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

by Sara Rosett

  “I don’t know. Quimby and his team were taking their time out there. They must have suspected something. I mean, she’d had the threatening notes, so I suppose that would have caused them to look more carefully. And even though the burn on her toe wasn’t spotted right away, surely it would have been noticed later. There would have to be an autopsy, right?”

  “I suppose so, but there’s a chance that it would have been missed, and—no, give me a minute,” he said, his voice fading as he spoke to someone else. He came back on the line. “I have to finish up here. There’s no way I can get out of here any sooner than tomorrow.”

  “It’s fine. I’m okay,” I said, but I would be glad when he was back in Nether Woodsmoor. “I’d love it if you came back, actually. I really miss you,” I said in a burst of honesty. Did I say that out loud? I must have been more stressed than I realized. “What I meant was—”

  “Okay, now I know I need to get back there. Spontaneous admissions of affection are not your usual style, but don’t stop. I like it.”

  “Alex,” I said, a laugh bubbling up, which felt good after all the somberness and tension.

  “I’ll be on the road as soon as I can.”

  I was about to ask about his appointment that he’d been so cagey about, but before I could say anything, his playful tone faded as he added, “Seriously, be careful, okay?”

  “I will, but you don’t have to worry. No one set up that wire for me.”

  “Yes, but you pointed out the puddle to Quimby and then he found the wire. Someone can’t be happy about that.”

  “I’ve been firmly ignoring that thought for the last few hours. And telling myself that whatever is going on, it’s nothing to do with me. At least Elise can’t accuse me of causing all this trouble.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” Alex said. “She’ll be looking for someone to blame.”

  “But if Arabella was murdered, then it must have been someone from her orbit, one of her friends…I mean entourage,” I amended. I doubted Arabella would consider either the Hibberts or Torrie a friend. She certainly hadn’t treated them that way. “This has nothing to do with me.”

  Chapter 15

  “IS IT TRUE?” LOUISE’S CONCERNED gaze skimmed over me as she bent to give Slink a rub.

  “I’m afraid so.” I hooked my tote bag over the back of the only free barstool and squeezed into the seat, twisting around so that I could talk to Louise, who had paused on her circuit through the pub. I’d dropped into the White Duck on my way home to pick up a takeaway dinner. Dogs were welcome in the pub, and Slink had followed me through the crowd to the bar, graciously inclining her head so the regulars could give her a pat. Louise had come over as soon as she spotted me. I wasn’t surprised that she knew what had happened at Tate House. News moved through Nether Woodsmoor with an amazing osmosis-like speed.

  She pushed the bangs of her black-cherry hair out of her eyes with the back of her hand. “Such a shame. How are you holding up? You look a little peaked.” Despite her trendy hair color and only being in her thirties, she had a motherly manner and liked to look after people.

  “I am a little frazzled,” I admitted. “I’ll be fine after I eat, I’m sure.”

  “I’ll check on your food. Shannon is not pulling her weight tonight.” Her padded figure bustled away, and I gathered Louise’s new hire wasn’t working out as well as she’d hoped.

  Slink settled down between a woman on the next barstool and me. Slink compacted her long legs into the space and curled into a tight circle. The woman, who had a frizz of light brown curls around her freckled face, glanced down at Slink.

  “We won’t be long,” I said. “I’m just waiting for takeaway.” After years in the States where pets weren’t allowed in restaurants, it still felt odd to me to bring Slink in the pub.

  “No worries.” She sent me a quick smile then took a large swallow of her gin and tonic as she tapped the edge of her phone, so that it spun in a half circle. She kept repeating the movement, so that her phone continued to revolve. I glanced around the pub, but didn’t see anyone from the documentary, which was a relief. I wanted to get my food and go home, but…was that Gil Brayden? I twisted around a bit farther in an effort to get a better look, but I couldn’t see the man’s face. He did have dark hair and a light-colored scarf draped across the back of his neck, though.

  Louise bustled up with a cup of tea that I hadn’t ordered. “That’ll fix you right up. Only a few more minutes on the food.” I sipped the tea, which was sweet with sugar. There was no saying “no” to Louise when it came to food and drink. She dispensed it like a doctor gave prescriptions, and I did feel better after a few sips.

