Murder in Black Tie

by Sara Rosett

  “A picnic? In this cold?” Gwen asked.

  “It’s pleasant outside in the sun,” Aunt Caroline said. “We’ll take the motors to Cormont Hill and have tea there. Don’t look disapproving, Gwen. It’s all decided. Miss Miller and I have already planned it and invited everyone. When one has guests, one must entertain them, murder or no murder.”

  Gwen said, “But a few moments ago, Peter said he was going out for a walk. He’s probably already gone.”

  That news gave Aunt Caroline pause, then she said briskly, “Well, when he returns, Brimble can tell him where we are. Peter can meet us at the ruin.”

  Gwen shot me a look, which I interpreted to mean, Mother’s determined, so we might as well go along with it.

  Once Aunt Caroline got a project underway, she was relentless about its completion.

  Jasper extended his arm to Aunt Caroline. “I, for one, look forward to seeing the ruin of Cormont Castle again. It’s been years since I’ve been up there.”

  “They are delightful.” Aunt Caroline took his arm, and they descended the stairs, leaving Gwen and me to follow. “An outing is just what we need. It will take our minds off everything and be a very pleasant afternoon, I’m sure.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The clear bright sunlight streamed in through the glass panels of the conservatory, making it muggy and creating a dazzling effect that had me narrowing my eyes until I reached the patch of shade cast by the palms. The warmth intensified the earthy smell that permeated the air as well as the floral scents.

  I wound along the path toward the sound of trickling water and the fountain. The tiles around it had been cleaned, and the iron furniture was back in place.

  I followed the sound of a deep-voiced mutter to the cupboards at the back of the room, where Ross was rearranging the gardening tools. The knees of his baggy trousers were black with dirt. His flat cap was stuffed in one pocket, and garden gloves along with pruning shears caused the other side of his jacket to sag. “. . . can’t expect a man to do his job without proper equipment.”

  “I’m sure you’ll find a way,” I said.

  Ross looked up, and his vexed expression vanished as he smiled, deepening the wrinkles in his tanned face. “Miss Olive, hello.”

  “It’s good to see you, Ross.”

  “Thank you, miss. I know the family is always glad when you return home. Any chance of you staying on? London is a dangerous place.”

  “No, I’m afraid not. And it seems conservatories can be treacherous as well,” I said with a significant glance over my shoulder toward the fountain.

  Ross’s smile disappeared. “He was a bad one.”

  “Mr. Payne?” Had knowledge of Payne’s reputation extended to the outdoor staff?

  Ross hesitated. “I don’t like to talk out of turn, but he made a nuisance of himself toward the women. I saw him behave improperly toward Lady Gina out in the woods. I was about to intervene, but she took care of it.”

  “Yes, Gigi is quite good at taking care of herself. Did you see him behave in that manner toward anyone else?”

  “No, but once is all it takes to know what sort of man he was.”

  “I agree with you there. I don’t suppose you saw him in the conservatory the evening he died?”

  “No, miss. I worked here in the morning. I was repairing a broken window in one of the greenhouses that evening.”

  I glanced over his shoulder at the empty spaces in the cupboard. “It looks as if the police didn’t leave you much to work with.”

  “No, indeed. I’ll have to bring over some tools from the greenhouse.”

  “And I’m sure you put your gardening tools away when you finished Friday?”

  One corner of Ross’s mouth quirked up. “You sound like that inspector chap.” He leaned toward me. “I’ll tell you exactly what I told him. I always clean my garden tools and then store them here. They have to be wiped down and dried or else they get rusty. That day, I transplanted some of the philodendron. They were getting too much direct sunlight. Then I worked over by the tall palm, cutting back some of the fronds. When I finished, I swept the tiles around the fountain, cleaned my tools, and then put them away.”

  “And your tools were in this cupboard here?” I pointed behind him. “The spades too?” There wasn’t a single spade in the cabinet.

