Deadly Desires at Honeychurch Hall (18 page)

“The art investigator. Remember? I told you?” said Mum.

“Quiet now. Let me think.” Alfred closed his eyes and slowly ran his fingers up and down the shaft.

I looked at Mum and mouthed, “
What's he doing?
”

She mouthed back, “
Wait. And. See.
”

Alfred snapped his eyes open. “Did he drive a blue Suzuki SUV?”

“How do you know that?” I said sharply.

“I saw it,” said Alfred. “A bloody big tow truck drove past me pulling a blue car. Didn't bother to slow down and went right through a puddle. That's why I'm wearing your dad's pajamas.”

“What time was that?” I asked.

Alfred shrugged. “About four.”

It must have been when I was in the pub but at least it explained why the car had vanished. But who had called for the tow truck? Edith had mentioned it this morning to Eric but Eric would hardly have driven me up to Hopton's Crest if he had arranged for the car to be towed. Surely he would have mentioned it.

Alfred suddenly flung the cane away from him.

Mum gave a cry of alarm. “What's the matter? What's wrong?”

“Can't breathe!” Alfred leapt to his feet, eyes bulging. He grabbed his throat. “Can't breathe!”

Mum grabbed me. “Do something, Kat!” she shrieked. “Help!”

I tried to restrain him but Alfred pushed me aside and fell to the floor, gasping for air. Then, just as quickly, it was over.

“Oh my God!” Mum exclaimed. “What happened?”

“I think he had a seizure,” I said anxiously. “Has this happened before?”

Alfred gave us a weak smile. “Where am I?”

“You're in the kitchen with your sister,” said Mum firmly. “You had a bit of a funny turn.”

We helped Alfred back to his feet and sat him in the chair. Mum thrust a glass of Scotch under his nose.

“You had a vision, didn't you?” she said.

Alfred nodded. “Water. Mud—”

“Where?” I demanded. “Here?”

“What did you see, Alfred?”

“Death,” Alfred whispered.

“Who? A man? A woman?” Mum said urgently. “A platoon of Roundheads?”

“Stop talking, Iris.” Alfred touched the cane again. “I'm not feeling too good.”

His complexion had a grayish sheen to it.

“Of course you're not.” Mum turned to me and whispered, “He gets these moments after having one of his visions.”

“Should we call the police?” I whispered back.

“And say what?” said Mum.

Two beeps sounded from my handbag. Someone was sending me a text message.

“That'll be Dylan,” Mum said, rolling her eyes.

“Who is Dylan?”

“Mum calls my ex-boyfriend David, Dylan,” I said, delving into my bag.

“Why?”

“I have no idea. Probably because she knows it annoys me.”

There was a third beep. I pulled out my iPhone and stared at it in astonishment.

There were three text messages.

The first text was just the letter “
k.
” The second was the letter “
j
” and the third said, “
Hello all ok.
” That was it.

“It's a text from Valentine. He's fine,” I said tightly. “Sorry for all the fuss.”

“Oh, Katherine!” said Mum with scorn. “You and your imagination.” She gave Alfred another affectionate cuff around the ear. “You and your visions.”

I felt inexplicably upset. “Sorry. Excuse me,” and darted out of the kitchen.

Mum caught me going halfway up the stairs. “Kat my love, wait! Are you alright?”

“I'm fine,” I said quickly. “Leave me alone, please.”

Mum was by my side in seconds. “I'm your mother. I know when something is wrong.”

Tears stung my eyes. “So stupid. It was all so long ago. It's not even about Valentine!” I exclaimed. “I'm not even attracted to him!”

Mum gently pulled me down beside her and we sat together on the stairs. She put her arm around my shoulders and I felt a tear trickle down my cheek.
What was wrong with everyone tonight? All these tears!

“It's bringing it all back for you, isn't it?” said Mum gently.

“So stupid,” I said again.

