Death by Dark Roast

by Kate Adams

‘It’s fine.’ I waited for her to continue, but again she didn’t say anything so I kept going.

  ‘So many people have told me what a nice person he was. I only got to meet him briefly and he did seem really nice. No one’s had a bad word to say about him.’

  I watched as a smile started to form on her lips, but there was sadness in her eyes. ‘He was very sweet.’ She stroked Isabella’s hair.

  ‘So you knew him well?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes, I hadn’t seen him much recently, but I used to know him.’ Her gaze lingered on Isabella. The child was the classic blonde-haired blue-eyed cutie. It was easy to see why Elliot doted on her.

  ‘Did Elliot know Ben?’ I knew he had, but I wanted to give Carla a chance to explain before I bulldozed my way in. Her eyes dropped again; she started to pick at one of her fingernails.

  ‘Sort of, but they weren’t friends.’

  ‘Did they not get on?’

  She looked around the courtyard as though wanting to make sure she wasn’t being watched. I assumed that she wanted to check Elliot wasn’t around.

  ‘Not really.’ She stopped and I was sure that was as much as I was going to get. Carla didn’t know me and she had no reason to tell me anything, but I was impatient.

  ‘Carla, it’s none of my business, but I know Elliot and Ben didn’t get on. I witnessed Elliot laying into him the day before he was killed. He didn’t hit him, but he looked like he really wanted to. This was in front of a lot of other people, so he didn’t seem to care who was watching.’

  ‘He didn’t kill him, I swear!’

  ‘I’m not saying he did, but what was he so angry about? Do you know?’ Carla shook her head, but I knew she was lying. And I wasn’t being entirely honest, either – Elliot was at the top of my suspect list. I just needed to understand why he’d wanted Ben dead.

  As I watched Isabella eat a second little sandwich, I felt the cogs in my brain turn. Why on earth hadn’t I realised it as soon as I’d heard the rumours about Carla’s affair? Everyone thought that she’d slept with someone she worked with, but that was only hearsay. What if the affair part had been right, but the colleague part wrong? What if she’d had an affair with Ben, and Isabella was the outcome? What I didn’t understand was why Elliot would want to kill Ben after all this time. Joyce had told me that Isabella was three years old now. Ben was local, and if Elliot was mad enough to want him dead, he’d had plenty of opportunity. Something must have set him off and triggered a renewed burst of fury, but what?

  Carla looked at me. I knew she wanted me to leave well alone. Elliot clearly had a temper and I hoped that she was never on the receiving end of it, but there were no physical signs, and Joyce had talked about Elliot becoming happier again after Isabella’s birth. Maybe fatherhood had calmed him down – with the exception of some recent Ben-related event.

  ‘Sophie, sorry to disturb.’ I looked away from Carla towards the member of staff who had come out to see me. ‘We’ve got a customer who wants to talk to a manager and… well, I saw you out here. Would you mind?’

  ‘Give me one minute.’ The staff member walked away and I turned back to Carla. ‘I’m just trying to understand why he was so cross. It might help.’

  ‘It was nothing, I’m sure of it. You know what men can be like. They didn’t see each other very often and Ben travelled a lot, so it was never a big deal that they just didn’t get on.’

  I knew I wasn’t going to get anything else from her, and for her sake, I didn’t want Elliot to find me questioning his girlfriend, so I said goodbye and went inside. Trying to figure out a murder was still new to me, but dealing with disgruntled customers – and I was sure that was going to be the case – was old hat. I took a deep breath and allowed a serene smile to spread across my face, determined to be the most charming version of myself. Kill ’em with kindness – it always worked.

  In order to find Mark’s office, it is necessary to step into the entrance lobby of one of the ladies’ toilets that are available to the visitors. You then take a sharp right turn before venturing into the main area of the toilets – and if you are a man, being chased back out – and up a narrow flight of stairs marked ‘Private’. Once you arrive, you find a large, bright and airy space that Mark shares with two others.

