A Killer Ball at Honeychurch Hall (19 page)

“Oh don't look so surprised,” said Mum coyly. “I told you that men still find me—”

“
Alluring,
I know,” I said. “But I thought you told me that when you kissed him it was like being washed by a cat.”

Mum's face fell. “Well. It is—was,” she said. “He hasn't changed.”

“You mean—he tried to
kiss
you?”

“Tried? He did!” Mum said indignantly. “He got me cornered in the tack room. Apparently I'd promised him—whatever it was I promised him—back in 1958 and he'd come back to claim it.”

“What a creep!”

“He never forgot me. Or so he said.” Mum's expression was hard. “I'm not stupid. He was a womanizer then and he's a womanizer now—
was
a womanizer.” Mum was growing angry. “He was Mr. Charming—all hearts and flowers—and jewelry as a matter of fact. Bryan loved the chase but once he got his girl, he lost interest. He went through all the girls in the village but of course, I was always the one who got away … because we went away!”

“I don't feel so sorry that he's dead now,” I said.

“He broke a lot of hearts—even poor Peggy although she daren't admit it.”

“Mrs. Cropper,” I said. “You don't think Seth Cropper—”

“I wouldn't know,” Mum said darkly. “But she told me that Seth has a bit of a temper.”

“Seth Cropper has got about as much backbone as an amoeba. I can't see him beating Bryan to a pulp.” I thought for a moment. “Why didn't you tell me all this before?”

“I'm telling you now.”

“How did it all end this evening?”

“For him? Not very well.”

“Mother! It's not funny!”

“I hit him.”

I groaned.

“Gave him a right hook,” Mum went on. “He went down and caught his forehead on an old saddle peg.”

“But he was
alive
.”

“Of course he was alive!” Mum said hotly. “I grabbed a pitchfork and threatened to hit him with that unless he left me alone. He got up, apologized for his behavior and walked out as fit as a fiddle.”

“I really want to believe you,” I said.

“It's the truth. I swear to God. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“So you'll tell Shawn what you've just told me?”

Mum shook her head vehemently. “Of course I can't tell Shawn! If Alfred found out he'll take the blame. I know he will.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Katherine,” Mum said sadly. “There is so much you don't know about me.”

It was with a heavy heart that I climbed the stairs to my bedroom. Mum was right. It was only since my father died that I was beginning to really get to know my mother for the first time. I'd known nothing about her colorful past and I'd never thought to ask her. To me, she was just my lovely Mum who was always waiting for me to come home from school. I hadn't even thought to question her frequent migraines that turned out to be excuses for her to keep writing her romance novels in her bedroom. But I'd accepted her reasons for not telling me the truth and had forgiven her. It just seemed that the proverbial skeletons kept on coming out of the closet.

At first, I'd been angry and disappointed that she had kept so much from me about the traveling fair and boxing emporium and her life on the road. Perhaps ten years ago, I would have been embarrassed at my background. Back then I was a different person and was the first to admit to being a bit superficial and materialistic—but not anymore.

I stood at my bedroom window gazing out at Cromwell Meadows. I could see the glare from the halogen lights through the trees that presumably marked the location of the culvert and where Rupert had discovered Bryan's body.

I was deeply troubled. I didn't want to accept the obvious. My mother was absolutely involved. Mum had admitted to finding
Lady Chatterley's Lover
in the hayloft. This same book then turned up in the first hide and even had Mum's name in the flyleaf for good measure. Then, there was Mum's fight with Pandora over the Cleopatra costume that had been witnessed by Peggy Cropper. And most damning of all, someone had forged a thank you letter purporting to be from Pandora and posted it from St. Ives, a known stop made by the fair and traveling boxing emporium. I had to wonder if Alfred was involved, too.

I kept replaying the scene from the warehouse. What had possessed Alfred to steal other works of art? And even worse—they were still in my car! Hopefully, David would still be on his honeymoon in Hawaii but it wouldn't take long for him hear about it. In situations like this he was always the first man they called.

And then there was Ginny.

