The Complete Kate Benedict Cozy British Mysteries

by Carrie Bedford

  We were talking over the decisions that had to be made for Duncan’s service when Inspector McMahon arrived. Mrs. Dunsmore showed him in and hurried away. I got the impression she was nervous around him.

  Fergus invited the inspector to join us and offered him a cup of tea, which he accepted. “Are you here with news about Duncan?” Fergus asked. “A lead on who the killer is?”

  “Not yet. I’m not here regarding Duncan, actually. Something important has come to light regarding Nick Jameson.” He took a sip of tea and raised his head to look at us. “It appears his death wasn’t an accident. It was deliberate.”

  The blood drained from Fergus’s cheeks, and he gripped the arm of the sofa. “Deliberate?” he repeated.

  “Nick suffered a blow to the head, which probably rendered him unconscious. His assailant then dragged his body a few feet to the water’s edge and placed him face down so he would drown.”

  “But I thought he’d fallen and hit his head.” Josh looked as stunned as Fergus did.

  “It was the initial assessment, but the ME overruled that conclusion after examining the wound in more detail. The team went back to the lochan and identified drag marks on the ground close to the water. They’d been disturbed by horse hooves and footprints, but they were visible.” He glanced at me when he spoke, and I stared back at him, refusing to feel guilty that I’d trampled across a crime scene that I hadn’t known was a crime scene at the time.

  “The ME puts the time of death somewhere between four and six on Friday afternoon,” McMahon said. “And Kate found him at noon on Saturday.”

  “Which means you can eliminate almost everyone on the guest list for the birthday party,” Fergus said. “Most of them didn’t arrive until late Saturday afternoon or early evening.”

  “I tend to agree, although it’s not necessarily an accurate assessment, as many of the guests were locals, with access to the lochan. Any of them could have been out there the day before the party.”

  “But why?” Fergus asked of no one in particular. “Why would anyone kill Nick?”

  “It’s possible that an outsider, a stranger, killed him for a reason we don’t yet understand, but we found Nick’s wallet in his jeans pocket and his watch was still on his wrist, which eliminates theft as a motive. And we don’t believe robbery was the reason for Duncan’s murder either. None of his personal effects were missing.”

  McMahon had a Scottish accent, but his tone was tightly modulated, with barely any inflection in it at all. He could be reading a shopping list out loud.

  “Do you think Duncan’s killer is the same person who murdered Nick?” I asked. The causes of death had been different, I thought, which either showed some flexibility on the killer’s part, or presented the alarming possibility that two killers were running around the estate at the same time.

  The inspector tapped a page with his pen. “I don’t know, but it is an important question.”

  “You must have talked to Pierre.” Fergus stood up and moved to the fireplace, where he leaned against the mantel. “We know he and Nick were quarreling over job responsibilities. And Duncan was murdered in the kitchens.”

  Only a faint nod acknowledged Fergus’s question.

  “Mr. Jameson attacked Fergus. Did he also kill Duncan?” Josh asked.

  McMahon tilted his head slightly. “What would be his motive?”

  Josh shrugged. “Same as it would be for trying to kill Fergus. He was just angry about Nick’s job situation and blamed the family in general.”

  “I don’t believe Mr. Jameson murdered anyone.”

  “Does he know now that Nick was killed deliberately?” I asked. “He can’t believe Fergus had anything to do with it?”

  “Yes, he is now aware of that fact, and no, he doesn’t think Fergus is responsible.” McMahon chewed on his lower lip. “Jameson is in great distress, as you can imagine. He deeply regrets his actions.”

  “You’re holding him for arson?” Fergus asked.

  “Yes. We have a full statement from him.”

  “The man has been through enough. I don’t want to press charges against him for the fire.”

  The inspector didn’t respond for a few seconds. “The prosecutor already has the case file, but I’ll see what I can do.” He finished his tea and put the cup on the coffee table.

  “What happens now?” Josh asked. “It seems we have no idea what happened to Duncan.”

