by Ruby Loren
I wished the dogs a good evening, toyed with the idea of taking them with me as protection, and then I left the house and made my way over to Dad’s place. If Fergus remembered he’d left his dog and his car at my house, he’d just have to wait until I got back.
Or he’d break-in.
It was Fergus we were talking about. He’d definitely break-in. I pulled my phone out as soon as I pulled up in the driveway of my dad’s home and sent Fergus a text telling him to not, under any circumstances, break and enter. I added that I’d be back later that evening. When a reply wasn’t immediately forthcoming, I exited the car and went to face the music.
“Diana! How are you? I hear you’ve been tangled up in murder again? Good for you - keeping busy!” My dad greeted me with his usual smile, bringing me in for a bear hug. I hugged back, thinking that my mum must be out of earshot for him to get away with saying something like that. Honestly, the way my mother talked, you’d imagine we lived in 19th century England where a woman’s reputation could be the undoing of the entire family.
“I didn’t kill him, Dad,” I said, knowing I was smiling.
“I didn’t think it was you. Charlotte was far more interested in jewellery than you ever were. You’re just covering for your magpie sister, aren’t you?”
I covered my nerves with a little laugh, hoping he wouldn’t notice. Even though I did have some concerns about someone very close to Charlotte, I wasn’t too nervous to pick up that dad knew about the diamond. Deirdre was right - everyone in Merryfield did know about it. I wondered if Gillian Wrexton was aware of it, or if she was out of touch with the community, up in the manor house on the hill.
“Well, don’t wait on the doorstep! Come in. Annabelle and your mother are in the kitchen. I’d better get back before they complete my character assassination,” Dad joked, before shepherding me through to the front room.
It was always strange being in this house that I hadn’t grown up in. Mum’s cottage was a place where nothing seemed to have changed since we were children and everything held memories of the past. Dad and Annabelle’s home was a modern work of design, mostly instigated by Annabelle. It was a lovely place to visit, but it was a blank slate - free of memories and feelings, good or bad.
I smiled at my sister and made an effort to do the same to her boyfriend. I wished I’d dragged Fergus along. We could have divided and ruled, each interrogating one half of the couple. I didn’t think my sister was in on anything that was going on, but I also knew she wasn’t completely naive. I couldn’t rule her out completely. People had motivations that were invisible to the casual watcher.
I silenced my nagging doubts and the voice inside that whispered that Samuel’s hair was just the right shade to be the man running away from the manor that afternoon. It was Christmas Eve. While I wasn’t certain that murder should be excused on holiday dates, I didn’t know anything for sure, and I was determined not to ruin this social occasion. This was about family - like it or not! Even though we didn’t always get along, and were far from perfect, I still appreciated all of them. Some people didn’t have families, so I was grateful for the one I had.
“I heard the police went to see you this morning, Diana. Why can’t you go back to working at that nice local laboratory, or even in London? What was wrong with that? You used to like it so much,” my mother said, walking into the room carrying a tray of sausage rolls and kicking off the evening’s amateur dramatics.
“Mum! My job has nothing to do with the police coming round. They just wanted to ask some questions. Fergus was the one they really wanted to speak to,” I said, and then bit my tongue. Hard.
“Why did they think they would find him around your house?”
I should have known that my information slip wouldn’t get past my mum.
“They didn’t!”
“But did they find him there?”
“He actually arrived halfway through… that’s not the point. I like my job now,” I said, knowing I was close to whining.
“But you haven’t got a job,” my mother complained, sticking her hands in her hair and tugging it out at all angles, like a professional mourner from ancient Greek times.
“Chicken nugget?” my dad said, appearing in the room with a fresh plate of food and trying to diffuse the situation.
It didn’t work.
“Do you see what your daughters have turned into? One is in trouble with the police every five minutes, whilst faffing about with flowers, and the other didn’t even bother to tell us she’d lost that nice husband of hers - the one with a proper job!”
“Mum!” my sister protested, looking mortified that she’d said it in front of Samuel. To his credit, Samuel looked mildly amused by the whole thing, but that was probably because he was used to drama. A journalist’s job was practically to encourage it.
“Shall we play a game? Trivial Pursuit?” My dad was still trying.
“No!” we all chorused, proving that the scars of last year had yet to fade.
“Right. Probably a good choice. I’ll, uh, look for something else,” Dad said. He slipped out of the room with an apologetic glance backwards.
“I’m going to see if Annabelle needs help in the kitchen,” Charlotte announced, brushing down her tweed skirt and striding past my mother.
My mum looked from me to the doorway my sister had just exited through, torn two ways. “She’s probably burning the samosas,” she muttered, before following my sister out of the room. I wouldn’t be surprised if the next sound we heard were pots and pans clanging as they were used in battle.
“Alone at last,” Samuel drawled, still looking faintly amused.
“Why were you up at Merryfield Manor this morning?” I asked, taking a leaf from my sister’s book and trying to make it sound as though I was already certain.
