Deadly Treasures

by Vivian Conroy

  Peartree’s eyes grew cold. ‘Why should I support him? We’re at opposite ends.’ He left the room as well. Footfalls thudded up the stairs.

  Jake frowned. ‘Opposite ends? What does he mean?’

  Alkmene pursed her lips. ‘Apparently there is a wager between Duncan and him, about the Black Castle gold. If Duncan can’t find it, he will lose quite a bit of money to Peartree.’

  ‘Aha!’ Jake said in a tone, as if it explained for the whole thing. ‘Peartree is trying to destabilize Duncan, make sure he doesn’t find anything worthwhile and will lose all that money.’

  ‘No.’ Alkmene shook her head. ‘Peartree might enjoy getting riches off some cad he considers conceited. But there is much more to it, a deeper bitterness close to hatred that can’t stem from the wager only, the need to rid a rich man of some of his fortune. He talked about Alberley in a strange tone. Like he resented the fact that he had never been invited there. We have to find out more about Peartree’s connection with Duncan and his family. That should be the key.’

  She smiled at the innkeeper’s son. ‘Thank you very much for your help. Miles, isn’t it? I will pay the five pounds Jake promised to you. Put them on my bill.’

  The boy made a strangled sound of frustration. Through gritted teeth he snarled, ‘Why did you keep him from hurting Woolsbury? He deserves all the hurt anyone can give him for what he did. Hurting my sister and then accusing me of theft. I never stole anything.’

  Alkmene held his gaze. ‘Your sister seems to be interested in London life. She ran after Duncan because she believed he was her entry into it. I can assure you Duncan has never hurt her in the way you mean. You could have found out about that if you had just asked.’

  ‘Me? Ask a fine city gentleman?’

  ‘No. Asked your sister. You do talk around here, don’t you?’

  The boy made a hissing sound. ‘Sarah won’t say a thing. Infatuated with him as she is. Even now that he is a killer she can’t stop it, crying for him being in jail. But he got out fast enough.’

  His disappointment was evident. ‘I hadn’t expected old Aldridge to be so easy on him. I bet if I had been locked up for the theft when I was accused, Aldridge would have made sure I never saw daylight again. But a fine gent from London can commit murder and get away with it.’

  The innkeeper’s wife came in to clear the table. ‘What are you doing here, boy, talking? There is work to do.’

  ‘Always work to do,’ the boy sneered, then ran from the room.

  The innkeeper’s wife sighed and said to Alkmene, ‘I would not be paying attention to Miles, if I were you, my lady. He doesn’t like it here, thinks he became grand when he could work on the dig. He saw himself travelling to Egypt and all, doing big things, excavating graves of those kings, whatever they are called. But he will be stuck here. For his own stupidity.’

  ‘You think he stole the item?’ Alkmene asked, surprised that a mother wasn’t ready to assume her son’s innocence at any cost.

  The woman looked at her, fear in her wide-open eyes. ‘Oh, no, he’d never steal for himself; we raised him better than that. He would never take something to sell it off and have the money, not because he wanted it or anything. Not like that.’

  ‘But he would take an item for another reason?’ Jake pressed from the doorway. ‘To help somebody maybe? Because he believed he was doing the right thing?’

  The woman laughed softly. She clanked the empty dishes together, her expression sad. ‘The right thing, yes, he told me all right. But that doesn’t change one bit of it. That man dead now and the police looking for a culprit. People like Mr Woolsbury can buy their way out of trouble, but my boy never could.’

  Suppressing a sob, she shuffled out of the room with the dirty plates and half-full glasses.

  Alkmene and Jake looked at each other pensively, left in the now empty room where only the rushing rain broke the silence.

  Chapter Eight

  The next morning Alkmene awoke feeling quite vibrant until she recalled Duncan’s appearance at her dinner table, his assumptions and his outrage. She groaned considering what this might mean for his case. For all she knew he was locked up again already.

  Constable Aldridge would never believe that Peartree had provoked Duncan.

  She rose and got dressed, went downstairs for breakfast. It was just porridge with prunes and black coffee. No scent of sausages or bacon, no scrambled eggs, no kidneys and beans, no nothing.

