by Sara Rosett
Ella turned to us. “You’re leaving?”
Alex nodded, and I said, “That won’t throw things off, will it?”
“Nope, I knew you’d be ready to go early. Your car awaits.” She gestured out the window where Alex’s MG sat on one of the wide gravel paths with a “Just Married” sign hanging off the back along with ribbons and tin cans attached to the back bumper. “Your bags are packed and in the car. You can change into your going-away clothes. We have everything waiting for you. You’re in the little salon, Kate. Alex, I’m sorry, but the grooms get what is basically a converted storage room.” Ella pointed to the opposite side of the conservatory. “Leave your wedding clothes in the rooms. We’ll make sure everything is cleaned and returned.”
I changed into a smart little suit that Melissa had helped me find then hung up the wedding dress and carefully smoothed down the folds. I’d loved wearing it. I’d actually felt rather princess-like in it. I’d enjoyed the ceremony and the celebration with family and friends, but I was ready to be alone with Alex.
I returned to the conservatory where Alex was waiting for me dressed in a plain white button down shirt, dress pants, and a jacket—still dressed up for him, but not nearly as fancy as his tux. Malcolm was lining up the guests, creating a corridor for us. “Ready to go?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Alex squeezed my hand, and we jogged to the car with rose petals and confetti raining on us.
“I’m all for going back to bed,” Alex said, sending me a look that made my insides go as fluttery as they had before the wedding ceremony yesterday, but this time the feeling had nothing to do with nerves. The tiny round table in the kitchen of Cart Cottage was crowded with a vase of white and pink mums—a present from Parkview’s staff—and the remains of our late breakfast. We’d decided to skip the Chinese food last night after all, and had driven straight to Cart Cottage after we left Parkview. We’d hardly stirred from the little bedroom upstairs until late this morning.
“We’ve only just gotten out of bed. We’ve been terrible sluggish. It’s nearly noon.” I slathered some clotted cream onto my last bite of scone and popped it in my mouth.
“We’re on our honeymoon. We’re supposed to be sluggards.”
“Good point. I could probably be persuaded…”
“I hope I win all our arguments that easily—”
A knock sounded on the door of the little cottage. I frowned. Alex looked at me, his eyebrows raised.
“I didn’t tell anyone we’d be here.” I’d made sure that I didn’t mention our stay in Cart Cottage to anyone, and I thought Alex had probably kept our itinerary quiet, too. “It can’t be my mom,” I said. “She was leaving for Manchester early this morning for a tour.” Even before the wedding, she had been busily planning her schedule for the rest of her time in England, packing in as many tours and sightseeing trips as she could during the week after the wedding before her return flight to California.
Alex stood. “I had a text from my dad. He and Grace are already in France. They landed last night.” Alex walked to the door. “And I know my mom planned to leave after the reception last night, too. She wouldn’t stick around. I’m sure she was in London before midnight.”
I followed him, wiping my fingers on a napkin.
Constable Albertson stood outside, the lines on his craggy face looking more deeply etched in the bright sunlight. “Sorry to disturb, but we have a…situation at Parkview.”
“What sort of situation?” I asked, my stomach suddenly churning. All of our close friends and relatives had been at Parkview.
“A murder.”
The napkin fluttered to the ground.
“Who?” asked Alex as he put his arm around my shoulders.
Constable Albertson scratched his hairline, pushing his hat back an inch. “That’s the problem. We don’t know who it is.”
CHAPTER 6
C onstable Albertson repositioned his hat. “Hate to intrude on you at this time, but the inspector thinks you’re the best option for identification. No wallet or phone was found, and the inspector wants to nail down ID as soon as possible.”
“They’re sure it isn’t someone from Parkview? An employee possibly?” Alex asked.
“No, he isn’t one of the staff. But he did have a menu card from the breakfast—I mean the reception, as you call it, so probably a guest. We need one of you to take a look, so you can tell us who he is.”
