The Remains in the Rectory

by Shéa MacLeod

  His smile widened. “Could be an interesting project for you. We’re certainly in the right place and aren’t they always popular?”

  “Very. By the way, you missed the excitement last night.” I told him about the late arrival and Jez’s input on the situation.

  “It was pretty bad out there,” he said. “Remember how hard it was for us to see. She’s lucky she didn’t end up much worse off.”

  I agreed wholeheartedly. I also wondered where the new arrival was this morning. Bet she wasn’t too happy about being told she couldn’t leave. She’d seemed in an all-fire rush last night.

  “Speak of the devil,” I muttered.

  The woman from last night appeared in the doorway. She was dressed in neatly pressed black trousers, a red silk blouse, and those nude heels. Her ink black hair was cut in a chin length bob and sleeked within an inch of its life, not a single hair out of place. Her high cheekbones, almond shaped eyes, and naturally golden skin gave away her Asian heritage. She wore the bare minimum of makeup—likely whatever had been in her purse: Eye liner, mascara, nude lipstick, and a light dusting of bronzer. Frankly, she didn’t need even that much. She was gorgeous, in a cold sort of way.

  She surveyed the room for a moment, her expression giving nothing away. Then she strode toward the buffet, her heels clacking smartly on the parquet floor. She carefully poured a small amount of cereal into a bowl, added milk, and then walked straight toward us.

  “You’re Lucas Salvatore,” she said without preamble, looming over him.

  “Yes, I am. Would you like to join us?” If he was surprised at being recognized, he didn’t show it.

  “Thank you.” She glanced around as she took a seat at our table, taking in Jez and the professor and her husband. “The rest of these people seem quite low class.” Her gaze skimmed over me as she said it, which set my hackles on end, but I pretended I hadn’t noticed her inclusion of me. “Anyway, I have greatly enjoyed your books on my travels.”

  “Thank you. What do you do?” he asked politely.

  “Pharmaceuticals. I travel a great deal and I enjoy reading rather than rotting my brain in front of a screen.” She took a dainty bite of her cereal. I hoped she’d slop milk down her front, but she didn’t.

  “I’m surprise you deign to read fiction,” I said snarkily.

  Lucas gave me a warning look, but I ignored him. The woman was a world class snob.

  “Only well written fiction,” she said. “And none of that romance trash.”

  Even Lucas winced over that one.

  “Oh, really?” I said, a dangerous edge to my tone.

  “I’m Lavender Wu,” the woman said. She turned cool, copper eyes to me. “And who are you?”

  I gritted my teeth. Was there a way I could dump salt in her tea without her noticing?

  “This is my girlfriend, Viola Roberts,” Lucas said.

  She gave a moue of distaste. Now I wanted to punch her.

  “Did you hear that we’re stuck? The roads out of town are flooded.” I took a certain satisfaction in the look of frustration that crossed her face. She clearly thought she was too important to be locked in with the yokels. I wondered why. Her clothes were nice, but not that nice. And we were staying at a manor house, for crying out loud.

  “Most annoying,” she said. “I have several important appointments and now I shall have to reschedule them all. What a waste of time. Why couldn’t I at least have been marooned somewhere more civilized?”

  Neither Lucas nor I bothered to answer as the question was likely rhetorical. Besides, civilized or not, so far the manor house was intriguing, if a little spooky, and I was looking forward to exploring the village. It had been hard to see it in the rain.

  Lucas finished his yogurt and went to get toast and bacon. The minute he left the table, Lavender turned cold eyes on me. “I don’t see what someone like Lucas Salvatore is doing with the likes of you.” She gave me a look of pure disgust. Whether her expression was because I was a woman of lush curves or because of some other reason, there was no telling. Whatever the case, she obviously felt my boyfriend should be with someone like her. I wondered if I should point out she wasn’t his first groupie to try and get rid of me, nor would she be the last.

  “I’m pretty sure it’s because Lucas prefers brains and character over shallow bullshit,” I said lightly. I resisted the urge to scratch her eyes out. Lucas was, after all, with me. I’d no reason to be jealous.