  “This is where they were kept, but the police took every last one of them. I suppose I won’t see any of them again, particularly if one of them was used to knock Mr. Payne on the head.” Ross closed the door.

  “It doesn’t look as if the cupboard locks.” The latch was the simple metal kind, and I didn’t see any padlock lying about.

  “No. There’s never been a need to lock it.”

  “So someone could have taken a spade, but they’d need to walk back here and find it,” I said.

  “Yes, miss. And carry it all the way to the fountain.” He shook his head. “There wasn’t anything accidental about that man’s death. And I don’t care what the folks in the village say, Mr. Peter would never do that—whether he was in his right mind or not.” Ross pinned his faded hazel gaze on me. “I hear you’re good at figuring out what happened when people die, unexpected-like. I sure hope you’re helping Mr. Peter clear his name.”

  “I’m doing everything I can.” I glanced back toward the fountain. “You didn’t find anything unusual here in the conservatory, something the police missed?”

  He shook his head. “No, and if I found anything that could help Mr. Peter, I would have taken it to that inspector right away.”

  “Of course. I believe I’ll wander around a bit.”

  Ross left, and I walked back to the center of the conservatory and stood beside the fountain, trying to work out what might have happened. I wished I had the same assurance that Jasper and Ross had about Peter’s innocence. But they hadn’t seen Peter’s vacant gaze. I shook off that memory. It wouldn’t help Peter to assume he’d murdered Payne. I had to approach the scene from a different perspective. If Peter were simply at the wrong place at the wrong time, then what had really happened here?

  The overturned pot had been near the point where the path from the west wing opened into the central fountain area. Had the person who attacked Payne stood behind the rubber tree and struck as soon as Payne left the path? Perhaps the overturned iron chaise lounge had been positioned so that Payne would trip? Then, in the moment he was off-balance, the murderer brought the spade down on his head?

  The iron feet on the chaise lounge screeched as I dragged it across the tiles. I turned it on its side so that it was in the same position it had been that evening. Then I stepped over it and walked up the path a few paces, turned, and headed for the fountain.

  No, there was no way someone could miss seeing the chaise lounge blocking the path, unless the person had been doing something that kept their attention off the path ahead . . . like reading. I couldn’t see Payne so immersed in a book that he wasn’t watching where he was going. With Father, yes, that situation would be absolutely believable, and possibly with Peter too. A little spark of excitement fired through me as I latched onto the thought.

  It was true Peter wasn’t as bookish as Father, but Peter had been reading the prior evening when I found him in the conservatory. And on the night Payne was killed, Peter’s book about beekeeping had been lying on the floor not far from the chaise lounge. What if Peter had tripped over the chaise lounge because he was reading, and he’d hit his head and blacked out? I stood over the chaise, imagining what would happen if someone stumbled into it. The way the chair had been arranged, Peter could have hit his head on the armrest, which stuck out several inches—that could explain his black eye. The thought of plowing into the sturdy piece of metal face-first made me cringe. That would be painful and could result in a nasty bruise. The worry that had gripped me since I’d looked into Peter’s blank face eased a little.

  I scanned the area where I’d seen the two faint trails through the dirt. It extended several fee
t. Dragging the body that far would take strength. I still didn’t think Miss Miller could do it, but everyone else in the house was sturdy and healthy enough to manage, especially if they had a burst of adrenaline running through their system.

  I righted the chaise lounge and put it back, then plucked at the front of my dress to circulate the humid air around me. I strolled through the rest of the paths without discovering anything else. I went to the billiard room, which felt like a cool dark cave after the bright overheated atmosphere of the conservatory, thinking I might find Jasper there again.

  He wasn’t in sight, but Captain Inglebrook, his mouth set in a line as straight as his thin mustache, was poised over the billiard table as he concentrated on aligning his cue stick. I paused in the doorway until he took the shot. The billiard balls clicked, and one dropped neatly into the net at the far end of the table.

