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

by Sara Rosett

  Quimby said, “She remembered the façade that he presented when he worked in London, the con man. He’d managed to hide his identity for years. Perhaps he wouldn’t have resorted to murder three years ago, but now…well, let’s just say that three years of watching your back every moment changes a person. He had no real contacts here. It’s my understanding that he isolated himself from the community, only occasionally participating in the bike races.”

  “And helping with the wall restoration project,” I said slowly.

  Quimby frowned. “What project?”

  I explained about how the historical preservation society had rebuilt the wall along the path. “I was with Beatrice when she personally thanked him for his help and tried to get him involved with another project, but he wasn’t interested. At the time I didn’t think anything about it, but now, knowing what we know, it does seem odd.” A thought flitted through my mind—something peripherally related to our conversation—but before I could grasp it, it was gone. I wasn’t exactly at my sharpest. I was tired and drained now that the adrenaline was out of my system. I realized that Quimby had gone on to another topic and dragged my mind back to what he was saying.

  “…need tests to confirm it, but the gun Lyster was carrying matches the type of bullets fired at you yesterday.”

  I blinked. “But why? Why would he shoot at me? I was completely wrong in who I thought was the murderer. I didn’t even suspect him. And I only figured out about Amy being Lillian earlier today.”

  Quimby opened a file and flicked through some papers. “You came in yesterday afternoon to sign your statement about seeing Lillian on the path behind the cottages.”

  “Yes.” That seemed like it had been several days ago.

  Quimby switched to another paper. “Harry Lyster was here at the same time, giving his statement about seeing Rafe at the pub.”

  “Oh, that’s right. He was at the table near the door.”

  “And did you mention that you had seen the woman on the path behind the cottages?”

  “Yes, I think I did when I first came in.”

  “He must have overheard and assumed that there was a possibility you had seen him as well.”

  “But I didn’t see him.”

  “But he couldn’t be sure. He assumed that you were a threat to him. Slipping into and out of the woods during the filming the next day wouldn’t have been hard. All he had to do was wait until you were in view and take aim. Fortunately, he wasn’t a good shot.”

  “Lucky me,” I said weakly.

  Quimby stacked the papers and folded his hands on top. “We’ll be in touch once we have the final ballistic report, but I’m fairly confident of what the findings will be.”

  “Okay, thanks. I guess.” I shook my head and sighed. “It’s just a lot to take in…I’m still trying to wrap my mind around the mousy computer guy being a slick con man. I’ve had several hours to think about it, but it still is hard to grasp.”

  “The freelance computer programmer thing was completely bogus, a convenient cover for his solitary lifestyle.”

  “But the thing about hacking into the cell phone booster? Wouldn’t he have to have some computer abilities to do that?”

  “You’d be surprised what you can learn through YouTube videos. We’ll probably find that he accessed some hacking forum or found step-by-step instructions posted somewhere on the Internet. It will take a while to sort out how he did it, but he didn’t have any computer programming clients, any sort of accounts—receivable or payable—and he certainly didn’t pay anything to Revenue and Customs.”

  “Then how did he survive? What did he live on?”

  “Offshore accounts, it looks like. It will take time to dig into all his finances.” Quimby stood. “You look knackered. Let me get you a ride back to your cottage.”

  “Thanks.” I stood and followed him slowly down the hall, my mind spinning with everything we’d talked about. There was something slightly off. Something about Harry and the stone wall. Why would he do something so out of character? And there had been someone else…someone who’d acted in an unusual way. Earlier, when Quimby was talking, the comparison had flashed through my mind, but I hadn’t been quick enough to latch onto it.

  Quimby gestured to a chair along the wall and left me ruminating. He returned in a few minutes, a woman in uniform following him. “Ms. Sharp, PCSO Robertson will see you home.”

