“Great. I’ll drop these off.” Genny hefted the tray with the sandwich platter. “You can start in on assembling the cakes, all right?”
Emma agreed and shooed both dogs down the stairs. But not without a backward glance.
What could Caite have been doing?
Back in the kitchen, Dash flopped onto his blanket by the door, clearly exhausted from his explorations. Emma determinedly took herself over to the bin with the sponge cakes. Oliver followed and plunked himself down on his hindquarters beside her.
This morning, Emma had carefully wrapped the fresh sheets of angel cake in cling film to keep them from drying out. Now she unwrapped them just as carefully. She also brought out the small tub of lime and passion fruit curd filling and the cartons of cream and mascarpone, and the bottle of ginger syrup for the frosting.
“Emma.” Oliver looked up with pleading eyes. “It was important, right? About the perfume lady?”
I will not even think about going upstairs, she told herself. “Yes, Oliver. You did great.”
Fortunately, there was a stand mixer right on the work counter. She wanted to get the cream whipped before she started in on cake assembly.
“Do you want to see the office room?” Oliver yipped hopefully. “I can show you.”
Emma thought about Constance Brent upstairs, questioning the Cochrane family over tea and Genny’s sandwiches. She thought about how Genny was probably on her way back right now, unless, of course, Constance decided to keep her for questioning as well . . .
Either way, Emma would not have a lot of time. Plus, of course, wandering around the house was a bad idea, even if there wasn’t any kind of official investigation starting just yet. Anyway, the Hyphenated Caite might have a perfectly legitimate reason to be here, after being told by the police she couldn’t come in. Besides, Emma had a job to do. She’d promised people cake and she’d already left Genny to make all the sandwiches. Emma could not let the side down for the sake of her own curiosity.
Emma resolutely opened the carton of double cream.
“Emma?” Oliver bonked her shin with his nose.
Emma sighed and closed the cream. “To heck with it. Oliver, where’re those back stairs?”
“Here!” Oliver darted to the back corner of the kitchen. Dash barked once, but declined to get up from his spot next to the outside door. At least for now.
Emma yanked the back stairs door open, only to find herself face-to-face with Constance Brent.
16
“Going somewhere, Emma?” the detective asked cheerfully.
“Erm,” said Emma.
“We’ll take that as a yes. Come on, you can sit down and tell Auntie Constance all about it.” She brushed past Emma, heading toward the kitchen island.
“Uh, right.” Emma followed the detective back to the counter. “Tea?” she asked reflexively.
“Had mine, thanks. But you go ahead.” Constance dropped her handbag onto the counter and climbed up on one of the tall stools. “That looks like it’s going to be some amazing cake.”
“It’s an angel food sponge with lime and passion fruit curd. Go ahead and try some.”
Constance picked up a spoon and dipped out a bit of curd. “Wow!” she said as she tasted it. “I think I’m glad I don’t live in Trevena. I have enough of a sweets problem.”
“Thanks.” Emma checked the water level in the kettle and reached another teapot out of the cupboard—a Staffordshire ware painted with pansies and buttercups. She also glanced at the door to the main stairs.
“Something wrong?” asked Constance.
“I was just wondering where Genny is,” admitted Emma.
“I asked her to wait so I could talk with you privately.” Constance pulled a black notebook and a mechanical pencil out of her bag. “Since we’re old friends, we’ll start with the hands, all right?”
“Oh. Yes. Right.”
Emma had been ready for this. Constance wasn’t like any detective she’d ever seen on television, or in her (very limited) experience with police in the real world. She liked to keep the people she questioned very much on their toes.
She also read palms, and tended to lead with that during her interviews. Emma suspected that it got people confused, which then got them to underestimate the detective. Emma also suspected Constance knew that.
Emma stretched out both hands toward the detective. “How’s my Heart line?” she asked.
“Looking good. Strong.” Constance cocked her head. “Anything I should know?”
