Screaming Yellow (16 page)

Beyond the birches the path led directly into the park itself, a regular route for locals if the width of the trail was anything to go by. Meinwen walked past the still-dormant rose garden and took her bearings from the just-visible spire of St. Pity’s.

She sat on a bench overlooking the bowling green and phoned Simon, hoping he’d finished his Mass at the hospital.

“Hello?” He answered after the fourth ring and sounded out of breath.

“Simon? Meinwen. Is this a bad time?”

“No, it’s okay. I’ve just left the hospital. I was on my way to the car. What can I do for you?”

“Who inherits the Markhew estate? It might well have a bearing on the case, though I doubt that the beneficiary would be the murderer.”

“Why not? It’s served as an incentive for murder before.”

“Yes, straight out of an Agatha Christie.” Meinwen laughed. “Nobody is that foolish any more. You can’t benefit from murder.”

“What if that stranger I saw was an assassin hired by the beneficiary?”

“It’s highly unlikely.” Meinwen reached to pluck a few fresh hawthorn leaves from the hedge bounding the green. “Besides, how many assassins would ask the way to their target? They’d plan their route meticulously and back it up with a Sat Nav.” She began eating the leaves, savoring their peppery taste. “It’s almost a pity, really. If someone had hired an assassin there would have been a trail leading back to him.”

“Or her.”

Meinwen merely grunted.

“I wish I’d thought to ask about the will. Jean would know if Robert had a copy. She would have told me.” He cleared his throat. “There’s Jean herself, of course, Robert’s sister-in-law. Even if she’s not a beneficiary she would probably have leave to remain in the house. Then there’s Richard. Although he and Robert had arguments–”

“What family doesn’t?” interrupted Meinwen.

“Exactly. I can’t see Robert not giving him the bulk of the estate. Then there’s his niece, Mary. She’ll come away with a tidy sum I’ll bet.”

“Anyone else?”

Simon drew in a sharp breath. “That’s all the immediate family. He might have left a stipend for the staff, but I can’t see it being worth enough to kill him for.”

Meinwen nodded. “That leaves the blackmailer then. I wonder what happened to the letter you saw Sir Robert open.”

“The murderer must have taken it.”

“Which would indicate that he and the blackmailer are one and the same.”

“I thought that was obvious.”

Meinwen could hear an engine starting. “Nothing is obvious. Where are you?”

“I told you. St. Pity’s. You?”

“By the bowling green in the park.”

“I have to go. See you later?”

“Isn’t that Mary Markhew up ahead?”

“How should I kn–”

Meinwen closed the connection and stood. Mary was dancing at the edge of the boating lake. “She’s young and in love.” Meinwen smiled, shading her eyes against the slanting light as well. “Why shouldn’t she be happy, even if her uncle has died?”

* * * *

Mary felt the note in her pocket and couldn’t help smiling. Her feet skipped without her even thinking about it as she neared the pond, scattering the geese that ran squawking back into the water.

“You look happy.” Peter, the gardener from the house, caught up to her and she blushed.

“I know I shouldn’t, what with Uncle Robert being murdered and all.” Mary grinned and swung herself around a lamp post. “I can’t help it, though. I’m engaged to be married and I’ve inherited a big bucket of dosh.”

“Oh?” Peter smiled and walked along with her. “From your uncle, I suppose. He was rather well-off, wasn’t he?”

“More than I thought.” Mary pulled out the note to show him. “Mother found a copy of his will. I shall be getting a quarter of a million pounds! It means I won’t have to lie anymore.”

“I didn’t think you did.” Peter sounded surprised. “Look, perhaps I’d better leave you alone. It wouldn’t be right for an engaged woman to be seen with a single bloke.”

“Don’t be silly.” Mary took hold of his arm. “You’re practically family. I only meant I can stop groveling for pocket money and won’t have to spend hours scouring secondhand shops and pretending the things I’ve bought are new.”

“Oh, I see.” Peter smiled and patted her hand. “You should have said. I’d have bought you new clothes. You smell lovely, by the way.”

Mary laughed. “That’s very sweet, but I doubt you earn much as a gardener.”

“I will one day.” Peter stopped, his smile radiant. “Richard said when he inherits he’ll invest in a garden center and have me manage it. They’re all the rage now, garden centers. Everybody goes. It’s like a national institution.”

“That will be wonderful, Peter.” Mary smiled for him. “You’ll be an instant hit. You might even get your own television program. You’ve got the looks for it, and the muscle.”

It was Peter’s turn to blush. “Do you think so? That would be my dream.”

“Then you should follow it. You know Richard will keep his promise.”

“Where is Richard? I heard that he’d vanished.”

“He’ll be back.” Mary skipped a few steps. “Everyone thinks he did it, but he’ll be cleared when Meinwen finds the real killer. She’s a psychic.”

“A psychic?” Peter smirked. “You’re having me on.”

“No, really.” Mary squeezed his arm. “I’ve seen her do things.” She looked ahead. “
Shh
! Don’t say a word. That’s her.” She waved. “Meinwen!”

* * * *

Meinwen walked the remaining few yards to catch up. “Hello Mary. Who’s this Adonis?” She smiled up at Peter.

“Peter, this is Meinwen. Meinwen, this is Peter Numan, the gardener and handyman at the house.”

“Ah.” Meinwen smiled again and shook his hand. “I’ve heard about you. You were one of the party that found the body, I believe.”

“That’s right. Along with Father Brande and his sister, Nicole and Amanda. I was taken aback and no mistake. Who would have wanted to kill a nice man like Master Markhew?”

