Less Than a Treason

by Mary Birk

  “I’m sure you put up quite a fight.”

  “Sod off.”

  “Put your dark glasses back on. We’re here.”

  She shoved her glasses on and peered out the window. “Which one?”

  Rodney jerked his head to the right, toward a house surrounded by an elaborate security gate. “That one.”

  “Pull over.”

  “Are you crazy? Anne and her sister left almost the same time we did.”

  “This should be my house, Rodney. Mine and Terrence’s.” The frantic note in Miranda’s voice revealed just how close to the edge she was.

  “I shouldn’t have agreed to this. You have to get over him, and doing things like this won’t help.”

  “I want to see inside.”

  “Inside? Don’t you see that gate?”

  “Maybe it’s not locked.” She cracked open her door as if to get out.

  “Shut the bloody door, Miranda.”

  “I just want to see.”

  They were both startled into silence when, as if by magic, the gate swung open. Rodney’s heart slammed against his ribs when a black Range Rover nosed into the drive from the street, waited for the gates to open completely, then passed through.

  He held his breath until the gates shut again. “Let’s get out of here.”

  DECEMBER 29 - TUESDAY

  Chapter 58

  INVERNESS WAS quiet, the snow and holidays having apparently kept most people in their homes. Reid pulled his car out of the lot next to Jeremy Stone’s law chambers and headed over to where the man had lived.

  The house was an elegant bungalow, the garden small but well designed, at least from what he could tell with the covering of snow on everything. Reid had met Jeremy’s partner, Gregory Korman, several times over the years at social gatherings. Korman had a neat appearance, with graying hair and a small mustache. His face was somber and his eyes grave.

  “Lord Reid.”

  “I appreciate you seeing me. I know this is a difficult time.”

  “Such a shock. I’m still trying to come to terms with it.”

  “I’m terribly sorry for your loss. He was a good man.”

  “Thank you. He was. Would you like some tea? Or a sherry?”

  The man looked like he needed a drink himself, so Reid nodded.

  “Have a seat.” Korman went over to the sideboard and poured them each a small glass of a Spanish sherry.

  Reid took a chair.

  “Can you stay for luncheon? I’ve prepared a small something in hopes you’d join me.”

  Reid thought of declining, not wanting to intrude too long, but then agreed, sensing Korman truly wanted the company. “I thought you had people here for the holidays.”

  “Yes, but they’ve left now. Life goes on, you know. Everyone has jobs, families, their own lives to get back to. They’ll be back for the funeral services once the police have released Jeremy’s body.” He took his place on an elegantly designed sofa across from Reid’s chair and took a sip of sherry. “Funny how that is. Life going on when you think life couldn’t possibly go on.” He shook his head, his eyes heavy with moisture. “I don’t know what I’ll do without him. It would have been twenty years for us in May. I can’t imagine how I’ll go on, but I know one must.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do the police know anything else?”

  “They’ve made an arrest for both Jeremy and Flora’s murders. Lance Kensington.”

  “Flora’s son? But why would he want to kill Jeremy?”

  “It’s not clear. The local police seem to think it has something to do with Lady Flora’s will. I was hoping to find out if he’d shared with you anything about what happened in the last few days. Anything, whether you think it was related or not.”

  The man gave a small smile. “He told me about you and Lady Anne, though I suppose he shouldn’t have. He was glad you two had changed your minds about the annulment, especially because of the baby. He was sentimental where children were concerned. We had wanted to adopt, you know. We were still thinking of it, even at our ages. I’m a little younger than Jeremy was. Forty-two. Some women have children at that age, you know. So we were still hopeful. It didn’t seem so outrageous.” He leaned down and picked up a framed photograph of his partner. “He would have been a wonderful father.”

  “Yes.”

  “He also told me he’d seen young Kensington’s friend before. At the Club in Glasgow when he’d gone there on some case. Club with a capital c.”

  Reid frowned. Maybe there had been another connection. “I know the place.”

