Miles pinched the bridge of his nose, and managed not to laugh.
“That’s not what I meant,” he said. “What did you learn about the Countess, and Delacroix?”
“Oh. That,” my sister replied. “It was really sad, her parents both died when she was still a kid. They drank a ton. Her dad OD’d on it, and her mom fell off a balcony. That seems awfully suspicious to me, they had a lot of money, and a big old castle in Scotland. It’s probably worth a lot. But the inspector ruled it an accident. After that, Ava—the Countess—had a guardian, her mother’s cousin, Françoise Delacroix. That’s when she wasn’t in boarding school. He’s got a ton of money, too. He doesn’t have a real job, or own any real companies. He’s linked to lots of them, though. He invests, and some of them have done really well, and the rest aren’t around anymore. If he’s ever been arrested, there’s no record of it, and the same for her. He did have a girlfriend, she was charged with throwing a flaming dessert at him, after she accused him of flirting with the waitress. That was a couple of years ago. I don’t know if they’re still together or not.”
There was the sudden sound of muffled voices. A moment later, my sister was back on the line.
“That’s it, gotta go!” she rapidly whispered, and the soft tone confirmed we were no longer connected.
Miles set his phone aside, and I let out a deep breath.
“Well! I need a nap,” I declared, and he smiled and shook his head a little. I wondered why. “What is it? What’s so funny?”
“You, and your sister. You’re a lot more alike, than you seem to realize,” Miles replied.
“Am I completely exhausting?” I gave him a narrow-eyed look, and he laughed.
“When you insist on late night conversation that lasts into the early morning hours,” Miles answered. “But otherwise, no. I don’t find you exhausting at all. Maybe that’s why your sister doesn’t leave me feeling drained. You also worry about her, you take your role as big sister seriously, and reining in a team of wild horses is nothing compared to curbing Doreen’s enthusiasm when it comes to the cases we’re involved in.”
“No kidding!” I exclaimed. “What do we do about Katharine’s diary? Now I’m afraid for her to read it!”
Miles looked serious, except for the laughter in his eyes.
“You can always enlist your mom to help.”
“Ug!” I groaned. But… “Maybe we should. What reason would we give? Or maybe we ought to ask Trixie to pick it up.”
“I guarantee Trix would appreciate the contents as little as your sister,” Miles replied, and I laughed at the thought. “However, I sincerely doubt Katharine would write anything more than you would, if you kept a diary.”
“Well, if I had one, there’d be a lot about how gorgeous you are,” I considered. “Your amazing hazel eyes, your smile, the way the sun brings out the highlights in your dark blond hair, the scent of your aftershave, how much I love you, and how happy I am to be your wife.”
“Maybe you should start keeping a diary,” Miles teased, and I laughed.
“Maybe I will. But imagine if anyone else read it! I’d have to keep it abridged, and keep out anything supernatural.”
“I imagine Katharine also considered the possibility her own diary might be read someday. Otherwise, she would have destroyed it at some point.”
“So maybe it’s okay if my sister reads it,” I considered.
“If you don’t mind torturing her,” Miles replied, then laughed, as I gave that serious consideration.
“Well, it’ll keep her busy anyway. Although… if I did have a diary, I’d probably talk about how my knees go weak and I melt, when you have that look in your eyes… yep, that’s the one,” I promptly melted. Miles laughed softly, I wrapped my arms around his neck, and he kissed me.
“Do you realize it was two years ago, that we read Sarah’s letter?” Miles eventually asked.
“You’re right,” I realized. “I’m so glad we did, and so glad it’s now, and not then!”
“Agreed,” Miles said, as he laced his fingers with mine. “This, is so much better.”
“It was worth all the pain, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat to be here with you now, but that next month and a half was excruciating,” I recalled with a shiver.
“You thought I was gone from you forever—here on earth, anyway—and I was afraid you were moving on, with someone else. I’m not sure who had it worse,” he declared, and I laughed.