  Jake joined her when she was almost done, whispering that he had made more calls for information and expected news later that day. ‘First we have to see your friend Woolsbury,’ he said. ‘To find out what his altercation with Goodman was really about.’

  ‘And why Peartree hates him so much,’ Alkmene supplied.

  Jake nodded. ‘That too. Any idea where Duncan went last night?’

  ‘To his cottage I suppose.’ Alkmene sat up, clutching her spoon. ‘Say, Peartree is staying there too. I do hope that when the both of them got back there, they didn’t have another row. With nobody to separate them, it could have turned ugly fast.’

  Jake held her gaze. ‘You’re defending your friend, but you do know Duncan has a temper. What we saw last night wasn’t a one-time occurrence. How can you be so sure he didn’t kill Goodman?’

  Alkmene shrugged. ‘Gut feeling.’

  Jake shook his head. ‘I’m out here for a gut feeling? I thought you’d have a little more to support your assumption. What if we dig deeper and find proof that Duncan is guilty?’

  Alkmene’s throat squeezed shut, and she pushed the porridge bowl away. How could she ever face Lady Eleanor, Anastasia, Delphine, if she had played a part in getting Duncan convicted for murder? It wouldn’t mean prison, but death.

  Duncan, her childhood playmate, would die!

  She wanted to get up from the table, but Jake arrested her wrist and kept her in place.

  He held her gaze. ‘You grew up with him and his sisters. I can imagine he is almost like a big brother to you. If we unearth unpleasant things, it will be so hard on you. Just take my earlier advice, Alkmene, and go back to London. Let me handle it from here.’

  She wanted to shake her head, but Jake squeezed her wrist. He said low, ‘How can you take the chance? You might prove Duncan is actually guilty.’

  ‘How can I look away when he is accused and might be innocent?’ she parried, more to convince herself than Jake. Her heart still beat fast with fear.

  Jake sighed. ‘I suppose.’ He studied her, worry in his dark eyes. ‘You’re sure? So soon after the other case, which also affected you personally?’

  Alkmene nodded. ‘I’m sure.’

  Jake seemed to want to say more, then he changed his mind and let go of her wrist with a sigh. ‘Better go to the cottage right away then, to establish both gentlemen are still alive.’

  Jake braked, well away from the cottage. ‘We’ll walk the last bit,’ he explained. ‘It’s best we don’t draw attention to our approach. I want to take a look around without being noticed by whoever might still be in there.’

  Alkmene surveyed him. She didn’t follow. She said slowly, ‘If Duncan and Peartree got into a fight, it must have happened last night already. One of them could be dead and the other on the run. Then whom are we avoiding?’

  Jake shrugged. ‘Just a gut feeling. Come on.’

  Alkmene grimaced. ‘If I have a gut feeling, it never counts. If you have a gut feeling, however, we go crawling through the brush…’

  ‘You can stay here in the car and let me do it.’

  ‘Are you crazy? Lead on.’

  They got out of the car and walked in the shadow of the trees. Alkmene’s heart was pounding, and her palms got clammy. She hoped that nothing would be wrong. It seemed easier to solve Goodman’s mysterious death than face a dead Peartree and have a clear-cut idea of who the killer had been.

  At the cottage Jake gestured to her to go round back. Alkmene nodded assent
and followed him. She was so grateful he was here to take the lead, although she’d never admit that to him of course. Jake believed he was a lifesaver already!

  The back door was open. Jake pointed at it. Alkmene nodded, her heart rate shooting up even more.

  Jake tiptoed to the door, peeking in through the kitchen window. His expression changed as he scrunched up his forehead. He waved a hand at her to come stand by his side.

  She came up slowly, reluctantly. What was there to see inside the kitchen?

  Jake put a finger on his lips and motioned at the window.

  Without making a sound Alkmene glanced in.

  The door of a large cabinet was open and somebody sat on the floor in front of it, leaning into the cabinet and pulling out items, putting them on the floor around her. It was a she, Alkmene figured, judging by the slightness of the figure and the bright scarf tied round her neck.

  Relief flooded her. ‘It’s only the charwoman. I saw her before. If she is here, everything must be all right.’

