The Complete Kate Benedict Cozy British Mysteries

by Carrie Bedford

  Pierre looked lost. “What should I do?”

  “We’ll get sandwiches from the pub,” Mrs. Dunsmore said, suddenly in control again. “I’ll send Lachlan, and we’ll set everything up in the breakfast room. Pierre, check the rack in there for a couple of bottles of Beaujolais. Kate, dear, can you try to find Lucy?”

  She must have seen the expression on my face because she patted me on the arm. “It will be hard, but she needs to know. I’ll watch out for Fergus and Josh too.” Her face paled. “Poor Fergus. This will come as a terrible shock.”

  We went our separate ways, each of us glad, I thought, that we had something specific to do. In the aftermath of a catastrophe, we were cast adrift, our normal roles and routines snatched away, leaving us lost and uncertain amidst the tumult. I climbed the stairs with intent, determined to find Lucy but, when I reached the landing, I paused. Where on earth could she be? The prospect of the trek to the tower was daunting, so I turned instead towards the library. And as I reached it, Lucy appeared at the end of the hallway, coming from the direction of the door to the east wing. So that’s where she’d been. Again. But why? What was in there that interested her so much?

  She gave me a little wave and came closer with a sheepish expression on her face, probably embarrassed that I’d caught her exploring again.

  “I’ve been looking for you,” I said.

  “Well, here I am. Why were you looking for me?”

  “I think we should go sit.” I gestured towards the library, but she didn’t move.

  “Something’s happened,” I began. “Please, let’s sit down.” Still she didn’t budge. There was no way out of it. “I’ve got some bad news. I’m afraid that Duncan is dead.”

  She didn’t flinch or register any reaction at all. Shock can do that to people. “Dead?” she repeated.

  “He was murdered. The police are here.”

  She put a hand on the wall then to steady herself. “Where was he killed? How?”

  “Please, come with me. Inspector McMahon is downstairs. You know, the one who came after Nick drowned?”

  Our eyes met, registering horror at the enormity of two deaths in one weekend. I took her arm. “Let’s go.”

  Lucy walked with me, docile and silent, until we reached the breakfast room. Pierre had left wine and glasses on the table, and I poured us each a small glass.

  “Where’s Fergus?” she asked after she’d taken a big sip of wine.

  “Out with Josh, trying to find Duncan. They— we— thought he was in the village. With Fiona, like you said.”

  Lucy put her glass down. “It was a reasonable assumption.” She rubbed her eyes, smearing her mascara. “Tell me everything. What happened to him?”

  I related what I knew, which wasn’t much yet when it came down to it.

  “Stabbed,” she repeated, just as Inspector McMahon walked in.

  “This is Lucy Cantrell,” I told him.

  She gazed up at him, her fingers clutching the stem of her glass. He took a seat across the table from us and flipped pages in his battered notebook until he reached a blank one. Then he paused and looked at me. “I’d like to talk to Miss Cantrell alone. A few minutes. I’ll call you back in when I’m finished.”

  Unsure what to do with myself, I wandered into the entry hall and opened the front door. A car engine sounded in the distance, and soon Fergus’s Land Rover turned in through the gates. I took a deep breath as the vehicle sped along the red gravel drive and skidded to a halt at a random angle on the lawn. The parking spots were filled with police cars and McMahon’s old Renault.

  Josh threw open his door and rushed across the wet grass towards me. “What’s going on?” he demanded. “Did something happen? Did the police get more information on Nick’s death?”

  The words I needed to say stuck in my throat. I shook my head.

  “Oh jeez,” Josh murmured. He’d known about Duncan’s aura and joined the dots at once. I turned to watch Fergus approach, with Arbroath panting alongside him. Fergus’s aura was spinning so fast it made me nauseous. Two deaths already, and one imminent.

  “What happened?” Fergus demanded. “Is this about Nick?”

  “We’d better go inside,” I offered, putting off the inevitable. Perhaps McMahon would rescue me. He could the one to break the news. But my suggestion seemed to glue Fergus’s feet to the driveway. “What’s going on?” he demanded.

  All I could do was repeat what I’d told Lucy a few minutes ago. “I’m sorry, but Duncan is dead.”

