by Shéa MacLeod
“What did he do?” I asked, wondering if he’d finally made a declaration.
“He gave me a speeding ticket. Can you believe it?”
I hid a smirk, though I knew she couldn’t see me. “Well, were you?”
“Was I what?” she asked.
“Were you speeding?”
Another pause. “That is not the point.”
The kitchen door swung open and Jez popped her head in. “What’s taking so long?”
“Cheryl, I gotta go. Call you later.”
“You better. I want to know all the juicy details,” she said.
I hung up and quickly told Jez what had happened. She let out a long whistle. “That’s crazy. Why do you suppose Blodgett showed up here after all this time?”
“I’m not sure,” I admitted. “Maybe he wanted to revisit the scene of the crime. Make sure the body was still hidden. Or re-hide it, even.” I’d read about such things. Murders visiting the bodies they’d buried. Sometimes reburying them if they thought the police were closing in.
She plopped down in one of the empty chairs. “Think his murder has anything to do with this curate?”
“Probably,” I said. “Otherwise it’s quite the coincidence, and I don’t believe in coincidences.” Footsteps creaked overhead. I could make out the vicar’s light step and Lucas’s heavier one. I hoped they’d hurry up. I imagined the curate’s body staring at me from the next room, even though there wasn’t anything left to stare with.
“But who could have known Blodgett murdered the curate?” Jez asked. “Everyone thought the curate absconded with the silver. Which is silly, if you ask me. He’d have made more money staying a curate. Everyone knows that.”
“That is a very good question,” I admitted. One I didn’t have an answer to. Yet.
Lucas returned with the vicar who was carrying a small overnight bag. “I’ll walk you to Mavis’s house,” Lucas offered.
“Not necessary. It’s just across the street.”
We all stepped outside and the vicar locked up the rectory. As we walked toward the car a thought struck me. “By the way, what was the curate’s full name?”
The vicar blinked. “Didn’t I say? His name was Robin Carsley.”
“NOW ISN’T THAT INTERESTING,” I said as we waved goodbye to the reverend. “It can’t possibly be a coincidence that a James Carsley is staying at a hotel less than a mile from where a Robbie Carsley’s body was found. The very same hotel where the man who likely murdered Robin Carsley was also staying.”
“No,” Lucas agreed. “If it was a name like Smith, I’d buy it. But Carsley isn’t that common.”
“I wonder why Rupert didn’t say anything.” Jez said. “Surely he’d recognize Blodgett’s name from the robbery.”
“Good point,” I agreed. “We should definitely confront him.”
Lucas shot me a wry look. “Easy does it, Viola. You don’t want to piss him off. There’s only one hotel in this town and we’re stuck there for the time being.”
I heaved an exasperated sigh. He was, unfortunately, right. “Okay, I’ll go easy on Rupert. But I’m not going easy on James. I saw him arguing with Blodgett just a couple hours before he was killed. And now we find out James has got the same last name as the curate Blodgett probably murdered ten years ago? He has some explaining to do. What if James Carsley is a relative and he killed Blodgett in revenge?”
“Oh, scandalous,” Jez said with a grin. “But a bit of a stretch, don’t you think? I mean, how would James know Blodgett killed Robin? If he’s even related. Everyone believed the curate had run off.”
“The family didn’t. Father Thomas told me Robbie’s relatives insisted he was innocent.”
As we zipped through the village on our way back to the hotel, I had a thought. “We should go to the pub for dinner,” I suggested. “Maybe Simon will have some more gossip. I’m surprised he didn’t mention the curate when he was telling us all about that ghost woman.”
“He might have if we hadn’t left when we did. I have a feeling he had plenty of stories left to ‘share’ with us.” Lucas turned on to the drive leading to the manor. “Dinner at the pub sounds good, though.”
“I’ll pass,” said Jez. “I want to get a head start on ghost hunting.”
“THANK GOODNESS YOU’RE back.” The minute we walked through the front door of the hotel, Rupert practically pounced on us. Today he was wearing navy blue cords and a cream cable knit sweater. His ring of graying hair was sticking up wildly as if hit with static electricity.
