Deadly Desires at Honeychurch Hall Read online

  “A five!” Roxy gasped. “Blimey, my little brother takes a seven and he’s only twelve.”

  “Rupert has always had a thing about the size of his feet,” said Lavinia.

  “Lavinia!” Rupert hissed, clearly horrified by such a personal revelation.

  I heard Mum snigger and dared not look at her.

  “Well, that counts you out, m’lord,” said Roxy, barely suppressing a grin.

  “What about Eric?” Mum asked. “He’s got big feet.”

  “We have already spoken to Eric. He takes a size ten.”

  “Can we leave now?” said Rupert. “I’ve got a lot of phone calls to make following this debacle.”

  “Very well.” Shawn nodded. “If we need to ask you any questions, we know where to find you.”

  Rupert and Lavinia left the kitchen and the four of us sat down. The shoes made a sinister centerpiece on the kitchen table. “Do you mind if we move those?” said Shawn.

  Roxy put them back in the bag.

  “Scams are often personal,” said Shawn. “I know that there is something you are not telling me.”

  “There is,” I said. “My mother wants to protect Lavinia but this is what happened.” I recounted the conversation I’d overheard in the cupboard but left out Lavinia’s so-called mental affair. “I think Lavinia felt she owed Benedict something in a way.”

  “They knew each other as children,” said Mum defensively. “She trusted him.”

  “And of course, being a family friend, no one would think to question it,” said Shawn.

  “Seriously? Does that woman even have a brain?” said Roxy. “She’s so gullible. She’ll believe anything.”

  “Scroope was obviously trying to wangle in on her wealthy friends,” said Shawn.

  I nodded in agreement, adding, “Valentine asked me all kinds of questions about the Honeychurch family money, too.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me that?” said Mum crossly.

  “Ms. Stanford, how well did you know the deceased?” Shawn asked. We were back to Ms. Stanford again. This did not bode well. “You were seen coming out of his bedroom on Monday evening.”

  “Who said it was his bedroom?” said Mum, springing to my defense. “It could have been an upstairs sitting room.”

  Shawn looked surprised but nodded to Roxy all the same. She withdrew a copy of Wednesday’s Daily Post from her bottomless bag under the table.

  “You’re a bit behind the times,” said Mum. “We’ve already seen that. Didn’t you realize the shoe I gave you was wrapped up in page three?”

  “KAT AND HER NEW MAN,” Shawn read aloud. “It must have been embarrassing finding out that you had—in essence—endorsed this scam by agreeing to be the spokesperson. When word got out, it would have damaged your reputation.”

  “I didn’t know about the scam until about an hour ago,” I pointed out. “And if you must know, I was talking to Valentine in his … suite … about my mother’s options.”

  “And the sale at Chillingford Court,” said Mum. “He was a bit of a collector, apparently.”

  “When you came to the police station on Wednesday, you told me that you had fallen from a horse—”

  “Seriously? You think I got into a fight with Valentine?” I exclaimed. “You can check with the dowager countess if you don’t believe me. She was there when I came off.”

  Shawn reddened. “No need to get upset. I’m just asking routine questions.”

  “You should ask Patty,” said Mum. “She did Valentine in. He mowed down her mother and she got her revenge.”

  “Ms. Gully doesn’t wear a man’s shoe size eleven,” said Shawn. “Let’s go over the timing again, shall we? When did you first suspect something was awry?”

  “On Tuesday,” I said wearily. “I already told you this, Shawn. After I found Valentine’s walking cane in the field.”

  “Kat said it was nowhere near Coffin Mire,” Mum chimed in.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Stanford,” said Shawn. “Allow the police to do their job.”

  “And I think the walking cane was the murder weapon!” Mum went on. “The French bulldog handle looked pretty sharp. We didn’t see any blood on there but of course, it’s been raining.”

  “I’d like to take a look at that,” said Shawn.

  “Can’t you spray illumination on it?” Mum asked.

  “You mean Luminol,” said Shawn. “I can assure you that forensics will take care of that.”

