A Killer Ball at Honeychurch Hall (6 page)

“Do you have much homework?” I asked.

“A bit.”

“Well, at least it's the weekend,” I said.

“Max, Jed, Emerson, Ronan and Callum are going to see Exeter City play Portsmouth tomorrow,” he said glumly.

“I thought we were going riding together tomorrow.”

Harry bit his lip. “I asked Max if I could go with them,” he went on, “but Max said there weren't any tickets left but then Callum came up and asked if
he
could go and Max said yes.”

I felt my heart contract with pain for Harry. “I thought you didn't like soccer,” I said lightly.

“Yes I do!” Harry shouted. “I
love
it. But Father doesn't. He says soccer is full of hooligans and that rugby is a gentleman's sport—and cricket, of course.”

“Oh dear.”

“And then they're all going back to Jed's place and having pizza and playing with his Xbox.”

“I think Squadron Leader Bigglesworth should have them court-martialed for unsporting behavior,” I said, attempting a joke.

“Biggles doesn't exist,” Harry said angrily. “He never did!”

“Of course he did.”

“Max says it's all made up.”

“Didn't you tell him that you'd been to the RAF Museum in London and actually saw his combat report?”

Harry's eyes widened with delight. “No! I didn't!”

“There you are then,” I said. “You can tell Max on Monday.” I reached over to ruffle his hair.

“Ouch.” Harry winced. To my alarm I saw the faint mark of a purple bruise on his temple.

“What happened to you?”

“I fell over,” he mumbled.

“How?” I demanded.

“I don't want to talk about it.” Harry turned away from me and stared out of the window. We continued the rest of the journey in silence whilst I agonized over what had happened. Had Harry really fallen over or were Max and his friends bullying him? I just had to speak to Lavinia.

We turned into the grand main entrance to Honeychurch Hall and passed the eighteenth-century gatehouses that were now the new home for Kat's Collectibles. With the scaffolding up—I was in the process of repairing the gutters—the place looked dilapidated.

“Why do we have to live in a house that falls down?” Harry suddenly cried. “Why can't we live in a normal house like my friends where all their houses are the same? Why can't I be like everyone else?”

“Ah,” I said. “But I bet your friends don't have secret rooms and stories of hidden treasure.”

“Treasure?” Harry gasped. “Secret
rooms
? What treasure? What secret rooms?”

I probably should have let his parents tell him, but the words just came out. I wanted desperately to distract him and it had worked.

As I filled Harry in on the day's discoveries—making sure not to mention the corpse—he almost seemed back to his old self.

“But you didn't exactly
find
any treasure,” said Harry.

“No, but there was definitely evidence that the coins had been made at the Hall.”

“Wicked!” he said.

“So if you hadn't heard the pipes explode in the night—”

“Surely you mean the
minenwerfer,
Stanford,” said Harry, returning to his alter ego.

“Of course, sir. So if wasn't for that, no one would have ever found the double-hide.”

“Can we go and see it now?”

“I'm sure your father would want to show you himself,” I said hastily. “Obviously the double-hide is of great historical importance so experts will need to look at it first.”

“Maybe we can find the treasure by next week and then Father can bring it to show-and-tell at school,” he said hopefully. “Ronan's grandfather is letting him take his glass eye. When he was born, the doctor poked the real one out by accident with a fork.”

“I think you meant forceps,” I said. “But that's a horrible story.”

“Ronan says he likes to frighten his grandmother. He told me that whenever she says, ‘Keep an eye on this for me, will you, luv?' he pops it out and leaves it on the table.”

“Oh dear!”

“And Callum says he's going to bring in a live snake. A python. He says it's so big it could eat a horse—oh! Look, there's Roxy!”

Roxy's panda car slowed down to let us pass by. She opened her window.

“Afternoon, Master Harry,” she said, giving him a big smile. “How was school?”

“I hate school.” Harry scowled and then brightened. “But Kat's told me all about
nearly
finding the treasure in the secret chamber.”

“Yes, isn't it exciting?” said Roxy. “And perhaps tomorrow you'll be able to go in there.”

“Wicked!”

