“So what should he be doing? Making little lists, like you?”
“No, but…”
“And where’s your precious Lord Bountiful in this? He supplied the vic with that crate of energy drinks.”
“Next page. But Nora…”
“And what about her?”
“He was so cut up when he talked about the accident…”
“Huh! Accident waiting to happen, more like. Bram was the real victim.”
“Not what Lord Donnal said.”
“Stop calling him that,” Emma snapped. “You don’t think he’s a real lord, do you? No more than I am. Changed his name by deed poll. Better for business.”
“No need to be so nasty. He’s very nice about you, really concerned about how you’ll manage now that the vic’s dead.”
Maggie found it hard to read Emma’s face. She didn’t understand the closed faces of the villagers when their eyes glimmered behind half-closed lids and lips curved in a supercilious half-smile.
“I can’t help being new,” she shouted now, suddenly goaded by all this Island superiority.
“No,” Emma agreed. “But you can help being stupid. How d’ye think the man made his money? Why d’ye think it’s only you overners that are so keen to get your hands on it? Open your eyes, girl, and smell the smoke.”
“Sorry?”
“It’s Halloween, innit? Devils and bonfires spring to mind.”
“Not mine.”
“Are you real? Look around you. Have you read through my box? Stop taking everything for granted. Stop letting other people tell you what to think. Think for yourself.” Emma rewound her scarf and lifted one of the baking trays. “Well, at least the cupcakes are useful. The kids’ll love them. Let’s go.”
Chapter Seven
Halloween garlands festooned the hall. Witches, skeletons, black cats, and broomsticks hung from the walls, swivelling eerily in every draught. And there were loads of draughts. Maggie was still cross at Emma’s accusation. Didn’t take an Islander to guess who she’d hired as the children’s entertainer, either. He was bulked out with padding, a floppy white hood covering his face, but the eyes were the ash-grey of a winter sky. And just as cold. That much she did notice.
So what hadn’t she noticed? A quick glance round at the children bobbing for apples showed there was one missing. And it didn’t take a local to work that one out, either. Wee Jimmy had gone walkabout—probably in search of a loo. At her count, and she hadn’t been watching him all the time, he had eaten heartily at the buffet meal, drunk five bottles of raspberry pop—hopefully not the leftovers of the vicar’s energy drink. That child would be supersonic with extra energy. And four or maybe five cupcakes.
“I’m off sleuthing again,” she told Emma as she passed her on the way out. “Tracking wee Jimmy.”
“He’ll turn up. Let him be.”
“It’s what he could be getting up to if we let him be that’s my worry.” Maggie tried for a smile to let Emma know she was not upset by her cross words earlier. She wasn’t sure she’d managed, and Emma didn’t respond.
The grim grey of the day had already turned to night while they were inside. Out of the dark stumbled a small figure, bravely whistling, though the whistle had a definite wobble. Her heart swelled with relief, and it was all she could do not to rush up to the child and enfold him in her arms. But her voice when she could trust it to speak was sharp with concern.
“Where on earth have you been, Jimmy Tolliver? We’ve all been worried sick. I was about to send out a search party looking for you.”
“Had something to do for my da.” His sharp features settled into the stubborn scowl she was beginning to know so well.
“At this time of night?” she said.
“It’s only five o’clock, miss. Just winter dark. We’ve been out later than this all week.”
“Not on your own.” But then she wondered. How did he get home from rehearsals? She’d just assumed one of the other parents accompanied him. But maybe not.
“My da wanted to know about the garden for Lady Eleanor. I went to look. He’s always told me never to touch anything there, and I didn’t, but—”
“But what?”
Maggie started in surprise at the anger and, yes, threat simmering in the voice behind her.
Lord D, a dark apparition in his Halloween cloak, stood terrifyingly tall, then lunged toward the child.
She jumped between them, her arms pushing the child behind her as she twisted to face her employer. A gasp of fear forced its way through her lips as she felt the sheer malevolence of his body language.
