Murderous Mayhem at Honeychurch Hall Page 22

  “If we find out that Pippa had something to do with cutting Violet’s brakes, you could be an accessory after the fact. Do you want to add that to your current rap sheet?”

  I was taken aback. “That’s hardly fair, and to be honest, even though Violet and Pippa don’t like each other, I don’t think Pippa would do that. She has Max to think of!”

  There was a tap at the door and Mr. Bryce peered inside.

  “We need a larger bangle,” said Shawn.

  Mr. Bryce nodded and withdrew. Moments later he was back with a replacement.

  I slipped it on and fastened the catch.

  “And remember,” said Shawn. “Just act normally.”

  I left the jewelry shop filled with mixed emotions. There had to be a connection between Muriel’s death and Violet’s attempted murder. The only connection I could come up with was Pippa. She’d literally just moved to the village and had made no effort to endear herself to either woman. I thought of poor Lavinia and her decision to divorce Rupert if she found him cheating on her again, but would Rupert do such a thing to make sure Lavinia wouldn’t find out? And what about the bangle? How did the theft of that fit into the picture? Why did I have to pretend everything was normal?

  “Kat!” came a familiar voice. I turned around and found Jess waving from across the street. I immediately panicked.

  She darted through the stationary traffic. Jess was carrying a large canvas bag. “Isn’t this music festival amazing?” she beamed. “I begged Aubrey to bring me, but he’s too caught up in his silly weapons.”

  “You’ve been shopping?”

  “Just a few knickknacks,” she said. “There are so many little boutiques in Dartmouth.” She caught sight of my bracelet. “Oh! You’re wearing it.”

  I found myself reddening. I was a hopeless liar. “Yes. It’s lovely. Thank you again, but I still feel very uncomfortable accepting such a generous gift.”

  “It wasn’t expensive.”

  “It was expensive, Jess,” I said. “I know how much it cost.”

  “Oh! Alright, I’ll tell you.” She gave an exaggerated sigh. “I have a confession.” She linked her arm through mine and we began to walk together. “I hope you don’t think it weird, but … actually, Piers knows the designer—”

  My heart sank. “He does?”

  “You know what he’s like with the ladies,” she went on. “He bought a few of her bangles to help her start off. He gave me one for my birthday, but Aubrey had already bought me one. So you see, you don’t have to feel bad about it after all—but don’t tell him I told you that.”

  So my instinct was right. For whatever reason, Shawn was looking into Piers Carew. I was bitterly disappointed. Should I tell Shawn what Jess had just told me?

  “Do you have time for a cup of tea?” Jess pointed to the Dartmouth Antique Emporium. “They have a little cafe inside.”

  “I know,” I said. “I’ve just signed a contract to rent some space. Normally I would, but I want to get back and get organized.” This was partly true, but really, I felt incredibly uncomfortable.

  As I crossed the street I felt Jess was watching me. I turned to find she was. Jess waved and ducked into the National Trust Gift Shop.

  It was only when I walked past the front entrance to pick up my car that I saw the notice pinned outside on a wooden board. Fiona had put up the CCTV Surveillance warning but added a flyer. It offered a reward for the safe return of a Jumeau doll that had been stolen last Tuesday from the Emporium.

  I stared at the photograph in growing dismay.

  Withdrawing my iPhone from my tote bag, I scrolled through the photographs until I found Aubrey Carew’s antique doll.

  It was a match.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  I stared at the photograph and wished I knew what I should do. I thought back to Aubrey and how nervous he was at having the Jumeau in his possession. He was a magistrate and a leading figure not just in the West Country but an expert in antique weaponry also. It’s hardly the kind of scandal that he would want let out in the open. He had to have known the Jumeau was stolen.

  Lavinia had mentioned that Piers was notorious for getting into mischief. The Honeychurch family was renowned for keeping things quiet. Why not the Carews as well? It wouldn’t be the first time that families of influence avoided the law.

  I made a decision.

  I went back inside and sought out Fiona. “I just saw the flyer for the missing Jumeau?”