  “Rafe and Harry,” I said.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “That’s it. Rafe and Harry.” I stood up. “They both behaved in unusual ways over the last few days. That’s what bothered me. Rafe spent the afternoon in the library, but the librarian said he never came in or did research there. He acted uncharacteristically to create an alibi for himself so he wouldn’t be accused of arson. Harry helped the historical society rebuild the stone wall. He didn’t normally join in activities, and he made it clear to Beatrice that he didn’t want to do anything else with the historical society.”

  Quimby stared at me a moment, then said. “So what was his motivation?”

  “I don’t know, but why would he suddenly participate?”

  “Yes, it is out of character. I’ll have it checked out.” Quimby nodded to the woman standing by his side, and she pointed me toward the door. “This way. We’ll have you home in a jiffy.”

  We drove back to the cottage in silence. The rest of the cottages were dark as she rolled to a stop in front of my gate. “This is the one?”

  “Yes, it is. Thank you.”

  “Would you like me to come in, have a look around?”

  “No, that’s not—actually, yes, I would.”

  She stepped through the front door as soon as I unlocked it. I could hear her moving through the cottage. Windows glowed as she made her way upstairs. She returned to the front door. “All fine.”

  “Thanks. It’s been quite a day. Still feeling a little off kilter from everything that has happened and trying to process that a murderer lived just down the path behind the cottages.”

  “No worries,” she said. “I’ve seen it time and again. Just goes to show how hard it is to really know someone.”

  “Yes, it does,” I said, thinking of Alex as I closed the door.

  Chapter 20

  I CAME DOWN THE STAIRS as carefully as a very old woman late the next morning. Every inch of me ached, but a hot shower had helped, and I planned to down some pain medicine as soon as I polished off a bowl of cereal. Coffee helped tremendously, too. I’d opened my laptop and settled into a kitchen chair, prepared to purchase my return airfare, when there was a knock on the front door. I heaved myself out of my chair and hobbled creakily to the front window. The doors didn’t have peepholes, and I wasn’t about to open it without knowing who it was. I expected to see a police car parked in front of the cottage, but the lane was empty. I couldn’t see the front step.

  “Kate? Are you home?”

  It was Alex. I leaned against the wall for a moment, then trudged to the front door, but didn’t open it. “Yes, I’m home, but I don’t want to talk to you. You lied to me.”

  I thought he’d left, which should have been exactly what I wanted, but for some reason, the mental image of him walking away from my cottage didn’t give me a relieved feeling. After a few seconds, he said something, and I had to strain to hear him through the thick door.

  “…never lied to you. I promise you that.”

  Anger flared through me. “Didn’t lie to me? Alex, I’ve been inside your house.”

  “It’s not what you think, not what it looks like. Could we please not do this through a closed door?”

  Reluctantly, I opened the door a few inches.

  “Hey,” he said, his face somber.

  “Hey.” I should have left the door closed. His dark eyes had shadows under them and reminded me of Slink’s soulful, pleading gaze.

  “I know you’ve been through a lot—I’m glad you’re okay, by the way—you are okay, aren’t you?”

&nbs
p; “I’m getting a little preview of what it will be like to be in my nineties, I think, but I should be back to normal in a few days…or maybe weeks.”

  “Oh. Sorry to hear that.”

  “Thanks. Sorry about your car.”

  “Don’t worry about that. It was just a car.”

  I looked over his shoulder, away from his sympathetic face. “You’re being way too nice. You loved that car.”

  He lifted one shoulder. “People are more important than cars. Besides, it was insured. It’ll keep Jeremy and his dad down at the garage in business for a couple of months.”

  “And Slink’s okay?”

  He whistled. I hadn’t noticed the long leash gripped in his hand. Slink had been sniffing around the flowerbeds, but at his whistle, she trotted over, leaping over the steps in one fluid motion. She stopped in front of me, her head positioned exactly by my hand. I sent him an exasperated look. “Right. Bringing the dog. Clever.” I ran my hand along the side of her head, caressing her ear and then down her side, which was expanding and contracting like a bellow. Alex had obviously taken her out and let her run. Slink fixed her adoring brown gaze on my face, her mouth open in a doggie grin as she panted. “You look completely recovered,” I said to her. Her long tail whipped from side to side, slapping against the back of Alex’s legs.

