British Manor Murder (6 page)

“Wouldn't you think they'd want to enjoy the view?” asked Lucy in a puzzled tone.

“Maybe it's just for storage,” said Sue as the door suddenly opened and a tall, leggy blonde popped out.

“Hi!” exclaimed Lucy, somewhat surprised.

The blonde didn't reply, but merely tossed her long, professionally highlighted hair over her shoulder and hoisted a huge shoulder bag into place under her arm before striding off on her very high heels.

“Not exactly country clothes,” observed Sue. “She was wearing Louboutins.”

“Loulouwhats?” asked Lucy, seating herself on the stone steps of the folly and gazing into the distance.

“Louboutins. Very expensive shoes. I recognized the red soles,” said Sue, sitting beside her.

“You're looking at shoes. I'm looking at the view. Have you ever seen anything lovelier?”

Sue nodded, admiring the nearby pasture dotted with cows, the neat fields enclosed by hedges, the fringe of woodland, and the blue hills beyond. “God must be an Englishman,” she said.

“So I've heard,” agreed Lucy, leaning her shoulder against a pillar. She was stretching her neck when a sudden “humph” startled her and she turned to see that Gerald was standing behind them.

“Marvelous view, eh?” he said, pocketing a set of keys.

“Absolutely,” said Sue.

“We've just been admiring the temple,” said Lucy. “What's it used for, if you don't mind my asking?”

“Uh, storage—chairs and cushions, that sort of thing.”

“Can we see?” asked Lucy.

“Sorry, but no can do. Don't have the key.”

“No matter,” said Sue, giving Lucy a reproving glance. “We ought to be heading back to the manor.”

“Good idea, good idea,” he said, sputtering like a walrus, “but be careful of the ha-ha. Wouldn't want to tumble into a cow pat would you?”

“We'll be careful,” said Lucy.

Gerald lumbered awkwardly down the steps, then turned to face them. “It's never a good idea to go looking for trouble,” he said before marching off.

Chapter Six

“W
hat was that all about?” asked Lucy, pulling herself to her feet and finding the maneuver rather painful.

“He's obviously having an affair with the blonde,” said Sue, “and doesn't want us to mention seeing them.”

“Gerald? With that gorgeous girl?”

“Yes, Lucy. Older rich guy, ambitious young woman. It's a tale as old as time.”

“Poor Poppy,” said Lucy. “She seems so nice.”

“Nice isn't any help at all when a man decides to stray,” said Sue as they walked together along the path.

Lucy was silent for a while, then spoke up. “No wonder he was so defensive when I asked to see inside the folly.”

“He's probably got a little love nest in there.”

“How horrible. There are probably spiders.” Lucy disliked dark, dank spaces. “It was obvious he had the keys, even though he said he didn't.”

“You're a regular Sherlock Holmes.” Sue stepped aside to let some visitors pass. “Shall we investigate the amazing maze?”

The way to the maze was clearly marked and took them past rolling lawns dotted with trees and bluebells. There was no attendant at the maze entrance, which was simply a gap in a tall wall of privet hedge.

Lucy hesitated. “What if we can't find our way out?”

“Don't be silly,” said Sue.” How hard can it be?”

“At this point, I don't think I could do a connect-the-dots,” said Lucy with a sigh.

“Well, I think we have to try it. What will the folks back home think?”

“How would they even know?” grumbled Lucy, following Sue as she stepped boldly into the maze.

At the first intersection, she insisted on turning right. “There's always a key to these things, and it's usually to keep turning the same way, so we'll go right.”

“Why right?” asked Lucy.

“Why not?” replied Sue, confident as ever. Nevertheless, they followed the narrow mowed paths lined on either side with twelve-foot tall hedges and kept turning right at every intersection until they encountered the same statue of a cupid that they'd seen before.

“Uh-oh,” said Lucy. “I'm afraid we're just going in circles.”

“Maybe there's two of these little guys,” said Sue.

“I doubt it, Sue, and I'm really tired,” said Lucy, pulling her cell phone out of her pocket. “I think we should call for help.”

“Not yet,” protested Sue. “Let's try going left.”

“Which way is left?” asked Lucy.

“I don't know,” admitted Sue. “I thought I had a good sense of direction, but I'm all turned around.”

“That settles it,” said Lucy. “I'm calling.”

Perry took the call with some amusement and promised to send someone to lead them out.

True to his word, it was only a matter of minutes before a gardener showed up. He was a good-looking, muscular young man with sun-bleached blond hair, and was wearing an unbuttoned plaid shirt over a tight wife-beater shirt and jeans.

