The Last Dance

by Sonia Parin

  “If you didn’t have to rush off, I’d suggest a game of croquet.”

  Abby’s mouth parted slightly.

  A full minute later, Faith burst out laughing. “I don’t know if you look scared or amused. Honestly, when did you turn into such a killjoy? I’ll never get another chance to have so much fun.”

  “How do you know? For heaven’s sake, you’re only twenty-five. You have a whole life ahead of you.”

  Faith leaned forward. “Did you ever stop to think we only really have this moment we live in? The rest is only a possibility. I’m sure Marigold had scheduled an entire year of events and where is she now?” Faith looked away and brightened. “Here’s Master Doyle.”

  Doyle appeared trotting beside Wadsworth who inclined his head. “Master Doyle and I have been making the rounds overseeing the garden staff. He is a splendid companion and very well-behaved. You are to be commended.”

  Doyle leaped up onto Abby’s lap and shifted around until he found a comfortable spot.

  “Have you worked out a game plan for how you’ll tackle Harriet Winthrop?” Faith asked.

  “Well, since I won’t have you there with me, I’ll have to be ready to ask the tough questions but I think I’ll restrain myself. I can’t exactly ask point blank if she killed her daughter-in-law.”

  Abby doubted Harriet would have anything illuminating to offer. She at least hoped to get the lay of the land and see the woman’s reaction. While Abby knew better than to jump to conclusions and form premature opinions, she didn’t expect to see Harriet devastated by her loss.

  “Did you know formaldehyde has a pungent smell?” Faith asked.

  “Not really. I just assumed it did.”

  “I’m surprised no one picked up on the scent. No one other than Doyle.”

  “Miffi had my dress for less than two days and you managed to pick up the scent of cigarette smoke. Marigold’s dress spent a lot longer at her house. It would have been drenched in cigarette smoke and that might have masked the smell of formaldehyde,” Abby reasoned.

  Taking a bite of her toast, Abby thought if someone had applied the toxic substance while the dress had been at Miffi’s, it might have had enough time to seep into the fabric and dry out. While the essence of formaldehyde had remained, the smell might have evaporated.

  Abby sat up. If the dress had been tampered with after Marigold had picked it up…

  Abby shook her head.

  “What?”

  “I’m thinking I’d need to speak with a chemist or someone who knows about chemicals. We don’t know how long a person would have to be exposed to the toxic substance before it takes effect.”

  Faith nodded. “You’re right. I assume we’d also have to consider the person’s sensitivity. Some people might be more susceptible to the exposure than others.”

  “What if Marigold had been exposed to it over time?” Abby mused.

  Faith gave a vigorous nod. “Oh, yes. That would narrow down the suspects to people with easy access to the house. An insider. Someone close to her.” She clasped her hands behind her neck and smiled. “This is more like it.”

  “What is?”

  “Generating ideas without running around like headless chooks.”

  “Is it any wonder we only have a couple of flimsy leads? I think Joshua will definitely solve this case before we do. That’s not to say we ever intentionally try to beat him to the finish line.” Abby checked the time again. “I think I’m going to go into town and start making the rounds. People might have started asking questions and that usually generates some interesting ideas.” She hadn’t heard from Joshua so she didn’t know if he’d managed to track down Laurie Meadows.

  She knew better than to try to contact Miffi on the phone. Joyce had said she never answered it. But Abby needed her to describe Laurie. “I might not be back until later this afternoon. Will you be okay on your own?”

  Faith swung her gaze around her. “I think I can find something to amuse myself with. Of course, I’ll also be keeping an eye on Wadsworth. Who knows? There might still be a chance I’ll get to say the butler did it.”

  ***

  WHEN BRADFORD MILLS saw Abby stride into his store, he motioned for her to go straight through to the back. Before she pushed open the door leading to the roof, she scooped in a breath.

  Facing her fear had done nothing to alleviate the symptoms. Her irrational phobia remained intact. “Maybe it’s not such a bad thing,” she murmured. She didn’t have a crystal ball insight into her future but it didn’t take a fortune teller to know she would not die from falling off a roof or a ladder or a clifftop… or even a tree.