“You’re telling the truth!” I said. “But I think I had it worse, because at least you knew you had a chance.”
“You were more confident of your feelings for me than I was, at that time,” Miles pointed out. “And I did urge you to move on.”
“I could never do that,” I declared.
“Neither could I,” Miles replied softly. “You’re the only one for me. Now, and forever.”
I glanced at him sideways, as I rested my cheek against his shoulder. I liked hearing that, and wanted to hear more.
“Forever?” I asked.
“Forever,” he promised.
“What if something happened to me?”
“Even then. But nothing will. I won’t allow it,” he said, as he hugged me tight.
“Good,” I replied.
He meant what he said, but the tone I heard in response reminded me that the only way to ensure it, was if he stuck with me every second of every day, for the rest of our lives. He felt enough pressure already, and I didn’t want to add to that. I changed the subject.
“It looks like the sun’s going to shine after all,” I commented, as bright rays of warmth streamed through the windows, and across the floor.
“So it does,” Miles followed my gaze.
“Do you suppose they’ve finished searching?” I wondered.
“We should be able to determine that easily enough,” Miles replied, and I led the way to the windows, and a bird’s eye view of the grounds.
“I don’t see anyone,” I remarked. “Maybe they’re all on an extended tea break.”
“Unless law enforcement is finished with their search, the police would still be out there, regardless. Although it’s possible they’ve moved to the front. Either way, it looks like we have the rose garden to ourselves,” Miles replied. “We have about an hour before sunset. Would you care for a walk?”
“Really?” I considered that, as I stared down at the roses.
“We needn’t pass by the scene of either crime,” Miles pointed out. “I would like to have another look at the roses themselves, and see if they’re labeled. Not to ruin your anticipation, but I’m curious to know what comes from the seeds the intruder was intent on stealing.”
“Was it the seeds to Cait in particular he was after, or would any of Finn’s seeds garner the same effort?” I wondered.
“If we locate a rose bush labeled Cait, we may find ourselves one step closer to our answer,” Miles replied.
“Then I propose we proceed to the garden via the east wing, with a brief stop at room eleven,” I suggested.
“That’s easily enough arranged,” Miles agreed.
The hall was silent as we stepped outside our door, and Miles locked it behind us. If the manor’s other guests were in their rooms, they were awfully quiet, or else the rooms themselves were remarkably soundproof.
We saw no one on our way to the main staircase. In the entry down below, one of the solemn guys stood solemnly, waiting for someone to come or go.
Since we knew Lady Carlisle told the servants the east wing was off-limits until further notice, we also knew any solemn guy worth his salt would be bound to inform us, then inform on us, should he see us entering therein. We proceeded with caution, and quietly crossed the landing.
Whether the solemn guy was bored out of his mind, lost in thought, asleep, or pretending to be, we reached the arched entrance to the east wing and entered, leaving no one the wiser
Miles squeezed my hand and nodded to the left, at the door labeled eleven. With
a soft click and a turn of the knob it opened, and we slipped inside. The door quietly latched behind us, and a bright beam of light shone forth from Miles’ phone.
“It doesn’t smell musty like I’d expect it to if there was an issue with mold,” I remarked, as I watched the light pan in a slow circle around the large space. It was very similar to the room intended for us, aside from the difference in wallpaper and furnishings.
“You’re right, it doesn’t,” Miles replied. “If we find the mold Marge spoke of, then you can thank me. Inhaling the stuff can be incredibly dangerous, and I see no reason to do so.”
“Your superpowers are super cool,” I said proudly.
“I’m glad you think so,” Miles smiled. “If there is mold, it… might be right there.”
“No way,” I said in horror, as the light from his phone paused beside the bed and traveled upward, following the torn paper and gouged wall, the inside of which was black with mold.
“The pipe fittings are encrusted with water deposits,” Miles remarked, as we moved closer.