“Not yet.” Emma started spooning Earl Grey into the pot. “Anything I should know?”
Constance raised one brow. “Not yet.”
“Emma! Tell her about the perfume lady in the office room!” barked Oliver eagerly.
“Okay, Oliver,” murmured Emma. “Good boy.”
Oliver dropped back, disappointed but resigned, and went over to investigate Constance’s practical brown shoes.
Constance gave his head a quick pat and then clicked her pencil once. “How about you tell me what happened this morning?”
“Erm.” Emma finished pouring the fresh water into the pot and put the lid on.
Constance sighed. “Seems to me I’ve heard that ‘erm’ before. What’s wrong?”
“Before I tell you about this morning, I, um, should probably tell you about last night.”
Now both of Constance’s brows arched. “Why’s that?”
“Remember how I told you I might have been the last one to talk to Marcie? She came round to the King’s Rest last night, late, to see me. Well, actually it wasn’t me. She was there to see Angelique, but Angelique had already gone home.”
Constance looked at her steadily. Emma found her words drying up. She looked toward the windows. Outside, the rain had finally stopped; she could see Genny wandering between the courtyard puddles, arms folded.
Genny turned toward the window and saw Emma watching her. She gave a little wave and a thumbs-up. Emma gave one back. Constance looked at the window, and then looked at Emma. Emma, guilty, let her hand drop.
“It’s all right,” Constance said. She also clicked her mechanical pencil again. “Believe me, I want this finished too. These cases . . .” She shook her head. “They’re hard on everybody. So, we’ll start with last night. Marcie Cochrane came to see, only not you, actually it was Angelique she wanted. Go on.”
Emma did. She described Marcie coming to the B&B, how she tried to give Emma the check, and how she was so concerned about everything going perfectly.
Then Emma described coming up the drive to the grange, and following the drive around the house, and seeing the body.
Constance’s jaw tightened. “And you’re certain the window was open?”
“Yes. I remember seeing the curtains blowing in the breeze.”
“Did you notice anything else at the time?”
“Um, no, not then.”
“But?”
“Um, well, when I went to take tea to the family, I noticed Oliver had wandered off.”
“Oliver followed Dash and made an important discovery!” Oliver reminded her.
Emma chose her next words carefully. “I couldn’t find him on the main floor, so I went upstairs, and I heard barking and I saw somebody running out of Marcie’s office. I think maybe they were using the computer. I thought I heard typing.”
“Did you see who it was?”
Emma firmly resisted the urge to cross her fingers. Constance would notice. Constance was like that.
“I think it was Caite Hope-Johnston. She’s the president of the Daphne du Maurier Literary and Appreciation Society. The ones who are putting on the festival.”
Constance considered her notes. Then, she considered Emma. Emma, to her shame, turned away quickly and poured water into the teapot.
“I’ve heard tha
t name already today,” said Constance.
“She came to the house earlier. Raj stopped her from coming in.”
“Yeah, that’s it.” Constance’s gaze was still too steady for comfort. “Anything else?”
Emma set the pot down, defeated. “Well, I don’t know if it’s relevant . . .”
“We won’t know until you tell me.”
So Emma told her about the problem with the catering deposits going astray and causing Weber’s to pull out of the festival.
“Seems like you know rather a lot about what’s been going on with this festival,” said Constance. “What exactly was Marcie’s part in it?”
“She was the society treasurer, and that meant she took a lot of the blame for what happened with the money.”
“Of course,” agreed Constance.
“But she was also a huge du Maurier fan, and apparently she really poured her heart into the festival and the fancy dress every year.”
“So she had something she was looking forward to?”
“Yes,” said Emma. “She did.”
Or did she? Emma remembered Marcie’s anxious expression and how she said, You’ll make this work, won’t you? . . . It has to be perfect.
That had sounded more nervous than expectant.
“All right.” Constance’s voice cut across her thoughts. “I think that’s everything for now. Thank you for your cooperation.” She stowed her notebook and pencil back in her bag.
