Deadly Desires at Honeychurch Hall (11 page)

I helped Patty into the back of my Golf. As I expected, she didn't offer a word of gratitude.

Angela climbed into the front and grabbed Jazzbo from the dashboard. “Oh! What a cute little mouse. He's so sweet! Hello, little mousie.”

She really stank of cider and chattered on in the most peculiar accent that I had ever heard.

“Do you really think we can win?” said Angela as we sped through the country lanes.

“We?
We?
” Patty finally spoke. “Why should you care? You're not from these parts.”

“Nor am I!” I said lightly. “But I care.”

“I love your auction idea, Kat,” said Angela. “Is it true you used to do car boot sales, Patty?”

“What's it to you?”

“I'm just saying, maybe you can sell some of your junk for the campaign.”

“Bloody cheek!” Patty exclaimed. “I've got some real quality stuff but no one is buying these days. It's programs like
Fakes & Treasures
that have ruined it for all of us. You can't get a bargain anymore.”

“So sell it at Kat's auction,” said Angela.

“If I'm selling anything, the money goes straight into my pocket,” Patty declared. “Charity begins at home.”

“Not always,” said Angela. “I believe in what goes around comes around.”

“You said it.” Patty leaned forward and whispered into Angela's ear. “You sat in Sir Maurice's chair. He doesn't take kindly to that. Something horrible is going to happen to you. Just you see.”

“What do you mean?” Angela exclaimed. “Why would you say such a thing?”

“Don't take any notice of Patty,” I said. “It's just superstitious nonsense.”

“You can think what you like,” said Patty. “But don't say I didn't warn you.”

No one said another word until we turned into the narrow lane and descended the steep hill to Bridge Cottage. I noticed that the stream that ran alongside the road was running high from all the rain.

Suddenly, Angela shouted. “An animal! Don't hit it!”

I slammed my foot on the brakes. “What on earth—?”

“It's not an animal!” Angela cried. “No, wait … what's on the side of the road?”

“There's something in the water.” My stomach lurched. “Oh God.”

Illuminated in my headlights was a mobility scooter. It had flipped over and was laying half in and half out of the stream.

Patty gave a shriek. “Mother! She's fallen! Oh!”

“Wait right here,” I said quickly and cut the engine. “Angela, call for an ambulance. Stay with Patty.”

But Patty was already scrambling out of the car, too. She was hysterical. “Mummy, oh Mummy!”

I grabbed Patty's arm, pulled her into my shoulder, and held onto her tightly. “Don't look. Just don't look.”

But I did.

Joyce lay facedown in the water in her purple-knitted coat. Her hat had fallen off revealing a halo of gray hair that skittered in the current.

Gently, I steered Patty away and back toward my car.

 

Chapter Nine

Fortunately, help was close at hand. Along with Roxy and the paramedics, Tony and John Cruickshank—identical twins sporting ruddy faces and curly brown hair—had been at the protest meeting. They speculated that given the slippery conditions coupled with the age of the scooter, Joyce had just lost control and veered off the road. Even so, there would have to be an inquest.

Doreen dropped everything and bore an almost catatonic Patty back to the Hare & Hounds. It was Roxy who insisted that the mobility scooter shouldn't be touched until Shawn could take a look at it.

“Why?” Angela asked for the third time. “Do you think something weird happened?”

“No,” said Roxy curtly. “I told you, this is just procedure.” But Roxy seemed distracted as she trained her flashlight back and forth over the slick road surface that was covered in mud and leaves. I, too, could see what looked like skid marks. “Looks like her brakes failed.”

“I mean, why was Joyce out at all?” Angela went on. “Doreen said that she wasn't feeling well.”

“She must have changed her mind,” I said.

“But why—?”

“I hope you're not driving, Angela,” said Roxy coldly. “You've had a bit too much to drink.”

“Don't worry. I'm taking her home,” I said. “We're leaving. We just … I wish…”

“Are you okay?” Roxy asked.

