by Granger, Ann
‘Yes, it was.’ The kid seemed obsessed with murders.
‘Did you catch that murderer?’ Millie leaned forward.
‘Yes, we did.’
Millie seemed suddenly to lose interest in the progress of the investigation. She flopped back against the chair cushions and held up the bear. ‘This is MacTavish. He comes from Scotland. That’s why he’s wearing tartan. He used to have a shield and a sword but Mummy took them away. She doesn’t believe that toys should mimic the violence of the real world.’
Mimic the violence of the real world … That was surely a direct quote from her mother. Perhaps that was why Millie was so interested to hear about the murder. It was a novel and forbidden subject. As such, it held a special fascination.
‘I had a stuffed cat who was a special friend, when I was young,’ said Jess. ‘He was called Stripes.’ Millie said nothing so Jess added lamely, ‘He was striped.’
‘What colours?’ asked Millie in the nit-picking tradition of examiners worldwide.
‘Brown and white.’ Thanks goodness the toy hadn’t been striped blue or pink. That would not have gone down well, Jess suspected. ‘I took him everywhere with me.’ So she had, she remembered now. Whatever had happened to Stripes? She must ask her mother next time they spoke on the phone. It was possible Stripes lurked in a box in the attic in her old home. But her mother would ask why on earth Jess wanted to know.
‘Have you got a boyfriend?’ asked Millie now in a complete change of subject.
Thrown off-balance, Jess spluttered, ‘I, no, I haven’t at the moment.’
‘Why not?’
Jess’s wish, that she’d declined the invitation to accompany Ian Carter here this evening, was strengthening by leaps and bounds. The child had all the tact of the Spanish Inquisition. It was time to make a stand. Millie would run rings round her, if allowed to.
‘That’s not really something you need to know,’ she said in as kindly a tone as she could.
‘I’ll find out,’ warned Millie. Her tone and the look in her eyes sharpened. She had inherited her father’s eye colour, hazel, sometimes appearing more brown and sometimes more green.
‘Go ahead.’ Jess knew all about dealing with threats, whether they came from crooks or from Millie.
‘I knew about Mummy and Rodney long before Dad did.’ There was satisfaction in Millie’s voice.
‘Did you? Well, that would be none of my business. That’s private to your father and family.’
‘Things can’t be private,’ objected Millie, ‘if everybody knows about them.’
Jess had a moment of insight. The divorce of her parents must have shattered Millie’s secure world and with it one aspect of her innocence. If she really had known that her mother had found another man, long before her father found out, that had put a burden on shoulders too young to bear it. You couldn’t say the child had become cynical, that was too adult and too strong a term. But she had suddenly acquired a brittle veneer to protect herself against any further shocks. MacTavish, still clutched to her chest, was that veneer made visible.
‘It doesn’t mean everyone talks about it,’ explained Jess. ‘Some people can be embarrassed at having something private talked about with strangers.’
‘That’s just pretending,’ argued Millie. ‘It’s not like a secret. If nobody knows, it’s a secret. If everybody does know, it isn’t.’
Luckily Carter and Monica were back, bearing between them the makings of a snack tea. Besides the sausage rolls there was a plate of assorted cupcakes iced in somewhat lurid colours.
‘We didn’t make those,’ said Millie disparagingly.
‘No,’ agreed Monica. ‘We have a lady in the village who runs coffee mornings, with bring and buy, to raise funds for our church. There are always a lot of cakes on sale. These cupcakes are very nice to eat. The baker got rather carried away with the food dye.’
Over tea, the atmosphere relaxed and became quite jolly. Even the two cats returned, one at a time, and sat at a safe distance, watching.
As they got ready to leave, Carter drew Monica aside. ‘Thanks for taking care of her,’ he said quietly.
‘A pleasure. She’s a splendid little girl.’
In the narrow hallway, Jess had stooped to stroke the nearer cat, the black one. ‘Nice to meet you, Millie,’ she said cheerfully as she did, looking up at the child.
Millie was casting a shrewd eye over her. ‘I’ve told Dad to get a cat. He needs company. He hasn’t got a girlfriend, you know. You could—’
Jess interrupted. ‘Millie,’ she said, ‘a word of advice. Don’t try and fix your father up with a girlfriend! These things happen naturally or they don’t happen at all.’