“This is so embarrassing,” said Sue, greeting him with a rueful smile.

“Not to worry,” said the gardener. “It happens more than you might think.”

“Is there a trick to it?” asked Sue, who was unable to resist twisting a bit of hair flirtatiously around her finger. “You found us very quickly.”

“It's pretty simple, really. Do you want to go to the center of the maze, where there is a charming bit of sculpture clearly designed to promote a bit of dalliance or would you rather go directly to the exit?”

Lucy began, “It is getting rather late—”

“Oh, I think we want to see the naughty sculpture,” interrupted Sue with a definite twinkle in her eye.

“Righto,” he said, leading the way. “It's left, right, left and so on until you reach the center and then it's right, left, right until you come to the exit.”

“That's rather a lot to keep straight,” said Lucy, who was finding the narrow pathways rather claustrophobic. “I don't know what we'd do if you hadn't come to our rescue.”

“I was double-digging a flower bed, so it's you who came to my rescue,” said the young fellow.

“We really appreciate your help,” said Sue. “By the way, what's your name?”

“Geoff. Just Geoff will do.” He stepped aside with a flourish so they could enter the center of the maze. “Meet Diana, Goddess of the Hunt,” he said, indicating the statue that was the centerpiece of the outdoor room.

It wasn't the nude sculpture that caught their attention, however, but the prone body of a young man lying at her feet.

“Oy! What's this?” exclaimed Geoff in a take charge voice. He strode across the neatly clipped grass and bent over the young man, shaking his shoulder.

Lucy stood next to Sue, trying to understand this unexpected and shocking situation. She studied the man on the ground, observing that he was young and was wearing tight jeans and a black T-shirt; he had a shaved head and his arms were covered with tattoos. She thought he must have passed out, perhaps from a diabetic coma or a drug overdose.

“Shall we go for help?” she asked before realizing the question was foolish.

Geoff pulled a cell phone from his pocket. “I think it may be too late.” He raised the phone to his ear and spoke into it then turned to Lucy and Sue. “It seems you're going to have to stay and give a statement, so you might as well make yourselves comfortable,” he said, indicating a stone bench some distance from the body.

“Is he dead?” asked Sue, who had begun to tremble.

Lucy took her hand and led her to the bench, where they both sat down.

“I'm afraid so,” said Geoff. “I've called the office and they will call the authorities and arrange for the maze to be closed to visitors. I'm to stay with you until—” Hearing laughter he broke off and went to head off the visitors.

They could hear him explaining that there had been an accident and the maze would have to be closed to visitors today and then giving them directions to the exit.

“This is so horrible,” said Sue, who was unable to take her eyes off the corpse.

Lucy wrapped an arm around her friend's shoulder and patted her hand in that automatic way people do when they're trying to offer comfort. All the while, she was wondering how this person came to die in the maze at a stately home.

“He doesn't look like your typical visitor,” she said, turning to Geoff. “Does he work here?”

“Not that I know of. I've never seen him before.”

“Do you think he had one of those heart problems you hear about? Everything's okay until you drop dead?” asked Sue.

“Maybe he got scared and stressed by being in the maze,” said Lucy.

“No, I think it was a drug overdose,” said Geoff. “There's a syringe on the ground, next to the body.”

“But why would anybody pay ten pounds admission to shoot up in the Moreton Manor maze?” wondered Lucy. “It doesn't make sense.”

“It's beyond me,” said Geoff, looking up as two uniformed police officers arrived. They were both men, one was black and the other white, and they went straight to the body.

“Naloxone?” inquired one.

“Too late,” said the other. “Better call for the medical examiner.”

While the black officer busied himself with his radio, the white officer introduced himself as he withdrew a leather-covered notebook from his pocket. “I'm PC Floyd. That's my colleague PC Lahiri. Can you identify the victim?”

“Afraid not,” said Geoff. “These ladies got lost in the maze, called for help, and I was sent to lead them out. I called the office as soon as we discovered the body.”

“And when was that?”

“About ten minutes ago,” said Geoff.

“I'll need your names and addresses,” said PC Floyd, opening the notebook and making a notation. After he'd taken down their information, he fixed his eye on Geoff. “Are you sure you do not know the victim?”

“Never seen him before,” said Geoff rather quickly.

“Absolutely not,” said Sue.

“Same here,” said Lucy as a fortyish woman in a white jumpsuit arrived, accompanied by Harold Quimby.

“Thanks for showing me the way,” she said, dismissing him and turning to PC Lahiri. “So what's the story?”