“Not really.” And I wasn't. I was feeling nauseous. I still had bad dreams about finding Vera's body in the grotto and now, here was another one! Maybe there was some truth to Sir Maurice's curses.

Angela and I got back into the car and headed up the hill for home.

“Maybe Joyce saw something,” Angela banged on. “Mrs. Cropper told me about a phantom horse and rider who lured a platoon of Roundheads to Coffin Mire—Oh. My. God! It's Sir Maurice, isn't it? He did it. Oh. My. God. It could have been me.”

“I didn't know you had a mobility scooter,” I said.

“No. But … Joyce didn't even sit in Sir Maurice's chair and I did. If that happened to
her
—”

“Oh for heaven's sake, Angela,” I said crossly. “Pull yourself together.”

“Muriel from the post office told me that Eric's wife, Vera, saw a ghost in the grotto and died of fright. I didn't believe her … but now I do.”

“I don't take any notice of local gossip—and you shouldn't, either.”

Angela slumped back in her seat. “I've never seen a dead body before. Have you?”

“No,” I lied and just wished she'd stop talking. The drive to Honeychurch Cottages was only minutes but it seemed to take hours.

“Muriel said that William the stable manager wasn't really called William but I forget what his real name was. He's gone off on a sabbatical. Something about the Himalayas.” Angela gave a really unattractive belch and I caught a waft of rancid cider breath. “I feel a bit funny in the head.”

“Scrumpy will do that to you,” I said. “Just drink lots of water before you go to bed.”

I could feel Angela's eyes on me. “You've got really nice teeth and you're a really nice person.” She gave a heavy sigh and leaned her head against the car window. “You're really nice. Really. Really. Nice. Not like a stuck-up celebrity at all. No wonder David wants you back.”

I let her ramble on knowing that she'd regret it all in the morning when she woke up with a vicious scrumpy hangover.

“Still, you've met someone else now, haven't you?” Angela said wistfully. “I don't blame him for leaving the meeting. Was it true that Patty tried to shoot him?” Angela gave another belch. “Sorry.”

“It was Joyce, actually,” I said.

“Oh! And now look at her,” said Angela. “Dead as a doornail.”

I changed the subject. “What about you? Anyone special? How about Eric?”

“Eric!” Angela was so startled she had a coughing fit. “Blimey. Are you kidding? With those eyebrows? It's like they're alive!”

Despite myself, I couldn't help but laugh.

Moments later we stopped outside the Honeychurch Cottages that stood next to the Victorian walled garden. The terrace of three had been built toward the end of the nineteenth century for the gardeners when the Hall was in its heyday.

Tonight, a light burned in the upstairs middle window of number two where Mr. and Mrs. Cropper had lived for all of their married life.

“Will you come inside with me?” said Angela. “Just until I turn on the lights?”

We stepped out into the darkness. It was so quiet that when I first came to stay with Mum, I couldn't sleep. The silence made my ears hum. A fox uttered a murderous scream. Angela grabbed my arm. “Did you hear that noise? Is that a ghost?”

“You're a bit pathetic for a country girl,” I joked although I, too, had had the same reaction when I'd first heard a fox's distinctive mating call.

I helped Angela indoors and she groped for the light switch. Like the other two cottages, it was a “two-up, two-down” with a kitchen and downstairs bathroom tacked on under a catslide roof. I'd heard that Angela's cottage had stood empty for a very long time. It was sparsely furnished but clean and warm, thanks to a small wood-burner stove in the corner.

Angela, still wearing her coat and clutching her handbag, flung herself onto the sofa. “Have you ever seen a ghost?”

“Not really,” I said, although, in truth, I had felt a presence on more than one occasion and in more than one location at Honeychurch Hall.

“Wait! I know!” Angela rummaged in her handbag and produced a large bulb of garlic. “At least I've got this.”

“I think that's for vampires.”

“Oh.” She laughed and delved back into her bag again. This time she withdrew a pink flyer. “I'm sorry Iris couldn't come tonight. Will you give her this?”