‘All right,’ said Millie placidly. ‘Would you like to say goodbye to MacTavish?’
Jess shook MacTavish’s paw solemnly. She was rewarded with a sudden brilliant smile from his owner.
Chapter 9
The following morning Jess crunched across the gravel forecourt of the property called The Barn and made for the cottage. The barn itself still existed but, she saw, had not been turned into a fashionable country home, as had so many other old barns. She wondered about its use now.
She wasn’t the first visitor. There were two cars parked before the cottage already, one with a blue badge in the windscreen. That could be Petra’s, and the other belonged to someone else, which was a pity. She’d hoped to find Petra alone. She rapped at the brass horseshoe-shaped knocker.
The door was opened almost at once by a very fit-looking woman in her mid to late thirties. She wore her thick dark-blond hair bobbed; and was dressed seasonably and country-fashion in a quilted navy body-warmer, peacock blue sweater and jeans.
‘Petra Stapleton?’ asked Jess cautiously. If so, this was not what she’d been expecting.
‘No, I’m Petra’s sister, Katherine, usually called Kit. Who are you?’ Kit Stapleton assessed Jess rapidly. ‘Journalist?’
‘No, I’m a police officer, Inspector Jessica Campbell. I’m leading the enquiries into the death and fire at Key House.’ Jess produced her warrant card.
Kit glanced at it and then stood to one side. ‘You’d better come in, then. I don’t know what you think we can tell you about it. I suppose this has to do with Gervase Crown, somehow or other?’
‘You’ve seen Mr Crown recently?’
‘No,’ Kit replied in a brusque voice. ‘And don’t want to.’
‘I’ve seen him,’ a quieter voice said from the window.
Kit spun round, horror printed on her face. ‘You have? He came here, Petra? Why didn’t you say? I told you to ring me—’ She broke off to glance at Jess.
It was time to take charge of this conversation. Jess walked towards the window where another woman sat on a padded semicircular settle.
There was a likeness between the sisters, but it wasn’t close. Katherine, apparently known in the family as Kit, burst with energy and good health. Beneath it bubbled something else. Anger for Crown’s temerity in calling on his victim? That the family was to be dragged into a police inquiry? No one liked that. Or could it be sorrow for what had happened to her sister? Even fear?
In contrast, there was an inner stillness about Petra Stapleton. Perhaps it was the years of suffering that had taken the bloom from her, but she was still a very attractive woman. She had the sort of pale, delicate features the Victorians liked so much. Certainly her long hair and the calm oval of her face would have inspired the Pre-Raphaelites to paint her. Jess noticed that two crutches were propped against the settle. She had passed by the wheelchair as she came in.
‘Please sit down, Inspector,’ Petra invited, indicating the settle. ‘Kit, love, could you pop the kettle back on? Then we can all sit round with a brew, like the three witches.’ She smiled at Jess and then threw another smile towards her sister.
There was something both placating and warning about that second smile. Kit had already struck Jess as impetuous. The news that Crown had been here had come
as an unwelcome shock. Was Petra already warning her sister to be careful what she said?
‘We’ll speak about it later!’ Kit promised her sister grimly, marching towards an area set up as a kitchenette.
‘Kit’s my bodyguard,’ said Petra quietly to Jess. ‘She gets upset at mention of Gervase. He came here yesterday, late morning, just after checking out what was left of Key House. I think he was horrified at the amount of damage and wanted to talk to someone. He didn’t actually come in here …’ She waved at the spacious living area around them. ‘He came into the barn where I was working. I’m an artist, you know. The barn is my studio.’
‘I didn’t know,’ said Jess. ‘Were you surprised to see him?’
‘I was astonished. Kit had only just left. She’d come to warn me he was around so I knew he was somewhere nearby. I hadn’t expected he’d want to see me.’
And she must have been relieved that Kit had left, thought Jess. Had that been good luck? she wondered. Or had Gervase realised Kit was visiting her sister and had hung about somewhere out of sight until he was sure Kit had left?