  Despite the sharing aspect, Mark has still ended up with a space about four times the size of my office. Mind you, I wouldn’t want to swap. The courtyard below is where school groups often gather and the noise is enough to prevent anyone from thinking. Then there is the occasional pipe blockage in the toilets below. The aroma when this happens is enough to force Mark and his colleagues out of their office and into the cafés to work. So, as much as I may be envious of the general airiness, that air could become the exact reason that I wouldn’t want his office in a million years.

  I knocked on the door frame and walked through the open door. Mark was chatting to a man wearing a long moss-green coat, matching breeches and cream stockings, sitting at the desk opposite him. His black shoes had a slight heel.

  ‘Sophie, meet Lancelot Capability Brown. Ignore the smell, he’s been dead for over two hundred years.’

  Capability took his feet off the desk and stood. Removing his tri-cornered hat and revealing a grey wig with tight curls over the ears, he performed an exaggerated bow.

  ‘Greetings. A pleasure to meet you.’ He tossed the hat onto the desk and sat back down. ‘Mark’s just been filling me in on the adventure you have planned for this afternoon.’ I scowled at Mark. We’d never actually said that we’d keep our activities quiet, but I had no idea who this man was or if he could be trusted.

  Mark read my mind. ‘It’s fine, Capability and I go way back.’

  ‘Besides which,’ the man in the wig continued, ‘I’m basically a ghost so no one will believe they’ve seen me, let alone what I’ve said.’

  As I sat on the edge of a desk across the room from them both, I must have looked confused. Mark tried to clear things up for me.

  ‘He’s not actually a ghost, Sophie.’ He threw a pen across the room and it hit the man in the chest. ‘See? Solid.’

  ‘Idiot,’ was the only word I could think of to direct at my friend. I turned back to Capability. ‘What are you up to today? Designing an addition to the garden?’ As one of the country’s most respected landscape architects of the eighteenth century, Lancelot ‘Capability’ Brown had worked at Charleton House and played a key role in the way the beautiful gardens looked today. I guessed he was going to be delivering a tour or performing somewhere outside, talking to visitors and telling them his story and plans in ‘real time’.

  ‘I’m thinking about a vine. We’re possibly a little far north, but I’ve had great success installing a vine at Hampton Court Palace and I would like to try something similar here. Only instead of one large vine, I’m wondering about a small vineyard. I’m spending this afternoon considering the best location for it. There seem to be a lot of strange folk wandering around the garden in unusual garb and I’m finding their input most useful.’

  ‘Give it a rest, Ed.’ Mark sighed and stood up. ‘Come on, Sherlock.’

  I looked at Ed – or was it really Capability’s ghost?

  ‘Sorry to rush off, only I’m keen to follow up some information we found.’

  ‘I found,’ chipped in Mark, ‘and I haven’t forgotten that drink you owe me.’

  We left the eighteenth-century gentleman at the computer, checking his emails. The longer I worked at Charleton House, the more I found my definition of ‘odd’ being redefined.

  It was a thirty-minute drive to Chester Manning’s antiques shop and we spent most of the journey going over what we knew about the various people in Ben’s life. The good weather had yet to come to an end, the view across the Derbyshire hills was beautiful, and the further we went, the more I relaxed.

  I drove us down a single-track lane that turned off the main road just as we hit the edge of Buxton. After waiting for a tractor to pass, I parked in front of a
converted barn. The exterior wooden walls had been painted a gloss black, and with the burgundy red edging, it looked distinctly out of place. Far too grand and perfect for an old farm building. The sign for ‘Manning Antiques’ was just as showy. This wasn’t going to be one of those places that looked like a junk shop and smelt of abandoned history and mothballs.

  ‘So how are we going to play this?’ Mark whispered as we walked in.

  ‘We were passing and we’re just browsing. Easy.’

  ‘But exactly what are we looking for?’

  ‘I have no idea. I guess we’ll know it when we see it, or we’ll just learn about his link with Guy. And before you ask, I have no idea how. Maybe it will come up in conversation.’

  Mark didn’t look at all convinced.

  We stepped through the large double doors that were wedged wide open, and into the cold shadows of the barn. Just as I’d expected, the space was well laid out. The antiques had been displayed to resemble different rooms; it looked like a nineteenth-century IKEA store.

