A Killer Ball at Honeychurch Hall (26 page)

“I think you should leave, sir,” said Shawn curtly. “Unless you want to be arrested for trespassing on private property? I'm sure you saw the warning signs when you came in through the front gates?”

I saw a flash of sadness cross David's features but then it was gone. He turned to go but paused. “I never meant to hurt you, Kat,” he said quietly. “I know you'll never believe me, but it was … just too difficult. All of it.”

And with that, he vanished. I was exhausted and sank onto the sofa. I didn't even notice the lack of springs or the abundance of dog hairs. To my horror, I found my eyes were swimming with tears.

Shawn thrust a grubby handkerchief into my hand. “Sorry about the smell of bananas,” he said.

I managed a smile. “Yes. I've noticed that a lot.”

“My mother-in-law,” he said ruefully. “She helps with the laundry and she buys this disgusting fabric softener with a fruity fragrance. The twins love it.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I'm alright. Really I am.”

“Good.” Shawn paused for a moment and then gently squeezed my shoulder. “What was all that about, Kat?”

“Nothing.” And it was better to say absolutely
nothing.
With Alfred on the run, David chasing the drawings and the horrible conversation I'd had with his grandmother earlier on, the last person I wanted to confide in was a police officer.

But Shawn's boyish gallantry had touched my heart. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For coming to my rescue.”

“As you may or may not know the dowager countess's Hollar drawings were two of the items stolen.” Shawn briskly changed the subject. “I hope her ladyship was insured. I know she was counting on selling them to repair the plasterwork ceiling.”

So it seemed that Shawn didn't know about the scam in 1990. I wasn't sure if this was good news or bad.

“Newton Abbot is confident they'll be able to identify the perpetrator despite the fact that he was wearing a balaclava.” Shawn studied my face. “Are you sure you don't have anything to tell me?”

“No. Why?”

“Your mother's MINI was found in Heathfield Business Park,” said Shawn. “Very close to Luxton's warehouse. I don't believe in coincidences.”

I couldn't look Shawn in the eye. I was almost certain that my own car would be seen on CCTV sooner or later. I hated lying to him but didn't know what else to do.

“How is Ginny?” I said. “Have you seen her yet?”

“Not to talk to,” he said. “Roxy is staying with her for the moment just in case.”

“You mean…” I was horrified. “You expect her attacker might come back?”

“We're not taking any chances,” said Shawn.

“Roxy and Ginny are good friends, aren't they?”

At this, Shawn's expression hardened. “From childhood—like most of us around here. We'll be taking disciplinary action once this is all over.”

Despite what Roxy had done, I felt sorry for her. She was a good policewoman.

“I think someone was spying on me last night.” I went on to tell Shawn about the paint cans and the footprints in the mud.

Shawn looked concerned. “And you didn't think to call?”

“I couldn't get hold of you—”

“Did you leave a message?”

“I changed my mind. I thought I was imagining it but I asked Eric to come over. He felt it might have been someone casing the joint. All my stock is there.”

“Just be careful, Kat.” Shawn thought for a moment. “I would have said with the break-in at Luxton's warehouse there could be a gang going around.”

I definitely wanted to steer clear of talking about Luxton's and changed the subject.

“Did you find out any more about Bryan's wife?” I asked.

“Yes. All very interesting,” he said. “She was his fifth wife.”

“Fifth!”

“They met at one of these treasure hunt meetings just five years ago. She's secretary of the Plymouth Detector Club; manages their Facebook page and all that sort of thing.”

“But why on earth didn't Bryan say so?” I exclaimed. “Why all the secrecy?”

“I have no idea,” said Shawn.

But I did.

Bryan still wanted to be seen as a lothario!

“And before you ask,” Shawn went on. “Yes, Mrs. Laney has a firm alibi for Saturday night. She was giving a presentation on metal detectors at Torpoint Community College. It was posted on Facebook so she's in the clear.”

“Did she say anything else?”

