by Sara Rosett
“So his intention was to kill Malcolm all along,” Mom said.
“It looks that way,” I said. “Quimby said they found emails from Nick asking Malcolm to agree to license The Zero’s songs for use in commercials and movies. They’d had several offers, but Malcolm had turned down each one. He refused to even discuss it. They held the ownership to the copyrights and the musical compositions jointly because Nick had inherited control of his dad’s copyright and compositions. Nick couldn’t sell or license the songs unless Malcolm agreed.”
“If Malcolm needed money, why would he say no to a deal like that?” Mom asked. “I heard from the maid who does my room that they’ve called in an accountant who is reviewing everything Malcolm handled.”
“Ella says they know now that Malcolm was taking money,” I said. “In Malcolm’s email replies to Nick, Malcolm said he wanted the band’s music to stay pure, and that letting it be used in commercials would be wrong.” I toyed with my fork. “I don’t really buy that, though. I have to wonder if he sensed that Nick was a bit of a player and didn’t want to get involved in any deals with him.”
“You’d think one conman would recognize another,” Dad said. “That’s probably one reason he avoided the licensing deals. And there was the fact that Malcolm wouldn’t want the past stirred up again. He seemed to like his anonymity here. Perhaps he worried that renewed interest in the songs might mean more questions about the band’s breakup, which could only make him nervous.”
“Nick must have decided blackmail was the way to go since Malcolm wasn’t budging on the licensing deals,” I said. “I think Nick told Malcolm about the diary and said he would expose Malcolm’s past shady activity if he didn’t agree to license the songs, but Malcolm must have refused again—and that must have been when Nick decided to poison Malcolm. Since Malcolm had no heirs, Nick thought he’d be the sole owner of the songs. Without Malcolm around he’d have complete control over the licensing deals, which would be much more lucrative than any publicity he’d get from revealing the true reason The Zeros broke up.”
“So he really did research Malcolm?” Mom asked. “That was why he traveled here earlier this summer?”
“Yes, he visited Nether Woodsmoor and researched Malcolm’s work habits and environment,” I said. “He knew from his conversations with Shannon that Malcolm had a smoothie every day and that no one else drank them or used the blender. He blackmailed Mom to get an invitation to the wedding. Remember how you said his writing was almost unreadable?”
“I could hardly make it out.”
“Right,” I said. “I’m sure it was on purpose. He couldn’t ask for an invitation addressed to himself—that might tip off Malcolm, but with his bad penmanship he got an invitation addressed to a Mr. Mick David, which would let him get into Parkview without drawing too much attention to himself. He figured he could slip away from the event and plant the poison at a time when the estate office would be empty.”
Dad said, “If anyone questioned him about the name variation on his invitation he could say they were typos.”
“And it wasn’t like they were checking IDs at the gate,” I added. “Nick only needed an invitation and his name—or something similar to his name—on the guest list to get inside. Once he was on the grounds of Parkview he had the camouflage of nearly two hundred guests. Nick popped the baneberry in the refrigerator during the reception, knowing that when Malcolm made a smoothie on Monday morning, he would already be back in the States.”
“He didn’t count on Malcolm spotting him among the guests—or that Malcolm would fight back that night,” Dad said.
“You’ll be interested to know, Dad, that Malcolm’s shoe size is the same as yours. Quimby says the dress shoes Malcolm wore the day of the wedding match the footprint left at the folly perfectly.”
“So it was bad luck for me that I wore the same size,” Dad said.
“But it was a lucky break for Malcolm. He’d already planted the feather from Mom’s hat. With his job in the estate office, he could easily access guest rooms. But I’m sure he didn’t mean to leave a footprint where the murder took place. The fact that the footprint was the same size as yours and caused the police to focus on you and Mom…well, it couldn’t have worked out better for Malcolm.”
Mom said, “Why did Nick go to the folly in the first place?”
“That’s one thing Quimby wasn’t sure about,” I said. “Nick might have accidentally taken a wrong turn on his walk back to the village, which is possible because the path divides. One path takes you over the fields and back to the inn, but the other path curves back toward Parkview and the area by the maze and the folly. Or, Malcolm got Nick out to the folly somehow. If that’s the case, then it must have happened when Malcolm and Nick talked briefly at the reception.”
“But why would Nick do that?” Mom asked. “If Nick had already planted the poison why would he meet with Malcolm?”
Dad said promptly, “Because he had to string Malcolm along for another few days. If Nick suddenly lost interest in manipulating him, Malcolm might begin to wonder what had changed. Nick didn’t want to do anything that would spook Malcolm or cause him to change his routine.”
“Right,” I said. “So Nick arrived at the folly either after accidentally taking a wrong turn or intentionally to play-act through a negotiation, not realizing Malcolm would be waiting with a knife.”
“To think that I felt a teeny bit sorry for him when he was out cold on the floor.” Mom shivered. “And that was the second time he tried to kill you, Kate.”
