Death in the English Countryside

by Sara Rosett

  “Oh.”

  “Yes. So just be wary.”

  I didn’t want to be wary of Alex. “But surely it could have been someone else? What about Becca? She can’t be too fond of me.”

  “A woman like Becca would be hard to miss, even in a crowd.”

  “She could have been disguised, I suppose,” I said. “I know that’s reaching, but I don’t think Alex would…he just seems too kind to have done anything like that.”

  Quimby looked at me with a trace of pity in his gaze.

  “Doesn’t England have cameras everywhere, recording everything? Can’t you check those?”

  “Nether Woodsmoor is not London or Manchester. I will check, but I don’t think the camera network here is quite as extensive.”

  “And what would be the point of pushing me? Whether it’s Becca…or Alex, as much as I don’t like to even think it of him, why would either one…or anyone, push me?”

  “I don’t know. And that’s what worries me,” Quimby said with a sigh. “Perhaps you know something that you don’t realize you know. Perhaps you’ve seen something, photographed something, that could be dangerous to the killer. You must be cautious.”

  Quimby had me recap the last few days, all my activities, who I had talked to, where I had gone, as he made notes on his phone. When we finished, he put his phone away and said, “If it weren’t for the inquest, I might have you leave, but with it coming up so quickly, you’d better stay. Please be careful. Very careful.”

  ***

  Drained and achy, I trooped up to my room, took some Advil and looked at every photo I’d taken since I’d arrived in Nether Woodsmoor, but didn’t find anything that looked remotely suspicious or incriminating. I tried reading my Agatha Christie book, but I couldn’t concentrate and put it down. I dropped into bed, wondering if I should go to the open house at Parkview Hall the next morning. Would it be safer to stay in my room?

  I slept fitfully, my mind busily running over the events of the last few days. At six-thirty, after shifting from side to side and listening to raindrops tap against the window for over an hour, I threw the covers back and went to shower. I’d go to the open house. Sitting around my room might be “safe,” but there was a high probability that it would drive me crazy. Besides, I’d be surrounded by people at the open house. I pushed away the thought that I’d been surrounded by people immediately before I was pushed in front of a car. There were no busy roads at Parkview Hall. I’d stay clear of anyone on Quimby’s suspect list (i.e. Becca) and everything would be fine. I’d even give Alex a wide berth.

  Dressed in layers—a long-sleeved chambray shirt over a tank-top and jeans, a floral scarf, and my trusty calf-high boots—and holding a cup of coffee, I made my way to my rental car. I wasn’t sure if I’d be working inside or outside, but I figured I had it covered with the layers and the boots. I didn’t even have to unfurl the umbrella tucked under my arm. Sir Harold had been right; the rain had stopped, and a stiff breeze was sweeping the clouds from the sky. My hand and arm were still sore, but another dose of Advil helped take the edge off of the pain. I was thankful the car was an automatic and that I didn’t have to use my sore hand to change gears.

  I backed out of the inn’s parking lot and navigated the short drive to Parkview Hall, managing to stay on the left side of the road. The traffic was thin, and I didn’t have any trouble, and I only fleetingly wondered if Alex would have picked me up in his MG if I hadn’t said I was going in the morning. I didn’t see his little red car anywhere in the throng of vehicles already parked in the paved lot at Parkview Hall. In my frantic run up the drive on the day we’d found Kevin’s car, I’d completely overlooked the turnoff to the parking area tucked neatly behind the trees. It was where Sir Harold had directed me yesterday when I took the path back to the village.

  The lot was already half full, and I followed a sign that proclaimed the “Manor House” was to be found at the end of a narrow trail. I followed a group of three women along the trail, which wound through the grove of stately trees. I paused as I emerged from the trees to take in the front of Parkview Hall. I’d been too flustered the first time I’d seen it when Beatrice and I were hurrying through the woods to really look at the building of honey-colored sandstone.

