by Connie Berry
“Maybe she’s in the kitchen, helping cook with the hors d’oeuvres trays,” Lady Barbara said. “Or in the library with one of the guests.”
“I’ll check.” Vivian dashed off, leaving Fergus to mind himself.
Tom and I asked around, but no one had seen Alex since just after the theft.
No one.
I was starting to panic when Vivian burst into the drawing room. Her face was crinkled with concern. “Cook saw her in the kitchen around five.”
“Have you tried her mobile?” Tom asked.
“That’s just it.” Vivian held up a mobile phone. “I found this in the library.”
* * *
Hand torches bobbing in the dark reminded me sickeningly of St. Æthelric’s Eve, the night the Venezuelan stranger had been found dead in the woods near the Folly.
Tom had called in a police search team. Until they arrived, he’d divided the guests into groups, assigning each to cover an area of the grounds or park. The vicar and several others would follow the path between the Hall and the church parking area. Sergeant Cliffe and Mugg would lead a second group toward the abandoned ice house. Peter and Tristan would comb the Hall from top to bottom. The remaining interns—Christine, Michael, and Prue—would search the Stables and parking area. Vivian, Fergus, and Francie Jewell stayed with Lady Barbara.
Tom and I began in the Elizabethan Garden. The sky was clear, but the waning moon gave little light. His torch flicked along the geometric paths and found the contours of the garden shed.
“We’ll check here first.” He pulled back the bolt and pushed open the wooden door.
My heart thumped. Please.
We smelled the composted manure before we saw bags of it, stacked against the rear wall of the shed. Tom directed the torch beam into each corner.
No Alex. I breathed a sigh of relief.
Next we walked the perimeter of the brick wall, finding nothing unusual.
“Let’s head into the park,” Tom said.
I tripped on the gravel path. “Sorry. I’d have worn boots if I’d known we were going to tramp around in the dark.”
“Would you like to go back?”
“No. I’m not good at waiting.”
The air smelled of decaying leaves, damp earth, and a hint of pine needles. Voices in the distance sounded concerned but not alarmed.
Tom’s pager beeped. “Nothing yet,” he said into the transmitter. He slid the pager into an inside jacket pocket. “That was Constable Wheeler. They’ll be here in twenty minutes.”
At the top of the Chinese Bridge, Tom shone his torch into the pond, revealing a glint of gold among the swordlike grass. The fish formed a clump, their fins flapping dreamily in unison. Confused by the light, they scattered.
No body. No Alex.
“Mallory, over here,” shouted a male voice from somewhere in the distance.
My heart lurched.
“Come on,” Tom said, taking my hand.
Skirting the Folly, we rushed toward Blackwater Lake, half-sliding down the bank to the place where we’d found Tabitha’s body.
Tom directed the beam of his torch along the shore.
My heart nearly stopped when I saw a shape in the water.
“Sorry, false alarm,” a man said. “Only twigs and grass.”
I thought about Danny and his nightmares. The place was spooky. Bare-limbed tree trunks rose from the lakeshore and disappeared into the black sky. I shivered, imagining a dark shape with glowing yellow eyes.
More lights followed the shore on the other side of the lake—the vicar’s team, I supposed, on their way to the church.
“Let’s check the Folly,” Tom said. “Then we’ll go back and wait for the search team.”
He pulled me up the slope.
“Maybe we’ll find Alex at the Hall, embarrassed by all the fuss,” I said.
“Let’s hope so.” Tom shone the beam of light at the Folly. The octagonal roof, the columns, the steps.
That’s when we saw her.
Alex lay curled on her side, her knees bent, her arms drawn into her body. Near her head, a dark pool had formed.
Please, no.
Tom bounded up the steps and knelt at her side.
I held my breath and prayed.
“She’s alive,” he said. “Get back to the house, quick as you can. I’m calling for help.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Flashing blue lights pulsed across the gravel courtyard.
I stood with Lady Barbara and Vivian on the steps of Finchley Hall, watching the EMTs lift Alex into the back of an ambulance. Uniformed police milled about. Several emergency vehicles were stowing equipment.
“Will she be all right?” I asked Tom when he joined us.
“No way to know until the doctors examine her. She sustained a bad blow to the back of her head.”
“Did the poor girl say anything?” Lady Barbara clutched her sapphire-blue sweater around her thin body. I was about to ask if I could fetch her coat when Mugg appeared with it.
“She’s unconscious,” Tom said. “It may be some time before she’s able to speak. Even then, she may not remember what happened.”
“Thank goodness you found her in time,” Vivian said. Fergus snorted in agreement.
“I shall pray for God’s mercy.” Lady Barbara’s hands trembled as she buttoned the top button of her coat.
“I suggest you retire now, madam,” Mugg said. “This is too much for you.” He wasn’t overstating the problem. Lady Barbara looked close to collapse.
“Yes, of course,” Tom said. “We’ll talk in the morning.”
Tom and I followed them inside. Mugg and Vivian helped Lady Barbara up the wide staircase. Fergus followed, grunting with every hop.
Sergeant Cliffe appeared. “We’ve finished interviewing the guests, sir. I’d like to send them home.”