“But nothing,” she said hearing her voice sound thin, not at all as brave as she would have liked. “The child’s only been gone a minute—he hasn’t gone far, just playing on the lawn. I couldn’t see him for the shrubs.” Stop making too many excuses. “And he’s back now, no harm done.”
“Run along then, little man, and stay where you’re supposed to be.” The warm jovial tones coloured his voice once more, but Maggie felt it would be a long time before she forgot the suppressed rage that emanated from him. Would he really attack a child? Her stomach churned. She thought he might.
“Dreadful family,” he said without waiting for Jimmy to move out of earshot. “Before my time, of course, but his father was the gardener here. Ran off with Lady E’s housekeeper. Left his wife with three children to feed and keep. Feckless. A bad lot, and that one’ll be the same, you mark my words.”
Seeing the child’s brave strut back into the castle, Maggie wondered.
“He wasn’t doing any harm,” she said. “Just wanted to see the garden. I suppose he likes plants.”
Lord D did not look convinced as he ushered her back inside. And to be honest, neither was she.
For now, it seemed, she had another suspect for her list, and Jimmy Tolliver’s dad might be a strong contender. But Lord Donnal was lying, too. He had sacked the gardener just after Lady Eleanor left.
If this whole case rested on that car accident two years ago, then the vicar’s knowledge of confessions past made him very dangerous to anyone trying to rebuild a life. And she must remember to ask Jimmy what he was about to say when he’d been sent off sharply back to the party.
But, in the event, she forgot. Lord Donnal toppled to the ground in the Great Hall in the midst of receiving his guests for the Halloween Ball. The Murder at the Manor promotional flyers littered the marble floor around him. In the chaos, Pam took charge again. Everything pointed to another murder.
Chapter Eight
Sunday
She’d expected to sleep like the dead. Instead, skeletons with green faces careered around in her dreams, waving pumpkin lanterns all night long. Worn out, she hauled herself out of bed at first light—not too early at this time of year, at least—and did what she always did when she couldn’t sleep.
When the doorbell rang she was still staring, half asleep, half awake, at a mind map that held simply one word—“But.”
She slapped the book closed and rose wearily. On the doorstep stood a posse of policemen—Pamela again, but this time flanked by two community officers, their hunting instincts showing in their poised bodies and hound-like faces.
Her smile died. Hard to believe she had once thought Pamela a friend. Interesting how much a face relied on expression and mobility to give it meaning. Blank and inscrutable, the policewoman’s face consisted of a set of regular features but no empathy. Identity card in hand, Pamela pushed her way in and made straight for the kitchen. “Need to ask a few questions,” she said. “And we’d like to look round the premises.”
No point in bleating about search warrants—besides, Maggie had nothing to hide. “Be my guest. And what news of Lord Donnal?” She waited, hoping Pamela would revert to looking like the friend she had shared her evenings out with.
But Pamela nodded at her officers, and like the well-trained bloodhounds they were, they scampered off to search the house. “And outside premises,” she yelled a
fter them before turning again to Maggie. “The pathologist confirmed the vicar’s death is suspicious. Suspects poison. Poison which could have been delivered through your face paint.”
“Nonsense. That’s just an old wives’ tale, disproved over and over. And that wouldn’t account for last night. Lord Donnal’s symptoms looked the same, and he wasn’t wearing face paint.”
The officers returned from their search, carrying what looked like very battered cans of paint. “They’ve been opened recently.” Pam sounded positively gleeful. “This may be just what we’re looking for.”
****
Maggie knew Pam was set to do everything in her power to arrest her for the vicar’s death, but oddly she was more concerned about Bram. The car accident in Spain had left her unable to drive, unable to feel safe as a passenger. What must it feel like to wonder if you’d killed someone?
“But...” What had Jimmy found in the deathly garden? What was his dad looking for? The car, of course. If she could find the car. And today would be ideal for scouting the premises, with Lord Donnal in hospital and Pam testing her paint find for lead.