My stomach lurched as I thought of our families and most of our friends who had come to the wedding.
“I’ll go,” Alex said.
“I’m coming too.”
Alex opened his mouth and I could tell he was going to argue, but he took one look at my face, and said, “You don’t have to.”
“Yes, I do. I can’t sit around here and wait.”
Alex reached for my hand. “No, that wouldn’t be like you at all.”
From the moment we passed through Parkview’s gates, the stately home had a completely different atmosphere than it had the day before. Yesterday white ribbons and tiny pink flowers had adorned the stone pillars on each side of the wrought-iron gates. Today the decorations were gone, and a police car blocked the drive.
Several police vehicles were parked on the gravel sweep in front of the house, one of them with the words “Crime Scene Investigation” printed on the side. A group of people near it were taking off their white jumpsuits, which had covered every inch of their bodies, except their faces. A few had already stripped off gloves and face masks while others balanced on one foot as they removed booties. The protective gear looked especially odd against the background of the classical lines of the building and the spreading grounds of Parkview.
Constable Albertson motioned for us to follow him around the side of the house. Instead of wedding guests in pretty dresses and hats, police moved back and forth through the banks of flowers in the gardens.
“It’s a bit of a hike,” Albertson said as we climbed the path that left the formal gardens and crested the low rise of hill behind the house. Once we reached the top, the extent of Parkview’s grounds was visible, stretching into the distance, still green, but with flashes of fall colors touching the trees.
A man-made lake reflected the clear sky. Beyond it stood the folly, a round open-air building with six columns and a domed ceiling. Crime scene tape ringed the empty benches spaced around the folly. Another section of tape cordoned off the area to the right of the folly, the shrubbery maze. A uniformed officer stood at the entrance to the maze. The hedge towered over him, making him look like a miniature figure against the wall of greenery. If you were on ground level at the maze you couldn’t see anyone once they went inside. It was only here on the elevated ground that I could see a few tiny figures as they moved through the turns of the maze.
We fell into single file to let a police officer pass us as we made our way around the lake. As we neared the maze, my heart beat faster, and my stomach felt worse. When Albertson said a man had been killed, my thoughts had immediately gone to the worst possible outcome—a family member or close friend—but Alex’s quiet presence had steadied me. I’d forced myself not to run through the possibilities of who the dead man could be, but now with the crime scene tape and the somber quiet, my anxiety was rising.
I felt Alex’s gaze on me as he came alongside me again. I reached for his hand, which felt like an anchor in a world that was suddenly tilting crazily. “Bit of an unusual situation, bringing us out here, isn’t it?” Alex asked Albertson as we followed him along the descending path. I threw Alex a small smile. He was trying to distract me, and I appreciated the effort, but nothing was going to take away the uneasiness I felt.
“It is,” Albertson said, “but the medical examiner is tied up with a bad crash near Ashfield. Coach overturned. He wants this body left as it is until he can get here and see it, but the inspector wants to get moving with the investigation. Guests are scheduled to checkout today. He’s holding everyone now until we know more about
the victim, but some people are already gone.”
We reached a section of tape that enclosed both the folly and the maze, and paused while Constable Albertson let someone know he was bringing Alex and me into the crime scene. “A gardener found him this morning.” Albertson lifted the tape, and we ducked under it.
“Do they think he’s been there all night?” I asked, trying to work out if anyone had left the reception before we did.
“I don’t know. I was tasked with getting you.”
“I suppose one of the wedding guests could have come out here yesterday,” I said. “All the activities were in the house, but there was nothing preventing anyone from leaving the reception and strolling through the gardens and grounds.”
Albertson said, “You should mention that to Inspector Quimby.”
