by Sara Rosett
Quimby’s face shuttered, and I fell back against the chair. “His alibi checked out? He was at the library all afternoon?”
“I’m afraid I can’t share that type of information with you, Ms. Sharp.” He went into some spiel about thanking me for coming in, but I wasn’t listening.
“The library and the pub. Of course you’d verify it,” I murmured to myself. “And I was the one who saw him walk directly from the library to the pub.” Had my words somehow shifted the investigation from Rafe to Alex?
I leaned forward on the seat, interrupting Quimby’s rote speech. “You can’t seriously think that Alex had something to do with that woman’s death.”
Quimby gazed back at me, his face noncommittal. “Be careful, Ms. Sharp.”
“But Alex? He’s kind and helpful and considerate. He would never—”
Quimby stood and buttoned his suit coat. “Appearances can be deceiving, Ms. Sharp. I’ve met some very charming murderers.”
When I emerged from the doorway back into the central part of the church hall, I probably looked as stunned as Alex had. He was sitting on one of the chairs by the wall, bent over with his elbows on his knees and his hands on either side of his forehead.
I touched his shoulder. “Alex.”
He jerked upright, then sighed. “Oh, it’s you. I was afraid they might keep you back there a long time.”
I swallowed. “No, I told Quimby everything I could think of earlier today.”
He stood up. “I’m a suspect.” I could tell the shock of it had worn off a bit, but he still looked shaken.
“I know.” I sighed. “And I think it might be my fault.”
“What?”
I closed my eyes, trying to think were to start. When I opened them, I noticed the female investigator who had been talking to Hector suddenly became very busy with some papers on her table. “Not here.”
“Yeah, let’s get out of here while they’ll still let me leave,” Alex said with a wan smile.
He pushed the heavy door open, and I breathed in the scent of freshly cut grass. As the door thudded closed behind us, I asked, “Do we need to go back to Parkview Hall?”
“No, they’ll have wrapped for today.”
“Then let’s get some food. The White Duck?”
Alex nodded, and we didn’t speak again until we were ensconced at a table in the rear of the pub, our chairs pulled around next to each other so we could both have our backs to the wall, like two cornered animals setting up to defend themselves from attackers.
We’d placed our order at the bar on our way to the table, and now I took a sip of my water. I certainly didn’t need any caffeine to stay awake now. I was shocked into total alertness.
Alex had a pint in front of him, but he wasn’t drinking it, only staring into it. “I don’t understand what’s happened. All Quimby’s questions revolved around what I did last night. He obviously thinks I’m involved some way in that woman’s death, but I don’t see—I just don’t get it.”
I blew out a breath. “It’s because of what I saw and the timing. Did Quimby show you the sketch of the woman who died?”
“No, not a sketch. A photograph.” Alex ran his finger around the base of his mug. I could tell he was not paying that much attention to what I was saying, which was not like him at all. He was usually so attentive and observant.
“Oh, right,” I said. “Probably her driver’s license photo. I overheard one of the men talking to Quimby. Sounds like they’re pretty sure it was a woman named Amy Brown.”
“Yes, that was the name he asked me about, but I don’t know any Amy Brown.”
“Well, I didn’t know her, but I saw her.” He stopped staring at his mug and gave me his full attention. The force of his gaze, the intensity of his attention, was like having a spotlight turned on me.
“What? How could you?” Alex asked. “Quimby said she was from Manchester. You know people in Manchester?”
“No, but I saw her. She was on the path behind the cottages last night. I saw her after we’d seen the fire in the trash bin. As I was closing the gate—trying to close the gate, the latch wouldn’t work—I saw her walking from the village toward your cottage. We exchanged a glance, then I went inside.”
“And she was found dead in Rafe’s cottage…what? A little over an hour later?”
“Yes.” I took a sip of my water and went on, “I think you must have been one of the last people to see her alive.”
“But I didn’t see her.”