“What’s the problem?” Lucas asked as he shrugged out of his charcoal pea coat. I always did like a man in a pea coat. Ridiculously sexy.
“Colonel Frampton is driving me bonkers,” Rupert said, turning pleading eyes to Lucas. “He’s a little too in his element, if you know what I mean. Can you please calm him down? He’s already upset the poor Carsley’s terribly.”
“So, the police notified them about Robin Carsely?” I asked.
“Unfortunately, yes. James went on a tear. I thought he’d break everything in the drawing room, but then he went off and got drunk. Monica’s been crying off and on for the last two hours.” He turned back to Lucas. “Please. Frampton is just making things worse.”
“I’ll give it a shot,” Lucas said.
As I unzipped my own jacket I asked, “Why didn’t you mention you knew Jeffrey Blodgett?”
Rupert froze. “What do you mean?” His face had gone pale and a line of sweat popped out along his upper lip. He fidgeted a little as if he couldn’t stand still.
“You had to have known he was involved in the theft at the church ten years ago,” I said. It was a wild speculation, but I had a feeling in the pit of my stomach.
“I-I didn’t realize it was the same man.” A crimson flush crept up Rupert’s neck and into his cheeks.
I gave him a look and Jez snorted with derision. It was clear he was lying.
“Fine,” he hissed. “I knew it was him, but he served his time. What was I supposed to do about it? Throw him out on the streets? He was a paying guest.”
“Ah, the almighty dollar,” I said. “Or pound, rather. You didn’t think to mention all this when he wound up dead with a letter opener in his back?”
Rupert shrugged. “I didn’t see that it was important.”
“You—.” I literally spluttered in rage.
Lucas wrapped one arm around my shoulders and steered me away from Rupert. “I’m going to go have a chat with Colonel Frampton,” he said in a low voice. “Why don’t you put our coats away and then go have a chat with James Carsley. It would be very interesting to know if he is, as we suspect, related to the dead curate.”
“I was planning on that,” I snapped in annoyance. “Why don’t you put the coats away?”
“Because you need to calm down before you confront Carsley. Otherwise you’ll get his hackles up.” He gave me a stern look, which was irritating. But he was right. I needed a breather because right now I felt like strangling Rupert.
“Fine,” I snapped. I pulled away from him and turned to Jez. “You want to come with me?”
“Are you kidding?” She looked like a kid on Christmas. “Wild horses couldn’t drag me away.”
“All right, then. Let me put the coats in our room and I’ll meet you back here in five minutes.” I took the stairs two at a time, in a hurry to get on with it. I had a feeling James Carsley was in this up to his neck.
Chapter 9
The Beast and Bauble
JEZ AND I FOUND JAMES Carsley in the hotel bar. Apparently someone had let him in, and he was helping himself to an expensive looking whiskey. Not that I knew much about whiskey. I’m more of a blackberry bourbon girl myself, but Lucas was fond of the stuff and I recognized the label as one of the more pricey ones.
“Hi, James,” I said, climbing onto a stool next to him. Jez sat on the other side of me, elbows on the bar. “I’m so sorry about Robin.”
He slugged back a finger of whi
skey and poured himself another. “Thanks. Robbie was a good kid.” His tone was gruff and he didn’t look at either of us.
“He was your brother?” I was guessing, but it seemed plausible.
“Yeah.”
“I heard some stories about him down at the pub.” I figured James would know what I was talking about and I was right. The muscles around his mouth tightened and he curved one hand into a fist.
“Those bastards should keep their mouths shut,” he growled. He downed the glass of whiskey and reached to pour another. I stopped him by laying a hand over his, and giving him a friendly squeeze. I noticed he was trembling. I wondered if it was rage, fear, or something else entirely.
“Why didn’t you tell Colonel Frampton why you’re here? And about knowing Blodgett?” I asked.
“Because it’s no one’s business but mine,” he snarled, yanking his hand from beneath mine as if I had the plague.
“Really?” I lifted a brow. “Because from where I’m sitting, you have a really good motive for murdering Blodgett.”
“Is that so?” He stared into the empty glass.
