The Green Remains (20 page)

  “How’s Agnes?” Simon asked, opening a waxed paper bag and crunching on a crisply fried wonton.

  “Thrilled to have Hazel down and to be waited on for a change by her younger sister. Her headache’s gone, although the lump where the stitches are is quite sore.” Kate opened a small dish of orange sauce and offered it to her brother.

  Nora slathered hoisin sauce on a pancake and wrapped it around the shredded pork and vegetable filling. Her thoughts strayed back to her lists and the questions she had. “Kate, you said Keith didn’t have a girlfriend?”

  Kate looked up from twirling lo mein noodles onto her chopsticks. “Not that I know, but with him away in Oxford so much, who knows?” She chewed her noodles, pointing her chopstick at Nora. “He could have a honey there we don’t know about.”

  Nora chewed a huge bite of her pancake and swallowed. “Delicious.” She sipped her water, running down her mental list of questions. “Who does the cleaning at Clarendon Hall?”

  “The Trust takes care of the public areas. Cook does the kitchen, but I think someone in town does the family rooms about twice a week. Don’t know who it is right now.” Kate slurped up her lo mein. “Why do you ask?”

  Handing Darby a crunchy noodle, Simon answered for her. “Because Nora has an insatiable need to poke her nose into other people’s business.”

Chapter Forty-Five

“A man’s dying is more the survivors’ affair than his own.”

— Thomas Mann,
The Magic Mountain

Tuesday, 26th October

10
AM

“Time of death is estimated between 7
PM
Friday night and 2
AM
Saturday morning.”

  Nora watched Dr. Milo Foreman give his testimony at the inquest into Keith Clarendon’s death. Dressing this morning, she’d felt flutters of anxiety about testifying.

  Kate and Simon flanked her on chairs set up in Kendal’s County Hall. Nora noted Kate kept her eyes forward, not looking around for Ian, who sat at the back of the room near Sommer Clarendon and Gillian Cole.

  Nora remembered the first inquest she’d attended, last summer in Oxford. She wasn’t a witness then and had had the luxury of watching the proceedings with interest, remembering Declan Barnes giving evidence. She’d admired his composure and appearance. She wondered where he was today and what he’d thought after they’d hung up the day before. It had been impulsive to call him and expect him to be supportive of her efforts. She had no business calling him for any reason. At that moment, Simon reached out to squeeze her hand, and she felt a twinge of guilt that brought her attention back to Dr. Foreman.

  “The body was clothed in green shorts and white Reebok T-shirt, worn under a black windcheater. Black sweat pants were found in a rucksack clipped to an inside rib of the scull. The pack also contained the wrapper from a tuna salad sandwich and the dregs of tea in an insulated bottle. There were no visible signs of external premortem violence or wounds. Toxicology reports show no controlled drugs but a high level of a respiratory and cardiac toxin also found in the tea bottle, identified as belonging to the Tanghinia
family.”

  There was a gasp from the audience as Milo interrupted his recitation to sip from the water bottle at his elbow. Nora realized the information she’d been privy to had not been common knowledge.

  The coroner asked a question. “Have you identified where this poison would have been obtainable, and also, what would the deceased have experienced after this ingestion?”

  “The poison comes from a rare Tanghinia venenifera plant, which has been found in two locations in Bowness.” Milo wiped his forehead with a bright white handkerchief.

  Nora realized this next part was painful for him to recite in court in front of the boy’s father. She liked him for that.

  “The poison affects the cardiac and respiratory system. There would have been initial nausea and dizziness with trembling and muscle weakness, which would account for him being unable to row closer to shore. As his breathing became more difficult and his heartbeat irregular, he would either have had convulsions or lapsed into a coma. From the lack of bruising, I feel it more likely he fell into a comatose state before succumbing to full cardiac arrest.”

  The coroner made a note. “Ingested poison, then, leading to the consideration of homicide if suicide can be ruled out?”

