The Complete Kate Benedict Cozy British Mysteries

by Carrie Bedford

  “We’ll go before lunch.” Josh’s voice was firm. “We’ll catch them on their way home from church. And you should find Pierre and Lachlan, and talk to Mrs. Dunsmore now. Oh, I know they’re not the threat,” he said, holding his hands up when Fergus began to protest. “But they’ll be delighted to know that their futures are secure here.”

  I stood up to make more toast while Josh and Fergus talked over other details of the contract. They were both in good spirits, buoyed by the prospect of erasing any bad feelings in the community. I’d remain vigilant, however. Until that aura disappeared, Fergus wasn’t safe.

  The toast was calming my stomach, and I’d taken an orange from a bowl in the center of the table when someone pounded on the front door, and then leaned on the bell.

  “I’ll go,” Josh said.

  I heard voices in the entry hall, a short exchange, and then a commotion at the breakfast room door. A middle-aged man in an anorak and dusty work boots burst into the room. “My son is dead!” he yelled, pointing at Fergus. “And you have parties? Have you no shame? It’s your fault that Nick died.”

  Josh, who’d followed in close behind him, grabbed his arm. “Mr. Jameson, that’s an unfair accusation.”

  The man stopped in mid-stride, brushing off Josh’s hand. He was shaking with emotion.

  “Please sit down,” Fergus said.

  When Jameson remained standing, Fergus stood up and walked around the table. “I’m so sorry about Nick,” he said. “He was a talented young man. He’ll be missed here, very much.”

  Jameson ignored Fergus’s outstretched hand. “He was talented,” he said. “But not good enough for you, was he? You brought in that swanky French chef over his head. Sneered at Nick, he did, made him feel useless. And now he’s dead. You did nothing. You didn’t support him.”

  As Jameson swayed on his feet, Fergus took his arm and led him to a chair. I poured a cup of tea and added a couple of sugars before passing it to Nick’s dad. His hand trembled when he took it from me. Although he sat quietly, not moving, his grief poured through the room like a river that had burst its banks, as cold and grey as the water that had lapped around his dead son’s body. I was all too familiar with grief after the loss of my little brother and then my mother just three years ago. It was after she died that I first started seeing the death-predicting auras. I knew what Mr. Jameson was going to experience as he came to terms with the loss of his son. I’d quickly learned that in general, friends’ tolerance for sadness had its limits, and strangers, unless they were exceptionally empathetic, didn’t care at all. And so, after my mum died, I’d wandered around in my little bubble of grief, trying not to melt down in meetings, sob standing in line at supermarkets, or weep on the Tube. A fate that now awaited poor Mr. Jameson. And Josh too, if I didn’t save Fergus.

  Josh’s fingers touched mine, warm and consoling. I felt the pulse of his love beating on my skin. Taking a deep breath, I struggled upwards, felt the cold draining away from me, dripping to the floor, absorbed by the blue and red Persian rug under my feet. I pulled my thoughts back to the room, noticing that Fergus’s aura was swirling wildly. My heart thumping, I scanned Jameson for any sign of a weapon. If he intended to hurt Fergus, I wasn’t confident that Josh and I could take him down.

  My nightmare seemed about to come true when Jameson suddenly pushed his tea away and jumped up, pushing his chair back so hard that it tipped over with a crash. He rushed around the table towards Fergus, who scrambled to his feet and dropped his cup to the floor. Arbroath, who’d been sleeping under the table, shot up, ears flat against his head and teeth bared. Growling, he approached Jameson, who took a step backwards.

  When he’d put some distance between himself and the dog, he pointed at Fergus. “Don’t think I’m done with you.”

  “Ye’ll not be threatening the master,” came a voice from the door. Lachlan stepped in, with his rifle tucked under his arm.

  15

  The tense moment passed quickly.

  Jameson stalked out of the room, and we heard the front door slam. Lachlan walked to the window and confirmed that he’d driven off. “I’d like to stay close to the house today, sir. To make sure he doesn’t come back.”

  Fergus rubbed his face with both hands. Lost for anything useful to say, I stood up and made more tea, using the electric kettle plugged in on the sideboard. When I offered a cup to Lachlan, he declined in his brusque way.

