Death in the English Countryside

by Sara Rosett

  I knew the right thing to do was leave the camera exactly where it was and call Quimby.

  I sat there for a few seconds, chewing the inside of my lip. The ‘new stuff’ that Mr. O’Leery was waiting for could be sitting in my lap. If I called Quimby, he’d whisk the camera away, and it would go into evidence. I couldn’t see Quimby immediately handing over copies of the photos to me. It might be years before we got the images back.

  Of course, with Kevin gone, I didn’t know if Premier Locations could hang onto the P & P job. I didn’t even know if Premier Locations would exist in a few days or weeks, but if we were able to somehow go on, we’d need the photographs…if they were on the memory card.

  And if there was anything on the memory card, it might show me what had happened to Kevin. It was a long shot, but…

  I’d already touched the outside of the box, so I moved it to the bed, then I went to find my tweezers. I returned from the bathroom and used the tweezers to grip the strap. As I lifted it up, the weight of the camera caused the strap to unfold. I lowered the camera onto the bed with the memory card compartment facing me.

  I blew out a calming breath, then gently used the chintz duvet to hold the camera steady with one hand while I pushed the tweezers against the button that held the compartment containing the memory card. The button slid up, I transferred the pressure to the right, and the compartment door popped open. Using the tweezers, I swung the door open, then gripped the memory card, which slid out smoothly. I had to work a bit to juggle the memory card into the card reader attached to my computer, but I managed to get it plugged into the slot without dropping it or touching it with my fingers.

  The room phone rang, and I jumped guiltily. My first completely irrational thought was that it was Quimby calling, but I told myself not to be paranoid and answered it.

  A deep voice came over the line. “Ms. Sharp? This is Henry. You left your phone on the table. If you’ll be in your room for a few minutes, I’ll run it up to you.”

  “Yes, I’ll be here. Thanks.”

  I breathed deeply to slow my racing heart, then selected the drive on my computer and sat back as images downloaded, flashing across the screen, each one showing for only a second or two, creating a blur of quaint English country images, stately homes, and occasionally a shot of a person. The images were moving too quickly for me to distinguish much about them, but at this point, I was relieved there were images to download—that I hadn’t tampered with evidence for no reason.

  A knock sounded, and I opened the door, expecting Henry. Alex stood there, my phone in one hand, the other gripping a to-go cup of coffee. He had another lidded coffee cup tucked into the crook of one arm. I had a second of déjà vu. Today he wore a steel-colored sweater instead of a denim shirt, but he had on the same combat boots, jeans, and leather jacket, and his backpack was again draped on one shoulder. Had it only been a day since he’d stood in that same place?

  He held out the phone. “Yours, I believe?”

  “Yes, thanks.” I fought my instinct to narrow the opening of the door and block Alex’s view of the room. The computer was on the twin bed closest to the door, the screen positioned so that Alex would be able to see if he glanced inside the room.

  He juggled the coffees then handed me one. “Henry was on his way up with your phone, but I told him I’d bring it since I was coming here anyway—” he broke off, a frown crinkling his forehead as he glanced over my shoulder. “Hey, isn’t that Kevin’s camera? And, oh, you’re looking at the photos.”

  So much for keeping everything to myself. I opened the door wider and drew him in. “Yes. The camera came in that box. Arrived for me yesterday. No, don’t touch it—it’s evidence.”

  Alex raised his eyebrows. “Evidence?”

  “In the investigation.”

  His eyebrows went up another notch.

  I waved him to the chair by the window. “You haven’t heard? I figured in a village this small, the news would be out in moments.”

  “Normally, it is, but I was busy this morning. Haven’t talked to anyone. What happened?”

  “A detective—or you call them inspectors here, right?” I asked, thinking of the Agatha Christie books I’d read. Alex nodded, and I continued. “Inspector Quimby was waiting for me downstairs this morning. He wouldn’t tell me much, only that Kevin’s death wasn’t an accident, but he had a ton of questions.”

