by Sarah Kelly
India, settling down in her chair, said, “Was it you who first noticed the money was missing?”
“We’re not accustomed to playing host to criminals in Aston Paddox,” Geoffrey said icily. “Therefore I had not checked the accounts for any missing money.”
“We understand,” Xavier said, his tone just as firm as Geoffrey’s. Ever since the days he’d had to bow and scrape for Kimble, he’d vowed he would never let himself be walked over again. “So who found out?”
“Lord Drummond-Coe, of course, my client.”
“So let me get this straight,” India said. “Laurence came over here to check the accounts after Felicia had disappeared.”
“No, it was before Miss Drummond-Coe disappeared,” Geoffrey said, evidently taking great delight in correcting her. “Though she did disappear on that very day. Make of that what you will.”
Xavier leant his chin on the ball of his hand, looking deep in thought. “Was that the first time Laurence had come to check his accounts?”
“Yes. Lord Drummond-Coe is by no means a pragmatic man. However when he visited me he informed me he was making a resolution to be more practical-minded and wanted to get a handle on his finances. He said he had checked his online banking and had noticed money was missing, but was sure he was making a mistake and perhaps the money was in another account. I rechecked against my own records, and that is when the discovery was properly made.”
India nodded. “How did Laurence react?”
A sneer came over Geoffrey’s face. “He went white as a ghost and practically collapsed into the chair upon which you sit, young man,” he said, nodding at Xavier. “A most dramatic performance.”
“I don’t mean to be rude, Mr Forsythe,” India said, “but didn’t Laurence employ you so that you could keep on top of his finances? How long had the money been missing before you discovered it was gone?”
Geoffrey’s face flushed purple with rage. “That is the business between the client and the accountant, and no one need poke their nose in that relationship. How do you suppose to enter my own office and call my professional life into question? How very rude. I would be well within my rights to tell you to leave this instant.”
“That is your prerogative,” Xavier said. “But we would like an answer to the question. How long had the money been missing?”
Geoffrey shot to his feet. “How dare you speak to a man like that in his own office? You Americans would do well to learn some proper manners.”
“I don’t see what us being American has to do with it,” India said hotly. “We are merely trying to do the job that has been assigned to us, which is to find out who is responsible for killing Felicia.”
Geoffrey stormed over to a cabinet at the back of the study and poured himself what looked like a whiskey into a crystalline glass. “Perhaps she killed herself under the weight of the guilt, knowing she was nothing but a common thief, prepared to steal from her own family.”
Xavier shook his head. “She was found in a freezer, and it looked like strangulation although the autopsy has not yet been done.”
India doubted they would ever see the result, either, given how hostile the cop had been. Perhaps they could read about it in the papers. She certainly didn’t want to count on any favors from Constable Middleton.
Geoffrey took a long deep sip of his liquor. “Perhaps it was an American hit man.”
“Why would you think that?” India said sharply. Was it just because of his blatant prejudice toward Americans or was there a real reason?
Geoffrey took on that sly smile again. “Oh, you don’t know?” He strode over to the window and looked over the garden. “The American branch of the Drummond-Coe family are up to their eyeballs in scandal. Lord Drummond-Coe, that is the original, Laurence’s father Hugh, is likely turning in his grave the way they’ve disgraced the family name. At least it is across the pond and not closer to home.”
“Why?” Xavier asked. “What have they done?”
“Well, apparently,” Geoffrey said airily, “Alexander has styled himself as some kind of mafia-esque type figure. You know, a variety of businesses with shady connections, questionable characters lurking behind the scenes, and the whole threatening air of danger and power and money and an ostentatious lack of taste. If there’s anything you want to be looking into, it’s Alexander’s doings. Probably he’s angered some drug kingpin, who then promptly put a figure on Felicia’s head. An expert assassin crept into Aston Paddox and into the Hall, then was out ten minutes later and soon on a plane. They probably stride the streets of Miami, or wherever, as we speak.”
