Death at an English Wedding (Murder on Location Book 7)

by Sara Rosett

  “But to kill Nick?” Mom asked in a whisper.

  “You were worried about Nick coming back to demand more from you, and your secret wasn’t that big. Imagine you’d left The Edge of Zeros behind, but their music is still popular. People recognize the songs and enjoy them. Questions linger about what happened. It could blow up fast. And then where would Malcolm be? Probably out of a job,” I said. “If Ella’s right and Malcolm is skimming money from Parkview, he wouldn’t want any questions coming up about his dishonesty in the past. Any investigation or questions could uncover what he’s doing now.”

  Mom shook her head. “I just can’t picture it. He seems so…fussy.”

  “Then think about the rest of it.” I put into words the thoughts that had been skittering around my mind since this morning. “Malcolm is tall and, for all his finicky ways, I think he’d have the strength to move Nick’s body from the folly to the center of the maze. He works here at Parkview and has access to your room. He could get inside and get something distinct—a feather from your hat—and place it with Nick’s body, so that when it was discovered you’d be linked to the crime. He was at the pub and must have overheard your argument with Nick the night before the wedding and figured you’d be a good distraction for the police to focus on instead of him. You left on your tour the morning after the wedding. Malcolm had plenty of time to go to your room and get the feather. If anyone saw him, he could say he was handling a special request for you. You tend to have a lot of those,” I said.

  “No more than the average guest, I’m sure.”

  I raised my eyebrow.

  She ignored me. “Let me see your phone.” I handed it over. “I hate these tiny screens,” she said, but seemed to find what she wanted because in a moment she looked up and briefly held up the screen so I could see a Wikipedia entry for The Edge of Zero band. “Let’s see…” She scrolled down the page. “Here it is. Mike Douglas Stewart,” she read, “Born Malcolm Douglas Stewart.” She made a tsking sound and handed the phone back. “It’s right there on the Internet for anyone to find. And at the end it mentions Nether Woodsmoor.”

  “Nice,” I said, impressed.

  “Genealogy research has taught me that almost everything you want to find is on the Internet. This uncovering tidbits and putting them together is a lot of fun. It’s actually quite similar to tracing a family tree. I can see why you like it. Don’t give me that innocent look. Neal told me all about those other investigations.”

  “He probably thinks I’m a nosey American, doesn’t he?” I asked. It was better to focus on Neal. I didn’t want to dwell on the fact that I’d been glossing over some significant stuff in my life with my mom.

  “Not at all. ‘Clever girl,’ he called you.”

  “That’s nice of him,” I said. I wasn’t always sure how the villagers felt about me. Louise was a friend, and I knew where I stood with her, but some of the other villagers had a reserved manner, and it was hard to read them. “But I’m not clever enough to figure this out completely. One thing doesn’t fit—the gas leak.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Malcolm couldn’t have done it. He’s in the hospital. And someone poisoned him. Who did that?”

  “An accomplice?” Mom asked. “The person turned on him and then tried to set fire to your honeymoon cottage?” she said in a questioning voice as she tried out the theory.

  “But who could that be?” I asked. “I don’t think Malcolm has any good friends.” But I wasn’t sure. My only interactions with him had been at the Parkview estate office. “I’ve seen him at the pub occasionally, but he was always alone. Ella might know who he is close to.” I tucked the diary into the outer pocket of my purse as the waitress brought the check.

  Mom signed to put the meal on her room. “I wasn’t finished reading the diary.”

  “It’s too valuable for us to be flashing it around.” I was glad that most of the guests were on the terrace. Except for our waitress, who was moving away through the tables back to the kitchen, the only other occupant of the conservatory was a woman on the far side of the room who was feeding bites to the Pekinese she held in her lap.

  I checked the time. “I have to go by the estate office on my way out. It will be open now. I’ll ask Ella who Malcolm is friendly with.” I’d also ask Ella if she knew who had access to the keys to Cart Cottage, but didn’t mention that to Mom. She had taken the news about the gas leak much better than I’d expected, but I wanted to avoid bringing up the topic again.

