Murder at Honeychurch Hall: A Mystery Page 10

  A twinge of foreboding swept over me.

  Shawn took a deep breath and said, “I’m afraid she’s been reported as missing.”

  Chapter Nine

  “As you know, the first twenty-four hours are crucial.” Shawn helped himself to a cup of coffee but as he plopped in a cube of sugar, it fell to the floor. Surprisingly, Vera made no sound of protest—even when he vigorously ground the granules into the carpet with the heel of his shoe.

  Disheveled didn’t begin to describe Shawn’s appearance. What looked suspiciously like dried egg had dribbled down the front of his shirt. Noticing mismatched socks and scuffed brown shoes, I suspected the police officer lived alone.

  “Don’t you think you’re overreacting a bit, old chap,” said Rupert. “Gayla only left last night. She might have stopped off to see a friend.”

  Harry’s face was creased with concern. “What’s happened to Gayla?”

  “Nothing. He shouldn’t be here.” Lavinia stood up and held out her hand to Harry. “Come along—”

  “Yes, but I’d rather you stayed, m’lady.” Shawn retrieved a moleskin notebook and pencil from inside his trench coat. “Lady Edith, would you mind taking Harry from the room? I don’t think you’re under suspicion.”

  “That’s a pity,” Lady Edith said dryly. She rose to her feet. “Come along, my pet.”

  “Why is Gayla missing?” said Harry in a querulous voice. “Is she lost?”

  “Let’s go to the stables.” Lady Edith took Harry’s hand and they left the library with Mr. Chips trotting along obediently behind them.

  Lavinia turned on Shawn furiously. “See what you’ve done? Harry’s got a vivid enough imagination as it is.” She sat back down in a huff.

  “Should we leave?” I said to Mum.

  “No, I need you all to stay here—oh!” Shawn turned beetroot red. “It’s—you’re—Rapunzel, I mean Ms. Stanford. Your hair…”

  “Please call me Kat,” I said.

  Shawn broke into a dimpled smile, revealing a chipped front tooth. “Fakes & Treasures. My favorite show.”

  “Told you so,” muttered Vera.

  “And this is Detective Inspector Shawn Cropper,” Rupert said wearily. “And yes, he is related to our butler and cook.”

  I glanced over at Cropper who appeared to have dozed off again, carefully wedged in the corner of the room with each elbow resting on a bookshelf.

  “My grandparents,” said Shawn.

  It certainly explained why everyone was on first-name terms.

  “I’ve just bought the Carriage House,” Mum said.

  “The Carriage House?” Shawn exclaimed. “I thought Lady Edith swore she’d never break up the estate!”

  “So did we.” Rupert checked his watch. “Can we just get on with this, Shawn? Gayla did not catch her train. So what?”

  “Obviously you’ve never had to deal with nannies, Shawn,” Lavinia put in.

  “Some of us can’t afford them, m’lady,” said Shawn.

  “They’re all alike,” Lavinia went on. “Unreliable, flighty—”

  “Gayla Tarasova is the daughter of a high-profile Russian industrialist,” said Shawn.

  “He’s a what?” said Rupert.

  “She didn’t mention it when I interviewed her.” Vera reddened.

  “Her father was waiting for her at Paddington Station last night but she wasn’t on the train. He phoned Nannies-Abroad and they immediately alerted the police.”

  Lavinia seemed equally taken aback. “Who is Nannies-Abroad? What’s wrong with our regular agency?”

  “I wanted to try somewhere new,” said Vera defensively.

  “But don’t we pay Knightsbridge Nannies a monthly retainer?” said Lavinia.

  Vera looked down at her feet and didn’t comment.

  “How long had Gayla been working here, m’lady?” Shawn asked.

  Lavinia shrugged. “I don’t know, about three months.”

  “And why do you think she left after such a short time?”

  “Perhaps you should ask Mrs. Stanford.” Lavinia’s cold gray eyes rested on my mother. “Didn’t she spend a lot of time with you?”

  Mum looked startled. “Not really. I’ve only lived here for three weeks.”

  “According to Gayla, she visited you every day when Harry was off riding. I knew the little minx was up to something.” She shot Rupert a filthy look. “And we all know what that was.”