  “We keep going with our inquiries.” McMahon examined his fingernails for a moment and then looked up at us. “Listen, I want to be as open with you as I can be. There were so many people in the castle over the weekend that it’s taking us a while to work through all the information we gathered following Duncan’s death. Can any of you can think of anything which might have slipped your mind in our earlier discussions? Sometimes, a single detail can be enough to give us the clue we need.”

  “Did you find a journal in Duncan’s room?” I asked him.

  “A journal…” He thumbed through the pages of his notebook. “Black leather cover? That the one?”

  “Yes. There were some notes inside that may be relevant. I talked with Alistair Ross this morning.”

  McMahon lifted one eyebrow in query.

  “He’s a local historian and knows a great deal about the estate. I told him about the notations in Duncan’s journal and he said they might possibly have something to do with an old book, a codex.”

  Eyebrow still raised, McMahon waited.

  “I think maybe Lucy and Duncan were looking for the book.”

  The inspector seemed to suppress a sigh. “When we last talked, you thought they were searching for some kind of egg? One with jewels on it?”

  “That’s right. And maybe they were. Or this book, or both.”

  “I see.” McMahon’s tone of voice made it clear that he didn’t see at all. “I’ll get one of the team to take a look at the journal,” he said. “But the most important task right now is that of eliminating suspects from our list.” He stood up and fastened the middle button of his blue suit jacket.

  “There’s something else you should know,” I said. “Even though Mr. Jameson is in custody and probably doesn’t have any intention of doing further harm, Fergus is still in danger. His aura is still there.”

  McMahon glanced at Fergus and then looked away. “There’ll be no more deaths on my watch,” he said. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a lot of work to do.

  26

  We’d barely returned to the drawing room after closing the front door behind McMahon when the doorbell rang. It was Fiona, come to check up on Arbroath’s eyes and breathing. The castle felt a bit like Piccadilly Circus with all the arrivals and departures, but I was glad to see her. I wanted to ask her more questions about Saturday night and Duncan. First, though, I gave her time to make a fuss over the dog.

  She sat on the rug next to him and scrunched his ears in her hands while she inspected his eyes. “Who’s my big brave boy, then?” He gave an appreciative bark and thumped his tail on the floor while trying to lick her face.

  “He’s absolutely fine,” she said, getting to her feet. “What about you, Mr. MacKenna? Are you feeling all right?” She paused. “I heard about Nick. That’s a terrible thing. Who could possibly want to hurt a nice young man like him?” Tears welled in her eyes and she brushed them away with the back of her hand.

  “Do you fancy a cup of tea?” I asked her.

  “Okay. Shall we go down to the kitchen?”

  I thought quickly. If we were in the kitchen, we might not be able to talk in private. “It’d be fun for me to see something of the village, and get out of the house,” I said. “I’ve heard there’s a good cafe? We can go there if you like?”

  Fiona’s face lit up. “That’d be great. I have to go in anyway, as I have to start work at three.”

  I turned to Josh. “Is that okay? You’ll stay here with Fergus?” I took his arm and led him into the entry hall. “I won’t be long, but I want to ask Fiona so
me questions. And find out if she noticed anything unusual while she was helping Mrs. Dunsmore with getting the guest rooms ready.”

  “Sounds like a plan. Fergus and I have a boatload of work to do on the contract, and Knox is going to ring us later to talk over a few details.” He brushed a wisp of hair away from my face. “It seems odd, to be discussing contracts when Duncan is dead, but I think it’s the right thing to do. Fergus has no choice but to sell, so we should keep going. Besides, it’s a distraction, to keep his mind off Nick, and Duncan, and the aura and…”

  I gave him a hug. “It’s exactly right. Look after your uncle, and yourself, until I get back. I love you.”

  We joined Fergus and Fiona, who were now both on their knees playing with the dog. “May I borrow the car, Fergus?” I asked. “That way Fiona won’t have to drive me all the way back out here when we’re done.”

  “I don’t mind,” she said. “But it would be easier, as I work at the pub.”

