowstring against her skin.

After thirty minutes of straight shooting, her arms and shoulders were aching with fatigue. Luckily, Sterling announced their final round. “I’m moving the targets to fifty yards. I want to see how you adjust your aim at this distance. Believe me, it will require adjusting.”

The twins, who weren’t the slightest bit tired, each immediately nocked an arrow and took aim. They both missed the target altogether.

“Come on, Mom. Show us how it’s done,” Fitz said.

“Yeah. Pretend you’re Maid Marian. She could hit that target,” Hem added.

Jane nodded. “That’s right. In the earliest versions of the Robin Hood legend, she was a crack archer.”

The boys looked impressed, but couldn’t help giggling when Jane’s arrow sailed over the target to land somewhere in the grass beyond.

“At least we know you’re capable of reaching that distance,” Sterling said. He’d yet to say, “All clear,” so none of them attempted to collect their arrows.

“Can we try again?” Fitz asked and Jane had to stifle a groan.

Instead of responding, Sterling reached into his quiver, nocked an arrow, and hit Jane’s target in the bull’s-eye. He’d taken them all by surprise with his quickness. The boys gasped and Jane applauded. “Speed. Accuracy. Distance,” Sterling said. “We’ll focus on those three skills during our next lesson.”

“Before we go, can you show us how far you can shoot?” Hem asked. “Can you hit that tree near the path? The one with the big knot?” He pointed at an old oak tree.

Jane expected Sterling to say that such a shot was impossible, but he fixed his gaze on the tree. In a seemingly effortless movement, he notched an arrow, pulled back the bowstring, and released a missile with blue fletching into the morning air.

As she followed the arrow’s flight, Jane noticed a large, dark shape appear at the end of the path, right beside the oak tree target. She’d just processed the fact that the shape belonged to a horse when the arrow struck the tree.

The horse squealed in shock, reared, and then started galloping straight for them. Sterling notched another arrow.

“Boys. Get behind me,” he commanded.

The twins were too riveted to move, so Jane stepped in front of them. She recognized the magnificent gray stallion flying across the field. “That’s one of Sam’s.”

Sterling didn’t lower his weapon. “I can’t see the rider’s face under that baseball cap.”

As the rider struggled to gain control of his mount, Jane was transported back to that terrible day in Storyton Village when she’d watched in horror as a bay mare bolted down Main Street. She recalled the second rider. The man who’d tried to save Alice Hart. “It’s Edwin,” she told Sterling. “Edwin Alcott.”

“Are you sure?”

“He’s the only person who can handle that horse.”

As if he’d heard Jane, Edwin forced the dapple gray to slow his gait. His full-out gallop eased to a relaxed canter. With the reins in his left hand, Edwin abruptly pitched himself to the right, leaning way over in the saddle so that his arm nearly brushed the ground. Scooping up Jane’s arrow, he righted himself and trotted toward the archers.

“I think you can lower your bow,” Jane said.

Sterling was staring at Edwin with the same look of distrust Jane had seen on Butterworth’s face, but he let his weapon drop to his side. However, he kept the arrow notched, holding it in place with his index finger.

When Edwin was within speaking distance, he pulled back on the reins, reducing the stallion’s pace to a brisk walk. He patted the gray on the neck and then removed his baseball cap. His hair was a mass of dark waves, and he looked as if he hadn’t slept well.

“Are you a bandit?” Fitz demanded. Somehow, he was standing in front of Jane instead of behind her.

“Yeah. Are you?” Hem joined his brother, and together, the twins stood shoulder to shoulder and treated Edwin to their most threatening glares.

“I am not,” Edwin said. “Which is a relief, seeing as the two of you are armed.” His eyes met Jane’s. “Hotel security training begins at an early age around here.”

“We’re just getting a little fresh air and exercise,” Jane said.

Hem elbowed his brother and whispered, “How do we know he’s not a bandit? Bandits are liars. Robbers too.”