He looked at me without blinking. “I wasn’t.”
“Then you won’t mind telling me where you were?”
Samuel leant back in the chair. “I don’t have to, but sure. I was out for a walk.”
“On your own?”
He smiled. “On my own. I don’t know the area that well. I guess there’s a chance I could have been near the house we were all at last night?”
“Did you do any running?”
“Do I look like the kind of guy who goes running?”
I genuinely wasn’t sure. He certainly looked like he worked out doing something…
“I’m not. Running is lame. I prefer picking heavy things up and putting them down again.”
It took me a second to work out he was talking about weight-lifting.
“What about last night at the ball? Where were you coming back from when I bumped into you? Right before…” I cleared my throat. “Right before my ex-boyfriend made a scene.” George was an embarrassment, but one I needed to accept existed.
Samuel pulled a thoughtful face. “He didn’t seem like an ex to me.”
“Answer the question.” Samuel was skilled at evading questions - something I had no doubt he’d picked up tips on during his journalism career, but I wasn’t going to be distracted.
“Didn’t I say last night? I got pretty hot and stepped out for some fresh air.”
I shot him a skeptical look. “You spend most of your time in India, don’t you?” I made eye contact with him and leant forwards, focusing all of my attention. “I know you were up to something last night. If you tell me what it was, I’ll stop asking all of these questions. If you refuse to answer, I’ll have to tell my sister everything I know. She deserves to be with someone who’s honest.”
Samuel choked out a laugh. “People like that are as rare as hen’s teeth in the industry we’re in. You can tell your sister whatever you want. We’ll see whose word she takes.” He leant forwards, mirroring my position. “I will tell you one secret. We’re going to officially be engaged very soon. Charlotte’s already said yes, we’re just waiting for the right moment to tell everyone.”
“How about now?” I threatened
, hoping he’d just handed me some leverage. My mum would fly off the handle if she knew that piece of information just a couple of days after Samuel had been sprung on her for the first time.
Samuel sat back and shrugged. “Sure. But she’ll hate you for it. Do I detect a hint of jealousy?”
I bit my tongue again. He was right about Charlotte hating me, but wrong about the jealousy. I’d have got rid of a man like Samuel as soon as he’d started avoiding answers to my questions. Fergus avoided answering, but only when it wasn’t serious. It was different, wasn’t it?
I opened my mouth to argue with him some more, but he got there first.
“You need to keep your nose out of business that doesn’t concern you.”
“It concerns me if you’re the one who killed Bill Wrexton and stole…”
“…the diamond?” he finished. My eyes must have glittered too much because he laughed again - a humourless sound. “It’s hardly a secret around here, especially not from a journalist. I probably knew about it before you did. When did you find out?”
I frowned. “You’re trying to distract me.”
“I didn’t kill the old man or steal the diamond. There. Is that good enough for you?”
“Not really,” I countered, just as Charlotte walked back into the room with a storm cloud above her head and found us at odds with one another.
“What’s going on?” she asked, putting her hands on her hips and looking scarily like our mother for a moment.
“Your sister thinks I’m a shady character,” Samuel said, dropping me in it.
I glared at him. He was definitely not to be trusted. “I think he’s manipulating you. How well do you really know this man, Charlie?” I asked my sister, using her childhood nickname.
She coloured. “Better than I know you right now! What are you saying? Do you have anything to back it up?”
“Do you know where Samuel was when he was outside at the ball? Do you know where he went walking this morning?” I asked her.
Her mouth opened and shut once before she recovered. “I was with him all the time at the ball. We went outside together. We wanted some private time.”
I shot a scathing look in Samuel’s direction. Could it be any more obvious that she was lying for him?
Samuel remained unruffled. “We have trust and understanding. We don’t have to cling to each other twenty-four hours of the day.”
“Are you really suggesting my boyfriend had something to do with the murder and theft?” Charlotte said, finally putting two and two together.
“I’m just asking…”
“Well, you can stop,” she interrupted before looking at me in disgust. “I thought you were better than this, Diana. I didn’t think you were like her,” she said, nodding her head towards the kitchen, as if I needed any help at all to figure out whom she was referring to. “I suggest you keep your mind on your own affairs. Things aren’t going too smoothly for you at the moment, are they? There was quite the scene last night.” Charlotte took a cool and calm sip of her drink.
What was she talking about? Oh, right. George. I’d been trying to blot him out of my memory, but doing so was probably a mistake on my part. I had a feeling I’d have to face him again, and probably sooner rather than later.
“You all look so glum! Where are our festive spirits?” Annabelle said, sweeping into the room all brightness and cheer. From the kitchen came the sound of raised voices and clanging saucepans - just as I’d predicted. Annabelle was doing a good job of pretending it wasn’t happening.
“I think we left them at the ball last night instead of a glass slipper,” Charlotte muttered, before shooting me another murderous look. It was going to take a lot for my sister to forgive me - even if I turned out to be right all along. In fact, that would probably make things much, much worse.
