by Shéa MacLeod
“Because you needed a distraction. And you needed to make sure that you were in the clear. You were afraid Jez had figured out the truth.”
He sneered. “And what is the truth?”
“That you killed Jeffrey Blodgett.”
Chapter 20
As Poirot Would Say
BY THAT TIME SEVERAL of the guests had gathered in the hall behind me. Probably I’d woken them up with my door banging and dramatics. Good. I could use an audience. Mostly because if the expression on James Carsley’s face was anything to go by, I’d be a dead woman if it wasn’t for the fact there were witnesses.
“We already went over this,” he said as if I were stupid. “I admit, I meant to kill him. He deserved it for murdering my brother. But I didn’t. Someone else got to him first.”
“No.” I shook my head. “You wanted us to think someone got to him first. It was actually really clever.”
He crossed his arms as if to mimic me. “How so.” There was an arrogant tilt to his head that made me want to wipe the smug smile right off his face.
“The fact is, you killed Blodgett right after I saw the two of you arguing. I don’t know what set you off. Maybe you planned to kill him all along. Or maybe he goaded you with his lack of repentance. In any case, you strangled him. Squeezed his throat until he was dead.” Carsley didn’t move, didn’t make a sound, so I continued. “You knew that if anyone found him dead, they’d know you did it. I’m sure I wasn’t the only one who saw the two of you arguing. You knew about the secret passage from Robbie, didn’t you?”
He shrugged. “What of it?”
“Robbie was fascinated with old buildings and secret passages and, according to the vicar, he spent a lot of time here at the manor. I’m betting he told you about this one. In a letter. An email. Who knows? But you knew exactly where it was. So, you dragged Blodgett’s body across the library and hid it in the secret passage. Just in time, too, because Professor Huxton-Barrington was on her way to steal a first edition to fund her many plastic surgeries.”
“Excuse me!” The professor’s outraged voice came from behind me in the hall.
I turned around and eyed her coldly. “By the way, Professor, I suggest that book be returned to the library before you leave Wytham Manor. Otherwise I shall be forced to turn you over to the authorities. Understood?”
The professor blanched, but nodded. I returned to the matter at hand.
“You waited a couple hours, then returned to the library. You dragged the body back to the desk chair and stabbed Blodgett in the back with the letter opener you’d taken earlier. That way if anyone began to suspect you, you could admit to the stabbing. You knew, of course, that modern forensics would prove that the dagger hadn’t killed him and you’d be in the clear.”
“Great fairy tale. If you believe in that nonsense.”
“I don’t know,” Lucas said lazily. “I think she might be on to something.”
I was suddenly grateful Lucas was there. If looks could kill, James would have murdered me several minutes ago.
“Go on, Viola,” Jez urged, moving into the doorway behind Lucas. “I want to know what happened next. Don’t you all?”
There was a murmur of assent from the rest of the group. Apparently I had a captive audience.
“Your plan went off without a hitch. Like I said, it was very smart.” I gave him an approving nod. “I’m certain that if it weren’t for the flood, the police would have arrived and—while you may have been arrested early on—you would have been quickly cleared and on your way. Unfortunately, you were stuck here with the rest of us and Marilyn began hinting she knew who the killer was.” I sighed. “Poor Marilyn. I highly doubt she knew anything at all, but Marilyn was one of those people who likes to stir the pot, if you know what I mean. You couldn’t risk it. She had to die.” I gave him a cool look. “You might as well admit it. The truth is as clear as the nose on your face.” A delightful phrase I’d picked up reading too many Agatha Christie novels.
James was grinding his teeth, his jaw muscles flexing. Monica wept softly. “Oh, shut up, you old cow,” he snarled, throwing a box of tissues at her. “You’re the reason we’re in this predicament.”
“Don’t blame Monica for your shortcomings,” I said calmly, picking up the box which had tumbled to the floor. “It’s not her fault you’re a murderer.” I handed her a tissue which she took with a wobbly smile of gratitude.
