by Shéa MacLeod
“What I want to know is why the chocolates were under that table to begin with,” Jez said. “She usually took them up to bed with her. She always joked about someone eating her expensive chocolates. I can’t imagine her leaving them behind.”
“I don’t think she did leave them,” I mused. “I’m betting she took them to bed with her as usual. After she was dead, the killer removed them when he, or she, left the syringe in order to confuse the issue.”
“Then why didn’t the killer just throw the box away? Or burn it?” Jez asked.
“Could be they planned to, but got waylaid. Maybe someone was up and about so they had to hide the box until later,” I said.
“But we found it first!” She grinned. “We should be detectives.”
Lucas groaned and Colonel Frampton looked horrified. As Bill shooed us out of the kitchen so he could begin lunch prep, I mulled over the three “suspects.”
James had already been cleared of Blodgett’s murder, so Marilyn claiming to know the identity of the killer wouldn’t have bothered him. He knew he was innocent. I couldn’t imagine Monica Carsley killing Blodgett and dragging his body around. Nor could I imagine her poisoning Marilyn. Lavender...I could definitely imagine her killing anyone who got in her way, but why Blodgett and Marilyn? Far as I could see, she had no reason. I’d just have to confront her and see what happened. I had a feeling it would be a little like poking a bee hive. But first, a little bit of online research.
I FOUND LAVENDER CURLED up on the sofa in the drawing room, nose buried in a paperback novel. It had a lurid cover with a half-naked man—golden locks flowing in an imaginary breeze—and a woman half in and half out of her hoop skirts. It was very old-school bodice-ripper. Not at all what I imagined her reading, especially after her mockery earlier. Then again, after what I’d found online, nothing should surprise me.
I sat on the other end of couch and eyeballed her. At first she ignored me. Then she finally heaved a great sigh and put her book down. “What?” she snapped. Her tone was snide and her attitude superior. As usual.
“According to Bill, you didn’t come down for dinner last night. You had salad in your room.”
“So? Why is it any business of yours?” Her tone made it clear that it wasn’t any of my business as far as she was concerned.
“Because it was during dinner that someone poisoned Marilyn Toppenish’s chocolates, thus murdering her. You, Ms. Wu, do not have an alibi. Not for last night. And not for the morning of Jeffrey Blodgett’s murder.”
Her eyes grew hard. “Again, what business is it of yours? You’re not the police.”
“True,” I admitted. “But the police have put Colonel Frampton in charge and he has requested my assistance.” Which was sort of true. He would have asked if he’d realized how good I was at this sort of thing. “I would think an innocent person would want to make sure her name was cleared.”
“I’ve got nothing to hide. I simply don’t have an alibi. It wasn’t like I expected two murders to happen.”
I decided to go with my gut. “That’s not true, is it?” I said. “That you don’t have an alibi.”
She gave me a blank look, but she fidgeted with the corner of the paperback cover, flicking it backward and forward between her fingers. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Aha! Now we were getting somewhere. “Let’s start with last night. Where were you? Truth.”
A muscle flexed in her jaw as she clearly warred with not wanting to tell me anything and wanting to make sure everyone knew she was innocent. “Fine,” she snapped. “I was in my room, but I wasn’t alone.”
I lifted a brow, feigning shock. “Were you having a rendezvous with another guest?”
“Don’t be crass. I was Skyping my girlfriend. She’s currently in Norway on business and it was the only time I could speak to her. Satisfied?”
I shrugged. “That can be easily checked.”
“Go right ahead.” She raised her book. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m busy.”
“Actually, I do mind.” I eyed her closely. “I’m curious to know if your girlfriend is aware you’ve been having an affair with Martin Huxton-Barrington.”
“What?” she shrieked. She glanced around as if to ensure the professor wasn’t lurking anywhere. Lowering her voice she demanded, “How did you find out?”
