The Complete Kate Benedict Cozy British Mysteries

by Carrie Bedford

  Fiona carried our refilled cups to the table and stirred a sugar cube into hers. “I’ve been thinking. I can’t imagine the same man killed both Nick and Duncan,” she said. “Those two had never met, so what connection could there be? I don’t get it.”

  I didn’t either. Who could want both Nick and Duncan dead? That lent credence to the unlikely scenario of there being multiple killers involved, a daunting prospect. It would be hard enough to identify and track down one, let alone two.

  My tea tasted good, piping hot and not too strong. I savored a few sips before looking up at Fiona again. “Did you ever hear anyone mention a jeweled egg hidden somewhere in the castle? Or an ancient book?”

  “Well, it’s odd that you should say that. The time I found Lucy and the American in her room, I did overhear a few words. They were talking about an egg, which I thought was strange. I didn’t hear much though. I wasn’t meaning to eavesdrop, you know.”

  “Did they say anything specific about the egg? Its location perhaps?”

  “No, like I said, I only listened for a couple of seconds. It would have been embarrassing if they’d seen me there.” With a glance at her phone, Fiona finished her tea and put the cup down. “It’s later than I thought. I should get to work. Thanks for the tea and cake. Let’s do it again sometime.”

  27

  After Fiona had gone, I stayed for a while, taking advantage of the cafe’s wi-fi to do more research. I looked up Pierre’s friend, Remy Delacroix. The only result was a listing similar to what was on his business card: his title as Antiquaire and a phone number. There was no website for the business. Remembering the press clipping I’d found in Lucy’s room, I took another look through news stories about the Fabergé egg that had been sold in Paris six months earlier. The shop where the sale had taken place was on the Rue des Rosiers, and I was fairly sure that the address was the same one I’d seen written in Duncan’s journal. I wished now I’d thought to write it down.

  Bemused, I stared at the screen for a while. So, Remy was an antiques dealer in France. A dealer in Paris had sold the Fabergé egg to a Russian collector for only a thousand pounds. Lucy and Duncan had been searching for an egg. It seemed likely that Remy and Lucy had communicated over the weekend, given the presence of his business card in her room. I wanted to talk to Remy and hoped he was still in the area. Pierre would know. And I definitely needed to find out more about the relationship between Stanton Knox and Lucy.

  A wash of cold air swept over me when the cafe door opened and a couple rushed in. Laughing, they peeled off their drenched coats, and the girl squeezed water from the tips of her long hair. Rain streamed down the cafe’s windows. I closed the browser on my mobile, anxious to get back to the castle before the storm worsened, knowing that Josh would worry.

  The sky had turned a threatening bronze color and thunder boomed in the distance. Without an umbrella, I was soaked and shivering by the time I reached the pub car park. Fiona’s Mini was still there, diminutive next to the Land Rover. A dozen other cars took up the rest of the space in the cramped lot. I climbed into the car and turned the heater on full blast, but it just blew cold air on my wet legs as I threaded my way out through the narrow alley. The rain had driven people off the streets, which were empty now.

  Hoping not to get lost, I set off and soon saw a sign for the road that led me out of the village and south along Loch Awe. Within minutes, the rain had intensified, beating with fury on the vehicle’s roof. The old, worn wipers slammed back and forth, barely keeping up with the watery onslaught. Grateful for the Land Rover’s four-wheel drive and hefty tires, I nonetheless kept my speed down as I navigated the winding country road.

  When headlights came towards me in the gloom, I edged closer to the verge to give the other car room to pass. As it disappeared in my rear-view mirror, the rain came down in buckets. I tapped the brakes lightly, although I was already driving cautiously, and I felt the tires slide on the waterlogged tarmac. My heart rate spiked as I gripped the steering wheel. Panicked, I put my foot down hard on the brake, prepared for a skid, but the forward momentum of the car didn’t change. I was on a slight downhill, not an extreme gradient, but enough to pick up speed. With my foot jammed on the pedal, I concentrated on steering through the bends. I tried to downshift to first gear, ignoring the screeching and clattering as the gearbox complained and stayed obstinately in second. Cold shivers ran up my spine as I acknowledged the fact that the car seemed to be accelerating on its own. The bloody brakes weren’t working.