He snorted. “If she’d done her job—.”
“You know Monica isn’t a violent person. Forcing her into attacking Jez was pure stupidity. Sort of like killing Marilyn. If you hadn’t left the tainted syringe in the disposal container, we might never have figured out how she died. But I’m guessing you were out of options. You got interrupted maybe.”
“He was wandering around,” James said, glaring at Rupert who stood in the doorway just behind Jez. “I had to get rid of it and couldn’t have him catch me walking around with it. I was hoping no one would look in there and I’d have time to come back and get it. Stupid old bat should have kept her mouth shut.”
“Once again, you thought you were in the clear. Then Jez suggested a séance and you freaked out again. What if one of the ghosts of your victims came through and pointed a finger at you?”
He snorted. “I don’t believe in ghosts.”
“Really?” I lifted an eyebrow. “Then why worry about a séance?”
“Because I thought I had another Marilyn on my hands!” he exploded. “I thought that stupid ghost hunter was just trying to use that mumbo jumbo to blackmail me.”
“Hey!” Jez’s tone was indignant. “It’s not mumbo jumbo.”
We all ignored her. James had gotten off the bed, but his whole frame was poised as if to bolt. I didn’t know how he planned to get out since the exit was blocked by several people.
“You decided she had to die, too. Just like the others,” I said, trying to keep my voice as soothing as possible. I didn’t need him attacking anyone. “You knew the lights could be controlled by a phone, so when Bill left his on the counter, you grabbed it. Somehow, you convinced Monica to help you so that when you turned out the lights, everyone would be distracted. She could blow out the candle, then use the candlestick to hit Jez and kill her.”
“I couldn’t do it,” Monica wailed. “I’m not a killer. Jez didn’t do anything. How could I kill her?” She sobbed wildly, crumpling onto the bed.
“You’re so bloody smart,” James sneered. “But you couldn’t stop me, could you? And you can’t stop me now.”
He moved so fast I was left standing there like an idiot with my mouth open. One minute he was poised as if for flight, and the next, he yanked Monica off the bed and held a knife to her throat. It was one of those folding pocket knives that was only just legal in the UK. But even such a small blade would be deadly if it nicked an artery.
“Now everyone move,” he said. “Or I’ll kill her.”
Nobody moved. I think maybe they were in shock.
“Where are you going to go, James?” I asked. “Everything’s flooded. You can’t get out of here. And you can’t kill us all.”
I saw Lucas wince. Maybe that was the wrong thing to say. But James surprised me by throwing his head back and letting out a cackling bout of laughter.
“That’s where you’re wrong. The water’s gone down. I was leaving in the morning anyway.”
Lucas stepped toward him, but stopped as James pressed the knife harder against Monica’s throat. A tiny spot of blood beaded against her pale skin.
“Don’t be a hero,” James said calmly. “You don’t want her to die, do you?”
“Dear boy, there’s no need for these amateur theatrics,” the colonel said. He moved slowly into the room, leaning heavily on a cane.
“Shut up, old man. Nobody asked you.”
The colonel gave Lucas a sideways look. Then Lucas grabbed the colonel’s cane and threw it at James Carsley’s head. James ducked, yanking his knife hand away from Moni
ca who tumbled to the floor with a shriek.
With Monica out of the way, Lucas charged toward James. James’s gaze caught mine and I knew what he planned to do. I opened my mouth, but it was too late.
James Carsley threw himself through the glass window to the flagstones below. Everyone froze for a moment, then I rushed toward the window. Lucas grabbed me before I reached it.
“Don’t look.” His voice was gruff. “You don’t want to see it. I promise.”
“Is he...?”
“Bloody hell!” an angry voice shouted from below. “I broke my bloody leg!”
Lucas gave me a look. “Compound fracture. It’s pretty disgusting.”
I made a face and backed away from the window. He was right. I definitely didn’t want to see that.