“Obviously, she was upset but not as much as I would have thought,” said Shawn. “It sounded like he was a bit of a rogue. But she did mention the receipt book.”

“The one in the Ziploc bag?”

“Apparently it has been in Bryan's family for centuries. He was worried that Rupert would insist it belonged to the Honeychurch Hall English Civil War collection.”

“He had a good point,” I said.

“It proved that one of Bryan's ancestors—a wealthy farmer in fact—gave the earl their silver to support the king but he was never paid back. Bryan believed part of the Honeychurch mint should belong to him.”

I found that hard to believe and said so. “But that was centuries ago!”

“People don't forget, Kat,” he said. “You're dealing with families who were born here and never left. Families listed in the
Domesday Book.
There's something else…”

I could tell by the tone of his voice that I might not like the something else.

“Mrs. Laney was convinced Bryan was seeing another woman—someone here.”

I thought back to the cheap champagne, the two glasses in the sink and the Valentine's card. “But who?”

“Someone who still held a candle for him,” said Shawn. “Not my grandmother, in case you were wondering.”

“Nor my mother,” I said. “Then who?”

Shawn frowned and stepped over to the window and took something off the ledge. “Aren't these your pearl earrings?”

David hadn't taken them after all.

“I noticed you weren't wearing them.” Shawn dropped the earrings into my hand. I was about to say I didn't want them but then I began to wonder.

“The Valentine's card,” I said slowly. “Bryan had given it—”

“Allegedly.”

“
Allegedly.
So perhaps his visitor had given it back to
him
in a fit of pique.” Just like I had given my earrings back to David. “And maybe … just maybe … the pendant necklace that you found in the shrubbery by the culvert could have been one that Bryan had given her, too.”

“The attack had been particularly violent,” said Shawn thoughtfully. “It felt personal.”

“Believe me. I can understand how that could happen,” I said as I thought of David.

An awkward silence fell between us.

“I actually came to find you this morning because I wanted you to know that her ladyship has found Pandora's thank you letter.”

“I'm so relieved Edith came forward,” I said. “So my mother is in the clear?”

“Not quite,” said Shawn. “We need to match the handwriting in the letter to that in the flyleaf of
Lady Chatterley's Lover.
In fact, we'll be asking for samples of everyone's handwriting—”

“Everyone?”

“Well, those still living,” said Shawn. “Like Alfred, for example.”

“Alfred? Whatever for?”

“Just to eliminate him from our inquiries.”

“That tired old line,” I said, attempting a joke but deep down I was worried.

“They teach us those special phrases at the police academy.” Shawn's face softened. “Kat, if you change your mind about anything, anything at all—call me.”

“I know. I will.” But I knew I wouldn't.

 

Chapter Twenty-six

“We have to find Alfred,” I said to my mother at lunchtime. “Don't you have any idea where he's gone?”

We were sitting in the kitchen eating a ham and cheese sandwich, or rather I was. Mum seemed to have lost her appetite. She looked pale and drawn.

“Of course I don't,” Mum snapped. “And anyway, I daren't leave the house. What if her ladyship comes back with grapes or something?”

“She just might.”

“Oh, Katherine, what if … what if Alfred has gone? You know,
really
gone. Done a runner?”

It was exactly what I had been dreading. I hadn't been sure whether to tell Mum about David's appearance but in the end I thought she would welcome the distraction.

Mum's jaw dropped. “How gallant of Shawn,” she enthused. “He can be so pompous but … well, I am surprised.”

“It was very sweet of him,” I said.

“He actually brought my MINI back this morning,” said Mum. “When I saw him standing at the door I almost had a heart attack.”

“That's the voice of a guilty conscience,” I teased.

“Are you alright about it all now?”

“About what?”

“About
David.
”

“Yes. I'm completely over it,” I said and I was. “But we will have a problem. David is on the warpath. He knows about the drawings.”

“How silly of Eric to sign his name when he dropped them off,” Mum said with scorn. “He left a paper trail.”

“It was hardly Eric's fault.”