“Of course. What about the interns?”
“In the library, sir. Waiting for you.”
Cliffe’s expression—and Tom’s, for that matter—gave nothing away, but I didn’t need facial feedback to know what they were thinking. The interns would be suspects. My daughter in particular.
A felt a knot in my stomach.
“Before you go in, sir, you’ll want to take a look at this.” Cliffe handed Tom a pair of thin blue gloves, then the mobile phone found in the library.
Cliffe punched something into the phone. “The mobile had been turned off during the Hoard exhibit. Ms. Devereux appears to have turned it back on at four thirty. After that she sent and received a series of texts. No name. Just a number. Take a look at the messages.”
Tom and Cliffe exchanged glances.
“What is it?” I asked, not sure I wanted to hear the answer.
“Someone—not one of her regular contacts,” Tom said, “made plans to meet Alex in the Folly at six forty-five.”
“Won’t take us long to find the name, sir,” Cliffe said. “Provider records.”
“True.” Tom punched a series of numbers into the phone. “And sometimes you just call the number and see who answers.”
He put the phone to his ear and waited.
From a distance came the familiar strains of “OMG” by Usher.
I froze.
“It’s coming from the library, sir,” Cliffe said.
We dashed down the hall and rushed through the door.
From somewhere inside Christine’s clothing, the sounds of the ringtone gathered to a conclusion.
Followed by silence.
* * *
“Go over it again, please,” Tom said. “See if you can remember details, anything at all.”
I sat beside Christine on the gray sofa in the Stables. She folded her arms across her chest. Her face was sullen, her mouth a firm line. I knew this expression—all too well. She was shutting down.
“I told you,” she said tightly. “After we finished putting away the Hoard, I went to the Stables to change clothes. Alex texted me. She said we had to talk. I didn’t agree.
That’s all.”
“Then what’s this about the Folly?” Tom leaned forward and turned the phone screen so she could read it. “Alex said she’d meet you in the Folly at six forty-five. You agreed.”
“So what? I changed my mind.”
“What did she want to talk about?”
“How would I know?”
“Take a guess.”
“All right—Tristan. Maybe she wanted to tell me they were engaged. Whatever it was, I didn’t want to hear it. I could care less about Tristan.”
“If that’s true, why were you so angry?”
“Because Alex is a witch—she’s evil.”
“Christine,” I said, appalled. “Alex is badly hurt.”
“I’m sorry about that. She’s still a witch.”
“We know about the fight,” Tom said. “You threw things at her.”
“And missed,” I said pointlessly.
Christine snorted. “I don’t feel like that now.”
I couldn’t just sit there and listen. “Look, she’s answered your questions, Tom. She didn’t meet Alex in the Folly, and she doesn’t know who did.”
“Christine is an adult, Kate. I’ve allowed you to stay out of courtesy.” He paused and let that sink in. “If you keep interfering, you’ll have to go.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” I closed my mouth and folded my arms. Christine and I looked like bookends.
“Christine, where were you tonight between six thirty when Prue saw you leave your room and eight fifteen when you showed up at Finchley Hall?”
“Nowhere in particular. I was upset, okay? I thought I’d better chill. So I walked.”
“Why were you upset?”
“It’s personal.”
“Why were you upset, Christine.”
“Alex made me mad.”
“Where did you walk?”
“I don’t remember. On the estate.”
“Near the Folly?”
“No. Not there. I just walked.”
“You’re sure you didn’t go near the Folly?”
“Positive.”
“Did you see anyone?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Hear anything?”
“I wasn’t paying attention. I had a lot on my mind.”
“Like what?”
“Like none of your business,” she snapped.
“Christine,” I said. “Don’t make this worse. Just tell Tom where you were.”
They both glared at me.
Sergeant Cliffe arrived. “Sir, may I—?”
“Not now,” Tom said. He turned to Christine. “Are you sure you didn’t see anyone?”
“Like who?”
“Like anyone at all—one of the interns, someone from the village.”
“I told you. I didn’t see anyone.” Christine set her mouth. “I have nothing more to say.”
Sergeant Cliffe cleared his throat. “A word, sir?”
“Stay where you are,” Tom told us. He and Cliffe went outside.
“Christine,” I hissed. “Stop lying and tell them what you were doing.”
“I’m not lying.”
“Yes, you are. You’ve never been a good liar.”
She shot me a dangerous look.
Tom returned and addressed Christine in that super-calm voice of his. “Were you at the Folly at any time tonight? Think carefully before you respond.”
“No.” Her eyes flashed with something. Anger? Fear?
I felt a frisson of terror.
“You were seen near the Folly just before seven,” Tom said.
Christine’s eyes flicked. “They’re wrong.”
“Someone saw you there.”
For the first time, Christine seemed to stumble. “So?”
“You said you didn’t go near the Folly.”
“Then I was mistaken. I don’t remember being there.”
“You have no memory of being there?”
“I may have walked past it. I don’t remember.”
“Why would you walk past the Folly if you had no intention of keeping your appointment with Alex?”
She’s hiding something. I felt a twist of panic in my chest.
