Docketful of Poesy (28 page)

The initials were right, I thought with mounting
excitement. And if he were Roget, that would certainly help explain
Peter’s shocked fury—and why he had gone straight to Catriona. The
other person in the world with reason to hate Roget as much as
Peter did.

Not a reassuring thought, however. Catriona was
hardly a stabilizing influence, and the fact that Peter didn’t want
to talk to me about Gordon Roget’s reappearance in his
life—assuming I wasn’t completely wrong in my speculations—was not
reassuring either.

But it did make sense. In fact, I grew more excited
as I considered my theory. If Robinson was Roget, and he was soon
to marry Angela Hornsby and move to Innisdale, his need to remove
Peter once and for all became obvious.

What was also obvious was that he had been aware of
Peter’s and my whereabouts for some time.

*****

“
You have bloody well got to be
joking,” Roy Blade, Innisdale’s biker librarian, remarked in less
than civil tones when I finally succeeded in ripping him from his
slumber some time later that night. “Why the hell don’t you ask
your other boyfriend the copper to go with you?”

“Because he
is
a copper,” I said, trying hard
not to stare at the ornate tattoos covering his hairy chest and
back. Blade was wearing jeans and an eye patch—and neither was
properly in place, testament to how fast he’d rolled out of
bed—once he’d finally heard the doorbell buzzing. “And don’t call
him my other boyfriend. He’s just a friend.”

“Keep your hair on, Miss Marple. Put the kettle on
while I get dressed.”

The tea water was boiling when he walked into the
kitchen a short while later. “You do know the time, eh?”

“I do, yes.” I was afraid to look at the clock, to
tell the truth.

“Explain to me what you want again?”

“I want you to come with me to the old Monkton
estate.”

“That’s what I thought you said. I’d hoped I dreamed
that part. Now explain to me why?”

“I have a feeling —”

“Christ on a crutch,” he moaned. “Tell me I
am
dreaming. Tell me you didn’t say you had ‘a feeling.’ You’re
supposed to be a bird of reasonable intellect. You’re never
dragging me out in the middle of the night on a bloody
hunch?
”

“It’s a good hunch,” I told him earnestly. “It’s
based on instinct, yes, but it’s also based on my knowledge of the
personalities involved, and —” I broke off as he was slurping his
tea far too loudly to hear me.

I sipped my own tea and waited. I was pretty sure he
wouldn’t refuse. Roy Blade had a soft heart and an adventurous
streak—the perfect combination for co-conspirator.

“Go on then,” he said.

And go on I did. I told him it all. Or nearly all.
Blade listened and drank his tea. Then I finished and awaited his
verdict. And sure enough, when he was done drinking his tea and
giving me all the reasons this was such a bad idea, he handed me a
helmet and escorted me out to his motorbike.

“We could always take my car,” I suggested feebly as
he threw a leg over the giant silver bike.

“Get on and hold tight,” he ordered.

I obeyed gingerly, climbing in back of him, slipping
my arms around his leather-clad back and waist. The bike rumbled
into life with a metallic tiger’s roar, and we shot off into the
night. I closed my eyes and held on for dear life.

It took us less than five minutes to cross the
village, winding through the lamplit, narrow streets, across the
little bridge and down the wide lane to the Monkton Estate. We
stopped briefly outside the tall iron gates, the bike grumbling
exhaust into the frosty night air.

The house slept peacefully on its manicured lawns. No
single light burned in a distant window. Nor was there any sign of
life on the grounds.

Blade squeezed the handlebar throttle, and we veered
away, prowling quietly down the lane, turning off to bump our way
over the small stone bridge, then cutting through the woods. At
last we came to the tall iron fence guarding the back of the house.
I was disappointed to see there was no car parked here beneath the
trees. I had been fairly certain….

Blade turned off the engine, lifted his helmet. I did
the same.

“Enjoy that, did you?”

“Oh, the song of the road!” I enthused. “The wind in
my hair, the bugs in my teeth!”

He chuckled, his smile very white in the darkness.
“The helmet keeps the wind out of your hair,” he assured me.
“Right. Still set on doing this?”

