Murder in Thistlecross

by Amy M. Reade

  We insisted that Jacqueline join us for dinner, so she ate with us and regaled us with stories of her years managing the embassy kitchen. We enjoyed a long, leisurely meal. Everything was divine—that is, until Jacqueline excused herself to take a phone call and talk turned, as I should have expected, to Andreas and his cause of death.

  “Do we have to talk about this now?” I asked in a voice that hinted of my annoyance. “We’ve been having such a good time. Why ruin it?”

  “I think we should talk about it,” Cadi insisted. “After all, it’s the most important thing going on right now in any of our lives, isn’t it?”

  “It may be the most important thing in my life right now, and in yours and Rhisiart’s, but it is not the most important thing in Sylvie’s life,” I said, waving my hand toward my cousin, who sat across from me. I was sure she didn’t care to discuss the murder of someone she barely knew in gruesome detail at dinner.

  Sylvie shook her head almost imperceptibly at me, which I took as an indication that she didn’t mind Cadi talking about Andreas. Cadi looked around conspiratorially. “I don’t want Jacqueline to come back and hear this,” she said in a loud whisper.

  “Hear what?” I asked.

  “What I learned about Andreas.”

  Now she had my attention, as much as I hated to admit it. Did she know something about Andreas that the rest of us didn’t know?

  Rhisiart made an impatient motion with his hand. “Well, are you going to tell us or do you want us to guess at it all night?”

  Cadi gave him a smirk and looked over her shoulder. “I heard that Andreas had more than one job, if you know what I mean.”

  “We have no idea what you mean. Quit talking in riddles and out with it.” Rhisiart sounded cross.

  “I mean that his income didn’t come just from his job at the London firm.”

  “And?”

  “You didn’t hear this from me,” Cadi whispered as we all leaned in a bit closer, “but I have it on good authority that he’s been dealing.”

  “Dealing what?” Sylvie asked in what seemed like an unusually loud voice.

  Cadi stared at her. “Drugs. Cocaine, to be precise. What rock have you been living under?”

  Sylvie glared at Cadi and I held up my hand. “Cadi, please. That’s not necessary. You could have meant lots of things.”

  “Like what, for example?”

  “Girls, enough,” Rhisiart said. “Cadi, how do you know this?”

  She gave him a coy look. “I have my sources,” she said.

  He snorted. “Give, Cadi. How’d you find out?”

  I glanced at Rhisiart. Had he already known the information Cadi shared? I couldn’t tell from his expression. She ignored him.

  “Cadi, I don’t believe it,” I said. “What makes you think it’s true?”

  “You’re more naïve than most, Eilidh,” she said, her voice low. “Ever noticed Brenda’s eyes? Ever noticed her sniffling constantly? Why do you think she does that?”

  Her words hit me hard. I was quiet for a moment. Should I reveal my own suspicions? It was probably time to say something.

  “I think Brenda was distraught over Andreas’s death because she was in love with him.”

  “That’s rot,” Cadi said. The words sounded cruel coming from her lips.

  “It’s as good an explanation for her physical symptoms as the rubbish you’re accusing her of,” I said. My skin was hot and I could feel the anger rising in my chest.

  “Just think about it for a moment,” Cadi said. “Brenda always has red runny eyes, her nostrils are red and raw, and she’s come emotionally unglued. Of course she’s one of his clients.”

  “She could just as easily be crying over his death, as so many other people have. Red eyes and nostrils are signs of someone who’s been upset and blowing her nose a lot,” I argued.

  “Well, if I can’t convince you any other way,” Cadi said, “I have seen them together in the drawing room when they think they’re alone. She was passing something to him and he was passing something to her in return.”

  “That doesn’t prove anything,” I insisted. “I think it’s possible they were having an affair. That’s what people do when they’re having an affair—pass things to each other when they think no one is looking.”

  Cadi shook her head. “I don’t know why you can’t see past the end of your nose,” she said. “It’s very clear to me what’s been going on.”

