by Nancy Warren
“But he then took that watch from Elizabeth Palmer. It seems logical to assume that he killed her to prevent anyone finding out he’d had that watch all those years. Because in a town like Moreton-Under-Wychwood, where everyone knows everyone else’s business, someone was bound to recognize that watch. Grayson Timmins’s portrait was on display in the dining room for anyone to see,” Rafe said.
“You’re right!” Why hadn’t I thought of that before? “Why would he keep that painting on display?” I dried my wet hands and walked into the living room. Rafe followed. “If Robert Beasley murdered his stepfather and kept the watch, wouldn’t he have put that painting away somewhere?”
“Who knows? If he was obsessed with hatred enough to murder the man and keep the watch as a souvenir, he might well have wanted to look at that picture every day as a reminder of his act of destruction.”
I shuddered. “Or he didn’t do it.”
Unlike Harry Bloom, Rafe was at least open to other possibilities. “All right. If Robert Beasley didn’t kill his father and Elizabeth, then who did?”
That was the sticking point. I had absolutely no idea. I settled myself at the dining table and stared at that map as I had been doing on and off all day. Rafe sat across from me. Nyx, always happy to see Rafe, jumped up onto his lap and then decided his silk necktie, which looked very much like a Hermes, was really a cat toy.
She began to bat at the tie with her paw until, laughing, he picked her up and put her onto the floor. My cat, however, was not one to be ignored. She walked around to me, jumped up on my lap, and since I wasn’t wearing any designer clothing she could ruin, she jumped up onto the table.
“Nyx,” I scolded her. “You know you’re not allowed on the table.” We seemed to have a constant battle over who had all the power in this household. I tried to argue that I was in charge, but we both knew that wasn’t true. She easily evaded my attempts to pick her up and instead trod daintily into the middle of the map. She then sat down, her tail curled around her and twitching slightly at the end. Then she stared down at that map as though it were a goldfish pond and she were tracking the movement of some fat, tasty-looking koi.
She was so adorable I didn’t have the heart push her off. Then she looked at me, and her eyes narrowed and opened as though she was trying to communicate with me. Was she hungry, thirsty, too hot or, like Rafe, was she just messing with me?
She reached forward with her paw and tapped an area of the map. It was in an area outside of town. Not near Elizabeth’s house or the Beasley’s.
She looked up at me, and I swear she rolled her eyes. Then she patted the same spot again, quite sternly this time.
I stared at the map again, this time with new eyes. I let out a gasp. “Nyx, you are such a clever cat.”
She yawned, bathing me in tuna breath. I could tell that Rafe had followed my line of thinking. Our gazes connected, and I said, “We need to go and see Jason.”
He nodded. “I’ll drive.”
I only stopped to brush my teeth and grab my bag, and then with a final pat for Nyx, I ran out the door. I was very happy not to have to navigate these roads in the dark and have Rafe drive me.
When we got to the Palmers’ house, I could see lights on, though it took ages before Jason answered the door. He looked disheveled, and his shirt was done up wrong. “I’m so sorry. Did I catch you napping?”
He looked very uncomfortable. “No. Not at all. It’s Lucy, isn’t it?” He tried to pull up a professional smile. It looked like being suspected of murder had really messed him up. “No doubt you’re here about the car. It was a good idea to catch me at home.”
Rafe said smoothly, “We do have a couple of questions. Could we come inside?”
“Of course.”
I walked into the living room and discovered why his hair was disheveled and his shirt buttoned all wrong. Nora was sitting on the sofa, also looking somewhat disheveled, trying to look unconcerned. A bottle of red wine sat on the coffee table with two partly filled glasses.
It would’ve been amusing catching them in the act if her best friend and his wife hadn’t been murdered so recently. Jason told Nora that we’d stopped by about a car, but she did not look convinced. She looked at me with suspicion. Smart woman.
She said, “Why aren’t you at the knitting class?”
I could have asked her the same question, but I told her my assistant was taking my place.
Rafe remained by the doorway, leaving me to ask the questions. I couldn’t find a diplomatic way to start, so I blurted out the question I needed answered. “Actually, we’re not here about a car. I need to know who lent you money after the banks turned you down for your last loan.”
Nora jumped up, furious. “That is none of your business, you nosy—”
Jason wasn’t so quick to take offense. He knew better than anyone that the police were gathering evidence against him, hoping to arrest him for his wife’s murder. “What’s it got to do with you? I assure you, the dealership’s safe. You’ll get your car.”
“Jason, I’m trying to help you.”
Nora looked like she wanted to throw me out of the house. If Rafe hadn’t been standing there, I thought she might have tried. “Don’t trust her, Jase. Remember, she was the last person to talk to Elizabeth before she died.”
“Nora, go and make us some coffee, will you?”
She glared at all of us before stomping out of the room.
He ran a hand through his hair, but it was such a mess, it didn’t really make any difference. I imagined it was a nervous gesture rather than a grooming one. He gestured to the wine. “I know this doesn’t look good, but—”
“I really don’t care about your love life or your morals. I’m trying to find the truth.”
His jaw went slack and he stared as though he couldn’t believe I’d said those words to his face. “How do you know I needed a loan?”