“Unidentified corpse, discovered twenty minutes ago,” he said.

Quimby was speaking with PC Floyd. “May I take these ladies back to the manor? They're guests of the earl and I'm sure this has been very upsetting for them.”

“No problem,” replied the officer.

“Will there be an investigation?” asked Quimby.

PC Floyd shook his head. “Most unlikely. We don't have the manpower to investigate every victim of an overdose and that's the truth. All we can do is identify him and notify his next of kin so they can claim the body.”

“Well, if you have any questions you know where to find us,” said Quimby, turning to Lucy and Sue. “I am so sorry about this. Let's get you back to the house. The kettle's on the hob for tea . . . or perhaps you'd like something stronger?”

“Something stronger,” said Sue, whose voice was still shaky.

There was no tea nor cocktails on offer in the kitchen when they returned and found Perry standing over the stove, cooking up a thick vegetable stew. He did offer glasses of wine, however, and they settled themselves with their drinks on the comfy sofa, dislodging the dogs who rather grudgingly rearranged themselves on the rug in front of the fireplace. It being warm there was no fire, but the delicious scent of the ribollita filled the air.

“I am so sorry you had to be involved in this sordid episode,” said Perry, replacing the lid on the casserole before joining them and seating himself next to Sue. “That's the problem with opening your home to the public—people don't always behave very well.”

“I suppose not,” said Sue. “Have you had many people dying on your doorstep?”

Perry gave a rueful smile. “Not really. A few through the years. Mostly quite elderly. They get carried away a bit in the garden and overdo. The distances can be quite deceiving.”

“This fellow didn't seem like a typical stately home visitor,” said Lucy. “He was quite young and dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. He had tattoos. . . .”

“Who had tattoos?” Flora had wandered in from the garden. As usual, she was dressed in a long flowing dress. Combined with her unkempt, stringy hair she looked rather like Ophelia after she'd drowned herself in the pond.

“A young man who was found dead in the maze,” said Perry. “Sue and Lucy actually found him.”

“Along with a gardener named Geoff,” said Lucy.

“Thank goodness Geoff was there,” said Sue.

“Someone was found dead in the maze?” asked Flora, wide-eyed. “Who was it?”

“They don't know,” said Perry.

“Well, what did he look like?” asked Flora.

“Young, shaved head, tattoos on his arms,” said Lucy.

“They said it was an overdose,” offered Sue, but Flora was already leaving the room. Only her heavy perfume lingered, leaving any sign that she had been there.

“Do you think she knows him?” asked Lucy. “Maybe he was a friend.”

“I hope not. He doesn't sound like the sort of person Flora ought to be friends with,” Perry said. Rising and crossing the room to the stove, he lifted the lid on the pot and checked the progress of the ribollita. “So, apart from finding a body, did you enjoy the tour?”

“Oh, yes,” exclaimed Sue, eager to change the subject. “We have nothing like this in America. There are grand houses, of course, but they were built by robber barons in the nineteenth century. We have nothing with such a long history.”

“Willoughby's quite the historian,” said Perry. “He's working on revising the guidebook for us.”

“He's certainly a stickler for accuracy,” said Lucy, recalling the way the historian corrected poor Marjorie.

“Is that Willoughby you're talking about?” inquired Desi. He'd paused at the island to pour himself a glass of wine before seating himself on the second sofa.

“He can be a bit overbearing at times,” said Perry, “but he's certainly a hard worker. And that guidebook was last revised when Gram and Gramps were living here.”

“It must have been wonderful when you had the whole place,” said Sue with a sigh.

“Wonderful and scary,” said Perry. “When I was a kid, they had a butler, Chivers was his name, who absolutely terrified me. He even frightened Gram. ‘Whatever you do,' she used to say in this very serious voice, ‘please don't upset Chivers.' ”

“That was before my time,” said Desi. “I used to love coming here when I was a kid. Of course, things were rather falling apart by then. Gramps had died and Uncle Wilfred followed soon after. Money was running short and there were no servants to speak of anymore. Flo and I were city kids so we loved the freedom here, having all this space to run around and ride ponies.” He paused and took a sip of wine. “Rainy days were the best, though. Then we'd go exploring in the far reaches of the house, going from room to room and opening drawers and finding all sorts of trash and sometimes, real treasures.”

“That's right,” said Perry. “Remember when you found that sixteenth century inventory? It had been used to wrap up some jelly glasses.”

“So typical, using a priceless antique document to protect some worthless jelly glasses,” said Desi with a chuckle. “And there was that fabulous Chinese porcelain—a monkey, I think it was—used as a doorstop.”