  “A gathering place for gay professionals. Not a pick-up place. Just a place where the food was good and it wasn’t necessary to pretend. The friend worked there, I think.”

  Reid nodded. “Darryl Duggan. Apparently he and Lance are lovers.”

  “What Jeremy had thought was odd was that Duggan had been brought to Dunbaryn by the son.”

  “Why?”

  “The reason Jeremy had noticed Duggan at the Club was because of who he was with.”

  “Yes?”

  Korman arched his eyebrows. “It wasn’t Lance.”

  “Who was it?”

  “Rafe Kensington.”

  “Rafe? Was he sure?”

  “Absolutely. He didn’t think Kensington had seen him, but he said the two of them had been arguing.” He peered down into his glass. “When the son showed up at Dunbaryn with the same bloke, Jeremy was a bit thrown.”

  Reid’s mind raced all the way through luncheon, but he forced himself to do justice to the pheasant casserole. He’d excused himself for a moment before sitting down for the meal to put Harry on the trail, but he couldn’t let it rest. Had Lance known his father and his lover had met before? Had their argument been about Lance and Duggan’s relationship? Had Darryl Duggan really incited Lance to kill his mother and Jeremy Stone? If so, why was Lance protecting him?

  *****

  By the time Reid got to the house in Glasgow, it was almost nine.

  Their house sat on a cul-de-sac, the exterior lights illuminating the sandstone exterior. The iron gates leading to the driveway were open and lights burned inside the house. He’d given Anne his key, so he rang the doorbell. Anne’s voice called to him on the intercom, and he answered, identifying himself. The lock turned, and the door swung open.

  His wife stood there, in jeans and a cream wool sweater, her blond hair pulled back into a ponytail. At first, she looked as if she didn’t know exactly how to act with him, and he was a little unsure himself. They’d never had a situation like this—him coming home to her at their own house.

  Just as he decided to make a conscious effort to act as naturally as he could, she threw herself at him with complete abandon. He put his arms around her and picked her up. She laughed as he carried her over the threshold and shut the door with his foot. “And where is my son, girl?” He kissed her, not allowing her time to answer.

  When he finally released her mouth, she said, “Michael’s asleep. Just ate and went down again. I’m thinking he’ll sleep until about one.” She slid down from his arms.

  “And Meg?” He kept his arms around her.

  “In the kitchen. We were just going to have a glass of wine. My rare ration while I’m nursing. We’ve been working madly all day.”

  “Do you know how much I love you?” He pulled her close to him.

  “Hmm.” She moved out of his embrace, but took his hand and led him with her. “Come into the kitchen. We got takeaway. Indian food. We were just going to eat.”

  “Good, I’m starving.” He let her pull him to the kitchen where she released him, moving off to bustle around with putting the meal out.

  “Hi, Meg.” He greeted his sister-in-law with a quick kiss on the cheek. “You ladies have been busy, I see.” Empty boxes were stacked by the back door, boxes, he guessed, from the things they’d had sent over from his flat.

  The granite island had four tall chairs along one side. On top sat an open
bottle of wine, wine glasses, and takeaway cartons. The spicy smell of curry and lamb masala made his stomach ache with hunger.

  Meg held up a glass. “Wine?”

  “Beer—in the fridge?”

  Meg nodded and he went over and helped himself, pulling out a cold bottle of beer.

  Anne smiled, laying out silverware. “I like what Priscilla has done so far. Have you seen everything?”

  “No.” It had been too hard to be in the house without Anne, but he didn’t want to say that with Meg here. He’d wanted his memories of the house to be the ones from when they had been here together, so he’d visited the house as little, and as briefly, as possible since Anne left.

  She fisted her hands on her hips. “You just paid her without checking it out? Honestly, Terrence. I’m surprised people don’t rob you blind.”

  He leaned back against the counter, grinned. “Good thing you’re here. Maybe you can make sure we got everything we paid for.”