“I don’t know. I kind of thought we’d see some sign
that Peter was here, watching the house.”

He made a sound somewhere between a groan and a
growl. “One of us needs to be sure about what we’re doing tonight,
and I happen to think this is a bloody awful idea, which leaves
you
.”

“Well, okay. I’m pretty sure he’s here somewhere. I’m
sure he’s watching the house waiting for Robinson to show up.”

“If Robinson isn’t inside already, he sure as hell
isn’t going to come pulling up at two o’clock in the morning.”
Blade stared at me as I slid off the bike and walked over to the
tall iron fence, peering through the bars at the acre or so of
trimmed trees and hedges. The last time I’d been here, the garden
had been an overgrown wilderness. The careful landscaping had
eliminated much of the possible concealment.

“Grace?”

I looked back at him.

“Fox’s a decent bloke. Intelligent. Knowing. I reckon
if he thinks this Robinson needs killing, he’s right.”

The cold I felt had nothing to do with the nippy
March night. “I don’t think he’s planning to kill him. That’s not
why we’re here—to stop him committing murder.”

“Of course it is,” Blade said calmly. “You’re afraid
you won’t be able to marry him if he’s nicked for murder. But so
far you’re the only one who’s put the pieces together.”

I hissed, “I don’t think any such thing! He wouldn’t
kill someone in cold blood.”

“’
Course he would. This Robinson
tried to kill him, didn’t he? Best way to put a stop to the
problem. Can’t arrest him. What proof is there he ever paid to have
Fox killed now that the February brothers are dead? Fox can put an
end to this marriage to the Honourable Angela all right, but Roget
will still be out there—more determined than ever to get rid of
Peter Fox.”

I turned back to the fence. Through the trees I could
just glimpse the distant dark windows, the tall chimneys.

“There could be a security system now,” Blade said.
“There probably
is
a security system now.”

Perhaps it had been a crazy idea. I had been so sure
I would find Peter out here intent on…intent on what? I didn’t
believe he would kill Gordon Roget, but Blade was right. There were
not many options open to Peter other than telling Angela Hornsby
that her fiancé was a crook. At best an ex-crook.

But not every woman found that an insurmountable
obstacle.

I put my helmet back on and walked to the bike,
climbing on behind Blade.

“Let’s go,” I said.

And we did, speeding through the dark and slumbering
streets of Innisdale.

*****

Tracy’s rental car was parked in the parking lot
behind the inn when I pulled up. I rested my hand on the hood, and
felt that it was still faintly warm. She had returned not long
before me.

Letting myself in the side door, I quietly made my
way through the hushed dining room with chairs stacked on tables,
up the stairs, and down the hall to my room.

I felt half-dead with weariness as I unlocked the
door and let myself into my room. I felt for the wall switch, and
mellow light flooded the room picking out the box of chocolates on
the table, my notes and books, and Peter Fox comfortably sprawled
in the chair by the window.

“Way past your bedtime isn’t it, Miss Hollister?” he
inquired.

Chapter Twenty-Two

I
opened my mouth but
strangely no words came. In fact, I almost felt a little
light-headed, but that was probably mostly due to exhaustion. I did
have the presence of mind to close the door behind me—and lock
it.

“Yes,” Peter said calmly. “I rather feel the
same.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I was under the impression that you were looking for
me.”

I sat down on the foot of the bed. It was that or
collapse on the floor. “So you
were
there? You were at the
Monkton Estate?”

“The question is, why were
you
there? And why
in God’s name would Roy Blade encourage you in your
derangement?”

“Because he knows me well enough to know I’d have
gone without him.”

“Well, you’re nothing if not stubborn,” Peter said.
“I’ll give you that.”

“The real question,” I said, getting my wind back,
“is why are you
here?
I thought we… ended things.”

“I never said I wanted to….end things.” His black
brows drew together. “I asked you to for once trust me and go home
and wait till I could explain things to you properly.”

“There seemed to be an ultimatum in there
somewhere.”

His mouth quirked in a smile that was unexpectedly
rueful. “Yes, I suppose there was. Well, it was easier said than
done.”