  “Don’t look at me,” Rupert protested. “You should ask Eric. He’s the one who attracts the ladies, not me.”

  Vera opened her mouth to protest but seemed to change her mind.

  “I’ve had two or three conversations with her, that’s all, although…” Mum frowned. “She mentioned a friend called Anna.”

  “Anna?” Shawn scribbled in his pad. “Any last name?”

  “No, I got the impression they’d come to England together.”

  “From Nannies-Abroad?” Shawn asked.

  “I didn’t think to ask.”

  “Gayla always acted as if she was better than the rest of us,” Vera said. “And she refused to do Harry’s laundry or lift a finger in the kitchen—and then I caught her red-handed, helping herself to one of Lady Edith’s snuff boxes.”

  “And when was this?” said Shawn.

  “Yesterday afternoon at around three o’clock. I found her on the landing opening one of the credenzas.”

  “Doesn’t Lady Edith keep her collections under lock and key?” said Shawn. “At least she used to when I was a kid.”

  “I know what I saw,” Vera declared.

  “So you saw Gayla actually taking a snuff box out of the credenza?” said Shawn. “She wasn’t, shall we say—just admiring it?”

  “I found another one under the pillow in her room. It was very valuable,” Vera said. “Meissen. From her wild animal collection.”

  “And obviously you told Lady Edith?” Shawn tapped his pencil on his chipped tooth.

  “No. I put it back,” said Vera.

  “We try to protect my mother from domestic issues for obvious reasons,” Rupert said. “She gets easily distressed—especially about her wretched snuff boxes.”

  “I see.” Shawn continued to make copious notes. “And what did Gayla say when you confronted her about the snuff box under her pillow?”

  “She denied it, of course.” Vera paused before adding in an apologetic voice, “I’m afraid she blamed it on Harry, m’lady.”

  “Outrageous!” Lavinia cried. “There was no question that Gayla had to go. I gave her a week’s pay and purchased a single railway ticket—at frightful expense, I may add—to Paddington railway station.”

  “We’re already checking the CCTV footage at Plymouth and Paddington Stations.”

  “Perhaps Gayla missed her train,” I suggested. “When I spoke to her she was waiting for a taxi to take her to the railway station.”

  “You spoke to her?” Shawn dropped his pencil and had to stoop to pick it up. “What time was this?”

  “Around six-thirty,” I said.

  “No one offered to give her a lift to the station?” said Shawn.

  Lavinia flushed and muttered something about horses.

  “Did she mention the name of the company?” Shawn asked me.

  “Bumble-Bee Cars,” I said. “I called them later that evening to make sure that Gayla had been picked up, but I just got the answering machine. Perhaps the taxi didn’t show up after all. I feel terrible.”

  Mum put her hand on my knee and gave it a sympathetic squeeze.

  “Or it did—and the driver had something to do with it,” Mum declared. “You should find out, Officer.”

  “We will,” Shawn said gravely. “Thank you.”

  “I bet Gayla hitched a lift,” said Rupert suddenly.

  “From Cavalier Lane?” Lavinia sneered. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s a back road. Only locals know the shortcut.”

  “Did Gayla say anything else, Ms. Stanford—Kat?”

&nb
sp; “Well…” I hesitated. “She did mention that my mother could be in danger.”

  “Danger?” said Lavinia. “What an extraordinary thing to say.”

  “I told you Eric Pugsley was out to get me,” said Mum.

  “My Eric said that?” Vera exclaimed. “He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

  “Do you remember what Gayla was wearing?” Shawn went on.

  “Jeans, white ruffled shirt, and a turquoise bandana,” I said. “She had a suitcase on wheels.”

  “A suitcase?” said Rupert sharply.

  “Of course she’d have a suitcase,” Lavinia said. “She was leaving.”

  “Color?” said Shawn.

  “Pink,” I said. “Or more of a fuchsia pink—wouldn’t you say, Rupert?”

  “You saw her at the top of the drive, too?” Shawn exclaimed. “Why on earth didn’t you say so?”

  “I didn’t see her,” said Rupert quickly. “I was in a bit of a hurry.”

  “I was blocking the entrance with my car,” I said. “By the time I’d moved it, Gayla had disappeared.”