India thought that sounded rather outlandish. “It’s something we will look into.” She wondered how much of it was true. Maybe he was only trying to throw the suspicion off himself. The only evidence she’d taken it was circumstantial, that she had access to the account. Yet it was equally possible that Geoffrey himself could have taken it. Then he could have pinned the whole thing on Felicia. India tried not to let her imagination run away with her, but soon she was imagining some kind of confrontation between Geoffrey and Felicia about the money. Who knew where that could have led…
“Yes, you had better,” Geoffrey said. “And you’d also be well advised to turn your attention to Liam Dancer.”
“The gardener at the Hall?” Xavier asked.
“Indeed. I will not say anymore because he has that silly girlfriend of his pregnant, but let us simply say that I occasionally take an evening walk around the back of the church grounds and through the fields. And I might have spotted a certain someone with their lips locked to Ms Drummond-Coe.” He knocked back a huge gulp of alcohol and shot them a death glare. “But you didn’t hear that from me.”
India gasped. “Felicia and Liam?”
“Our lips are sealed,” Xavier said coolly.
“Good.” He poured himself another drink. “I should like to get back to my gardening now. I trust there are no further questions.” The sound of tires crunching over gravel sounded from out the front of the house. Geoffrey looked up with only a flicker of interest. “Must be Muriel.” Then his eyes flashed with panic, like he’d just remembered something. “Do you want a cup of tea? Some biscuits, perhaps? Or cookies, or candy bars, whatever you Americans call them.”
India was getting annoyed at being addressed as ‘you Americans’ but was quite thirsty. “I would love a cup of tea, thank you.”
Xavier shot her a look as Geoffrey hurried out the room. “Not for me,” he called out behind him, then turned to India and whispered, “Are you crazy? The guy’s unhinged. He’ll probably poison our tea.”
India laughed. “No way. I mean, he’s a little suspicious, but—”
“A little?” Xavier said, incredulous. “This whole thing stinks. Do you really believe a man as sharp as that can’t take care of his clients’ accounts? Look at his house, his car. He didn’t get those by messing up everyone’s figures. I don’t want to speak too soon, but I think he might just be behind this. Maybe he took the money. Maybe he’s been doing that to his clients for years.”
The sound of a key in the front door and Muriel’s cheery voice saying, “Hello, darling,” made India feel more at ease. Though not the bubbliest of people, Muriel had been nice enough at Mrs Clitheroe’s. After Geoffrey’s bluntness it would be nice to see a friendly face.
“The thought did flash through my mind, too, you know, that he took the money,” India admitted. “But I don’t think we should be hasty. It could just as easily be Felicia who took the money.”
“Yes, it could. But then we’re looking at Laurence as the main suspect then, aren’t we?”
India grimaced. “I really don’t know. But like you said earlier, why would Laurence freeze her body in his own house? It’s too weird. He’s got plenty of acres, he could have just buried her in the woods somewhere.”
The door opened and Muriel pushed it open, a strained smile on her face. “Hello,” she said, and Xavier, ever the southern gentlemen, i
nstantly took to his feet. “I see Geoff is making you a cup of tea and a plate of Rich Teas. Is there anything else you need from us?”
Her voice was friendly enough, but in that last sentence India could hear the pressure mounting underneath the surface. Something definitely wasn’t right.
“No, thank you,” India said. “We’re just talking accounts with Geoffrey. Oh, this is my husband, Xavier. Xavier, this is Muriel Forsythe.”
Xavier extended his hand to her with a smile. “A pleasure to meet you, Mrs Forsythe.”
“How do you do,” she said, not meeting his eyes. “Well, I shall let you get on with it.”
She shut the door behind her with such delicate precision, as if she were afraid of it making a single sound.
Xavier sat back down in his chair. “What’s with her?” he whispered.
“I don’t know,” India whispered back, shaking her head. “I swear she’s hiding something.”
Xavier nodded. “I thought the exact same. You don’t think she’s involved somehow, do you?”