  “Or it could have been one of those placards,” I suggested. “They were heavy. Did you go and talk to Ogwell?”

  “Yes. The car is being examined at our vehicular recovery center as we speak.”

  “I still don’t understand why Valentine put the placards in the SUV,” said Mum. “Or do you think he panicked after hitting poor Joyce?”

  “I’m afraid we can’t comment on that at this time,” Shawn said pompously. “What else can you tell us about Monday?”

  “We met him on Monday afternoon,” said Mum.

  Shawn seemed surprised. “You met him earlier in the day?”

  “Down by Cavalier Copse,” said Mum. “We were picking sloes.”

  “And Harry said he’d been waiting for us,” I reminded her.

  Roxy frowned. “But how would he have known that you would have been there?”

  “Lavinia,” Mum and I chorused. “Mrs. Cropper may have told her that we were out picking sloes; Lavinia told Benedict and Benedict told Valentine.”

  “You two should be detectives,” said Roxy dryly.

  “Valentine got very jittery when I mentioned that David had friends at the ministry,” I recalled. “Perhaps that was what spooked him.”

  “Yes,” Mum agreed. “He must have known it was only a matter of time before he got found out.”

  “I felt that Valentine was pushed into the protest meeting,” I went on. “He had seemed unprepared and claimed that none of his presentation materials had arrived. He had also mentioned that he wanted to talk to everyone personally about their options first.”

  “Of course he’d want to meet with them alone!” Roxy scoffed. “Far more effective speaking in someone’s home and frightening them half to death.”

  “In fact, when Patty and I pulled into the pub car park on Monday night, I saw Valentine on his mobile outside.” I distinctly remembered Valentine pacing up and down. “He seemed very agitated.”

  “So let’s go back to Monday night,” said Shawn. “After the protest meeting, where did you go?”

  “I drove Patty and Angela home…” A flash of Joyce, facedown in the water, filled my vision. “You know the rest.”

  “What time did you get back?” said Shawn.

  “Angela and I waited until the paramedics left and Doreen took Patty back to the Hare & Hounds for a little while—”

  “Are you telling us that Patty didn’t spend the night at the pub?” Shawn said sharply.

  “Doreen said Patty insisted on being in her own bed.”

  Roxy leaned into Shawn and whispered something into his ear. He gave a nod. “So what time did you get home, Ms. Stanford?”

  I shrugged. “Eleven-thirty. Maybe midnight—you can check with Angela.”

  “We did,” said Roxy. “Angela denied it.”

  I gasped. “Seriously? I walked her into her house because she was so freaked out by everything.”

  “Not according to Angela,” said Roxy.

  “Of course she’d deny it,” Mum said crossly. “She blames Kat for the cow incident.”

  “Oh for heaven’s sakes!” I said. “I was at the auction with my mother all of Wednesday afternoon and evening—apart from when Angela Parks was trampled by cows. I haven’t seen Valentine since Monday!”

  “Speaking of Angela Parks,” said Roxy. “She is suing you for negligence claiming that she will never act again because of losing her front teeth. Apparently she was going to audition for that upstairs-downstairs drama.”

  “Downton Abbey?” said Mum with a sno
rt. “Who are they killing off this time?”

  “We’re not talking about yesterday.” Shawn was getting exasperated. “Valentine Prince-Avery was killed in the early hours of Tuesday morning.”

  “That’s not possible,” I said. “I’ve been exchanging text messages with Valentine—oh, but … there was a message.”

  “A message?” Shawn exclaimed. “We’ll want to listen to that.”

  I grabbed my tote bag and handed Shawn my mobile. He dialed voice mail and hit speaker.

  “Kat, I will never give up. I know you don’t believe me but when you kissed—”

  “Sorry, wrong one.” I snatched the phone away and hit delete. My face was burning with embarrassment.

  “That was David Wynne,” said Mum. “In case you were wondering.”

  “We weren’t,” said Shawn gruffly.

  “Here, this is it.” I handed Shawn the phone again and we all listened to Valentine’s last message. “Call me back. It’s urgent. I must—”

  “And did you call?” said Shawn.