  Fergus’s face turned waxy. He reached out to put his hand on Arbroath’s broad back, as though needing the support. Although Josh stepped forward to take him by the arm, Fergus remained bent over. I could hear his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. Finally, he straightened up. “Give me a minute.”

  In the ensuing silence, a bird called from the cypress trees that edged the drive. The rain had slowed, but a steady drip of water splattered to the ground under the water-laden branches. The sky was a slab of grey iron, threatening to unleash another deluge at any moment.

  “Inspector McMahon is here,” I said.

  Fergus gathered himself, pushing back his shoulders and raising his chin. “Then let’s go talk with him.”

  18

  Once we were inside, Fergus went into the dining room to find the inspector, but he quickly returned to the entry hall, where Josh was hanging up his jacket. “McMahon’s interviewing Lucy,” he said. “He needs a few more minutes.”

  As he turned towards the kitchen stairs, Josh caught him by the arm. “There’s no reason to go down there,” he said. “We should let the police do their jobs.”

  “I’d like to see Duncan.” Fergus’s voice cracked. “I was supposed to look after him, you know, after his father died.”

  “Come and sit down for now,” Josh said. “I’m sure they’ll let you see him later, if you really want to.”

  Fergus stumbled after Josh into the drawing room and sat heavily on one of the green sofas that flanked the fireplace. His eyes were unfocused, and he kneaded his hands together, obviously in distress.

  The fire wasn’t lit today, and the inglenook loomed dark and chilly. Its decorative backplate featured an engraving of a bear. The animal gazed out at us, a snarl curling its lips, long claws extended from its raised paws. I shivered and sat facing Fergus.

  “A drink, if you don’t mind,” he muttered to Josh, who walked to the sideboard, poured a generous measure of Glenmorangie into a crystal tumbler, and handed it to his uncle.

  Fergus held the glass tightly but didn’t drink. His face had turned white, and he looked dazed, as though recovering from a blow to the head. I wondered if we should call a doctor. Our first hypothesis could have been correct, that Fergus’s health was the source of the threat to him. While I worried about heart attacks, Fergus straightened up as if he’d read my mind and took a swallow of his Glenmorangie. “Tell me what happened,” he said.

  After taking a deep breath, I explained how Mrs. Dunsmore had discovered Duncan’s body. “When I heard her scream, I ran down to the kitchen. Duncan was in the meat locker, dead. It looked as though he’d been stabbed in the back.”

  “What on earth was he doing in there?” Fergus asked. His voice sounded steadier now and his pallor had faded. These Scots were hardy folk, I thought, tough and resilient.

  “Maybe he was looking for another bottle of champagne,” I suggested, thinking of our earlier foray in search of the Dom Pérignon.

  “I thought Duncan had gone to the village? Isn’t that what Lucy told you, Kate?”

  “Yes, she did. But it’s likely she was guessing and just assumed he’d gone off with Fiona.”

  “McMahon will get to the bottom of it,” Fergus said. “Although I can’t imagine who would want to kill Duncan.”

  I had a short debate in my head about how much to share with Fergus and decided I should tell him everything I knew. His life was still at stake, after all.

  I leaned towards him. “
There are some things you should know.”

  Fergus nodded. “I’m listening.”

  I decided to start with the easy stuff, the facts about Lucy and Duncan conducting clandestine searches for an unknown item. “On Friday, I saw Duncan in the library, looking on the shelves behind the books for something.”

  “And what would that be?” I heard Lucy’s voice and felt my neck grow hot.

  Fergus invited Lucy to sit down. “Where’s Inspector McMahon?” he asked her.

  “He’s talking with the medical examiner. The ambulance is on its way to… take Duncan to the morgue.”

  At the word ‘morgue,’ a damp chill slid into the room, clinging to my clothes and hair, so that I shivered in spite of my overheated cheeks. Duncan was dead. I found it difficult to grasp that fact, but I did understand that I’d failed. I’d known he was in danger and I hadn’t saved him. And his death was so close to home, to Josh and Fergus. I fought to subdue the panic rising in my chest.

  “So, what are you looking for, Lucy?” Fergus asked, pulling my attention back to the conversation.