  If looks could kill, I’d have been a corpse. She stood abruptly and stormed from the room, leaving her dirty dishes behind.

  “What crawled up her backside?” Lucas asked mildly as he sat down with a plate of food and a fresh cup of coffee.

  “Apparently she can dish it, but she can’t take it.”

  He sighed heavily. “I’m guessing you insulted her.”

  “Only if the truth is insulting.”

  “I assume in this instance it was.”

  I gave him a sly smile. “Very.”

  He chewed a forkful of scrambled eggs. “What’s the plan for today?”

  “It’s still kind of mucky out there, so I thought I’d poke around the inn. I bet there’s plenty to explore. Want to join me?”

  He shook his head. “You go ahead. I need to get a chapter written. Maybe we can check out the village later?”

  “Sounds good.” I gave him a peck on the cheek and sauntered off to explore. Maybe I’d even find one of those ghosts.

  Chapter 5

  Ghost Hunting

  THE DINING ROOM WAS across the hall from the bar where we’d had dinner the previous night. The door stood open, the bar empty. I was betting that due to the results of the downpour, it would be full by noon. Anything to relieve the boredom.

  Back down the hall toward the entry were two more doors. The first led into what I would call a family room, but no doubt had a posh name like drawing room or parlor. It was currently empty, but looked like a nice place to congregate. It had cozy couches and chairs, game tables, and a large fireplace already laid with firewood.

  As I continued down the hall, Rupert popped out of his office. “How was breakfast?”

  “Fantastic, thanks.” I didn’t mention the sub-par coffee.

  “My partner, Bill, recently took over the cooking.”

  “Well, he’s doing a fine job.”

  Rupert gave me a relieved smile and disappeared back into his office. I continued on my tour.

  The second door, the one closest to the front door, led into a library. The walls were covered in bookshelves groaning under the weight of thousands of books. It contained everything from ponderous historical tomes to light hearted paperback romances. The fireplace in this room was smaller, a fire already dancing merrily, throwing a warm glow into the room. A writing desk butted up against one window, its wide surface neatly set with a pad of paper, envelopes, a selection of pens, and a letter opener shaped like a medieval knight’s dagger.

  I was about to step inside when I realized the room was already occupied. One man, dressed in a forest green sweater, stood next to a shelf, a small, leather bound volume in one hand as he faced a second man. The first man’s back was to me so I couldn’t tell who it was, but I recognized the second man immediately. It was James Carsley, his face contorted in rage, ears bright red.

  “Listen you—”

  “No you listen,” the first man’s voice was slightly muffled. “I am not interested in your opinion...”

  James Carsley let out a slew of curse words that would make a longshoreman blush. “You’re going to pay for this...”

  I carefully backed out of the room and pulled the door shut behind me. I wanted desperately to listen in, but there was no way to do so without getting caught. To say I was disappointed was putting it mildly. Ah, well, there was plenty more to explore. And maybe I could get something out of James later. Although somehow I doubted it. He hadn’t seemed the chatty type.

  I was about to head upstairs when a loud voice with a heav
y Northern accent barked out, “There you are! I’ve been looking for you.”

  I turned to find Marilyn Toppenish beaming at me from the bottom of the stairs. She was wearing a polyester twinset in mauve which looked like she’d dug it out of the bargain bin at a thrift shop. Her glasses hung from a silver chain around her neck and strawberry shaped earrings dangled from her lobes. Her makeup was once again caked on, half lost in the heavy creases of her face which ran into her neck and melted the whole thing into an enormous waddle. She clutched a tote bag to her massive bosom. Its turquoise and hot pink flowers badly clashed with her clothing.

  I gave her a curious look. “You have?”

  “Marilyn Toppenish.” She stuck out her hand and I took it reluctantly only to receive a surprisingly firm handshake. “Come along. I was going to set up in the drawing room before the best seats are taken.”

  So, I was right. There was a fancier name for it. “Sure.” I followed her into the dim room where she snapped on a table lamp and ensconced herself in a large, overstuffed chair the color of a cranberry. “You said you were looking for me?” I prompted.