  “Shouldn’t you be at work?” I asked Alex.

  “Today’s Saturday. Scheduled day off.”

  “Right.” I gave Slink one last rub, then stood and crossed my arms. “I’m glad Slink is okay, and I truly am sorry about your car, but the fact remains that you live with a woman. You stood right here and kissed me like…like…” I felt my cheeks heat as I remembered that kiss.

  For a second, I thought I saw one corner of Alex’s mouth turn up, which revived that flare of anger I’d felt before. “And you think it’s funny,” I said, outraged. “You are not at all the person I thought you were.”

  I reached to slam the door, but Alex stepped closer, his face serious. “No, wait. I kissed you the way I did because I like you, and I wanted more.” He leaned closer, and I was enveloped in the scent of laundry detergent. My pulse thumped as he closed the distance. I was a mess. Intellectually, I was furious at him, but my body hadn’t gotten the memo. And what was wrong with me that the smell of laundry soap made my heartbeat go crazy?

  “But you’re right. There’s something about me that you don’t know. Will you let me show you something? I think it will explain everything, and if you’re still mad, well, I can accept that.”

  There was something in his tone that cut off my flat denial. He looked hopeful, scared, and resigned, all at the same time. “It will only take a second,” he said.

  I blew out a breath. “Okay.”

  “Great. It’s at my cottage.”

  I nodded. “Let me get my keys.” I went back to the kitchen, my internal dialogue screaming at me that I was an idiot. I wanted to whisper back. “Yes, I’m an idiot, but if I don’t go I’ll always wonder, what if I’d gone?”

  I returned to the door, pulled it shut, and locked it. “This better be good. My coffee’s getting cold.”

  “I can make you a cup. I do have a coffeemaker.” He didn’t sound quite like his normal relaxed self. Slink sensed the tension, too, and began bounding around us in long strides as we moved up the street.

  He opened his gate, and Slink dove through, brushing against my leg, and leaping lightly up to the front door. Alex unhooked her leash, then opened the door.

  I hesitated a second, remembering the fear that had spiked through me yesterday when I’d turned and seen Harry with a gun in his hand.

  The aroma of coffee and warm bread wafted through the air, and Slink trotted away into the kitchen, weaving around the laundry basket and a backpack in the hallway floor. The sound of Slink drinking from her bowl came from the kitchen. My flash of fear evaporated. It was just a normal cottage, a home, now. No desperate con men lurking around.

  Alex wound the leash into a tight circle. “You’re right. I do live with someone.”

  “A woman,” I said crisply. “I saw the pink bathrobe, and the flowered mug. And the hair scrunchy in your car. Don’t tell me you are fond of pink bathrobes and like mugs with daisies.”

  “No. Let me show you.”

  He went to the door beside the hallway bath, a door that had been closed when I had been in the house with Harry. He tilted it open to reveal a twin bed with a hot pink comforter and several frilly pillows, including one pillow shaped like a large initial “G.” Posters of boy bands covered the daisy print wallpaper, and a tangle of clothes in every color of the rainbow was heaped on a white rocking chair.

  “My sister,” Alex said. “She’s twelve.”

  I spun toward him, irritated and relieved. I punched his arm, perhaps a bit harder than I should have. “Are you serious? Your sister? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  That tiny half grin appeared again. “I should have known you wouldn’t react like other girls.”

  “How do other girls react?”

  “Either a frozen smile that doesn’t reach their eyes or a gushy ‘how sweet.’ In either case, that’s usually the last I see of them. Once they know, they’re usually out of here.” Alex looked down at the coiled leash as he moved it around in his hands an inch at a time. “I like you, Kate. I should have been upfront with you. I should have told you right away, but Grace is away at boarding school. She usually comes home on weekends, but this weekend she’s visiting a friend’s house.”

  “I see.”