Malcolm had ingested a larger amount of the baneberry the second time. With his system already weakened from the first bout with the poison, the impact of the second dose hit him much harder. I drew my jacket tighter around me. We were all silent for a moment. Malcolm hadn’t been able to check himself out of the hospital this time. He’d never become fully coherent and had died during the night.
Mom cleared her throat. “Tell them about Nick’s phone, Kate,” she said. “You asked about that, didn’t you?”
“Yes. Quimby told me they received the phone records from Nick’s old phone,” I said. “The phone they recovered from the lake didn’t have any data on it related to Malcolm, but Nick had an older cell phone. They found it when they got Malcolm’s phone records. Apparently, Nick bought a cheap cell phone and only used it to contact Malcolm. Nick sent Malcolm photos of the diary and some individual diary entries through that phone. He’d have to show Malcolm something to prove he had the diary. He got rid of the cheap phone, but the records of the texts and photos were still in the database of Malcolm’s phone provider even though Malcolm had deleted the images from his phone.”
I glanced at Alex, who had ended his call.
Mom said, “But I still don’t see why Malcolm tried to set the cottage on fire.”
“Alex was right,” I said as he sat down beside me. I slipped my hand into his. “Alex and I did know something that we didn’t realize was important. We worked it out yesterday.”
Alex said, “Malcolm lied to Kate. When Kate asked him what he and Nick had talked about at the reception, Malcolm said Nick complained about his car being blocked in, but Nick didn’t have a car.”
“He arrived on the bus and walked everywhere around Nether Woodsmoor,” I said. “Constable Albertson even told us that, but I thought he meant that once Nick was here, he’d taken the bus instead of driving around the village. What he meant was that Nick didn’t have a car, at all. Malcolm learned that Nick didn’t have a car, and he realized he’d slipped up. He discharged himself from the hospital and came back here to pick up an extra key to Cart Cottage from Carl’s desk. The police have the footage from the cameras recording his arrival here early that morning. Malcolm went to Cart Cottage, thinking that he could quietly set the fire and turn on the gas while we were still sleeping.”
“But he wouldn’t have an alibi for that,” Dad said. “And if anyone checked the video recordings they’d see him taking the k
ey.”
I said, “The estate office doesn’t have video monitoring. Cameras only record the corridors and the rooms with expensive items, so there wouldn’t be a recording of Malcolm taking the key from Carl’s desk. I’m sure he could have come up with an excuse for stopping at Parkview’s estate office early if he was questioned—maybe that he forgot something essential or had a small task that had to be done before everyone got to work that morning. At that point, I think he was less worried about an alibi. He simply wanted us out of the way.”
Dad swung his foot and stared out over the green expanse of the lawn to the belt of autumn-tinged trees. “So Nick wanted sole control of the songs, and Malcolm wanted to keep Nick quiet. Malcolm saw Nick was a threat and killed him, but Nick had already set up the poison that would kill Malcolm. A killing from beyond the grave,” Dad said.
“Two murderers who murdered each other. If anyone ever deserved each other, it was those two.” Mom propped her elbows on the edge of the table and looked over the rim of her coffee cup. Her eyes narrowed. “I wonder who gets the songs now?”
Dad laughed, a sharp bark. “Trust you to follow the money.”
“Well, it’s important. Those songs are what caused this whole mess.”
“I’ll never listen to the Muzak version of Fatal Memory the same way,” Dad said, his tone dry. “If Nick didn’t have a will and didn’t have any siblings, then I suppose the rights would go to his parents, but you said they’re deceased?” Mom nodded. “Any brothers or sisters?” Dad asked.
“Yes, Rebecca had a brother.” Mom squinted at the sky. “I can’t remember his name, though. He works in some sort of charity, I think. Orphanages in South America? I can’t remember. I contacted his office when I was researching the family tree, but he was out of the country. Or maybe it was South Africa. Oh, I wish I could remember his name,” Mom said. “That will bother me all day.”
“I’m sure the police or lawyers will track him down, if you can’t find him on your genealogical chart,” Dad said. “And perhaps the money from the songs—if they are ever licensed or sold or whatever it is that happens with that sort of thing—will go to a good cause since it sounds like the brother will get the rights.”
“Speaking of genealogy…” Mom put down her coffee cup and checked her watch. “I’m off to see that historic home in London. It belonged to one of our relatives. You remember, Kate. I told you about her, the high society detective…”
Dad didn’t bother to suppress a groan. I exchanged an amused glance with Alex as he handed me a piece of paper. He’d written a flight number and departure time on it. “This afternoon,” he said. “We’re on the flight.”
It was going to happen. We were going on our honeymoon. I smiled at him and tuned out the bickering between my parents. “I’m so glad.”
Our waitress approached with a long rectangular box.
“Good, it arrived.” Dad reached for the box. Mom frowned at him as he set it across the arms of her chair. “No need to look so suspicious. I thought you might need it. Go on, open it.”
Alex lifted an eyebrow at me. I shook my head. “No idea.” The box was the right size for long-stemmed roses, but I doubted my dad would send those to my mom.
Mom put her coffee down and sent Dad a suspicious look before she used a knife from the table to cut the tape. She folded the flaps back and laughed. “You’re right. I do need another one.”