“A little bird told me.” Actually, it had been a quick search through social media. Lavender wasn’t exactly a rocket scientist when it came to keeping her affair a secret. She’d posted a selfie of her and Martin on her Facebook page for the world to see. She’d even tagged him. Granted, she’d declared him her “good friend,” but body language is telling. As is a trip to the south of France. Add that to the fact the two of them had pretended they didn’t know each other and it added up to an affair.
“Fine,” she said, tossing the book on the coffee table. It landed with a thud and skidded off the smooth glass onto the floor. “You’re obviously not going to let this go, but you need to swear to me this doesn’t leave the room.”
“I swear.” She didn’t need to know I kept my fingers crossed behind my back.
“Martin and I have been having an affair for over a year now.”
“What about your girlfriend?” I asked, curious more than anything.
Lavender shrugged. “She knows. We have an open relationship.”
I was never sure how people managed that. If I caught Lucas sleeping around, I’d flay him alive. But, hey, whatever works. “So, your girlfriend knew, but I take it Professor Huxton-Barrington doesn’t?”
“Abigail? Don’t be daft. She’d kill us both. Then divorce Martin and leave him with nothing. They’re reasonably well off, but all the money is hers, you see.” She shook her head, her silken hair sliding around her shoulders like a shampoo model. “Anyway, we’ve had to be really careful, but it’s been getting harder and harder what with the professor going into semi-retirement and being home a lot more now. And then this trip...” She made a moue of disgust. “This week is the anniversary of the day we met. Martin and I were supposed to spend it together while Abigail was at some symposium in York, but she cancelled at the last minute and insisted they come to this dump in the middle of nowhere.”
“Pretty nice dump.” Things were clicking into place.
“Whatever.” She scowled at the drawing room as if she found the elegant yet cozy furnishings a personal affront to good taste. She probably lived in a high-rise flat in London with ultra-modern furniture and everything white.
“I’m guessing the car accident wasn’t really an accident.”
She snorted. “Give the woman a gold star. No, it wasn’t. I figured if I showed up a victim of a car accident, Abigail would never guess I was really there to see Martin. So, I drove up the day after they arrived. My plan was to just drive the car off the road and get it stuck in a ditch or whatnot, but the rain spoiled that plan and I crashed instead. Still, it all worked out in the end.”
I was sure the car insurance company would be thrilled with her assessment. “And when Jeffrey Blodgett was killed, you were in bed with Martin.”
“Of course. I don’t know why that idiot Rupert claimed to have seen Martin in the garden. We were together in my room from twenty minutes past nine, when his wife left their room, until everyone started screaming.”
“And his wife never suspected a thing?”
Lavender rolled her eyes. “For being such a smart person, the professor is a world class imbecile.”
Chapter 16
The Secret Passage
“OF COURSE I KNEW ABOUT Martin’s little floozy.” Professor Huxton-Barrington gave me a thin smile. Her pale blue mock-turtle neck was particularly unflattering to her skin tone, and she wore yet another tweed skirt. “It’s been going on for months, now.”
I’d found Abigail Huxton-Barrington in the bar sitting next to the fire with her tablet. Rupert had decided to keep the bar open all day since the library was off limits. I pulled over anothe
r armchair and took a seat.
“And you’re not upset about the affair?” I asked, surprised at her calm.
“At first I was,” she admitted, laying her tablet on the table. I’m pretty good at reading upside down and it looked like one of those tacky articles on face exercises that made you look younger. My mother was into those. I wasn’t sure they worked. Plus the professor didn’t look like she needed them. Her neck and cheeks seemed unusually taught for a woman approaching sixty. “But then I realized that his shagging her kept him out of my bed. And, as far as I’m concerned, the farther from my bed he is, the better. I can see you’re quite shocked.”
“Er, quite.” I couldn’t help myself. “I can’t imagine too many wives would be quite so pragmatic about wandering husbands.”