  Jake gestured at the open back door. ‘You go in and ask her about the lodgers. Maybe they've left already for the site?’

  ‘All right.’ Alkmene walked up to the door and called, ‘Hello?’ At once she stepped inside.

  The figure on the floor looked up at her, cheeks red, eyes sparkling. ‘So much food,’ she said with satisfaction. ‘All canned and good for the winter.’

  She brushed dust off the top of a can. ‘I knew it was here. The gentlemen never looked for it. They eat at the inn every night. They can’t cook.’

  ‘I suppose they have people doing it for them back home,’ Alkmene said. She smiled down on the woman. ‘I don’t know your name.’

  The woman scrambled to her feet, smoothing her skirt. ‘They just call me Old Paul’s Missus.’

  ‘Old Paul? The beachcomber? Who claims the land where the excavation is taking place is his?’

  The woman hung her head. ‘There was a terrible row over it. I told Paul to leave it alone. It was all so long ago. But he says he has the paper and the paper proves it. But I tell him the paper is worth nothing to people from the city with money to spend.’

  ‘What kind of paper does your husband have exactly?’ Jake had walked in and came to stand beside Alkmene.

  The woman backed up, her heel bumping into a can. She almost jumped. ‘I know nothing.’

  ‘You don’t have to be afraid,’ Alkmene hurried to say. ‘This is just a friend of mine. He wants to help.’

  ‘Help with what?’ the woman asked.

  Jake said, ‘Maybe your husband’s paper is valid and we can prove it. Maybe we can end the dig and you can have the land back. For your family.’

  The woman shook her head. ‘The dig should not end. The dig should not end!’ She wrapped her arms around her shoulders a moment, looking like a frightened little bird. Then she darted past them out of the door.

  ‘Hey! Wait a minute.’ Jake ran after her. ‘Where are Woolsbury and Peartree?’

  But the woman was gone already into the bushes littering the backyard.

  Grumbling, Jake retraced his steps into the kitchen.

  Alkmene shook her head at him. ‘You scared her into flight. Why did you have to barge in here asking such gruff questions? You should have let me handle her.’

  ‘Probably,’ Jake said. He leaned down and picked up a can. ‘How can anybody call this good food, canned for winter? It looks ancient. There is rust around the edges. How long has this been here?’

  Alkmene shrugged. She didn’t want to share Peartree’s assumption the woman was not right in the head. ‘I thought we were here to ascertain that Duncan did not kill Peartree.’

  ‘Or vice versa,’ Jake said, putting the rusty tin on the table. ‘Would you be sorry if Duncan were dead?’ His dark eyes held hers with an insistence that made her slightly uncomfortable.

  Was Jake wondering if her eagerness to defend Duncan stemmed from a romantic attachment to him? He had touched upon their relationship over breakfast, defining it as a big brother–sister thing. Had he then also been probing, seeing if she would correct him and confess to other feelings?

  She said emphatically, ‘I would just be sorry for his family. That’s all. His father might act like he doesn’t know him, but Duncan is their only son. And one of his sisters has just had twin babies, while the other is about to marry. A death in the family would ruin it all, you know.’

  ‘We’d better check then,’ Jake said, stepping into the living room area. Alkmene watched as he surveyed the room. There was no body there, but furniture had been moved, chairs being shoved against the wall and the windowsill emptied of all the small things that had been on it the other time she had been here.

  Jake turned to her. ‘It seems like somebody had a fit in here and shoved stuff, emptied the sill.’ Jake pointed at the dust marks on the windowsill that showed items had recently been removed.

  Alkmene shook her head. ‘Look closer. If somebody in a rage had emptied the sill, the items would be on the floor, broken into pieces. But they are over there.’ She pointed at the mantelpiece. ‘They look neat, not damaged at all. It's like they were purposefully moved.’

  Jake went over.

  Alkmene crossed to the wall with the sofa. Beside it was a bucket full of water. A sponge bobbed on the surface. ‘Mystery solved. The charwoman moved the items to clear space for cleaning, but didn’t finish the job.’