Chapter 21
Return to Chipping Poggs
THE POLICE ARRIVED a few hours later just as the sun peeked above the horizon, painting the landscape in pinks and golds. For the first time in days there was no rain, just an endless stretch of robin’s egg blue sky.
An ambulance followed hot on the heels of the police, and James was arrested, handcuffed, and hauled off to the nearest hospital. Lucas and the Colonel had made a tourniquet to stop the bleeding, but the medics had to inject him with a sedative because he wouldn’t stop screaming and cursing.
The hotel had become a crime scene, so the police took statements from everyone and then let the locals—like Lavender who lived in London, and the Huxton-Barringtons who were from Oxford—go home. Jez, Lucas, and I had to relocate to an inn at a nearby village. Colonel Frampton joined us, declaring that he was still on holiday and didn’t intend to finish it early. Personally, I thought he was a lonely man looking for some company. Which was fine with me. He could be an arrogant jerk sometimes, but he was all right.
We were sitting around a table in the pub next door to our new inn. It was a modern chain establishment lacking the charm of the Beast and Bauble. Still, the food was good and the drinks cheap.
“You know.” I turned to the colonel who was sipping a pint of dark ale. “This morning was the first time I saw you use a cane.”
He grinned, his moustache lifting like the wings of a butterfly. “Despite my advanced age, I don’t require use of a cane. I only keep it around for walks in the woods. It comes in handy as a walking stick and to bash down encroaching branches and such. I figured it might come in handy. And who would notice an old man leaning on a cane?” He waggled his thick eyebrows and I laughed.
“I guess Lucas did.”
“What I want to know is did James come to Chipping Poggs planning to kill Blodgett?” Jez said. “And, if so, how did he know Blodgett would be there?”
“I talked to the detective in charge,” Colonel Frampton said. “Carsley claims he only went to Chipping Poggs to honor the tenth anniversary of his brother’s disappearance. Perhaps he needed closure. Who knows? But he claims that he never expected to run into Blodgett, nor had he planned to kill the man.”
“I find that unlikely,” I said drily. “That whole thing took some planning.”
“Poor Mrs. Carsley.” The colonel shook his head. “It’s her I feel sorry for. She is the one who knocked at the séance. She was trying to alert us to her husband’s evil doing. Or so she claims.”
Now there was some new information. I guess it hadn’t been a ghost, after all. “She could have been a little more obvious about it instead of leaving us to figure out some knocking nonsense. A note would have been nice.”
“I wonder what will happen to her,” Jez said. “I mean, okay, she hit me, but he kind of forced her into it.”
“I’m guessing that since we all witnessed his treatment of her, the judge will be lenient,” Lucas said. “Technically she’s an accomplice. If not before the fact, then certainly after. But she’ll probably get a few months for obstruction or something and be out before you know it.”
I felt sorry for Monica, but I wasn’t sure a few months was enough punishment for what she’d done. Then again, she was married to a man who made her life hell, so maybe she’d been punished plenty already.
“Well, I’m off to bed,” the colonel declared, rising from the table. “I’ve an early start tomorrow.”
“Where are you off to?” I asked.
He waggled his eyebrows. “A sixties plus walking tour of the French countryside. Rumor has it the ladies will far outnumber the gentlemen.”
“Why, you sly dog,” I laughed.
He chortled with glee, tipped an imaginary hat, and only staggered slightly as he strolled out of the pub and into the cool evening air. Oddly, I’d kind of miss him.
“How about you?” Lucas asked Jez. “What are your plans?”
“Well, I haven’t finished my investigations of St. Oswin’s. I talked to Rupert today, and he said the police have released the manor and I can go back tomorrow.”
“You’re returning to Chipping Poggs?” I asked, surprised she’d want to go back to the scene of so much death. No to mention her own head bashing.
She grinned. “You bet. Can you imagine how many ghosts are wandering around Wytham Manor now?”
It was late when she finally left, but Lucas and I stayed at the pub chatting over our drinks about nothing in particular. It was a relief to be away from murder and mayhem, but things were still a little strained between us.
