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

by Sara Rosett

  He tapped a quick note into his phone. “How would you describe the dynamic between the people here at Tate House?”

  Glad that it seemed he was moving away from questions that focused on me, I said, “Well, Arabella was the center of it all, of course. They were all here because of her. Torrie was her assistant, and the Hibbert cousins were her security.”

  “Yes, the security detail,” Quimby said, barely suppressing his sigh. “We’ll come back to that. Tell me more about the personalities.”

  Torrie’s worried questions popped into my mind along with the image of Stevie Lund vaulting over the gate. With a sinking sensation in my stomach, I asked, “It wasn’t an accident, was it?”

  Chapter 13

  “WHY DO YOU SAY THAT?” Quimby asked, his tone careful.

  “Well, I know the stairs are slippery, but your people seem to be taking a long time in the garden. It makes me wonder if something else happened besides Arabella losing her balance and falling.” I looked over my shoulder at the crime scene technician by the lounger. “I don’t imagine you normally search for fingerprints after an accident?”

  “Every case is different,” Quimby said in that same cautious way.

  So he was suspicious. The sinking feeling in my stomach intensified. Dealing with an accidental death related to the documentary was bad enough, but a suspicious death….I rubbed my forehead. “This is not good. Elise will not like this. She’ll…” I trailed off, not able to put into words what I suspected her reaction would be. I dreaded talking to her more than I had before.

  On top of that, I’d been here. In fact, I found the body. I swallowed, realizing that I had bigger worries than Elise’s temper. “My fingerprints will be out there, you know,” I said quickly. “I was in the garden—several times, in fact.” I didn’t want to be in Quimby’s crosshairs again.

  He looked up from his phone, a slightly surprised look on his face.

  I spread my hands. “I know you’re thorough and look into everything and everyone.” I waved a hand at the window behind me. “All that activity says that something is…suspicious. You once told me you suspect everyone, or something along those lines. I want to make it clear that I’m not hiding anything. I had no connection to anyone here before a few days ago, and even though Arabella was quite…er, trying…at times, I would never do anything that would cause her to end up on the stairs like that.”

  “I can’t exclude anyone from my investigation, which at this point is focused on the threats Ms. Emsley received,” he said, but he glanced out the window with a distracted air then returned his attention to me. “Let’s stay focused on the threats for the moment.”

  His questions focused on the notes, so I stayed on the subject, summarizing how I’d found out about them, giving him a quick recap of the last few days, describing the run-in with the man in the garden, Gil’s attempt to get on the set, and the threatening notes Arabella had described. He let me talk without asking many questions, mostly tapping away on his phone as I spoke. I described Arabella’s narrow miss during filming and said, “After that—well—I’d already called Constable Albertson, but it seemed to be something serious.”

  “Quite.” Quimby flicked through his notes then asked, “And Ms. Emsley thought the man in the garden wasn’t Stevie Lund?”

  “Right. She was very sure about that. Sylvester took a photo of the footprint. I suppose he might still have it. It looked like some sort of work boot. Arabella said Lund would never wear shoes like that and that he’d never climb the wall because it might ruin his suit.”

  “He is known to be quite particular about his wardrobe.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “So you already know about him, this Stevie Lund?”

  “Mr. Lund has been on our radar for a long time,” he said with a mix of exasperation and determination. “Ms. Emsley seemed relieved once she decided it couldn’t have been Lund?”

  “Yes. Once she saw the footprint, I got the feeling that she…well, that she enjoyed the attention. She obviously liked the idea that a fan would climb the wall and try to get to the house. But she was wrong about that part—that Stevie Lund wouldn’t climb the wall. He went over the gate today—well, the gatepost first, actually. But he still climbed up and over. So he might have scaled the wall earlier.”

  Quimby’s green eyes narrowed. “Lund was here? Today?”

  “Yes, I saw him before I found Arabella. At first I thought it might be Gil, but it wasn’t. It was definitely Lund.”

