A Devious Lot (Antiques & Collectibles Mysteries Book 5) (23 page)

“What . . . ?” Victor’s eyes rolled back in his head. His legs buckled and he hit the floor beside her.

Lillian sat on the floor, untangling her skirts, watching his chest rise and fall, rise and fall. She wasn’t sure how long she sat there, but eventually, his breathing stopped. The room was quiet. The sun came out from behind a cloud and flooded the room. Lillian stood up slowly, and with shaking hands tried to smooth her skirt. She saw blood on her bodice, and wasn’t sure if it was hers or Victor’s. She went to the door, holding her bodice together, her lip throbbing in pain as blood dripped down her chin. Weaving her way down the hall like a drunken sailor, she reached the patio doors and saw her parents sitting at the table outside. Such an ordinary, peaceful scene. They were sipping tea and talking quietly.

As she went out, her father turned and saw her. He looked puzzled, and then suddenly sprang up from his chair and ran to her across the lawn. Lillian thought: I’ve never seen my father run. He reached her as she collapsed to the ground.

“Lilly! What’s happened?” He touched her face where Victor had slapped her. His eyes traveled down her dress, taking in her swollen lip, the torn bodice, and the blood.

“I killed him,” she croaked.

Her mother appeared and knelt beside her on the grass. She took Lillian’s hand and spoke harshly to her father, but Lillian couldn’t hear what she was saying. She was dizzy and felt sick to her stomach. She’d never seen her mother angry. Darkness closed in around her, and the last thing she remembered before she passed out was her father running into the house.

When she awoke, she was still lying on the grass, and her mother was stroking her cheek.

“I had to kill him,” Lillian said.

“I know, sweet girl,” her mother said. Lillian saw tears on her cheeks. “Don’t worry. Everything will be all right.”

Her father returned with a blanket, which he draped over her, and she heard him say to her mother, “I’ve sent Edmund to fetch the police,” he said.

“What do we tell them?” her mother asked.

“She killed him in self-defense.”

Lillian reached out for her father, and he took her hand. “It was self-defense, Father, I swear it.”

“I know it was, my dear child,” he said, his voice cracking. And for another first in her life, Lillian saw her father break down and cry. It was a day of firsts, in every respect. “Please forgive me,” he said. “Please forgive me.”

Chapter 25

“Bad news,” Molly told Matt. “Tessa tripped on the front steps this morning when she went out to get the newspaper. She fell and broke her other hip.”

“Oh, my God! Is she in a lot of pain?”

“She says it doesn’t hurt as bad as when Brenda ran her over with the golf cart. She’s at the hospital. They were taking her to X-ray when I left. Mom’s with her.”

“And where are you?”

“In the car, on my way to Rimstock,” Molly said. She was talking as she drove, using the car’s Bluetooth. “Tessa told me to go.”

“What about your mom?”

Molly frowned. “She wanted me to stay at the hospital,” she said. “She doesn’t want me to go alone. She’s worried Penelope could be dangerous.”

“You know I want to be supportive, Molly, but I’m with her on this one.”

“Why? For all we know, she’s on a cruise drinking mimosas and having a grand old time. This could be a complete waste of my time.”

“Just promise me you’ll call Boyle if you find her.”

“What? I can’t hear you,” Molly said. She didn’t want to make a promise she wasn’t sure she could keep. “I must be in a cell phone dead zone. I’ll have to call you back later. Bye!”

She quickly disconnected the call. Pretending not to hear Matt was childish, but she wasn’t sure what she was going to do. If she found Penelope, she preferred to talk to her alone to determine if she had anything to do with Tiffany’s murder. She turned off her phone, and for the rest of the drive tried not to think too much about hanging up on her husband.

By the time she reached Rimstock, she was done feeling guilty about not calling Boyle and making everyone happy. If nothing came of this little adventure, what was the big deal? She’d gone on a scenic drive to a pretty town in Yorkshire.

She drove over the bridge she’d seen depicted on the magnet and took a right onto King Street, the main drag. There were many old stone buildings similar to those in Marlow Crossing, but there were modern structures as well. Rimstock wasn’t a tiny hamlet but a thriving town with businesses and traffic. She found an all-day parking lot, and after she paid the attendant she showed him a photograph of Penelope. Kofi had gotten a clear shot of her face as she came out of a restaurant. It was the best of the bunch. The attendant studied it a while and finally shook his head.