“I owe you an apology.”
I glanced up at him, startled. “What?”
He took my hand, rubbing his thumb gently across the back of it, drawing lazy little circles. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about my family sooner. I should have. It’s just...it’s very difficult and awkward.”
“I’m your girlfriend,” I pointed out. “What’s the point of having me in your life if you can’t share difficult stuff with me?”
He gave me a wry smile. “True.”
“And you don’t have to point out the irony of me being frustrated over lack of communication since it took me months to get around to admitting we were a thing.”
He laughed. “A thing?”
“You know what I mean.”
He gave me a long, meaningful look that heated my blood. Man, it was warm in the pub all of a sudden.
“Truth is,” he said, “my family dynamics are a little strange.”
“You haven’t met my mother yet, have you?”
“No, actually.”
“When you do, believe me, you will experience the meaning of strange. She knows you and I are together, yet she insists on trying to play matchmaker. It’s embarrassing.”
“That’s not so bad.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “You want her to marry me off to a wine maker from France?”
He chuckled. “That would, indeed, be awkward, since I’ve no intention of letting you go.”
That gave me the warm fuzzies. “How awkward can your family be?”
He sighed heavily. “Both my parents are Jewish. My mother is from Israel, and my father from Italy.”
“Right. So?”
“So, they’re not pleased that I don’t practice the religion or keep kosher.”
I tilted my head thoughtfully. “I can understand that. I don’t come from a particularly religious family, but I know those who do. Breaking from family tradition is always difficult.”
“Indeed. There have been many arguments over it. And over the fact I choose to live in America instead of Israel near my parents and brother.”
“Okay, but why wouldn’t you tell me this? I’d have understood.”
He rubbed his jaw. “The last time we spoke, I told my mother about you.”
My eyes widened. By the tone of his voice I could tell it hadn’t gone well. “Oh, dear.”
“Exactly. She didn’t take it well, me dating a “gentile.” We had bit of an, ah, argument.”
“Over me?”
He squeezed my hand. “I love you, Viola. And I don’t care how upset my mother is over it, you’re the woman I want to be with.”
I blinked. He’d argued with his mother over me? “I love you, too.”
“I didn’t want to talk about it because...well, I didn’t want to upset you. Forgive me?”
“Of course. Although family get togethers are going to be awkward.”
I LAY AWAKE AGAIN THAT night, staring at the shadows dancing across the ceiling and listening to Lucas snore. Tomorrow we were headed to London where we’d catch a flight back to Oregon. There’d been a little too much excitement in Chipping Poggs. I couldn’t wait to get home to my calm, normal life in Astoria.
Normal? I frowned, remembering all the police investigations I’d gotten wrapped up in over the past few months. Well, maybe normal was relative, but at least there wouldn’t be any ghosts.
The End
Keep reading for a sample of the next Viola Roberts Cozy Mystery, The Death in the Drink.
Chapter 1
Bosoms on a Platter
“ARE YOU ALRIGHT, VIOLA?” Brown eyes peered down at me, a furrow between them.
I didn’t answer right away. Instead I lay flat on my back, blinking up at the ceiling. There was an interesting-shaped stain on the white acoustical tiles. A dragon, maybe. Whose idea had it been to ask Bat for self-defense lessons?
Oh, yeah. Mine. It had seemed genius at the time. Now my body reminded me that I wasn’t as young as I sometimes thought I was. Forty-two was not the new thirty, at least not as far as my joints were concerned.
“I’m fine,” I wheezed.
“You sure?” He didn’t look convinced.
“Not entirely,” I admitted. I managed to roll onto my side and, using the seat of the rowing machine, hoist myself to my feet.
James “Bat” Battersea was everything a homicide detective should be. He was handsome but not overly pretty. His shoulders were broad. His blue eyes were hard and sharp. They saw everything and gave away nothing. He also happened to be dating my best friend, Cheryl Delaney.