  Quimby thumbed back in his notes. “You assumed it was Gil Brayden, the paparazzi?”

  “That’s right. I was walking home from Parkview on the footpath and heard shouting—that’s why I came up, to see what was going on. If something was wrong I needed to run interference. Gil was determined to get on the set, and I assumed he’d transferred his focus from Parkview to Tate House.” I described Lund’s angry yelling and how he’d vaulted over the gate.

  “How long was Lund out of sight?”

  “I don’t know. Several minutes, at least. Maybe ten minutes or so.”

  We both looked toward the hallway at the sound of heavy footsteps. Constable Albertson came in holding Torrie’s empty tea cup. He sent an apologetic grimace to Quimby. “Sorry, sir. She asked for more tea, and I thought it best to humor her.”

  “Right you are,” Quimby said and swiveled back to me. “Carry on with your timeline. You saw Lund.”

  “Yes. You know, this house has a monitoring system. You should be able to get the times from it. You can probably track him on it and see exactly where he went.”

  Constable Albertson ran water as Quimby said, “I’m informed the cameras record only the main gate, drive, and the front entrance, but we’ll check into it. If you’d continue…”

  “Well, after I saw Lund I stood there a bit, debating what to do—whether I should call someone or wait. But then I heard a noise down the path to the village and thought that Lund had left the grounds that way, so I ducked into the trees,” I said over the noise of Albertson opening and closing cabinet doors. “I didn’t want to meet him, you know?”

  “Understandable,” Quimby said. “Good grief, Albertson. What is the problem?”

  “Sorry, sir. Can’t find the tea.”

  “It’s on the counter—” I said.

  At the same moment, Albertson retrieved a box of berry tea from an upper cabinet and shook it. “Found it. Sorry, sir. I’ll be out of here in two ticks.”

  “Good,” Quimby said, then checked his notes on his phone. “You’d taken cover in the trees. What then?”

  “Nothing. I expected Lund to come along the path to get back to the gate so he could get his car, but no one came by. After a few minutes, I headed toward the village. Someone had knocked several of the stones from the wall onto the path, but I didn’t see anyone except some cyclists in the distance. I’d called Chester and Sylvester, too, to let them know about Lund, so I went back to the gate to tell Chester that it looked like Lund had left the grounds. But when I got back there, Lund came running up from inside the grounds. He climbed over the gate again and drove away.” I debated whether to tell him about the weird look on Lund’s face. I decided against it. It was only a look…but Arabella was dead at the bottom of the stairs.

  “And…?” Quimby asked, interrupting my thoughts.

  “That’s it. That’s all I saw.”

  Quimby put his phone down. “I think there’s something else. You’re considering if you should tell me or not. What is it?”

  “Oh…well, yes, there is, but I don’t know if it’s important. It was only an impression.”

  “You never know what can be useful in an investigation.”

  “It was his face,” I said slowly. “It’s hard to explain, but he looked excited, keyed up.”

  “Not worried or scared?”

  “No, not at all. More like exhilarated.”

  Quimby nodded then said, “Going back to the photographer, Gil Brayden. You showed his photo to Ms.
Emsley. You thought he was the garden intruder, correct? What was her reaction?”

  “She laughed it off. She said he was a nuisance, but Torrie said Arabella should be worried about him.”

  “Did she elaborate?”

  “No, and I didn’t ask. We were about to start filming so I didn’t get a chance.”

  “Now, let’s go over what happened when you found Ms. Emsley. Why did you come onto the property?” Quimby said as Albertson left with the tea.

  “I wanted to check on her and make sure she was okay.”

  “You suspected something was wrong?”

  I shifted in my chair. “No, I wanted to talk to her and make sure she wasn’t upset or anything. Chester thought she was fine, but I figured Torrie might have called her after I spoke to Sylvester.”

  “But you’d already tried to phone Ms. Emsley, and she hadn’t answered.”