  “Where were you going, m’lord?” Shawn asked.

  “Good question,” Lavinia put in. “I’d love to know since you missed supper.”

  Rupert reddened. “I—I—”

  “Some sheep escaped,” said Vera smoothly. “I got a phone call from a passing motorist. It happens all the time.”

  “Wasn’t William around to help you?” Shawn asked.

  “He visits my mother at Sunny Hill Lodge on Friday evenings,” said Vera. “As you know, she’s got Alzheimer’s.”

  Was there no end to William’s saintly gifts?

  “Does it matter?” Rupert snapped. “I heard Vera on the phone and I offered to help.”

  Lavinia gave a snort of derision. “That’s a first.”

  “And what time did you get back?” said Shawn, pencil poised.

  “Around nine, I suppose. I went to the Hare & Hounds for a quick snifter,” said Rupert. “Bumped into Eric, as a matter of fact. You should go and talk to him.”

  “We intend to,” said Shawn.

  Chuffah-chuffah-chuffah-chuffah.

  “What’s that noise?” said Mum, head cocked. “Surely that can’t be a train.”

  The chuffing sound grew louder, drowning out all further conversation as Shawn fumbled in his pocket and withdrew his iPhone. “Actually, it’s the Scarborough Spa Express from Wakefield Westgate to Ardsley Tunnel,” he shouted as the ringtone reached its crescendo with a loud whoop, whoop, whoop!

  Shawn hit the answer button, barked, “D. I. Cropper here,” and walked over to the window to take the call.

  Mum turned to me, highly amused, and mouthed the words, “Whoop, whoop?”

  “Shawn’s always been fascinated by trains,” said Lavinia dryly.

  Despite the seriousness of the situation, I fought the urge to giggle. It all seemed surreal. Gayla hadn’t even been missing for twenty-four hours and here was the local plod—with dried egg on his shirt—convinced of foul play. I couldn’t imagine the Metropolitan Police conducting such an investigation.

  We waited in silence whilst Shawn finished his phone call behind one of the brocade curtains. When he rejoined us, his expression was grave. “Bad news, I’m afraid. Gayla’s suitcase has been found but there is no sign of her.”

  My stomach gave a lurch and Mum grabbed my hand. Suddenly, it was no laughing matter.

  Lavinia bit her lip. “Oh dear, you don’t really think something frightful has happened, do you?”

  “Let’s hope not,” said Shawn.

  “Where did you find this suitcase?” demanded Rupert.

  “In the hedge along the bridleway to Cavalier Copse,” said Shawn. “Tom from Home Farm found it concealed in the undergrowth.”

  “Why would she leave it there?” Lavinia cried. “How odd.”

  “Perhaps it was deliberate,” said Vera. “She didn’t want to go back to London to see her dad because she knew she was in trouble for thieving. Maybe she’s crying wolf.”

  “Yes, I think Vera’s right.” Rupert nodded in agreement. “Did you find anything of interest in the suitcase?”

  Shawn regarded Rupert thoughtfully. “Just the usual effects. Why?”

  “What I mean is—” Rupert hesitated. “How do we know for sure it was Gayla’s suitcase?”

  “Oh for heaven’s sake,” cried Lavinia. “The poor girl is obviously in some kind of trouble. This is your fault, Vera. You and your meddling.”

  “Mine?” Vera’s mouth dropped.

  Lavinia suddenly stood up. “This is all frightfully distressing but frankly, I’m not sure what more we can do.”

  “Quite right, quite right,” Rupert said. “I think we’ve done all we can to assist you, Shawn. Life goes on and all that.”

  Clearly we were all being dismissed.

  “Right then,” said Shawn. “I suppose I know where to find you.”

  Lavinia moved toward the library door. “And Katherine, six o’clock sharp. Staff always eats in the kitchen.”

  Mum and I trooped out after her.

  “Kat!” Shawn called out. “A quick word, please.”

  We waited for him to join us and yes, I was right. It was definitely dried egg on his lapel.

  “If I seem overzealous it’s because nothing ever happens here—not that I’m making light of Ms. Tarasova’s disappearance, you understand.” Shawn smiled. “You are grockles—”

  “Grockles?” I said.