‘How did you feel about seeing him? Other than surprise?’ Jess was aware that her question might be deemed tactless and fancied that Kit, over by the kettle, threw her a look. But that was being a police officer. You had to charge right in there where angels feared to tread.
‘Relieved,’ said Petra unexpectedly. ‘Because, although Kit had assured me the dead man – so awful to think of it – wasn’t Gervase, it was still good actually to see him alive and well.’
Kit was approaching with a tray on which three mugs, painted with cats, were balanced. ‘I don’t do teapots,’ she said brusquely to Jess. ‘I make the tea straight in the mug with a tea bag, so I hope you weren’t expecting something more elegant. I’m the Persian, Petra has the Siamese. Yours is the tabby.’
‘It’s the way I make it at home. At work it comes from a dispenser. That looks very nice, thanks.’ Jess took the mug illustrated with a truculent tabby cat of the sort usually called a mouser. That’s me, she thought ruefully. The sisters each have an elegant pet on their mugs. I’ve got the everyday, working model.
‘I was explaining to Inspector Campbell that I didn’t expect Gervase would come here,’ Petra told her sister, although Kit had clearly overheard. ‘But that I was relieved, not upset, at seeing him. He didn’t stay long; so don’t get hot under the collar, Kit. I would have told you when the moment was right. Probably about now when we’d got our coffee!’ Petra gave another of her placating smiles. ‘But Inspector Campbell arrived before I did.’
‘I hope he’s not going to come anywhere near me or Mother,’ snapped Kit. ‘He’ll get a dusty reception if so. He is amazingly thick skinned, but we’d make it clear to him just what we feel.’
‘Kit …’ Petra murmured warningly.
‘It’s all right,’ said Kit. ‘I’m not going to threaten him before a witness. Nor, Inspector Campbell, did I decide to burn down his house. I’ve had years in which I could have done that and haven’t. What do you want to ask Petra? Just if she’d seen him? Have you seen him, by the way?’
‘Yes,’ said Jess briefly. ‘But I didn’t realise he’d been here. You would have known him when he lived at Key House. We are, of course, investigating the fire and the discovery of a body in the ruins. That has brought Mr Crown back to England from his present home in Portugal. He doesn’t appear to have visited much over the years. Have you, either of you, been in any other contact with him during that time?’
‘No!’ chimed both sisters indignantly.
‘I understand he was responsible for the car crash in which you were injured.’ Jess gestured apologetically at the crutches. ‘Forgive me mentioning it.’
‘He was and remains responsible for everything,’ declared Kit.
‘I carry my share of blame,’ Petra objected unexpectedly. ‘I got into a car with a young man I could see was drunk. I suppose I was a bit tipsy myself. Stupidity’s not blameless, Inspector. I should have known better. I was very young, but I wasn’t a child. Also, I knew Gervase had already been involved in one smash. No one was killed or seriously injured that time, but, well, it was a sort of signpost to the possibility of another one some day. So please don’t apologise for mentioning my sticks!’
Had Petra confessed to a moment’s teenage foolishness in getting into a car with a drunken Gervase, wondered Jess, to defuse any suspicion she harboured a desire for revenge? More likely because she’s had time to think it over and she’s honest. What’s more, Petra Stapleton isn’t stupid, far from it. She has more insight than her sister.
Aloud she asked, ‘Does either of you know, or can you guess, why he didn’t sell Key House before now? Apparently he didn’t want to live in it.’
‘To sell it would have made sense,’ agreed Kit, ‘but Gervase isn’t strong on common sense.’
‘I think it was a complicated thing,’ Petra said slowly. ‘It had been his childhood home. He didn’t need to sell. I don’t think we can criticise him for not selling if he didn’t have to. In the end, it’s none of our business, is it?’
The words were spoken pleasantly, but there was steel behind them. Jess glimpsed the determined young woman who had fought back against her injuries to make a new life.
Kit sniffed loudly but said nothing.
‘Does either of you know if he ever applied for planning permission to alter it, turn it into something he might want to live in?’ asked Jess of both of them.
They stared back at her in a united front. ‘Why on earth should he tell us, if he did?’ Kit asked. ‘We haven’t been in contact with him, Inspector. We’ve told you that. From the time of the accident and what followed, until he walked into my sister’s studio yesterday, we’ve had nothing to do with him.’