“Well, to be seen with her, then,” I amended miserably. “Alex, I’m sorry about this. If I hadn’t said something to Quimby today…”
Alex put a hand on my arm. “No. Don’t do that to yourself. You had to tell him what you saw. If she was on that path at the same time I was, of course they’re going to ask me about it, but what I don’t understand is why the intense questioning?” He shrugged and leaned back in the chair. “I don’t know—maybe I’m being paranoid. Maybe Quimby questions everyone like that. But I got the distinct feeling that I was at the top of his list of possible suspects.” He ran his hands through his hair. “And all because I ran back to the cottage during dinner.”
“You went back to the cottage?” I asked.
“I couldn’t remember if I’d closed Slink’s pet door. She’s learned she can jump the back wall, so I’ve been keeping it closed when I’m not home. I came home twice last week and found her sniffing around the back lane. And then with all the weird stuff going on in the neighborhood, I figured safe was better than sorry.” He shook his head. “But that puts me right there during the time she died. It must. If you saw her on the path around seven, she had to have died between seven and whatever time the fire started. I didn’t look at my watch after dinner, but it couldn’t have been later than eight or eight-fifteen when we heard the sirens.”
“Yes, I’m pretty sure that’s what the police think. Quimby was very interested in how long you were gone from the restaurant. Did you see anyone else?”
Alex pushed his untouched drink away. “That was Quimby’s next question, too. No, unfortunately, I didn’t see anyone else.” He shifted in his chair. “This may sound callous, but what I don’t understand is, why aren’t they interested in Rafe? She was found in his cottage—not mine. Did he know her? Who knows, maybe they’ve asked him the same things, too.”
“They have. Quimby was at Becca’s house this morning when I went to talk to Rafe about scouting locations for the interview. Becca didn’t want to talk to me right away, so she left me in the morning room, which was located not too far from where Quimby was asking Rafe questions.”
“You eavesdropped.”
“The windows were open,” I said defensively.
“I wasn’t criticizing. What did you hear?”
“Rafe says he didn’t know her and that he was in the Nether Woodsmoor library all afternoon then went directly to the pub. I actually saw him walk from the library to the pub while you were gone. I’m sorry. I really wish I hadn’t been so helpful, but I felt so bad for that poor woman. I had no idea that it would all circle back to you like this.”
“You couldn’t have known. And you did the right thing, telling them everything you knew.”
Louise moved through the tables and dropped off our food. I mostly pushed the lettuce in my salad around. I didn’t have much of an appetite, and I noticed that Alex only ate about half of his sandwich before he pushed his plate away.
Louise boxed up my unfinished salad for what she called “take away,” but Alex shook his head when she offered to do the same for him. We left the pub and headed back to the church where the MG was parked. The lights were still on in the church hall, but there were only a few cars left in the lot.
We climbed in the car, and Alex shifted the driver’s seat all the way to the back setting.
“Oh, did you know that seat is broken? It doesn’t completely lock out if you move it closer to the steering wheel.”
“No, I had no idea.”
“Yeah, I figured you always drove with it pushed all the way back.” I related how I’d discovered the issue in as light a way as I could since Alex was already stressed out. “Elise may be right. Driving may not be the best thing for me, just yet.”
“I’m sure if you can find a car with a seat that doesn’t fly backward unexpectedly you’ll do great. Sounds like you did fine even with the flying seat. Sorry about that. I had no idea. Another thing to add to the repair list. I think the MG keeps the garage in Nether Woodsmoor afloat.”
Alex turned the car at Cottage Lane. “You can just drop me here,” I said as he rolled to a stop in front of my cottage.
“Do you want me to check in with you in the morning—” he broke off and began looking around the console. “My phone. I didn’t even think about it again after that session with Quimby.” He reached down to pat around under the seat. “Ah.” He straightened, the phone in his hand. “It must have slipped down there this morning.” He checked the display and let out a low whistle. “I had no idea I was so popular.”
“What time do we start tomorrow?”
“Six. Want to ride with me?”