  “That’s…well, that’s going to shake things up around here. They must suspect very strongly it was…” his voice trailed off.

  My stomach clenched, but I steadied myself, taking a deep breath and blowing it out again before finishing his sentence. “Murder, yes. He didn’t use that term, but what else could it be if it wasn’t an accident?”

  “Are you okay?” Alex was staring at me with that intense concentration that unnerved me. “Have you had something to eat today?”

  “Yes, I ate.”

  Alex sipped his coffee, but kept his gaze on me. I perched on the edge of the bed. “Don’t worry, I’m okay. It was…unsettling…once I heard from Quimby. When I realized that he suspected Kevin had been…murdered, I couldn’t help wondering how recently had it happened? What if he went in the water while I was doing a pub-crawl, looking for him? Would it have made a difference if Marci and I had called the police the instant we realized something was wrong?” I rubbed my hand across my forehead. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. I usually have a better filter.”

  Alex put his coffee down and leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. “There’s one thing I know—you can destroy yourself playing the what-if game.”

  His tone had such intensity that I wondered what had happened to him. What “what-if” had he struggled with? He cleared his throat and transferred his gaze to the camera, then he glanced at Kevin’s suitcase and go-bag stacked neatly along the wall. “So…his camera? It wasn’t in his gear?”

  “No. Doug said this box arrived late yesterday. I opened it, and when I saw it was Kevin’s camera—well, I debated for about five seconds about handing it over to Quimby, but I decided I had to see if there were any photos on it. There were.” I clicked a button on my laptop, and a grid of tiny thumbnails appeared.

  Alex moved over and kneeled on the carpet in front of the computer as I went to the top of the list.

  “Let’s go slow,” I said, “and look at each one carefully.”

  “Right. This one is Parkview Hall,” he said. “Yes, these are the ones he took the second day. Everyone agreed it was perfect for Pemberly.” The first photos were of the exterior of the house, capturing the grand home from various angles. Alex paused over a photo of Beatrice as she strode across the grounds, her dogs at her feet, golden Parkview Hall in the background.

  A wave of sadness swept over me as I looked at the picture. “Kevin always liked to get a few shots of the people associated with the location. He told me it was because he was terrible with names, but that was just a cover. He was as interested in the people as he was the places. He especially liked it when he could get the two in the same shot, like this one with Parkview Hall.”

  “It’s a nice one of Lady Stone.”

  “Lady Stone?” I asked.

  “Yes. Sir Harold is a baronet. One of the oldest families in the area.”

  “She didn’t say anything.”

  “No, she wouldn’t. Not one to stand on ceremony is our Beatrice. Doesn’t really want anyone to call her Lady Beatrice, in fact.”

  “That means a baronet served me tea. Oh my gosh. Should I have curtsied or something?”

  “Nah, you and I, we’re exempt. Americans. Fought a revolution, so we didn’t have to, you know.” I must have still looked stricken because Alex patted my arm, which sent a little shiver through me. “Don’t worry. Beatrice hates pomp and circumstance.” Did shock have aftereffects? Surely that was the reason for the sensation that sparked through me? Whatever was going on with me, it didn’t seem to affect Alex at all.

&n
bsp; He refocused on the laptop, and paged down a few lines. “Here’s a good shot of Grove Cottage.”

  Before I could examine the next group of photos, the room phone rang. It was Doug informing me that the inspector was back, and wanted to speak with Alex. “I know he went up to your room a little while ago. Is he still with you?”

  “Yes, I’ll send him down.”

  I hung up and turned to Alex. “Your turn with the inspector.”

  ***

  We didn’t look at the rest of the photos. Since Quimby was back, I needed to hand off the camera to him, as well as Kevin’s other things, and that meant I had to get the memory card back inside the camera.

  Alex went down to speak to Quimby, and I set about saving the photos to my hard drive as well as cloud storage. Then I carefully returned the memory card to the camera. Getting the compartment door closed with the tweezers was considerably more difficult than getting it open had been, but I managed to do it without directly touching the camera. I replaced it in the box, then quickly went through Kevin’s suitcase and go-bag to make sure there wasn’t anything that could possibly be related to his death, but again, it was a normal suitcase and the go-bag didn’t have anything special tucked away in a secret compartment.