  We wandered around a couple of the display rooms, running our hands over the furniture and making sounds of approval.

  ‘Hmm, this is rather nice.’

  ‘Superb quality, but not what we’re looking for.’

  ‘I’m sure my great-aunt Gertrude had a lamp just like this. Ah yes, this is hers. See that crack down the side? That’s from the time she used it to hit my great-uncle after she discovered his affair with the scullery maid.’

  Mark appeared to be relaxing into our charade and enjoying himself.

  We wound our way through the leather armchairs and coffee tables. There was an enormous display of silverware and the collection of paintings seemed to exclusively depict scenes of Derbyshire. I couldn’t imagine myself ever having any of the pieces in my own home, but there was no escaping the fact that Chester had taste and, judging by the price tags, his customers had the money to buy that taste.

  ‘Can I help you?’ I jumped as Chester appeared at my side. ‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.’

  I laughed awkwardly. ‘It’s fine. Err no, thank you. We were passing and thought we’d come and have a look. We’re just browsing.’

  ‘Well do shout if you need any assistance, I’m happy to help you with any spur-of-the-moment purchases.’

  He smiled and made his way back to a desk just as the phone rang. I breathed a little more easily as his attention was focused on the caller. As he’d taken a seat and put his feet up on his desk, it looked as if it was going to be a long call. Or at least, I hoped so.

  There was something familiar about him, and it wasn’t just because I had seen him at the pub with Guy. Mind you, he wore the uniform of the upper class male and his outfit practically mirrored Malcolm’s wardrobe: salmon pink trousers and a checked shirt. His brown leather belt was decorated with a weave of multi-coloured threads, he had the same ruddy complexion as Malcolm, and it was easy to imagine them sharing a sherry and discussing the stock market or how ‘Tarquin was faring at Eton’.

  I walked towards the back of the building and saw a couple of doors on the far wall. It seemed the building was actually split in two and there was a lot more that lay beyond the wall. I signalled to Mark and he made his way over to me.

  ‘We need to go in there.’

  ‘Why? What excuse are we going to give when he finds us rooting around?’

  ‘We don’t need an excuse. There are no “Staff only” or “Do not enter” signs; we’ll say we just thought it was another area of the shop.’

  ‘OK, you go in. It’ll be obvious if we both suddenly disappear.’

  He had a point. I checked that Chester was still distracted by the phone call and slipped in through one of the doors.

  There were long shelves of vases, picture frames, snuff boxes – everything that you’d imagine looking at home in Downton Abbey could be found back here. Some items had tags on them that said ‘reserved’; others looked as if they were waiting for a polish before they went out on display. The room was gloomy and I decided there was no way I was going to spot anything of any use, so I made my way back out into the showroom.

  I caught Mark’s eye and shook my head, pointing at the second door. He glanced at Chester and gave me the thumbs up.

  This room was much brighter. There were large double doors pinned open on the far side, allowing the sunlight to come streaming in, but it was much less tidy than the first room I’d explored. A desk and a shelf full of files were in the far corner. An enormous table held remnants of bubble wrap and brown wrapping paper, and a pile of wooden crates was stacked up in the corner, waiting to be filled with delicate antiques and shipped out.

  Next to the door was a stack of boxes, a couple of crates and some very well-padded envelopes. A look told me that they were all addressed, ready to go. As I took a step closer, I felt something crunch under my shoe, and then again under my other foot. I stepped back and looked down – whatever I had stood on was now brown powder.

  There were more brown lumps scattered around. Stones? No, they were coffee beans. I picked one up and smelt it – I was right. I collected more until I had a handful of misshapen and small beans. There were a couple of Quakers: the under-ripe coffee seeds that had been picked too early. This wasn’t good quality coffee; it hadn’t been dried or milled carefully. This had been roasted by someone who was more interested in volume than quality – a company like the Northern Bean Company.