“It’s pretty likely that Blodgett killed your brother and walled him up in the rectory. Revenge is a strong motive.”
He turned to glare at me. His nasty expression might have made a weaker woman quail, but I’d stared down murderers before. In fact, the last one I’d chased through the streets of Astoria. James Carsley wasn’t about to scare me off.
“Not only do you have a motive, but I saw you arguing with Blodgett shortly before he died,” I continued. “Believe me, you’re the first person the police are going to look at.”
“Well, I didn’t do it. I had no idea Blodgett killed my brother. I didn’t even know for sure Robbie was dead.”
“Then what were you arguing about?” Jez asked soothingly, peering around my shoulder.
“You should tell us,” I urged, keeping my tone as calm as possible. I was hoping the good-cop routine would work on him. “When the police get here, it’ll be useful to have someone on your side.”
He was silent so long I thought maybe he wasn’t going to answer. Finally he blurted, “Fine. If you want to know, when we got the notification that Blodgett had been released, I came down here to clear my brother’s name. I wanted to prove to the world he was innocent. I didn’t expect him to be dead.” He scrubbed a hand over his eyes, which were suspiciously wet. “I argued with Blodgett because I wanted him to admit the truth. That he’d committed the burglary on his own. That Robbie had nothing to do with the theft.”
“And did he admit it?” I asked.
“No. He laughed in my face. Told me to get over it. Then he left the room. That’s when I went upstairs and took a shower. I couldn’t stand to be anywhere near him.” He stood up so abruptly his stool toppled over with a loud clatter. “Now, if you’re done being nosey, I’ve got better things to do.” And with that he stomped out of the room, anger rolling off him in waves.
“What do you think?” Jez asked when he was gone.
“I think James Carsley is lying,” I said. “He’s still at the top of my suspect list.”
THE BEAST AND BAUBLE was warm and cheerful and busier than it had been the night before. Maybe because the weather was better. Or maybe because it was a Friday night. Probably because everyone was still stuck in the village thanks to flooding. In any case, I found a table in the back corner while Lucas went to get us drinks. I settled into the chair next to the window. The panes were steamed up so I couldn’t see out. I perused the menu instead. I decided the steak and mushroom pie sounded delicious on a chill night. And if I had room, I was totally going for the sticky toffee pudding. I was on vacation after all.
Lucas soon returned with an Irish coffee for me and a straight up whiskey for himself. It reminded me of James Carsley downing whiskey in the hotel bar.
“I think I’ll go with the chicken hot pot,” he said. “It sounds wonderfully stodgy.”
I felt a little guilty slipping out without asking Jez to come with us, but she’d said she wanted to ghost hunt and I wanted time alone with Lucas. Well, alone-ish, since we were surrounded by what looked like half the village.
When our food arrived I almost wished I’d gone with the chicken hot pot, too. Chicken breast over mashed potatoes smothered in cheese and some kind of sauce, what could be bad about that? Still, I tucked in, enjoying my steak and mushroom pie.
I took a sip of my drink. Bliss. Terry the barman really knew how to make an Irish coffee. “I know James Carsley has an alibi,” I said over the rim of my mug. “But honestly? I’m suspicious. I mean, who else has such a great motive? And is there anyone to confirm his alibi? He was up there alone for what, twenty minutes at least? Could have easily slipped downstairs, stabbed Blodgett, and then run back upstairs, no one the wiser.” Although no blood at the scene meant the body had been moved. I was still stuck on that.
“It’s possible,” Lucas agreed as he carefully cut a piece of chicken and scooped it up on his fork along with a healthy serving of potato. “It’s so obvious, though, don’t you think?” He popped the bite in his mouth and chewed slowly, a dimple flashing in his cheek. Curse the man, he even chewed sexily. How was that even possible?
“Sure,” I said. “But that doesn’t make him innocent.”
“No,” he admitted. “It does not. By the way, I asked Rupert about the letter opener.”
“Yeah?”
“He claims it was always kept on the desk. Right out where anyone could see or take it.”