She paused. ‘As for the planning permission, if he’d ever asked for it, that would depend on what he wanted to do. Certainly he’d have been told there were limits to any changes or additions he might want to make and they’d have insisted he didn’t overstep the rules. Even my sister’s cottage here …’ Kit waved a hand to indicate their surroundings. ‘We had to draw up very careful plans for this place. It was a stable before. Admittedly the planning people are often more concerned about the outside of a building than the inside. They’re keen to preserve the look. But in the case of Key House, the inside mattered. It was historic, you know. All the staircase and panelling were original to the house, and they’d have wanted to preserve that. I agree it was gloomy, lots of dark wood, and I wouldn’t have wanted to live in it. But generations had. There was even a local tradition about a ghost, a child who stood by visitors’ beds and pulled the bedcovers off them. I’ve never met anyone who saw it.’ Kit smiled unexpectedly and it lit up her face. Suddenly she was an attractive woman, but one under strain.
‘What happens to a ghost when the building it haunts has gone?’ asked Petra thoughtfully.
‘It gets pretty frustrated, I imagine,’ Kit told her sister. She turned back to Jess. ‘Amanda, that’s Gervase’s mother, did her best when she lived there. We were only kids at the time, but I remember a lot of white leather furniture and table-lamps everywhere. There were polished parquet floors. Probably the original flagstones were underneath, but the Crowns had laid parquet over it.’ Unkindly she added, ‘They were that type of people. You know, buy a period property for the upmarket look and then tinker with the inside because it’s old fashioned. Amanda would have wanted something that resembled a picture in Homes and Gardens.’
‘I expect the old flagstones were cold,’ Petra said and Kit had the grace to look as if she regretted her last remark.
However, she rallied quickly. ‘I suppose there’s irony in their putting down the wooden floors, because the parquet would have burned in the recent fire and the old stone flags wouldn’t have done.’
‘The parquet did burn,’ Jess said quietly. ‘We have wondered whether the arsonist knew that, was familiar with the house.’
Both sisters looked upset.
‘How do you remember it?’ Jess asked now of Petra. ‘Your sister remembers it as dark and gloomy.’
‘The panelled hallway was quite dark. But I don’t remember the rest of it as gloomy. As Kit said, the interior was a bit like a picture in a magazine. But one wouldn’t have expected anything less. Amanda was very elegant herself,’ said Petra a little wistfully. ‘I thought, when I was a kid, that she looked like a film star.’
Kit’s assessment was more robust. ‘Did you? I thought she was a freak, all that warpaint and silly high heels.’
‘Does either of you know why she left her husband?’
‘Because she couldn’t stand him, I suppose,’ said Kit. ‘Neither could I.’
‘But she didn’t take her child with her,’ Jess pointed out.
The sisters looked at one another. Kit spoke for them both. ‘We all felt sorry for Gervase then, when he was a kid. But it doesn’t excuse how he turned out.’
‘We were children, too,’ Petra added. ‘We didn’t know the circumstances of Amanda’s leaving. It wasn’t the sort of thing discussed before us.’
Jess recognised she wasn’t going to get any further with that line of questioning. A door had been closed, just as it had been closed over the matter of the sale or non-sale of Key House. Both times Petra Stapleton had closed it. Kit was free with her opinions, but Petra got her own quiet last word. She changed the subject. ‘Does the name Matthew Pietrangelo mean anything to either of you?’
They shook their heads. ‘Who’s he?’ asked Kit.
Jess produced one of the photos given to them by Sarah Gresham. She held it out. The sisters stared it.
‘Never seen him!’ declared Kit, taking it from Jess and then handing it to Petra.
Petra said quietly, ‘He looks a bit like Gervase.’ She raised her eyes from the photo to Jess’s face. ‘Is he the one who died in the fire?’ she asked. ‘Did he die because someone thought he was Gervase?’
No, Petra wasn’t stupid. She was very smart! ‘We think it’s possible that is the dead man,’ Jess began. ‘We’re awaiting the result of tests and dental checks—’ She was cut short by the sound of yet another car drawing up outside.