Death in an English Garden: Book Six in the Murder on Location series

by Sara Rosett

  I felt as if I’d walked into the middle of a play’s second act. Unspoken messages were thick in the air at Tate House, and I was completely lost. Chester left the room, and I said, “It does seem that the person in the garden wasn’t interested in the house or being caught or even seen. As soon as I realized he was there, he ran.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you’re right. Probably just a nosy fan.” She turned the full wattage of her smile on me, but despite her relaxed pose in the chair with her leg crossed and one foot bobbing in the air, I didn’t quite believe she was so unconcerned. “I’ll have the Hibberts patrol the grounds. That should take care of it.” She adjusted the position of the charms falling across her wrist, carefully separating a key from a sandal encrusted with diamonds.

  The door opened, and Sylvester came in. “No one out there now, but you’re right about the footprint,” he said. “It was a man. He didn’t leave a trail in the woods because of the leaves.” He frowned as he took in the jumble of cards that Arabella had pushed up against the mail.

  The whistle of the kettle cut through the air. Torrie removed it from the stove and flicked off the burner. I asked, “How did the man get in, though? It couldn’t have been through the gate, if…um…Chester?…is watching the monitors.”

  “Probably came over the wall,” Sylvester said. “If someone was determined, they could climb it.”

  “Well, Stevie would never do that—it might ruin one of his precious suits,” Arabella said as she fingered one of the larger charms, a square in the shape of a handbag with the imprint of the word Cartier across it. “What did the footprint look like? What sort of shoe was it?” Arabella asked still examining her bracelet. Her posture was casual, but the tension was there again, underlining her words.

  Sylvester handed his phone to Arabella. She frowned for a moment, then laughed, and turned the phone so that Torrie could see it. The flash had highlighted the thick treads and showed deep grooves in the dirt.

  Torrie set down a mug in front of Arabella and took the phone. “That must be…what? A work boot or hiking boot?”

  Arabella picked up her tea. “And that is how I know it wasn’t Stevie. He never lets anything except Italian leather cover his feet. He wouldn’t even pick up something as…well, crude and workmanlike as that. I’m sure it was just some fan.” She sighed, all trace of anxiety gone now. “I can’t tell you how tedious it is to be in the limelight. I can’t go anywhere, do anything, without people staring. And now I have people climbing over walls to get close to me.”

  She sighed again before she sipped her tea. She didn’t sound all that upset—more like she was secretly delighted with the situation. “Torrie, how rude,” Arabella said suddenly. “You didn’t offer tea to our visitor.”

  Torrie’s lips flattened again as I said, “Oh, no, that’s fine. I’m on my way out. As long as everything is under control, I’ll get out of your way.”

  “Yes, this sort of thing is nothing new, unfortunately. I’ve never had anyone scaling walls to get to me, but there were those awful people in Brighton. Remember that, Torrie? The ones who—” She shifted in her chair and her elbow connected with the stack of mail and pile of playing cards, sending everything sliding across the table. I caught a thin flat box before it hit the floor, and Sylvester bent to gather up some letters and playing cards. “Hibbert, don’t leave your things out. Always tidy up.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Sylvester said. I felt myself coloring in embarrassment for him. After all, he’d left the cards neatly arranged on the table and gone to check the garden to protect Arabella, but I knew better than to point this out. My first location scouting boss had a saying, When working with the talent, keep your thoughts to yourself. I bit my tongue and picked up the last pieces of mail, which included several more flat boxes. They were addressed and pre-stamped with the customs form filled in, ready to go to New Jersey. “Would you like me to drop these in the postbox?” I asked to break the uncomfortable silence.

  Arabella, who had been sipping her tea while watching us pick up the playing cards and mail off the floor, put her mug down with a firm thud and reached for the stack. “Oh, no. I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

  “It’s no trouble,” I said as Sylvester stood and tapped the playing cards into a neat stack, then handed the rest of the mail to Arabella. “I’ll go right by there tonight.”