  “That’s true. I thought she might have ignored my call, but answered a call from Torrie.”

  “Makes sense. Chester Hibbert let you in?”

  “Yes, he didn’t seem to want to, but he did.”

  “He tried to convince you to leave?”

  “No, I had the feeling he was more embarrassed about missing Lund. I’d asked if he’d seen Lund on the monitors, and Chester told me he had been in the loo, but he did open the gate for me. He said Arabella was in the garden so I went around the side of the house and found her on the steps.”

  Quimby pushed back his chair. “If you could show me exactly how far you went down the steps.” I followed him outside, and as I crossed the terrace, I saw Chester and Sylvester standing on the grassy bit of lawn off to the side of the terrace. Chester had his hands in his pockets while Sylvester paced. They must be waiting for Quimby to speak to them.

  We reached the stairs, and Quimby paused at the top step. I braced myself, expecting to see Arabella’s body, but a tent had been set up over the lower portion of the steps, blocking it from view. Several people moved back and forth under the awning. The stone staircase dipped down the hillside, slashing through the banks of blossoms and greenery, but I couldn’t appreciate the beautiful scene.

  “You came directly to the garden?”

  “Yes. I saw her right away and thought she was in a strange yoga position, but then I realized something wasn’t right.”

  Quimby nodded. “And did you go down the stairs?”

  “Yes, all the way to her. Once I got closer, I could tell from the angle of her head…” I stopped and looked away from the tent.

  “I understand,” Quimby said. “And when did Chester Hibbert arrive at the steps?”

  “Right after me. Only a minute or two later, I think.”

  “So no one else was alone with the body?”

  I looked at him, worry again surging inside me, but he was surveying the garden, sweeping his gaze across the bright patches of flowers that spilled down the hillside.

  “I suppose not. I was only by myself down there a little while. Chester was right behind me. He was at the top of the stairs, running down. When I looked up he’d just hit the step with the slippery spot.”

  “The step with a slippery spot?” Quimby asked, his suddenly alert gaze shifting to my face. “Earlier, you said the stairs were slippery, not one specific place.”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean the whole staircase, just a couple of steps here at the top. I slipped when I came down, but managed to catch my balance. The same thing happened to Chester. I think it was a puddle of water…that one there. See the low spot?”

  Quimby moved a few steps below the one I’d indicated and squatted down so that his gaze was even with the step. Water filled a slight depression in the stone, reflecting the sky along with a few of the tiny purple flowers that grew over the edge of the step. He looked up at me, squinting in the sunlight. “Does this garden have an irrigation system?”

  “I don’t know. Claire—the agent—didn’t mention one.”

  He nodded, but his attention was back on the steps. He’d shifted slightly and examined the area at the side of the steps near the landscape light. He pushed back the ground cover and revealed a furrow in the dark earth that ran from the light to the step.

  Quimby dropped the ground cover and shouted, “Everyone off the steps,” as he came up the steps and pushed me up onto the terrace, but I’d seen the thin copper wire that ran from the light through the furrow and ended in the puddle of water.

  Chapter 14

  “A WIRE IN WATER?” ALEX asked. “Are you serious?”

  I shoved the phone between my ear and my shoulder as I leaned down to unhook the leash from Slink’s collar. She knew what was coming and spun in a few anticipatory circles. “Completely serious.”

  “That’s incredibly dangerous.”

  “I know.” I took the tennis ball out of my pocket and heaved it as far as I could across the village green. Slink was off in an instant, her slender legs pumping in her graceful stride as she sped across the grass. She snatched the tennis ball and jetted back to me, running a neat figure eight around me before dropping the ball at my feet, her sides heaving. I tossed the ball again, and she was off.

  “I can’t believe no one noticed it,” Alex said. “You said the police went up and down those steps.”