  Louise returned with my sandwich packed in a box. “Here you are, luv.” She set it in front of me.

  “Thanks, Louise.” I handed over a ten pound note.

  “Was it…bad? You found her, right?”

  “Yes. It was—shocking, but I didn’t really know her, you know? So I’m not broken up with grief,” I said, thinking of Torrie and how she hadn’t been able to stop crying.

  I noticed that the woman beside me had stopped spinning her phone on the bar. She was staring at my takeaway box with a fierce concentration, her head tilted as if she was trying to listen to my conversation with Louise.

  She noticed my glance. She picked up her phone and seemed to become absorbed in it.

  “Arabella’s assistant was pretty broken up,” I said to Louise, lowering my voice a notch, but the pub was pretty noisy. “I had to take care of her, so I didn’t really have time to get too upset.”

  “Caring for other people is a marvelous way to keep from concentrating too much on your own problems.”

  “You should know,” I said with a grin as she dug in her apron pocket for my change. “You’re an expert in watching over most of the village.”

  “We’re not talking about me,” she said, waving away my comment. Her expression turned serious. “Did the police give you a hard time?” After a friend of Louise’s went missing at Christmas, the police had focused their attention on her. The situation had shaken her badly, and now she tended to view the police in a less generous way than she had before the incident.

  “No, nothing like that happened,” I said. “They’re still figuring out exactly what happened.” I was intentionally vague. I didn’t want to get into a discussion with Louise about the details of the wire. Even though Quimby hadn’t told me specifically to keep that bit of news to myself I was sure he wouldn’t want me discussing it in the pub.

  “Well, it was murder, wasn’t it? That’s what people are saying. And we both know that the police could decide you look like a convenient suspect—unless it was Constable Albertson who was there.”

  Louise gave our local constable an exemption from her new wariness toward law enforcement. “He was there,” I said, “but it was Quimby who was in charge.”

  “Quimby? My, they do think it’s serious, then.”

  The woman beside me asked Louise for directions to the loo then slipped off her barstool and disappeared down the short hallway to the restrooms.

  I couldn’t share that Quimby had originally arrived to investigate the threatening notes either, so I said, “No need to worry about me. I’m only on the edge of this investigation.” Louise had finally counted out the change, and I reached to take it from her. As she handed it over she frowned, her gaze focused over my shoulder.

  “Everything okay?” I asked.

  “Hmm?” She looked back at me. “Just keeping an eye on things.” She tilted her head toward a table behind me. “He’s been asking around about Tate House. I don’t like the look of him—something sly about him.”

  I looked over my shoulder and saw a man with dark hair. A group of people at a table in front of him were standing, sorting out jackets and pushing in chairs. They moved to the door and then I could see the expensively cut suit and the heavy brows over small eyes. It was Stevie Lund.

  He looked up and caught me stari
ng at him. I turned away. “That is—I mean, was—Arabella’s ex-boyfriend. From everything I’ve heard, he is a load of trouble.” I hadn’t expected to see him at the pub. I’d have thought he’d be busy being interviewed by the police. I wondered if they hadn’t talked to him yet or if he’d been able to answer all their questions.

  Louise nodded. “I can always tell a rotter when I see one. I have too much experience in that department not to.” She sighed. “He’s staying at the inn. I should warn Doug.”

  I couldn’t imagine Doug with his bulldog-like build having a problem dealing with Stevie. “I’m sure Doug can handle it.”

  “I’m sure he could, if it came to an outright confrontation, but that one,” she tilted her head toward Lund’s table, “he’s the type who will skip out without paying. Too slick for his own good. I better give Tara a call and let her know they should run a deposit on his credit card to make sure it’s good.”

  “I don’t think that will be a problem. He’s well-off, apparently.”

  Louise sniffed. “Then you’d think he wouldn’t have tried to leave without paying yesterday. Slipped his mind, indeed.” She swiped up several empty plates and disappeared through the door to the kitchen.