She hardly remembered the journey to the manor. This time she knew how to open the gates and where to hide the bike. She started exploring where the gardens grew wild, remembering Jimmy’s warning not to touch anything. The sudden roar of a car engine split the silence, and she moved forward cautiously.
A red Jaguar E-type pulled out from under a tented tarpaulin and stood throbbing impatiently as its driver jumped out and disappeared back into the makeshift shelter. It was the work of a moment. Maggie took in the newly laid chalk path, the empty car, the engine running, and dived for the driving seat. She shifted it as far forward as it would go, pushed down on the clutch, chose second gear, and the car shot forward so fast it was all she could do to hold it steady on the path.
There was a yell behind her, but she didn’t look back. She was almost standing to see over the long bonnet. But, fuelled by adrenaline, she drove on and out of the manor grounds.
Chapter Nine
Monday
“I’m still not sure how you managed to put it all together.” Emma’s feather duster stopped whisking over the vicar’s china figurines for a moment. “Was it to do with the vicar’s book?”
“I was at an advantage, really. I knew I hadn’t done it, which left fewer suspects to consider.”
“But you did consider me.” The duster pointed threateningly at Maggie’s chest.
“I had to. You had motive. The vicar was throwing you out of job and home. You had access to his library and could have read up about murderers who used poisonous plants. Everything you needed to know you could have found on the Internet.”
“Huh. When would I have time to learn that?”
“That’s what convinced me—apart from our friendship, of course,” she added hastily as the coloured feathers reached toward her again, so close they tickled her nose. “I could see you killing Lord Donnal if he held you to ransom over unpaid loans, but not the vicar. You quarrelled. Friends do.” An odd little pang cramped her ribs, and she rubbed at the spot. “But he was not a bad man. He would never have evicted you, had it been his decision to make. You knew someone had forced his hand.”
“So who did you eliminate next?”
“Jimmy’s father. Again, he had motive for killing Lord Donnal but not the vicar. Unless he had confessed something to the vicar—but what? That he’d killed Nora? Unlikely. He’d already made his decision, left his wife for her. More likely he was helping the vicar identify possible deadly plants. We’ll have to ask.”
“And Kyle?”
“Tricky—he did seem far too subservient, even if he was dependent on the sponsorship to set up ShriekWeek. What are we doing with the vicar’s books, by the way?”
“They’re going to the Church Christmas Fair. Bram’s coming to pick them up for me later. Who else was in the running?”
“Almost everyone involved in ShriekWeek. Lord Donnal was supposed to be this great benefactor, knowing everyone’s business, helping when needed, but everyone except Pam looked as if they hated him. From the papers in your box, I found out the vicar owed him money and he’d foreclosed on the debt. I guessed others might have been in debt to him too: Lady Eleanor, Kyle, the two pub landlords, and even you, Emma—I’m right, aren’t I?”
“I planned a moonlight flit—asked to borrow the pub minibus—but Bram found out what was going on. And then—”
“And then the pair of you compared notes and targeted him for the murder of the vicar. Hence the haunting at the tech rehearsal. You took to dropping hints to anyone who’d listen.”
“Sounds terrible when you put it like that. I must have been demented.”
“Out of your mind.” Maggie flipped through a few more books and placed them in the box. “Like lots of other people,” she said, careful not to look at her friend. “Nothing worse than watching someone get away with a saintly front hiding a black heart. I didn’t have your advantage in knowing everyone, but I watched you, watched your reaction to everyone and everything. And when I remembered your mentioning the garden, everything fell into place.”
“But that was years ago. When Lady Eleanor left, the gardener left too. The place must be a wilderness now. Where would anyone find anything, or even know where to look?”
“The gardener knew where to look, had a plant or two in his own garden, might even have given cuttings to a friend.”
“What are you saying? That the vicar poisoned himself ’cause he couldn’t pay his debts? I don’t see it.”