  “Yes. Several times but the voice mailbox was full.”

  “What about the text messages you got the night Alfred arrived?” said Mum.

  “Here, three text messages.” I showed Shawn. “The first text was just the letter ‘k.’ The second was the letter ‘j,’ and the third said, ‘Hello all ok.’”

  “These messages were sent at ten-thirty Tuesday night,” said Roxy. “Valentine was dead by then.”

  “How can you be so sure?” I said.

  “I studied anthropology at uni,” said Roxy. “These valley mires are really deep deposits of peat that originate from sphagnum moss. A body can be perfectly preserved in peat—we’re talking skin, hair, and internal organs. It means we can pinpoint the exact time of death. Look at Lindow Man.”

  “Valentine only died on Monday,” said Mum. “Not in the middle of the first century.”

  Shawn snapped his fingers. “When we recovered the body, there wasn’t a mobile phone on him—was there?”

  “The only things in Prince-Avery’s pockets were house keys, car rental keys, and his wallet with a driver’s license,” said Roxy.

  “So who made the phone call to Ogwell telling them to pick up the car?” Mum asked. “My brother Alfred saw it being towed around four o’ clock.”

  “Probably Benedict trying to buy some time and keep up the pretense that Valentine was still alive,” I suggested.

  Shawn gave a heavy sigh. “I think we can safely assume that Benedict Scroope is our prime suspect.”

  “And I think we can safely assume that he’s probably halfway back to the Zanzibar Archipelago by now.” Mum scowled. “With our identities, money, and God knows what else.”

  “I’m afraid you are probably right.” Shawn rose from the table. “We’ll obviously do all we can but unfortunately, it looks like Scroope has had a head start. Come on, Roxy, we’d better get back to the station.”

  Mum saw them out and returned to the kitchen grim-faced.

  “At least your money in Jersey is safe,” I said lightly but Mum didn’t laugh.

  “He’ll get away with it,” said Mum. “It’s too late and we’ll never be able to prove anything. Even if they catch him, no one can confirm those shoes were his or that he was even anywhere near Coffin Mire.”

  “Unless Patty saw something, after all?” I suggested.

  “Let’s have a gin and tonic,” said Mum. “Gin always gives me a clear head.”

  Armed with a glass each, Mum took a large gulp. “If Benedict was there that night and those were his shoes, he must have driven back to the hotel in his socks!”

  “Clever you! Gin does make you clearheaded!” I exclaimed. “You call the hotel this time in case it’s Lester and he recognizes my voice.”

  Mum called the Dart Marina Hotel and fortunately got Mary. She handed me the receiver. Mary was only too happy to tell me about the night porter’s tale of a strange guest who had returned in the early hours of Tuesday morning wearing muddy socks. She also confirmed that Benedict checked out early. He had been booked to stay until the coming weekend.

  “And speaking of socks,” said Mum after I’d rejoined her at the kitchen table. “Since Valentine also checked out early at the Hare & Hounds, what happened to his clothes?”

  “You’re right,” I said. “He had an overnight bag. I saw it when I went into his room. Let’s call Doreen and ask if he left it behind.”

  Doreen was predictably outraged the moment she recognized my voice. News of the scam and the body in the mire had traveled as quickly as only news in a small village would. Instantaneously.

  “We’re all gutted,” Doreen went on. “And of course, it’s hard not to blame Eric. He was the one who brought this crook into our lives.”

  “You can’t blame Eric completely,” I protested. “He was just as taken in as the rest of us.”

  “No. Apparently, his lordship has insisted that Eric repay every single penny any of us invested. Personally.”

  It would appear that Eric had taken one for the Honeychurch team to protect Lavinia’s reputation. That took a lot of guts.

  “Looking on the bright side,” I said. “At least Fred the duck will be safe now along with all the wildlife—one more thing, who cleaned Valentine’s bedroom?”

  I put the phone down. “Yes. Patty definitely cleaned Valentine’s bedroom.”