“Yes, please.”
“Okay. So I’ll see you at five-thirty.”
I opened the door, then paused before I got out. “I’m sure everything with the investigation will work out. These things linking you to Amy Brown, they’re all circumstantial. You were on the same path shortly before she died, and you went back to the cottage during that time. In the big scope of things, that’s nothing. I’m sure the police will turn up other connections. She’s got to have some reason for being in Nether Woodsmoor on a Tuesday afternoon, if she lived and worked in Manchester. I’m sure the police will find some other link and move on from you.”
“I hope you’re right.”
Chapter 10
RAIN WAS FORECAST FOR THURSDAY, and despite the sky over Nether Woodsmoor being clear in the early morning, a layer of gray clouds hovered on the western horizon. Elise had juggled the schedule and moved the day’s activities indoors to Coventry House.
I loved Coventry House. A three-storied, gabled home with ivy and mullioned windows, it was surrounded by a pleasant garden with graveled paths, evergreen shrubs, and low boxwoods. Inside, it had classic lines with wainscoting and symmetrical design in both the layout as well as in the placement of windows and other decorative elements such as bookcases and fireplaces. With the eclectic mix of classical furnishing tossed together with more modern pieces it really had felt like a family home—exactly what we’d wanted for Longbourn when we scouted for the feature film. But now that the film was off the table, the owner was still delighted with the idea of his home being used as a film location and was on-board for the documentary. Alex had told me during our ride to work this morning that the owner was away on a trip with his daughter to the south of France, and while I missed him, I hoped that he was enjoying his vacation.
Instead of playing the role of Longbourn, as Alex and I had originally envisioned, Coventry House was now slated to stand-in for Jane Austen’s home. The documentary was recreating scenes from Austen’s novels as well as scenes depicting her life. The interior of Coventry House was to play the part of Jane Austen’s childhood home, the Steventon rectory, which was torn down after Austen’s father retired and the family moved to Bath.
I hovered in the hallway outside the drawing room where the actress portraying our young Jane Austen was seated at a delicate desk near a window, scribbling in a notebook, pausing to look out the window occasionally. I hadn’t seen the room since the original scouting trip a month earlier. It now looked completely different. Every modern piece of furniture or decoration was gone, and the room had been transformed into a Regency-appropriate space with furniture with classical lines. This morning, the actors portraying Jane’s sister Cassandra as well as her brothers, had replicated scenes of the Austen family’s evenings. Austen often read her stories aloud to her family or participated in plays the whole family acted out.
During a break in filming, Melissa came over to me, carrying two cups. Today she had on a pair of worn jeans and an over-sized sweatshirt with the words Calm Down printed in a huge font. She held out one cup. “I figured you’d rather have coffee than tea. Was I right?”
“Oh, yes. Thanks.”
“It’s black.”
“Perfect.”
“Don’t thank me yet. I do have an ulterior motive. What’s this I hear about Alex being questioned by the police?”
Alex was at Parkview Hall this morning, supervising the transformation of the drawing room back to its normal state. He’d dropped me at Coventry House this morning and driven on to Parkview Hall.
“How do you know about that?” I sipped the coffee, which wasn’t gourmet by a long shot, but it was caffeine.
“Are you kidding? Film set. Incestuous, insular community. Everyone knows about it.”
“Of course. Yes, they did talk to Alex, but they talked to me too. Routine stuff,” I said in an effort to downplay any rumors that were circulating.
“Oh good. Felix is running around telling everyone that Alex is a prime suspect—says that he heard someone say that they saw Alex talking to this mysterious woman—or some such rubbish and that you saw the woman before she died.”
“Oh—I, ah—”
Melissa had been about to take a drink from her cup, but her hand stilled. “You’re not serious,” she said, correctly reading my fumbling reaction. “You saw her?”
I sighed. It didn’t seem like it would do any good to deny it now. “Yes, but only a glimpse of her on the path behind my cottage. That’s it.”