Rafe had left me to ask the difficult question, so I tossed a little discomfort his way. “Rafe didn’t want me putting down a deposit on a car until he’d checked out your business. He has sources. It’s true you were in financial difficulties, isn’t it? And that the bank refused to give you any more money, so you had to get private financing?”
Slowly, he nodded. He gazed at Rafe. Everyone around here must know he was rich. Maybe Jason thought Rafe wanted to bail him out or buy his business or something. I thought the longer he thought that, the more likely he’d be to cooperate.
“We need to know who made you that loan and how much it was for.”
He glanced at the hallway as though making sure Nora couldn’t hear us. “Look, it’s very embarrassing. Nora doesn’t know anything about this.”
We waited.
And then, with a great sigh, he told us.
Sometimes being right could really suck.
Chapter 27
Rafe backed out of the drive so fast, gravel spurted. He drove back toward the village as though he were in the final lap of the Grand Prix.
We reached the village. An old man was crossing the High Street, walking an arthritic dog. Glaciers retreated faster than these two could cross the road. “Come on, come on,” Rafe said under his breath.
Finally they reached the other side, and we pressed on. We flew past the sign that said Nickleby Farm and set the hanging baskets swinging.
The lights were all on in the farmhouse where the knitting class was taking place.
I opened the door before the car came to a halt. “You stay here,” I said to Rafe. “I’ll call you if I need you.”
“Be careful.”
I wished I’d brought a bag of knitting. I hadn’t, so I headed for the door empty-handed. I tried to put a calm, pleasant expression on my face as I opened the farmhouse door. It wasn’t locked.
Sylvia had finished her lesson and the class was knitting away. Joanna rose, looking delighted when she saw me. “Lucy. Violet said you wouldn’t be coming tonight. We are so pleased you changed your mind.”
Violet looked quite surprised to see me too. “I wasn’t sure I’d be able to make it,” I said. “What did I miss?”
Sylvia sent me a suspicious look but said nothing. One of the busily knitting women looked up. I remembered her from last week. She was the gossip. “We were talking about poor Florence Beasley. She didn’t come tonight. Didn’t have the heart for it. The police have been questioning him, you know. They think he killed his father. Well, stepfather I suppose.”
No doubt Florence Beasley didn’t relish being among a bunch of gossips in her darkest hour. Needles clacking, the gossipy woman knitted on. “Who’d have thought it? Robert Beasley was a nice man, we always thought. But then, so was Jason Palmer. Though I never liked the look of him. I’m only pleased to say I never bought a car from Jason Palmer. He might not have killed his wife, but as for him carrying on with Nora Betts, which everyone knows he is, and his wife barely cold, it’s shocking, that’s what I call it. Shocking.”
The door opened, and in came Joanna’s husband. Joanna rose and headed toward where he stood, just inside the door. “Bill? What are you doing here? We’ve got knitting classes tonight. I’m sure I told you.”
Bill Newman looked like a well-to-do retiree. He wore a short-sleeved cotton shirt, dark trousers and polished loafers. His white hair was well-cut over a face that must once have been handsome. He looked a little embarrassed to find twenty-odd women staring at him and also confused. He held a yellow plastic flashlight in his hand. “I got a phone call at the house. The message was that you wanted me to come down.” He gestured with the flashlight. “I thought maybe a fuse had blown.” But the lights were all burning perfectly well. “Didn’t you want me?”
“No.”
I laughed, I hoped convincingly. “Oh, Mr. Newman. It was me who wanted to see you. There must’ve been some mistake when the message was relayed to you. You see, I’m planning to buy a car from Jason Palmer. But with everything that’s going on, I want your word that you won’t call in his loan before I’ve got my car.”
The man looked quite taken aback. “Perhaps you’d like to come up to the house. We don’t want to interrupt the class.”
Too late. Every ear was turned our way. “Oh, it’s all right. Jason told me all about it. How generous you’ve been to him. Lending him the money to keep his business afloat when the banks wouldn’t lend him any more money. It was so generous of you to help him.”
The man glanced nervously at his wife and then back to me. “I was only being neighborly. I’m sure he wouldn’t want us to be talking about him in this way.”
Jason might not want to be talked about, but I could tell most of the women here were dying to hear the rest. Every single knitting needle had stopped moving, and we had everyone’s attention.
I said, “If Jason goes to jail, he’ll have to declare bankruptcy, and you’ll never be repaid. That would hurt, at your age. It’s not like you can earn more money.”
He walked farther into the room. “We’re very much hoping he won’t be arrested. I’m sure he wouldn’t hurt anyone. But I didn’t lend him the money, you see. It was for Elizabeth.” He looked truly sad. “I’ve known Elizabeth since she was a child. I hated to think of her losing her home and finding out what a terrible businessman her husband was, this year of all years, when they were celebrating twenty-five years of marriage. It was only a temporary loan to tide him over. He promised me things would get better.”
“But they weren’t getting better, were they? He was going down, and he was going to take you with him.”
