Murder at Honeychurch Hall: A Mystery (19 page)

“Vera is under the impression that I must be able to afford it because I bought this place—and then—” Mum took a deep breath. “She said that the newspapers were always paying good money for celebrity sightings and unless I gave her a thousand pounds—”

“But that’s blackmail,” I said, appalled. “I hope you’re not going to pay it.”

Mum went very quiet.

“You’re not, are you?”

“This isn’t just about you,” said Mum. “What if Vera finds out about me—you know…?”

“The Italian villa?” I said. “The manor house in Devon? Dad’s tragic accident and a Pekinese called Truly Scrumptious?”

“No need to be nasty.”

“How could she find out?” I noticed Mum’s wastepaper basket was filled with balled-up yellow paper covered in her handwriting. “You
do
shred all that, don’t you?”

“I recycle,” said Mum defensively. “Devon is obsessed with recycling.”

“Recycling is not the same as shredding,” I scolded and then remembered Eric. Just before Vera had turned up on Friday night, he’d been rifling through Mum’s dustbins. I distinctly recalled seeing balled-up yellow paper—the kind Mum used for drafting her stories. What’s more, I’d left Eric and Vera there together. Who knew what they might have found?

“You don’t write the name Krystalle Storm down anywhere, do you?” I asked.

Mum bit her lip and nodded. “Vera is a huge fan of mine.
Huge
. At the hairdresser’s this afternoon, she was talking to her stylist about Krystalle Storm. Apparently Vera knows all the answers to the questions to the contest. She’s already through to the semifinals! And don’t you
dare
say I told you so.”

“I don’t need to, do I?” I looked at my watch. It was nearly eleven-thirty. “There’s nothing we can do about it tonight, Mum.”

“How much money should I give her to keep quiet?”

“You’re not giving her money.”

Mum got to her feet. “I’m going to call her.”

“It’s too late! She was drunk and you’ve had more than a couple yourself. Leave it, Mum.”

But my mother didn’t appear to be listening. “I’ll never sleep. I’m too worried. Vera could ruin me.”

“Why don’t I make you a hot chocolate?”

“I don’t want a hot chocolate,” Mum snapped. “Just leave me be. I’m going to lie down. I feel a headache coming on.”

“Let’s talk about this in the morning,” I said. “Did you write any new pages for me to type up?”

“I left them in your bedroom.”

Leaving Mum with her predictable “headache,” I grabbed my laptop and climbed into bed with the next installment of Lady Evelyn’s road to ruin.

Diagonal shafts of sunlight sliced through the panes of the glasshouse where luscious figs, ripe for the picking hung heavily on the vine. It was midday and Shelby was late. Lady Evelyn began to pace up and down, anxious that her note had been intercepted by one of the servants. The walled garden was too close to the Hall. It was a foolish idea to meet here even though her husband and brother were away. She wasn’t sure about the young girl either. Shelby had said Irene could be trusted but the child was of gypsy blood. Then, suddenly, Shelby was there, his manly presence filled the door frame and he looked so beautiful that she thought she would die from love. Shelby took her in his arms and their bodies fused together.

“I love you,” she whispered. “Never let me go.”

He pushed her against the brick wall, his rough hands burrowing beneath her petticoats. Lady Evelyn was wild with desire but the sound of footsteps and the cry of a young voice shattered their afternoon delight.

It was the gypsy girl. “If you please, m’lady.”

Mortified, the lovers broke apart, ever conscious of their flushed faces and clothing in disarray. The young gypsy girl stood there, with bright, curious eyes. “Their lordships are but two miles from here—out on the old coach road.”

“Thank you, Irene,” said Lady Evelyn.

Shelby smiled. “I told you the gypsy would earn her sovereign.”

I sat back deep in thought. First the
Gypsy Temptress
and now, in this new book, gypsies again. What was my mother’s fascination with gypsies and traveling boxing emporiums?

I don’t remember what time I actually shut down my laptop, but during the early hours of the morning I was disturbed by voices coming from under my window. It sounded like Vera had enlisted William’s help after all.

I made a quick visit to the bathroom. A strip of light shone under Mum’s door. Knocking gently, I said, “Mum? Are you awake?”

But there was no response. Believing she must have fallen asleep with the light on, I slowly opened the door intending to turn it off. Mum’s bed was empty.