  “Precisely.” Milo clasped his large hands over his larger abdomen, while a murmur of speculation spread through the crowded town hall.

  The pathologist was excused, and the court officer called the next witness. “Elsie Ewart” was revealed to be Cook. She’d dressed in her Sunday suit and heels and carried a matching purse.

  After being sworn in, Cook tearfully confirmed the clothing Keith was found in as the outfit she’d last seen him wearing before retiring to her rooms after cooking a hot meal in the early afternoon. She explained that on most days, the Clarendons ate their large meal in the afternoon with a light snack in the evening, as this worked better for Mr. Sommer’s disposition and therapy schedule. Keith often took a sandwich out with him on the lake.

  The coroner continued his questions. “Did you see Mr. Clarendon preparing his snack?”

  Cook shook her head. “I’d made tuna salad earlier for the evening meal, and it was in the fridge in a bowl. The tea was what he always took this time of year. I keep a kettle on low, and he’d fix it himself and poured it into his thermos.” She withdrew a lace-edged hankie and paused to dab her tears. “By the time he left that evening, I was in my room at the end of the hall. I had the telly on.” She blushed. “I need to keep it up high these days—my hearing isn’t what it used to be. I never heard him in the kitchen or leaving at all.” There was a pause before she admitted: “I might have dozed off after cleaning up.”

  “Of course,” the coroner said. He thanked Cook for her time and dismissed her.

  It seemed to Nora that the audience turned en masse toward her when her name was called. Simon stood to allow her an easy exit, and she made her way to the front table, swaying uncomfortably. She felt huge and had the same feeling of being watched as in third grade at Ridgefield School, going to the blackboard to solve a difficult math problem. Arithmetic had never been her forte, and today she felt the same anxiety to “get it right.” As she was sworn in, she reminded herself she only had to tell the truth.

  Settling her hands on the arms of her chair, she crossed her ankles in what she hoped was a composed manner. Nora explained how she’d known Keith from the contest and from her subsequent move to Cumbria.

  In response to the coroner’s succinct questioning, she described coming across the overturned scull on her morning walk. “I pulled on it until it was anchored up on the beach, and as it fell over to one side, I, um, found the body.” Nora’s stomach turned as Keith’s hideous face loomed before her. Sweat broke out on her palms, and she tried to focus on a friendly face in the sea of curious onlookers in front of her. Kate smiled encouragingly; Simon nodded in support. Across the aisle, Tony Warner scribbled furiously while Glenn Hackney whispered in his ear. She saw Tony balance a voice-activated recorder on his lap. The coroner consulted his paperwork, then excused her.

  As she made her way back to her seat, the court officer called out: “Sommer Clarendon.” A hush ran through the assembly as Sommer came up the aisle from the back of the hall, his wheelchair humming. He was dressed in a white shirt and subtle tie with a navy blazer. The lap robe covering his withered legs was heathery beige cashmere. Sommer’s expression was rigid and directed to the front of the room. The man’s upper-body strength was apparent as he steered up the aisle, accompanied by Gillian Cole.

  Nora saw the faint smile on Gillian’s face reflecting the pride she felt that her patient looked so well cared for after eighteen years of disability. Whispers spread through the crowd.

  Having seen Gillian at Clarendon Hall, Nora noted that the nurse had taken pains with her own appearance. Her thin hair was clean and pinned back in a sleek bun. Her white uniform was starched and pressed; she appeared professional and competent. Nora rested a hand on her pregnancy, appreciating
Gillian’s efforts to hold down a demanding job while she raised Robbie alone.

  Sommer reached the head of the walkway, and Gillian sank into the front row like a parent escorting a bride down the aisle. He wheeled himself in front of the improvised witness chair and deftly twirled the wheelchair around to face the gathering.

“Thank you for attending today at this most difficult time,” the coroner addressed Sommer. “I would like to establish your son’s recent frame of mind.”