“I can assure you, young sir, that I’m no thief. In fact, I’ve come to return two arrows belonging to Storyton Hall.”

After double-checking to make sure that Sterling’s arrow was still stuck in the oak tree, Jane frowned in confusion. “Two?”

Edwin dismounted with his catlike grace and handed Jane the arrow with the yellow and red feathers. It was the last arrow she’d loosed, the one that had flown well past the target and landed in the grass. He then pulled a second arrow from inside his coat. It had a wooden shaft and striped fletching. Its
PROPERTY OF STORYTON HALL
stamp on the shaft was partially obscured by circles of black paint.

“It looks like a snake!” Fitz shouted.

Behind Edwin, the stallion snorted nervously.

“Try to speak softly,” Edwin warned. “The smack of the arrow hitting the tree really scared him. He needs to calm down.”

Fitz nodded obediently while Jane eyed the large gray warily.

“What’s his name?” Hem whispered.

“My friend, Sam, named him Dorian Gray to impress a certain girl.” He shot a knowing look at Jane, and she realized that he was referring to Eloise. “But I think that’s a lousy name for a stallion, so I call him Samson because he’s strong and willful.”

Sterling took the arrow from Jane and examined it closely. “Boys, put away your equipment, please.” Once the twins were out of earshot, he said, “Someone painted the shaft with these black stripes. Perhaps it
was
meant to resemble a snake. Then again, any bold pattern could startle a horse just as my arrow startled Samson.” He peered at Edwin from under the brim of his cap. “Where did you find this arrow?”

“On the riding trail leading from Hilltop Stables to Broken Arm Bend. It was covered by leaves.”

Jane felt cold dread creep up her spine. “Where on the trail?”

A shadow passed over Edwin’s features. “Right where the path curves near the bridge. There’s a break in the trees adjacent to the road.”

“Exactly where a spooked horse would turn if an arrow struck a tree on the other side of the path,” Jane murmured to herself. “Even the most skilled rider could be in danger of being hit by a car or thrown or, in Alice Hart’s case, end up tearing down the middle of Main Street.”

Sterling slid the arrow into his quiver. “And how did
you
happen to discover this arrow? It was my understanding that Sam and several deputies from the sheriff’s department had combed that area for clues as to what could have startled Miss Hart’s mount.”

Edwin shrugged, seemingly unfazed by Sterling’s brusque tone. “They used sticks and rakes. I had a metal detector.”

Jane was impressed. “Clever.”

“Yes, we’re lucky to have such a concerned citizen,” Sterling said. “Especially one who hasn’t spent much time in these parts.”

Now Edwin bristled. “I grew up here. And I feel partially responsible for what happened. If I’d seen the young lady’s horse bolt sooner. If I’d ridden faster . . . but I sat in my saddle for a few seconds, trying to understand what I was seeing. I hesitated instead of acting.”

Of all the people investigating the mystery of Alice Hart’s death, Edwin was the only person who expressed guilt and remorse. He hadn’t known her, but Jane could see that his failure to save her weighed heavily on him. He hadn’t been able to put it behind him, and Jane suspected that it wasn’t Alice’s youth and beauty that haunted him, but the possibility that her heart might not have given out on her had Edwin been able to stop her horse and calm her down in time.

Jane laid a hand on Edwin’s arm. “Miss Hart was never meant to reach old age. If her heart hadn’t given out that day in the village, it would have when she was dancing or during a run. It was going to happen sooner or later. I didn’t know her, of course, but she seemed like a woman who lived the time she was given to the fullest.”

Edwin nodded. After a long pause, he said, “I should have gone straight to the sheriff, but I thought you should know where the arrow came from. After all, you were there. I watched you in the doc’s office. I know what happened to her matters to you too.”

“It does,” she said softly. “Thank you. I’ll call Sheriff Evans. I need to speak with him about another matter anyway,” she said, feeling like a heel for acting so enigmatic when Edwin had been so open.