  Opening the door, she nearly jumped out of her skin. “Joyce!”

  “I’ve come through with the goods,” Joyce said, her lips stretched into a wide grin as she held up her cell phone. “This is Laurie Meadows.”

  Abby’s hand remained pressed against her thumping heart as she asked, “How on earth did you get your hands on a photo of her?”

  “Ask and it is… eventually given. I dropped her name into every conversation I had. Finally, one of the waitresses recognized the name. She said she’d been at the store looking through some magazines when Laurie came in and asked about postal boxes. Laurie Meadows filled out a form and when my waitress went up to the counter to pay for her purchase, she happened to glance at the form, that’s when she saw her name. Anyhow, she remembered seeing Laurie at the café a couple of times. Then, she remembered she’d taken photos at the weekend bake sale because she’d seen a display she’d liked. Anyhow, she’d had to take several photos because there was a woman in the shot and she didn’t want to ask her to move.”

  Abby gave a slow shake of her head. “And the woman happened to be Laurie Meadows?”

  “Yes. I bet anything Joshua would never have been able to get this information.”

  Not unless he questioned everyone living in town, Abby thought. “I am awestruck. Talk about finding a needle in a haystack.”

  “Someone was bound to have heard of her or noticed her somewhere. Annoyingly, I can’t say I’ve ever seen her in the café,” Joyce grumbled. “I need to be more observant.”

  “Can you send Faith the photo, please?”

  “Sure.”

  Abby checked her watch. “Next time, could you come down from the roof? We could meet in Bradford’s back room.”

  Joyce ruffled her hair. “Where’s the fun in that?”

  “Okay. I need to get going. I don’t want to be late for my appointment with Harriet Winthrop.”

  With a good night’s sleep under her belt, Abby managed to enjoy the drive out to the Winthrop estate. Keeping her mind clear of all thoughts about murder, she focused on the questions she would ask about Marigold. By the time she reached the estate, she decided she would simply let Harriet Winthrop tell her what she wanted.

  Whether she’d liked Marigold or not, Abby assumed Harriet would paint a sympathetic picture, if only to keep up appearances. So, she prepared herself to hear a glowing eulogy and perhaps even a heartfelt display of her bereavement.

  As soon as she wrapped up the interview, she’d head back to Willoughby Park and enjoy some more of Lord Granger’s hospitality.

  If anyone in town had seen or heard anything, the news would have reached Joyce by now. Abby didn’t see any point in stirring up gossip. And she knew no amount of discretion would work in a town hungry for news.

  Turning off the main road, she drove past a gated entrance and made her way down the long drive. Abby pushed out a slow breath. “You know your property’s impressive when it’s impressive from far away. I guess we’re in proper Downton Abbey territory here.” Abbey straightened and checked her reflection. “I’m thinking Faith might have been right about changing into proper attire.” Belatedly, she realized she didn’t have Doyle with her so she stopped talking out loud.

  Turning her attention to the house, she wondered how she’d be welcomed.

  She hadn’t been surprised when
a real butler had greeted her at Willoughby Park. While Charles Granger had built a replica of an English country manor, this house hailed from a bygone era of cattle barons out to impress their English relatives, but not the general population, Abby thought.

  The surrounding countryside was dotted with modest homesteads, but this mausoleum was set well back from the main road and hidden behind majestic old oak and elm trees with a few native eucalyptus trees in-between.

  She slowed down and looked for a spot to leave her car. Thinking she wouldn’t be in anyone’s way if she left it right outside the impressive entrance, she grabbed her handbag and tried not to fidget as she waited for someone to answer her knock at the door.

  Abby heard a clock chiming the hour. The door eased open and a reed thin woman greeted her.

  “This way, please.”

  Abby fell in step with her and tried to take in as much as she could because she knew Faith would be full of questions.

  Pictures of ancestors lined the hallway walls, all austere looking, all female.