“Master?” Meinwen raised an eyebrow.

“Mister, I mean.” Peter blushed. “I didn’t do very well in school.”

“That’s all right.” Meinwen smiled at them both. “What are you so cheerful about? You look like you’ve won the lottery.”

“I almost have.” Mary grinned and pulled out the note she’d shown Peter. “I had three good pieces of luck this week. I got engaged to Richard and Mother found the will. I’ll be getting a quarter of a million, look!” She held out the scrap of paper.

“And the third piece of luck?”

“I found a ring.” Mary dug into her pocket and pulled it out. “It’s gold, look. I was going to take it to the jeweler’s in Cheap Street.”

“May I see?” Mary passed it to her.

“How odd,” she said. “Someone will be bemoaning the loss of this.” The ring had a Celtic design Meinwen recognized as a lover’s knot, a continuous line twisted into triangles to represent the three faces of the Goddess–maiden, mother and crone–and a promise to love the wearer in all three phases of their life. It was more than that, though, it was a wedding band, its thin width suggesting a woman’s finger. She held it up to the light. “Where did you find it?”

“In the fountain at home.” Mary held out her hand to get it back. “A bird must have dropped it.”

Meinwen frowned. “Why do you say that?”

“Well, it’s a wedding ring, isn’t it? Nobody at The Larches is married except my mother, and it’s certainly not hers. Can you tell whose it is?”

Meinwen shook her head. “Of course not. Why would I?”

“I thought you were psychic? Don’t you get a sense of the owner when you touch something?”

“Oh, psychometry, you mean.” Meinwen patted her arm. “I have to set out candles and things before I can attune myself to an object. That, a scanner and a good internet connection.”

Peter squinted at the band of gold. “Why would anyone throw away a ring?”

“Lover’s tiff?” Meinwen passed it to him. “You don’t recognize it either?”

Peter shook his head. “Should I?”

“Not really. It just seems very serendipitous finding it now, the day after a murder. What’s the betting we know the owner? Have any of the girls in the Markhew household been married?”

“No.” Peter half-laughed. “Sir Robert preferred his staff single.”

Meinwen took the ring back off him. “Would you mind if I hung on to this for a little while?”

Mary bit her lip. “I suppose so. As long as I can have it back afterward. It’s got to be worth a hundred at least.”

“Of course.” Meinwen tucked it into her wallet. “If nobody claims it, it’s yours.” She looked at Peter. “Did either of you hear or see anything prior to the murder that might help with the investigation?”

Peter shrugged. “Nothing that will help. I heard…Mr. Markhew talking to a woman about some papers. I assumed it was Nicole.”

“When was this?” Meinwen leaned in close. Peter’s breath smelled of cigarettes and beer.

“About half-past nine?” The rise in Peter’s voice sounded as if he were asking her. “I’d been to the White Art and was on my way home. I live in the little cottage at the back of the house.”

“I see. Anything else?”

“I saw a woman leaving the gate just as I got back. I couldn’t tell who it was, though.”

“What did she look like?”

Peter held his hands up, his face a tight-lipped expression of hopelessness. “I don’t know. It was dark and I only saw her for a moment. I only know it was a woman because she was wearing a skirt.”

“All right, Peter. Thank you. You’ve been very helpful. Mary, enjoy the rest of your day.” Meinwen clasped both of their hands then walked on, picturing the ring and trying to imagine it on the fingers on the Markham household. She was sure she’d seen the design before.

Chapter 15

When Meinwen reached the northern gate to the park, where two life-size terracotta lions guarded the black iron gates, she found Simon sitting on a bench beside the winter-dormant fountain. “I thought I’d walk you the rest of the way.” He proffered a cardboard cup of coffee, the companion to one in his other hand. “I wasn’t sure what you drank so I got you a soy latté. Was that all right?”

“Perfect.” Meinwen sipped it, unaware of how cold she’d become until that moment despite her walk under the watery sunshine. “I saw Mary and Peter Numan earlier. Mary’s getting a substantial disbursement from the will. She was celebrating.”

“I can’t say I blame her.” Simon stood and gazed at the fountain. The bronze swans were etched with verdigris, the water beneath thick with plastic bottles and empty beer cans. “It’s not like they were particularly close. What were you talking to Peter Numan about? Is he a suspect too?”

“Everyone’s a suspect, Simon, but no, I don’t think he did it. He did hear Robert talking to someone he thought was Nicole after you had gone, though. Did Robert usually have that many visitors to his study in an evening? It seems like the whole household wanted to speak to him.”

Simon drank the last of his coffee and dropped the container in a bin. “I’ve no idea. I know he was feeling mortal after the death of Grace Peters. Perhaps he was calling them in. Did he hear what was said?”

“No, or he wouldn’t tell me if he did. He did tell me he saw a woman leaving through the gate, though.”

“Good heavens! The place was busier than Piccadilly Circus! Who?”

“He didn’t know, but it’s another knot in the puzzle string that needs to be unraveled.”

“Could it have been Susan Pargeter?” Simon held out his arm and Meinwen took it. “I saw her leaving in a car earlier.” He led her toward a small path and a wooden gate.

Meinwen stopped and took out the ring. “Here’s something else. Meinwen found it in the fountain at The Larches. Any idea who was married?”

Simon held it up to the light. “Celtic. Not a proper wedding ring.” He passed it back. “I’ve no idea. Sorry.”

Meinwen consulted her guide book. “Where are you taking me?”