  “She wasn’t home last month when you were here, and to be honest, I didn’t know if you were coming back, so I didn’t mention it. Then you did come back, and I knew I should tell you.” He sighed. “But I kept putting it off. Things were going so well. And then this whole thing with the fire and being a suspect…well, that made it worse. I felt I should sort that out first. I’m Grace’s guardian. I couldn’t let myself be carted off to prison, but you’ve taken care of that, exposing Hector—or Harry—whatever his name is.”

  “Why are you her guardian? You and…Grace…aren’t orphans, are you? Didn’t you say something about your dad a while back?”

  “Yes. Dad’s in the diplomatic service. He’s in South America right now. He and my mom divorced when I was seventeen. My mom got custody of me and Grace.” He scanned the room then said, “My mom felt it was quite a triumph at the time, a win over my dad. But she isn’t what you’d call the motherly type.”

  “Hmm…I’m familiar.”

  “She’s in Switzerland right now. I think. Last I heard, that’s where she was. Grace was having some issues last year. She needed a change of scene, so I worked out the guardianship thing with my mom and moved Grace here to Nether Woodsmoor. It’s turned out all right. She’s settled down and seems to be doing fine now. I’m close enough that Grace can come home on the weekends.”

  “But it’s put a cramp in your love life.”

  “Yeah.” He put the leash down on the hall table on a lopsided stack of mail. “I’m sorry, Kate. I should have told you, but it was one of those things that the longer it went on, the harder it was to bring up.”

  I studied him for a moment, then said, “Do you have any other skeletons in your closet? You’re not using an assumed identity and living on money scammed off innocent people? Anything like that?”

  “No. Nothing so glamorous. Just one slightly emotional almost-teenager in my life.”

  I wasn’t quite sure what I was signing up for, but I said, “Okay. I can live with that. Now, you said something about coffee?”

  “Why didn’t you mention Alex had a sister?” I asked Louise.

  Louise shook her head. “That’s for him to tell.”

  Alex and I had lingered over that cup of coffee, talking at his kitchen table until nearly noon, then decided to walk down to the pub for lunch. Alex had gone to speak to a few of the bike riders who were gathered at the bar.

  Louise removed our empty plates as I sai
d, “I just can’t believe it didn’t come up in passing. Not once?”

  Louise shrugged. “Well, it’s a given here. Grace arrives for a few days and then she’s off again.”

  Louise propped her tray on her hip and leaned against the high table. “But now this kerfuffle about this Hector/Harry chap. Can you believe it? I want all the details.”

  “Yes, everyone does.” The word was out that I’d been part of Harry’s escape plan, which was all anyone seemed to be talking about. “But I think I’ll have to tell you later,” I said, spotting Quimby approaching the table as Alex returned.

  Alex looked wary, but Quimby only nodded to him and turned to me.

  “Ms. Sharp. Just a quick word. Can you come to the church hall today to finalize your statement?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Good. Good. See Sergeant Olney. Oh, and you’ll be interested in this, I’m sure. The forensics team took apart the stone wall that Lyster helped repair. They were quite excited to find a stone slightly smaller than a man’s hand with traces of blood on it. I think we have our murder weapon, Ms. Sharp, which, if we can lift any trace of Lyster’s DNA from it will go a long way to insuring he serves time for the murder as well as the fraud. He was trying to be clever and hide it in plain sight. Thanks for sharing the tip with me and not tearing apart the wall on your own.”

  Was there a bit of reproach in his tone? If there was, I ignored it. “Well, thank you for letting me know. And Rafe?”

  “He’s already posted on his blog about how he was nearly taken in by a scam.”

  “So he’s going to get away with it?”

  “Oh no. The fraud concerning the letters, that’s difficult to prove, but our investigation into the fire and vandalism continues. Mr. Farraday will have to answer for that and his academic career is over, I understand.” Quimby looked at his watch. “Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he turned slightly away, then checked his movement. “After you sign your statement, you are free to leave for America at any time. Good-bye Ms. Sharp.”

  Alex watched until Quimby was seated at the bar before he took his seat again.