by HANNA, H. Y.
“Matt?” Pomona stiffened. “Why Matt?”
Inspector Walsh spoke to James. “My men have been interviewing the rest of your staff, Lord Fitzroy, and they reported that the other maid, Jenny, overheard an altercation between Mrs Brixton and Matt O’Brien the day before yesterday. Apparently, he was heard threatening her.”
“Threatening her about what?” asked James.
“That is what I would like to find out,” said the inspector. “I was planning to go and find Mr O’Brien now, to question him.”
“I can ask him to come here, if you like,” said James. “I would like to be present at the interview, if you don’t mind, Inspector.”
The inspector hesitated for a moment, then nodded. A few minutes later, the handsome Irishman was escorted into the Morning Room. Caitlyn noticed that he had lost none of his usual swagger and he stood at ease, a mocking smile on his face, as he faced the inspector.
“So what’s this about, then?” he asked. “I hope it’s important because I’m dealing with this fecking bat in the greenhouse! Keeps coming in to eat my nectarines—”
“We’re conducting an investigation into Mrs Brixton’s murder,” said the inspector icily. “I should think that is far more important than a bat attacking your fruit trees, Mr O’Brien.”
He shrugged. “So what do you want to ask me?”
“I understand that you had an argument with Mrs Brixton the day before she was killed?”
The gardener laughed easily. “Yeah, I had a bit of a bust-up with the old girl. But that was nothing new. We’d often have words. She was a right old bag—not to speak ill of the dead and all that," he added, not sounding respectful at all.
“So what was this specific argument about?”
“Well, Old Brixton was always coming down and sticking that big snout of hers where it don’t belong. It’s none of her business what I do in the greenhouse. I don’t tell her how to fold the sheets, do I?”
The inspector didn’t respond to Matt’s grin. “That’s all very well but you were heard threatening the housekeeper.”
Matt gave another easy laugh. “Threatening her? They must have got the wrong end of the stick. I mean, I suppose things might have got a bit heated… I might have said a few things… you know how you do, when you’re cheesed off. You don’t really mean it.”
“On the contrary, Mr O’Brien, I usually mean everything I say,” said Inspector Walsh. “Especially when I say things like: ‘if you don’t keep your gob shut, I’ll shut it for you for good’. That sounds like an extreme reaction to a bit of disagreement over domestic matters, doesn’t it?”
There was a pause, then Matt said, still in that easy, confident voice: “Like I said, Inspector, you say things sometimes in the heat of the moment. I’ve got a temper, all right? I admit that. It’s the Irish in me. And Old Brixton could drive you mental sometimes with her whinging. I just wanted her to shut it.”
The inspector changed tack. “I know my men have gone through this with you before but I’d like to ask you again—where were you last night between the times of seven fifteen and eight o’clock?”
“I was in the conservatory.” Matt made a gesture towards Pomona, his lips curving up in a conspiratorial smile. “I was… uh… showing Miss Sinclair how to pinch the tips of the orange trees, to keep them full and bushy.”
The inspector glanced at Pomona. “Do you corroborate that, Miss Sinclair?”
Pomona hesitated for a fraction of an instant. It was so brief that no one else would have noticed, not unless they knew her very well. But Caitlyn did. She looked at her cousin thoughtfully as Pomona raised her chin and said:
“Sure, Inspector. Matt was in the conservatory with me the whole time.”
The Irishman smiled widely. Caitlyn tried to catch her cousin’s eye but Pomona wouldn’t look at her.
“Hmm… very well. That is all for now, Mr O’Brien,” said the inspector.
The Irishman left the Morning Room, and a few minutes later, the police took their leave as well. Caitlyn looked back down at her plate. The food was cold now—but she had lost her appetite anyway. The earlier light-hearted mood at breakfast had completely gone. Even Pomona was subdued, fiddling with her napkin, her expression preoccupied.
James sighed. “I’m sorry about that. I understand that the police have to do their job but it can be unpleasant when they are questioning everyone.”