“Oh. My. God.” Mum put her head in her hands. “We're ruined—but wait—perhaps it's better if Alfred doesn't come back at all.”

“I think it would be for the best,” I said. “Shawn wants to see samples of everyone's handwriting so he can compare the thank you letter and the signature in
Lady Chatterley's Lover.
”

“Fine. I've nothing to hide.”

“Shawn said something else.” I told Mum about the fifth Mrs. Laney. “Apparently they were keen treasure hunters.”

“What a cheek!” she fumed. “Bryan invited me back to his camper van for a tot of rum, you know.”

“You didn't mention that bit.”

“I said no.”

“Was this before you hit him?”

“Yes.”

“Wait—he asked you for a tot of rum. Not a glass of champagne?”

“Bryan? Champagne? No. Why?”

“Does Mrs. Cropper drink champagne?”

“I have no idea.”

“She came to see me this morning in the tack room,” I said. “But I don't want you to get angry. I'm just the messenger.”

As I filled her in on Mrs. Cropper's views on Alfred's temper, Mum got angrier and angrier. “The nerve! And she said she was my friend!”

“I don't think she is any friend of yours,” I said. “But I do think she is hiding something. “I brought up Joan Stark and Mrs. Cropper got very defensive. Said to leave Joan out of it and that she'd suffered enough.”

“Right. Let's go and pay Joan a visit,” said Mum.

“I think Bryan went to see her on Saturday,” I said.

“And look where that got him? Dead as a doornail.” Mum shook her head with frustration.

“Personally, I think it's a waste of time. And besides, we daren't leave the Carriage House in case Edith comes.”

“Rubbish. I'm not waiting around here. I'll write a note on the door. You don't have to come with me, but I'm going.”

 

Chapter Twenty-seven

Mum duly scribbled three notes that said,
Alfred is sleeping
and not to be disturbed,
one for the front door, one for the door in the carriageway and one that led directly from Cromwell Meadows to the kitchen. “I think we've covered all our bases.”

Twenty minutes later we turned into the entrance to Sunny Hill Lodge and sped up a very grand drive lined with deciduous shrubs.

I don't know what I had been expecting but it definitely wasn't this.

Sunny Hill Lodge was a gracious Georgian house with large bay windows, a portico and exquisitely manicured grounds. A pergola, which would be blooming with wisteria in the spring, stretched the length of one wing.

Mum pulled up outside the portico entrance with its perfectly clipped boxwood topiaries that flanked the front entrance. A line of luxury cars—Lexus, BMW, Range Rover—were parked on the far side of the gravel where there was a spectacular view of Dartmoor.

“Good grief,” said Mum. “How on earth can Joan afford all this?”

“Good question,” I said.

“You don't think her ladyship is contributing to Joan's living accommodations, do you?”

“Another good question.”

We mounted the stone steps and walked into a small vestibule. A glass door showed the hall beyond. It was lavishly decorated. I mentally calculated the value of the antique furniture, paintings and rugs. They must have cost thousands and thousands of pounds.

Mum tried the handle but the door was locked. I pointed to the bell and a panel of buttons. “It's a secure facility.”

Mum hit the buzzer.

A young woman who couldn't be more than twenty-five emerged from a side door. She was dressed in a tailored suit and waved a greeting.

“I have to put in the code,” she said through the glass door and tapped a sequence with perfectly manicured nails. There was a loud click and the door swung open.

“Welcome to Sunny Hill.” She beamed.

Mum and I stepped inside. Classical music played quietly in the background and there was a pleasant smell of lavender.

“What a lovely place,” said Mum.

“Yes. It is, isn't it?” She smiled. “I'm Carla. Have you come to visit a resident?”

“Joan Stark,” said Mum.

Carla frowned. “Stark? Let me find the manager for you,” she said. “Who shall I say is visiting?”

“I'm Iris Stanford—although Joan would remember me as Bushman—”

“If she does remember…” I said. “Which she might not.”

“And of course,” said Mum grandly. “I'm sure you recognize Kat Stanford.”