I absorbed the fact that it was Quimby in charge of the investigation. I’d met him before, and I knew he was thorough. We walked on in silence, the only sound the muted voice of someone in the maze. When we reached the entrance to the maze, Albertson nodded at the officer stationed there, then escorted us inside. I’d been in the maze before, but had never moved through it so quickly. Then I noticed that as we made our way through the twists and turns, a piece of crime scene tape had been tied off in the hedges at each intersection, indicating the correct direction to turn. We reached the center of the maze, a circular area with a fountain in the middle, which was now dry. Even without water spraying, the fountain was beautiful and would usually have been the focus of the little area, but I barely glanced at it. My attention went immediately to the area on the side of the fountain where a canopy had been put up. I could see a figure on the ground, but the shade made it hard to distinguish any details, and an officer blocked my view of the man’s face.
Inspector Quimby, who was dressed in his typical shade of nondescript brown, was under the canopy but came across to meet Alex and me as soon as he saw us.
“I understand congratulations are in order.” He shook first Alex’s hand then mine.
“Yes,” Alex said. “It’s official. We’re an old married couple now.”
“Best wishes to you. I apologize for asking you to come out here, on today of all days, but—well—you’re the best choice to give us the information we need.”
I forced myself to look away from the body under the canopy to Quimby. “We’ll help in any way we can.”
Quimby said, “Thank you. If you’ll come with me.”
We crossed the grassy area and stopped at the edge of the canopy. It took a minute for my eyes to adjust to the dimness after the bright sunlight.
A young man, probably in his mid-twenties, lay on his back, one arm flung out from his side. The metal hilt of a knife protruded from his chest. Hardly any blood had seeped into his white dress shirt. His dark suit jacket was completely free of blood. I managed to draw my gaze away from the knife and studied the man’s pale face.
Beside me, Alex said, “No, I’m sorry. I have no idea who he is. Never seen him before. Are you sure he was at the wedding?”
I felt a rush of relief that it wasn’t my dad or a close friend from the documentary crew, then immediately felt guilty—someone else wouldn’t be so lucky and would get terrible news soon. Then I blinked and looked closer. Suddenly, I wished I hadn’t been so accommodating earlier. If only I’d stayed back at the cottage…
“Ms. Sharp—er, I, pardon me. “Mrs. Norcutt?” Quimby asked.
“What?”
“Do you know him?”
“No, I don’t.” I debated leaving it at that. Quimby let out a barely audible sigh.
The man’s face was slack. Maybe I was wrong…? But the hair. Long on top, short on the side…and the beard. Death had changed his appearance, but not so much that I didn’t recognize him.
I took a deep breath and, after a quick glance at Alex, I said to Quimby, “I don’t know him, but I think I’ve seen him before, in the airport when I picked up my mom last week.”
CHAPTER 7
Q uimby’s eyebrows flared up. “So, you agree, not a wedding guest?”
“No, definitely not,” I said. Our wedding guests had been our family and close friends. I knew every name on the list. Everyone I hadn’t known personally before the wedding, like Brent, I’d met and spoken with sometime during the last few days.
Quimby removed his phone from his pocket and poised his fingers to make a note. “Which airport did your mother arrive at?”
Before I could answer, his phone rang. He read the caller ID. “I have to take this,” he said and stepped back from us. After a few moments, he pulled the phone away from his ear and motioned Albertson over. “Take them back to Parkview,” he said with a nod in our direction. “I have a few more questions for them, but I have to handle this call. Coordinate a place in the house where we can do interviews. And find Mrs. Sharp—the mother. I want to talk to her next.”
As Alex and I followed Albertson through the break in the tall hedge, I said, “My mother is in Manchester today. At least, that was her plan yesterday.”
“Where exactly?”
“Um…all over the city, I think. She’s on a tour.”
Albertson said, “Okay, we’ll have to wait until she gets back, I suppose. How did she get to Manchester? Does she have a car?”
“No—that could be disastrous.”
Albertson smiled briefly at my reaction to his question. “Not comfortable with driving on the left?”