  She positioned the boxes on the table and rested both hands on them. “No, this is business correspondence. Contracts, you know, along with some replies to fan mail—signed photos. I like to send them off myself. It gives me a bit of exercise.”

  “Okay, great. Well, big day tomorrow. If there’s nothing else you need…”

  Arabella shook her head. “No. You run along. Thank you for your concern…er—” She paused uncertainly. Torrie breathed my name, and Arabella belatedly said, “…Kate. Oh, one other thing, Kate. I expect you to keep this incident about the intruder to yourself. No spreading it around the village.”

  “No, of course not,” I said, feeling sure that she wanted to be the one to spread the story. “See you tomorrow, bright and early.”

  A tiny line marred the skin between Arabella’s eyebrows. Torrie said, “Arabella’s looking forward to the interview,” with a slight emphasis on the last word.

  Arabella’s face cleared. “Oh, right. Yes, delighted to be involved in your little production. Torrie and Hibbert went over to Parkview this morning playing tourist. They said it was quite pretty. I’m so looking forward to it.”

  I left, thinking that I shouldn’t believe a word Arabella said.

  Chapter 6

  I HEARD MY NAME AND looked up from raking the gravel on one of the paths that surrounded Parkview Hall to see Melissa coming my way. She carried a large box propped on her hip. “Can you believe how gorgeous it is today?”

  I leaned on the rake. “We should be so lucky every day we shoot outside.” Not a single cloud interrupted the continuous arc of cobalt blue. With the huge oak and beech trees that were spaced across the rolling green lawn, their emerald leaves flickering in the light breeze, it was hard to believe that the whole landscape had been coated in a gray mist for the last few days.

  The forecast predicted another band of rain coming our way later in the day tomorrow, so we had to take advantage of the nice weather. We’d switched Arabella’s interview, which would take place indoors, to tomorrow. Fortunately, I didn’t have to do much to get the outside of Parkview Hall ready. The trashcans had been removed, and the fixed landscape lighting that lit the walls of the stately home in the evening had been hidden with some artfully placed plants.

  Melissa shifted the box higher. “At least it’s nice today. I was beginning to worry we’d never get these last scenes done.” Melissa had recently moved to Costume. She was in her element, working with clothes. Her own style was eclectic, and I never knew what she’d wear. One day she’d have on a gauzy shabby chic outfit, then the next day she’d wear a punk style of spandex and leather. Today she was clearly channeling a preppy look with a knee-length skirt, dark tights, and a white button-down shirt.

  “So Arabella is here?” I asked.

  Melissa frowned. “Yes, she’s in Makeup right now.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Why? Were you worried? She’s been in Nether Woodsmoor for days, right?”

  “Yes, but I don’t think we’re her top priority.”

  Melissa grinned. “We’re certainly not on the same level as a feature film. And she doesn’t have any lines to remember here. In fact, today she doesn’t have to speak at all. It should suit her just fine now that she’s gone all superior. Not that she’d need to speak to me. She made sure that wouldn’t happen.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Didn’t I tell you? I knew her eons ago. Arabella, Torrie, and I were all in a production together, but she doesn’t even want to cross paths with me now. She had another requirement besides working with you. She didn’t want to work with me. It was in that las
t email Torrie sent. Paul didn’t read that part out to you and everyone else, but he told me about it later. But that’s fine by me. I don’t want to see her either.” Melissa squinted up at the sun, which was shining down, warming the path and the golden stone of Parkview. “I better get back with these parasols. The women will need them today.”

  A voice called Melissa’s name, and we both turned to see Paul cutting across the grass to us. He said, “Going back to the trailers?”

  Melissa nodded.

  “I’ll go with you.”

  I went back to raking. I knew neither one of them would hear another word I said. Since our last scouting trip to Bath, Paul and Melissa had trouble concentrating on anyone else when the two of them were together. It was like they were in a rosy little bubble of their own, separated from everyone else.