  Sommer spoke in a clear voice. “Keith’s mood was extremely buoyant. He had development plans for the area that included the expansion of the travel agency where he worked in Oxford with a satellite office in Bowness. He’d also launched a book project, a local history to educate tourists about the stories and beauty of our region.”

  This statement was accompanied by a snort from the row representing the worst of The Scarlet Wench regulars whose most vocal compatriots were noticeably absent: the unfortunate Jack Halsey and Daniel Rowley. The outburst was quelled by a stern look from the coroner, who asked: “There were no signs of depression or moodiness, I take it?”

  “Absolutely none. He was entering the prime of his life and had much to look forward to, including robust health.” Sommer’s tone indicated he wanted to put the idea of suicide to rest.

  The coroner asked him to describe Keith’s last day at home.

  “Friday we had a hot lunch. He retired to his study to work on his manuscript. I stopped in to see him when Mrs. Cole took me up for a nap.” Sommer shifted in his chair. “He was on his computer then. About 3 o’clock, I’d say. He told me he planned a row on the lake later; he enjoyed watching the sunset from the water.”

  Sommer paused to look down at his hands, lying gracefully in his lap. Nora imagined he was thinking that was the last time he’d seen Keith or heard his voice.

  “So you don’t know the exact time he left the house?” the coroner asked.

  “No, only that it was after 3. On Fridays after napping, his mother and I have been watching a serial of BBC classics,
Jane Eyre
this week, so we had sandwiches on trays in our room around 6 and didn’t go down again.”

  “And you didn’t notice that he hadn’t returned?”

  Sommer smiled sadly. “We tried not to interfere with his life when he was home. He was an adult, after all.”

  The coroner thanked Sommer for appearing at such an unfortunate time and excused him after formally expressing his sympathies to the Clarendon family. A few minutes later, he handed down his decision to adjourn his verdict, pending further investigation.

  The mass of people rose as instructed by the court officer and streamed out into the sunlight. Nora approached Cook and complimented her on her turn on the stand. “Such a difficult experience,” she commiserated.

  Red tipped Cook’s ears. “You’re very kind, I’m sure. Are you going to the service today?”

  Nora nodded. “With Kate and Simon.” She knew Kate had promised to go to the Hall early to help Cook with the preparations.

  “Stop in the kitchen once you’ve made the rounds. I’ll keep some special goodies set aside to thank Kate for her help, and there’s plenty to go around.”

  Nora thanked Cook profusely for the invitation. She had been handed an opportunity to poke around and intended to take full advantage of it.

Chapter Forty-Six

“After the funeral they came back to the house, now indisputably Mrs. Halloran’s.”

— Shirley Jackson,
The Sundial

1
PM

Gillian insisted Sommer have his usual nap to prepare for the afternoon ahead. He acquiesced when Antonia said she would lie with him for a brief rest. When they were settled, Gillian left them to tend to Edmunde.

  She found Edmunde sitting up on the side of the bed. “Good for you! Used the trapeze? I told you those exercises would pay off.” She walked around to face him. “Are you planning on coming down for any part of the service or reception?”

  Edmunde shook his head emphatically “NO,” making a small, brusque motion with his left hand, dismissing her suggestion.

  She regarded him thoughtfully and nodded. “Very well. But I can’t control visitors up here, so we’d better make you presentable, just in case.” She opened his closet and scanned the row of dressing gowns and sweat suits. The pants had Velcro strips sewn down the outside of each leg up to the waistband. Gillian would place the bottoms in his chair, then use the mechanical lift to lower Edmunde into it. Once settled, she would fit the top of the pants on and press the sides together. This was her own design, one she’d made up soon after it became apparent Edmunde would never wear his well-cut tweeds and suits again. It was never an issue with Sommer, who preferred the use of a lap rug without too much weight, which bothered his legs. Edmunde insisted on his pants.

  “I’m not sure your usual jogging outfit is appropriate,” she mused.

  Edmunde banged his left foot noisily on the metal rung of his chair.