  “Oh, is it still up there?” she said. “I thought we’d taken all the flyers down. That was the doll that Cassandra thought had been stolen but hadn’t been stolen at all.”

  “When did she find it?” I asked.

  Fiona thought for a moment, “Yesterday morning, I believe. We’ll see you on Monday?”

  “Yes, bright and early,” I said. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  I returned to my car thoroughly puzzled. There had even been a reward offered for the doll, but it seemed that whoever had taken it had simply sneaked it back.

  As I reached the gatehouse my heart sank again.

  Pippa’s Vauxhall was parked outside. I really was not in the mood to hear about her broken heart. I wasn’t being callous. She was putting me in a terrible position. Lavinia would find out and she would assume that I had known all along.

  Where did my loyalties lie?

  Pippa gave a pathetic wave and got out of her car. She gestured to all the bunting and banners that framed the main gate and made some comment about everything being in place for the following week’s revelries.

  “I can’t talk right now,” I said abruptly. “I’ve got too much to do this afternoon.”

  “Kat? Please.” Her face was pale and puffy from crying. “I just have to talk to you. Just for five minutes. Please.”

  “Okay.” I let us both into the gatehouse and headed to the small kitchen to put on the kettle. “Tea?”

  “I wanted to apologize about last night,” she said. “You’re my friend and I want to be honest with you.”

  “I’m not sure I want to know, Pippa,” I said somewhat primly.

  “Oh come on! Get off your high horse, Katherine,” Pippa snapped. “Yes. I am—or was—having a fling with Rupert. Okay? Happy now?”

  “I told you I don’t want to know.”

  “But it’s over.” Tears welled up in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. “I suppose I thought I was different. I just thought—” She dashed them away angrily. “I know you understand. You have to.”

  “I’ll try to.”

  “If you’d seen how horrified he was when he realized we were going to get caught—” Sadness turned to disgust. “He couldn’t care less about poor Violent!”

  “Don’t call her that,” I snapped.

  “Well, you know what I mean,” Pippa went on. “And when he realized that his wretched car had been stolen … I knew then that he would be a coward. He left me stuck in the middle of the countryside. He didn’t care if Violent was dead or alive.”

  Not surprisingly, my opinion of Rupert sank even lower. “Well, you’ll be relieved to know that Violet will make a full recovery. Two broken ankles and a concussion.”

  “Will I?” Pippa said. “You may as well know everything. Violet was threatening to tell Lavinia about us.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “Really? Take a look at this.” She withdrew a pale-lavender-colored envelope from her handbag and handed it to me.

  The moment I saw the envelope I knew that Pippa had the wrong person. Muriel’s thank-you letter to me had been written on identical notepaper—a bouquet of irises in the top right-hand corner. I also recognized her quavery handwriting.

  I know what you are up to with his lordship at Bridge Cottage. Close your tearoom and leave Little Dipperton and her ladyship will never find out. Signed, A Friend.

  “She wanted money,” Pippa declared.

  “There is no mention of money here,” I pointed out. “Just demanding you leav
e the village.”

  “Oh.” Pippa seemed taken aback. “But why should I?”

  “This is not from Violet.”

  “She wanted me to close my tearoom.”

  “This letter was written by Muriel. I’m sure of it.”

  “But why would Muriel care?”

  “Violet was Muriel’s best friend. It seems that she was looking out for her, after all.” I was also certain that it would have been a hollow threat. Muriel may well have been a gossip, but she was not a whistle-blower.

  “What are you going to do now?” I said.

  “If Muriel did write it, then the letter doesn’t matter because she’s dead.”

  “Pippa!” I was appalled at how callous she could be.

  “Well, it’s true,” said Pippa. “So what do you think I should do?”

  “I can’t make that decision for you,” I said.

  “Did Muriel really try to commit suicide?” said Pippa.

  “What have you heard?” I said carefully.

  “Jess Carew told me,” said Pippa.

  “I honestly don’t know,” I said. “Did you hear any screams or see anything in the churchyard on Friday night?”