“Are you, that is, do you—”
“Emma.” Constance cut her off. “I value your intelligence, you know that, right?”
“Erm. Yes?”
“Good. And because you are an intelligent person, you will have realized we are at the very beginning of what could be a painful investigation. And since you know this, I also know you were not just about to ask me what I think happened. Were you?”
“No?” tried Emma. “I wouldn’t do a thing like that?”
Constance nodded. “That’s right. You wouldn’t. Now, Oliver.” Constance bent down and gave Oliver’s chin a good rub. “You take Mum home. We’ll call if there are any more questions.” Constance shook her hand. “And, Emma?”
“Yeah?”
Constance’s grim expression softened. “I’m sorry you had to be in the middle of this. It’s not easy.”
“Thanks.”
Still softly, she said, “So don’t make it harder than it has to be, yeah?”
Emma swallowed. She also nodded. “Yeah.”
Constance slung her bag strap on her shoulder, gave Oliver another quick pat and headed out through the door to the main stairs. The door swung silently shut behind her. Emma sucked in a deep breath.
“Are we going home, Emma?” Oliver wagged hopefully.
“Soon, Oliver, I promise.”
Dash grumbled and huffed.
“She does so!” Oliver growled.
“What was that?”
“Dash said I told you so. He thinks you wouldn’t understand about Perfume Lady!”
“Oh. Well, you can tell Dash I do understand, but I have to pick my battles.” Emma went to the outside door and pulled it open.
“All clear!” she called to Genny.
Genny hurried down the steps to give Emma a huge hug. “Oh lord!” she exclaimed. “Could that have been any worse?!”
“Um, actually, yeah.”
“What?” exclaimed Genny. “Do you know something?”
“I know something very strange happened.”
“And you will tell all!” Genny glowered at her to emphasize the seriousness of this order.
Emma wanted to, but before she could even get started, the door to the back stairs opened.
Constance? Emma straightened up abruptly.
But it was Daphne who peered tentatively around the door. Her air of buoyant confidence had been scraped away, and the young woman who faced them now looked raw and fragile.
Genny moved first. She wrapped Daphne in a strong hug. Daphne, however, made no move to hug her back, and Genny quickly let go.
“I’m so sorry about this, Daph,” said Genny.
“Yeah, well.” Daphne wound the end of her ponytail around one finger. “It was never going to be . . .” She stopped and shook her head. “Are you guys heading back to the B and B?”
“That was the plan,” said Emma. “Just as soon as I’ve got the cake together.”
“Take me with you?”
17
The drive back to Trevena was quiet, and a little crowded. Daphne rode between Emma and Genny. Oliver sprawled across their laps.
When they reached the King’s Rest, Genny let Emma and Daphne out in the car park. She wanted to get home to Martin. She told Emma to let Josh know he needed to come home as soon as possible.
Emma promised she would. Then she let herself and Daphne in through the kitchen. Daphne probably shouldn’t be walking through the great room just now. News traveled fast through Trevena. It was possible that Marcie’s death was already being discussed over the takeaway counter.
They found Pearl in the kitchen, scrolling through something on her mobile. As soon as she saw Daphne, she dropped her phone and folded her friend in a huge hug.
“I’m so sorry, Daph!”
“No, I’m sorry,” Daphne told her. “I shouldn’t have dragged you into this.”
“Hey!” Pearl pulled back just far enough to give her a gentle shake. “You didn’t drag us into anything. Nobody could have known this would happen.”
As soon as Pearl said this, Daphne’s face twisted up tight.
“I could,” she gasped. “I should have. This is my fault!”
As soon as Daphne said it, all the strength seemed to drain right out of her. She collapsed onto the kitchen’s stool and started crying.
“Oh, Daph!” Pearl wrapped her arms around her friend’s shoulders.