  A set of double doors stood open, and the reed thin woman waved her through.

  “Ah, Miss Maguire.”

  Harriet Winthrop sat on a high backed matriarchal chair with several smaller chairs at either side of her.

  “Please, take a seat.”

  Tall, stain glass windows allowed some light to filter through, softening the austerity of the room.

  Abby had to do some serious digging around her mind to put her finger on the style. Jacobean, circa 1500s. Judging by the way her chair creaked, she’d guess they were not replicas, but rather, the real deal.

  The house might have looked to be in mourning, but the head of the house had forgone the traditional black.

  Harriet wore an elegant oyster shell gray suit with a pearl white blouse. Her snow-white hair sat in a neat bob.

  Raising an eyebrow, Harriet put a dainty foot forward and tapped it. “I believe you have some questions for me.”

  Abby offered her condolences and watched for Harriet’s reaction.

  “No one in our family has ever died of poisoning.”

  Okay. That had been refreshingly… odd. Abby had no idea what to make of the remark. Harriet’s aquamarine blue eyes sparkled with intelligence or… mischief. Abby couldn’t decide.

  Drawing in a steadying breath, she scoured through the list of questions she had planned to ask and selected the most appropriate one, but then… she felt possessed by Faith and said, “According to rumors, you and Marigold didn’t get along.”

  Harriet’s back stiffened as she drew in a sharp breath. “You are outrageously blunt.”

  Abby expected to be shown the door. She knew she’d have a lot of explaining to do. Sebastian would surely have her head on a platter…

  As she waited for Harriet Winthrop to declare she would do everything in her power to destroy Abby’s career, the woman lifted her gaze. “Ah, tea. Wonderful. Thank you, Mrs. Reed.”

  Reed thin Mrs. Reed? Abby brushed her hand across her brow and stopped short of pinching herself. No, she wasn’t Alice and she hadn’t fallen through the rabbit hole.

  “How do you take you tea?” The edge of Harriet’s lip lifted. “Do you even drink tea?”

  “I do. Thank you.”

  A door behind Harriet opened and a man strode in.

  “Mother, I see I’m in time for tea.”

  “My son, James. This is the snoopy newspaper reporter, Abby Maguire.”

  James Winthrop patted his mother on the shoulder.

  Abby sat back and wondered if she had just witnessed a deeply held secret. Sebastian hadn’t mentioned anything about Harriet not being in her right mind.

  “Eccentric,” James mouthed and sat down opposite Abby. While he accepted a cup from Mrs. Reed, Abby noticed no tea had been poured in it. James soon remedied that by producing a silver flask from his coat pocket and pouring the contents into the cup.

  Abby tried to find a comfortable spot in the chair but, in the process, she encountered a splinter.

  “She will be sorely missed,” Harriet clipped out. “You may quote me.”

  “Off the record,” Abby said, “Do you know of anyone who might have wanted to harm Marigold?” She almost expected Harriet to admit they all did.

  “Only one person wanted her dead.” Harriet leaned forward as if about to impart a secret. “The killer.”

  Abby slid her gaze toward James Winthrop. When he lifted his teacup in a salute, she wondered if Joshua had had a similar experience and, if he had, why hadn’t he told her about it?

  She could forgive him for not passing on negligible information, but this seemed far too significant to have left out.

  James reached inside his pocket and drew out a piece of paper. “I think this should suffice. All the information you’ll need for your article is there.”

  Abby took the piece of paper and skimmed through it. It read like a resume. Marigold had definitely earned her keep working for various charitable organizations, all geared toward raising funds for the underprivileged. “Thank you. Yes, this should be enough.” Abby looked around. “This is an interesting house you have, Mrs. Winthrop. I wonder if it might be at all possible to get a tour.”

  Joshua had said his officers had swept through the entire house, but what if they had missed something? She supposed she could have asked to use the restrooms and used the opportunity to look around but she’d taken exception to being labeled snoopy…

  “I’d be happy to show you through,” James said. “Mother’s house has appeared in several magazines.”