  Pippa shook her head. “I was with Rupert, although I doubt if he would ever admit it.” She gave a heavy sigh. “Oh, Kat. I can’t afford to move again so soon. I have tried to talk to Rupert, but he’s not answering his phone. It’s such a mess!”

  She started to cry, loud noisy tears. I handed her a mug of tea. “Drink up.”

  “Tea in a crisis,” she said. “I wonder why we British always feel consoled by a cup of bloody tea.” She gave a weak smile. “You’re so lucky, Kat. You can’t possibly understand what it’s like to be a single mother struggling to make ends meet.”

  “What about your ex-husband?”

  She shook her head. “Getting money from him is like getting blood out of a stone. Rupert was … generous. And I liked him.”

  “I think you are better out of it,” I said, and meant it. “But what’s going to happen next weekend? I thought you were overseeing the Hog Roast, and with Violet out of the picture…”

  Pippa groaned. “Oh God. I had forgotten all about that. Will you help me?”

  “Alright,” I said grudgingly. “We’ve still got Mrs. Cropper, remember.”

  Pippa blew her nose. “I feel a bit of an idiot now. It’s all so humiliating.”

  “At least your humiliations don’t end up on the front page of the newspaper,” I said ruefully.

  “Oh God, no they don’t.” Pippa grinned. “Did Piers really impersonate a food critic?”

  “Yes, he did, and he did it very well.”

  “What a laugh!”

  “It was funny to start with, but then when our meal was on the house it was mortifying.” I had a sudden thought. Piers had been determined to catch Rupert out in his affair. In fact, we had both seen his car emerging from the undergrowth near Bridge Cottage on Friday evening. It wouldn’t surprise me if Piers had driven the Range Rover somewhere just to teach Rupert a lesson. “Do you remember seeing a Mercedes last night?”

  “No cars. That’s why we picked that place—actually, it gave me the creeps,” said Pippa.

  “I just wondered who would have stolen Rupert’s Range Rover. I mean, it had to have been someone who knew it would be there.”

  “Whoever took it certainly knew how to start it,” Pippa said. “It had state-of-the-art technology, so they knew what they were doing.” Pippa thought for a minute. “Are you going to see Piers again?”

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “It’s like going out with a grenade. You never know when it’s going to go off.”

  “So he’s single?”

  “Pippa … seriously?”

  “Well—he’s attractive, eligible and heir to a fortune.”

  “You sound like my mother. Apparently he’s betrothed to his childhood sweetheart. Lavinia told me.”

  “The rich really are different, aren’t they?” Pippa got to her feet. “I’d better get back,” she said. “The boys are still out ghost-busting.” She gave me a sad smile. “I’m not a bad mother, Kat.”

  “I know.”

  I saw her out of the gatehouse, made myself another cup of tea and got cracking. I needed to separate the stock and decide which items I was going to take and which to leave behind, but I found it hard to concentrate.

  Was Piers capable of doing something so petty? Stealing a car? Framing Jess with a doll that he might have taken whilst visiting his betrothed at Dartmouth Antique Emporium? Jess had mentioned that Piers had also dated the jewelry designer, too. Would he really go to such great lengths to incriminate Rupert?

  Piers wanted to protect Lavinia, not make her unhappy. His actions would certainly provoke a divorce. Much as I knew Piers disliked his brother-in-law, his major flaw was being a practical joker. I had not seen anything vindictive in his personality at all.

  My stomach grumbled and I realized that I hadn’t eaten all day. Mum was so inspired by the idea for her new book that she asked if I wouldn’t mind us forgoing our usual Sunday night ritual.

  I thought of Pippa’s comment about Jess buying bacon sandwiches from Violet. Something seemed odd. I remembered the smell of bacon in the church. Jess had said that no workmen had been at the barn this weekend because they were waiting for materials.

  I found a piece of cheese and an apple that would have to keep me going until I got home.

  It was gone nine by the time I turned out the lights in the gatehouse. I was getting into my Golf when Pippa’s Vauxhall turned into the entrance, almost knocking me off my feet.