“Sorry, never seen her before,” he said.

Molly nodded. She wasn’t under any illusion this was going to be easy. It would be a miracle if she ran into someone who recognized her, but she still thought it was worth trying. “Do you know where I can get a tourist map?” she asked.

“Dandy Gift Shoppe has maps,” he said. “It’s across the street. You can’t miss it.”

Walking into Dandy Gift Shoppe, Molly wished she had more time to browse the aisles, but this wasn’t a time to have fun. She had to stay focused on her mission. She showed the photograph to the clerk on duty, but she didn’t recognize Penelope either.

“No, never seen her,” she said.

“Thanks anyway,” Molly said. “Do you have a map of town?”

She gave Molly a free map, and after getting her bearings, Molly walked out of the shop. She felt confident she could reach most of the shops and restaurants by the end of the day, if she worked her way methodically down the street, working in a gridline, checking each establishment off the map. As she went door to door, she tried not to feel too disappointed she wasn’t having any luck.

When her stomach began to growl around two o’clock, she stopped at a café for lunch and ordered a ham and cheese sandwich and an orange soda. As she ate, she read Kofi’s report again. Giles was such a liar. Every time Kofi had recorded him being with Penelope, Molly knew he’d lied to Tiffany about where he was going and what he was doing. She wondered how he could look himself in the mirror every day.

What else did he lie about?

The eye miniature sprang to mind. Anita had told her Dora was wearing it, and while many people used to give them to friends or relatives, Molly knew they were also given as tokens of love. If Giles was lying about giving it to Tiffany as a present, did that mean Dora gave it to him in friendship . . . or love?

Her waiter came over with the bill and set it down on the table. “Whenever you’re ready, no rush,” he said. He looked at the photograph of Penelope on the table. “Are you a photographer?” he asked.

“No, actually, I’m looking for this woman.” She handed him the photo. “Have you ever seen her?”

He studied the photo a moment and scratched his head. “I think I know her,” he said slowly. “But I can’t be sure. She didn’t look this good the last time I saw her.”

Molly almost fell off her chair. He’d recognized Penelope! “You saw her recently?” she asked hopefully.

“No. It was a long time ago, like four years,” he said. “She used to come in for a cappuccino with cinnamon and always sat in my section.”

“Was she with another woman?” Molly asked, thinking Dora might have taken Penelope to Rimstock to see the place she called her peaceful oasis.

“Sometimes she came in with Mrs. Tremblay,” he said.

Molly was confused. “Who’s Mrs. Tremblay?”

“She’s an elderly lady, a widow, works part-time at St. Paul’s Church in the rectory,” he said. “Mrs. Tremblay let her house-sit for her when she was in Spain over the winter.”

“I’d love to talk to Mrs. Tremblay,” she said. “Do you know where she lives?”

“Yeah, but she isn’t home. She always goes to Spain this time of year, to visit a daughter who lives there. I think she left a couple weeks ago.”

“Do you know if she has someone house-sitting for her now?”

“I have no idea.”

“Does she usually hire someone?”

He shrugged. “Don’t know. The woman in the picture is the only one I knew about.”

“I’d like to swing by her house and check. Could you give me the address?”

He took out his pad and wrote in it. Then he tore off the page and handed it to Molly. “That’s the address, and directions. It’s real easy to find. Go over the bridge out of town, and take the first right onto Foggy Field. Drive about ten minutes and you’ll see the house on your right. And don’t worry about missing it, it’s remote up there and really sticks out.”

“Up where?”

“On the moors,” he said.

Chapter 26

Molly couldn’t believe her luck. She raced back to her car, put the key in the ignition, and then stopped. Matt would want her to call the police. So would her mother and Tessa. Lombardi would demand it. Heck, anyone with half a brain would tell her to call Boyle. It was the smart, practical thing to do. She might have located Penelope’s hideout. But what if it wasn’t a hideout? What if Dora had introduced her to Mrs. Tremblay, and they’d all kept in touch over the years? She could have asked her if she could stay at her house while she was in Spain, to give herself time to think over her relationship with Giles. She might be completely innocent, and had nothing to do with Tiffany’s murder. Was it right to sic the police on her?