“You know yourself the debt worked like a payday loan, grew so much bigger every month that it became impossible to repay. But no, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying everything began way back when…”
A double rap on the iron knocker, followed by the complaining creak of the front door opening, interrupted her.
“Sorry I’m late.” Suzie unwound her long stripy scarf and threw it and her weatherproof jacket onto the shabby chaise longue. “Pam’s just behind me—locking up the car. And we passed Bram on the corner. Don’t tell me he’s coming too?”
“We need to clear the air…”
“You can say that again,” said Suzie, sneezing and wafting her hands in front of her face. “Give me a duster. I’ll dust behind you as you clear and pack.”
Another peremptory clang of the knocker, and the others arrived.
“Great. We’ll get everything done in no time now.” Emma passed over another couple of cardboard boxes. “One for the Christmas Fair, one for the charity shop.”
“And the rubbish?” said Pam.
“We’ll clear that last. I’ll order a skip.”
“Thought you’d have done a bit more than this by now.” Pam scanned the room and finished with her gaze fixed on the bookshelves.
“They take time to dust, sort, and catalogue,” Maggie said briskly. “And we’ve been talking. How is—?”
“In intensive care, but we caught him in time.”
“How did you know what to do?” Maggie stopped sorting the books and studied Pam’s smug-cat smile.
“Not rocket science.” The smile grew. “Looked it up on the Internet after we lost the vicar. I felt so guilty—wondered what more I could have done.”
“Apart from not feeding him monkshood in the first place?” Maggie wondered how she had never before decoded the cruelty behind that feline smile.
“Sorry?” Pam stiffened.
“I am, too, but I suspect you’re not—you would have killed any one of us without a qualm had we threatened your expensive lifestyle. Monkshood. I had help from the gardener there. Also known as wolfbane. Contains aconite and aconitine. It’s what the vicar was trying to tell us. Why he was so frightened he would only drink from his own glass.”
“Don’t be silly—read any poison book. The plant tastes terrible—you can’t poison anybody with monkshood.”
“You grated the root and leaves very small and used
hefty dollops of red wine to disguise the taste in what the poor man thought was an energy drink. But the first casualty was Nora—”
“Now we know you’re bonkers. He killed Nora.” Pam pointed dramatically at Bram.
“No, she was already dead when the car came out of the manor drive into the main road directly in front of him. He didn’t have a chance.”
“He was drunk and hallucinating.”
“According to you, but there is a very interesting case where a murderer placed his victim in the driving seat, then sat on top of her to make it look as if she had been driving. I think that’s what happened here. Bram really did see Lord Donnal leaving the car after forcing poor dead Nora’s hands to grip the steering wheel. You framed Bram just as you tried to frame me for this year’s murders. Those paint tins came from Druss Manor. I heard you both arranging the drop.”
“A bit farfetched.”
“I don’t think so. Why was I hired as events organizer when so many people here could have done the job? Emma, for instance, or even you.”
“Ridiculous. I have a very stressful full-time job.”
“But you always had time to attend the rehearsals and events. You had time to plant the old tins of lead paint in my outhouse to make it look as if I mixed it with the green face paint to kill the vicar.”
“Lord Donnal asked me to do it.”
“Just as he asked you to save him when he drank a tiny amount of his own doctored wine? You could have said no, but you were his Lady Macbeth, paving the way to the bright day when you replaced Lady Eleanor and became the local aristocracy you always envied.”
“Fantasy. Nothing to prove any of this rubbish.”
“Maybe not, but there will be a selection of interesting fingerprints on the Jaguar, and the crumpled wing corroborates Bram’s account. I’ve explained my theories and conclusions in a letter to the Island’s chief constable and expect he will take it from there. Nothing the police hate more than one of their own going bad.”
The smug smile transformed into a feral snarl. Pam looked round at the shocked faces. Only Bram looked unsurprised.
Hauntings in the Garden, Volume Two Page 15