“Definitely not. Parkview arranged transportation for her, a private car, I think. Malcolm or Ella will know. I can text Mom, but I don’t know if she’ll reply. She usually doesn’t keep her phone on.”
“No need. I’ll track down the car service.”
We emerged from the walls of the maze and moved back through the taped off areas. As we hiked around the lake, up the hill, and through the gardens I could feel Alex’s gaze on me. I looked at Albertson’s back and mouthed the words, “Tell you later.” Alex nodded, but he looked worried.
Once back in the house, Albertson consulted with Malcolm, who met us in the entry hall, his face somber as he smoothed down his fringe hair. “It’s ghastly. Just ghastly,” Malcolm muttered as he crossed the black-and-white tiled floor. “So upsetting for Lady Stone. I spoke with her on the phone. She’s extremely shocked and sends her deepest condolences to…the family of the…er, person.”
Malcolm sounded like a press release and, while I knew Beatrice would be concerned about the incident, I thought Malcolm was probably exaggerating her emotional reaction.
We followed him into the library as he said, “She’s quite distraught. She’s so protective of the estate. To have—er, violence—intrude here…”
Albertson said, “Quite.” He looked around the spacious book-lined room. “This will be fine.”
Malcolm tugged at the hem of his vest. “Lady Stone instructed me to tell you to take as much time as you need. Please let us know if there is anything we can do.”
“Thank you.” Albertson’s tone indicated dismissal, but Malcolm lingered. “Is there any word…on the identity of the…um…unfortunate person?”
“Not at this time,” Albertson said. He didn’t glance at me.
“I see.” Malcolm went to the door. “Please ring the bell if you need anything.” He pointed to the bell pull, then closed the door.
Albertson followed Malcolm to the door as he said, “I’ll go find out about your mum.”
“Do you think it was a robbery?” I asked Albertson.
The constable paused. “It’s possible, but it’s too early to tell,” he said and went out.
I dropped down onto the couch facing the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out on the drive. Alex sat down beside me, eyebrows raised. I sagged back against the soft cushions with a shrug.
It was true, what everyone said about married couples, that they could communicate without words. Alex had always been able to read me pretty well—he was much more intuitive than I was—but we both seemed to have
stepped up a level in the nonverbal-communications arena.
“You’re worried,” Alex said.
“Yes. There’s no reason to be. That man is probably some stranger Mom chatted with at the airport while she waited for me to get back, but…” I tucked my hair behind my ears and sat up straighter. “She acted strange at the airport and in the car. She didn’t want to talk about it. She was secretive, and that’s never good.”
“Are you going to tell Quimby?”
“About my mom acting odd? No. My mom can tell him herself what happened. I only have my feelings, my observation, of what happened. Quimby will want facts.”
“Did you see the man’s watch?” Alex asked.
“I didn’t notice it. At first I couldn’t look away from the knife—I’ve never seen anything like that—and, then when I managed to look at his face…I was so surprised that he looked familiar that I didn’t notice anything else.”
“It looked like a Skagen.”
“What’s that?”
“A watch brand.”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“It’s not incredibly expensive, but still a nice watch. It probably cost over a hundred dollars.”
“Oh. So maybe it wasn’t a robbery.” I realized I was twisting my wedding ring around my finger and dropped my hands to my lap. “Maybe this death is one of those extraordinary coincidences that happen sometimes.”
“A person your mother met randomly at the airport shows up dead after our wedding—and neither one of us knew him?”
“No, you’re right.” I closed my eyes for a second. Goodbye, uninterrupted days holed up in the cottage with Alex. Goodbye, honeymoon. “It’s too extraordinary. It can’t be a coincidence.”
We had a long wait in the library. Mostly, Alex and I sat in silence, holding hands, my gaze roving over the gold-lettered titles. I jumped at every noise from the front of the house, but none of them were Mom arriving back. Eventually, the caravan of official vehicles left Parkview, including a medical examiner’s van.