I padded along to her office. It was locked. I rattled the handle. “Are you in there?” I demanded but there was no reply. I checked all the rooms downstairs but there was no sign of her. I tried to stem a tide of worry.

Surely my mother wouldn’t do anything rash like confront Vera. But no, I reassured myself—just moments earlier I could have sworn I’d heard Vera outside. Yet still I couldn’t shake off a feeling of unease.

Much as I tried to stay awake to await Mum’s return, the events of the day had exhausted me. I’d just have to deal with her first thing tomorrow.

Chapter Fifteen

I opened my curtains the next morning to leaden gray skies. Out in the field the tractor’s chassis looked as if it was partially wedged in a wide gutter. Its giant rear wheels were buried up to the axle in mud—a stark reminder of Vera’s irrational outburst last night.

Downstairs, I heard male voices and found William and—to my surprise—Eric sitting at the kitchen table. Up close his bushy eyebrows seemed a law unto themselves with stray hairs curling upward like insect feelers. Eric sported a black eye and a livid weal on his chin not unlike the imprint of a medieval spur from his altercation with several suits of armor.

“I was just commiserating with Eric over his tractor,” said Mum with what I
knew
to be complete insincerity. “Very sad. He said they’ll have to borrow a crane to get it out and that the chassis might be damaged beyond repair.”

“As I told Iris,” Eric said, “it’s not the tractor I care about, it’s Vera.”

Mum rolled her eyes.

Eric turned to me. “Iris told me you saw her last night.”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“Vera’s missing. Apparently,” said Mum. “Maybe she’s run off with Gayla.”

Eric turned white. “Why would she run off with Gayla? What do you mean?”

“Because it’s obvious that you both had a fight,” Mum said bluntly. “And by the looks of things, Vera won.”

Eric didn’t answer.

“I passed Vera on the footpath in the pinewoods last night,” I said. “She told me she was on her way to see you, William.”

“Me?” William looked startled. “I was in the lower meadow with Jupiter all night.”

“That’s weird, I thought I heard you and Vera talking outside my window in the early hours. You woke me up.”

“Not me,” said William. “Jupiter had colic. I had to call the vet. As I said to Eric, her car’s missing. I reckon Vera’s gone to stay with a friend.”

“Vera doesn’t have any friends,” said Eric.

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Mum muttered.

“Vera’s never stayed out all night,” said Eric.

“How would you know?” said Mum. “Yesterday at the hairdresser’s Vera told me you’d moved out and were living above the pub.”

“Yeah, well—” Eric shrugged.

“Maybe she’s finally had enough of you and decided to leave for good.”

“Mum!” I said sharply. “Can’t you see he’s worried?”

Eric held up his hand. “Okay, all right, I know we haven’t seen eye to eye, Iris—”

“That’s a bit of understatement.” Mum waved her cast at him. “You did this. You shouldn’t have run me into the ditch with your wretched tractor. You must have seen me coming down the track?”

“I’m sorry. I’ve got a bit of a temper, like, and well—maybe we can start again.”

“I know you’ve been moving those planks of wood in the courtyard,” Mum went on. “I could have fallen and broken my neck and what’s more, you’ve been turning off my water supply. Go on. Admit it.”

Eric took a sip of tea and then said, “Okay. I admit it.”

“What!” Mum’s eyes widened in surprise. “You really do.”

Eric shrugged. “Sorry. It was just a joke.”

“A
joke
?” Mum squeaked.

I opened my mouth to protest that I’d heard otherwise but William intervened. “That’s not really important at the moment, is it?” he said soothingly. “Let’s go over Vera’s movements. Kat, you saw Vera last. Did she say anything out of the ordinary?”

“She told me she was scared of Eric because of what she’d done to his tractor,” I said.

“Bloody silly cow got the date wrong and overreacted,” said Eric.

“How do you know she got the date wrong?” I asked.

“I told him.” Mum got up and took the half-drunk tea out of Eric’s hands. “But we can’t do anything about it now, can we? Some of us are busy today. Good-bye.”

“Thanks for the tea,” Eric said as Mum ushered him and William out the back door and into the cow field.

“Mum, that was so rude.”

“I thought it was just William but he had Eric with him. I couldn’t look at those eyebrows for another second. I kept thinking that at any moment they’d leap off his face and attack me.”

“Perhaps Vera likes the way they tickle her, but joking apart,” I said, “Eric does seem worried.”

“If you want my opinion, he and Vera had a fight and she bolted. She’d already gone by the time I got there last night.”