  “Excellent shot,” I said, and he turned at the sound of my voice.

  “Hello, Miss Belgrave. Care to join me?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  I walked into the billiard room. “No, I can only stay for a moment, Captain. Are you going on the picnic to the ruin this afternoon?”

  Inglebrook propped his hip against the edge of the billiard table. “I’ll be delighted to accompany you.”

  “Everyone is going, I believe.”

  “Nevertheless, your presence will make it all the more enchanting.”

  I leaned against the table, mirroring his posture, and crossed my arms. “Are you ever serious?”

  “Life is far too serious as it is. I bring a little light, a little laughter, a little relief from the tediousness. You’re shaking your head,” he said. “Don’t you agree that we all need a respite from the grim daily routine?”

  “No, I wasn’t shaking my head about that. I was thinking about how different you are from Inspector Longly. It seems an odd match for friendship.”

  “Lucas Longly is a long-standing friend”—he paused, and I knew he was teasing me in some way because of his mischievous look—“as well as a distant relative. Didn’t you know?”

  So, Gwen hadn’t had the full story about the two men. Her letter that drew me to Parkview mentioned they were friends, but not relatives. “No. Inspector Longly doesn’t speak about himself much.”

  “He doesn’t. Typical British self-effacement. We’re cousins removed. Several times removed,” he clarified. “We’ve known each other since we were in our prams.”

  “Like Gwen and Peter and I.” That situation explained what seemed to be a distant relationship between the two men. I could see how the diligent inspector and the blithe captain might not have much in common.

  Inglebrook walked around the table and lined up for another shot. “Are you sure you won’t join me?”

  “No, I’m afraid I can’t at the moment. Perhaps Gigi will join you again today as she did last evening. Who won last night?”

  “We didn’t play.”

  “You didn’t? But Gigi said you spent all afternoon here playing billiards.”

  “Yes, that’s true. She didn’t know how to play. I was teaching her.”

  “I see.”

  Gigi knew how to play billiards as well as I did, but I was sure that letting Captain Inglebrook show her how to properly hit a billiard ball involved the captain placing his arms around her.

  “She was a quick study, though.” Inglebrook squinted at the billiard balls and inched to the left. “Soon we were practicing some advanced maneuvers.”

  “I bet she was,” I murmured as he hit the ball with the cue stick. The clatter of the balls knocking against each other covered my words.

  Inglebrook watched the balls until they stopped rolling. “I’m glad Gigi and I were together. It made it so much simpler. It would be disturbing if Lucas had to suspect a relative.”

  Father sat at the long table in the library with books, maps, and notebooks scattered around him. He was not a neat worker. I’d been surprised at the transformation in his study at Tate House after Sonia had moved in. Somehow she’d convinced him to keep his desk clear, something I’d never been able to do, but here at Parkview he’d reverted to his old style of working. With all the upheaval around Payne’s death, it was comforting to see Father surrounded by bookish clutter.

  I set a cup of tea beside him. It was only when the cup clinked in the saucer that he looked up. “Oh hello, Olive. I didn’t see you there.”

  “I thought you might like a cup of tea.”

  “Thank you, my dear. I did just have lunch—Sonia always sees to it that I eat,” he said as he picked up the cup. “But one can never turn down a cup of tea.”

  I pulled out the chair beside him and gestured to his stacks of books and handwritten notes. “How’s it coming along?”

  “Excellent. Parkview has some wonderful resources. Leo doesn’t mind what I borrow from the library, but it’s nice to have it all at my fingertips instead of walking back and forth from Tate House.” He pushed his spectacles further up his nose and turned fully toward me. “What is the situation with Peter?”

  “For the moment, not good, I’m afraid.” I kept my idea that Peter had stumbled over the chaise to myself. I had no proof of what happened, and I didn’t want to create false hope.