R
AVISHING
R
OMANTICS
B
OOK
C
LUB

R
EAD AND DISCUSS
G
YPSY
T
EMPTRESS
BY
K
RYSTALLE
S
TORM

O
CTOBER 22ND AT 7
:
00
P.M.

P
LACE
: B
UZZ
C
AF
É
!

C
ALL 07781 80529 FOR QUESTIONS

I was startled by Angela's choice and hoped my face didn't betray my surprise.

“Did you know that the author is rumored to live in Devon?” she said. “I heard it could even be somewhere around here.”

“Really? How interesting.” I waved the flyer. “Yes, I'll give this to my mother. Good night. Sleep well—and remember what I said about drinking lots of water.”

I turned the car around and headed back to the Carriage House, passing through Eric's scrapyard and entering Mum's courtyard through the rear entrance. I thought of Angela's book club and remembered that Mum's website had mentioned she not only had an Italian villa on the Amalfi Coast but also a manor house in Devon. It was probably a coincidence that Angela had chosen
Gypsy Temptress
—although I never really believed in coincidences.

It had been a strange day that started with the revelation that Mum's stepbrother was coming to live with her, followed by discovering that Harry had run away from school again, this whole thing with Operation Bullet and all the ridiculous white lies that it had spawned within the Honeychurch clan, and finally, Joyce's horrible accident.

Fortunately, I was relieved that Mum must already be in bed. I was exhausted and just couldn't face telling her about the protest meeting and Joyce's death right now.

I headed up to bed only to find another bouquet of flowers had arrived from David to add to the half-dozen arrangements, orchids, and plants I already had in my bedroom. Mum was right—it did resemble a funeral parlor.

I put David's note into the top drawer of my bedside table to join all the others. I had to give him marks for persistence but it made no difference to me. Quite simply, it was too late.

I thought about calling Valentine to see if he had made it back to the pub safely, but decided to do it in the morning.

My mobile rang and I knew it was David who was probably checking to see if I'd gotten his latest flowers so I ignored it.

It was only when I got back from the bathroom having cleaned my teeth and changed into my pajamas that it occurred to me that I'd arrived home close to midnight and that David never rang anyone after ten. He claimed it was bad manners.

To my surprise, it was Valentine who had left a message. His voice was slurred and he sounded out of breath. “
Call me back. It's urgent. I must—
”

The end of the message was cut off. Puzzled, I hit redial but it went straight to voice mail. I tried twice more but had the same problem. I knew he'd been drinking. I felt irritated. I hardly knew the man. It would have to wait until tomorrow.

Decision made, I got into bed and fell straight to sleep.

 

Chapter Ten

“How was your Valentine?” said Mum eagerly. “No pun intended.”

We were sitting at breakfast devouring the last of Mrs. Cropper's homemade bread toasted with lashings of butter and marmalade.

“You're quite the comedienne this morning and to answer your question, Valentine was fine.”

“And?”

“And nothing.”

“You're hiding something.”

“No, I'm not.” Not about Valentine, anyway. I knew I was putting off telling my mother about the events of last night. Knowing that she'd be furious about missing the meeting, I just needed to pick the right moment.

“I thought you liked him,” Mum persisted.

“He's pleasant but I'm not looking for romance at the moment. You know that.” I had tried once more before breakfast to reach Valentine but got no response and decided to let it go. I'd most likely run into him at the auction tomorrow anyway.

“So you didn't get any information about the railway line,” Mum said. “Didn't you use my Dictaphone?”

“No. I did not use your Dictaphone.” The truth was, I'd forgotten to turn it on. “I have a very good memory. Can't I just finish my breakfast first?”

“On one condition.” Mum leaned in to whisper, “Didn't he at least try to kiss you?”

“No.” I looked her full in the eye. “But we did have tiffin in the Snug.”

“Good.” Mum grabbed a pencil and the block of her ever-handy Post-it Notes from the counter. “Where exactly in the Snug? There's not much room—although there is that window seat—oh!” She put down her pencil. “You're joking, aren't you?”

“Mum!” I was stunned. “Seriously? You thought I would do that?”