English Trifle (8 page)

He held a briefcase in his other hand and as soon as he finished his greetings, he moved around the desk and set his case on the floor. He began clearing everything to the upper left-hand corner of the desktop. Sadie watched as he stacked papers perfectly, squaring up the corners after each addition, then placed all the other little accessories on top of the stack, and more accessories on top of those. The result was a well-engineered pyramid that fit perfectly on the desk. Once finished with his creation, he moved his briefcase to the cleared area of wood and opened it, removing a couple of folders, a box of paper clips, a small stapler, and a collection of his own pens, placing them all on the desk in such a way as to make the desk look as though it was his very own. Sadie half-expected him to produce a family picture as well, but he didn’t. Probably because he wasn’t old enough to date, let alone have a family of his own. Was he really an inspector?

When he finally sat down, the huge desk came nearly to his chest—he didn’t seem to notice. He smiled at them and asked, “Who shall I speak with first?”

Breanna and Sadie shared a look, but the inspector didn’t give them a chance to answer his question.

“Miss Hoffmiller,” he said, smiling at Breanna. “Let’s start with you.” He turned his eyes to Sadie. “If you’ll be so good as to wait in the hall, then.”

“Sure,” Sadie said, still trying to process that this little man was the inspector assigned to the case. If his presence was any indication of the regard his entire department was giving to their report . . . well, then, Sadie wasn’t holding out much hope. She followed Austin out of the library while reviewing the promise she’d made to Breanna about keeping out of the investigation. There had to be a loophole in their agreement to take into account the fact that someone had sent their son to take notes.

The staff was lined up in the hallway when she came out of the library—indoor staff on the right and outdoor staff on the left. They all looked various shades of glum, irritable, and downright nervous—the nervousness award going to Mrs. Land who still wouldn’t meet Sadie’s eyes. Liam wasn’t there. Neither was Grant.

Austin took his place against the wall across from the library door, apart from the staff. He crossed his arms over his chest and he watched her like he had when they’d first met. The only way Sadie could think to describe his gaze was piercing. It was difficult not to straighten her shirt or tuck her hair behind her ear under his scrutiny.

“Liam’s with the earl,” he said, tempting Sadie to tell him that she knew that already. “I had your bags taken back to your room. Liam didn’t feel it wise to head for London tonight.”

Sadie probably should have thanked Austin for the information, but she had too much pride, especially where he was concerned. Besides, she felt he still owed her an apology for saying what he’d said about Breanna. Unfortunately, she also had questions that needed answers and he was the only one she thought would talk to her right now. After a few seconds, he pulled his phone out of his pocket, frowned, and then typed out a text message before returning it to his pocket and looking at Sadie again.

“Where’s Grant?” Sadie questioned, finding a blank space next to the library doors where she could lean against the wall like everyone else.

“The inspector gave him an assignment,” Austin said simply.

He didn’t offer anything else and Sadie scanned the faces of the staff, hoping to glean whether they had found anything during their search. She hated directing all her questions to Austin, feeling that he took great satisfaction in her ignorance each time she showed it, but finally had no choice. Even though she was pretty sure she knew the answer, someone had to say it out loud. “Did anyone find John Henry?” she asked.

“If we did, he’d be standing here,” Austin answered, as patronizing as ever. “Or I suppose lying here with a poker in his chest for all of us to see. However, you’ll notice there is no body on the rug.”

The man was insufferable.

“Are there more inspectors looking through the house now?” Sadie asked. The body had to be here; if the staff didn’t find it, surely the police would.

“There is one inspector,” Austin said. “And he is talking to your daughter. I showed him through the sitting room and he took some pictures and samples.”

“He came alone?” Sadie said, dejected by the proof that the police really hadn’t taken Breanna’s call seriously.

“Tomorrow is New Year’s Eve,” Austin said. “Exeter is hosting a Hogmanay celebration and the Police Authority is in charge of supervising the road closures and such. They are apparently unable, or unwilling, to spare many of their men.”

“Hogmanay?” Sadie said, trying to pronounce it like he did, stressing the last syllable.