  She shook her head. When she looked up, her blue eyes glistened with tears. I was about to ask her about the Fabergé egg when McMahon appeared at the door. He adjusted his tie and ran a finger under his white shirt collar as though it was too tight. “Sorry to intrude. May I have a word, Fergus?”

  Fergus finished his drink, as though fortifying himself, and put the glass on a side table. He climbed to his feet and followed McMahon out, a lumbering bear trailing a little brown fox. I blinked to clear the image, aware of the awkward silence that had fallen over the three of us. After a few seconds, Lucy pulled out a tissue and dabbed at her eyes.

  “Lucy, do you know anything about a Fabergé egg?” I asked.

  Her eyebrows shot up. “An egg?”

  I opened my mouth to speak and then closed it again. I only knew about the egg because I’d seen the clipping in Lucy’s room and read the enigmatic sentence in Duncan’s journal. Poking around other people’s rooms wasn’t exactly something I was proud to confess to.

  “I have reason to believe that Duncan was linked in some way to a Fabergé egg discovered in Paris six months ago,” I said, keeping it vague. “Maybe he bought it? And he’s been searching for something in the castle. Do you know what it might be?”

  Lucy clasped her hands together. “You’re right,” she said. “Duncan is searching for an egg.”

  I was so shocked that my conjecture was correct that I forgot to breathe for a few moments.

  “The discovery of the two Fabergé eggs, one in the States in 2014 and one in Paris six months ago, led to a resurgence of interest in the missing Romanov treasures,” Lucy said. “If two eggs could turn up, then there’s a chance others might, too.”

  “But why on earth would Duncan be looking here, in the castle?” Josh looked bemused.

  Lucy squeezed her hands together so tightly that her knuckles went white. “We were both looking,” she said. “Not just Duncan. But I want you to know that if I had found it, I would have given it to Fergus. It would be worth millions of pounds. I’m not so sure Duncan would have given it up if he’d found it though. He needed the money.”

  “Duncan? Why would he need money?” Josh asked. “He makes a fortune in the City.”

  “And he spends— spent— a fortune.” Lucy gave him a thin-lipped smile. “Duncan’s famous for his lavish entertaining. He has a lot of friends, all eager to help him dispose of his money. Have you seen his apartment in Chelsea?”

  Josh shook his head. He hadn’t been particularly close to Duncan, and, as far as I knew, they never got together in London. I tapped my fingers on the armrest. So, Duncan had a money problem. That was interesting and worth following up on.

  Josh looked closely at Lucy. “You said this egg would be worth millions? That’s ridiculous.”

  When she didn’t respond, I jumped in, remembering the research I’d done online. “Not really. Apart from the intrinsic value of the gold and gems, the Romanov eggs are rarities. Only fifty were ever made. And their history and association with the Romanov name makes them highly coveted by collectors. The last egg that was discovered is believed to be worth about ten million pounds.”

  Lucy looked up at me when I’d finished. “Goodness, Kate, you know as much as I do.”

  “Hardly. And I certainly don’t know enough to see any connection to the castle.”

  She finally unlocked her hands and settled back into the sofa. “The egg we were seeking was purchased in Paris in late 1940 by an English collector and brought to London, where he sold it. And, yes, before you ask, my interest is both academic and financial. Even a finder’s fee would make a big difference to the state of my bank account.”

  “How do you know about the English collector?”

  Lucy raised one shoulder in a shrug. “I did some research and uncovered a copy of the receipt describing the sale. It sold for fifty pounds.”

  “I’m sure I’m being slow,” Josh said. “But what is the relevance of any of this?”

  “The buyer was a Mr. Gordon MacKenna,” she replied. “Your great-grandfather.”

  While we all absorbed that piece of information, Josh stood up and poured himself a finger of Fergus’s special scotch.

  “So you believe Fergus’s grandfather purchased the egg and brought it back here?” I asked. “But if he did, why did he hide it? Why wouldn’t it be on display?”