Caitlyn felt a flash of sympathy for him. “It must have really disrupted your household since the murder yesterday. I mean, aside from the police being here, Mrs Brixton managed everything, didn’t she?”
“Yes, she oversaw the running of the house and she also liaised with my Events Coordinator, Lisa, with regards to any events that the Manor was hosting. Luckily, we haven’t got any bookings at the moment—the only big event coming up is the Garden Party, which was supposed to be the day after tomorrow.”
“Supposed to be? Are you cancelling it?” asked Caitlyn.
James ran a distracted hand through his hair. “I’m not sure. I did suggest it—out of respect for Mrs Brixton. I thought it would be wrong to have a party so soon after her murder. But so far, my suggestion hasn’t been met with much enthusiasm. In fact, I’m quite surprised—most of the household staff don’t seem to be as upset about her death as I would have expected. Nor the villagers I spoke to, either.”
Caitlyn wasn’t surprised in the least. The housekeeper had been a manipulative bully and she was sure that Mrs Brixton wasn’t going to be mourned by many. Then she felt a stab of guilt. However bad the woman had been, she hadn’t deserved to be murdered.
James sighed again. “I think I will probably let the Garden Party still go ahead. Which means—despite the police’s insistence that the investigation comes first—I can’t have staff just standing around, waiting to be questioned. The preparations for the party must be continued, especially as things will probably take even longer now without Mrs Brixton here to direct them.”
They were interrupted by the sound of heavy paws and, a minute later, James’s English mastiff, Bran, entered the Morning Room, accompanied by a little scrap of black fur.
“Meew!” cried the kitten, scampering up to Caitlyn’s chair and attempting to climb up one leg.
“Hey there, sweetie…” Caitlyn reached down absently and picked up the kitten, settling him on her lap. The little cat snuggled against her, purring contentedly. The mastiff came lumbering over as well and shoved his jowly face into her lap too. Caitlyn laughed and patted his enormous head. “Yes, Bran… you too.” She looked across the table at James and said regretfully, “I should really be getting back to the chocolate shop. The Widow Mags knew I was staying over but she might be getting worried now.”
“I’ll run you into the village in my car,” James offered.
“I’ll drive you,” Pomona spoke up for the first time. She had been uncharacteristically quiet ever since the police left. Now she got up from her chair and made a great show of stretching. “I’d like to get some fresh air…”
“Have you got your car here?” asked Caitlyn, surprised.
“Yeah, James got them to bring it on the day they discharged me from the hospital.”
“Oh.” Caitlyn hesitated. To tell the truth, she wasn’t that keen on going in Pomona’s car. As was typical of her, her flamboyant cousin had rented the loudest, most eye-catching car possible—a bright red convertible—and her arrival in Tillyhenge last week had already caused a sensation. Caitlyn knew that—as a newcomer in the village—she was already the subject of avid curiosity and much gossip, and the last thing she needed was to call more attention to herself by riding back in Pomona’s car. Still, it would have looked rude to reject her cousin’s offer.
Caitlyn smiled wanly. “Uh… thanks. That’ll be great.” She lifted the kitten gently off her lap and set him back down on the floor.
“Meew!” cried the kitten, trying to climb back up into Caitlyn’s lap.
“I think he’d like
to go with you,” said James with a chuckle.
“I’m sorry, sweetie,” said Caitlyn. “You need to stay here—I can’t take you to the chocolate shop.”
“D’you need to get anything from your room?” Pomona asked, seeming suddenly impatient to leave.
Caitlyn shook her head. “No, I didn’t bring a bag with me last night. What about you? Do you—”
“Nah, I’ve got my bag here,” said Pomona, pointing to a large designer duffel bag lying on the floor next to her chair. “But gimme five minutes to go to the ladies’, okay?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“So what do you think of driving on the left side of the road?” Caitlyn said casually, glancing at Pomona.
Her cousin was staring straight ahead, frowning slightly at the windscreen, and was obviously in a world of her own. She hadn’t said a word since they’d got in the car and left the Manor, which was strange in itself. Normally Pomona talked non-stop.