“It’s the Scottish version of New Year’s Eve,” Austin said as though she should already know this. “A loud, obnoxious festival with lots of fire and shouting and basic cacophony.”

“So a big ol’ party trumps a murder at the earl’s estate? I thought you people were important.”

The staff looked at her in shock; Austin gave her a slight smile in response. She couldn’t tell if he was being arrogant or if part of him liked that someone was standing up to him. Sadie put her hands behind her back and looked at the floor, preparing herself for a long and awkward wait until it was her turn to talk with the inspector. She’d rather not spend that wait talking with Austin who seemed incapable of saying anything without attaching an insult to it. Expecting several minutes before it would be her turn, she was surprised when the library door opened.

“Your turn,” Breanna said dryly, giving her mother a look that seemed to warn her not to expect much. Fabulous.

Sadie entered the library, and watched as Inspector Dilree repositioned a chair. He moved it a few inches to the left, pulled back to observe it, then moved it a few more inches to the left before observing it again. Then he moved it several inches to the right instead. Sadie stopped a few feet away, trying not to sigh in irritation as he repositioned the chair three more times before he finally accepted it was in its optimal location.

“Please have a seat, Mrs. Hoffmiller,” he said, indicating the chair before scurrying to the other side of the desk and taking his own seat.

“So, Mrs. Hoffmiller,” he said, picking up a pen and removing a piece of paper from the top file. “Please tell me, in your own words, what you encountered in the sitting room.”

Sadie wasn’t sure whose words he expected she might use instead of her own, but she complied, spending a few minutes to give him a detailed report of exactly what had happened in the sitting room. Inspector Dilree scribbled madly on the paper as she spoke, his shoulders curving inward as if protecting the paper from a strong breeze despite the fact that he was in a library.

“Right,” the inspector said, quickly reviewing his notes. “Did you see any blood or tissue?”

The word tissue made Sadie grimace and she shook her head. He lifted his head enough to peer at her. “Is that a no?”

“No,” Sadie said. “I mean yes, it’s a no, but no I didn’t see any blood or . . . or stuff—well, other than the bloodstain on his shirt and I assume there would have been blood on the wall—but the body was in the way, of course.”

Dilree nodded. “Did you smell anything?”

She tried to remember, then shook her head. “No.”

“Did you hear anything?”

Like what? she wondered. Dead body sounds? “No, I didn’t hear anything.”

“Very good,” the inspector said, sitting up straight. “That will be all.”

“That’s it?” Sadie asked.

“Yes,” Dilree said, looking quite pleased with himself. “That’s it.”

Sadie watched him for a few moments, comparing everything she knew about detectives and inspectors and investigations. Not one of them fit this man. “Did you see the sitting room wall, the missing plaster?”

“Yes, madam,” he said. “It’s been suggested that the plaster has been damaged there for a period of time, something about new window treatments a few months back that resulted in the injury to the wall.”

“Who suggested that?” Sadie asked.

The inspector just smiled and tapped his paper. “It’s in my report; no need to worry yourself about it.”

“Are you a homicide detective, Inspector?”

His expression didn’t flinch in the slightest. “I’m a recorder,” he said, grinning broadly. “It’s a unique position where I document certain cases and reports.”

“Document?” Sadie repeated.

Dilree nodded. “Yes, I take statements, organize reports, manage case files—that kind of thing.”

“And you were sent here to document this case—not investigate it?”

Dilree nodded sharply. “Yes, exactly.”

Sadie let out a breath. “Will they be sending a real inspector?”

Now Dilree’s face fell a bit. “I am a real inspector, madam,” he said. “A recorder.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” Sadie said, trying to offer a smile she didn’t feel. “I just meant would they be sending a homicide inspector. In America these kind of things are investigated with the assumption that people don’t make up a murder.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Inspector Dilree’s face hardened. “In England,” he said, “we proceed with a bit more caution, especially when told that those reporting certain circumstances are unreliable. We are proceeding as we see fit.”

“Someone told you we were unreliable?” Sadie asked. “Who?”