  “Maybe it was on display for a while,” Lucy said. “Or perhaps he worried that it would be damaged or stolen, so he put it somewhere safe.” She picked up a cushion, wrapped her arms around it, and hugged it to her chest. “Of course, I’m not completely certain that the buyer was the same Gordon MacKenna. And it’s not clear that he didn’t sell the egg on to someone else. It could be anywhere, to be honest.”

  “Did Duncan tell you about the egg?” I asked.

  “He did. He thought we’d have a better chance of finding it if we worked together. And, of course, when we got here and heard of the pending estate sale, we realized we didn’t have much time. Once the new owner took possession, Duncan wouldn’t have access to the castle any longer. That’s why Fergus’s announcement came as such a shock and Duncan reacted so badly to it. He’d assumed he had years to find the thing— if indeed it’s here.”

  Josh looked troubled. “I still can’t get over the fact that Duncan was short of money. Did he gamble?”

  “No, he didn’t do that at least. But it’s easy to spend more money than you earn if you want to live well in London. And Duncan did live well.” She paused. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to criticize Duncan. He was fun to be with, and his friends enjoyed his company, regardless of the money.” She reached out and touched the back of Josh’s hand. “My apologies. He was your cousin, and I have no right to be negative.”

  In the quiet that followed there were voices in the hall. Fergus came back in, looking wrung out. Pallor made his cheeks look sunken, and his grey hair stuck up in every direction.

  “It’s your turn, Josh,” he said. “The inspector is waiting for you. He has a list of suspects a mile long from what I can see, starting with everyone who was in the house last night.”

  “Including Stanton Knox and company?” I asked.

  “Yes.” He patted Josh on the shoulder as they passed each other and picked up the whisky bottle before sitting down. “Have I missed anything here?” he asked.

  I looked at Lucy, but she remained silent, so I plunged in. “Do you know anything about a Fabergé egg? Purchased by your grandfather and brought here to the castle in late 1940?”

  Looking rather dazed, Fergus took a big gulp of his drink. “That’s a new one on me,” he said. “Never heard a dickie bird about any Fabergé egg.” He gazed around the room as though looking for it.

  Lucy raised her head. “It’s probably a wild goose chase. I’m only going on what Duncan told me.”

  “How did Duncan know about it?” I asked.

 
; Lucy flicked a tassel on the cushion with a well-manicured nail. “I’m not sure he ever told me that. Of course, I was already aware of the general history of the Romanov treasures. I’d heard the rumors and knew of the speculations about the missing eggs and other artifacts, so I was happy to pitch in and help him.” She sighed. “It seemed like a game really, running around the castle looking for a piece of treasure. I never dreamed… that he would end up dead.”

  “You think the egg has something to do with his death?” I asked.

  A tear dripped down her cheek. “I don’t know. But if not that, then what? Why would anyone kill him?”

  If the missing egg was the reason for Duncan’s murder, then it could also be the source of the threat to Fergus.

  Someone was willing to kill, maybe more than once, to retrieve the treasure. I ran through a list of possible suspects in my head. The list was long, far longer than I had any hope of addressing; anyone at the party, guests or temporary staff, the estate tenants, Knox, Nick’s father. And time was running out. Fergus’s aura was spinning wildly. Tapping my fingers on my knee, I tried to put it all together, but it was like working on a jigsaw puzzle with no edge pieces and no picture of what the finished piece should look like.

  “Do you think Duncan found it?” I asked. “And he didn’t tell you because he knew you’d tell Fergus? But someone else knew about it and killed him to seize the egg?”

  Lucy shook her head. “Duncan wouldn’t do that to me. He…” She stopped. “He could have, I suppose. He was acting so strangely yesterday.” She burst into tears.

  19

  The next couple of hours passed in a blur. We watched from the drawing room window as paramedics carried Duncan’s body on a stretcher to a waiting ambulance. Long after the ambulance had disappeared through the gates, we remained, gazing out at the rain. The view was dismal, but no one seemed to have the energy to return to their seats.

  Mrs. Dunsmore came in with a tray of sandwiches, egg and cress or ham and cheese, she’d told us, but they sat untouched, the edges drying out and curling up as the afternoon wore on. We drank tea, one pot after another, while McMahon talked to Josh and Pierre and then to Mrs. Dunsmore again before calling Fergus back for another private chat.