  A divided staircase curved up to the central block of the house, leading to the portico with six imposing Corinthian columns. Wings extended out on each side, and rows of windows topped with triangular pediments marched along the two upper stories of the house above the rusticated ground floor. Glowing in the rising sun, the stone seemed even more buttery and golden than it had the first day I’d seen it.

  I drank in the elegant lines, then followed the signs to the entrance at the side of the house, not the grand doors at the front. Here, more people mingled and chatted as they clipped on nametags.

  “Kate!” a voice called, and I turned to see Beatrice making her way toward me. “So good of you to come. I see you already have coffee, but if you’d like anything to eat, help yourself.” She pointed to a table set up to the side with breakfast breads and fruit.

  “I ate at the inn.”

  “Then let me show you around. Entrance to the house here, up those steps. Formal gardens that way.” She pointed across a wide grassy area enclosed with shrubbery to an arched gateway. “Along with the maze and the folly. There’s an exit from the house to the gardens as well. On the other side of the house, we have the children’s play area, which is next to the old stables and carriage house. Today everything is open, but on regular days people can purchase a ticket to tour the house, or a ticket for the gardens, or a combo ticket. I thought perhaps you’d like to be inside the house today? I need someone to count visitors and hand out maps.”

  “I can do that.”

  “Brilliant.”

  I followed Beatrice indoors. She moved quickly through a small room set up with a counter and cash register to a black and white checkerboard tiled entrance hall with a lofty ceiling, a huge fireplace, and a wide marble staircase covered in an ornate red runner patterned with blue, green, and yellow. The staircase rose to a second floor gallery that wrapped around the entire entry hall. Overhead, a scene from Greek mythology played out on the ceiling.

  Beatrice took me to a Sheraton table in one corner of the hall, scrawled my name on an adhesive nametag with a marker, gave me a metal clicker so I could count each visitor who entered the hall, and pointed out a stack of maps to hand out. “Mona is on duty in the hall this morning.” She nodded to a narrow-faced woman in a navy blazer hovering at the foot of the stairs. “She’ll chat with visitors, answer any questions they have about the history of the building or the furnishings, and generally keep an eye on things.”

  A frazzled bald man scurried over to Beatrice. No one could find the keys to unlock the restrooms in the garden area. I told Beatrice that I would be fine, and she strode off to handle the emergency.

  The morning passed quickly. At nine, a trickle of visitors, some with audio guides draped around their necks, flowed into the hall. I clicked off the correct number on the ticker and handed out maps. Mona hovered, providing tidbits of info on how the hall had been part of the original house and dated from the fourteenth century, and how it had been modernized by a renovating baronet in the late 18th century.

  A little after ten, another woman in a navy blazer shepherded a group of people on a guided tour into the hall. There was a lull in visitors, and her voice carried, so I was able to listen to her as she described the history of the hall in more detail as well as a little background on how the house was run. “Early each morning housemaids would remove the ashes from the fireplace, dust the furniture, and sweep the floor. Their duties were to be completed out of sight of the family and houseguests. They had separate staircases and passageways so that they could move through the house unseen. We’ll take one of those passageways later from the kitchen to the upstairs bedrooms, a trek that the servants would have made many times each day, often carrying buckets and jugs of h
eated water for the ladies and gentlemen of the house to bathe in…” Her voice faded as she moved away, guiding her group to the next room, and I thought about the peculiarity of the worlds of the gentry and the servants coexisting in such close proximity yet separated so completely.

  Another large group entered the hall, and I didn’t have time to think about class distinctions. The flow of visitors increased steadily as it drew closer to noon. A little after twelve, a woman of about twenty with a smattering of freckles and frizzy red hair spilling over her navy blazer popped up by my side, and told me she was there to relieve me for the afternoon shift. “Beatrice said to tell you thank you so much. She’s tied up giving a tour of the gardens at the moment, or she’d be here herself.” She handed me an audio guide. “You’re welcome to wander through the house and take in the grounds. When you’re done, you can turn it in at the audio return desk on the terrace by the tea shop.”

