Death in an English Cottage: Book Two in the Murder on Location Series

by Sara Rosett

  Alex narrowed his eyes at me. “How do you intend to do that?”

  “I’m going through all of Amy Brown’s social media accounts.” Alex looked relieved. “She’s got to have some connection with Nether Woodsmoor besides you,” I said. “People post a scary amount of information online. Some little tidbit might be the thing that gives Quimby a new trail to follow.”

  “Don’t you think the police are doing that?”

  “I’m sure it’s on their list, but it’s more than likely that they’re looking to see how she was connected to you.” His faced changed. The light seemed to seep out of him. “Sorry,” I said.

  “Don’t be. It’s probably a very good assessment of the situation.”

  “But we both know those inquiries will be a dead end. No, I’m looking for a connection to Rafe. It makes the most sense. She was found in his cottage, after all.”

  Alex crossed his arms and leaned against the handrail attached to the steps. “But then why leave her there to be discovered in the fire? That’s pretty stupid. He had to know her body would be found.”

  “But the fire was an accident. He had no idea firefighters would be tramping through his cottage. He left her there and went out to establish an alibi.”

  “But I thought he had a solid alibi.”

  “But how closely has Quimby checked it? Is it really possible that the librarians had an eye on him every minute of that afternoon? Couldn’t he have slipped out and back in? Is there a back door to the library? Or is there one to the pub?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “See,” I said triumphantly. “All good questions that I’m sure Quimby hasn’t pursued because he’s been so focused on you. All I need is something that ties Amy Brown to Rafe Farraday. That will force Quimby to look into him more deeply.”

  “I’m not convinced that is what would happen, but as long as you’re staying online and not accusing Rafe to his face, I’ll stay out of your way.”

  I flared an eyebrow. “That’s good because I’m doing it whether or not you approve.”

  “Yeah. I thought you’d say that.” He looked at his watch again. “Okay. You do…your research thing. I’ll go to work, but with the goal of getting you hired back.”

  “I think that’s a long shot.”

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  I was crunching my way through a bowl of cereal when there was another knock on the door. Good grief, couldn’t a girl have breakfast and a shower before being flooded with callers? Alex should be long gone by now. If he was knocking on my door instead of overseeing setup at this moment, Elise would probably fire him, too.

  Still holding my cereal bowl, I padded over to the front door. “Who’s there?” I had opened the door earlier because I recognized Alex’s voice, but I wasn’t about to unbolt it, not with everything that had happened over the last few days.

  “Hey, Kate. It’s me, Melissa.”

  Melissa? I muttered and slid back the bolt. “Hey,” I said as I opened the door.

  “I came by to see if you’re okay.”

  “There seems to be a lot of that going around. I’m fine. What brought this on?” Was everyone concerned with my well-being this morning? I mean, it was nice that people were worried about me, but I didn’t really want a ton of visitors dropping in on me all day.

  “I got a text from Mary that said you were banned from the production and no one should have any contact with you.”

  “So you ran right over?”

  “Yeah.” She grinned. “That’s me, a rebel at heart.”

  “Well, as you can see, I’m fine. Scruffy, but fine. Haven’t showered yet. You, on the other hand, look amazing. Want some coffee?” She’d gone from sweatshirt and jeans to the other end of the fashion spectrum with a white ruffled poet shirt, black slacks, and a pair of black stilettos. Her bangs were still fuchsia, but she’d brushed them to the side and tucked the rest of her blond hair back behind her ears.

  “Sure.” She followed me to the kitchen and accepted a mug of coffee.

  “I’m beginning to wonder about Mary. Does she really exist? I’ve never seen her, and now I guess I never will.”

  “Oh, she exists, but she’s not here. She’s a virtual assistant. She lives somewhere in America. New Jersey? New Mexico? Somewhere new, anyway.”

  I put my cereal bowl in the sink, topped off my mug, and waved her to the table. “Got a job interview today?”