  My brain didn’t seem to be working either, so I forced myself to calm down, to think about what to do. To one side of the road was a metal crash railing. On the other, moorland rolled into the distance. Peering through the windscreen, I saw the road rising ahead. The uphill would slow me enough, I hoped, to guide the vehicle on to the moorland where the thick, springy heather should stop any further motion.

  Holding the wheel so tightly it hurt my hands, I concentrated on keeping the car straight as it hurtled towards the low point before the incline. Lights appeared, two yellow disks cutting through the rain as a car crested the top of the hill in front of me.

  “Slow down, slow down,” I pleaded out loud, but the car kept coming towards me. It would reach me while I was still rolling downhill, and I was sure the road was too narrow here for us to pass each other safely at speed. As the headlights of the other car grew brighter and larger, its driver leaned on his horn. I yanked the steering wheel to the left, praying there were no rocks lurking under the heather. The vehicle bounced as the wheels left the tarmac and hit the soft muddy verge, propelling me forward, the seatbelt cutting into my shoulder. The Land Rover kept going, bucking like an angry bronco across the uneven ground.

  After what felt like an eternity, it juddered to a halt and the engine stalled. I leaned forward, my forehead on the wheel, taking deep swallows of air.

  When I raised my head, I peered through the windscreen, but rivers of water obscured my view. Reluctantly, I eased the door open and got out in the pouring rain. I was a hundred meters from the road, and the other vehicle hadn’t stopped. There was nothing in sight, no cars, no houses. I reached into the Land Rover for my handbag and fumbled around for my mobile. A single dot indicated I might have service, but maybe not. I called Josh’s number even though it was unlikely he’d answer. If he was inside, he’d have no signal at all, and I hadn’t thought to memorize the castle’s main phone number. My call didn’t connect, and I shoved the phone in my pocket as I waded through the wet heather. When I reached the road, I set off towards the castle, hoping to flag down a passing car.

  The road remained defiantly empty for almost twenty minutes, and then I heard an engine behind me. A blue van slowed and stopped. “Are you mad?” the driver called, after winding his window down a couple of inches. “Get in.”

  I did, hauling myself into the passenger seat, thrilled to feel the heater blowing hot air at me. “My car broke down.” I kept the explanation simple.

  The driver, a middle-aged man in overalls and boots, told me his name was Brian and asked me where I was going.

  “Castle Aiten. Do you know where it is?”

  “Of course. I’ve done some work out there, fixing gutters and plumbing. I’ll take you there. It’s not far out of my way. What happened to the car?”

  “I think the brakes failed.”

  Brian shot me a look of surprise. “Brakes went out? That’s unusual. How far back?”

  “A mile, maybe a little less.”

  “I didn’t see it when I drove past just now.”

  “No. It’s out in the heather. It kept going for a while after I left the road.”

  Brian raised an eyebrow but didn’t say any more. He reached out to switch on the radio, and we drove to the music of Dire Straits and Steely Dan. In spite of the efficient heater, I was still shivering when we reached the castle. Brian pulled up right at the front door to let me out.

  “Can I offer you a cup of tea?” I asked.

/>   He declined, saying he had a job to get to. “Make sure you have that car checked out properly. You’ll have to call the towing company in Oban. They’re the closest.”

  I thanked him and climbed the steps, trailing water across the black and white tiles of the entry hall as I shrugged off my jacket. Josh hurried out to meet me. “God, Kate, are you all right? You’re soaked.” He glanced at his watch. “I was getting worried. You were gone for a long time.”

  When I told him what had happened with the car and the brake failure, his face blanched and he pulled me close to him. “You’re shaking,” he said. “You should go take those wet clothes off.”

  “I’ll be all right for a few minutes. We need to tell Fergus.”

  Looking dubious, Josh led me into the drawing room where Fergus was setting a log on the fire. The bear on the backplate glared out at me with red eyes.

  “All okay?” Fergus straightened up. His aura still swirled. “Good grief. You’re drenched. Are you all right?”

  “No, she’s not,” Josh said and went on to tell him about the accident.