“I was just on my way to see Iris actually,” said Roxy. “Is she home?”

“She should be. Why?”

I glanced over to her passenger seat and saw a telltale plastic shopping bag with very little inside. A peculiar feeling swept over me—and one I was becoming quite familiar with whenever I saw such a bag with a police officer. I knew from experience that whatever was in it was never good news.

“Just a few questions,” said Roxy.

“I'll be ten minutes,” I said. “Why don't you wait for me and we can see her together?”

“Why?” said Roxy slyly. “Does Iris need someone to hold her hand?”

“Not at all,” I said. “I'm sure she'll be only too happy to make you a cup of tea.”

“Somehow,” said Roxy cryptically, “I doubt it.”

 

Chapter Five

There was silence in the kitchen when I walked in. Roxy stood with her back to the oak dresser that was full of Mum's coronation china. She was clasping the plastic shopping bag to her chest. Mum feigned boredom but I could tell she was worried by the way she kept sighing. “Shall we have some tea?” I suggested.

“Not for me, thanks,” said Roxy. “I don't drink on duty.”

“We're waiting for Shawn,” Mum said.
“Apparently.”

“He took the twins to the dentist and now he's dropping them off with his grandmother.”

“Mrs. Cropper?” Mum seemed surprised.

“No, Helen's mum,” said Roxy. “She helps Shawn out after school.”

“He needs an au pair—or a new wife.” Mum looked pointedly at me.

“It's not been two years since Helen died,” Roxy said sharply. “She was the love of his life. He'll never marry again.”

“Oh, I am sorry, dear,” said Mum sweetly. “That must be so hard for you. As I was saying to Officer Cairns, Kat, I'm not sure how I can help.” Mum looked daggers at the plastic shopping bag. I could tell the suspense was killing her. “Do you want to put that down somewhere?”

Roxy clasped it closer. “No, thanks.”

Mum looked over at the singing bird clock above the kitchen door. It wasn't quite five. “Is it too early for something stronger?”

“You might need to keep your wits about you,” Roxy declared.

I wasn't sure if she was joking. “Tea, in that case.” I marched over to the kettle and switched it on.

“Can I use your loo?” said Roxy.

“Use the one downstairs just off the carriageway,” said Mum. “Through the door and take the first one on the left. The bowl is Victorian and very pretty. It's decorated with horse heads and flowers so do take a look before you sit down—shall I hold your shopping?”

“No, thanks.” Roxy clasped the plastic shopping bag even closer and scurried off.

“Are you thinking what I'm thinking?” Mum whispered urgently.

“The plastic shopping bag?”

“Shawn's show-and-tell,” said Mum. “It's pathetic.”

“We'll soon find out.” I handed Mum a china mug of tea with a splash of milk.

“She's so childish.”

“Speaking of children,” I said and went on to tell Mum how concerned I was about Harry. “And what's more, he has a nasty bruise on his forehead. I think he's being bullied.”

“Don't worry. I'll get Alfred to give him a few boxing lessons.”

“Don't you dare!” I exclaimed.

“Harry's got to show them who is boss,” said Mum. “Alfred taught me, you know. I've still got a very good left hook.”

The doorbell sounded. “I'll get it,” I said. “I expect it will be Shawn.”

But it wasn't. It was a man in his early seventies. He reminded me of a slimmer version of an aging Marlon Brando with deep-set eyes, fleshy lips and a strong jaw.

“Can I help you?” I said.

“Bryan—with a
y
—Laney,” he said and offered his hand. “You advertised for someone to do a spot of D-I-Y?”

“Oh. Yes. I did.” I took in his appearance. With his dark green corduroy trousers and a sports jacket he had an almost military bearing—someone I'd never have taken for a handyman. But then my father had been a tax collector and no one ever believed he was good at D-I-Y, either. Dad had always done our decorating, loved woodwork and was always puttering in the garage making this and that.

“Muriel at the post office told me,” Bryan said. “I used to live around here. I'm in the process of moving back. Need a bit of work, that kind of thing.” He smiled. “Retirement doesn't suit me.”

“Okay,” I said. “Why don't we meet tomorrow morning so I can show you what needs to be done and then you can give me an estimate.”