  She leaned down and tested the water’s temperature with a fingertip. ‘Lukewarm. She did heat it, then probably walked off to do something else and forgot all about it. If anything, she's a bit of a scatterbrain. Still harmless enough, I suppose.’

  Jake turned away from the mantelpiece. ‘We’d better go up to see if there is something in the bedrooms.’

  Alkmene’s fear that Duncan had hurt Peartree returned full force. She let Jake take the lead up the stairs, clutching the railing with her shaky fingers. Duncan could be dead, or Duncan could have killed. Which option was worse?

  On the landing were two doors. Jake tried the right one first.

  It opened into a small room. The curtains were closed so that the room was dim – only some light came over the curtains, leaving a bright patch on the ceiling.

  ‘I’ll get it.’ Jake walked in and grabbed the curtains, yanked them open.

  Alkmene gasped.

  There was a man’s body face down on the bed. His unruly hair gleamed copper in the bright light of day. One of his arms hung down the side of the bed, limp. Lifeless.

  ‘Duncan.’ She raised both hands to her face. How would she ever explain this to his father, his mother, the sisters who should be enjoying their status as new mother and bride-to-be?

  Jake went over and felt for a pulse in the man’s neck. He grimaced at her. ‘Alive and well. Just very drunk I suppose.’

  Alkmene exhaled in relief. ‘Good. We’d better let him sleep it off, then ask him some questions. Now for the other room. Peartree could still be dead, you know.’

  ‘Right.’ Jake went ahead of her and opened the other door. Here the curtains were open. The sunshine flooded in. The bed was neat, not slept in. There were some toilet articles on the dressing table under the window, boots stood in a corner and clothes hung over a chair. This had to be Peartree’s room. But it had obviously not been used last night or else he had already cleaned it up the moment he had gotten out of bed.

  Jake opened the door of a wall closet and looked in. ‘Just suits. The guy could start his own menswear store with what he has in here. Bit of a dandy, right?’

  Alkmene didn’t bother to respond. She went over to the dressing table and looked over the things: shaving soap, a razor, some bottles without labels on them. She opened one of them and sniffed. A sharp alcoholic scent invaded her nose. Maybe a lotion some men used on themselves like ladies used perfume. Peartree did seem like a vain type.

  She put the bottle back in place and looked out of the window. She
could see down the road they had followed to get here. A car was driving away from the cottage. It was too far off to see it properly, but it looked a lot like the Buick she had come in, the viscount’s car driven by the inscrutable Kramer.

  What on earth had the chauffeur been doing here at the cottage? Duncan was not fit to talk to anybody so…

  Was Kramer in league with Peartree?

  Jake had picked up one of the boots in the corner and was looking at the sole. ‘This has been used to go out. There is mud here, bits of moss and grass.’

  ‘Very perceptive,’ a voice said from the doorway.

  Alkmene looked up to where Peartree was standing, leaning against the post, like he was at ease. But his chin was up, and his eyes glittered with defiance. ‘You’re part of the local police force, I assume,’ he said to Jake. ‘For if you are not, you have no right to be in my bedroom, going over my things, and I’ll file charges against you.’

  ‘We came here, and the back door was open,’ Alkmene explained hurriedly. The unpleasant Peartree was the sort to make good on a threat, and she needed Jake right beside her, not held by Constable Aldridge to explain what he had been doing in somebody’s bedroom, going through his things.

  She continued, hurriedly, ‘Nobody responded to our calls so we went in to see if everything was all right. I was worried about Duncan after last night.’

  A sneer came and went on Peartree’s face, but he said nothing. Crossing his arms over his chest, he waited for her to go on explaining.

  ‘It was a good thing we came,’ Jake said. ‘For Duncan is on the bed in his room, unresponsive.’

  ‘He’s dead?’ Peartree’s expression was almost frantic. He ran from the door, burst into the other room. He was back after a few moments, his panic subsided, his expression tight again and his tone dismissive. ‘He is not dead, just sleeping off his heavy drinking. As usual.’

  Alkmene tilted her head. ‘The idea that he might be dead seemed to upset you.’

  Peartree grimaced. ‘He owes me a lot of money. If he died, I would never see any of it. I have no doubt his family would not honour the word given and just tell me that I wasn’t entitled to anything.’