“That’s because you are American.” She folded her hands primly in her lap. It was her hands that betrayed her age. The skin was thin and crêpe-y with prominent veins and several age spots. “I’m very well aware that Martin married me for my money and position. He’s always been easily impressed by those things.”
Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. The woman was obsessed with propriety and appearances. “Sounds like you don’t like him much.”
“Not really. He was useful once. It’s always nice to have a handsome man on your arm at soirees. Impresses the hierarchy. But now I find him tedious.”
I blinked. “So, why don’t you just divorce him?”
Her eyes widened behind the thick lenses of her tortoiseshell glasses. “But that would never do. I have an image to maintain. Can you imagine how the Oxford Council would view such a distasteful display of poor manners?”
“I’m not sure divorce is considered poor manners.” At least not in the last several decades.
“It’s simply not done. Perhaps when I retire fully, but until then I am afraid we are stuck together. He will find it very difficult to divorce me.” She actually smirked. I was starting the think the woman might be slightly unhinged.
“Let me get this straight, you knew that Martin and Lavender were, uh...”
“In bed together,” she said placidly.
“Yes. That. You knew they were in bed together during the time of the first murder?”
“Indeed. Frankly, I was relieved to get away from his whining for a bit. I had work to do,” she said primly.
“Right. Studying that particular first edition book. Which one was it?”
“Pardon?”
I turned to her, a slight smile quirking my lips. “Which book were you studying? I’d love to look at it.”
“Um, I put it back in the wrong place, so I’m afraid I’m not sure.” Her smile made her face look like a plastic doll. I wondered vaguely how much surgery she’d had, and if losing her man to a younger woman really had been fine with her.
“Sure. Okay. If you insist.” I stood up.
“I do.” Her voice dripped with ice.
I’d a feeling I’d get no more from the professor. Still, I’d a pretty good idea where I could get more information, so I gave her a little wave—which she ignored—and slipped out of the room. I wanted to track down Anka. I had a feeling about the housekeeper and, if I was right, she’d be able to help me with the professor.
I found her in the utility closet on the first floor sorting through extra towels. Her hair was up in its usual severe bun, and her lips were pursed as if sucking on a lemon.
“Hey, Anka.”
She slid me a sideways glance. “Vat you vant? I’m busy.”
“Yeah, I see that. You’re very good at your job. Our room is always nice and clean and I love that you put out fresh towels every day.”
She softened visibly. “I take pride in vork.”
“As you should.” I stepped closer and lowered my voice. “Listen, Anka, when you’re cleaning rooms I know you’re really busy, but I’m sure you can’t help noticing a thing or two.”
Her expression hardened again. “I not a snoop.”
“Never said you were. I’m just staying, a smart woman like you? You might have seen something. A clue, perhaps.”
Her eyes widened. “A clue? Like on Poirot?” She pronounced the “t” on the end of the name.
“Oh, yes,” I breathed as if it were the most exciting thing in the world. I had her now. She was one of my people. “You might not even have realized you saw something. You see, detectives, they rely on intelligent people like you to help them solve cases. Is there anything? Anything at all?”
I could see the gears whirling in her head. She didn’t want to admit to snooping and get fired. On the other hand, she was used to being ignored, so the opportunity to be the center of attention and do something important was alluring.
“Don’t worry,” I assured her. “You won’t get in trouble. You can’t help it if you see something while cleaning, now, can you?”
“No. You are right.” She gave a snappy nod. “I tell you. Vot you vant to know?”
“Whatever you can tell me.”
She gave me a sly look. “That Professor, her husband iz sleeping with that nasty woman. The vone vit the black hair.”
“Lavender Wu?”
“Yes. I see him coming out her room. Then I find his pants in sheets and used condom in rubbish.”
I knew by “pants” she meant underwear. That’s what the British called them.
“Very interesting.” I didn’t bother to tell her I already knew that. “What else?”
“The colonel? He vas vatching dirty movies.”
“Really? When?” Oh, Colonel Frampton, you naughty man.