  “I definitely will. How did the inquests go?”

  He grimaced. “No surprises. Homicide for both.”

  Anne shook her head. “I feel so badly for Lady Flora’s family. And for Mr. Stone. He was so kind.”

  “Jeremy’s partner is devastated. Quietly, but all the same. I had lunch with him.”

  “We should go to the funeral.”

  “Yes.” He took a drink of his beer. “I’ve other news I couldn’t discuss with you until now.”

  “What?”

  “It appears Lady Flora was having an affair.”

  Meg looked surprised, but Anne said, “With George, of course. I knew no one could dance like that with someone they weren’t in love with.”

  He stared at her. “You knew?”

  “Not exactly, but while they were dancing I kept thinking you and I could never act like that together if we were estranged. As soon as you said she was having an affair, I knew it had to be with him. She was having so much fun with him, and at dinner he went on and on about what a great job she’d done on the gardens at Greenebrae. I thought they were just being amazingly civil, but this makes much more sense.”

  “I never saw it.” Meg sat down on one of the stools with her plate of food.

  Reid shook his head at his wife’s astuteness. “All right, so you saw that, but it gets even more convoluted. You know Lance and his friend?”

  “Of course.” Anne dished some of the Indian food on to a paper plate for her husband and handed it to him. “Here, come sit.”

  “They’re lovers,” he said, taking the seat next to Meg.

  Anne pulled out the stool on the other side of him. “They’re so young.”

  “Old enough. The local police arrested Lance for both murders. Right after you two left.”

  “Lance?”

  “Lance.”

  “Do you think he did it?” Anne took a bite of her masala.

  “I don’t know. His father thinks not, but Rodney says Lance told him Darryl had been trying to get him to kill not just his mum, but his dad as well.”

  “That’s terrible.”

  “It gets even stranger, ladies.” He looked around expectantly, and set down his empty beer bottle, teasing them with his news.

  Meg slid off her stool, rushed to the refrigerator and got him another beer. “How?”

  He took the bottle she offered. “Thank you.”

  Anne swatted his arm. “Go on.”

  “Ah, well, if you insist. Not only are Lance and Darryl lovers, but apparently Darryl and Rafe Kensington’s first meeting wasn’t when Lance brought him to Dunbaryn.”

  Anne frowned. “Okay, now start from the beginning and tell us everything.”

  *****

  Her husband tossed his paper plate into the trash. “Great dinner, ladies. Thank you.” To Anne, he said, “My love, I’m dead on my feet. I don’t suppose you’ll give me a quick tour of the place so I can get my bearings, and then point me to whatever pallet on the floor of whatever room you have designated for me?”

  “My pleasure. You’re going to love everything, I just know it.” She took his hand and started to lead him. “Meg, I’ll be back down to help clean up.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I think I can handle throwing away paper plates.”

  When they were alone, Terrence said, “I want you to keep the gates locked, Anne. That’s why they’re there.”

  “I was leaving them open for you.”

  “I know, but I have the code. So keep them closed, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Did the alarm company come to set up the security system?” Terrence stopped for a moment, pulled her to him, kissed the back of her neck.

  She shut her eyes, enjoying the sensation. “They can’t get to us until next week. Too many of their people out for the holidays.”

  “I’ll call them tomorrow. I think I might be able to get us bumped up the list. Police officer and all. Special vulnerability.”

  She flinched, turned to face him. “What do you mean?”

  “Nothing. Just generally it’s expected we’d be given priority for security reasons.”

  “Why? Has someone threatened you?”

  “No, it’s just that police are given priority because of what we do. I don’t know of any reason for you to worry about me.” He kissed her. “Though feel free to do so. I could especially use your protection at night in bed.” She moved away from him but he grabbed her from behind and put his arms around her waist, nuzzled her neck.

  When he released her, she went on, continuing the tour through the partially furnished dining room and living room. “We hadn’t finished these rooms last spring, but it shouldn’t take too long to get them ready enough to use.”

