by Sonia Parin
Abby gave a slow shake of her head. “And the woman happened to be Laurie Meadows?”
“Yes. I bet anything Joshua would never have been able to get this information.”
Not unless he questioned everyone living in town, Abby thought. “I am awestruck. Talk about finding a needle in a haystack.”
“Someone was bound to have heard of her or noticed her somewhere. Annoyingly, I can’t say I’ve ever seen her in the café,” Joyce grumbled. “I need to be more observant.”
“Can you send Faith the photo, please?”
“Sure.”
Abby checked her watch. “Next time, could you come down from the roof? We could meet in Bradford’s back room.”
Joyce ruffled her hair. “Where’s the fun in that?”
“Okay. I need to get going. I don’t want to be late for my appointment with Harriet Winthrop.”
With a good night’s sleep under her belt, Abby managed to enjoy the drive out to the Winthrop estate. Keeping her mind clear of all thoughts about murder, she focused on the questions she would ask about Marigold. By the time she reached the estate, she decided she would simply let Harriet Winthrop tell her what she wanted.
Whether she’d liked Marigold or not, Abby assumed Harriet would paint a sympathetic picture, if only to keep up appearances. So, she prepared herself to hear a glowing eulogy and perhaps even a heartfelt display of her bereavement.
As soon as she wrapped up the interview, she’d head back to Willoughby Park and enjoy some more of Lord Granger’s hospitality.
If anyone in town had seen or heard anything, the news would have reached Joyce by now. Abby didn’t see any point in stirring up gossip. And she knew no amount of discretion would work in a town hungry for news.
Turning off the main road, she drove past a gated entrance and made her way down the long drive. Abby pushed out a slow breath. “You know your property’s impressive when it’s impressive from far away. I guess we’re in proper Downton Abbey territory here.” Abbey straightened and checked her reflection. “I’m thinking Faith might have been right about changing into proper attire.” Belatedly, she realized she didn’t have Doyle with her so she stopped talking out loud.
Turning her attention to the house, she wondered how she’d be welcomed.
She hadn’t been surprised when a real butler had greeted her at Willoughby Park. While Charles Granger had built a replica of an English country manor, this house hailed from a bygone era of cattle barons out to impress their English relatives, but not the general population, Abby thought.
The surrounding countryside was dotted with modest homesteads, but this mausoleum was set well back from the main road and hidden behind majestic old oak and elm trees with a few native eucalyptus trees in-between.
She slowed down and looked for a spot to leave her car. Thinking she wouldn’t be in anyone’s way if she left it right outside the impressive entrance, she grabbed her handbag and tried not to fidget as she waited for someone to answer her knock at the door.
Abby heard a clock chiming the hour. The door eased open and a reed thin woman greeted her.
“This way, please.”
Abby fell in step with her and tried to take in as much as she could because she knew Faith would be full of questions.
Pictures of ancestors lined the hallway walls, all austere looking, all female.
A set of double doors stood open, and the reed thin woman waved her through.
“Ah, Miss Maguire.”
Harriet Winthrop sat on a high backed matriarchal chair with several smaller chairs at either side of her.
“Please, take a seat.”
Tall, stain glass windows allowed some light to filter through, softening the austerity of the room.
Abby had to do some serious digging around her mind to put her finger on the style. Jacobean, circa 1500s. Judging by the way her chair creaked, she’d guess they were not replicas, but rather, the real deal.
The house might have looked to be in mourning, but the head of the house had forgone the traditional black.
Harriet wore an elegant oyster shell gray suit with a pearl white blouse. Her snow-white hair sat in a neat bob.
Raising an eyebrow, Harriet put a dainty foot forward and tapped it. “I believe you have some questions for me.”
Abby offered her condolences and watched for Harriet’s reaction.
“No one in our family has ever died of poisoning.”
Okay. That had been refreshingly… odd. Abby had no idea what to make of the remark. Harriet’s aquamarine blue eyes sparkled with intelligence or… mischief. Abby couldn’t decide.
Drawing in a steadying breath, she scoured through the list of questions she had planned to ask and selected the most appropriate one, but then… she felt possessed by Faith and said, “According to rumors, you and Marigold didn’t get along.”
Harriet’s back stiffened as she drew in a sharp breath. “You are outrageously blunt.”
Abby expected to be shown the door. She knew she’d have a lot of explaining to do. Sebastian would surely have her head on a platter…
As she waited for Harriet Winthrop to declare she would do everything in her power to destroy Abby’s career, the woman lifted her gaze. “Ah, tea. Wonderful. Thank you, Mrs. Reed.”
Reed thin Mrs. Reed? Abby brushed her hand across her brow and stopped short of pinching herself. No, she wasn’t Alice and she hadn’t fallen through the rabbit hole.
“How do you take you tea?” The edge of Harriet’s lip lifted. “Do you even drink tea?”
“I do. Thank you.”
A door behind Harriet opened and a man strode in.
“Mother, I see I’m in time for tea.”
“My son, James. This is the snoopy newspaper reporter, Abby Maguire.”