  I followed a trail of beans on the floor and found more next to the large table. As I stood up to see if they were anywhere else, the name on one of the parcels caught my eye: ‘Malcolm De Witt’ and a Paris address. I took out my phone and snapped a picture of the box, grabbed a couple of the coffee beans and went to find Mark.

  Mark was examining a painting close up – very close up. His nose was practically touching the canvas.

  ‘Mark, look at this.’ I opened up the photo on my phone, but he didn’t turn towards me.

  ‘No, look at this,’ he said. ‘I swear this farm hand looks just like you.’

  ‘Mark, we don’t have time. Stop it.’

  I showed him the picture on the phone, but he wasn’t impressed. ‘So, Malcolm dropped by and did some shopping.’

  ‘It’s too much of a coincidence. Plus that box – it’s the perfect size for the Duke’s bowl. And I reckon the bowl would have been stored in a sack of coffee beans before it got here. Silver Bullet coffee beans.’

  I gave Mark my best ‘eureka’ look. ‘I still think she looks like you,’ was his only response.

  ‘Mark, for heaven’s sake, take this seriously! I need you to stay here and make sure those parcels don’t go anywhere. I’m going to call Joe and get him to meet you here.’

  ‘And where are you going?’

  ‘I need to have a chat with a certain coffee roaster. Also, I’ve remembered why Chester is so familiar looking. He went to university with both Malcolm and the Duke – all three of them are in a photo that’s hanging in the Duke’s office. None of this is a coincidence.’

  Mark was paying attention now. ‘How do I keep Chester occupied once he gets off the phone?’

  ‘I have no idea. You could ask him for more information on that painting of me.’

  I walked out of the barn as quickly as possible, nodding to Chester as I left. He gave a lazy wave – he could probably spot a time waster a mile off and I guessed he had put us in that category, so he was in no rush to get off the phone. I dialled Joe’s number as I got in the car, then headed off to the pub.

  Chapter 16

  Four o’clock in the afternoon wasn’t, by my reckoning, too early for a gin and tonic, but that wasn’t why I was pulling into the Black Swan car park. When I’d given Joe a rundown of what I had found at the antiques shop and made sure he was on his way there, I’d neglected to tell him where I was heading, but only because I couldn’t be sure that I’d find who I was looking for. That, and Joe would tell me to mind my own business, and I didn’t want
him to spoil my fun. I felt like a hound who had got the scent and I didn’t want to be dragged away from it.

  As I turned the engine off and got out of the car, the back door of the pub opened and Kyle walked out with a large bag over his shoulder. Bingo!

  ‘Hi, Sophie, day off?’

  ‘No, I was looking for you. Do you have a minute?’

  ‘Not really, I’ve just checked out and need to get on the road.’ He hadn’t actually stopped to talk to me. Putting his bag in the boot of the car and opening the driver’s side door, the keys already in his hand, he seemed very keen to get going.

  ‘I really need to have a word, Kyle, it’s important.’ I stared at him. He could run and there was no way I could stop him, but he looked tired, like a man who’d had enough. He stood for a moment, staring beyond me, and then sighed, closed the car door and finally returned my gaze.

  ‘Can I buy you a drink?’

  I nodded and let him lead the way back into the pub.

  Kyle bought us a couple of cokes and we went outside to a table in the far corner of the garden where no one could overhear us. Running his finger round the rim of his glass, a haunting chime emanating from it as he did so, he again refused to look me in the eye.

  ‘Kyle, I have a theory, and the police are on their way to check it out. A valuable item – sentimentally valuable, not financially valuable – was stolen from Charleton House a week ago. Right now, I reckon it’s sitting in a box at an antiques shop, waiting to be shipped out to Malcolm De Witt in Paris. That item, a beautiful ceramic bowl, has spent some time stored in a bag of coffee beans – Silver Bullet coffee beans. That means that someone who works for Silver Bullet knows how it got there. Am I right so far?’

  Kyle nodded.

  ‘I’m guessing that someone from Silver Bullet stole it during the drinks reception last Friday night after Malcolm told them where it was and how to get in, or Malcolm stole it and handed it over to one of you.’

  I gave Kyle a chance to respond, but he didn’t take it.