  “Can’t stand the stuff.”

  Wondering what he did drink, I lined up three cups and poured milk into each one while I waited for the tea to brew.

  “I’ll patrol the grounds closest to the house,” Lachlan said to Fergus.

  “If you think it’s necessary.”

  “Aye, I do.” Lachlan marched out, a man on a mission. I supposed I should be glad he was present and armed. He could probably do a great deal more to protect Fergus than Josh and I could.

  I handed out cups of tea. “Shall we head to the church?” Josh asked his uncle after draining his. “It’s almost time for the service to be over.”

  “Nick’s father might be around. Is it safe to go out?” I asked.

  Josh and Fergus looked at each other. Fergus drained his cup. “We’ll bring Arbroath. Jameson seemed nervous around him.” He patted the dog’s big head. “Come along, Arbroath. Into the car with you.” Excited, the dog bounded into the entry hall.

  “Will you be all right here for a while?” Josh asked me.

  “Yes. I’ve got some reading to do. Look after Fergus. And be careful.”

  Josh gave me a kiss. “Don’t worry.”

  The clock struck ten as they drove away, reminding me that Lucy and Duncan hadn’t come down yet. Maybe I should wake them up. I wasn’t keen to see Duncan again. Although his reaction to my aura revelation wasn’t unexpected, it had still hurt. But it was getting late, and a vague uneasiness gripped me. I made the long walk back to the tower and climbed the spiral staircase to the second floor. Both Lucy’s and Duncan’s doors were closed. I didn’t know which room they would be in and decided to start with Lucy’s. I knocked.

  “Coming,” Lucy called, and I felt the tension go out of my shoulders. I could handle Duncan’s ill humor, I decided, although I imagined it would be in full force today. Lucy inched the door open and poked her head through the opening. “Kate. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. It’s… just that it’s a little late, and I thought you’d want breakfast before Mrs. Dunsmore clears it away. Fergus and Josh have already gone out.”

  “Oh, right. I don’t usually sleep in. I probably had too much champagne at the party.” She looked none the worse for wear, I thought. No dark circles, no wan skin. Even her hair had stayed in its neat shiny bob, unlike mine after a restless night, when it tangled into a snarled mass, making me resemble one of Shakespeare’s three witches.

  “Good, then. I’ll wait for you downstairs, and let Mrs. Dunsmore know you’re coming. Do you both want tea and toast?”

  Lucy looked blank for a second. “Duncan’s not here. Isn’t he up yet? He usually rises at the crack of dawn. Let me get dressed. I’ll be down soon.”

  She shut the door, leaving me standing in the corridor, feeling faintly embarrassed. In spite of their odd relationship, I’d assumed that she and Duncan would be sleeping together. I gathered myself, walked to Duncan’s door and banged on it. No answer. At once, my vague unease blossomed into full-fledged fear. I knocked again and then tried the handle. The door was locked. In my head, a dozen different scenarios flashed past. He was lying dead on the floor stabbed, shot, or bludgeoned to death. He’d fallen and hit his head on the bathtub. He’d taken too many sleeping pills.

  After another round of fruitless knocking, I hurried back to Lucy’s room and hammered on the door. She yanked it open. “What’s the matter now?”

  “It’s Duncan. He’s not answering.”

  To my astonishment, Lucy threw back her head and laughed. “He’s such a fleabag,” she said. “I knew he wa
s up to something. That little waitress girl is probably in there with him. Last night, he told me he was tired. Then he told me he needed time to digest what you’d told him about the aura. Then he said he was restless and he didn’t want to disturb my beauty sleep. He was restless all right.”

  “Oh,” I managed, lost for words. I remembered Duncan flirting with Fiona in the kitchens. He’d told her he’d see her later, but I hadn’t given it any further thought. “I’m sorry,” I said finally. “I didn’t realize.”

  “Come in.” Only half-dressed, she strode across the room to pick up her jeans from the bed. “Don’t worry about me,” she said as she pulled them on. “I knew what I was getting into when I met him.”

  I raised an eyebrow, thinking it would be rude to ask. “He has a roving eye,” she said.

  “He’s done this before?”

  She shrugged. “Yep. Come on. Let’s go raise hell and wake him up, or at least disturb the peace enough for the pretty young thing to be shamed into leaving.”