  I finished smoothing out the low spots in the path then stepped back and took in the whole scene. The pale path contrasted sharply with the deep green of the grass and hedges that bounded it on one side. On the other, the golden stones of Parkview soared up with its rows of windows glinting in the sun. The massive stone urns and finials that lined the roof stood out sharply against the deep blue of the sky.

  Beatrice, more formally known as Lady Stone, would be pleased at how good Parkview looked, I thought. She and Sir Harold still lived in Parkview Hall, but they were currently away meeting their new granddaughter who had arrived a few days ago. Beatrice and Sir Harold did their best to balance actually living in Parkview while also opening it to let visitors tour it and have celebrations like weddings and parties.

  Its use as a filming location was another boost to Parkview’s bottom line. This side of the exterior of Parkview Hall glowed a buttery golden color after the scrubbing it had received during the winter when it was closed to visitors. Each side of the building was being cleaned and restored, removing layers of grime. It was a labor-intensive, not to mention costly, job and the most that could be managed was one side each year. I’d heard some grumbling from visitors, who complained that the enormous square of draped scaffolding ruined the tour of Parkview for them, but Beatrice had added a new section to the tour that let visitors see the work in progress. I’d seen several selfies with people posing beside the nearly life-size urns.

  Thankfully, the side that was being worked on now was at the back of the house and out of sight of our cameras. Scaffolding covered the back of the house, which in turn, was covered in a white draping. The whole area was barricaded off as it contained not only some of the now-silent equipment used to clean and repair the surface, but also the stone decorations of urns, the smaller finials, and even two life-size statues from the roofline at the back of the house, which would be cleaned then replaced.

  I’d checked the space this morning to make sure the workman indeed had the day off because we couldn’t have the noise of the restoration interfering with our filming. Even though our scenes would have a voice-over or music over them in the final version, it was better to have the area cleared of workmen during filming. The rumble of equipment could be distracting to the actors, not to mention the complication of wrangling additional people near the set.

  I double checked now to make sure that none of the scaffolding or rows of statuary were visible from where I stood. Everything looked fine. From this point, no one would suspect that the back of Parkview Hall was swathed in white drape and surrounded by what looked like an open-air lawn-and-garden center with rows of urns, finials, and statues waiting to be cleaned.

  I put the rake away and went to check the garden, which was ready as well. It helped that we had agreed that we wouldn’t alter the gardens, which meant no trimming or replanting.

  My walkie-talkie crackled. “Kate, Trent here. You’re needed at the parking area.”

  I unclipped the walkie-talkie from my hip and hit the button to talk. “On my way.”

  Parkview’s grounds were extensive so it took me several minutes to get to what the Brits on the crew called the car park, which we’d taken over for the day. Usually the parking area was filled with cars disgorging families and tour buses dropping off day-trippers, but now it was sectioned off into areas for crew parking and trailers for Costume, Makeup, and Catering. Another area was marked off for the trucks that had brought our cameras, lights, and electrical equipment. The least glamorous area was the row of Portaloos.

  I spotted Trent in his typical workday uniform, a black shirt and brown cargo pants. With his toned arms, he could have given the Hibberts a run for their money in a shoulder-width competition. Trent was one of the security guys who kept out the people who shouldn’t be on set. It was my job to run interference when neighbors got upset or frustrated, but we’d filmed in Nether Woodsmoor several times and, for the most part, the villagers were used to us. We weren’t quite the novelty we had been in the beginning.

  Trent had his hand wrapped firmly around the upper arm of a young man with large, deep-set brown eyes and dark hair that fell over the collar of his jacket. Despite the rising temperature and sunny day, he wore a black windbreaker with a brown-and-white plaid scarf around his neck. His jaw was working as he chewed a piece of gum.

  “…just want to cut through. No problem, mate.”

  Trent nodded in a noncommittal way then tilted his head to me. “She’s who you have to make your case to.” To me, he said, “Let me know if you need me.” Trent stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest, staying nearby in case I needed him.

  I raised my eyebrows at the man.

  “So you’re the lady in charge,” he said, one corner of his mouth curving up. “You are…?”