  Fergus looked shocked. “Are you hurt, Kate?”

  I assured him I was fine, and that Brian the plumber had given me a lift. “We’ll need to call a towing company out to rescue the car. I left it in the middle of the moor.” I dug in my bag for the keys and gave them to Fergus.

  After I’d done my best to describe where I’d left the car, he hurried to the phone and made the call. While he did that, Josh insisted I go back to our room to change. “You can tell us more later. I’ll go make you a hot drink.”

  I argued but finally gave in. And I did feel better once I’d changed into warm, dry clothes and blotted my hair with a towel. The chill faded, and I stopped shivering. By the time I got back to the drawing room, Josh was waiting with a mug of hot chocolate. I wrapped my hands around it and inhaled the sweet, loamy fragrance.

  Fergus had poured himself a scotch. “I don’t understand,” he said. “The brakes were working perfectly yesterday, weren’t they, Josh?”

  The two of them exchanged a look I couldn’t interpret. “I had to tromp on the brakes on a curve I took a bit too fast,” Josh said with a sheepish grin. “Darn near put me through the windscreen.”

  “Glad you didn’t tell me that yesterday,” I said drily. “You’re supposed to be looking after Fergus, not endangering him.”

  Josh’s grin faded. “You don’t think someone tampered with the brakes, do you?”

  We all gazed at each other in silence. Finally, Fergus spoke. “If so, was I meant to be driving or was Kate? The mechanic will be able to tell if it was wear and tear or something deliberate. I know the repair shop owner. I’ll have a word with him, ask him to put a rush on the inspection.”

  “While you do that, I’m going to talk to Pierre,” I said. “I need to find out where his friend Remy is. Josh, why don’t you come with me?” I wanted to tell him about Lucy and Stanton Knox before I mentioned it to Fergus. Anything that involved Knox and the estate sale was a source of stress right now, and I didn’t want to add to it.

  We walked slowly across the entry hall and paused at the top of the kitchen stairs while I shared what Fiona had told me. “She saw Knox sitting with Lucy on her bed, which makes me think they were acquainted before this weekend,” I said. “I did a bit of digging around and found a likely connection. They overlapped at Stanford University for one year, studying history. But they pretended not to know each other.”

  “Maybe they didn’t recognize each other. Their Stanford year must have been some time ago. And they were talking at the party, I seem to remember, so they weren’t exactly hiding the fact they knew each other.”

  “Yes, but that was a big social event,” I said. “It’s perfectly normal for strangers to strike up a conversation at a party. They probably thought no one would think twice about it.”

  Josh leaned against the wall and rubbed his cheeks. He looked tired, with dark circles under his eyes.

  “Do we tell Fergus?” I asked. “It may be nothing. It might be what you said, that they only recognized each other after a while. Or there’s more to it. Knox is buying the estate, and Lucy was here searching for her damned Fabergé egg. Isn’t it too much of a coincidence that they both turned up here at the same time?”

  “I think we have to tell Fergus, and the police as well,” Josh said.

  “And if the Land Rover was tampered with, the inspector will need to know,” I said. “Let me find Pierre first, and then we’ll ring McMahon. I’ll bring him up to date on everything. Maybe you should go sit with Fergus. He looks exhausted.”

  “I don’t blame him. I’m knackered and I’m less than half his age and not the one under threat. Come back as soon as you can, okay?”

  In the kitchen, Pierre was scrubbing surfaces with Dutch cleanser. “That fingerprint powder got everywhere,” he said when he saw me arrive. “Quel désastre.”

  I looked around. To me, the kitchen appeared pristine. The police had removed the tape and tags they’d put up during their investigation. The gleaming stainless steel door to the meat locker was firmly closed.

  “Where’s your friend Remy?” I asked. “Is he still here?”

  “No, he left yesterday. Why?”

  “Nothing important. I wanted to ask him a question concerning antiques. He is an antique dealer, isn’t he?”

  Pierre stopped cleaning and looked up at me. “Antiques? What kind of antiques?”

  “Something my aunt left me. I hoped he might be able to advise me on whether it’s valuable or not.” It was flimsy, but the best answer I could come up with. “Do you know where he is?”