  Abby thanked Harriet Winthrop for her time. As she strode out of the room, she couldn’t help wondering if the woman had put on an act. Abby thought she looked far too astute to be mentally unstable. As she’d already secured Abby’s co-operation, she could be certain Abby wouldn’t spread gossip about her condition.

  For all Abby knew, she might have been sipping tea in the presence of the real killer, cocooned by her wealth, social standing and assurances from the owner of a national newspaper that nothing inappropriate would be printed about her or her family.

  “Would I be able to see her room?”

  “You have a macabre interest?”

  “It might help personalize the article.”

  “Sure. The police have already done a thorough search.”

  Abby ignored the smugness in his tone and focused on what she might look for in Marigold’s room. Earlier, she’d wondered if perhaps Marigold had been exposed to the toxic substance over a longer period of time. If that had been the case and the killer had somehow planted the toxic substance in her room, the police would have found something.

  She would have asked about Harry Winthrop, but she suspected James would give her a standard answer. Clearly, the Winthrop family had exercised their right to present a united front.

  “This is it.”

  Abby expected James to enter the room with her and make sure she didn’t overstep some sort of boundary. Instead, he remained by the door leaning against it as if bored by her interest.

  Her feet sank into the lush thick carpet. She didn’t see a connecting door to another room, so she had to assume the Winthrop couple had slept apart. “When did Marigold come down from the city?”

  “Two weeks ago. She thought highly of Charles and wanted to look her best for the ball. There’s a spa nearby she enjoyed using. She spent her days there and her nights here.”

  Simply furnished with a sleigh bed, a couple of chairs and a chaise near the window, the bedroom stood in stark contrast to the rest of the house.

  She looked around and nodded. Yes, the dark austerity of the Winthrop house definitely stopped at Marigold’s bedroom door. The room looked comfortable and welcoming. The walls were painted in a cheerful shade of yellow contrasted with striped wallpaper in white and baby blue.

  A bookcase full of paperbacks covered one entire wall; another contrast to the leather-bound tomes she’d seen lining the walls of the library.
This had clearly been Marigold’s domain, possibly the one place in the house where she could escape from the rest of the family.

  Next to the bed, a door stood ajar. Abby peered inside and saw a massive walk-in closet and, beyond that, a bathroom complete with a massage table.

  When James’ phone rang, he stepped back from the doorway to answer the call. Abby scrambled to decide how she could use the time to her advantage.

  Moments later, James cleared his throat. “Looking for dust bunnies under the bed?”

  Easing herself upright, Abby said, “I’m in the market for a new bed.” She grinned. “This one looks quite solid.”

  “I’d hate to cut this short, but I have to go.”

  “Sure… Thank you for your time. I think I have everything I need.” In fact, she had more than she’d hoped for. And she would bet anything Joshua had walked away with less.

  She strode out of Marigold’s bright, sunny bedroom and into the dark hallway thinking Marigold must have been desperate to maintain her social standing and wealth to have put up with the spiritless ambience of the house...

  Along the way, they encountered a woman emerging from one of the rooms. She wore a practical brown skirt and black sweater with her brown hair cropped short and pulled back.

  “Ah, Helen. Would you mind showing Abby Maguire out?”

  Helen… as in Helen Forbes?

  James strode off, his cell phone pressed to his ear.

  “How are you holding up?” Abby asked.

  “The family is in turmoil.”

  And doing an exemplary job of hiding it, Abby thought, curious to know why Helen Forbes had avoided answering the question.

  “Will you stay on working for the family?”

  “Mrs. Winthrop needs all the support she can get. She has suffered enough loss. Another change to her routine might be detrimental to her health.” Helen Forbes walked on ahead of her.

  Abby wondered if she’d learned the lines by heart. She imagined all the household employees had been given specific instructions on what to say.

  “Have you worked for the family long?”

  Standing ramrod straight, Helen Forbes barely moved her neck as she turned to answer. “Long enough.”