 

Chapter Eighteen

“We've been summoned to the Hall at ten,” said Mum as I joined her for breakfast.

She looked very much the worse for wear with large dark rings beneath her eyes although I wasn't sure if that was a hangover or a sleepless night from a guilty conscience.

She took one look at me and said, “You look awful.”

“You don't look so bright, either.”

“I've got a headache,” Mum grumbled. “Now I remember why I never drink brandy.”

I poured myself a cup of tea and Mum clutched her head when I thrust the bread into the toaster. “Do you have to
thrust
it down like that?”

“Have you seen Alfred this morning?” I asked. “He's still got those paintings in my car!”

“Stop fussing,” said Mum. “Alfred knows what he is doing.”

Even so, it made me very nervous.

At five minutes to ten Cropper answered the front door dressed in his butler regalia. He did not say good morning or utter a greeting of any kind. In fact, he just opened the door and drifted off at his usual glacial speed. I tried to imagine him as a young lad with raging testosterone, bouncing off the walls and wooing Peggy Cropper. I was quite relieved that I couldn't.

How quickly life changed. Just two days ago, the biggest problem seemed to be how to repair a rare plasterwork ceiling. Now, we were discussing two murders and one missing person.

Cropper ushered us into the library. It was freezing cold with the only heat coming from a fire that roared in the grate. Unfortunately, Rupert, dressed smartly in cords and tweed jacket, was standing with his back to it absorbing most of the warmth. Cromwell, his deaf, old English setter, lay dozing, stretched along the hearth. Edith and Lavinia were sitting on the leather Chesterfield sofa with ramrod straight backs. Lavinia was dressed in jodhpurs and jacket with her hair clamped under a thick hairnet. Edith wore a navy calf-length suit with a cameo brooch at her throat. Her gray hair lay in neat pin curls and she held a pair of dark navy gloves in one hand and a small purse in the other. She looked dressed for an occasion.

None of them looked up as we walked in and when I said, “hello,” no one acknowledged us whatsoever.

Presumably, news that a serious crime had been committed was no substitute for my so-called interview with the
Daily Post
.

“Where would you like us to sit, your lordship?” Mum meekly asked Rupert.

Rupert gestured to the window where Eric and Alfred stood to attention in their socks, with caps in hand.

“I'm sorry, your lordship,” said Mum. “But you mean you want us to stand?”

Rupert just glared. Mum pulled her mink closer. We trooped over to line up with the men.

During the uncomfortable silence that followed, I took in the room—a man's domain that I always admired. The walls were papered with marbled pages from old books and smelled of cigars. One entire wall sported a mahogany floor-to-ceiling bookcase filled with leather-bound collections. Heavy dark crimson brocade curtains framed the two casement windows that overlooked the parkland toward the ornamental lake.

A captain's chair stood behind a walnut partners' desk. I noticed that Rupert had deliberately propped the
Daily Post
—showing the headlines—up against a letter rack.

“How immature,” Mum muttered, echoing my thoughts.

Oil paintings of animals—stags, dead pheasants and shot rabbits—cluttered every empty wall space.

On top of a long mahogany dresser were display cases filled with carefully posed stuffed animals—a Victorian hobby that I never really understood—badges, foxes, ferrets, an owl and various birds of prey. One glass case held the famous bloodstained hawk that one of the Honeychurch ancestors had brought back from the Crimea. A pair of rabbits, playfully dancing on a bed of imitation grass, reminded me of Harry and his pillow mounds at Jane's Cottage.

“Where is Harry this morning?” I asked.

“Roxy has taken him out for a walk with Mr. Chips,” Shawn answered as he breezed into the room followed by Detective Constable Clive Banks—who Mum insisted on calling Captain Pugwash thanks to his heavy black beard. He was carrying a plastic shopping bag.

“Uh-oh,” whispered Mum. “They've found something.”

Mrs. Cropper wasn't far behind. Judging by the amount of flour that covered her pink striped pinafore over her plain white linen dress, she had probably been in the middle of baking. She stopped next to Mum. The two of them exchanged a look that smacked of some kind of agreement. When I searched Mum's face for a clue, she just smiled.