  “That’s good news.”

  She next took him to the sunroom that was to be her studio. “I’ve sent Priscilla what I’m going to need for this room, but it might take some time. I need to make sure I have places to lay out designs. I may need a special work table made.”

  “Whatever you want.”

  “Thanks.” She beamed at him, pulling him by the hand. “I want to show you your study. It’s almost finished. We had the furniture moved over today from your flat—which if you remember, was what we had planned.”

  He looked around, registering what she’d done. His books were on the shelves, and his desk, chairs, and couch filled the rest of the room. On a small game table, she’d set up the chess set she’d given him for their anniversary and on the wall hung the Audubon print she’d given him for Christmas.

  “It’s perfect,” He framed her face, lifting it to his, then touched his lips to hers.

  “You like it? Really?”

  “I love it.” He gazed into her eyes. “You seem to have found everything in my flat okay.”

  She stepped away from him, averting her face. “It felt a little strange going through your flat without you even having time to prepare. You might have wanted to put away things you didn’t want me to see.”

  “There was nowt like that, was there, lass?”

  She smiled at the tenderness of the Scottish burr he allowed to flow through his voice. In fact, the only thing notable about his flat, other than the austere, almost monastic quality of the furnishings there, was the plethora of photographs of her on display. Other than a crucifix in the bedroom, and a rosary on the nightstand, there was little other decoration in the place. Meg’s emails about Anne and the baby were printed out and securely tucked into a folder on top of his desk. On the refrigerator hung a calendar marked exclusively with dates about Anne and him. He’d written in her gestation dates, how many weeks and months she was along in the pregnancy. Her birthday took up the whole square of the day in his calendar, even though he’d neither called nor written. Next to the calendar hung the photographs of Michael that Meg had sent him.

  Her nightgown had still hung on the back of the door of the bathroom connecting to his bedroom. An old bottle of her perfume sat on top of the dresser in his bedroom, and everywhere ha
d been photographs of her, interspersed with photographs of the two of them together. Their honeymoon, their wedding, and just pictures taken on ordinary days. Some she remembered he’d had displayed when she was there in April, but he’d apparently purchased more frames after she left and filled them with dozens of other photographs.

  She squeezed his hand, remembering he’d sent her to that flat with her sister knowing he was exposing his vulnerability to the two of them.

  “I put your gun in that Italian vase on the bookcase since we don’t have a night table in the bedroom yet—and the extra ammunition behind the books next to it.”

  “We’ll need to lock it up when Michael starts being mobile.”

  Anne nodded. “Definitely. Now let’s go upstairs. But be quiet. Michael is asleep, and I would like him to stay that way for a little while.” She opened the door to an empty room with big windows and white bookcases built into one wall. “This room’s going to be the nursery.”

  “Good light?”

  “Great. Nice big windows.” Opening the next door, she said, “This is the room Meg’s in. There was a bed in here already so we just got sheets and blankets from your flat for now. No dressers yet though.” An open suitcase lay open on the floor.

  “Poor Meg. Camping in Scotland.”

  “I don’t think she minds too much. She has a bed.”

  “Oh, aye. That sounds bad for me. No bed?”

  She ignored his question. “There are two bedrooms over there are still completely empty.” She pointed to another closed door. “Michael is sleeping in there, and there’s a bed for me in there with him. Your old bed.”

  “I knew I was going to get bad news. No wife, no bed.”

  “You have a bed.” She opened the double doors that led into the master bedroom suite. “I put you in here. This room isn’t finished yet. Right now, you have just a mattress, box springs and a frame. Looks kind of bare, but we’ll get it finished as soon as possible. Your clothes are in the closet, and all your toiletries that you didn’t have with you are in the bathroom there, so you can get ready for work in the morning.”

  “Thank you. I’m glad I got a bed. A lonely bed, but a bed.”

  “Don’t complain. You agreed about separate rooms for now.”