  “I think you’re being very unkind,” I said. The evening was ruined. Rhisiart shifted in his chair and Sylvie was visibly relieved when Jacqueline came back into the room and served the jalousie to all of us at the table.

  But I couldn’t eat. The dessert looked beautiful, with a perfectly golden and crispy crust and syrupy apples layered on its surface, but I simply could not bring myself to take even one bite. Cadi’s words had turned my stomach. I thanked Jacqueline and pushed my plate away, explaining that I was much too full from the delicious dinner to eat any more.

  Jacqueline put my jalousie in a cardboard box so I could take it home with me to eat later. I accepted the box with thanks, but I had a feeling I wouldn’t want the food any time soon. Perhaps Annabel would like it.

  When we had left the class with promises to make arrangements to return someday for another cooking lesson with Jacqueline, Cadi and Rhisiart drove off first while I sat in the car with Sylvie.

  “Do you think she’s right?” I asked. She knew what I was talking about without me having to elaborate.

  “I hate to say it and I don’t want it to be true, but it makes sense,” she said. “It’s possible.” Somehow I didn’t mind as much when my cousin spoke about Brenda and Andreas that way. It seemed a much kinder way to speculate, rather than the gossipy suggestions Cadi was making.

  “I just hate to think Brenda is doing that to herself and that Andreas might have been helping her,” I said.

  “We don’t know for sure that was going on,” Sylvie said. “It’s just one plausible possibility.”

  I was becoming more miserable by the minute. “I wish Cadi could keep her mouth shut,” I said angrily. “She rarely has a kind thing to say about anyone.”

  “I noticed that,” Sylvie said dryly.

  “Maybe I should just ask Brenda what’s going on,” I said.

  “I don’t know if you should do that,” Sylvie replied. “It’s really not anyone’s business, is it? I mean, if she was having an affair with Andreas, she’s certainly not going to want to discuss it with anyone in the family or even anyone in the castle. And if it’s drug use, then maybe it’s something you should discuss with her mother rather than her.”

  The thought of having to talk to Maisie about either Brenda’s possible drug use or a possible affair with Andreas was dreadful. I couldn’t imagine approaching her. What if she didn’t know? It would be a terrible shock to her. But what if she did know? I was sure she wanted her family’s personal business kept private. She wouldn’t appreciate meddling by me or anyone else.

  Maybe Sylvie was right. Perhaps I shouldn’t mention it to anyone. It wasn’t my business or anyone else’s, including Cadi. But then a thought struck me—what if Brenda’s behavior was tied in somehow with Andreas’s death?

  The questions were getting too hard, too complicated, too heart wrenching. “Do you think I should say something to Annabel?” I asked.

  “I don’t see why you need to,” Sylvie answered. “At least until there’s something definite about either the drug use or the affair.”

  “What I don’t understand is why Andreas would have an affair with anyone. Sian is beautiful, there’s a baby on the way, and it seemed like he had everything going for him,” I said.

  “We don’t know for sure that he was having an affair, even though I agree that it’s another plausible explanation for the way Brenda’s been behaving.
We can’t accuse him without more information. Besides, just because a marriage is happy on the outside doesn’t mean anyone knows what’s going on behind closed doors.”

  She was right. I thought back to the fight Cadi and Hugh had been having when I interrupted them to ask about the cooking class. Though they didn’t seem to care who heard them or who knew what was going on behind their closed door, who knew what other fights they had had since arriving at the castle?

  Chapter 8

  I groaned as I pulled the car into my parking spot. “I hope I don’t run into anyone inside,” I said. “I want to go straight to my room and be ignored by everyone.” Sylvie invited me to return to the coach house with her for a glass of wine, but I couldn’t even muster the interest to do that.

  But I didn’t get to my room before being assailed by Rhisiart. His car had already been in the enclosure when I parked, so I knew he would be inside.

  “Eilidh!” he called, running up behind me as I approached my bedroom. I flinched and turned around.