We fell into
another
uncomfortable silence whilst Shawn and Clive went into a huddle in the corner.

“Is this going to take long, Shawn?” Lavinia demanded. “I'm frightfully busy this morning now that Edith's going to church.”

“Church?”
Rupert exclaimed. “You never go to church, Mother.”

“Well today I am going to church,” Edith declared.

Mum whispered into my ear. “That's a sign of guilt if ever there was one.”

The comment wasn't lost on Shawn, either. I caught an exchange of looks between himself and Clive.

“The sooner we get this over with, the sooner you can all go about your business,” said Shawn somewhat pompously. “And you can go to church, m'lady.”

“Surely we're not suspects, Shawn.” Lavinia gave a nervous laugh. “Golly. You don't think this has anything to do with that frightful reporter being abducted, do you?”

“We're not ruling anything out at the present time.” Shawn took a deep breath. “The truth is, I want to give each of you a chance to tell me what happened before the boys from Plymouth sweep in.”

Lavinia gave a cry of dismay. “Why can't we keep it between ourselves?”

“Don't be ridiculous, Lav,” said Rupert. “The
Daily Post
let the cat out of the bag by covering the Pandora fiasco.”

“It wasn't a
fiasco
!” Edith's face was a sea of emotions—something I'd never witnessed before and judging by Rupert's surprise, he hadn't, either. “How can you be so callous, Rupert? Say what you like about Pandora but the thought of the poor girl being here all the time, right under this very roof is too frightful to bear. I am deeply shocked. I want to know who did such a terrible thing.”

Rupert had the grace to look embarrassed. “Whoever was responsible is most likely dead themselves by now, Mother. That's all I meant by that.”

“Not according to the article in the
Daily Post,
” Edith exclaimed. “That young girl implied she had firm evidence to prove otherwise.”

“Have there been any more developments yet, Shawn?” Rupert demanded.

“We have a few leads, m'lord,” said Shawn. “But obviously, Bryan Laney's
murder
must take priority.”

“The press will be back.” Rupert glowered at me. “But I'm quite sure that Katherine here will have learned her lesson and not agree to any more interviews.”

“I can assure you that nothing will come from me,” I said sharply. Although I had to admit I was growing tired of the Honeychurch clan feeling that they were above the law.

“Right then, let's get started.” Shawn took a deep breath. “Bryan Laney was killed last night. He was attacked out in Eric's field—”

“The culvert,” Eric piped up. “Not my field. I wasn't there.”

“You'll get your turn in a minute, Eric,” said Shawn. “Now, where was I?”

“Was there a weapon?” Mum demanded.

“Ah—yes, I'm coming to that,” said Shawn. “As I was saying, we're waiting for the results of the postmortem but we're confident that he was struck over the head with a tire iron that had been purloined from Eric's scrapyard.”

There was a universal gasp of horror. Including one from me. “How horrible!”

“Thank God,” Mum whispered to me. “That lets me off the hook.”

“Tire iron?” said Eric. “How do you know it belonged to me?”

“The weapon was discovered in a nearby hedge,” said Shawn. “But as I was saying. “Bryan Laney grew up here…”

“Bryan was a distant cousin of my land agent's,” Edith said suddenly. “I believe he enlisted in the Navy the minute he was eligible to apply. That's all I know.”

“Where
is
Laney?” Rupert demanded.

“He's on safari,” said Edith. “He won't be back for two more weeks.”

“We've not been able to reach him yet, sir,” Clive said to Shawn. “They're somewhere out in the bush.”

“I bet Bryan had a girl in every port,” Mum whispered to me.

“If you have something to add, Iris,” Shawn said. “I'm sure we're all ears.”

“I said I bet he had a girl in every port,” Mum declared. “Don't you agree, Peggy?”

“I wouldn't know,” said Mrs. Cropper hastily and found something very interesting to brush off her apron.

“Yes, you do,” Mum persisted. “Remember?”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” said Mrs. Cropper, shooting a look at her husband who was dozing in the corner.