  Mom pushed back her chair. “I’ll come with you.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I’m not letting you run around alone with that diary. You said yourself it’s valuable. Just let me get my jacket from my room.” She picked up her umbrella.

  “Where’s Dad this morning? Do you know?” I asked as we left the conservatory.

  “I have no idea. Probably tramping around outside since it’s not raining at the moment. If he’s not out, he’s holed up in the library.” We reached the foot of the stairs in the entry hall, and she said, “I’ll meet you in the estate office.”

  “It’s a nice day. I don’t think you’ll need a jacket.”

  “This is England, Kate. You always need a jacket and an umbrella.”

  I went down the corridor to the estate office. I noticed the tapestry that Malcolm had pulled down had been removed. The exposed section of the wall looked blank despite the elaborate molding and trim. Oil paintings, tapestries, and display cases filled every inch of the rest of the wall space.

  Carl came barreling out of the estate office as I approached. I stepped back so we didn’t bump into each other. “Carl, I have the keys—”

  “Sorry, Kate. I can’t speak to you at the moment. Minor crisis below stairs. Ella can help you with anything you need,” he called over his shoulder. “She’ll be back in a moment.”

  He obviously hadn’t listened to his messages yet. The office was unlocked, but empty. It was a few minutes before nine, and I was sure Ella or someone else would be here soon. I headed to Carl’s desk, intending to leave the keys and a note, but the squeak of a desk chair drew my attention to the back of the room.

  A computer monitor blocked the person from my view for a moment, but then he shifted. I saw the familiar tweed jacket over a sweater vest. My stomach flipped. “Malcolm.” I managed not to add, what are you doing here?

  “Kate.” He stood so abruptly that his chair shot out behind him and banged against the cabinet in the alcove with the sink and refrigerator. He held a half-empty glass of the green smoothie he liked so much in his hand.

  My heart began to pound. The momentary look of astounded shock that passed over his features told me everything I needed to know. He hadn’t expected to see me any more than I’d expected to see him. He’d thought I was still in the cottage.

  I swallowed. “You’re feeling better, then?” I made an effort to even out my words, hoping they didn’t sound choppy like my breathing. “I thought you were still in the hospital.” I’d stopped walking when he shot up out of his chair, so now I was stranded in the center of the room, a maze of desks surrounding me.

  I eased back a step, my thoughts flying. I wanted to get out of the room, away from Malcolm, but if I raced out of here, he’d definitely know something was wrong. And where was Mom? I couldn’t leave without her. She was meeting me here. I couldn’t sprint to the car without her. No, better to stay calm instead of bolting. Ella would walk in soon, or Carl would return. Malcolm couldn’t do anything here. With his padded figure and fuzz of receding hair, he didn’t look threatening. In fact, it was hard to imagine him plunging a knife into Nick’s chest. It was hard to imagine him even considering doing something like that. He might get a spot on his sweater vest and, besides, it wasn’t the “done thing.” My breathing smoothed out. I had nothing to worry about here in an office on a bright weekday morning. As soon as Mom arrived, I’d make some excuse and hustle us out the door.

  “I in
sisted on being released this morning.” He lifted the shake. “Pure living—that’s what I need. Not pills and IV drips.” He seemed to focus on something to the side of me, then he blinked rapidly. “Let me get you some.”

  “No, thank you. I just finished break—”

  “I insist. It won’t take a second to whip up one of these.” He set down the glass and turned to the alcove, but paused for a second, his hands resting on the counter, his chin tucked down to his chest.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “Perfectly…fine.” He took a breath between the words. He gave his head a little shake then swung open the door of the small refrigerator. He removed several plastic bags, all filled with leafy green things, and placed them on a wooden cutting board. He held up one bag. “Kale, the base. It’s essential.” He half-turned to me, and I saw a thin line of perspiration had broken out across his high forehead. “Have a seat.” He gestured at the chair by his desk, then rubbed his eyes before taking out another bag. “Must have spinach, too. Please, sit. I only use organic ingredients.”

  “No, thanks. I can’t stay. In fact, I’m meeting my mom…” My gaze pinged back and forth between the green smoothie and the bags of kale and spinach. The plastic bag, the tours, getting “turned around” inside Parkview—it all made sense. I’d been wrong. Nick hadn’t come to Parkview to blackmail Malcolm.