  Back outside Duncan’s room, I pounded on the door. My stomach churned. “Isn’t it weird that he’s not answering, even to shout at us to go away?” I said. “And why did he lock the door? I didn’t even know these doors had locks. Mine doesn’t lock.”

  “I don’t know. Not sure I care, really.” Lucy must have noticed my expression. “You’re worried because of the aura, aren’t you?”

  “Of course I am. Aren’t you?”

  “I think it’s too soon to panic. There must be a spare key. We’ll ask Fergus.” She turned to walk towards the stairs.

  “I told you. Fergus is out. He’s gone to talk to the tenants to reassure them that Knox won’t be evicting anyone.”

  “Oh that’s right. Well, Mrs. Dunsmore will have a key, won’t she? Let’s go down.”

  When we reached the breakfast room, Mrs. Dunsmore was piling up empty cups and plates. “What would you like for breakfast, Lucy?” she asked. “And master Duncan?”

  “Actually, we need your help,” I said. “Duncan locked his door. Do you have a spare key? We need to wake him up.”

  The housekeeper looked wary. “I’m not sure we should go barging into his room if he’s still sleeping.”

  “It’s an emergency,” I said.

  “Not quite,” Lucy said to Mrs. Dunsmore. “But he needs to wake up and pack. We have to leave at noon if we’re to make it to Glasgow in time for the train.”

  “Oh, that’s right. Well, I expect master Duncan will forgive the intrusion.” Mrs. Dunsmore dug into her apron pocket. “This is a skeleton key that fits the doors, or most of them anyway. We had the locks fitted on some rooms when we started taking paying guests a couple of years ago.” She held the key out to me. “Please bring it straight back.”

  “I will,” I promised. “Lucy? Will you come with me?”

  Lucy hesitated and then, to my relief, followed as I hurried yet again towards the tower, dashing up the spiral stairs. If nothing else, I was getting plenty of exercise this weekend, nearly enough to make up for my missed daily run through Hyde Park.

  We thumped on Duncan’s door again before I put the key in the lock. It seemed to be stuck. After I’d fumbled with it for a few seconds, Lucy grabbed it from me and had a go. The lock clicked and she pushed it open. I took a deep breath to dispel a looming sense of dread. Inside, the curtains were drawn, but milky morning light poked its way around the edges of the fabric, revealing a neatly-made bed.

  “Duncan?” I called before venturing in. A quick search showed that he wasn’t in the bedroom or the adjoining bathroom.

  “I’d take a bet he’s with that girl at her place,” Lucy said. “After he said goodnight to me, he could have sneaked out easily enough.”

  “The front door has a deadbolt,” I pointed out. “If he went out that way, the bolt would have been unlocked this morning. We can ask Mrs. Dunsmore if she was the first one up, and if she noticed.”

  “I don’t see what difference it makes. Besides, there are other ways out. There’s the tradesman’s entrance to the kitchen.”

  Lucy seemed resigned to his cheating and I felt sorry that Duncan treated her so badly. Still, at least he wasn’t dead.

  “He didn’t even take his mobile with him,” she said, picking up an iPhone from the top of the dresser and setting it down again.

  “Well, when Josh and Fergus get back, we’ll send them out to find him if he hasn’t arrived by then.” I was breathing more easily now. Duncan’s behavior was reprehensible, but that was none of my business.

  Lucy led the way out and pulled the door shut behind us. We walked in silence to the breakfast room, where the housekeeper had left places set for two, with a pot of tea and a rack of freshly made toast. Lucy sat and poured herself a cup of tea.

  “I’ll leave you to your breakfast,” I said. “If you give me the key, I’ll return it to Mrs. Dunsmore.”

  When I held out my hand, Lucy pressed the key into my palm. I walked into the entry hall before realizing I had no idea where the housekeeper would be. The kitchen seemed likely, so I went there first, but found it empty. A tray of dirty breakfast crockery sat next to the sink, but the counters were scrubbed clean and the stainless-steel range gleamed. Pierre and his crew had cleaned up well last night. Still, the cavernous space had an abandoned feel to it this morning, so I turned quickly to go back upstairs. The skeleton key weighed heavy in my hand, and barely conscious of what I was doing, I soon found myself outside Duncan’s room again.