  She pulled a skein of forest green yard from her bag. “Right. You’re Viola Roberts. The one here with that hunky thriller writer.”

  “Lucas, yes. He’s my boyfriend.”

  Her eyes lit up with carnal delight. “Lucky you.”

  I lifted a brow. “Lucky him.”

  She sputtered with laughter. “You’re a bold one.”

  “Takes one to know one. Now, what can I help you with?”

  “I looked you up on the internet.” She eyed me over her knitting needles. There was a cleverness there, but maybe too much cleverness.

  “And?”

  “Seems you like to solve murders. Regular Miss Marple.”

  I didn’t say anything. What was there to say? She wasn’t wrong. Except that I wasn’t nearly as old as Miss Marple and I’d never worn tweed in my life.

  She lifted an eyebrow. “I know a thing or two about murder.” Since she so clearly wanted me to ask, I did. “Do you? What do you know?”

  “That would be telling, now, wouldn’t it? But I know about a murder ‘as happened right ‘ere in this village. And I know who done it.” Her needles clacked together and her eyes glinted. She was a woman who liked knowing things other people didn’t. And she liked lording over them with it. I gave a sound of disgust and stood.

  “Listen, Marilyn, I’ve got no time for games. You want to talk, you know where I am.” I stalked out of the room. Behind me I could hear Marilyn tutting. I was pretty sure the only thing offended was her pride. I was familiar with her type. She wanted to manipulate me, but I had better things to do than put up with her nonsense. Murder in this village, my backside. The place looked like it had never seen so much as a traffic accident.

  “Oh, Viola, there you are. You want to help me ghost hunt?” It was Jez. She had donned a pair of black rimmed glasses which made her look adorably nerdy.

  “I thought you hunted ghosts at night.”

  “Well, night is best,” she admitted. “But ghosts don’t go away just because it’s daylight. At least, that’s the prevailing theory.”

  “Sure. Makes sense.” It totally didn’t. I couldn’t believe this woman believed in ghosts. I mean, she came off as totally sane and everything.

  “So? You up for it?”

  “What do we have to do?”

  She whipped out a small, black device. “I’ll carry this EMF detector. It’ll alert us to the energy of nearby ghosts. You can carry this.” She handed me a digital camera. “Video the investigation. Just in case.”

  “In case of what?”

  “We run into any ghosts, of course. We want to get them on tape.”

  I stared at the little silver camera. “Right.”

  “We’ll start in the attic.”

  “You sure Rupert wants us poking around up there?” I asked, hoping that Rupert was dead set against it. On the one hand, ghost hunting would keep me busy. On the other, poking through dusty attics wasn’t exactly my idea of a good time.

  “He’s thrilled. He and Bill have given me the run of the place.” She started up the stairs with me trailing reluctantly behind her. “I think he’s hoping I find something so he has an official sighting on the record. It would really boost the tourist trade.”

  I had no doubt. Once we’d reached the second floor—or what the British referred to as the first floor—she led me down the hall past a maid with a cleaning cart. “Morning, Anka,” she said cheerfully.

  Anka glowered at her, face twisted sourly. She looked to be about my age or a bit older. Her clothes were frumpy and ill-fitting and her graying hair was twisted up in a knot atop her head. She mumbled something in what was clearly not English.

  At the end of the hall was a narrow staircase leading up. “These used to be the servants’ quarters,” Jez explained. “But now they’re mostly storage.” The floorboard of the landing squeaked ominously beneath her sneaker shod feet. I was wearing flip flops both for comfort and for packing ease. I could feel the chill of the floor beneath the thin soles. Clearly nobody had bothered heating the place. I shivered a little.

  The attic was one long hallway with rooms on both sides, and a set of stairs on either end. I poked my head into one of the rooms. It was so small I couldn’t imagine it had ever held anything other than a single bed and maybe a bedside table. There wasn’t even room for a wardrobe. And the tiny windows were just enough for a little ventilation. The entire place was plunged in eternal gloom. Currently the room had stacks of boxes and crates with just enough room between them to squeeze through.