“Is there any way that could be accidental?” I questioned, as we moved to the bathroom. Here too, the wall was torn away in places, revealing black mold and encrusted pipe fittings.
“It’s remarkably consistent, if it is,” Miles replied. “Let’s have a look at the room next door.”
We found the same torn walls, black mold, and hard water deposits encircling the pipe joints there, and across the hall. We continued from room to room, as did the torn walls, mold, and signs of leaking joints. Finally, the amount of mold diminished, and then only encrusted joints were found. Soon after, the walls were left intact.
“Chances are, the rest of the rooms are on their way to exhibiting the same damage,” Miles remarked, as we left the east wing, and continued on our way to the garden.
“How on earth did all of that get past inspection?” I wondered. “They do require inspections here, don’t they?”
“I don’t know for certain, but I can’t imagine they wouldn’t,” Miles replied. “Otherwise… something like this, might happen.”
“How awful it is,” I lamented. “What a mess! No wonder Lady Carlisle’s been distracted since the day we got here. Although she wasn’t too preoccupied to arrange her son’s marriage, and crush Ashley’s dreams of a happily ever after, with him. It really is for the best, though. Lady Carlisle didn’t mean to do Ashley any favors, but it was the wake-up call she needed, to get her priorities back on track. How hard will it be to fix the damage?”
“Are we talking about the rooms again, or something else?” Miles questioned.
“The rooms,” I replied. “All that mold, and will all the pipes need replaced, too?”
“I’d personally be unwilling to trust any part of a project done as poorly as that,” Miles said.
“So what are we looking at, gross incompetence, or the damage was intentional?” I pondered.
“Either that, or the material used to seal the pipes is substandard. Perhaps it held during inspections—which surely are required—then over time, the pressure of the water resulted in leaks slow enough to remain undetected until now, but which created a lot of damage in the meantime. There’s more than pipe fittings and sections of wall to replace, and mold to contend with. Did you see the support beams? They were eaten away in places, by dry rot.”
“Ew. That sounds bad,” I said.
“It is,” Miles replied. “It’s also possible the damage extends outward, upward, and to the rooms underneath, on the ground floor. I don’t envy the Carlisles what it will cost to repair, or the job of finding a reputable contractor to handle it. They were already burned, once.”
“What a mess,” I shook my head. “But the water’s off now, and the damage done. I’d be itching to fix it if I was them, but they’ve got lots of room. Why not do like before, close off the wing, and do the repairs a little at a time?”
“The longer they wait, the worse the problem will get,” Miles replied. “Dry rot is like a cancer. It makes no difference that the water’s been turned off. It will continue to spread throughout the manor, and ultimately rot it away from within.”
“How awful!” I exclaimed. “If Gerald Abernathy’s company was responsible for the incredibly poor work that was done, then Lady Carlisle must have chewed him out for it. That might explain why he left in a huff. But based on how angry he looked, I don’t think he had any idea the work was being done so poorly. Maybe he felt wrongly accused.”
“He might also have felt fear,” Miles replied. “Even if his company is well insured, at the very best, this is a case of severe negligence. No insurance company will pay under those circumstances. Lady Carlisle would sue, and he’d be responsible for the cost to repair. There aren’t many who could afford it, and I don’t imagine he’s one of them.”
“She’d get all she could out of him, but then she’d be stuck paying for whatever was left,” I understood.
“Either that, or let the manor slowly rot past the point of no return,” Miles added.
“I am so glad we have our own companies to do the work, when we need it!” I exclaimed.
“We know they’re competent, and conscientious,” Miles agreed.
“Even if we didn’t, and even if they weren’t, we could afford to get it fixed,” I remarked. “But what about the Carlisles? Can they?”
“All I can make is an educated guess, so I’d say… maybe,” he replied, and I laughed.
“Maybe, is your educated guess?”