“Wow—a rumor that was actually true. Well, at least that means that the part about Alex has to be way off base,” she said, watching me closely.
I sighed and shook my head, deciding I couldn’t fool Melissa.
“No,” she said, amazement filling her voice. “They can’t think that Alex had anything to do with it? Alex? That’s crazy. He’s one of the nicest, sweetest guys around. There’s no way…”
“I agree,” I said, glad to know that someone else shared an opinion the opposite of Quimby’s.
“But why? Why would they think that about Alex?”
“He had the bad luck to go to his cottage during the critical time. Alone.”
“Oh, well, that’s nothing. They don’t have anyone else to hassle now, do they?” She patted my arm. “Don’t look so worried. He’ll be fine. The police will turn up some new leads, and they’ll forget all about him.” She turned and leaned a shoulder against the wall. “Did you see that hunky sergeant? I wouldn’t mind if he interviewed me,” she said with a waggle of her eyebrows.
My phone buzzed, and Melissa gave me a wave as I moved outside to take the call. I recognized Jeff’s number. He was working security. I’d met him Tuesday when he called me to help deal with a disgruntled neighbor during the Parkview Hall day of filming. “Yeah, Jeff. What’s up?”
“Got an issue at the back of the garden, a group of ramblers. They want to cut through the woods to Parkview Hall.”
“No, they can’t do that. Those woods are in view from the drawing room where we’re filming today. I’ll be right there.” I shrugged into my yellow raincoat, glad I’d made room for it in my suitcase, and pulled a local map from my tote bag. I’d picked up several maps from a display in the pub.
I went out the front door and around to the side of the house opposite from where they were filming then cut through the garden. I moved across the wide lawn that stretched to a gate with an arch of shrubbery over it. While I’d been inside during the morning, the clouds had slid in overhead and now the day was overcast, and a fine mist of drizzle filled the air. I slipped outside the gate and found Jeff blocking a group of about five hikers, who were bundled in waterproof jackets and sturdy shoes.
I approached the group. “I understand you want to get to Parkview Hall?”
A woman stepped forward, blinking as the drizz
le hit her eyes. “Ah, American. That explains it. You obviously don’t understand. You can’t stop us from walking that way, no matter what this burly chap here says. You can’t block these footpaths. They are rights-of-way, going back hundreds of years—”
“Yes, I understand that,” I interrupted her as she took a deep breath, preparing to launch into a lecture. “I love the footpaths, too. One of my favorite things about the countryside, but I’m afraid that today you can’t go down this one.” Dealing with people wasn’t exactly my strongest suit, but I’d learned long ago that jumping in and agreeing with someone usually put the brakes on their anger, at least temporarily.
I explained about the filming and the permits and the temporary nature of the closure, then I whipped out the map and said, “Let’s see if there’s another way to get to Parkview Hall that avoids this stretch of wood. You’re probably more familiar with reading these maps than I am…” I trailed off, and after a short internal struggle, she gave in to her desire to demonstrate her superior map-reading skills and bent over the paper with me. Within a few minutes, she’d found an alternate route, and they departed. They weren’t exactly happy with the situation, but I’d managed to smooth things over enough that they had moved on.
I made my way back across the wide lawn, circling around a huge oak tree with a rope swing. I was still twenty or thirty feet from the house when the drizzle increased to a light rain and began to patter and plop in big splotches onto my shoulders. I would be soaked before I reached the house. I cut sideways, closer to the towering tree to give me a little more cover. At the same moment I dodged under a low-hanging branch, a bee zipped by. That was weird. I didn’t know bees flew when it rained. I paused, my hand against the rough bark of the tree trunk as I pulled up the hood of my raincoat.
Another bee zipped through the air near my ear, then a bit of bark near my cheek exploded. Instinctively, I ducked, knowing that those weren’t bees. Bullets? No, it couldn’t be—
Another projectile whizzed through the air and more bark went flying. Yes, bullets, apparently.