  I’d been puzzled by Duncan’s odd behavior when he’d been searching the shelves in the library. That gave me an excuse for what I planned to do— that and a desperate need to find a clue as to what threatened him. I inserted the key and turned it before realizing the door was already unlocked. Lucy had forgotten to secure it. I pushed it open and slipped inside. I was struck again by how tidy the room was, but then it wasn’t too surprising. Duncan’s clothes were always pristine and well pressed.

  His overnight bag sat on an armchair under the window. Telling myself this was all in a good cause, I unzipped it to check inside. It was empty. The wardrobe door creaked when I opened it, releasing the smell of old wood and cedar. Alongside an array of trousers and jackets were his evening shirt and dinner jacket. His black dress shoes were neatly lined up next to a pair of oxblood loafers on the wardrobe floor. So he’d definitely been back to his room to change after saying good night to Lucy.

  A chest of drawers stood against the wall near the door, similar to the one in Lucy’s room. Its dark, glossy surface held only a bottle of aftershave and Duncan’s rental car keys. I hadn’t thought to look outside earlier to check if he’d taken his car. Thank goodness he hadn’t. He’d had far too much to drink to be out on the roads last night. I assumed that Fiona must have driven him, and wondered where they’d spent the night.

  I made a quick decision. The top drawer slid out easily when I pulled on it. Feeling my cheeks burn, I pushed underwear and socks around, looking for… for what? Anything to help me determine the source of the threat. I may feel guilty, but my actions were justified, I told myself. My hand closed around a notebook of some kind. After a microsecond’s hesitation, I took it out of the drawer and ran my finger over the luxurious black leather cover. I flipped it open, noting the thick, creamy paper with deckled edges. The first dozen pages were filled with writing, illegible scribbles, arrows, and question marks. Fully conscious of the fact I was violating Duncan’s privacy, I felt my heart pounding against my ribs. I’d come too far, though, to give up. On the second page was a notation. “Fabergé egg, Rue des Rosiers, Paris.” Did that refer to the egg that had been highlighted in Lucy’s newspaper clipping? On the page opposite, was a single word, ‘Helsinki’ with a question mark next to it. I skimmed the rest of the pages. Most of them were half-empty, scrawled with annotations that made little sense to me. And then a list of names and dates: Alexandra 1917. Anna Vyrubova 1939, Cyril Thorpe, 1940.

  I stared blankly at the page. Duncan seemed
the least likely person in the world to have any interest in history. What could this mean? A noise in the hallway brought my musing to a crashing halt. My breath caught in my throat. What if Duncan had returned? How on earth could I explain my presence in his room? I shoved the book under some neatly rolled socks and slid the drawer shut quietly before inching closer to the door. I stared at the knob, waiting for it to turn. When it did, I remained where I was, petrified into inaction. I should have locked the door behind me, but it was too late for that. I dashed to the bathroom and pushed the door almost closed, leaving a two-inch gap so I could see what was happening.

  The bedroom door opened, and Lucy stepped in. She looked around, glancing at the bathroom door. Glad it was Lucy, not Duncan, I wondered what she was up to. I watched as she did exactly what I’d done a few minutes earlier, opening the wardrobe, checking under the bed, peering into Duncan’s overnight bag. Then she moved to the chest and opened the top drawer. Within seconds, she had the black journal in her hand and was skimming through the pages. She turned to lean against the chest while she read, her blond hair hanging straight like a silky curtain against her cheek. She smiled, as though she’d discovered something she expected to find. Putting the journal back in its place, she slid the drawer back in.

  Then she eased out into the corridor. The door closed behind her with a soft click, and I began to breathe again.

  16

  I waited for as long as my nerves could stand the tension, torn between the fear of encountering Lucy in the hallway, and the risk of Duncan returning to find me in his room. After a minute, which felt like an hour, I opened the door. Certain the corridor was clear, I slipped out and walked straight to the breakfast room, assuming that Lucy might have hurried back there. But there was no sign of her— only the remnants of the toast and eggs she hadn’t had time to eat. She must have left Duncan’s door unlocked deliberately, I realized now, intending to go back there when she thought I’d be out of the way.