“Since we’re here we may as well help you put this place back together,” Calum offered after they had toasted the newlyweds a couple of times.
Peter hedged politely.
The shop looked better than it had when Grace and Peter returned from Penwith Hall. Somehow, between the time when Grace went missing and his rescue of her, Peter had managed to shovel out most of the broken glass and smashed furniture, although Rogue’s Gallery was still a mess.
“And we can help you hunt,” Monica put in eagerly.
“A grrrand notion,” Calum agreed.
“Oh, well…” Grace began, knowing what Peter’s expression meant.
At the same time, Peter started, “Very kind, but—”
“But you’re not sure the jewels are here?” Monica concluded.
“The jewels? No.” Peter seemed to be about to clarify and then answered, “Delon may not have had them on him.” He added a little irritably, “I’ve no notion why he came back here. I told him I didn’t want any part of it.” The real surprise to Grace was that he answered Monica’s question candidly.
“He probably had them on his perrrrson,” Calum said cheerfully, rolling his “Rs.” “He wouldn’t trust leaving them anywhere, right?”
“Anyway,” Monica said, “Four heads are better than two.”
An odd thought flitted into Grace’s head. What did they really know about Calum Bell? It had been how many years since Monica had last met him? Wasn’t it a huge coincidence that she had bumped into him when she had?
But then reason reasserted itself. Monica had drifted off with Calum before Grace had ever met Peter, before she ever pulled him out of that Kentmere stream. No one could have planned for that. Mentally, Grace shook her head at her own paranoia. Paranoia was Peter’s department; she waited for him to go all secretive and peculiar, but he said wearily, in answer to Monica’s proposal “Why not? The more the merrier.”
While Peter and Calum took the main floor of the shop, Grace and Monica were awarded the task of bringing order to the library. They spent the next hour or so restacking books on the shelves, climbing up and down the ladder, checking the hollowed books. It was companionable work, punctuated by Monica chattering about Calum and Scotland.
“This could take years.” Monica sighed after a time, handing Grace a leather-bound volume. “Give you a good reason for staying on.”
Grace shot her friend an evil look, but Monica merely chuckled. “Admit it, Grace. You’re having the time of your life. I’ve never seen you so…alive.”
“I’m sure you mean that as a compliment.” Grace levered another book onto the shelf above her head. She couldn’t see Peter, but from her perch on the ladder she watched Calum on the ground floor going through the drawers of a walnut highboy.
She said slowly, “Doesn’t it seem like a huge coincidence that you would run into Calum? It’s been, what? Twenty years?”
Monica shrugged. “Life is made up of coincidences. Haven’t you noticed?”
“Not really.” Or at least, not until recently. She inquired casually, “So, what does he teach? I mean, what’s his field? They don’t really even have ‘dons’ anymore, do they?”
“He’s a Younger Fellow and a Tutor in Creative Writing at Balliol.”
“Balliol? Why is that familiar?”
“Lord Peter Wimsey’s old alma mater,” Monica said. “Calum’s a writer.”
“What does he write?”
Monica looked vague. “You wouldn’t have read any of his work.”
Grace filed that evasion away to examine later. “And he’s never been married?”
“Of course he’s been married.” Monica seemed amused at the notion. “He’s divorced with one child. A son. Sixteen years old. He lives in Scotland with his mother. The son, I mean. I’m not sure if Calum’s mother is still living.” She cocked her head, handing Grace another oversize edition. “Are you really as shocked as you seem, Grace?”
“It’s just that this all happened so fast. How well can you know each other?” What do you know about him? That was what she really wanted to ask.
“I know what I need to know,” Monica said. “Calum makes me happy.”
There didn’t seem to be an answer to that. Grace was happy for her friend, of course, but she felt uneasy as well. Perhaps it was simply that Monica’s rejection of her life—a life so similar to Grace’s—forced Grace to examine her own situation.
After another two hours they had cleared—and searched—only a few feet of landing. The empty shelves towered above them while the walkway still appeared to be knee-deep in books. Not even the highest shelves had been ignored. It was as though Ram Singh had deliberately swept every book off the shelves. Was there a reason for that? Was it sheer destructiveness or had there been some method to this apparent madness? Did Ram Singh know something about where the cameos had been hidden?
No, more likely he had come across the stack of hollowed books while he was trashing the rest of the shop. The same thought would have occurred to him that occurred to Grace: the hollowed-out books would make a dandy hiding place. Probably this same thought would have occurred to Danny Delon, too, if he had come across the stack of hollow books, but there was no way of knowing if he had or had not.
How much time had Danny had before his killer found him? Was he aware that he was being pursued? Did he stash the cameos in the first available hiding place or had he opportunity to look around and find a suitable niche?
There seemed to be miles yet to cover when Grace excused herself and retired from the field to start dinner. By then the men had joined Monica on the landing and were helping her restock the shelves.