  “No.” Her lace-trimmed sleeve flared and expanded as she brought her mug to her lips. “I like to mix it up. Keep things fresh. I’d get bored if I wore the same stuff every day.”

  I glanced down at my fitted white oxford shirt and jeans. “Not like me,” I said, thinking of my similar shirts in different hues hanging on the tiny closet rod upstairs. I had to admit that my wardrobe was pretty tame, compared to Melissa. Every once in a while, I changed things up with a linen tank or a casual long-sleeved knit shirt, but I certainly didn’t own a poet shirt or anything with fringe. “Sometimes I go crazy and wear stripes.”

  Melissa put down her mug. “You look great. You’ve got that classic, elegant style. Basic colors, clean lines. It suits you. Don’t get me started on fashion. I could natter on about it all day, but I can’t—”

  “Because you have a job to get to,” I finished for her. “Don’t worry. It’s okay. I’m not about to dissolve into tears because Elise fired me. I’m working on something else, a side project.”

  “Good. I’ll let you know if I hear of anyone looking for a location scout.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

  “Sure.” She took a last sip of her coffee and stood to put it in the sink. “We never did meet for that drink. We should do that, but I can’t tonight. I’m meeting Bill.”

  “Who’s Bill?”

  “The hot policeman.”

  “Sergeant Olney? Wow. What happened with the computer guy? Hector?”

  “I tried to chat him up at the pub the other night, and he was definitely not interested. Must be gay,” she said with a shrug. “Anyway, how about that drink? Maybe tomorrow at the pub, or do you want to come to thrilling Upper Benning?”

  “The pub would be great. And I should still be here.”

  “What?”

  “I may have to go back to California. Got to work, you know.”

  “Hmm. Alex will be disappointed.”

  “Yeah, me too. It’s not like I want to go.”

  “Well, maybe Elise will change her mind and hire you back.”

  “You’ve worked with her before?” I asked.

  “Yes, on loads of projects.”

  “Has she ever done that, hired someone back?”

  Melissa contemplated the ceiling for a moment. “No, never.”

  “I better start working my contact list.”

  “Good idea.”

  Chapter 14

  AFTER SHOWERING, I SPENT HALF the morning networking, searching for job openings or freelance work, then went back to searching Amy Brown’s social media. At eleven, I slapped my laptop closed and rotated my shoulders. I had nothing. Absolutely nothing. Amy Brown had no personal connections in Nether Woodsmoor. Sure, she came for the bike race, but that was the only mention of the village that I could find.

  I now knew she was sporty and enjoyed biking, swimming, and running. She liked pictures of cats, both cute and grumpy versions, took lots of selfies to show off her outfits, and had a passion for nail art—painting her fingernails with different colors or patterns to match what she was wearing or the season.

  I had wondered if what drew her to Nether Woodsmoor was a connection to Rafe Farraday or the Jane Austen letters—if she’d somehow discovered their existence, but as far as I could tell from the information she listed on social media, she didn’t have a special interest in English literature or any sort of advanced degree. I couldn’t find a mention of Rafe Farraday. I suppose that she could have been a student in his online class, but she never mentioned books at all, much less Jane Austen,
Pride and Prejudice, Mr. Darcy, or even Colin Firth.

  She listed a software company as her employer and her job title as social marketing specialist, but her posts from a few years ago about working the receptionist desk made it clear that she’d worked her way up to her current position.

  Before I’d dipped into her online life, she’d simply been a name, but now I was getting to know her, and the more I read about her, the sadder it made me.

  I slipped on my wedges and grabbed a black cardigan to go over my tank. Perhaps I needed to approach the problem from a different angle. Instead of digging into Amy Brown’s life and looking for a connection between her and Rafe, maybe the quickest way to turn the investigation away from Alex would be to focus on poking a few holes in Rafe’s alibi.

  It didn’t look like rain, but I brought an umbrella with me anyway. It was England in the spring, after all. It was a beautiful, clear day with a hint of a breeze. I was spooked after yesterday’s events and glanced up and down Cottage Lane before stepping outside. Everything looked completely normal, idyllic even.