  Father took a sip of his tea, then said slowly, “This work you’ve been doing in London—it’s rather unconventional, but your experience may be exactly what’s needed to help Peter. Things often work out that way. Think of Esther . . . ‘for such a time as this.’”

  I already felt the weight of everyone’s expectation pushing down on me, which was entirely enough pressure without comparisons to Biblical figures. “I don’t think I’m in that category,” I said. I’d wanted to succeed with my first few cases so badly so I could continue living on my own. I hadn’t realized my accomplishments would lead to such expectations. “But don’t worry, I’m doing all that I can to help Peter. In fact, I wanted to chat with you for a moment about last evening.”

  “Nothing unusual happened, as far as I know.” He waved his hand at a stack of books on the other side of the table. “I worked my way through those reference books while you young people were at the maze. Sonia brought me tea, which we had here together, and then we retired upstairs to our room, where she read aloud to me until it was time to dress for dinner. She insists that I not spend all day reading.” He tapped his hand on the open pages in front of him. “She says my eyes need rest and that I have a tendency to overdo it.”

  “Which is probably true,” I conceded, even though I still bristled at the thought of Sonia arranging Father’s schedule. However, Father’s health was much improved, so I couldn’t argue too much. “What did she read to you?”

  “A cracking good crime novel, Murder at Castle Colfax. We’re a little over halfway through it. It’s quite twisty, and I’m afraid I have no idea who the culprit is.”

  “I’ve read that book. I agree.” I didn’t say anything more. One of the downsides of being a discreet problem solver was that I couldn’t share some of the things I’d learned about interesting people and situations, even with those closest to me. “And you were there until you came down for dinner?”

  “Yes,” Father said as he removed his handkerchief and polished his glasses.

  Well, that marked Sonia off my list of potential suspects. Father wouldn’t lie for her. I was completely sure of it.

  Father said, “I did drift off for a bit. I completely missed chapter twelve, and Sonia had to reread it to me. Perhaps she’s right about me working too hard.” He chuckled.

  I’d been halfway out of my chair, but I dropped back into it. “You fell asleep?”

  “Yes. I don’t like to admit it, but Sonia is right that I overdo it. You wouldn’t think mental work could tire you, but it does.”

  “Oh, I agree.” I patted him on the shoulder and took his cup. “I’ll let you get back to it,” I said and left the room, my thoughts spinning. I couldn’t mark Sonia off my list after all.


  Chapter Sixteen

  Cormont Hill was the highest point for miles around, which was why the powerful medieval Cormont family had chosen it for the location of their castle. Unfortunately, their castle and their power had the same fate—both had crumbled. The Cormont family had petered out in the early seventeen hundreds, and by then their castle had fallen into disrepair as well. All that remained of Cormont Castle were several walls of various heights, the tallest with gothic arched windows.

  Aunt Caroline had divided up the houseguests and had those of us with motors help transport everyone. Uncle Leo and Father had stayed behind, but everyone else was in attendance. Jasper and I were the last to arrive. His motor was still being repaired in Upper Benning, so I’d driven the Morris. Even if I hadn’t known how to reach the hill, Deena’s bright red motor parked at the base of the footpath was visible for miles around. As I brought the Morris to a stop beside it, Deena hailed us from halfway up the hill, but we were too far away to hear her words. Beside her, Captain Inglebrook stood with a hand outstretched, waiting to help Deena over a rocky portion of the path, his silk scarf flapping in the breeze. Gwen had ridden with Deena to show her the way to Cormont Hill and was farther up the path. She paused and gave us a wave, then continued on.

  I nodded to Ross, who was now in his chauffeur garb. He’d been crouched down, examining the moss that clung to the shady side of one of the large boulders that dotted the landscape. He’d driven Aunt Caroline, Miss Miller, and Sonia in the estate’s saloon motor. He had his own picnic lunch waiting for him, spread out on the bonnet of the saloon.

  Jasper called out, “Good afternoon, Ross,” and hefted the last picnic basket out of the Morris.