  Mum gave a squeak of excitement. “I remember! I saw her on Tuesday after I’d met Lavinia for the money drop. Patty was carrying a leather holdall bag and walking home in the pouring rain. I offered to give her a lift but she refused.”

  “She stole it—just like she took your money,” I said. “That’s just the kind of thing Patty would do.”

  “What if the police are wrong and Patty had something to do with killing Valentine after all?” said Mum.

  “Patty hasn’t the strength to drag a man across the grass and roll him into the mire,” I said. “And if he was drunk, it would be practically impossible to move him.”

  “Let’s go back to Monday night,” said Mum. “You left the pub with Patty and Angela. Was Valentine’s car still in the car park?”

  “No. It had gone.”

  “So then you drove down the lane to Bridge Cottage and see Joyce’s mobility scooter laying—where exactly?”

  “It had toppled over and thrown Joyce out.” I shuddered at the memory. “That part of the lane is very steep and it’s covered in mud and leaves.”

  “So then Patty goes to the Hare & Hounds with Doreen but changes her mind and heads back home to bed.”

  I nodded.

  “She saw something,” said Mum firmly. “I’d bet my last pound she did.”

  “And we know that at this time of year it is possible to see Cavalier Copse from Bridge Cottage through the trees.”

  “Patty looks out of her rear window and sees Valentine removing the signs and taking them to his car. How many placards were there?”

  “Ten placards—excluding the one left behind in the undergrowth,” I said. “Valentine would have had to have made several trips.”

  “Patty watches him and starts to get angry. She’s already in a state of shock—”

  “So she goes to confront him.”

  We both paused.

  “And then what?” I said.

  “Patty phones Benedict?” Mum ventured.

  “Why would she and anyway, Patty doesn’t have a phone,” I reminded her. “Maybe Benedict was the man who called Valentine before the meeting when he was in the car park,” I went on. “Maybe Benedict got worried when Valentine left in a huff. Maybe he knew where he was going. There was an argument. It turned violent…”

  “And as far as Benedict was concerned, Valentine’s body should never have been found. It was supposed to sink to the bottom of the mire.”

  “Exactly!” I said. “When I went to the pub with the walking cane Benedict was there. Patty, too. She said that Valentine had already caught the train ba
ck to London. Valentine even offered to return the walking cane for me!”

  “I bet Patty still has Valentine’s overnight bag,” said Mum.

  “There was an iPad as well in there—and maybe Valentine’s mobile.”

  We book looked at each other and came to the same conclusion at the same time.

  “We’ve got to talk to Patty.”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  It was dusk by the time we reached Bridge Cottage. The place was in darkness. As expected, no one answered the front door despite our repeated calls. We were able to get the front door open a crack but it looked as if a piece of furniture had been pushed against it.

  “Let’s try the back,” I said.

  “This place gives me the creeps,” said Mum.

  We headed around the side of the building, trying our best to navigate the rubbish.

  “Why didn’t you bring a flashlight?” I said.

  “I thought you would have one.”

  The kitchen door stood ajar.

  “I don’t like this, Kat,” whispered Mum.

  My stomach began to churn. “Nor me.”

  We stepped into the kitchen and were plunged into darkness.

  “What’s that funny plasticky smell?” said Mum. “Can you smell it?”

  “Yes. It feels warm in here, too,” I said, recalling how cold the place had been just the day before.

  I fumbled for the light switch and flipped it.

  Mum gasped. “Patty’s been robbed!”

  “No, she lives like this,” I said. “But wait—” The kitchen cupboards stood wide open, drawers had been upended, and all the contents dumped on the floor.

  We picked our way through the chaos into the sitting room and I flipped the light there, too.

  “Oh. My. God. You weren’t joking when you said she was a hoarder,” said Mum. “This is disgusting.”

  The mess that I’d seen just days ago was the same—but different. Black dustbin liners of clothes had been upended, too, furniture had been moved, and the reason we couldn’t get in through the front door was because a large armchair had been wedged against it.

  “Someone has been here looking for something,” I said.

  “Listen!” Mum hissed. We both fell quiet. “Can you hear that dragging noise?”