Joanna had been standing sort of stunned, but suddenly, like a puppet whose master pulled the strings again, she sprang to life. “Lucy. Please. This is a knitting class. If you don’t have any knitting to do, perhaps you should leave.”
Her super-nice act was faltering and badly. I looked at her. “And I thought you were being neighborly when you sided with Nora in jumping to Jason’s defense. Getting all these women here to try and help prove him innocent. Because you knew Jason hadn’t killed Elizabeth, didn’t you? And if he was convicted of her murder, he wouldn’t get the million pounds in life insurance. And if he didn’t get the million pounds in life insurance, then you wouldn’t get the loan paid back. The loan that your generous husband so foolishly gave him.”
Her lips pressed tightly together as though she were holding back a torrent of words. “This is ridiculous. I think we’ll have to end this meeting early. I’m very sorry, everyone.”
No one moved. The gossipy woman looked at us agog. “Are you saying that Bill here had something to do with Elizabeth’s death?”
He seemed completely taken aback. “I was helping at the pie stand. I didn’t even know she was dead until someone from the band came and told us.”
“And besides, you’re not the archer in your family, are you?”
He shook his head. “No. My eyes aren’t good enough.”
I pulled the brochure about corporate retreats from my bag. I opened it and pointed to the relevant passage. “But at Nickleby Farm you offer archery, along with other activities like horseback riding, golf, and croquet.”
The poor man looked as though he needed to sit down. He said, “I take people fishing and golfing.”
Joanna looked desperate. “Shut up, you fool. Go back home. I’ll be there in a minute.”
We all stared at her in shock. The lovely, sweet-tempered woman shrieking at her husband. He didn’t look shocked, though. He looked as though he was used to it.
Sylvia said, “Lucy, what are you suggesting? Do you think that Joanna and her husband had something to do with Elizabeth’s death?”
I looked at Joanna. “I think Joanna had everything to do with it. You teach archery; it says so right in your corporate brochure. It would have been so easy for you to slip upstairs in the village hall and wait. Everyone was at that fair. You could take your time, wait until you got a clear shot at Elizabeth. Who’d suspect you? Her husband was having an affair. Her best friend wanted her out of the way so she could marry Jason. Even Nora’s husband had a plausible motive. You were the first person who told me that he’d do anything for his wife. You made me think he might’ve killed Elizabeth so that Nora and Jason could be happy together. That was clever of you.”
“I don’t know what you’ve been smoking, but I do not let anyone come into my house and insult me or my husband. I’m asking you again to leave.”
I looked at the other women gathered there. “Do you want me to leave? Or do you think we should look at some of the other facts?”
Her hand was shaking, and she was barely in control. “If you don’t get out of here, I’m calling the police.”
I laughed. “I think that’s an excellent idea.”
She all but shook her fist. “It was Robert Beasley. The police have arrested him, you stupid cow.”
“And wasn’t that convenient for you?” I asked in amazement. “You had no idea when you killed Elizabeth that she was holding evidence that implicated Robert Beasley, not only in her death but in his father’s. That’s what finally led me to you. I was trying to make a connection between Robert Beasley and Elizabeth, and that’s how I found out that his family had owned all this land around here. Including this farm.”
“So what? If you were from this country, you would know that land leases are common.”
“I’ve learned a bit about land leases recently. You retired to Moreton-Under-Wychwood with all your grand plans to build this corporate retreat. It was your retirement business, your last chance to make some money, but you needed Grayson Timmins’s permission to dig a swimming pool or chop down old trees or build any outbuildings. And your landlord said no.”
“This is ridiculous.”
“Robert Beasley told me himself that his stepfather wanted everything in the village to remain just as it was. He didn’t want new businesses, and he must have hated the very idea of corporate retreats. Why did you go to see him that day? Did you hope to convince him to let you have your way? Di
d you beg? Because you needed the money, didn’t you? Even then? Your husband’s always been too generous. Without this business, you were going to be in trouble.”
“Bill, can’t you do something?”
But he sat quietly, watching me.
“I think you went to see Grayson Timmins and plead your case one last time. Did you plan to kill him? Or was it an act of passion? Were you in a blind rage when you picked up that heavy candlestick and bashed him over the head with it?”
“Stop talking!” She was showing us all what she looked like in a blind rage.
“Once you’d killed him, you didn’t panic. You stole some valuables to make it look like a burglary.”
She was gasping like a fish now. “It wasn’t me. It was Robert Beasley. Ask the police.”
“Robert Beasley saved you. Once Grayson Timmins was dead, his wife and seventeen-year-old son took over. It was a new era. They were happy to sell you the land at a cheap price. And things were all right for a while. Your business was successful, and with your husband out of London, you thought he’d stop being so foolish with the money. Until you found out your husband had given Jason Palmer a private loan. Jason was going bankrupt, and he was going to take you with him.”
“That’s not true.”
“Until you found out about that million-pound life insurance policy. Poor Elizabeth never knew what hit her.”
“This is absolute nonsense. It’s a fantasy story you’ve invented. You haven’t got a shred of proof, because there isn’t any.”
She had me there. I had hoped attacking her in front of all these women might provoke her into confessing. But a woman who would calmly murder a neighbor was not so easily rattled.