“O-nine-hundred hours suit you?” he said.

“Perfect. Do you have a mobile?”

Bryan handed me a scrap of paper with his phone number on it. He'd obviously been prepared. “By the way, I always enjoyed your show. Pity you retired. I don't think the new host is much good—she's not got your class.”

“Oh, thanks,” I said, secretly pleased.

“Don't ever cut your hair, Rapunzel,” he said with a wink. “It's beautiful. Good afternoon.”

I could easily imagine that Bryan had been a bit of a ladies' man back in the day. I returned to the kitchen and found that Shawn must have slipped in through the carriageway entrance.

“It's all over the news,” I heard Shawn say. “I heard it on the radio on my drive over.”

“Ah, here she is,” said Mum. “What were you doing?”

“I'll tell you later,” I said. “What's on the news?”

“Sounds like Ginny's been busy spreading the word.” Mum pulled out a chair and sat down at the kitchen table.

“Just that a double-hide has been found at Honeychurch Hall along with some remains,” Shawn said.

“Her ladyship is going to love that,” Roxy muttered.

“No other details yet, of course, and that's the way we want it to stay—at least for the time being.”

“Apparently, they've identified the body,” Mum blurted out.

“Already?” I exclaimed. “Who?”

“We got in touch with Interpol and we're ninety-nine percent certain that the woman's name is Pandora Haslam-Grimley,” said Shawn. “She was an American heiress. The DNA results from the lipstick should confirm it.”

“I told you she was American,” Roxy put in. “The Lucky Strikes gave it away.”

“The last time anyone saw Ms. Haslam-Grimley alive was at the Honeychurch annual midsummer ball in 1958.”

I looked to Mum who just shrugged. “Never heard of her.”

“According to our sources, Ms. Haslam-Grimley was a bit of a free spirit,” said Shawn. “After her visit at Honeychurch she had made plans to go on a cruise. It was a full month before anyone realized something was wrong.”

“No one reported it?” I was stunned. “Not even her friends? Surely someone like Pandora would have attracted a lot of media attention?”

Shawn cleared his throat. “Actually, it was overshadowed by a far more tragic event,” he said. “The dowager countess's brother Rupert died in a freak shooting accident.”

My eyes flew to my mother's and I saw she'd turned pale. Of course we knew the real story behind the “freak shooting accident.” It had been the subject of
Forbidden,
my mother's soon-to-be-published second book in her Star-Crossed Lovers series. But I wasn't sure if Shawn was aware of the details. So much was kept under wraps in this household. It was hard to tell.

As if reading my mind, Roxy said, “Another Honeychurch hush-up.”

Shawn ignored her. “So that narrows the date down to mid-June in 1958. The police did retrace Pandora's steps and someone did say they saw her getting on the train at Dipperton Halt, but they were unable to verify it.”

“Who was the investigating officer at the time?” I asked.

“He died in 2003,” said Shawn. “And although my father became a police officer, he was just a kid back then.”

“How convenient,” said Mum.

“We'll be working with Interpol on this,” Shawn went on. “But we wanted to get a head start, so to speak.”

“But we
will
be reporting our findings, Shawn,” Roxy reminded him. “So we're starting with anyone who was here at the Hall in June of 1958—Iris?”

“I can hardly remember what I had for breakfast this morning let alone where I was in 1958!”

Roxy put down the plastic shopping bag to pull on her disposable latex gloves.

“Here we go,” Mum muttered.

With a crackle and flourish, Roxy withdrew the Bushman's Fair and Traveling Boxing Emporium flyer. “Well, we can confirm that you
were
here in June of 1958.”

Mum rolled her eyes. “Look, dear, I don't want to state the obvious, but we camped here in the park every summer. There were dozens of us. We were never invited to the Hall and we certainly didn't socialize with any of the toffs—and besides, I only found out about the priest-hole thingy this morning. I was just as shocked as everyone.”

Although my mother was a notorious fibber, I honestly didn't think she'd known about the double-hide. Even so, I knew she was holding something back. I could tell by the way she sat back in her chair with her arms folded.