  “How can I help you?”

  He fixed his deep-set brown eyes on me, doing his best imitation of a puppy dog. “Don’t want to do formal introductions, yeah? We’ll keep it casual then. I’m Gil, by the way. I live over there,” he pointed vaguely across Parkview’s grounds. The motion caused his lightweight jacket to gap, and I saw black plastic under the scarf.

  “You live around here?” I asked. “You don’t look familiar.”

  “Of course, I live here,” he said around chomps on the gum. “In Rose Cottage.”

  I smiled and leaned forward as if I were about to share a secret. “Did you know that is the most common name for cottage name plates in England?” I caught a definite whiff of banana.

  Gil smiled again, this time with his whole mouth, but continued to work the gum with his mouth half open. “Interesting. But that’s where I live.”

  “Hmm. I know that detail about how popular the name Rose Cottage is because I live in a cottage. I needed to order a new nameplate. Honeysuckle Cottage is not nearly as popular as Rose Cottage—the website listed the top names.”

  “That’s fascinating—really, it is. I’d love to stay and chat about home names, but I must get moving. An appointment, you see.” He shifted slightly and raised his chin in an effort to see over the hedge that separated the parking area from the grounds. “What’s going on here? I’ve never known the paths to be closed.”

  “We’re filming.”

  His eyes widened. “A movie?”

  “No, a documentary, but I think you already know that.” I made eye contact with Trent. “Gil is not allowed in. And he doesn’t live in Nether Woodsmoor. Keep him off the grounds.”

  Trent nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” He fastened his hand around the guy’s upper arm again and practically levitated Gil as he pulled him back toward the main road.

  “Hey,” Gil shouted, “I do live here. You can’t call me a liar.”

  “I live here, and I’ve never seen you around.” I took my phone out and snapped a picture of him as Trent propelled him backward to a white Ford Fiesta with a large dent near the front wheel well. “You should do a better job of keeping your camera hidden when you’re trying to sneak onto a set,” I added.

  I checked the photo and nodded. I’d managed to snap a full-length shot that included the hiking boots he wore.

  Chapter 7

  �
�YOU DIDN’T FIND HER?” TORRIE asked as she rushed up to me.

  “No. And I checked all the trailers,” I said.

  Everything had been going so well. The first part of the day had passed uneventfully with the filming in the garden going smoothly. Arabella, dressed in a high-waisted gown with her parasol shading her face, moved through the garden alone, then with other actors, including a stand-in for Mr. Knightly. Since he wasn’t the same actor who would appear in the movie version of Emma, the imitation Mr. Knightly was positioned so that he was turned away from the camera, or he was in the area of the shot that Ren said would be slightly out of focus.

  The only problems were Arabella’s complaints about her wig, and the fact that I had to stop an enthusiastic crewmember from cutting some flowers that were in the frame.

  Ren had given the talent a break while the crew transferred to the gravel path beside Parkview, but when the production assistant went to call Arabella, she wasn’t around. “You’re sure she’s not strolling around Parkview? You checked the other side of the house?” I asked Torrie.

  “She wouldn’t stay outside in the sun during a break—her skin, you know,” Torrie said, a trace of sarcastic bite coming through her worry.

  “What about the Hibberts? Isn’t one of them with her?” I hadn’t thought to ask about the bodyguards when the alarm was raised a few minutes ago.

  “One of them came with us, and one of them stayed at Tate House. But Arabella said she didn’t need someone with her every moment on the set, and sent Hibbert into town to pick up a salad for her.”

  I nodded, realizing that Arabella had assumed that she was safe at Parkview. Film crews did tend to create their own self-enclosed world, which gave the location the feeling of a sealed off ecosystem, a place where the real world couldn’t intrude.

  Unfortunately, I knew the invisible barriers surrounding this location were flimsy and could be easily penetrated. Parkview had miles of grounds, most of them open. We did have security at the gate and people patrolling the area that ran along the road to make sure no one slipped in there, but the property was too extensive to monitor every inch.