  “Pissed, are you? Don’t like having your routine upset? Still a spark of the old Edmunde in there.” Her voice soothed him as she displayed a silk smoking jacket. “A compromise, then. We’ll leave your comfy pants on but cover them with a lap rug, like Sommer, and you’ll be dressed nicely from the waist up.” She leaned down to his eye level, ignoring his sour breath, searching for warmth in his left eye. “It’ll be our little secret,” she whispered, brushing the thick hair off his forehead.

  His left eye blinked once.

*

2
PM

Kate lifted a heavy platter of sliced meats and waited for Cook to wrap plastic wrap around it. They were almost finished setting up for the reception after the funeral, and Kate’s thoughts strayed to this morning.

  It had been difficult to see Ian at the inquest without catching his eye or having a conversation. She pretended she didn’t see him, but she could feel his eyes boring into her back. Conscious of her posture, she sat up straighter. He probably thought she was coldhearted to avoid him, but she didn’t see how to get herself out the difficult situation she’d put them in. Part of her felt it was impetuous to break their engagement. But she couldn’t reconcile the man she loved, that sweet, gentle yet confident fellow, with anyone who would treat her brother as a serious murder suspect. Could they find their way back to each other once this case was settled and Simon was off the hook?

  Kate sighed and handed the platter over to Robbie Cole. He used his hip to push open the door into the hallway to bring the platter to the formal dining room.

  “That one’s an angel, no mistaking it,” Cook told Kate. “Thanks for your help, dear. Daniel never showed up as he was supposed to, and Robbie had to set up the tables alone. I want to get done to go to the chapel service.”

  “I’m glad to help, Cook, and I’m sure Robbie is, too.” Kate arranged tiny iced cookies on a tiered silver salver. “I wish I knew what’s happened to Daniel. He was to work in the garden for me yesterday and didn’t show up then, either. I sent Robbie up to his hut, and Daniel was flat out on his cot.”

  “Probably mourning the passing of his buddy, Jack,” Cook said. “But that’s no excuse. By today, the worst drink should’ve worn off.”

  Robbie re-entered the kitchen and heard the last of their conversation. He contributed his own cheerful outlook. “That’s assuming Daniel didn’t wake last night and go out and get snookered all over again!”

*

2:15
PM

Ian watched with interest as his friend, the vicar Basil Northrup, fussed over the Altar Guild ladies, who prepared the cloths and hangings on the chapel altar. Decorated with the Clarendon crest, these would drape the altar on either side of the ornate cross that had been in the family for generations. Ian had befriended Basil when the young cleric arrived four years ago, and he knew the priest considered himself a director of sorts. Some people directed plays, but Basil directed Life Events, as he referred to weddings, christenings and funerals. The two men had struck up a friendship after a silver Eucharist chalice had been stolen from St. Martin’s. Ian had recovered it a week after the ruffian had pawned it, and he’d caught the thief soon after, thanks to the hidden cameras mounted in the pawnshop. Today, Ian stopped by to offer Basil his regards.

  “I think my somber face is one of my best,” Basil said, practicing this expression as he drew on his robes, giving Ian a wink. “I’ve already run through the litany of phrases I keep handy for funerals.”

  Ian knew Basil’s dry humor helped him cope with the awkward moments he faced, much like some policemen he knew. “You look fine, very sincere and very priestly.”

  “I worried about handling these things when in seminary, you know. I kept trying to locate a book for new priests that conveniently listed the top ten appropriate comments for difficult situations.” Basil kissed the cross on the neck of his skillfully embroidered stole and adjusted it around his neck. “Someone would make a bundle in seminaries if they’d publish that.”

  Ian thought Basil had grown into his office through his succession of parishes, and with maturity had come the words that calmed and soothed. He had a gift for sincerity belied by the humor he showed to Ian. Basil was scheduled to marry Ian and Kate—that is, if they ever got married. He supposed he should tell Basil the engagement was off. If he were interrogating himself, Ian would call this a lie of omission. He shifted his weight onto his other foot and kept silent.