“Alex made the appointment,” Christine said. “I didn’t. And I didn’t go there.”
“But you admit walking past,” Tom said. “I think you did meet her, Christine. Tell me what happened.”
Christine jumped to her feet. “I didn’t meet Alex at the Folly, all right? I didn’t see her. I didn’t see anyone. You can’t make me say something that isn’t true. I’m going to bed.”
She jumped up and brushed past him.
Tom stopped her. “I’m afraid it’s not that easy.” He gave me a brief glance. “Alex asked you to meet her in the Folly at six forty-five. You say you didn’t keep the appointment, but you were seen there around the time of the attack. You refuse to tell us where you were and what you did.”
“I don’t remember.” Christine set her jaw.
His expression hardened. “This isn’t a game, Christine. A young woman has been viciously attacked. She may die.”
“I didn’t attack her.”
“Who did? You have an obligation to help us.”
“I have nothing to say.”
“I think you do. I’ve given you a chance to answer questions here. You refuse. I have no alternative but to take you into Bury for further questioning. Is that what you want?”
“Tom? You can’t do that.” I grabbed my daughter’s arm. “For pity’s sake, Christine. Just tell him what he wants to know.”
Cliffe couldn’t look at me. He handed Christine her jacket. “You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”
I brushed away tears. “You can’t arrest her. Please, Tom.”
“She’s giving me no choice.” His jaw was set.
“Stop. This isn’t necessary.” I flung myself in front of him. “Christine didn’t hurt Alex. You know that.”
“Kate, listen to me. I have no choice.”
“Then I’m going with her.”
“No, you’re not.”
His words sliced through my veneer of self-control. Fear turned to fury.
Who was this man? I didn’t even know him.
They headed for the door.
“Mom?” Christine sounded like a little girl.
“As soon as they release you, we’re leaving England.” I looked Tom straight in the eye. “I swear it.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
What do you do when your world explodes into a million tiny pieces?
I stumbled back to my room and slammed the door. For ten minutes I paced the perimeter in a white-hot fury. Something inside me was ripping, cleaving. How could I have trusted him? How could I ever trust him again? At last I flung myself on the bed and sobbed until my body ran out of tears and my heart ran out of anger. Then I lay, paralyzed with fear, as I pictured my daughter, huddled in an interview room with a team of clever investigators hurling questions at her, trying to break her down. I pictured her in a tiny cell, alone and frightened, unable to sleep on a hard slab, thin mattress.
I edged under the duvet.
Something ugly prowled and snarled at the edge of my brain. Where had Christine been between six thirty and eight fifteen, and why was she so determined not to tell the police? An innocent person would have been more shocked, would have promised to do anything to help. Christine’s insistence that she couldn’t remember where she’d been during that time period was ridiculous. My daughter has a near-photographic memory. And an iron will.
I hadn’t believed her story. Neither had Tom.
Did he hope the shock of being taken into custody would pull the truth out of her? Or—another thought stopped me in my tracks—did he think she was about to crack?
My teeth started to chatter. I pulled the duvet closer.
I heard
my mother’s voice, as clear as if she were in the room with me. Use your brain, darling. Begin with what you know.
I took several deep breaths and squeezed my eyes shut to better concentrate. The familiar process of applying logic and order brought some comfort. There was an answer. I was going to have to find it.
One. The victims. Three people had been attacked on the grounds of Finchley Hall in two weeks. Two were dead, one was fighting for her life. Carlos Esteva was a mystery that might never be solved.
Two. The theft of the ring. There was no evidence to connect the theft and the attacks, but both young women—Tabitha and Alex—had access to the Hoard.
Three. The killer. The chances of more than one killer roaming the grounds of Finchley Hall were slim to none. Hadn’t Tom said once that the simplest explanation was usually the right one? I took another deep breath, forcing myself to consider every possible option. No one had been cleared, not even Peter.
Four. Lady Barbara. She was the one person all the victims had in common—including Catherine Kerr.
Five. Motive. Was the killer trying to frighten her into selling Finchley Hall? To get his hands on the Hoard? Or was there another reason no one had thought of?
Six. Lucien Finchley-fforde. Even if he was in England, why would he kill three people? Ivor had suggested money, but how would killing help? If he asked his mother for money, she’d give it to him. She’d give him everything.
Seven. Money. Lady Barbara needed cash. The house couldn’t survive without major repairs. Lucien, according to Ivor Tweedy, always needed cash. I tried and failed to see how this was related to the attacks.
Eight. The Hoard, and the possible discrepancy in the inventory. Had other Hoard objects been stolen in the past?
Nine. The missing books by Walter Swiggett. Two had disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Someone was determined to keep something in that book a secret. The only lead was the reclusive collector who’d purchased a copy of the book from Reginald Pye, and the only way to get to him would be to offer him a treasure. I’d call Ivor first thing in the morning.
Ten. The dishy vicar, Edmund Foxe. I was back to him.
The pieces of the puzzle lay before me, but I had no clue how to assemble them.
I was still thinking about the vicar when my phone rang. Tom. My logic dissolved. “What do you want?”