She pulled out a black umbrella as long as her arm with a glossy wooden handle. The sun glinted on the lethal-looking tip.
“Since the last one came in so handy…” Dad mumbled.
“Thank you, Oliver,” Mom said, sounding sincerely pleased.
Dad shrugged, but I could see he was glad she was happy. “Just watch yourself with it,” he said. “No poking people in the back or that sort of thing.”
“Oh, Oliver. Why do you always have to ruin a nice moment? It’s just like you…”
I turned in my seat so that I was angled toward Alex. “I thought for a moment there they were going sentimental.”
“No need to worry about that,” Alex said as their sparring continued.
“I have to do one more thing before we leave. Download a book that Grace recommended.”
Alex said, “A murder mystery, I bet.”
“Yes,” I admitted. “Busman’s Honeymoon, a Lord Peter book, but don’t worry. During our honeymoon, any mystery or mayhem will be strictly between the pages of a book.”
“Excellent. We’d better say our goodbyes and get going.” Alex shifted his chair back then paused before he stood. “We have one small modification to the itinerary. We change planes in Paris, but the rest of the flights to Venice are booked. I’m afraid we have to take the train, and it’s not the most updated equipment. Kind of old, in fact.” One corner of his mouth quirked upward. “But I think you might like it. It’s called the Orient Express.”
“You’re kidding.” I searched his face for a hint that he was joking.
But he wasn’t teasing. He smiled widely. “Nope. I’m serious. It will be two separate berths, no shower, and a bath shared with something like ten other people in our carriage, if we want to get to Venice. Food’s supposed to be excellent, though.”
“Sounds perfect.”
THE END
THE STORY BEHIND THE STORY
Thanks for reading Kate and Alex’s latest adventure. I had a wonderful time visiting Nether Woodsmoor again and crafting a mystery with double murderers.
Like Kate’s mom, I found the genealogy aspect of this story fascinating. A spin-off series, set in 1920s England is in the works. If you’re interested in news about the High Society Detective series, let me know at SaraRosett.com/1920s. I’ll drop you a line when the first book is out.
Writing Death at an English Wedding was a bit daunting. So many fun characters are part of the series. I wanted to include them all, but many of my favorites only got a passing mention or a cameo because the focus had to be on Kate’s family for this book. My own parents are nothing like Ava and Oliver, by the way. They are happily married and never tried to set me up on a blind date. (Thank goodness.)
When I first had the idea for this series, I knew Jane Austen themes would be part of it. Kate and Alex’s family and friends pushed Jane almost completely out of the story this time, but she will be back. Pride and Prejudice plays a big part in the plot of the first book in the series, Death in the English Countryside. When I was knocking ideas around for that book, I thought what if Kate’s parents were modern day versions of Mr. and Mrs. Bennet? What would they be like today? From that jumping off point, I decided they’d be divorced, no question about that. Kate’s dad would still be into books—so much so that he owns a bookshop. And Kate’s mom would be obsessed with marrying Kate off and continually ambushing her with blind dates. From those initial ideas, Ava and Oliver came to life. In this book, I enjoyed exploring their relationship with Kate and with each other. On second thought, I guess Death at an English Wedding does have some Jane in it after all in the personalities of Ava and Oliver.
A few other interesting notes on the story. The berries from the baneberry plant are poisonous and can be deadly. Opinions vary on whether the rest of the plant is as toxic. Some literature states baneberry leaves will only make you sick while other sources report that all parts of the plant are deadly. For this book, I went with the latter option. English weddings do have their own unique traditions. I tried to capture a few of them for this book. When creative artists like songwriters and authors create art together they own the copyright to the music or book or poem jointly. Copyright lasts for the life of the author plus seventy years. So two people who write a song or book together are united in a way that will live longer than they will! Because copyright can be passed on to heirs, I thought the idea of two people at odds over some valuable content was an interesting angle for the mystery. You can see images of the places (real and imaginary) that inspired the novel at the Death at an English Wedding pinboard
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Thanks for stopping by Nether Woodsmoor with me. I hope you’ll return there with me again soon! If you’d like more information about my other books, you can find my complete catalog at SaraRosett.com/books.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
USA Today bestselling author Sara Rosett writes cozy mysteries. Her books are fun escapes for readers who like interesting settings, quirky characters, and puzzling mysteries. Publishers Weekly called Sara's books, "satisfying," "well-executed," and "sparkling."
Sara loves to get new stamps in her passport and considers dark chocolate a daily requirement. Find out more at SaraRosett.com.
Connect with Sara
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ALSO BY SARA ROSETT
This is Sara Rosett’s complete library at the time of publication, but Sara has new books coming out all the time. Sign up for her newsletter at SaraRosett.com/signup to stay up to date on new releases.
Murder on Location
Death in the English Countryside
Death in an English Cottage
Death in a Stately Home
Death in an Elegant City
Menace at the Christmas Market (novella)
Death in an English Garden
Death at an English Wedding
On the Run
Elusive
Secretive
Deceptive
Suspicious
Devious