Peter Fox’s kitchen was beginning to feel as familiar to her as her own, Grace realized as she browned garlic and crushed pepper in olive oil. She could hear Monica and Calum’s laughter drifting along the hallway, followed by Peter’s lazy voice. Feeling herself smiling, she shook her head. Yes, she was growing way too comfortable here.
She added anchovy fillets to the pan. She couldn’t hope to compete with Peter’s culinary feats, but she did have a trick or two up her sleeve, and Spaghetti Puttanesca was her secret weapon.
While the tomatoes simmered in their liquid, she settled on the sofa and pulled out a sheet of paper to jot down notes. Sometimes seeing a thing written out made more sense. Besides, she wanted to distance herself from Monica’s well-meant but unsettling insinuations.
Chewing the end of her pen, Grace told herself that at least now they knew what the item was that they were looking for, so progress had been made. Even if it didn’t feel like it.
So far they knew for sure that they had two buyers for Byron’s gewgaws: Aeneas Sweet and Venetia Brougham. Could anyone else be involved? There was no way of knowing who Danny Delon might have contacted.
Allegra was involved, but she seemed to be working with her aunt. Grace wondered about that. The Hon. Al seemed so…inherently indifferent, it was hard to picture her aiding and abetting the lunatic hinge. Perhaps she had been drawn in because of Peter’s connection?
Ferdy—er—Philip Sweet might also be involved, and he would make a great Least Likely Suspect, but it was obvious Sweet was keeping his nephew in the dark—and why feign otherwise? The animosity between Ferdy and his uncle made it highly unlikely they would partner in anything.
There were other players of course, but they seemed to be taking the role of henchmen. Mutt and Jeff were definitely in the employ of Lady Venetia.
Charlie and Sid were working for Aeneas Sweet; but this was according to Lady Vee, who might be mistaken. Charlie and Sid might be working for themselves.
Grace tapped the pen against her chin, thinking. But no, they had said something about “The Man.” Grace wished she could remember exactly what had been said. So much had happened during the past week, her memories were no longer crisp. She should have written her thoughts down long ago, but she had not expected sleuthing to become a fulltime occupation.
Could Charlie and Sid b
e planning to cut “The Man” out? Something they had said had given her that impression. If only she could remember their exact words.
Last but not least, there was also Ram Singh who was most certainly working for Aeneas Sweet.
That completed the cast of characters. Who, of that motley crew, was the someone who had tried to kill Peter? According to Lady Vee’s henchmen it was Ram Singh. That would put Ram Singh and Mutt and Jeff all in Kentmere at the time Danny Delon had been murdered.
But Lady Vee had also accused Ram Singh of murdering Delon; he couldn’t have if he had been in Kentmere.
Which meant that Sid and Charlie must have killed Danny Delon.
Except, Charlie had also been in Kentmere. Charlie had said he had seen Grace giving Peter “the kiss of life.” So that gave Charlie a sort of alibi too.
Violence was certainly in Sid’s repertoire, but judging by the farmhouse Grace had been dragged to, the plan had been to kidnap Peter, not kill him.
Who, then, had killed Danny Delon? It was hard to picture octogenarians racing around committing homicide with battle-axes, but perhaps that was ageism rather than logic. What was it Sherlock Holmes said about eliminating possibilities? When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.
Grace doodled on her notepad and contemplated the possible impossibles.
Could there be another buyer?
Both Sweet and Lady Vee seemed to regard each other as their sole threat. But could there be a third party unbeknownst to them?
Ferdy?
If they were on the trail of Lord Byron’s long-lost oyster plates, Grace might buy it.
Allegra?
She was probably familiar with the history of Craddock House; she had grown up in this district. She might know about the secret passages. She was clearly in her aunt’s confidence—what was to keep her from running her own side operation?
Grace stared into the curio table without registering its contents. All those little fascinating odds and ends of bygone eras. She nibbled on the end of the pen.
Charlie and Sid introduced a troubling element—a professional element. Ram Singh, Mutt and Jeff were clearly amateurs working for nuts. But Sid and Charlie were career criminals.
Could they be working for Allegra?
Peter had been convinced he wrestled with Sid at Penwith Hall. Of course, Peter could be wrong. It had been dark, after all—and Mutt and Jeff had been later proven to be on the premises. Or at least around the premises. On the other hand, Peter had made short work of Mutt and Jeff this afternoon.
The question remained: could Sid and Charlie be working for Allegra?
But no, because they had mentioned “The Man.”
Not only that, even if it had been Sid and Charlie that Peter tangled with, someone had to have guided them through the secret passages at Penwith Hall. That had to indicate Sweet. Or Ferdy. But Ferdy would have to be a heck of an actor.
And what about the night Allegra had come snooping around the shop? What if she had been checking on her handiwork rather than Peter’s love life? Was Allegra capable of murder?
Grace caught movement out of the corner of her eye. She turned toward the grandfather clock in Peter’s living room. The door in the large wooden case was slowly opening…
Chapter Twelve
High Rhymes and Misdemeanors Page 39