“Interesting.” I took another sip of Irish coffee before digging into my pie. “We should talk to Professor Huxton-Bennington. She was supposedly in the library. I wonder if she saw it.”
“Good question.”
The door swung open letting in a gust of wind and a spattering of rain drops. Goodie. It was raining again. Along with the wind and rain came a figure swathed in layers of coats and scarves as if it was freezing out instead of just a bit windy and damp. The figure took off his hat and I recognized him immediately.
“Look, its Simon. We should ask him about the theft and the curate. Maybe he knows something more.”
“Good plan.” Lucas waved the older man over.
At first Simon looked confused. No surprise since he’d been pretty drunk the night before. Then his expression cleared and a smile creased his weathered face.
“Sit down,” Lucas said. “Let me get you a drink.”
“Ah, if it isn’t the young American ghost hunters. How are you this fine evening?” Simon took a seat at our table, face beaming, while Lucas got up to get him a pint from the bar.
It was neither a fine evening nor were we ghost hunters, but I didn’t want to sidetrack the man. “Did you hear about the murder at the manor?” I asked.
“That I did. Quite shocking.” He leaned forward so I could smell the booze on his breath. He’d obviously got started early. “Not that it’s a surprise mind. Seeing as how it was Jeffrey Blodgett as got himself killed.”
“You knew him?” That was a surprise.
“Met him a good ten years ago. Was on the construction crew what was fixing up the rectory. Some folks got their knickers in a twist about the new vicar updating the place. Saying he was too good for his station. Truth is the old vicar was cheap. Hadn’t done a thing since the seventies, I reckon. Had to be done. Place was a wreck.”
Lucas returned with the pint, which earned him effusive thanks from Simon. He took a long swallow of ale and set down his glass with a sigh.
“Blodgett,” I prompted. “Why didn’t you mention the theft when you were telling us about the ghost? Seems like a good story.”
“Well, that was before we knew Blodgett killed poor Robbie Carsley, wasn’t it? Didn’t seem much of a tale.”
“How did you meet him? Blodgett, I mean.” I took another bite of pie, barely tasting it.
“Back then I did the gardening for the rectory and the church. The arthritis wasn’t so bad then. Naturally
I saw the workmen coming and going.”
“How many were there?” Lucas asked.
Simon squinted. “Three. No four. That’s right. They had a young boy with them helping out. Trainee or some such. They’d come to the pub in the evening before heading home.” He took another sip of his ale. “Chatted with ‘em a few times, but they was town folks. Not very chatty.”
I wasn’t sure how being town folks made them less chatty than other folks. “So, no one had any idea Blodgett murdered the curate? They really thought the curate ran off with the silver?”
“Aye that they did. The curate was an incomer, you see. He had a rough past, too. Trouble in his teens. Nobody really trusted him even though the vicar urged everyone to give him a chance. When he disappeared everyone figured they were right and the vicar was wrong.”
“Did anyone look into the workmen?” Lucas asked.
“Police did. But there was no evidence and the only one as disappeared was Robbie Carsley. Case closed far as they were concerned.”
We chatted a bit more with Simon, but didn’t get anything else out of him except for another ghost story. This one about a ghost duck that disappeared into the hedgerows after causing cars to swerve into ditches. So we bid him goodnight and headed back up the road to the manor house. Hopefully tonight would be calm and uninterrupted. One body was quite enough.
Chapter 10
Pigs in Blankets
WE ARRIVED BACK AT the hotel to find everyone gathered in the drawing room for an evening “tipple.” Apparently post-dinner sherry was a thing. Rupert manned the sherry bottle pouring everyone a thimble full in dainty crystal glasses that probably cost a fortune. There was a platter of cheese and crackers set out on the coffee table and Bill was passing around a plate of canapes that looked like fancy pigs in blankets.
Marilyn Toppenish was still ensconced in her chair closest to the fire, though she’d put her knitting away in the gaudy tote bag she kept by her side. “Another, Rupert,” she barked, thrusting her empty glass at him. With an exasperated sigh, Rupert complied. I noticed she not only had a small, china plate piled high with snacks, but her usual box of chocolates was open on the end table next to her. She clearly wasn’t sharing.