  “Wow, this hotel sure has a lot of crap,” I mused.

  “I doubt it all belongs to the hotel,” Jez said. “The family still owns the place, you know. The Baron Wytham or whatever. Used to be stinking, filthy rich, but over the years they lost most of their money. According to Rupert, they could only afford to keep the place if it earned income. Hence the hotel.”

  “Clever. As long as they don’t need to live here.”

  “Apparently not. There’s a townhouse in London and a villa in Spain. Or was it Portugal? Somewhere like that. I think the villa is a hotel, too.”

  “That would be an interesting place to stay.” I wondered if I could talk Lucas into a trip somewhere sunny. A week in a villa sounded nice and relaxing.

  Jez proceeded to walk the hall, waving her EMF reader around. “This is disappointing,” she said. “I’m not getting anything.”

  “Too bad. Listen, I’ve got to use the toilet. Here.” I thrust the camera at her and turned back the way we’d come.

  “You’re coming back, right?”

  But I was already on the staircase and pretended I hadn’t heard her. I guess I wasn’t cut out for ghost hunting.

  I HADN’T BEEN LYING. I did need a bathroom. So, I stopped off at the room to use our en-suite. The bedroom was empty, though the curtains had been drawn back and the bed made. Clearly housekeeping had been by, but Lucas was either still in the breakfast room, or had found a quiet place to work.

  Taking advantage of the peace and quiet, I took a quick shower and then spent some time on my makeup and hair. Feeling refreshed and invigorated, I figured I’d check in on Lucas. Maybe I could convince him to take a break and visit the village with me.

  The breakfast room was empty. The only things left were several mugs, an insulated carafe of hot water, milk, sugar, tea bags, and a jar of instant coffee. The British seemed overly fond of instant coffee, but I was feeling under caffeinated, so I made myself a cup of the stuff.

  The drawing room was hopping. Marilyn was still where I’d left her, knitting away. I noticed there was a box of champagne truffle chocolates at her side. Half of them gone. Monica sat at a gaming table near the large bay window with the professor and her husband playing a game of cards. Someone had turned on the radio and the grating sounds of easy listening filled the room. I winced and backed out before anyone saw me a
nd roped me into a boring card game or something.

  I doubted Lucas was in the kitchen or Rupert’s office and the door to the bar was shut and locked. Maybe he was in the library.

  I strolled down the hall, sipping my coffee—surprisingly, not bad—and studying the portraits and landscapes that crammed every inch of wall space. There were a lot of them. The landscapes were pleasant renderings of the countryside around the manor. The portraits were, naturally, of the family’s ancestors, including the unfortunate looking baron. I’d half-expected gothic renderings of ghostly images. I was disappointed to find nothing of the sort.

  The door to the library was open a crack. Likely that was where Lucas was hiding. I pushed the door open and stepped inside. Someone had drawn the drapes, leaving the room dim and shadowy. The fire still flickered in the fireplace, though it was in need of stoking and the flames had fallen low. A figure was hunched over the desk. Maybe Lucas had come here to work and had fallen asleep. We had stayed up a bit late enjoying that bed. Silly man.

  With a sly grin I crept across the room and poked him in the side. “Boo!”

  The figure didn’t move. And then I saw something silver sticking out of his back. A dagger! My mug hit the carpeted floor with a thud, spraying coffee everywhere, but I didn’t notice. “Lucas,” I whispered. “Oh, God.”

  I reached to touch him and the body slumped sideways. The light caught his features and relief flooded me. It wasn’t Lucas. It was Jeffrey Blodgett and he was stone cold dead.

  Chapter 6

  The Colonel Takes Charge

  “WHAT DO YOU MEAN, THE police can’t come?” I snapped. Finding the body hadn’t exactly had a calming effect on me. You’d think I’d be used to it by now, but no, it still rattled me. I kept seeing the dagger shaped letter opener shoved into Blodgett’s back, his dead eyes staring at nothing. And Rupert’s calm announcement that the police weren’t coming had pushed me over the edge.