  I squared my shoulders and dialed the front desk, asking if Doug could help me carry some bags downstairs. I could have carried them myself—Lord knows, I’d schlepped my bags around enough that I could have gotten Kevin’s bag downstairs on my own, but I wanted to ask Doug a few things.

  As he slung the go-bag over one shoulder and gripped the suitcase handle, I carefully picked up the box, trying not to deposit any more fingerprints on it than I had already unintentionally left. “In the lobby, you said?” Doug asked.

  “Yes, I’m sure the police will want to look at them.” I followed him into the hall, shutting the door to my room firmly behind me. “About this box, you said it arrived last night?”

  Doug moved delicately down the stairs, holding the suitcase so that it didn’t bump the wall. “Yes. I went up to show a couple to their room, and when I came back down it was on the counter.”

  “Was anyone else on duty at the front desk then?”

  “No, Henry and Tara were busy with the dinner crowd.”

  We arrived in the lobby area, and I examined the ceiling, but it was bare except for heavy wooden beams spaced along the whitewashed ceiling. “I don’t suppose you have any cameras or monitoring in here, do you?”

  He placed the bags in front of the counter and looked up, surprised. “No. No need. We’re a family operation, except for the maids who come in daily to do the rooms, but they don’t work behind the counter.”

  “I see.” I propped the box on top of the suitcase.

  “No need to worry. You’re safe as houses here in Nether Woodsmoor. No one has any trouble here.”

  “Except for Kevin,” I murmured more to myself than to Doug, but he heard me.

  “Yes, terrible business, that. But he wasn’t from around here. His trouble must have followed him. It couldn’t be anything to do with us here.”

  Steps sounded on the hardwood, and Quimby and Alex turned the corner from the restaurant, stepping into the lobby area. Quimby was handing over his business card and telling Alex to call him if anything else came to mind. The two men halted at the counter.

  I pointed to the bags. “I had these brought down. They were Kevin’s. I figured you’d want to have a look. Doug handed them off to me when I arrived. He’d held them here after Kevin checked out. It didn’t occur to me until after you’d left this morning that you’d want them.”

  “Indeed,” Quimby murmured, his gaze shifting from the bags to Doug, who had stepped behind the counter.

  “I kept them here,” Doug said. “Didn’t know what to do with them, but then I got the message Ms. Sharp was arriving and would take charge of them. I had no idea he’d done a runner.”

  Quimby looked back at me. “You’ve gone through them?”

  “Yes, as soon as I arrived. I’d hoped there would be something to indicate where he was, but I didn’t find anything. His laptop is password protected. His camera wasn’t with his things. It arrived yesterday in that box. I opened it this morning after Doug gave it to me.”

  Doug explained how the box had appeared on the counter the evening before when the desk was unattended. Quimby took out a pen, opened a flap, and peered inside the box. “You’ve touched it, I suppose?”

  “Only the outside of the box before I realized what was in it.” I stopped there, leaving out the tweezer-assisted memory card extraction. I wondered if the police had a way to see if data had been downloaded from a memory card? I hoped not. If they somehow discovered I’d downloaded the photos, I’d have to admit to giving in to my curiosity, but I wasn’t about to mention it now. He must have used the pen to press the camera’s power button because I heard the familiar whirr and click. “Doesn’t appear to have been in the water.” He turned off the power and replaced his pen in his pocket. “When you first went through Mr. Dunn’s belongings did you think it strange that the camera wasn’t there?”

  “Not really. Kevin usually took it with him in case he ran across something he wanted to photograph. I assumed he had it with him.”

  Quimby said he’d have his sergeant pick up the bags. “If I might have another word with you two.” His gaze pinged between Alex and me. “Perhaps outside?”