  A woman was walking her dog, a corgi, along the lane, and down in the village, I could see a few cars moving along beside people walking into the shops. I swallowed and stepped outside, falling in a few paces behind the dog walker. I wasn’t going to stay holed up in my cottage out of fear of what might happen. If I lived that way, I might as well ask Quimby for a police escort to the airport and fly home now. Besides, I’d been alone in a deserted part of the grounds on Coventry House when the person had shot at me. I intended to stay within the village and always have someone around me.

  As I paced down the street and heard nothing except a few birds calling, I relaxed. The heavy rains must have been exactly what the gardens needed. Flowers in all shades expanded in the sunlight, creating bursts of color everywhere from the small cottage gardens to the window boxes along the high street. I passed the pub and went on until I reached the village library. The local newspaper didn’t have a searchable online database of articles, and I hoped the library would have back issues with more detailed news about the fire.

  I was the only patron in sight and went directly to the desk where a young woman looked up from stacking books on a cart. She was probably in her early twenties, had curly blond hair, an open, eager face, and a nametag reading CHRISTINA pinned to her short-sleeved sweater. Just the person I was looking for.

  “Can I help you?” she asked.

  “Hi, I’m looking for copies of your local paper,” I said, deciding to start with the research request before branching out into testing the solidity of Rafe’s alibi.

  “The Nether Woodsmoor Advisor, you mean?”

  “Yes, that’s the one.”

  “Current issues or past?”

  “The last week or so.”

  She took me to a section of shelves positioned around two upholstered chairs. “Here you are.” She pointed to a thin stack of newsprint. “I can help you find older issues, if you like.”

  I flicked through the stack, which contained a month’s worth of issues. “No, that won’t be necessary.” My big city-ness was showing. I’d forgotten how small Nether Woodsmoor was. Their paper was a weekly. The most current issue had come out the day before the fire, so I was out of luck there. And it looked as if most of the stories dealt with community events instead of hard news. I replaced the stack on the shelf. “I was looking for news about the fire, something with a local angle.”

  “We don’t have anything like that. The local paper is more a listing of events, things for sale, advertisements, that sort of thing. And we’re not big enough to make the news in the larger cities.” She crossed her arms and leaned a hip against one of the chairs. “So sad about the fire.”

  “Yes, it was. I heard the man whose cottage burned was here the afternoon it happened.”

  “Oh, he was. Came in to research his book. We didn’t have quite the range of materials he was looking for, but I was able to find him several books on Austen. So popular, Jane is.”

  “So you were here that day and saw him?”

  “Of course. We’re only open four days a week, so anytime we’re open, I’m here.”

  “And he was here all afternoon?”

  “Yes.”

  “He didn’t slip out to get a coffee or go for a quick walk?”

  “No.” She pointed to a row of tables near the non-fiction section. “He sat right there the whole time.”

  “I see. Thanks for your help.” I moved to the door, scanning the room. There was no back exit, and the restroom was near the front door, which was in direct sight of the checkout desk. The whole area was so small that even if Christina had been shelving books in another corner of the library she would still be able to see the tables and the front door. Rafe couldn’t have slipped out without her noticing, if she was telling the truth, and her helpful, anxious to please face looked so guileless that I thought she was being honest with me.

  “I’d hoped he would come again. He had so many questions and needed so much help that day that I was sure he’d be back,” she said almost wistfully. Library patronage was clearly on the low side, but I figured Rafe’s handsomeness probably had something to do with her hope he would return.

  “So he hasn’t come back?”

  “No. That was the one and only time he’s been in.” We reached the checkout desk. She plucked a brochure from a display. “Would you like a library card? We have a nice selection of popular fiction. Plenty of genres to choose from. Or, if you’re a non-fiction type, we have lots of guides to the area. Country walks, history of the region. It won’t take but a minute,” she said. “There’s no wait.”