She took her phone out of her purse and turned it back on. She had two missed calls from Matt, and he’d left her a voice mail. Instead of listening to it, her finger hovered over the phone as she tried to decide the best course of action to take. Just because Dora was a house-sitter for Mrs. Tremblay four years ago didn’t mean Penelope was there now. Until she had proof—a sighting of her or her vehicle—she would wait to call Boyle.

Turning left onto King Street, Molly drove over the bridge and away from town. In a little while she saw the road sign for Foggy Field. She turned the wheel and drove up the hill, past a scattering of homes that soon tapered off. Her waiter wasn’t kidding. It was isolated and lonely at the top of the moors. She felt the wind shake the car, and in the distance saw a single, lonely house. As she neared it, Molly was surprised to see it was so modern. The exterior was sleek, the windows large enough to take in the view of the valley below. There were solar panels on the roof, and a detached garage. She’d been expecting a homey farmhouse with a wraparound porch, or an ancient stone cottage with a thatched roof. There weren’t any lights on in the windows, and no movement on the property. She braked to a stop. Molly sighed. What to do?

Before she could make her decision how to proceed, her phone rang in her hand, startling her. She peered at the screen. Lombardi.

She barely got “hello” out of her mouth before his voice came booming over the line.

“Molly, where the hell are you? Are you in Rimstock?”

“Ah, sort of. I’m right outside of town.”

“Matt is worried about you, and so am I. He told me about your harebrained scheme.”

Molly frowned. “It’s not a harebrained scheme,” she said. “As a matter of fact, at this moment I’m looking at a house where Dora Lang lived four years ago. It’s possible Penelope is holed up there now.”

“Have you called Boyle?”

“No, not yet.”

“Then it’s a harebrained scheme. This is a police matter. Call him.”

“It doesn’t look like anyone’s home,” she said.

“I don’t care. Listen to me very carefully. I want you to hang up and call Boyle immediately. Under no circumstances are you to go to that house and knock on that door.”

“I’m in the middle of nowhere,” she said. “The police aren’t going to be happy if I call them all the way out here to check on an empty house.”

“Penelope could be dangerous,” he said. Molly frowned at the phone. She was getting tired of being reminded of this possibility. “And are you forgetting Reggie? He hasn’t been found yet. What if he’s with her? Then it’s two against one, and the odds are stacked against you. Please, Molly. Let the police handle this. They can check the house. Trust me, they don’t mind. It’s what they do.” Molly bit her lip, hesitating. “Are you still there?”

“Yes,” she said. “I’m thinking.”

“There’s nothing to think about,” he said. A light suddenly winked on in one of the windows and Molly gasped. Lombardi heard her. “What’s going on?”

“A light came on.”

“Hang up and call Boyle.”

“But someone else could be house-sitting for Mrs. Tremblay.”

“Is Mrs. Tremblay the owner?”

“Yes, she goes to Spain every winter. That’s why Dora house-sat for her one winter. But it could be someone else. The police showing up will scare them, and I’ll look like a fool.”

“I know you don’t want to look like a fool,” he said. “But believe me, it’s far better to be a live fool than a dead one.”

“If Penelope’s in the house, I can make up an excuse for being there. I’ll tell her Giles sent me.”

“Molly, no! I want you to—”

Molly ended the call.

She felt horrible. She’d hung up on Matt earlier, and now she’d done it again to Lombardi. But she wasn’t ready to bring in the authorities. Not yet. She suddenly had a plan. Knowing Lombardi was probably cursing her and would try to call her back, she turned the volume off and threw her phone into her purse.

Chapter 27

Penelope Cassidy stood in the doorway of Mrs. Tremblay’s house. She wore a long red velvet skirt with a white gauzy blouse, and her blond hair was tied back in a ponytail.

“Molly?” She stared at her. “What on earth are you doing here?”

“Giles sent me,” Molly said.

She opened the door and let her into the foyer. “He was supposed to write,” she said. “Why did he send you?”

“Tiffany is dead.”

Penelope’s eyes widened. “What? When?”

“Don’t you watch the news?”