“That is not information I can share,” he said. “Let’s just say that we do not take such claims lightly—unless given reason to do so.”

“And has it crossed your mind that perhaps whoever said we weren’t reliable could be the very person who is responsible for this crime? Was it the same person who suggested the damage to the plaster was a result of new curtains?”

That stumped him, but only for a moment. “If in fact my documents show good cause for there to have been a homicide, a homicide detective will be sent out. It will be determined upon the completion of my investigation. I’ve already taken pictures and samples of the area where you say there was a body. We’ll have those results in a few days.”

Days? she repeated in her mind. “I see.”

“Please send in . . .” He looked over the paper in front of him until he found the name he was looking for. “Mrs. Land, please.”

Sadie stood to leave the room, but had just turned when the door opened. Grant came in holding a large metal bucket, similar to a garbage can. At first, Sadie couldn’t see what was in it. Then Grant reached in and pulled out a fireplace poker, causing Sadie to startle.

“Pokers?” she said out loud, shocked by the sight before her as she turned back to look at the inspector. “You had him gather all the pokers?”

~ ~ ~

Dilree came around the front of the desk, looking quite pleased with himself. “Please lay them out on the floor,” he said to Grant who complied, though he didn’t seem to like being ordered around by this man. Sadie watched, shocked, as Grant laid out all the pokers. A total of seven were soon lined up on the library floor.

“Some of the fireplaces have been converted to natural gas,” Grant explained. “And others have fireplace stands only as decoration, but I brought all of them.”

Sadie continued to stare at the display he’d set out on the floor. There were three different styles of both handle and the end hook—some had a double hook on the end, others just one—but Sadie’s eyes were immediately drawn to two pokers with brass handles that looked exactly like the handle she’d seen sticking out of John Henry’s chest. She looked carefully at the one closest to her—it had a thin shaft, thinner than the others, and though it did have a small hook on the end, the point was sharper and finer than the others. The longer she looked at it the more it looked like an actual weapon—almost like those thin swords used for fencing, only with a hook—or barb—on the end. Despite herself, Sadie pictured how perfectly it would fit between the intercostal spaces of John Henry’s chest. The vision was very CSI-ish and she could imagine the metal pushing through John Henry, where the delicate—but deadly—hook then grabbed the plaster, holding John Henry to the wall. She swallowed at the image of it. What a horrible way to go—and yet no one seemed to believe it had actually happened.

“Do any of these look familiar to you, Mrs. Hoffmiller?” Dilree asked.

“The ones with the brass handles,” she said, pointing at the one that had brought on such a dark vision of John Henry’s death. She looked up at Grant. “There’s one missing, isn’t there?”

The butler looked uncomfortable and didn’t answer, but he seemed to be thinking about it. The inspector came to stand in front of the pokers, rubbing his smooth face with his hand as if he had a beard, which Sadie felt sure he couldn’t grow even if he wanted to.

“How many rooms have brass sets?” she asked, then immediately looked toward the large stone fireplace in the library. A wrought-iron stand was placed just to the left of the hearth—two brass handles, one for the broom and one for the shovel, reflected the final rays of sunset filtering through the windows. Of course the poker was missing from the stand because—wait. “Did you gather the poker from this room?” she asked. When Grant still didn’t answer, Inspector Dilree looked up at the butler.

“Grant!” she nearly yelled, completely losing her cool. “Answer me!”

Grant stiffened and the inspector looked at her in surprise. An awkward silence descended between the three of them, causing Sadie’s cheeks to heat up with embarrassment.

“That will be all,” the inspector said to her.

“No, wait,” Sadie said, putting up her hands as if she could wave away her reaction. “I’m sorry, Grant, I didn’t mean to yell.” She took a breath to calm herself. “Did you gather the poker from this room?”

There was silence for a few moments as Sadie waited. Thankfully Grant spoke before Dilree had the chance to tell her to leave again. “No, madam,” he said. “I did not gather the poker from this room. Besides the brass set in the library, there are two other brass sets in the house—one in the earl’s sitting room and one in the billiard room.”

“And they were both in place?” the inspector asked.