Jem was my very first boyfriend and someone who, at age seventeen, was the love of my life. He had been on his way to pick me up on his motorbike but never arrived. He and I had had a childish argument earlier on the phone because Dad had forbidden me to ride pillion and Jem told me to choose between him and my family. I chose Jem of course because I was young and in love and couldn't imagine life without him. I wrote my parents a note, packed a tiny bag, and sneaked out of the house planning to run away. For two hours I waited for Jem at the bottom of the road but he never came. I thought he must have changed his mind and slunk back home to face the music. Dad was furious and forbade me ever to see him again. The first I knew of Jem's fatal accident was two days later when his mother called mine.

“I have the same feeling of foreboding, Mum,” I whispered.

“Then we'll go to the police first thing in the morning,” she said briskly. “Come on. Let's have a laugh.
Walk of Shame: Celebrity Family Secrets Revealed
is on in ten minutes.”

“You certainly know how to snap me out of my misery,” I said dryly. “I hate that program.”

Walk of Shame: Celebrity Family Secrets Revealed
was a reality TV show hosted by none other than my nemesis, David's estranged wife Trudy Wynne. The goal was to deliberately humiliate celebrities by exposing the skeletons in the family closet. It was mean-spirited and I flatly refused to watch it.

“How would you like it if your past was broadcast to gazillions of viewers for everyone to laugh at?”

“Don't be dramatic,” Mum said. “It's all scripted.”

“I've told you it's not. Trudy would have a field day with me and all
your
dark little secrets—haven't you ever thought of that?”

“So that's why you don't want Alfred here,” said Mum. “You're afraid that it'll come out that you're related to a criminal.”

“But I'm
not
related,” I said, exasperated.

“So what's the problem?”

“Well … maybe Trudy will expose the boxing emporium,” I said. “Oh! And find out that you're really Krystalle Storm who is fond of taking little trips to the Channel Islands to smuggle money into the country.”

Mum's jaw dropped. “Well. Put like that, I suppose I wouldn't like it. But darling, seriously, the celebrities she has on there are really awful. They're just asking to be humiliated.”

I got up. “Let's agree to differ. Everyone has a right to their privacy.”

“If you say so.” Mum paused. “But at least you are sounding a little brighter.”

“I'm okay, honestly.”

“Dinner is at eight. Alfred wants to cook.”

“What are we having? Porridge?”

Back in the sanctuary of my bedroom I sank onto the bed and wondered whether I should respond to Valentine's brief text since he didn't mention his walking cane. I decided it was better to let the whole thing go. Maybe he'd still come to the auction and I'd be able to return it there. I didn't want to hang on to it. Maybe Alfred was right. Perhaps there was a weird energy about the wretched thing.

My mind turned to Mum and her five thousand pounds. I'd have to resume my search tomorrow. Surely Mr. Chips had favorite places where he liked to bury his treasures. Perhaps Edith would know where they might be. But there was something I had to do first.

I returned to the landing and listened. Cries of “Snap!” and shrieks of laughter were coming from the kitchen.
Who on earth still plays Snap?
But it was good to hear Mum so happy.

I found the loft hatch pole behind Mum's bedroom door and the wooden ladder laying flat underneath her bed.

Quickly, I opened the hatch in the ceiling, primed the ladder, and heaved myself up. Mum had left a flashlight tucked in a cleft between the eaves. Plywood boards had been laid over the joists. It was horribly dangerous. Just one slip and Mum could easily fall straight through the ceiling.

The eaves sloped right to the floor. Right at the back was a leather suitcase with presto combination locks. I carefully crawled toward it. Making sure to keep my head low and my knees on the boards, I dragged the suitcase out into the middle.

I knew it was wrong but I just had to know what was in there.

A sudden burst of laughter reached my ears followed by a Native American war-whoop from Alfred. Mind made up, I keyed in the date of Mum and Dad's wedding day. The locks popped right open—Mum was so predictable.

I opened up the lid and played the flashlight over the contents inside.

“Oh. My. God!”

The suitcase was packed with bundles and bundles of twenty, fifty, and hundred-pound bills. Tucked in a pocket at the side was a roll of empty blue self-sealing plastic bags secured with a rubber band.

Mum had definitely made more than one or two trips to the Channel Islands. I couldn't even begin to guess how much money was in there.