James Winthrop patted his mother on the shoulder.
Abby sat back and wondered if she had just witnessed a deeply held secret. Sebastian hadn’t mentioned anything about Harriet not being in her right mind.
“Eccentric,” James mouthed and sat down opposite Abby. While he accepted a cup from Mrs. Reed, Abby noticed no tea had been poured in it. James soon remedied that by producing a silver flask from his coat pocket and pouring the contents into the cup.
Abby tried to find a comfortable spot in the chair but, in the process, she encountered a splinter.
“She will be sorely missed,” Harriet clipped out. “You may quote me.”
“Off the record,” Abby said, “Do you know of anyone who might have wanted to harm Marigold?” She almost expected Harriet to admit they all did.
“Only one person wanted her dead.” Harriet leaned forward as if about to impart a secret. “The killer.”
Abby slid her gaze toward James Winthrop. When he lifted his teacup in a salute, she wondered if Joshua had had a similar experience and, if he had, why hadn’t he told her about it?
She could forgive him for not passing on negligible information, but this seemed far too significant to have left out.
James reached inside his pocket and drew out a piece of paper. “I think this should suffice. All the information you’ll need for your article is there.”
Abby took the piece of paper and skimmed through it. It read like a resume. Marigold had definitely earned her keep working for various charitable organizations, all geared toward raising funds for the underprivileged. “Thank you. Yes, this should be enough.” Abby looked around. “This is an interesting house you have, Mrs. Winthrop. I wonder if it might be at all possible to get a tour.”
Joshua had said his officers had swept through the entire house, but what if they had missed something? She supposed she could have asked to use the restrooms and used the opportunity to look around but she’d taken exception to being labeled snoopy…
“I’d be happy to show you through,” James said. “Mother’s house has appeared in several magazines.”
Abby thanked Harriet Winthrop for her time. As she strode out of the room, she couldn
’t help wondering if the woman had put on an act. Abby thought she looked far too astute to be mentally unstable. As she’d already secured Abby’s co-operation, she could be certain Abby wouldn’t spread gossip about her condition.
For all Abby knew, she might have been sipping tea in the presence of the real killer, cocooned by her wealth, social standing and assurances from the owner of a national newspaper that nothing inappropriate would be printed about her or her family.
“Would I be able to see her room?”
“You have a macabre interest?”
“It might help personalize the article.”
“Sure. The police have already done a thorough search.”
Abby ignored the smugness in his tone and focused on what she might look for in Marigold’s room. Earlier, she’d wondered if perhaps Marigold had been exposed to the toxic substance over a longer period of time. If that had been the case and the killer had somehow planted the toxic substance in her room, the police would have found something.
She would have asked about Harry Winthrop, but she suspected James would give her a standard answer. Clearly, the Winthrop family had exercised their right to present a united front.
“This is it.”
Abby expected James to enter the room with her and make sure she didn’t overstep some sort of boundary. Instead, he remained by the door leaning against it as if bored by her interest.
Her feet sank into the lush thick carpet. She didn’t see a connecting door to another room, so she had to assume the Winthrop couple had slept apart. “When did Marigold come down from the city?”
“Two weeks ago. She thought highly of Charles and wanted to look her best for the ball. There’s a spa nearby she enjoyed using. She spent her days there and her nights here.”
Simply furnished with a sleigh bed, a couple of chairs and a chaise near the window, the bedroom stood in stark contrast to the rest of the house.
She looked around and nodded. Yes, the dark austerity of the Winthrop house definitely stopped at Marigold’s bedroom door. The room looked comfortable and welcoming. The walls were painted in a cheerful shade of yellow contrasted with striped wallpaper in white and baby blue.
A bookcase full of paperbacks covered one entire wall; another contrast to the leather-bound tomes she’d seen lining the walls of the library. This had clearly been Marigold’s domain, possibly the one place in the house where she could escape from the rest of the family.
Next to the bed, a door stood ajar. Abby peered inside and saw a massive walk-in closet and, beyond that, a bathroom complete with a massage table.
When James’ phone rang, he stepped back from the doorway to answer the call. Abby scrambled to decide how she could use the time to her advantage.
Moments later, James cleared his throat. “Looking for dust bunnies under the bed?”
Easing herself upright, Abby said, “I’m in the market for a new bed.” She grinned. “This one looks quite solid.”
“I’d hate to cut this short, but I have to go.”
“Sure… Thank you for your time. I think I have everything I need.” In fact, she had more than she’d hoped for. And she would bet anything Joshua had walked away with less.
She strode out of Marigold’s bright, sunny bedroom and into the dark hallway thinking Marigold must have been desperate to maintain her social standing and wealth to have put up with the spiritless ambience of the house...
Along the way, they encountered a woman emerging from one of the rooms. She wore a practical brown skirt and black sweater with her brown hair cropped short and pulled back.
“Ah, Helen. Would you mind showing Abby Maguire out?”
Helen… as in Helen Forbes?
James strode off, his cell phone pressed to his ear.
“How are you holding up?” Abby asked.
“The family is in turmoil.”