  “He continued on his holiday. He will be hiking in the Hebrides, but I have no idea where. He was going to take the train from Oban yesterday afternoon, I believe.”

  “That’s too bad. I’m sorry to have missed him. So, he has an antique shop in Paris?”

  “He does, but you can get advice about your aunt’s gift in London, no?”

  “Of course. I just thought it would be easy as he was here.” I headed towards the stairs and then stopped and turned to look at Pierre again.

  He returned my gaze with narrowed eyes. “Is there something else?”

  “Had you met Duncan before this weekend? Had he been to the castle since you arrived here?”

  “No. I had not seen him before. I am sorry for his death, but I have already told the police I know nothing of it. I closed up the kitchen at 1.30 a.m., and returned to my flat.” His eyes lit up. “With one of the young waitresses. I told the police about that too.”

  “I wasn’t accusing you, Pierre. Just asking. We all want to find the killer, don’t we?”

  “Bien sur, Mademoiselle Kate.” Pierre resumed his cleaning, and I climbed the stone stairs to rejoin Josh and Fergus in the drawing room. They’d set up a game of backgammon on the coffee table but didn’t seem to have made much progress. The counters were still on their home rows.

  “Well?” Josh asked. “Did you get any information on Remy?”

  “He’s gone, apparently. He left on a hiking trip yesterday. I’m not sure it’s important, but I’ll tell Inspector McMahon that I found Remy’s business card in Lucy’s room.”

  “I told Fergus about Knox and Lucy,” Josh said, glancing at his uncle.

  “A bit odd, I agree,” Fergus said. “I’ll ask Stanton about it when we talk.” He checked the mantelpiece clock. “Four o’clock. That’s eight a.m. in California; I’ll ring him now. I’ll bring him up-to-date on Duncan and the fire, of course, and we have a few contract details to discuss, assuming he still wants to proceed. All the mayhem here might make him nervous. Maybe he’ll decide to pull out.”

  “Do you want us to leave?” I asked.

  “Not at all.” Fergus stood and walked to the phone where he picked up the receiver and pushed buttons. He got through to Knox after a short wait and began by confirming that the inventories were complete. “There is something, however, that y
ou need to know,” he said, and went on to tell Knox about Duncan’s murder. Whatever Knox said made Fergus’s eyebrows shoot up. “He did? Oh, well you knew already then.” He listened quietly for a couple of minutes, interjecting a grunt occasionally. I squeezed Josh’s hand. Was Knox pulling out of the deal?

  Fergus shook the receiver at one point as though trying to realign the transmission molecules. “Bad connection,” he whispered to us. Then he listened again for a while. Josh had told me Knox was voluble in person, and it seemed his phone manner was no different.

  “Jolly good,” Fergus said finally. “I’ll send the lists to you by tomorrow. One more thing before you go. Do you remember Lucy Cantrell? The young lady with the blonde hair who was here with Duncan?”

  Again, he listened while Knox talked. “Yes, I can see that,” he said. “Well, good to know. We’ll be in touch very soon.”

  He replaced the receiver and came back to his place on the sofa. The call had taken over twenty minutes. “What did he say?” Josh demanded.

  “First of all, he’d already heard about Duncan. Inspector McMahon rang him earlier today and, to use Knox’s words, interrogated him. McMahon has also spoken to Knox’s two colleagues. Apparently, the inspector also mentioned the fire.”

  “Does Knox still want to go through with the deal?” Josh asked.

  “He does. He was as enthusiastic as ever, as far as I could tell, and requested that we send the inventories by tomorrow. It seems that a conflagration and a bloody murder aren’t enough to put him off the place.”

  “What did he tell you about Lucy?” I asked.

  “He said they had met at university, briefly. He didn’t recognize her when he got here, and she didn’t remind him who she was. Then something clicked, and he recalled having met her. Hence the long chat at the party on Saturday night.”

  “I thought that might be what happened,” Josh said.

  “What of the little tete-a-tete in her bedroom?” I asked.

  Fergus’s face turned pink. “I didn’t think I could mention that. It seemed rather indelicate.”