  I thanked her and turned over the clicker then moved off to the drawing room. I settled the strap of the audio guide around my neck, planning to take in the house, but it was so crowded with visitors that I decided to wait. If things went well and the production continued, I’d be in these rooms more times than I could count. If everything fell through…well, I could return on a less busy day and enjoy them without bumping elbows with strangers. The tour of the house ended, like all good tours, in a gift shop area. I skipped the glossy books and postcards, and pushed through one of the large doors to the terrace.

  Café tables dotted the terrace, and a chalk menu board outside a building with a dutch door listed tea, sandwiches, and snacks available. People sat in the sun, eating ice cream and sipping tea. Dogs lay at the feet of a few people, their leashes looped around a nearby chair. A sign over another dutch door at the other end of the building read, “Audio Guide Return.”

  The grounds were extensive and a lot less crowded than the house, so I set off to find the lake and folly. I’d studied the map enough while I was clicking off visitors that I could find my way. Unlike the grove of trees in the front of the house, the back was wide open, and I wondered if the trees had been cut down or if the open expanse was a natural feature. I moved along a wide sandy path up the gently rising ground until I reached the summit where I stopped to take in the view.

  The grounds were even more expansive than I’d imagined. An oval of water glittered in the bright sunlight. On the far side of the water stood a round stone folly with six columns and a domed roof. To the right of the folly was a shrubbery maze, and I could see colorful figures moving through its narrow pathways. The path I was on continued downward to make a loop around the lake, then went on to the maze. I wanted to walk it, but decided I was too hungry to make the trek on an empty stomach. I turned and went back down the path to the teashop. I’d have a quick sandwich and then explore the grounds.

  I joined the line to order a sandwich, which was quite long, but it was moving quickly. As I inched forward, I watched a couple with a weary-looking toddler in a stroller approach the matching dutch door at the other end of the building to return their audio guide. A large sign with directions to the car park, the house, and the gardens was propped up on the ledge of the dutch door, blocking my view of the person who took the audio guide. I could only see a pair of feminine hands, long-fingered with clear polish on the nails. I wondered if the person behind the sign was Eve. I was about to shift my gaze back to the panorama of the gardens, but the movement of the hands caught my attention as those long fingers folded the strap of the first audio guide back and forth in an accordion fold, then wrapped the last bit of the strap around the whole thing to hold the folded strap in place against the audio guide. The strap on the second audio guide got the same treatment.

  The last time I’d seen a strap accordion folded and held in place like that was when I opened the box containing Kevin’s camera.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The man in line behind me cleared his throat. “Ah, the line has moved.”

  “Sorry.” I shifted to the audio return line behind a voluptuous woman who’d stepped up to the opening. I peered over her shoulder and spotted Eve, who was turned to the side, putting the audio guides into a tray, plugging each one into a charging slot.

  The two women obviously knew each other. The curvy woman in front of me didn’t have an audio guide to return. She’d just stopped by to chat. I was so fixated on looking at the folded cords that I wasn’t really paying attention to what they were talking about, but then Eve dropped her voice, a change that caught my attention. “…should be over by two,” she said. “Stay here, in plain sight.”

  The full-figured woman had been standing casually, but when Eve lowered her voice, she leaned forward over the little ledge that ran across the top of the half door. A dog barked sharply behind me, blocking out their next words.

  The barking stopped, and Eve said, “…after that, I’ll arrange everything—”

  Eve noticed me and abruptly broke off. In a normal tone, she said, “…for your party. Parkview Hall handles many special events. You should speak to Beatrice.”

  At Eve’s change in volume, the other woman stood up straight. “Yes, of course.” As she moved away, Eve transferred her gaze to me. “Can I help you, Ms. Sharp?”