Merry Christmas to me, I thought, already writing this Christmas off as one to forget.
“I think we should all settle down and play a game and not let silly negative feelings get in the way. Jealousy is ugly,” Charlotte said, trying to act like the older sister she wasn’t.
I didn’t even try to protest. If my family couldn’t believe I’d want to swap a soul-destroying nine-to-five for my own business in the countryside I didn’t have a hope of convincing them that I didn’t want a boyfriend. I had a feeling that this round had gone to Charlotte.
Or rather, it had gone to Samuel, I mentally corrected, shooting a suspicious glance his way when Charlotte was distracted setting up the game. He gave me a little smile in return - a smile that told me he knew he’d won.
I promised myself that this wasn’t over.
* * *
I got back home just as the clock chimed midnight. It was Christmas Day and the best present I’d had so far was that the family get-together had ended without bloodshed. Charlotte was still sore and Samuel still scheming, but at least I’d got out of there. We’d even managed to get through a game in a fairly civil manner.
“Just the dinner to get through now,” I said. With a bit of luck, the food would stop anyone from talking too much.
I looked down at the two faces who’d been waiting to greet me when I’d opened the door. Fergus’ car was still in the driveway, so I wasn’t surprised to find his dog waiting for me. I wondered what could be keeping him out so late on Christmas Eve. I thought about Bill Wrexton with that knife in his chest and I wondered if Fergus was all right. Had he found out something terrible and paid for it with his life? Should I go looking for him in case he’d got himself into trouble? I checked my phone and discovered I’d received a response from my earlier text to him.
No promises.
That did sound like Fergus. I could probably rule out kidnapping.
The knock at the door set both dogs barking excitedly. It was lucky we lived out in the countryside, or I’d have all kinds of complaints from the neighbours. When it came to Diggory we were still working on things like sitting, not barking, and not galloping off into the sunset instead of returning when I called his name…
“What took you so long?” I said, opening the door to let Fergus in.
But it wasn’t Fergus who was standing on my doorstep.
12
The Conspiracy to end all Conspiracies
“George. What are you…?” I started to say, before cutting myself off with a sigh. We’d been through all of this before, hadn’t we? “Come in,” I said to my ex-boyfriend. This night couldn’t get much worse. I might as well finish it off with by having a candid discussion with my crazy stalker.
“Thanks,” George said, lifting a hand to show me the small wrapped gift he’d brought with him. He set it down on the hall table. I threw it a suspicious look as I helped George find a place to put his winter coat. It had better not be anything sparkly and ring-shaped.
A sudden insane thought occurred to me. What if George had stolen the diamond to have a ring made? He’d certainly gone off the rails, but perhaps it was far worse than I’d thought. He could have planned to have the diamond cut into smaller stones, and then…
I shook the thought from my head. That was about as nutty as one of Fergus’ theories. In fact, I think I’d pick ‘cursed diamond’ over it.
“What can I do for you?” I said, hoping that if I behaved in a more open manner, rather than running away or slamming doors in his face, we might be able to resolve whatever was really going on here.
“I love you, Diana. I want us to be together. I was an idiot before,” George said, turning and looking at me imploringly.
I shepherded him through to the main room and automatically went to open a pack of biscuits. Drat, I was on the last packet! “You said that before. I think you even used almost the exact same words.” I took the plate of biscuits into the main room where George was perched on the edge of the sofa, looking like he might launch upwards any second. “What’s really going on? You’re not giving me any reasons as to why everything’s suddenly changed. Has something happened at work?”
Had his eye just twitched when I’d mentioned work, or was it my imagination?
“No, works the same old. I got promoted, you know… since you…” He cleared his throat. He meant since I’d been promoted to the position he’d been eyeing for himself and had subsequently left the company after George had ended things with me in such a hurtful way.
“That sounds good. Are you not happy at work?” I was genuinely curious. To me, that world now seemed like a dark and hellish landscape from which I’d found a road that led back towards the light. But I knew it couldn’t be the same for everyone. A lot of them wouldn’t even know they were in hell.
“It’s fine, same old, same old,” he said, repeating his words again. I noticed his hands were twisting in his lap the way nervous people do at an interview. It could be that George was suddenly so infatuated with me that he was nervous in my presence, but that didn’t seem like the man I remembered. I’d been the one who was nervous around him, not the other way around. I also now understood that he’d never had much respect for me because I hadn’t had any for myself. There was nothing that could have made him change his view of me, he hadn’t seen me for years. None of this led me to the picture I was seeing right now.
“You’re in some kind of trouble,” I concluded based on the facts I was being presented with.
George’s head jerked up so quickly there was no covering up the truth. But he tried anyway. “No!” he said, practically stuttering.
“What can I do to help you?” I said, ignoring his terrible denial. This definitely had something to do with me. Why else would he be knocking at my door with this ‘I’m still in love with you’ act?