At that moment, the twins returned and asked Edwin if they could give Samson the apple left over from their breakfast. Edwin agreed, so the boys cut the apple into slices with their Swiss Army knives and then took turns showing him the different gadgets attached to each knife.

Seeing that the three of them were occupied, Jane turned to Sterling. “It’s a good thing we have all of our employees’ fingerprints on file. Maybe the sheriff can get something off the arrow shaft.”

“I’ll have a go at it first.” Sterling motioned for her to walk with him to the Gator. He put the quiver on the passenger seat. “There’s a small forensics lab in my apartment, and I have access to several law enforcement databases.” He jerked a thumb in Edwin’s direction. “I’d like to get to work on this immediately.”

“A forensics lab in the garage? Of course. Why didn’t I realize that?” Jane sighed. “So I won’t call Sheriff Evans just yet. However, I
am
going to review my uncle’s employee list with Sinclair. If your fingerprint analysis doesn’t get us what we need, I want to have my own suspects lined up to interview.”

Sterling glanced at his watch. “Speaking of interviews, our monk should be waking up now. It’s suddenly become a very busy morning.”

“Come on, boys! We need to go!” Jane shouted and hurried to put her bow and quiver in the archery shed.

“Awwww!” the twins protested in unison.

Hem said good-bye to Edwin and jumped in the Gator, but Fitz, who was stroking Samson’s neck, didn’t budge. There was a stubborn set to his jaw that always reminded Jane of her late husband.

“Fitzgerald Elliot. We are leaving.
Now
.” Jane put her hands on her hips and fixed her son with an impatient stare.

“Why can’t we stay? It’s Sunday! You don’t have to work on Sundays.”

Normally, that was true, and Jane wished she could spend the day reading, playing with the boys, and catching up on household chores. “Today is different, Fitz. There’s something really important I have to do.”

“Like superhero important?” Fitz asked, and Jane frowned. She didn’t care for her son’s sarcastic tone.

Gently, Edwin stepped between Fitz and Samson. He put a hand on Fitz’s shoulder. “Isn’t that why you’re out here practicing when most people are just sitting down to breakfast? So all three of you can be top-notch crime fighters?”

Fitz’s eyes grew round in wonder, and Jane sucked in a quick breath. Did Edwin know about the Steward legacy? But no, that was absurd. And when he winked at her, she relaxed. He was just coaxing her obstinate son to do as she asked.

Edwin mounted Samson with ease, dipped his chin in farewell, and trotted toward the woods.

“Lead on, Maid Marian,” Fitz said cheerfully as he hopped in the Gator. “Let’s find some villains.”

“Yes,” Jane agreed. “Let’s.”

Normally, Jane wouldn’t walk around Storyton Hall looking like she’d just returned from a long and vigorous hike, but she didn’t waste time thinking about her appearance. Instead, she sent the twins to Mrs. Hubbard for cups of hot cider and then followed Sterling into his office.

“Has he said anything?” Jane asked once they were alone. “The monk?”

Sterling handed over his cell phone and Jane read the two words on the screen. “‘Kevin Collins.’ That’s his name?”

“Yes.” Sterling turned to his computer. A few seconds later, he said, “Alice Hart’s ex-fiancé. He’s supposed to be in England on sabbatical.”

“I remember Sheriff Evans saying that he tried to reach this man but was unable to. Once I knew that Evans had made contact with Alice’s parents, I forgot about her former fiancé. I didn’t think he mattered because he was no longer involved with Alice, and he was thousands of miles from Storyton when she died.” She paused. “Or was he?”

Sterling grunted absently, too focused on the information on his computer screen to give Jane his full attention. “The government tracks people using the radio frequency identification transponder in their passports. I’m accessing a database that— Ah, here we are. Looks like Mr. Collins entered the U.K. on August fifteenth and returned to the States . . .” He trailed off, searching for the exact date.