And doing an exemplary job of hiding it, Abby thought, curious to know why Helen Forbes had avoided answering the question.
“Will you stay on working for the family?”
“Mrs. Winthrop needs all the support she can get. She has suffered enough loss. Another change to her routine might be detrimental to her health.” Helen Forbes walked on ahead of her.
Abby wondered if she’d learned the lines by heart. She imagined all the household employees had been given specific instructions on what to say.
“Have you worked for the family long?”
Standing ramrod straight, Helen Forbes barely moved her neck as she turned to answer. “Long enough.”
Chapter Fifteen
Abby left the Winthrop house without looking back. She hoped she’d never have to return, not even to write a more-curious-than-life piece.
It seemed odd to think so, but she couldn’t shake off the feeling dark secrets dwelled within that house. “And I wouldn’t be surprised to find the proverbial skeleton hiding in every closet.” She looked down at the passenger seat only to again remember she’d left Doyle behind. “There’s nothing wrong with talking to myself… Out loud.”
Abby had tried to get more information out of Helen Forbes but the woman had remained tight-lipped.
When she set a safe distance between herself and the house, she pulled up and took a few moments to breathe easy. She couldn’t help thinking only people with something to hide put up roadblocks…
Getting her cell phone, she scrolled through the few photographs she’d taken surreptitiously.
James had said Marigold had enjoyed her spa days. Abby wished she’d asked for a name. She had first visited Miffi Howsen because she’d assumed Miffi had spent a great deal of time with Marigold. Then, she’d hoped to get more out of Helen Forbes. After all, the personal assistant had worked closely with Marigold. She would know what went on behind closed doors.
Unfortunately, Helen Forbes had been uncooperative, at least with Abby. She’d definitely been cooperating with the family, doing a fine job of maintaining its secrets.
“Aha!” Abby exclaimed as she studied a photo she’d taken of the bathroom. There were several skin care products sitting next to the basin and they all had the same pretty packaging. Zooming in, she read the name. “Sheer Divinity Spa and Beauty.” It sounded otherworldly. She looked up the address and calculated the time it would take to get there. Faith would be having lunch right about now, she thought…
Putting the car into gear, she set off to find the spa.
“So sad. We’re all still in shock. Marigold Winthrop was one of our most valued clients,” the receptionist said.
Abby waited for the girl to flip her hair so she could read her name tag. Gigi.
“When did she last come in, Gigi?” Abby expected the receptionist to tell her client confidentiality prohibited her from divulging the information. However, human nature being what it was, in times of loss, people needed to talk.
Gigi leaned in and whispered, “The morning she died.”
“I imagine she came in for the full treatment.” Abby studied the brochure on the counter. Spa parties? Skin workouts? What would they think of next?
Gigi nodded. “She came in early. I had to rush out and get the brand of chamomile tea she liked. I never imagined that would be the last time I’d see her.”
“Have the police been here?”
The poor girl blanched. Surely by now she’d realized she wasn’t supposed to talk about a client.
Gigi gave a small nod. “I’d hate to say this, but it was almost a relief to hear she’d died of that horrible poisoning.” She lowered her voice. “She’d been complaining of a rash and she thought it had something to do with one of our products. The manager bent over backwards trying to make it right for her.”
“She must have made a fuss.”
“No, but the manager thought she would. Mrs. Winthrop was so lovely about it. I heard her say she was under a lot of stress and that probably caused the rash.”
Abby asked to speak with the masseuse who’d worked on Marigold but the recepti
onist told her she’d have to make an appointment and they were fully booked for weeks.
Gigi smiled and held up a small tub of moisturizer. “Would you like to try a facial? Our products would do wonders for you skin.”
“You’re judging me,” Faith said when Abby strode into the conservatory.
“I didn’t say anything.” Abby tried to keep a straight face as she helped herself to a glass of water. “Although, I had no idea you could play tennis. Cute outfit.”
“I can’t play. Charles gave me a few lessons. When you left, I’d settled down to scour through all the photos from the ball when Wadsworth came in and said a breath of fresh air would do me a world of good and then he asked how I felt about a game of tennis and when I told him I didn’t have an outfit he told me that wouldn’t be a problem. Before I knew it, I had a tennis racquet in my hand. Oh, and Doyle enjoyed playing fetch.”
“Breathe, Faith. It’s all right. You should make the best of our stay here.” Abby drew out a chair and sat down to collect her thoughts. “Did you get a photo from Joyce?”
“Oh…” Faith reached for her cell phone. “I guess I missed it. Here it is.” She studied the image. “Why am I looking at a cake stall?”
Abby leaned in. “There’s a woman in the picture. That’s Laurie Meadows. Long story short, now we can put a face to the name. We’ve made progress.” Although, not as much as they had in previous cases. Abby hoped Joshua was having better luck. “I guess I missed lunch.”
“Yes, but I’m sure Wadsworth will be only too happy to put something together for you.” Faith smiled. “That just sort of rolled off the tongue.”
“You certainly wouldn’t have any trouble getting used to this lifestyle.”