  Fergus gave me his keys. “The locks don’t work and the gear shift is a bit sticky. Just give it a hard shove when you go from first to second. Make sure she knows who’s boss.”

  Keys in hand, I grabbed a jacket and followed Fiona out to the drive.

  “Parking in town is a right pain,” she said, as we reached the cars. “But we can use the pub car park because I work there. Follow behind me.”

  The drive took fifteen minutes along a windy, narrow road, but I enjoyed being out in the countryside. The moors, amber and bronze, stretched to the horizon under a silvery sky. The gearbox clanked and screeched every time I changed gears. My dad would love the old Land Rover with all its quirks and noises. The heater had just started working when we reached the edge of town, which seemed a rather grand term for the small collection of stone houses that flanked the main road. We passed a Post Office and a small grocery shop, but then the road widened and joined a square flanked by a steepled church on one side and the pub on the other. I saw people out carrying shopping bags, so there had to be a supermarket somewhere close by.

  After driving there faster than seemed safe, Fiona took an abrupt left turn up an alley that led to the car park at the rear of the Stag’s Head. I followed and, once I’d maneuvered the hulking Land Rover into a tight space, I joined her for a short walk across the square and up a side street to the cafe. Through its steamed-up windows, I saw that it was busy, full of customers sitting at tables spread with flowered cloths. We were greeted by the fragrance of coffee and baking and a rush of warm air, welcome after the chill outside. A glass case held a tantalizing display of pastries and cakes, and an Italian espresso machine hissed behind the bar.

  Fiona persuaded me to try a slice of toffee cake. “It’s their specialty, and it’s delicious,” she promised. We carried our plates and cups to a table in a corner.

  “The cake’s very good,” I said, wiping crumbs from my mouth after my first taste.

  She laughed. “Most southerners seem to think we Scots live on haggis, but we appreciate the finer things in life too. My mum’s teaching me to cook what she calls real food, you know, with vegetables and all. Of course, she’s half-Italian, so she has strong opinions on what we should eat.”

  We chatted for a while about Fiona’s family and her studies to become a veterinary assistant. When I’d finished my cake, I pushed my plate away and folded my napkin.

  “Fiona, can you tell me more about what happened on Saturday evening? With Duncan?”

  “I already told that inspector. He doesn’t think I had anything to do with it, does he?”

  “No, no of course not. And this isn’t official. I’m just trying to understand a few things. Did you know Duncan before this weekend?”

  She flipped her dark hair over her shoulder. “I met him a couple of times when he came up to visit. The last time was a year ago, more or less. We had a drink together one evening. He’s a big flirt. I’m not stupid and I knew he didn’t take me seriously. It was only supposed to be a bit of fun, you know? Some champagne and kissing. I liked listening to his stories of life in London, the private jets and fancy restaurants. It’s a world away from here.”

  “On this visit, did you two discuss the sale of the estate? Or did he mention that he was looking for something in the castle?”

  Fiona pushed crumbs around on her plate. “No, I only talked to him for that couple of minutes in the kitchen, just long enough to arrange to meet later.” She gave an extravagant shiver. “And now he’s dead.”

  “Do you have any idea who killed him?”

  She looked up. “Could have been anyone, couldn’t it? There were close to a hundred people in the castle that night, with the guests and the staff brought in specially to help.”

  “Yes, that’s true, but we have to think about motive. Why would anyone kill him?”

  Fiona tilted her head to one side. “That’s a good question. I don’t know. I mean, Duncan hardly knew anyone in the castle. Especially none of the blokes hanging out in the kitchen afterwards. Pierre opened a couple of bottles of wine to celebrate that the party had gone well. The inspector asked me who was still in the kitchens at that point. I told him, like half a dozen guys I didn’t recognize, and Pierre and his friend.”

  “Did you talk to his friend?”

  “Remy? Yeah, a bit. He was nice enough.”

  “Remy?” I remembered the name on the business card I’d found under Lucy’s dresser. Remy someone. Delacroix. That was it. And his title was something to do with antiques. But why would Lucy be talking to a French antiques dealer?