“Two things you should understand,” I said. I held up
one finger. “I do trust you.” I held up another finger.
“
This
is my home.”

“Someone ought to tell Mrs. Zinn,” he replied. “I
believe she’s counting on having the room back.”

“Now you’re doing it. I used to have to make a stupid
joke every time you said something sweet or romantic to me. I’m
trying to tell you how I feel, and you’re the one making stupid
jokes.”

To my surprise, he rose, came over and sat down next
to me on the bed, putting his arm around me. I leaned against
him—grateful for anything keeping me propped upright—and he rested
his cheek against the top of my head.

“Six months is a long time, Esmerelda.”

“I know. I guess I was a little afraid to take that
final step.”

“I’m not actually asking you to walk into thin
air.”

“Maybe that was a little part of the problem too. I’m
not exactly sure what you
are
asking?”

I felt his cheek crease, heard the faint smile in his
voice. “Your father asked me what my intentions were.”

“Oh my God,” I murmured.

“I think he felt very much the same.” And now the
smile was a hint of a laugh. “He poured us two very stiff drinks
before he could bring himself to inquire.”

“That was totally my mother. Dad would never dream of
it.” I closed my eyes. “What did you tell him?”

“I told him I wanted to marry you, if you’d have me.”
He said it so simply, that it literally robbed me of my breath.
“Will you?”

“Yes.”

He raised his head, our eyes met. “It’s not exactly
how I planned this.”

“Did you plan it?” I found myself smiling “That’s
nice to know.”

“I planned it for six months.”

I winced.

He chuckled. “It’s all right. You can make it up to
me later on.”

Which reminded me abruptly of how I’d spent the last
few hours. I said, “I can’t make it up to you if you’re in prison.
Roy Blade thinks you plan to kill Gordon Roget. ”

He raised one eyebrow in that maddening way of his.
“You
have
figured it out, haven’t you? I should have known.
Once you get your teeth into a puzzle, you don’t let go. Regular
academic pit bull terrier.”

“You saw Roget’s picture in Angela’s drawing room,
was that what happened?”

“Oh, yes. There was no mistake. It was him.” The soft
venom of that was so unlike him.

I admitted, “I made a huge miscalculation in
originally discounting Roget as a suspect. I thought that because
he ended up with the jewel, he had no motive to get rid of you. I
was forgetting that motives are unique to personalities. He has an
excellent motive in that he wishes to settle down into marriage and
respectability with a woman who spends much of her time in the
public eye.”

Not to mention a woman who resided almost literally
in Peter’s backyard.

Peter said, “It gets old living life on the run,
having to keep looking over your shoulder. He’s not young—and he
always did have a taste for respectability.”

“You haven’t answered my question,” I said
slowly.

His eyes were very blue. “Catriona wants to kill
him,” he admitted. “I’m not sure it’s in our best interests.”

The night began to take on a surreal feel. Were we
really sitting up discussing whether Peter was going to murder
someone? Then I sat up straight. “Is Catriona in England?”

“She’s at Craddock House,” he admitted.

“She’s
staying
at your house? With you?”

“I’m actually
here
, if you’ll notice.”

“But…you know what I mean. She’s staying with you at
your house? That murdering, thieving, psychopathic bitch —”

“She didn’t murder anyone,” he said quite reasonably.
And then, “Look, Grace, I know you two have had your differences
—”

“Differences? That’s an interesting way of putting
it. She tried to kill me. She tried to kill
you
. I can’t
understand —”

What I really couldn’t understand was how he could
sit there shaking his head, rejecting the idea that Catriona
Ruthven was dangerous to the health and well-being of both of
us.

He said, still cool and reasonable, “I needed her
help. Cat and I are taking turns watching the Monkton Estate,
waiting for Roget to show up.”

“And then what do you plan on doing with him?”

He was no longer meeting my eyes. “We’ll decide when
the moment comes.”

“I can’t believe you’re even considering —”

He shut me up in the most pleasantly effective way
possible, his mouth covering mine in a warm, gently insistent kiss.
I gave into it, I let him silence me because I missed him, and
because it was too late at night to begin trying to untangle this
Gordian knot.