“Alla time.”
“What about the day Jeffrey Blodgett was killed?” The colonel had no alibi before ten twenty-five when he joined the professor for a drink.
Anka scrunched up her face in thought. “Ya. He left telly on. Vas quite a surprise, you know vot I mean?” She waggled her thick, dark eyebrows. I desperately wanted to take a tweezer to them. Instead, I forced myself to focus.
“Yep, I get it. What about the professor? Anything interesting in her room? Clue-wise, I mean.”
“Not that day, but the next, ya.”
“What?” I was on pins and needles.
“She have a book from the manor library in her room.”
“Oh,” I said, disappointed. “She’s been studying one. Some first edition.”
“No. You not understant. It vos not on desk, it vos in...” she flushed as if suddenly realizing her admission would give her away.
“Please, Anka. I swear, I won’t tell anybody you’re the one that told me.”
She leaned forward and whispered. “It vos in her luggage.”
“SO, THE PROFESSOR WAS trying to steal a first edition book?” Jez asked. I’d run into her in the hallway and dragged her into my room. I’d given her the rundown on Lavender, Martin, and the colonel, as well as the professor and her little theft.
“You don’t seem surprised,” I said.
She chewed her lower lip. “Well, I’m not really. See, they arrived the night after I did. I was headed into dinner while they were checking in and I think they have money problems.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, like with most hotels, Rupert doesn’t charge until you check out, right? But he does hold a night’s stay on your credit card in case you damage something.”
“Okay. A lot of hotels do that,” I said.
She nodded. “Exactly. But the professor threw a fit over it. Her credit card was declined and she had to give him another one. She was quite snippy about the whole thing.”
“So, if money is tight, why has she gone semi-retired? Unless she was forced to.”
“Could be,” Jez agreed. “That’s not uncommon. Reach a certain age and they try to toss you to the wolves.”
“Maybe she’s older than I realized.”
“She’s nearly seventy. Martin’s like fifteen years younger than she is.”
That surprised me. “She must have an excellent plast
ic surgeon.”
“Hollywood,” Jez said with utter confidence.
“That would cost a pretty penny. No wonder she’s short on cash. It would explain her stealing that book.”
“We should look it up.” Jez pulled out her smart phone. “What’s the title?”
“An Essay Concerning Humane Understanding by John Locke. Wow. 1690. That’s old.”
“I’ve heard of him.” Jez tapped at her phone screen. “Holy bananas. A similar book sold at Sotheby’s last year.”
Sotheby’s was an auction house for the rich and exotic. “What did it sell for?” I asked.
“Over sixteen thousand.”
“Dollars?”
She grinned. “Nope. Pounds.”
Which, depending on the exchange rate, was twenty to twenty-five thousand dollars. “That would pay for some Botox.”
Jez tucked her phone back in her pocket. “You think that’s what the professor has been doing? Visiting manor houses and stealing valuable books? And for what? So she can look like Joan Rivers, God rest her soul.”
“Seems that way. Maybe she’s more upset by Martin’s philandering than she’d have us believe.” It was sad, really. An aging woman so desperate to hang on to her younger husband she was willing to do anything to regain her lost youth. I felt kind of sorry for Professor Huxton-Barrington.
“She’d be better off with a dog,” Jez said tartly. “At least they’re loyal.”
“The professor doesn’t strike me as a dog person,” I said. She wasn’t much of a people person, for that matter.
“In other news. I found something interesting.” Jez’s eyes lit up.
“You finally get your ghost?”
“Unfortunately, not, but this is cool. Come on.”
I followed her downstairs. She made a right turn in the lobby. The door to Rupert’s office was closed, but she pushed it open. I expected to find Rupert seated at his desk, annoyed at being interrupted, but the room was empty.
“I was in here early this morning taking some readings when I noticed a bit of a draft,” Jez said, tripping across the thick, Persian rug that took up most of the floor space.