  “He spoke to me in English, which surprised me,” Fiona continued. “I wanted to practice my French, but they both teased me about how bad I was at it.” She smiled. “Nothing worse than a supercilious Frenchman, mon Dieu.”

  “Did you see Lucy speaking with Remy?”

  She raised a neatly plucked eyebrow. “Lucy’s the pretty blonde woman?”

  “Duncan’s girlfriend.”

  “Really? I thought she was with that rich young American. I can’t remember his name. Fox?”

  “Stanton Knox.”

  “Yeah, that’s him. The two of them were hanging out in her room when I went up to clean it, that day I did the vacuuming before the party.”

  “You’re sure? You saw the American in Lucy’s room?” I felt my cheeks grow warm. “Er, what were they doing?”

  “Only talking, as far as I could tell. But they were sitting on the edge of her bed, close together. Maybe closer than friends would, if you know what I mean?”

  I sat back in my chair, absorbing that piece of information. Lucy had behaved strangely whenever Knox was around. Usually, she'd disappeared, apart from the night of the party when they’d had a long conversation together. I remembered Friday evening when she said she’d gone outside to get something from Duncan’s rental car. Although Knox was in the house with Fergus then, the helicopter had been parked on the lawn. Had she talked to the pilot? Or taken something out there to leave it for Knox?

  My thoughts were interrupted by a ping on Fiona’s mobile. She bent her head over the screen and typed a response with a dexterity I envied. I grabbed my handbag and retrieved my phone. When I turned it on, three dots in the upper corner confirmed that I had service. Hallelujah. I watched a series of texts scroll past, most of them from co-workers and my boss. My email icon declared that I had 234 unread emails. Finally, I was connected again, away from the thick walls of the castle and the dodgy service on the grounds. I had no intention of reading my email though. That could wait.

  Fiona looked up from her phone. “The cafe has free wi-fi,” she told me. “I often come in here to avoid using up my data plan.” She pushed over a menu that had the wireless access information printed across the bottom.

  I logged in and opened the browser to do a search on Stanton Knox. There were hundreds of results, mostly related to his company, its products and share price, but I eventually found a bio of Knox that told me he lived in Palo Alto, California. He’d gone to Stanfor
d University, where he’d earned two degrees, one in History and the other in Computer Science. He’d completed both in record time, while also working on his start-up. I scrolled through more results covering his putative net worth, his private jet, his collection of snowboards, cars and houses, and his extensive library. Huh, I thought. So he did have an interest in books. That might explain his insistence that Fergus include the castle’s library contents as part of the estate sale.

  “I’m going to use the loo,” Fiona said. I glanced up and nodded, still intent on my research. When I entered ‘Lucy Cantrell’ in the browser, a few results appeared, including her LinkedIn page, and her name on a list of professors in the history department at Kings College London. She’d posted a bio far less verbose than Knox’s, but I found the connection I was looking for. She’d spent a year at Stanford while working on her degree in Medieval History. I was certain she must have met Knox while studying in California. But why did they hide the fact that they were acquaintances or friends? They’d avoided each other, as far as I could tell. Had she been surprised when he turned up there, or had they been in touch beforehand? My head was spinning with questions.

  “How’s it going?” Fiona asked when she came back. “What are you looking for?”

  “I’m doing background research on Lucy Cantrell and Stanton Knox. I think they did know each other.”

  “Like I just told you.”

  “Yes, you did, thank you. And going back to Remy? You never saw Lucy talk to him?”

  “No. He talked to Pierre mostly, although he was very nice to Mrs. Dunsmore. I’m going to get more tea. Do you want another cup?”

  I nodded yes, and, while she went to the counter, I returned to considering Knox and Lucy. What were they up to? They’d avoided being seen together for the most part, except for that half-hour at the party and Fiona’s accidental sighting of them in Lucy’s room. It could be that they’d dated while they were in California and wanted to avoid embarrassing Duncan.