  “What is it?” I asked. I didn’t care how cross I sounded.

  “What did you think of the cooking class?” I fixed him with a gaze through my narrowed eyes. I couldn’t believe he really wanted to discuss French cooking techniques right now.

  “I enjoyed it, at least until Cadi opened her mouth at dinner,” I retorted.

  “Indeed. What did you think of all that?”

  “I think it’s a disgrace to dishonor Andreas’s memory with talk like that, and I believe Brenda is nothing more than a lovesick teenager who feels like her world is ending now that the subject of her affection has passed away.”

  “You seem quite sure of that,” Rhisiart said.

  “It’s entirely possible and it’s what I choose to believe,” I said flatly.

  “Do you want to go to the pub with me and we can talk about it some more?”

  “No. I’m sorry, Rhisiart. I’m very upset by all we talked about at dinner and all I want to do right now is be alone.”

  He nodded, a look of disappointment—or was it anger?—crossing his face. “Sure. Whatever.”

  “Goodnight, Rhisiart.” I closed the door behind me and waited, listening for his retreating footsteps. I didn’t hear them right away, but after several moments I could hear him walking down the corridor.

  I wasn’t ready for bed, so I added more logs to the fire and sat in my armchair to read a book. But I was too restless for that, too, so I got up for my laptop and settled back down to do some research.

  I spent the next two hours perusing different sites devoted to cocaine use, its symptoms, its effects, and treatments. Sure enough, Brenda did have some of the symptoms of cocaine use described by the websites I read. Runny nose, red-rimmed eyes, sniffling. But my reeling brain kept reminding me that those same symptoms were common among people grieving. I finally closed the laptop, my eyes tired from reading the screen for so long. I vowed as I got into bed that I would pay much closer attention to Brenda in the coming days to see if she exhibited any other signs of cocaine use. If she did…Well, I didn’t know what I would do. I had no choice but to wait and see.

  In the morning Annabel wanted to hear all about the cooking class. She seemed to be in good spirits for the first time since we heard the news of Andreas’s death, so I went into great detail for her.

  I had walked her through every step of the cooking class for several minutes when she gave me a funny look. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” she answered. “Quite suddenly I’m not feeling very well. A bit of a sour stomach. Can you tell me the rest of your story later? I’m not sure I want to talk about food any longer.”

  “Of course. Can I get anything for you?” She shook her head. “Let’s get you to your room.” I took her by the arm and walked beside her up the stairs, noticing that her face looked ashen.

  I helped Annabel into a thick robe and then texted Maisie, asking her to bring tea to Annabel’s room. I waited in her room for Maisie to bring the tea service, then poured the tea and helped her lie back against her pillows. She closed her thin eyelids and gave a long, tired sigh. When I offered the cup of tea to her, she shook her head and held up a limp hand. “No, thank you. Not right now. I’ll drink it when I wake up, dear.”

  I waited for a few moments in the chair near the bed until Annabel’s breathing was slower and regular, then went back downstairs in search of Hugh or Rhisiart. I found Hugh in the drawing room and told him that his mother wasn’t feeling well.

  “Really? What’s the problem?” he asked from behind his newspaper.

  “She’s quite pale and her stomach is bothering her. She wouldn’t take the tea Maisie brought up to her room.”

  “Probably a bit of indigestion. I’m sure it’ll pass. Do you know where Cadi is?”

  “No.” I didn’t care where Cadi was, either. I was still angry from her malicious gossip of the previous evening.

  “Would you send her in here if you see her?”

  Hugh didn’t see the look I gave him because he hadn’t looked up from his reading. I wasn’t his servant. If he wanted to talk to Cadi he could find her himself.

  I left and went downstairs to the kitchen. “Maisie, what are you planning for lunch?” I asked.

  “Sandwiches and fruit salad,” she answered. “At least that’s what I was planning. Do you want something special?”

  “Not for me,” I replied. “I think chicken soup might be nice for Annabel. She’s not feeling well.”