  “Ah…yes.” I fumbled with the audio guide. The strap caught in my hair as I lifted it off my neck. I disentangled it, then handed it over. “I need to turn this in.”

  “Thank you.” Eve took it, efficiently accordion folded the audio guide’s cord, and snapped it into place on the charging tray. “Anything else I can help you with?”

  I pulled my gaze away from the rows of audio guides, their cords neatly wrapped and stowed with almost military precision. “Ah, no. Thank you,” I said, trying for the most normal, casual tone of voice in the world. I must have failed because Eve looked from me to the rows of audio guides. Another cluster of people arrived behind me. I turned and walked through the rows of tables to a path that led away from the terrace.

  I moved along the sanded path, not able to take in the sculpted hedges and the flowerbeds. My thoughts were focused on those straps, folded so exactingly. It couldn’t be a coincidence that the camera strap had been folded the same way, could it? Probably not.

  Had I destroyed evidence by taking the camera out of the box and unfolding the strap? I felt a bit sick and dropped down onto a bench set against a high stone wall out of the way of the main thoroughfare. But then that would mean that Eve had carefully folded the camera strap around Kevin’s camera, boxed it up, and somehow dropped it off at the inn without being seen. Why would she do that? Why would she even have the camera in the first place?

  I was still in view of the terrace, and there were plenty of people milling about, but I wasn’t watching them. I stared at a bed of daffodils, their vibrant yellow contrasting sharply with the dark earth between the plantings, and tried to work out how Eve could have come into possession of the camera. Perhaps she found it? It had Kevin’s name on the strap. It was unmistakable. She’d have known it was his.

  But then why the secret drop-off at the inn? I’d have thought that if she found it, she would have called Doug and told him she had it. Or she could have dropped it off at the inn with an explanation of how she got it.

  But she hadn’t done that. The camera had thrown suspicion on me. I sat for a few moments ruminating on that thought.

  I’d told Quimby that Kevin usually had his camera on him, but it wasn’t found in the car or the river. It had shown up in a box, completely undamaged. The photos on the memory card showed the last place Kevin took photos was Coventry House. He’d left, driven to the bridge where he’d stopped to change a flat. Quimby had said that Kevin’s time of death was estimated to be Friday between three and midnight. Since the camera wasn’t in his car or on his person, then it seemed the most logical thing to have happened was that Kevin left the camera at Coventry House. Could he have forgotten it there?

  It wouldn’t be the first time it had hap
pened. There was the time when Kevin, excited about landing a unique house with a retro art deco look, had set his camera down on the owner’s coffee table then walked off and left it. We’d had to make the two-hour drive the next day to pick it up. It wasn’t a common occurrence for Kevin to leave his camera, but we all forgot things occasionally, and if Kevin had been swept up in the euphoria of landing a perfect—and up to that point off-limits location—he might have accidentally left it behind in his rush to catch his plane.

  Questions raced through my mind. If Eve had found it—and the wrapped cord indicated she’d handled it—when had she found it? And why had she dropped it off so stealthily at the inn? To throw suspicion on me? But why would she do that? Surely someone would only do something like that to keep the attention and speculation off themselves or someone they knew and loved.

  “Kate, there you are.” Beatrice strode along the sand path toward me. She didn’t sit down, and I had to put up a hand to block the sun from my eyes as I looked up at her as she spoke. “Thank you so much for your help this morning. Did you get the audio guide?”

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  “Wonderful. Sorry to run, but I must check on the gift shop. Minor catastrophe there. Cashiers can’t find the register tape.”

  “If I could just ask you a quick question…”

  “Of course.” She’d already taken a few strides away, but returned.

  I stood up. “You mentioned that you’d heard last week that Coventry House was going to be used for Longbourn. Is that right, that you heard the news last week?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Beatrice tilted her head. “Yes. I can even tell you the day. It was last Friday. I remember because I had some books due at the library. I picked up a new spy thriller for Edwin, and dropped it off with him.”

  “So it was Edwin who told you?”