  “Normally, yes, I’d get one. I love Jane Austen, but I may not be in town much longer.”

  She sighed. “We get that a lot. People just in for the day or weekend. Well, thanks for stopping in,” she said rather forlornly and went back to her rolling cart of books.

  I stepped outside the library. The day had been a complete bust as far as helping Alex to clear his name. I should check my email and see if anyone had replied to my messages with job leads. And I ought to look at the airfare again, make sure it hadn’t gone up. I had my laptop in my tote bag and could do all that at the pub, which had free Wi-Fi. As I was making my way there, an ancient mud-splattered Range Rover pulled into a parallel parking slot in front of the bakery. Beatrice’s faded brunette head emerged, and I darted across the street, calling her name.

  “Kate, delightful to see you. Oh, I’m so glad you weren’t hurt yesterday. How terribly frightening it must have been.”

  I should have known Beatrice would know about the shooting yesterday. She kept a close eye on everything in Nether Woodsmoor. “Yes, it was.”

  “How is the production going?” She asked as she pulled a list from the pocket of her oversized trench coat.

  “Progressing without me, I’m sure.”

  She’d been unfolding the piece of paper, but her hands stilled. “What?”

  “Elise fired me. Said I was endangering the production.”

  “Ridiculous.” Beatrice’s tone went frosty. “Shall I speak to her on your behalf?”

  “No. Please don’t. I mean, thank you for the offer, but if she doesn’t want me to work for her, I certainly don’t want to force myself back in.”

  “Yes, that would be a recipe for misery.”

  “I do have a favor to ask.” I explained about my situation and tentative plans to fly back to Southern California in a few days, then offered to do some freelance photography in exchange for a few more days in the cottage.

  “New professional photos for the website would be just the thing. It’s sadly in need of an update—oh, excuse me a moment.” She stepped off the sidewalk, directly into the path of a biker, forcing him to stop.

  “Mr. Lyons, I’ve been trying to catch you.”

  Under the helmet and sunglasses, I recognized Hector. He was fitted out in serious biking gear, spandex shirt and shorts, gloves, and
he even had a little mirror attached to his helmet so that he could see behind him. He clicked a button next to a digital readout attached to his handlebars—some kind of sport tracking device, I guessed—and gave Beatrice a minuscule smile. “Lady Stone and er—” he looked toward me. Obviously, he was as bad with names as I was.

  “Kate Sharp,” I said. “I’m staying in Honeysuckle Cottage.”

  “Right. Yes.”

  “Sorry to interrupt your ride, won’t take a moment,” Beatrice said. “Thank you for participating in the stone wall reconstruction. We so appreciate you taking an interest in the Historical Society. Our next project is an auction to raise funds to reroof the museum, and I think you would make a wonderful master of ceremonies.”

  It wasn’t really a question, more a command actually, but Hector took his time in replying. He flexed his hands, working his gloves down onto his fingers. “No, I couldn’t do that. That sort of thing isn’t for me. Sorry.” He pushed off, neatly gliding by Beatrice. “Got to get on.”

  She looked after him with a frown. “Hmm. I thought perhaps he was coming out of his shell, but it appears I was wrong. That was the first time he’s done anything in the village that wasn’t related to biking. So hard to get people interested. I’ve been trying to get him involved since he moved here a year ago. I guess rebuilding the wall was only an aberration.”

  “Perhaps he wanted to be involved in it because it was so near his property.”

  “Yes. Well, I will keep him in mind for any outdoor activities. I’m not giving up on him,” Beatrice said. “It’s important that newcomers integrate into the community. Otherwise, we’ll have two sets of villagers, those that live here year round and those who flit up from London for a holiday weekend, but aren’t really invested in the village.”

  I watched Hector disappear around a corner, his vivid blue shirt making him easily visible even from a distance. I wouldn’t want to be on any of Beatrice’s lists. I had a feeling once she set her mind to get you involved in something it would probably be easier to just give in and do it rather than fight it.