  The three of us moved to the little courtyard area, which was empty. Quimby said, “I want you both to understand the seriousness of this situation. A man is dead. It is of utmost importance that you share fully any association you have.”

  Alex and I shared a confused glance. “What are you hinting at?” I asked.

  Quimby looked at the second story of the inn to my room’s window. “You say, Ms. Sharp, that you arrived here on Tuesday and met Mr. Norcutt the following morning, but you had no acquaintance with him before that, yet you spent the whole day yesterday in his company. Doug Owens informs me that you both spent considerable time in Ms. Sharp’s room together. In fact, that is where you were this morning, Mr. Norcutt, instead of at your home office. Perhaps I should have phrased it differently and asked what your relationship is?”

  I blinked, stunned at what he was insinuating. Here I had been worrying about leaving out the detail about downloading the photos, but Quimby had jumped to the conclusion that Alex and I were involved.

  “Kate is a business associate,” Alex said, his words clipped. “It is common to spend time—days at a time—together in our line of work. Talk to Doug. He will tell you I did the same thing when Mr. Dunn, Mr. O’Leery, and the rest of the scouting group were here. We spent almost every moment together. As far as this morning, I came by to check on Kate. I will admit that I was concerned about her. Yesterday was a very traumatic day. Dealing with death generally is difficult, at least for those of us who don’t encounter it every day.”

  Quimby replied in his same bland tone, “I see.” He looked at me, waiting for my reply.

  “Of course, what Alex says is true. I met Alex the day after I arrived. I told him that Kevin had disappeared, and Alex agreed to help me look for him.”

  “So you had no contact with Mr. Norcutt before arriving in England?” I opened my mouth to reply, but he held up a hand, warningly. “Think carefully. We can search email, phone records, and web chats.”

  “I don’t need to think carefully. I didn’t know him or communicate with him in any way—phone, text, email, whatever. In fact, I keep forgetting his last name. What are you insinuating? That somehow Alex and I knew each other before this week?”

  “You told me that one of the employees of Premier Locations might either take over the business or simply take the contacts and open their own business,” Quimby said. “Perhaps you enlisted a partner, say in another country, to help you, even convinced him to commit a crime when you were not in the country, giving you an alibi. In return, you promised to allow him to join you in your new
business venture.” Quimby looked toward Alex as he said, “Inquiries about your business indicate it is on rather precipitous ground, financially.”

  “Which is all the more reason for Alex and me to want Kevin alive,” I said. “Things are always unstable in the movie business, but Kevin knew Mr. O’Leery. They had a friendship that went back a long way; it was one of the reasons Mr. O’Leery picked Kevin as the location scout. There is no guarantee at all that Mr. O’Leery would use Alex or me—either together or separately—as a replacement for Kevin. But this whole line of thought is…crazy.” My heartbeat had been pounding steadily as my anger rose as I spoke. I couldn’t keep the tremor out of my voice. “First, you accuse me of having an affair with Kevin, which is absurd, and now you accuse me and Alex of the same thing and tack on a plot to kill Kevin, which is—well, it’s beyond absurd.”

  Quimby’s green eyes bored into me, and I felt as if he was mentally taking note of my agitated state: subject became quite incensed at the suggestion she had a hand in the victim’s death.

  “Motives for murder often seem inexplicable on the surface,” he said mildly. “In any investigation we always look to the people closest to the victim. And even you have to admit that the timing of Mr. Dunn’s disappearance and your arrival are interesting, as well as the fact that you have formed such a close working relationship with Mr. Norcutt in an extremely short acquaintance.”

  “But—”

  Quimby spoke over me. “Then we have the sudden appearance of Mr. Dunn’s camera, which you admit was in your possession. It conveniently appeared at a time when no one was able to observe the delivery. A time, which you admitted during our earlier interview, that you were in the inn. You told me Mr. Dunn’s habit of keeping his camera about his person, yet it was not in the car, or on his person, or in the river. It was here in your possession.” He tipped his head forward as he said, “Sorry to have offended you, but I must explore all avenues.” He returned to the inn.