“I’m afraid that’s the best I can do,” Miles smiled at my amusement. “We know the Carlisles own the manor, and with the income received through their investments, they manage the care and upkeep of the grounds, employ a number of staff, and foot the bill for the charity ball each year. The east wing project is a lofty endeavor. The Carlisles wouldn’t undertake it if they didn’t feel they could afford to. Short of offering paid lodging, which Ashley has been hesitant to suggest, there’s no return to be had on that investment. They appear wealthy, and they probably are. But are they that wealthy? Edmund spoke of the expenses associated with upkeep on the manor as if it’s an ongoing concern. He commented that business ownership, if done right, seems more likely to return a profit than investing. Rather than complete the east wing project in a timely manner, it’s been plodding along for at least a couple of years. That’s more likely to do with the need to budget and stretch out the expense, than it is an unmotivated contractor. I’ve no doubt Lady Carlisle would make short work of one.”
“Do you suppose she made short work of Gerald Abernathy?” I wondered, and not for the first time.
“All you’ll need is a glimpse of her, and we’ll know by the lack of darkness if it wasn’t,” Miles replied. “We saw her in the hall before the officers left. Unless Abernathy died beforehand and was later moved to the garden, he was killed some time after that.”
“You’re right, I saw no darkness then,” I considered. “That indicates it wasn’t premeditated, if she is responsible. Not by much, anyway.”
“Good point,” Miles said.
We reached the staircase at the end of the east wing and followed it to the ground floor, then located an unmanned side door, and exited the manor. The lock didn’t slow us down any. It wouldn’t hinder our eventual return, either!
“If the roses are labeled, where would we most likely find one?” I puzzled, as we followed the path to the nearest bush. Its lush golden buds glowed softly in the light of the western sun, which would set a bit earlier for us than it would the rest of the Isle of Camden, since the manor and its grounds resided in a natural hollow.
“Look for a ground plaque, or a label somewhere on the trunk,” Miles replied, as he pretended to move aside the branches his abilities so neatly parted.
“I don’t see either one,” I reported.
“Although this is label-free, I’m not willing to give up just yet,” Miles said. “The hybrids may be another matter. In the interests of saving ti
me, let’s move on to one we don’t recognize.”
“Agreed,” I approved. As we followed the path through the garden, my eyebrows knit in concentration. “I don’t see anything that falls in that category. It seems like we should have, by now.”
“It does… When we were on this path just yesterday, I thought we saw several by this point.”
“Well we do know where to find one of them, for sure,” I considered. “Remember the rose bush I was admiring when you told me the Bannerman women had a history of creating hybrids? The buds were a deep pink, on long stems. It was one of his.”
“Then by all means, let’s find it,” Miles replied. “I believe it’s this way.”
We followed the meandering path first one way, then another, until I was thoroughly confused.
“It should be here,” Miles remarked, as he took in our surroundings. “Or has my sense of direction failed me?”
“No, it should be here!” I realized with a shock of confusion. “That bench, the fountain through there, that hideous gargoyle looking down… it should be here. Next to the Peace rose. But it isn’t.”
We stared down at the empty space at our feet.
“It should be here,” I declared again.
“It should,” Miles concurred. “Yet it isn’t.”
He knelt, and the mulch slowly swept aside.
“Check it out,” he pointed.
“What…” I said in alarm, for though there was no longer a lovely bush covered in pink buds growing there… the stump cut off at the roots, marked the spot where it stood just the day before. “Okay, so… what on earth is going on? The young hybrids are gone, the seeds are gone, so is Finn’s record book, and now—this! Why? Those gorgeous roses, and—Why would anyone want to destroy what he worked so hard to create?”
I felt like crying. Miles shook his head and sighed as he stood, then wrapped his arm around my shoulders.
“I think you know the most obvious answer to that,” he said gently. I hesitated, then nodded.
“Someone doesn’t want proof of Finn’s work to prevent them from marketing it as their own,” I said with difficulty. “So they’re intent on destroying it.”
Ashes of Roses Page 29