  I finished my tea then picked up my box. I hopped off the barstool and bumped into someone who was passing right behind me. “Sorry—” I broke off. Lund stood directly behind me, one arm raised as he held a pint aloft.

  A glob of foam trailed down the sleeve of his dark suit jacket. “Sorry,” I repeated. “I didn’t see you there. Let me get a napkin or something.” I half turned back toward the bar, but he shifted a step closer, blocking my way.

  “No need.” He inched farther into my personal space as his pale blue eyes skimmed over my face. I felt as if I was under a computer scan, that he was studying each detail of my features. “It’ll dry. You, however, should be more careful.” He gave extra weight to the last sentence. I knew it was completely irrational to be afraid, but I was. Even surrounded by the noise and conversation bubbling around the pub, my heartbeat sped up as his cold blue gaze continued to buzz over me. “Careful about where you go and what you see.” His eyes under his deep brows narrowed. “And about what you tell people. If you’re smart you won’t mention what you saw today.”

  Slink had stood when I slipped off my chair, and now she inched up under my hand. I felt a low growl rumble through her body. It was too loud in the pub for anyone else to hear, but Lund glanced down at Slink then back at me. “If you can’t control your dog, you should keep it on a lead.” He leaned even closer. “Don’t forget what I said. I only give people one warning.” His face transformed from deadly serious to a fake smile. “Cheers!” He lifted the pint and pushed past me, causing me to have to step back and bump into my empty barstool.

  Chapter 16

  “GOOD GIRL, SLINK,” I SAID as I stepped into the darkness outside the pub. “You don’t need a lead, do you? You were doing exactly what you should, letting him know he shouldn’t be a jerk.”

  Slink pranced beside me, keeping up with the quick pace I set, her ears up. Her nails clicking along and the jingle of her collar were the only sounds as we briskly climbed the incline to Cottage Lane then swept along the low dry-stone wall that enclosed the cottage gardens. The golden stone of the cottages had faded to a pearly gray in the dim light.

  I continued to compliment Slink as we walked, and despite the fast pace, my breathing and heartbeat were returning to normal. Lund obviously didn’t want me to tell the police I’d seen him at Tate House. “Well, too late for that,” I said to Slink. She had raised her gaze to me as I spoke, but then she pricked her ears and turned back the direction we’d come, her body tense and alert.

  I spun around. The quiet street stretched out behind me. Lights glowed from some of the cottage windows. Down below in the village, a car purred along, its headlights slicing through the night. A shadow shifted. I looked down at Slink. She stayed alert, but silent. I waited a few moments more, but nothing moved. “Must have been a tree branch blowing in the wind. Come on, Slink.” I wanted to get into my cottage and lock the door.

  She reluctantly turned away and followed me to Alex’s cottage, where I stopped off to pick up Slink’s bed and food. Normally, she stayed in familiar surroundings at Alex’s place, but tonight I wanted some companionship in my cottage. I tucked Slink’s enormous cushion under one elbow, grabbed her food and bowls in one hand, and my own dinner in the other. With my tote bag bouncing against my back, I resembled a pack mule.

  As we left Alex’s cottage, I approached the street cautiously. Had Lund followed me so he could reiterate his warning? But Slink wasn’t wary. She seemed much more interested in the aroma of my sandwich than anything on the lane. It was only a few steps to Honeysuckle Cottage. It took some maneuvering to get Slink and everything I was carrying inside the gate and up the stairs at my cottage.

  As I unlocked the door, the clatter of plastic wheels sounded to my right as my neighbor Annette Phillips trundled her wheelie bin to the curb. I made a mental note to remember to put out my bin tonight. I opened the door, and Slink trotted inside, her collar jangling, which drew Annette’s attention.

  “Oh, hello there! I thought you were already home.” Annette paused with her bin at her side. Her jeans were dirt-stained at the knees.

  “No, just getting in.” I dropped the dog bed, the food, and my tote bag inside the door and took one step inside, signaling—I hoped—that I wasn’t up for an in-depth neighborly chat. I held onto my sandwich. Slink had impeccable manners, but I wasn’t about to tempt her by leaving it unattended.