“Not a clue,” India said.
They both fell into silence for a few moments, each thinking their own thoughts. Soon Geoffrey came into the room, grumbling under his breath. He put the teacups and saucers down on the desk so carelessly that they both spilled some of their contents over the side and onto his stack of papers. “Drat,” he said with venom, then returned to his chair. “Take the saucers yourselves or they’ll make rings on my paperwork. Oh. Muriel!” he suddenly called out. “The biscuits!”
India took a sip of tea while they were waiting. It was lukewarm and far too pale, with an unexpected bitter taste. She liked her tea black with sugar. For a moment she wondered if Geoffrey really didn’t slip some poison into it, for how vulgar it tasted.
Muriel hurried in with a plate of English biscuits. “I found some Digestives in the cupboard, too,” she said, pink spots on her cheeks. “Oh goodness, that tea. Oh, no, dears.” She pushed a stack of papers to the side.
“Careful!” Geoffrey barked.
“Oh, sorry, Geoff, love,” she said softly, then placed the plate in the tiny space she’d cleared. “Now, let’s have those teas back and try again. How do you take your tea, Xavier, India?”
“Black, no sugar, please, ma’am,” Xavier said.
India smiled. “Black with two sugars, please.”
“That’s easy enough,” Muriel said. “I’ll be back in a tick. Help yourselves to biscuits.”
Geoffrey had been smiling, but as soon as Muriel left the room his eyes turned cold. “Now I have a business to run, and a garden to attend to. Kindly ask your questions, drink your tea and get out. I’ve no time to sit around and chat.”
“We don’t have the time either, frankly,” India said.
Xavier leant forward in his chair. “We just need to see Laurence’s accounts.”
“Absolutely not!” Geoffrey got up again to pour himself another drink. His words were not yet beginning to slur and he looked remarkably in control of himself, given how much straight liquor he’d consumed. India wondered just how much he drank a day. “Accounts are private business between the client and myself.”
“Laurence gave us his permission,” India said.
“Not to me.”
Xavier sighed, clearly running out of patience. “Call him.”
Geoffrey paused. “I shall need permission in writing.”
India’s tolerance was beginning to wear thin, too. “Sir, you seem to want to block us at every turn, and ever since we arrived you have been extremely hostile. Why is that?”
Geoffrey placed the glass stopper back in the bottle with a clink and turned to her, his eyes shining. “Since it looks like the people of Aston Paddox are going to be stuck with the likes of you for a while, I will let you know something rather important. This is a quiet village. A sleepy village. Most people have lived here since they were born, or for at least twenty years. Gertrude and Niall Stein moved into the Willowbrook seven years ago and they are still referred to as the ‘new couple’. Do you understand what I am telling you?”
“Yes,” said India. “That Aston Paddox is insular and you don’t take well to outsiders.”
Geoffrey nodded, his cheeks sucked in and mouth puckered into a knot. He looked sourer than ever like that. “No one is going to appreciate you poking your noses in where you’re not wanted. The constable won’t like it.”
“You’re not wrong about that,” Xavier said. “We met him already and he was less than welcoming.”
Geoffrey looked between them, his eyes piercing and penetrating. “You would both do well to remember that it is Lord Drummond-Coe who has asked you here, not the entire village. I, for one, find the arrogance of two strangers purporting to be able to solve a local crime with no previous knowledge of the village or the inhabitants, rather astounding. And I suspect the majority of the village will feel the same way.”
“Actually,” India said, “they asked me along to their flower arranging club. That’s where I met your wife in the first place. They were all very kind to me.”
“People might be welcoming,” Geoffrey said, then took a deep drink of his dark liquor. “But don’t mistake that to mean that you are actually welcome. Because I can assure you, you most certainly are not.”