  “Won’t take a second…oh, look.” He held up the blender. “I have some left. I didn’t realize. Have a taste.” He abandoned the piles of frilly green leaves on the cutting board and poured what had been left in the blender into a clean glass that he took from the draining board by the sink.

  He came across the room toward me, his steps weaving. “Give it…a…dry—I mean, try. Quite…testy. No, tasty.”

  I backed toward the door, bumped into a desk, and moved around it. “No, it’s poisoned.”

  He stopped, swayed, and I thought for a second he was about to collapse, but he remained upright. He brought the glass up to the level of his eyes and peered at the thick green drink then shook his head in an exaggerated way. “No. It wasn’t this. I made this. It was launch—lunch, I mean—that was poisoned.” His face suddenly convulsed into a grimace. He dropped the glass, and, in a blur of motion, lunged at me.

  At the same moment, I heard a step behind me, then a whoosh. A wall of black exploded in front of me, cutting off my vision. A thin silver blade pierced the blackness and sliced downward. A tweed covered arm held the knife as it descended.

  I jerked backward, bumping into Mom. We stumbled back a few steps, thumped into a desk, then skittered to the side, our arms and the umbrella tangled. Once the umbrella was out of the way, my gaze fixed on Malcolm. I expected him to surge up for another strike with the knife.

  But he stayed on the floor. I wasn’t sure if he had passed out or had hit his head on the way down and had knocked himself unconscious. Either way, I was glad he wasn’t moving and that the knife had slid out of his reach under a desk.

  “There, you see,” Mom said in a breathy voice. “An umbrella is always a good idea in England.”

  CHAPTER 25

  “A nd it was his smoothies that were poisoned all along.” Mom picked up a scone. “I knew it wasn’t the food at lunch. Such a fuss for nothing.”

  “You can’t blame the police for investigating,” Dad said from across the table. “Malcolm’s symptoms indicated an overdose of that heart drug, and it acts on the system quickly, so of course they assumed he’d ingested it at lunch. They didn’t have time to get the tox screens back to know exactly what he’d ingested.”

  “But they were wrong about the heart drug.” Mom added strawberry jam to her scone. “What was it again, Kate?”

  “Hmm?” I shifted my attention away from Alex, who stood at the stone balustrade of Parkview’s terrace as he spoke on his phone, his back to our table. It was the last morning we’d have together. Mom, Dad, Alex, and I were having breakfast before Alex and I—hopefully—departed. Our bags were packed and waiting at the side of the terrace. All we needed were the updated airline reservations, and we’d be on our way. The day was clear, but cool with a thin trace of clouds at the margin of the sky. I focused on Mom. “What did you say?”

  “The poison, what was it?” Mom asked.

  “Baneberry.” Quimby had stopped by the inn last night and given Alex and me an update on the investigation. “Its symptoms are similar to a digitalis overdose—nausea, vision changes, convulsions, and shock—but the difference is that with baneberry, the symptoms may not show up for several hours or even several days, which is what Nick counted on.”

  “It was a berry?” Mom said. “I thought you said Malcolm only put spinach and kale and things like that in his drink? Wouldn’t he have noticed some berries?”

  “Baneberry does produce berries, and they have the highest concentration of poison, but the whole plant is poisonous. The leaves have a sawtooth pattern that’s similar to marijuana leaves. What Marie thought was a bag of weed was actually a bag of baneberry. After Nick mixed the baneberry into Malcolm’s smoothie ingredients, Malcolm didn’t notice the slightly different leaves.”

  Dad, having finished his full English breakfast, including beans and tomatoes, inched his chair away from the table and crossed one leg over the other. “I’ve only heard bits and pieces about this. You said that baneberry was the reason Nick went on the stately home tours?” He picked up his cup of coffee and settled back in his chair. “I’d like to hear the whole story, please.”