  “The wire was well hidden. If I hadn’t told Quimby about slipping on the step, and if he hadn’t pushed back the ground cover…well, I don’t think anyone would have noticed it. Once they were sure the power was off and were able to get back on the steps, they found three other steps with the same set up.” My stomach was still in knots, thinking about how awful it was that Arabella was dead, but my nerves edged up another notch when I thought about how much worse it could have been.

  Quimby had made sure everyone cleared off the steps and then had gone in search of the power main. I’d told him about the power to the garden being connected through the potting shed and once everything had been shut off, the crime scene people returned to the staircase and examined every step. I shivered, remembering the shouts of “Inspector, over here. Got another,” that had floated up to the terrace where Quimby had told me to wait.

  “Then that means it was intentional,” Alex said, in a voice that wasn’t his usual calm tone. “Thank God you didn’t get shocked.”

  “I know. Good thing I was wearing my boat shoes today. Rubber soles, you know. I suppose that’s why no one else was shocked. Arabella was the only one to go down the steps barefoot.”

  “So she stepped in the water and the current flowed through the wire to her foot?” Alex asked, his voice troubled.

  “Yes, that’s what they think happened. The landscape lighting is on a timer and is supposed to go off at midnight, but someone had changed the settings so that they stayed on all the time, even during the day. Arabella was wearing a gold toe ring, and that would have been a good conductor…at least, that’s what I overheard one of the crime techs say.”

  Slink trotted back, shifting into a slower gear now. I tossed the ball a shorter distance. “Quimby had me wait on the terrace, and I think some of the techs didn’t see me over in the corner. Once they realized Arabella might have been shocked, they checked her over and found some sort of mark on her toe around the ring. It must not have been obvious because they were giving one guy a hard time for missing it earlier, but he said that sometimes there isn’t any external sign of low level electrocution—that’s what he called it,” I said.

  Slink returned with the tennis ball and settled down to gnaw on it. I dropped down onto one of the benches that lined the green, suddenly feeling exhausted. The burst of adrenaline that had carried me through the afternoon had faded, leaving me shaky.

  Once Constable Albertson told me Quimby had cleared me to leave Tate House, I’d called Elise immediately. Fortunately, she hadn’t picked up. I had a temporary escape from the storm that I knew would come once she got the news, but I’d left her a message then gone directly to Alex’s cottage where Slink had bounded to the door with her ears perked
and long tail whipping back and forth in expectation of her nightly run.

  Alex murmured, “Electrocuted,” in an amazed tone. “That’s so…”

  “Odd?” I finished for him.

  “Yes, that’s what I was thinking. Who gets electrocuted nowadays?”

  “More people than I realized, apparently,” I said. “Constable Albertson told me that a man in Upper Benning died last year when he installed a dishwasher. He connected the wires, started it, then reached behind the counter to make an adjustment without turning off the power and died when his ring touched an exposed wire. Constable Albertson gives safety talks at the local schools. Warnings about electricity are part of his speech. He said it’s often not the electric shock that kills people, but what happens after, which is what I gather they think probably happened with Arabella. The shock may have startled her and caused her to fall. Her neck was…just wrong…when I found her. Constable Albertson says the medical examiner will sort out whether she died instantly and broke her neck in the fall, or if she was still alive after the shock, and the impact of the fall killed her.”

  I switched the phone to the other ear as Slink rose and loped to my side. She must have picked up on the strain in my voice because she rubbed against my knees then rested her long nose on my thigh. I traced my hand over her narrow head then rubbed her ear. She closed her eyes and leaned into my hand. “Either way, it’s scary.”

  “It was deliberate, you mean,” Alex said, his voice grim. “Murder.”

  “Yes. I don’t see how it could be anything but that. I suppose one wire might work loose and end up on the step somehow, but more than that? And into a waiting puddle?”

  “No, and if the lights were switched on continuously, it sounds as if someone carefully set it up, which makes it even more frightening,” Alex said. “Someone had everything in place. If Quimby hadn’t examined the step and seen the wire it might have been written off as an accident.”