CHAPTER 6
“Gracious,” Laurence said, spearing his piece of lamb and pushing it around the gravy on the willow patterned plate. “It sounds as if he was dreadful to you.” Mrs Rowan had insisted on making them a full meal again, though this time she had relented and allowed them to take it in the drawing room on trays. They sat around on the ageing sofas that looked totally out of place with the rest of the house and watched an English comedy program called Never Mind the Buzzcocks where people sat on a panel and made jokes.
Laurence had his eyes glued to the TV set as he ate, and laughed out loud as if the people were in the room with him.
“Yes, he wasn’t the nicest,” India said. “But never mind that. You know the freezer that Felicia was found in?”
“Yes, indeed,” he said, flicking his eyes away from the TV and toward her long enough just long enough to be polite.
“Was it always there?” Xavier asked. “How did it get there?”
Laurence was evidently trying not to laugh at a joke he’d just heard. He sighed then muted the TV and sank back into his armchair. “I don’t know how it got there, and I don’t know when I last went in that room. It might have been three years ago, or five, or ten. I’ve no reason to go into them all. You’re better off asking Old Row. She’s more likely to have gone in than me.”
“We did this afternoon while you were in the studio,” India said. “She said she’d never seen it before and had never heard a buzzing. But then she also said she hadn’t been up in that portion of the house for a month or so.”
“So we’re guessing it must have been connected within the last month,” Xavier said.
“Hmm, hmm,” Laurence said, still looking at the TV.
India spoke a little louder. “But how would anyone get that up there without you noticing, or Mrs Rowan? And surely it would have needed at least two men to lift it. Wouldn’t someone have noticed if there were two strange men in your house?”
Laurence shrugged and luckily the adverts came on so he gave them his full attention. “I’m out at the studio all the time, so maybe then. And I’m a deep sleeper and there’s not really any security. We just rely on people’s goodwill. I suppose anyone could have crept in at night if they really wanted to. Maybe put a ladder to one of the upstairs windows. If we don’t open those for weeks at a time the house ends up smelling like one of those waxwork museums. Dreadful.”
“Oh right,” India said. That made things more difficult. “No surveillance or anything then?”
“CCTV? No, that would be ghastly,” Laurence said. He smiled. “Besides, if anyone’s determined to murder me in my bed I’m sure a camera wouldn’t wrestle them to the ground for me would it?” His
smile quickly slid away. “I shouldn’t make jokes like that now, should I?”
Xavier shrugged. “Sometimes humor is a good way to get through things.”
“Yes,” Laurence said, smiling like he’d found a kindred spirit. “Art and comedy. I’d have been dead long ago without them, that’s for sure and certain.” He yawned widely. “If it’s all right, we could talk more tomorrow? I just want to watch my program and head off to bed. I’m knackered, and that awful Middleton said he would be round tomorrow. Oh and I called my brother. He’s going to fly in from California.”
“Alexander?” Xavier asked.
Laurence screwed up his face, then relaxed it, obviously trying to be charitable. “A taxi will bring him from the airport in two days’ time, he said. Undoubtedly a Rolls Royce or Bentley or another car to show off how amazingly rich he is. I shall need a good deal of sleep to be able to put up with his constant jabs and jibes without my temper exploding, I’m afraid. So I’ll get some shuteye now, I think.”
“No problem,” India said, catching his yawn. “I’m pretty tired, too.”
Xavier nodded. “And if Middleton’s coming, we need to be up early.” Then he caught India’s yawn and laughed as his mouth stretched wide. “Darn it, you’re making me sleepy.”
***
India and Xavier had hoped to inspect all around the house to see where the freezer could have been brought in before anyone else was up so they could venture around freely without Constable Middleton poking his nose into their business, but they found Mrs Rowan in the kitchen already scrubbing, the pot boiling away on the huge stove they called an Aga, at 5am.
She clutched her chest when they walked in. “Ooh! I’m not used to seeing people about at this hour. You gave me a fright. I thought you were ghosts. Not that there’s such a thing, of course.”
“Oh no, so sorry!” India said, then explained why they were up so early.