  “Yes, that’s what Quimby said. Shannon had told Nick about Malcolm’s smoothies, so Nick already knew that Malcolm drank them and no one else did. Nick’s next step was to find something to add to the ingredients that Malcolm kept in the small refrigerator in the estate office. Nick visited several sites in Sheffield then went to some historic homes and asked all sorts of questions to camouflage his real interest—baneberry. I looked up Aslet House’s website. They offer specialized tours geared to different interests—textile tours for sewing and knitting enthusiasts, behind the scenes tours that take architecture fans into the attics and basement, and even “Experience History” tours that let guests dress in period costumes.” A similar first-hand experiential event that I’d attended at Parkview had been interrupted by murder. My mother drew a breath, and I hurried on, thinking that Neal must have mentioned the incident when he described my run-ins with the police. “One of the garden tours at Aslet House is about urban foraging.”

  “What is that?” Mom asked, distracted.

  “It’s searching for edible food in urban environments, things like berries, mushrooms, nuts, and greens.”

  Mom looked at me a long moment. “Why wouldn’t someone just go to the supermarket?”

  “I guess urban foragers like the idea of finding food in the wild,” I said. “Anyway, the area around Aslet House is, like Nether Woodsmoor, great for foraging with its hedgerows and woodlands. Lots of berries and nuts. They cover all of those details in the garden tour as well as which plants to avoid, like baneberry. It’s all mentioned on Aslet House’s website. I bet the investigators will find that Nick visited their website and read up on the urban foraging tour before he even left the States. He must have pocketed some of the baneberry during the tour and brought it to Nether Woodsmoor.”

  I turned to Dad. “You must have jogged the tour guide’s memory. The next day she went to the police to report that the young man on her tour had seemed unusually interested in poisonous plants. Quimby told me that the woman said the more she thought about it after speaking to you, the more worried she became. She realized how many questions Nick had asked about dangerous plants. Apparently, he’d interspersed them with other questions so it didn’t stand out at the time, but when she thought over it again, it worried her.”

  “I have to hand it to him,” Dad said. “Nick’s plan was ingenious. He arrived in England, learned about poisonous plants located here, collected some of them, then put them in Malcolm’s ingredients. He
didn’t have a murder weapon in his possession to dispose of, and he’d be out of the country by the time Malcolm ingested the poison.”

  “And with Malcolm so interested in clean living and eating unprocessed foods, the police might have thought Malcolm had gathered the baneberry himself and eaten it, not knowing it was poisonous,” I added.

  “But how did you make the connection between the urban foraging business and Malcolm’s smoothies?” Dad asked.

  “I wouldn’t have, if you hadn’t checked on Nick’s tours and told us about them. When Malcolm took out the plastic bags of kale and spinach to make a smoothie, I thought of Marie’s description of the baggie in Nick’s room. Everyone assured me that Nick wasn’t into drugs, but what else could be in the plastic bag? It was only when I saw Malcolm’s ingredients that I remembered you mentioned Nick’s interest about urban foraging. That thought combined with the sight of all those baggies of chopped up leafy green things—well…,” I shrugged. “The thought popped into my head, What if the baggie Marie saw wasn’t drugs?”

  I ran my hand along the edge of the table, remembering how my thoughts had raced along, but my feet had seemed to be bolted to the floor. If I was right that Malcolm had killed Nick, I’d been afraid to turn my back on him. I was pretty sure I’d spotted a knife in the silverware holder of the draining board, but if I was mistaken, then there was probably a knife in the drawer by the sink.

  I shifted in my chair, reminding myself that I wasn’t stuck in a room alone with Malcolm. I was in the sunshine and surrounded by my family. “Once my mind was running down that track, I wondered if Nick put something in Malcolm’s food. Maybe Nick got lost on purpose and went to the estate office where he mixed his bag of baneberry into Malcolm’s smoothie ingredients. The police found a small plastic bag with a few fragments of baneberry leaves in one of the trash bins in the estate office. Nick’s fingerprints were on the plastic bag. I think Ella surprised Nick, when she came into the office for her sweater, and Nick dropped the bag into the nearest trash bin so that she wouldn’t see it. He had no choice but to walk out with her when Ella told him she’d take him back to the conservatory. I’m sure he hoped that the trash would be removed that night or the next day before Malcolm became ill.”