Her writing endeavors were seriously lucrative and I felt proud of her.

But, as I closed the suitcase, secured the locks, and pushed it back under the eaves, I began to realize just why Mum had been so freaked out about my going to the police. It was just as well that Dad never found out. No wonder he'd banned Alfred from Mum's life—and now Alfred was back.

I felt perplexed. How could I ever leave her and go back to London now?

 

Chapter Fourteen

The next morning my bruised face had turned an ugly yellow but the swelling had gone down. Under great sufferance, I had allowed Alfred to administer a gypsy remedy the night before. This consisted of Mrs. Cropper's raw steak slathered in a disgusting smelling herbal paste. I had to lie on the floor for an hour.

Alfred was making a supreme effort to ingratiate himself. The night before he had cooked a rather delicious dinner, washed up, and then proceeded to massage Mum's feet.

I'd never seen my mother so cheerful and realized she probably had been lonely. In fact, I wondered if she'd been lonely for most of her married life.

Mum claimed that Dad's job as a tax inspector had prevented her from forging strong friendships that now, I didn't believe for a minute. True, they weren't the most social people. Dad had his allotment and the Rotary Club and Mum had her headaches that I now knew, of course, was her cover for writing her books.

As I popped my laptop, mobile phone, and my lucky Jazzbo mascot into my tote bag, I decided I would stop in at the police station this morning—just for my own peace of mind. Someone might have turned in the money.

My good humor dissolved the moment I got downstairs. Wedged in the narrow hallway with only a foot to spare, sat the sofa with what remained of Alfred's makeshift bed.

Alfred, dressed in a pair of Dad's old work overalls with the sleeves and legs rolled up, emerged from the sitting room carrying a box of books. He dumped it on top of the duvet where it promptly slid off. All the books fell out onto the floor.

“Morning! Glad to see your face is much better,” Alfred said cheerfully as he kicked the books under the sofa. “Look at her face, Iris.”

Mum appeared holding a standard lamp and set it down at the bottom of the stairs.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Come and see,” said Mum.

I followed her into the sitting room and stifled my dismay. Furniture had been moved into the center of the room and covered with old sheets. Boxes that Mum and I had unpacked just weeks ago were repacked with knickknacks. Two black dustbin liners bulged with the curtains Mum had removed from the windows.

“We're clearing out as much as we can,” said Mum happily. “Alfred's going to decorate.”

“I thought he was going to work for Edith at the stables,” I said. “That's a full-time job in itself.”

“That's not until Saturday,” said Mum. “Today is Wednesday. Anyway, he thinks he can do it in a day.”

“A day!” I said. “I doubt it.”

“There she goes again,” said Alfred, winking at Mum. “Always thinking the worst.”

“But what about preparing the walls?” I exclaimed. “The wallpaper needs to come off for a start and that's a big job. Who knows what their condition is like! They're probably rotten and will need Polyfilla.”

“Oh ye of little faith,” Alfred joked.

“And look at windows.” I pointed to the paint-peeled frames. “They'll need stripping and sanding right down. The skirting boards, too.”

“Rubbish,” said Alfred. “They look alright to me.”

“I'll dig out Frank's paint tray and brushes,” said Mum. “I knew they'd come in useful.”

“Dad would take weeks to decorate a room even this small,” I protested.

“Katherine! For goodness' sake! Stop whining.” Mum glowered. “Can I talk to you in the kitchen for a minute?”

“If we can get past the obstacle course, yes.”

The Carriage House had an L-shaped floor plan with the front door opening into a narrow hallway and flight of stairs. The sitting room was on the right. At the far end stood the kitchen and a small dining room that was still full of unpacked boxes from Mum's old house. Entrance to the carriageway itself was through a door situated in the elbow of the L. As well as room for four carriages, the stalls could house twenty-four horses. There was also a downstairs loo and a grooms' sitting room with a winding staircase leading to sleeping quarters above.

Mum and I squeezed past the sofa, past an empty bookcase and upended coffee table, and went into the kitchen.

“Do you want to live in this mess?” I asked.

“I'm used to it,” said Mum. “Don't you remember how your father was always decorating?”