  “Tourists—I mean outsiders. Sorry.” Shawn looked sheepish. “You may notice things that are unusual that we take for granted. If either of you think of anything else Gayla may have said—however insignificant—please call me on this number.”

  Shawn pressed a business card into my hand and looked intensely into my eyes. His were dark brown with a speckle of gold freckles in the iris. Perhaps it was the steamy passage I’d just finished typing up from Mum’s Forbidden but a tiny frisson of je ne sais quoi passed between us.

  I actually blushed.

  “Oh! Inspector, there is something I’d like to talk to you about.” Mum lowered her voice and beckoned us over to the window. “It’s about Eric Pugsley.”

  “You think he may have something to do with the nanny’s disappearance?” Shawn retrieved his notebook from his pocket and flipped it open.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised,” said Mum. “But actually, this is about me. I’d like to file a complaint.”

  “Not now, Mother,” I said, exasperated. “Inspector, I apologize for—”

  “Eric Pugsley has launched a vendetta against me,” Mum declared.

  “But does this have anything to do with Gayla?”

  “No, it does not,” I said firmly.

  “But it could,” said Mum.

  Shawn looked puzzled. “Go on.”

  “Pugsley wants me out of the Carriage House. He’s been deliberately turning off my water supply.” She waved her cast. “He did this, you know!”

  “Mother—”

  “And this!” Mum pointed at her bruised face.

  “He attacked you?” said Shawn, appalled. “Eric? Eric Pugsley?”

  “My mother is exaggerating, Inspector.”

  “Pugsley parked a hearse in full view of my window and if that’s not a death threat, I don’t know what is.”

  “Well, these are very serious allegations,” said Shawn.

  “So you see, Pugsley is capable of violence,” said Mum.

  Shawn nodded gravely. “If you’d like to come down to the police station on Monday morning, we can take a statement.”

  “Thank you, Inspector,” said Mum triumphantly. “At least someone believes me. My daughter felt I was being overdramatic.”

  Shawn gave a polite smile.

  “And of course, if Kat remembers anything about Gayla, I will make sure she calls you immediately.”

  “Yes. Please do.”

  Mum beamed. “Good. We will see you first thing on Monday morning—if no
t before.”

  Chapter Ten

  “You’re impossible, Mother,” I said as we set off for home.

  “That policeman seems a pleasant man. Nice sensual lips. I saw him give you that look. And no wedding ring.”

  “He’s twelve years old and had egg on his shirt. Definitely not my type.”

  “You’re just used to going out with old fogies.”

  “And what about his phone ringtone?” I said. “A train?”

  “But not any old train, dear,” said Mum. “The Scarborough Spa Express. If he’s passionate about steam trains he’ll make a steamy bedfellow.” She chortled at her own joke.

  I groaned.

  She clicked on her Dictaphone. “He pressed his business card into her hands. His dark eyes searched her face for any sign of encouragement. A faint blush spread across her porcelain cheeks—”

  “Ha-bloody-ha,” I said dryly. “You are so hilarious.”

  “She was afraid to look at him. Afraid he would see her desire and find her lustful and wanton—”

  “How can you be so frivolous at a time like this!”

  “Nothing’s happened to that young nanny,” said Mum with scorn.

  “How do you know?”

  “I saw her and Rupert in the Greek garden one afternoon—all huddled together, whispering and laughing.”

  “You think they were having an affair?” I said.

  “I wasn’t sure until Lavinia mentioned how well—apparently—I knew Gayla,” said Mum. “I was obviously some kind of alibi.”

  “Why didn’t you say so?”

  “In front of Lavinia?” said Mum. “I wouldn’t do that. Besides, I don’t have concrete proof and it’s obvious she’s besotted with her husband.”

  “Lavinia? Besotted? With Rupert?” I exclaimed. “You must be blind. She can’t stand him.”

  “There is a thin line between love and hate, you know that,” said Mum. “I notice these details.”

  “So why didn’t you tell Shawn all this when we were alone—instead of talking about Eric Pugsley?”

  “It’s a good excuse for you to call him later.” Mum grinned mischievously.

  “Stay out of my love life, please,” I said. “In fact, stop interfering. I mean it. Why on earth did you say I’d babysit tonight?”