“Pomie, is everything okay?”
“Huh?” Pomona started, then looked guiltily at Caitlyn. “Oh, yeah…” She hesitated, then said, “Well, there was something… Nah, it’s probably nothing.”
“It’s about Matt, isn’t it?” Caitlyn asked.
Pomona gave her another guilty look. “How did you know?”
“I saw you hesitate when the inspector asked you to verify Matt’s alibi.”
“You did?” Her cousin looked alarmed.
“I don’t think anyone else noticed,” said Caitlyn. “It’s only because I know you so well. But I’m right, aren’t I? It’s something about Matt—” She breathed in sharply. “He was lying, wasn’t he? About being in the conservatory the whole time? And you covered up for him!”
Pomona winced. “Well… he put me on the spot! And I… I didn’t wanna get him in trouble.”
“Pomona!” Caitlyn cried in exasperation. “This isn’t about getting someone in trouble—this is about finding a murderer!”
“But I know that Matt isn’t the murderer!”
“How can you know that?”
“I just know, okay?” Pomona said. “I’ve got a good sense for this kind of thing. I mean, you know I’m slightly psychic. My mind, like, gets these vibes.”
Caitlyn rolled her eyes. “Pomie… are you sure it’s your mind and not some other part of your body getting the vibes? If Matt was a fat, old man instead of a sexy blue-eyed hunk, would you be covering for him?”
Pomona flushed. “You don’t know him, Caitlyn! You haven’t spent time with him, like I have. Matt just puts on this swaggering act, but underneath it all he’s a really good guy.”
“Well, okay, if he’s got nothing to hide, why doesn’t he want to let the police know that he wasn’t in the conservatory?” asked Caitlyn.
“’Cos they’d totally jump on him then,” said Pomona quickly. “See, Matt’s got a bit of a record—oh, nothing serious, just stuff he did when he was much younger—but it stays with you, doesn’t it? In fact, he was having a hard time getting a job until James decided to give him a second chance. But the police wouldn’t care about all that. Matt said they’ve always been quick to go after him, and now they’d be looking for any excuse. And it’s not like he was totally lying—he was with me in the conservatory for most of the time. He just went out for, like, ten minutes—to have a smoke, he said. But if it comes out that he doesn’t have a solid alibi for the murder, the police would be all over him immediately.” Pomona’s bottom lip jutted out. “And they wouldn’t give him a fair hearing. The police are already prejudiced against him to start with.”
Caitlyn glanced warily at her cousin. It sounded like Matt had completely brainwashed Pomona and got her on his side.
“I’m saving the police time,” continued Pomona blithely. “It’s stupid for them to waste the effort going after Matt when he’s not the murderer. They could use that time and energy to find the real killer.”
“But what if Matt is the real killer?” burst out Caitlyn.
“He’s not,” insisted Pomona. “I know he’s not. You’ve gotta trust me.”
“Look, if he really is innocent, then it won’t matter if the police know. Let them investigate him and—”
“No!” said Pomona. “What if Matt loses his job? We can’t—Aaaiiihh!”
She broke off and shrieked, and the car swerved wildly on the road.
“What? What?” cried Caitlyn.
“There!” Pomona pointed at her duffel bag, which had been dumped in the passenger-seat footwell next to Caitlyn’s legs. “I saw something move in my bag!”
Caitlyn jerked her legs away from the bag and peered at it. Pomona was right—there was a bulge shifting and moving beneath the leather sides of the bag. She swallowed uneasily.
“Omigod, I read this story online about this woman who found a snake in her purse—like, a freaking python or something—and it slithered out and attacked her…” Pomona gabbled. “What if there’s a snake in my bag? Maybe a cobra! Or a black mamba! They’re, like, one of the most poisonous snakes in the world, right?”
“There are no black mambas in the Cotswolds,” said Caitlyn shakily. “Or cobras, either. Anyway, how would a snake have got into your bag?”
“I don’t know—it’s moving! It’s moving!” shrieked Pomona, pointing at the bag.