Emma grabbed the box of tissues off the windowsill and set them down by Pearl, who pulled one out and pressed it into Daphne’s hand so she could wipe her cheeks. The door from the great room opened, and Angelique came in, followed by her husband, Daniel.
Pearl looked up at her parents, and there was one of those moments of near-telepathic communication that happens in tight-knit families. Daniel put a hand on Angelique’s shoulder, and nodded at Pearl. He was a tall, broad, kind man with calloused hands and dark, weathered skin. He kept his hair and his beard trimmed short and usually dressed in work clothes—a blue shirt, corduroys and stout boots.
Both parents went quickly out the way they came, and Emma hurried after them.
The great room was blessedly empty, except for Josh behind the cakes counter.
“Daphne’s just having her cry out,” Emma told the Delgados. “Things are not good up at the grange.”
“No surprise there,” breathed Angelique.
“What can we do?” asked Daniel.
“Well, Genny wants Josh to get back to the Towne Fryer. I can close up the counter after he’s gone.”
“I’ll tell him,” said Daniel.
“And I’ll get Daphne some tea,” said Angelique. “She could probably use it.”
“Good idea,” agreed Emma.
Daniel gave Josh the news. The boy went pale. He was plainly eager to hear the details, but he didn’t ask questions. At least, not too many. He just texted his mum, grabbed his cap from off the coat hook, and headed out the front door.
While Angelique started the tea, Daniel and Emma wiped down the counters and put up the Closed sign. Oliver, sensing the tension in the air, paced methodically around the room, ears and nose straining to detect any changes. When Fergus loped in from the garden, Oliver barely seemed to notice, and the Irish setter went out again in what seemed to Emma must be a bit of a huff.
“Tell you what,” Daniel said as Angel
ique set the teapot on its tray. “I’ll go home and start dinner, yeah? You and Pearl take your time here.”
“Thank you, you good man.” Angelique gave her husband a peck on the cheek.
Back in the kitchen, the worst of Daphne’s storm had faded. Pearl had found a second stool and now the two friends sat side by side with a stack of crumpled tissues piled between them.
Angelique poured out the tea and passed round the cups. Emma swept the tissues into the trash.
“Ta,” croaked Daphne.
“Now, my girl,” said Angelique. “This is as bad as it can be, but you can’t blame yourself. You don’t know what was in Marcie’s heart.”
“We don’t even know . . . what happened,” added Emma.
“But that’s just it. I can. I do.” Daphne swallowed and wiped at her face with the heel of her palm. Pearl handed her another tissue, and she wiped her nose.
“Me and Mum came up early this year because I was turning twenty-one, you know? Mum said Aunt Marcie had asked if we could celebrate my birthday at the grange. Said it was special. Wouldn’t have been my first choice, but, you know. Family.” Daphne shrugged. “Anyway, after dinner, Aunt Marcie . . . she took me aside. We went walking in the park. She said she had something she wanted to tell me.” Daphne took a long swallow of tea.
Oliver trotted over and flopped down beside her. Daphne looked down. Oliver rolled over onto his back and wriggled.
Daphne returned a bare ghost of a smile.
“Aunt Marcie said . . . she said now that I was old enough to make my own choices, she wanted to know whether I wanted Truscott Grange—house, land, the lot.”
“You mean, as an inheritance?” asked Emma. Daphne nodded.
“Well, of course it would be you, wouldn’t it?” said Pearl. “Who else would there be?”
“There’s some cousins somewhere, I think, but, yeah. It’s pretty much all down to me.” Daphne drew in a long, shaky breath. “Aunt Marcie said she wanted me to have a choice in whether to inherit. She didn’t, you see.”
“I didn’t know that,” said Angelique.
“Yeah, well, it’s not one of those things you talk about, is it?” Daphne took another swallow of tea. “Seems my grandparents decided to put Marcie in charge of the estate because they were afraid the boys might make a hash of things. And they told Marcie it was going to be her responsibility to keep the place together for all of them.”
Murder Always Barks Twice Page 10