“Gone? Oh, Mum!” I said, exasperated. “You promised you wouldn’t go to her cottage. We had an agreement.”

“You agreed, I didn’t.” Mum was defiant. “I thought I’d take over her parcels. Save her a journey.”

Vera’s parcels were still in the corner. “If you’re going to lie, at least think it through.”

“Let’s have boiled eggs for breakfast—and not too hard.”

“You’re impossible.”

“How did it go last night?” Mum asked.

“I started reading
Gypsy Temptress,
” I said. “I found a copy in Gayla’s bedroom. And Lavinia had a copy, too.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” said Mum. “Lavinia is probably the most passionate of them all only she’s too uptight to let go.”

“Well, I doubt if she gets the chance,” I said. “She and Rupert don’t sleep together. And I think you were right about Rupert having an affair.”

As we tucked into boiled eggs and toast, I filled Mum in on Gayla’s little trophy box.

Mum smashed her empty eggshell into a pulp. “Silly little fool.”

“I had a long chat with Mrs. Cropper, too. The servants—for want of a better word—are all related. Vera is Mrs. Cropper’s great-niece. Mrs. Cropper’s brother was Walter Stark who worked as the gamekeeper here. That wouldn’t happen to be the Shelby character in your book, would it?”

“No. Why would I do that?” said Mum quickly. “Oh! Speaking of lovers, that reminds me, your future husband called for you.”

“David? Why didn’t he ring my mobile?”

“Not
him
. That nice policeman.”

“Shawn, with the egg on his shirt?”

Mum handed me a Post-it. “He had a question about what Gayla was wearing on Friday. Call his mobile. I’m going up to write. Having beetle-brows here has completely wasted my morning.”

Shawn picked up on the seventh or eighth ring. I wondered if he waited for the entire steam train medley to play before answering.

“It’s Kat Stanford,” I said.

“Hello. Wait a moment—” There was a piercing scream in the background followed by a crash of breaking china. “Sorry. Where were we?”

“Is everything okay?”

“Fine, fine—hold on.” There was a long pause and then the sound of heavy breathing. “I’m in the cupboard now,” said Shawn. “Couldn’t speak in the kitchen. Too noisy. It’s Sunday morning.”

“Yes. It is Sunday morning,” I said. “You had a question about Gayla’s clothing?”

“Can you describe it again, please?”

“Jeans, a white long-sleeved ruffled shirt, and a turquoise bandana.”

“Are you certain it was turquoise?” Shawn asked.

“Positive. Why?”

“Wait a minute—”

I waited at least three, until a muffled cry sounded in the background followed by a loud bang. Shawn came back on the line. “Sorry about that.”

“Are you sure everything is okay?”

“No,” said Shawn. “I’m afraid we found a turquoise bandana in Cavalier Copse.”

My stomach turned over. “You think it belongs to
Gayla
?”

“Would you be able to identify it?”

“Yes—I—I—think so.”

“We found traces of—oh. Sorry. Good-bye.” Shawn abruptly broke the connection.

“Hello?” I said. “Shawn?” I hit the redial button but frustratingly enough it went straight to voice mail. What an extraordinary conversation. He couldn’t just leave me
dangling
after asking me to identify the bandana and … traces of
what
?

I retrieved Shawn’s business card from my tote bag and rang the police station. The answering machine told me to call back between nine and five, Monday to Friday because of “limited staffing” and for a “real emergency” to call 9-9-9.

Exasperated, I rang the Hall.

“You could try the cottage,” said Cropper. “Shawn often stops in Sunday mornings.”

I darted upstairs—tripping again on the top step—tapped on Mum’s door, and went to open it but it was locked. “Go away,” she shouted. “I’m on a roll.”

“Aren’t you interested in what Shawn had to say about Gayla?”

“No.”

“They’ve found her bandana.”

“Good.”

“I’m going to see Mrs. Cropper.”

“Parcels—and put on a coat. It’s going to rain.”

Grabbing Vera’s boxes I set off through the woods. A quick glimpse into the stableyard showed two stable doors wide open and a scattering of straw across the hard standing. Just by the walled garden I heard my name being called from a bank of beech trees.

Harry, wearing his Biggles attire of goggles and white scarf, sat astride a wide branch, just feet off the ground. Bouncing up and down he shouted, “My plane has been hit by turbulence. Whoa! I’m struggling with the controls!”