“Pull over!” said Caitlyn. “You’re going to crash and kill us before any snake gets us.”
Pomona slowed down and pulled the convertible into a verge at the side of the road. As soon as the car stopped, the girls sprang out. Pomona hurried around to the passenger side and stood next to Caitlyn as both girls peered fearfully at the duffle bag.
“There! I just saw it move again!” cried Pomona, pointing wildly.
“What are we going to do?” asked Caitlyn. “We can’t just stand here…”
“Maybe we should try and get it out. You know, prod the bag with something… like a stick…”
“And then what? Have the snake loose in the car? Or what if it gets out? We can’t just leave a dangerous snake running loose in the countryside.” Caitlyn looked at the fields around them. “We should call animal control or something like that.”
“Yeah!” said Pomona. “Like those shows on TV! They must have forest rangers here in England too, right?” Then she made a face. “There’s just one problem.”
“What?”
“My phone’s in my bag.”
Caitlyn sighed and looked back into the car. Then she stiffened. “Pomie—I think… look, something’s coming out!”
The two girls leaned closer and held their breath. Suddenly, something black and spiky popped out of the bag.
“AAAAAAHHH!”
“EEEEEIIIHHHH!”
Both girls screamed and jerked backwards, then they stared.
“Meew?”
Two big yellow eyes looked up at them as the little black kitten peeked its head out of the duffel bag.
“Omigod—it’s the cat!” cried Pomona, clutching her heart.
Caitlyn started to laugh. She felt slightly hysterical. All the fear and tension turned into giggles and bubbled out of her mouth. After a moment, Pomona joined in and the two girls laughed until they were clutching their sides.
“Oh man…” Pomona gasped for a breath. “I think I just lost ten years off my life.”
Caitlyn reached into the car and picked up the little kitten. “What are you doing here, you naughty thing?”
“Meew!” the kitten said cheekily. He looked with wide eyes at the open countryside around them and squirmed, as if trying to get down.
“Oh, no you don’t,” said Caitlyn, holding the kitten tighter and quickly getting back into the car. “You’ve caused enough trouble for one day.”
Pomona got back in the driver’s seat and re-buckled her seatbelt. “We’re almost at the village,” she said. “We can’t go back to the Manor now. We’ll have to keep him with us—and then I’ll take him back with me later.”
“Maybe I’d better put him back i
n your bag,” said Caitlyn, as the kitten squirmed even more. “Otherwise, I’ll never be able to keep hold of him while we’re walking through the village.”
“Hey! We can look for a cat carrier at the store in the village,” suggested Pomona. “They seem to sell everything in there.”
They drove into Tillyhenge a few minutes later and parked at the side of the village green, then followed Pomona’s suggestion. Caitlyn had been in the village post shop a few times and it really did resemble Aladdin’s cave, selling everything from toothpaste to tofu, tulips to telephone cards—as well as acting as the local post office. The only downside was that it also seemed to be Gossip Central in Tillyhenge and Caitlyn wondered if it was wise going in there now. She was uncomfortably aware of her own position as a suspect and knew that the villagers would like nothing better than to pump her for information about Mrs Brixton’s murder.
Her worst fears were realised when they stepped in the shop and Caitlyn saw the usual group of gossiping women standing by the counter, presided over by the postmistress herself. They were watching the small TV mounted on a shelf behind the counter, where a news channel was playing. Caitlyn stopped short, wondering if the TV might be showing coverage of the murder, but, to her relief, it seemed to be a piece about a businessman who had been ruffling feathers by buying up large sections of the local countryside and turning the sites into modern developments.
“… representatives for Thane Blackmort have declined to comment but sources say that the reclusive billionaire is believed to be setting his sights on an area of wooded hills in the northern Cotswolds region…”
The women looked up as the two girls entered and their faces brightened. Caitlyn braced herself for the usual barrage of nosy questions. But she had forgotten that she was carrying a secret weapon: the kitten. The minute the women saw his little whiskered face, they forgot all about the girls; they surrounded Caitlyn, fussing and cooing over the baby cat.