“Before or after someone shot an arrow at Alice Hart?”

“Three days before,” Sterling said.

The phone in Jane’s hand vibrated and she quickly read the text. “They want us to come down. Both of us.”

Sterling frowned. “I don’t think you should—”

“I am the guardian of Storyton Hall,” Jane said, rising to her feet. “If that means I have to be present while Sinclair and Butterworth interrogate a young man, then so be it. I’m ready to do whatever it takes to protect our secret.”

Jane managed to maintain an air of bravado until they entered the corridor behind the bowling pits. At that point she hesitated, wondering if she really had the backbone to carry on her family’s legacy.

A bowling ball crashed into the pins and Jane jumped. She heard guests laughing and cheering at the other end of the lane and realized that her task was much bigger than protecting a hidden library. Storyton Hall’s reputation was at stake as well. For decades, people had come to the resort seeking respite from the outside world. Now, one guest was dead and another had assaulted a housekeeper. And if it wasn’t Jane’s responsibility to protect the people who came to Storyton in search of a peaceful haven, then whose was it?

Sinclair led her into the maintenance closet and then showed her how to operate a pulley that caused the workbench to swing away from the wall. Jane stepped into the dark passage and then into a cold, damp room occupied by Butterworth, Sinclair, and Kevin Collins.

“Do you know why you’re here?” Jane asked Kevin without waiting for direction from the Fins.

Kevin Collins twisted in his chair in time to see Sterling close and lock the door. He turned to face Jane, his eyes wide and frightened. “Please,” he said. “I know I was out of line with the maid, and I’m really sorry. But why am I here? What is this place?”

“We had two choices,” Jane said calmly. “We could call the sheriff’s department and have them take you away in cuffs, or we could handle this ourselves. You have a chance to leave without our filing an assault charge, but only if you’re completely honest with us.”

Jane handed Kevin a bottle of water. She was relieved to see that he wasn’t wearing restraints. He drank thirstily and continued to stare at her with a mixture of confusion and fear. “Where am I?”

“That’s not important right now. What’s important is that you tell us why you attacked Lizzie and why you wanted to gain access to Moira McKee’s room.”

“I did both for the same reason,” Kevin said quickly. “Because I want to know what happened to Alice. My fiancée. At least she
was
my fiancée until a few days before she came here.”

Jane folded her arms over her chest. “We know who Alice is, and I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Collins. However, I don’t see how getting inside Ms. McKee’s room has any connection to Miss Hart’s unfortunate heart condition.”

“I’m not trying to find out how Alice died. I want to know what she was doing here, and I thought that if I could look around Moira’s room, I’d discover a clue. I tried talking to her in the elevator, but she said that she didn’t know anything and told me she had no idea what motivated Alice to come to Storyton Hall. She was lying though. Moira was the only person Alice talked to besides me. And the fact that Moira is here now, just a few weeks after Alice’s death, can’t be a coincidence.”

Jane studied Kevin. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his nails had been chewed down to the skin. His hands trembled slightly, and he looked pale and gaunt. Jane knew she was thinking like a mother, but she couldn’t help it. The young man didn’t look well, and she felt a pang of sympathy for him.

“Mr. Butterworth, could you arrange for a breakfast tray to be brought in? I could use some caffeine. Mr. Collins? Do you drink coffee?”

He nodded gratefully, and after Butterworth and Sinclair exchanged nearly imperceptible frowns, the butler left the room.

“Mr. Sterling? You have important business waiting in the garage, right?” When Sterling didn’t move, she added, “I believe Mr. Collins has a story to tell, and it might be easier if there aren’t too many people hovering over him during the telling. If he can just focus on me, it can be a conversation.” She waved vaguely over her shoulder. “Mr. Sinclair will stay, of course.” She smiled at Kevin. “He’s a librarian and, therefore, an expert on stories.”