  “Certainly. Just let me know when she would like it in her room and Brenda or I can take it right up to her.”

  I thanked Maisie and went back upstairs, where Rhisiart was coming in the massive front door.

  “Where’s Mum?” he asked.

  “She’s up in her room. She’s not feeling well,” I replied.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “She complained of a sour stomach, but she was awfully pale, too. She’s sleeping now.”

  “I have to ask her a question about the horses. I’ll talk to her when she wakes up.”

  I wondered what that was all about. No doubt something that would upset Griff. Since I wouldn’t be needed by Annabel right away, I set off toward the coach house to see what Sylvie was up to. As I rounded the corner of the front of the castle, I almost ran into Griff, who was stalking toward the main door. His face was flushed.

  “Griff, what’s wrong?”

  “I’ll tell you what’s wrong. Rhisiart has just paid me a visit in the stables. He’s talking about trading most of our horses for race horses! Can you believe it? I need to discuss this right away with Annabel. I can’t continue working here if my authority in the stable is going to be constantly undermined by Rhisiart.”

  “I’m afraid you can’t talk to Annabel right now. She’s sick.”

  He looked surprised. “What’s the matter with her? She never gets sick.”

  “Her stomach is bothering her. I thought her skin looked very white, too. Hopefully a good long nap will set her to rights.”

  “I hope so. I can’t go on serving two masters. Rhisiart seems to think I answer to him, but his ideas are in direct conflict with those of his mother, and she’s the one who signs my paychecks. I don’t know what to do anymore.” He shook his head in disgust.

  “I’ll let her know you’re looking for her as soon as she wakes up,” I promised. “I’m sorry Rhisiart is giving you such a hard time. He can be rather pushy, can’t he?”

  “That’s a very nice way of putting it,” he said, smiling. He turned to walk back toward the stables, then looked over his shoulder at me. “When are you ever going to get out for a ride?”

  I thought for a moment. Why not now? Sylvie was quite capable of amusing herself for a couple hours, so she didn’t really need me to suggest activities for the day. And a ride might be just the thi
ng I needed to clear my head after the events of the previous evening. “You know something? I think I’ll go right now. That may be just what the doctor ordered.”

  “Great! Come back to the stables in a few minutes and I’ll have Penelope saddled up and ready to go.”

  I returned to the castle and changed my clothes, then went out to the stables in search of Griff and Penelope. I found them leaving her stall, one in a long line of warm, sweet-smelling stalls that housed Annabel’s pets, the horses from her second husband’s polo-playing days. I stroked Penelope’s long brown muzzle and accepted a carrot from Griff to offer to Penelope while she sniffed at me and studied me with her huge dark eyes.

  “You know what you’re doing, right?” Griff asked.

  “Mostly, but it’s been a while. Can you just wait here while I get up on Penelope and remind me of the basics?”

  “Sure,” he said with a smile. We led Penelope to the entrance of the stable, then I got up on her back once we were outside. She whinnied a bit, but it only took her a few moments to accept my presence and agree to be my partner for the ride. I sat atop her, looking down at Griff while he quickly reminded me of the basic rein motions. The things I had learned in my riding lessons returned as soon as he started talking, and I found that I hadn’t forgotten as much as I thought I had.

  “Do you know where you’re going?” Griff asked as I turned Penelope around in a circle.

  “I thought I would just head toward the woods and see where Penelope leads,” I answered.

  “I wouldn’t,” Griff cautioned. “You want to be in control at all times. That way Penny here will feel secure and reassured that you know what you’re doing. It’ll make her nervous if she thinks you’re not in charge.”

  “All right, then. Which way should we go?”

  He pointed in the direction of the woods, then explained where his favorite trail began. “If you head down that trail, you’ll find yourself by a stream where you can give Penny a drink. Then keep going and you’ll head round by the entrance to the castle property. You’ll come out of the woods there, so just head up the road and the castle will be straight ahead. You can’t go wrong.”