  She slammed on the brakes and reversed, opening the window as she did so. I took one look at her face and knew something bad had happened.

  “Pippa? What’s wrong?”

  “Are the boys here?” she said anxiously. “Max and Harry? Have you seen them?”

  “No,” I said, “but I’ve been in the gatehouse all evening. Are you sure they aren’t in the churchyard?”

  She shook her head. “No. I’ve been driving around the countryside looking for them! Max promised they’d only play in the village. He promised me!”

  “What about Jess’s barn?”

  “I told them not to play in there. It’s too dangerous with all that scaffolding.”

  “Did you call the Hall?”

  “I got that stupid butler on the phone, so I hung up, and Rupert won’t answer his damn phone! That’s why I’m here.”

  “I understand.” I tried to keep my voice calm, but her fear was contagious. “Have you called the police yet?”

  She shook her head. “No. I don’t want … I don’t want my ex to find out about this. He’s already tried to take Max away from me once.”

  “Alright. Drive to the Hall and tell them. I’ll call my mother and Alfred. Also ask Eric and the Croppers. If the boys did come here, we’ll soon find them. Rupert knows all Harry’s favorite haunts. I’ll go back to the village and check Jess’s barn.”

  Pippa nodded mutely.

  As I headed back to the village, I rang my mother, who was predictably irritated. “I’m really in the middle of something,” she said. “But I’m sure Alfred will help. You know, I think this new book of mine is going to be the best ever. Do you really think Betrayal is a good title?”

  As I sped back to the village I kept my eyes peeled for Max and Harry. The problem was that there were so many tiny lanes leading off from one another. They could be anywhere.

  Much as I tried to reassure Pippa that they were safe, a part of me feared otherwise.

  As St. Mary’s loomed in the distance, I caught sight of a light flaring inside the church again. It was just for an instant. Perhaps they’d been hiding in there all the time.

  I left a message on Pippa’s mobile, parked my car and went to find them.

  The village seemed eerily deserted. With Muriel’s, Pippa’s and Violet’s cottages all in darkness and the full moon hidden by heavy dark clo
uds, the air felt unusually full of menace.

  Large spots of rain began to fall faster and faster. I raced across the grass and into the front porch of the church just as the heavens opened. I stepped inside and remembered there was no electricity.

  Fortunately, my iPhone flashlight worked just as well.

  “Harry?” I called out. “I know you boys are in here.”

  There was no response. I started to walk slowly up the aisle, flicking the beam up and down the box pews.

  Still nothing except the sound of my shoes clicking on the quarry tile and the wind gusting against the stained-glass windows.

  “This is not funny!” I said sharply. “Stop messing around and come out right now. You both have to go to school tomorrow and it’s getting far too late. Max, your mother is worried about you.”

  Still there was no answer.

  I gave a thorough search of the church, into the vestry, looking under the refectory table and into the cupboards.

  Harry’s white scarf was lying on the floor by the Parish chest.

  To my surprise, the padlock was dangling by the hasp. Curious, I lifted it and discovered a treasure trove of bizarre objects. A china Dalmatian; a tea caddy; Muriel’s pink Croc; a Crown Derby teapot; a book on Greenway, Agatha Christie’s home; a beautiful leather Chanel purse; a set of makeup brushes still in their original packaging; a leather riding crop that I knew belonged to Lavinia and there—right at the bottom—Jazzbo Jenkins.

  My heart sank. So it was true. Max and Harry had been stealing after all and squirreling their loot in the old Parish chest. I was very disappointed.

  Hearing footsteps hurrying behind me, I was just about to turn when an arm was thrown around my neck and a hand clamped a damp cloth over my nose and mouth.

  I doubled over, trying to escape the suffocating stench. It was cloying, sickly, nauseating—and very familiar.

  My head ached. My heart began to race and then … I plunged into darkness.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  My head felt like lead and my eyes so heavy it was hard to open them. There was a disgusting taste in my mouth. I doubled over and threw up into a plastic bucket just as hands grabbed my hair and held it away from my face.