*

A few minutes later, Ian stood outside his car, parked under a rowan tree near the Clarendon Chapel. This spot allowed him full view of the mourners as they arrived. Townspeople walked through the family graveyard before the service, inspecting the headstones. More stood in clusters, talking quietly. The funeral, a social event in the middle of the usual business day, gave the villagers a reason to take a half-day from work or to close up shop out of respect.

  Ian searched the faces, many familiar to him, from the farmers to the herders to the innkeepers. He’d already sent for copies of the town meeting minutes to determine what local opposition there had been to Keith’s plans besides those of Simon and The Scarlet Wench hecklers.

  Pretending he was not looking for Kate, he saw two men he’d seen this morning sitting together at the inquest. He’d found out one was Keith’s associate; the other was from Nora’s former workplace in Oxford. They were too chummy for his liking, and he added them to his mental list for background checks. People weren’t always what they represented themselves to be.

  A flash of red hair caught his eye, and he saw Nora inspecting the headstones, while Simon stood nearby talking to Cook and Kate. As he watched, Simon detached himself and strode purposefully toward him. Popping a mint in his mouth to stave off hunger pains, Ian shook hands with Simon.

  “Careful—fraternizing with the enemy, Simon.”

  Simon smiled and came right to the point. “It seems Daniel Rowley didn’t show up to help Cook today.”

  Ian was unimpressed. “I don’t get the impression that’s so unusual for Rowley, is it, Simon?”

  “He didn’t show up yesterday at the lodge when Kate expected him, either. She sent Robbie Cole up to his hut. He said he could see Rowley through the front window, flat out on his cot. If he’s still there, he might be ill or have had a stroke.” Simon thrust his hands in his pockets. “The ladies are worried.”

  “Ah, the plot thickens,” Ian chided him. “It’s me now who’s the bad egg if I don’t check up on him and something’s happened.” He saw Kate watching him. “Tell ‘the ladies’ I’ll have Higgins run up and have a look. I need something to get me back in your sister’s good graces.” Reconciling with Kate would take more than a grand gesture. It would require solving the mystery of Keith’s death.

  Ian watched Simon head back to the three women. The vicar appeared at the chapel door, greeting the first mourners. It occurred to him that there was a good likelihood that inside this sacred place, a murderer prayed.

*

2:50
PM

After thanking Simon for speaking to Ian, Kate took Cook by the arm to save seats inside the chapel. Nora remained in the graveyard with Simon, her attention caught by an elaborate stone next to the gaping hole dug that morning for Keith. A marble angel spread its wings protectively over the carving of a tiny lamb. The inscription read:

Rose Julia Clarendon

Only One Day New

Gone to Live with the Angels

Next to the angel and lamb stood a second marker, a carved open book watched over by a second angel. That inscription read:

Julia Catherine Brookes Clarendon

Her Gifts to Us Manifold

Her Glory Knows No Bounds

Her Story Left Untold

“How sad.” Nora pointed to the carvings as Simon took her elbow and they walked away. “Little Rose, ‘only one day new.’ What a difficult time that must have been.”

  “One that continues,” Simon said, directing Nora’s attention to the paved pathway to the chapel that ran from the back of Clarendon Hall. Gillian Cole guided Sommer’s wheelchair over the stones toward the chapel. Antonia held his hand and walked slowly alongside him, her black suit and hat in acute contrast to her pale face and curls. She cradled a large cluster of white roses in her free arm.

  At the chapel door, Antonia fell away and walked into the graveyard, not seeing Nora or Simon, seeking out Rose’s grave. With a bow of her head, she laid several of the roses at the foot of the carved marble lamb. Nora could see her lips moving silently. Antonia placed several more at Julia’s grave, retaining a few. She closed her eyes briefly and disappeared inside the chapel.