  Annette had moved into the recently reconstructed cottage next door. She worked in a nursery school in Upper Benning. She was never short on words—all those hours with toddlers all day, I supposed, gave her a hunger for adult conversation.

  “I don’t see how you keep up those long hours. Did you hear about the poor woman up at Tate House?”

  “Yes, I did.” Conversing with Annette wasn’t actually that tiring. I only had to contribute a few words. She carried the weight of the conversation almost single-handedly.

  “Terrible situation. It will be a long while before that place sells now,” she said cheerfully, clearly delighted to discuss Arabella’s death in an abstract way, considering only the impact it had on the village. I couldn’t think of it so casually, but I suppose I might have felt differently if I’d only heard about it instead of experiencing it firsthand.

  Annette stepped back. “I won’t keep you. I’m sure you have another early start tomorrow. How you do it, I don’t know. Well, good night.”

  I locked the door firmly behind me, realizing that I didn’t know if I had an early morning or not the next day. Another full day of filming was on the schedule, but most of it involved either on-location interviews with Arabella, or shooting more footage of her strolling through Parkview—this time in modern clothes instead of a period costume. None of that would happen now.

  I hadn’t had time to consider what would happen with the documentary, but now I thought about the footage we had. Would we have enough to complete the documentary or would we have to come up with something else?

  I completed my circuit of the house, closing curtains and shutters while Slink sniffed around the back garden. Once she trotted into the kitchen, I locked the door behind her, poured out a serving of kibble, and filled Slink’s water bowl. She swept her long nose over her dog food then looked at me reproachfully.

  “Sorry, that’s what is on your menu.”

  Slink gave me one more big-eyed look, then went into the sitting room and collapsed onto her back on her huge cushion that I’d placed near the couch. I brought my sandwich into the front room, kicked off my boat shoes, and curled up on one corner of the couch to eat while I checked my messages. Several calls and texts had come in while I was in the pub, but it had been too noisy to hear the ringer. I scrolled through the texts. Most of them were from Melissa, demanding to know if I was okay and wh
at had happened. Holding my sandwich in one hand and texting with the other, I tapped out a message that I was fine and that I’d meet her for coffee in the morning with all the details.

  I listened to my voicemails. Elise’s voice came sharply through the phone. “Why didn’t you call me the moment this happened? The death of Arabella Emsley will affect everything—absolutely every aspect of our schedule. I expect a call back the minute you get this.”

  I sighed and deleted the message. The next one was from Ren. “So sorry to hear about Arabella. How are you? Please let me know if there is anything I can do. And if you could convey our sympathies to everyone there, that would be appreciated. The schedule has been shifted. Elise agrees that we should move Saturday’s day off to tomorrow.”

  I bet she hated changing the schedule, but it was the smart thing to do. Everything would be in disarray tomorrow. What would we shoot if the person who was supposed to be in almost every scene wasn’t there?

  Ren’s soothing voice continued, “Take tomorrow to rest and recover. That had to be a stressful incident. Let me know if there is anything either I or the production team can do to help.”

  The next message was from Elise. “Really, Kate, I can’t imagine where you are or why you haven’t checked in with me. I must hear from you immediately. We have to come up with a contingency plan to fill the last segment of the final episode. This is an all-hands-on-deck moment, Kate. I want to hear ideas from everyone by tomorrow. Seven-thirty a.m. at the conference room in Upper Benning. Be prepared.”

  The final message was from Ren. “Sorry to disturb you again. You may have received word about a meeting tomorrow morning. It’s been canceled. I will contact you,” he added, “when a new time is set. Again, call if you need anything.”

  The tug of war continues, I muttered to myself, glad I’d missed that battle. Slink opened one eye, saw that the food was gone and shifted her long legs into a more comfortable position. I tipped my head back against the couch. I checked the time. Nine o’clock was really too early to go to bed, but I was exhausted. I pushed myself off the couch, then I threw away my takeaway box, and towed the rolling bin out to the street. I locked the front door, picked up my boat shoes, and went into the kitchen to double check the locks on the back door.