Sinclair gave Sterling a brief nod and the chauffeur left. When he was gone, Jane saw Kevin relax a little. He took another sip of water and straightened in his chair. “Where should I start?”

“Tell me about how you and Alice ended up together.”

Kevin examined his hands. “We met in college. It was a total ‘opposites attract’ kind of thing. She was into books, art, and music, and I was, and still am, a lab rat. I had this huge biochem exam coming up and I was pretty much living in the library. So was Alice. She was doing research on Adela Dundee for her senior paper. Eventually, we started talking. Before long, we were spending all our free time together.”

“And you fell in love,” Jane said.

“Yeah. We were committed to each other ever since that day in the library. I should have asked her to marry me ages ago, but I wanted to give her the best. A big wedding. A nice house. A new car. That was a mistake. If we’d been married sooner, maybe none of this would have happened.” He shook his head. “But I’m getting ahead of myself. As I was saying, things were great until she decided to write a book on Adela Dundee.”

Jane raised her brows. “
Lost Letters
?”

Kevin nodded. “Right from the beginning, I knew Alice was obsessed with Adela Dundee. She told me that the Dundee books were a way for her to mentally escape her life in Nebraska. Her folks are farmers, and Alice said she always felt like a changeling. Like she’d been stolen away from a smart, bookish couple and put in a house where the only reading material had to do with fertilizer or sewing patterns.”

“She felt more at home with Adela Dundee’s characters,” Jane guessed.

“That’s exactly what Alice said!” Kevin exclaimed. “At first, she wanted to write a book to honor Dundee, but then she became fixated on discovering something new about her. After Alice found those letters in Cornwall, she turned distant and secretive. She used to tell me everything about her research. Every detail.” He looked pained. “All of sudden, she shut me out. I didn’t even know about the letters until the book was published. By that time, any semblance of the Alice I’d fallen in love with was gone. She blew off her teaching responsibilities and canceled our engagement party. She didn’t even visit her dad when he was undergoing chemotherapy.”

There was a knock at the door, and Butterworth entered carrying a large rosewood tray. “Your breakfast, sir,” he said, placing the tray on Kevin’s lap. Jane nearly smiled over the absurdity of the scene. She doubted anyone had been served eggs, sausage, strawberries, croissants, and an assortment of jams in this horrid little room before.

“Thank you.” Kevin took a bite of sausage and sighed. “I can’t remember the last time I ate a meal. Over the last few weeks, I’ve become as obsessed as Alice was. I left my sabbatical at Oxford, I barely sleep, and I replay things over and over in my head until I feel like I’m going crazy.”

Jane saw that a linen napkin was almost hidden under Kevin’s plate, so she pulled it out and handed it to him. “What were you trying to figure out?”

“Why Alice came to Storyton Hall,” Kevin said through a mouthful of food. “She must have met someone. A guy who shared her mania for Adela Dundee. That must be why she left her job. Why she dumped me. I think she traveled here to meet him. So I followed her.” The eggs seemed to stick in his throat, and he gulped down some coffee. His hand went to his lips, and Jane could practically feel the hot liquid burning his mouth. “I was hoping to stop her,” he gasped. “To make her see that what we had was real.”

Sinclair cleared his throat and Jane fell immediately silent. “You thought your fiancée was having an affair?” he asked. When Kevin nodded, Sinclair straightened his bow tie and looked pensive. “What makes you believe she came to Storyton for a tryst?”

“Because she broke up with me by leaving me a voice mail! That coldhearted bit—” He stopped himself. “There was an ocean between us, and she refused to call me back to explain. Not knowing why she ended it? That was killing me.” He picked up the butter knife and ran the pad of his thumb along the dull blade. “I’m not proud of this, but I had a key to her apartment, so a few days before she died, I left England, flew back to Vermont, and let myself in. I found train tickets and a fake driver’s license.” He pushed the knife into the soft dough of the croissant. “I had to know. Nothing else mattered. Even though she’d changed, Alice was still my everything. So I followed her.”

Sinclair’s gaze was fixed on the butter knife. In a slow, casual movement, he took an awl from the workbench and twirled it idly in his hands. “Then you were in Storyton when Miss Hart’s accident occurred.”

“I stayed at a cheap motel in the next town over and rented a bike in the village so I could come to the resort every day. At first, I couldn’t find Alice, but that’s because she was wearing a brown wig and reading glasses.”

“Costumes are the norm for this week’s event, but why would Alice wear a disguise in September?” Jane murmured.

“Why would she use a fake ID?” Kevin asked by way of reply. “None of it made sense. I saw her stop by the front desk the morning she went on that ride. She was given a note. When she opened it, she looked like she’d been slapped. She quickly tossed it in the nearest bin, and after waiting for her to leave, I took it out and read it.”

Jane was on tenterhooks. “What did it say?”

“I’ll show you.” Shifting carefully in his chair so as not to upset the food tray, Kevin reached into his back pocket. He then passed Jane a square of paper.

“This was written on one of our memo pads. We put them in every guest room.” Jane showed Sinclair the telltale image of Storyton Hall’s clock tower and then read the missive aloud. “‘I know what you’re after and I know how to get it. I don’t want anything except to hear how Ferrari’s story ends. Adela’s work means so much to me. I believe you understand. If I’m right, take the two o’clock trail ride at Hilltop Stables today. Nothing matters to the heart so much as the truth. Therefore, our hearts are linked.’”

“Clever,” Sinclair said. “To end by paraphrasing two of Adela Dundee’s most famous lines.”

Jane examined the note. “The writer wanted Alice to view them as a kindred spirit. Not a Dundee fan, but a devotee. Someone more interested in Umberto Ferrari’s last case than in acquiring fame or fortune.”

“He said that their hearts were linked. That’s a love note,” Kevin said, a flash of rage in his eyes.

“I don’t think Alice was interested in this person romantically. She was on an Adela Dundee quest of her own.” Jane spoke very gently. “Did you follow her to the stables?”

Kevin’s anger vanished. “Yes, but by the time I rode my bike there, her group of riders had already left. Instead of waiting for the next group, I just hung out by the bike racks near the stables. I never saw the man she’d gone to meet. And I never saw Alice again.” He pressed his napkin over his face and released a gut-wrenching sob into the white cloth.

Jane found herself reaching out to comfort the anguished young man, but Sinclair caught her hand and mouthed a “No.”

They waited until Kevin had regained control of his emotions.

Sinclair produced a flask from the inside pocket of his suit coat and unscrewed the top. Without a word, he poured a splash into Kevin’s coffee cup.

The gesture seemed to reignite Kevin’s ire. “First, you drag me to this creepy room. Then, you feed me breakfast and act like you care. Who are you people?”

“Forgive me. Where are my manners?” After formally introducing Sinclair and herself, Jane said, “We have a duty to protect both the guests and the employees of Storyton Hall. Your behavior marked you as a violent individual. You created this scenario when you assaulted Lizzie. You could be in a holding cell at the sheriff’s station right now, and I can guarantee that you wouldn’t have had such a nice breakfast.”

“I’m sorry.” Kevin held out both hands in a show of surrender. “I just haven’t been myself since I lost Alice.”

Jane proffered the note he’d given her. “Why didn’t you show this to the authorities after Alice’s death?”

Kevin looked surprised. “Because I’d been stalking her. Because I didn’t want the head of my department to know that I skipped out on my sabbatical. Because I lied to my colleague at Oxford. I actually told the guy that I had to fly back to the States to attend a funeral. How ironic is that?” His voice cracked. “After Alice died, I called Oxford to say that I needed more time. Do you know what I’ve done since then? I’ve gone through every inch of Alice’s apartment, read through her e-mails, computer files, and opened all of her mail. I’ve probably broken ten laws by now and I still don’t know what happened to her.”