Authors: Marni Graff
Chapter Twenty-Two
“You ought to be ashamed.”
Elvira: Act
III
, Scene 2
8:50 AM
Grayson Lange felt Rupert’s hot breath on his face as the man’s bony fingers reached for his throat. He shrank back as Simon grabbed the older man’s shoulders and restrained him before Rupert could throttle him.
“I never—I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Grayson cowered in his seat, his eyes darting down the table, seeking reassurance from those remaining.
Simon pulled Rupert’s arms down and held them firmly. He watched the rest of the room react to the man’s outburst. Helen stood up. Burt looked at his plate, an awkward witness to the scene. Fiona put her head in her hands. At the corner table, Maeve played with Sean and pretended not to notice. Only Poppy gave Grayson the warm look he craved and moved into Gemma’s seat.
“Settle down, Rupert.” Simon guided the man into a corner of the dining room.
Grayson rolled his eyes as the detective arrived with Nora and Lydia close behind.
“You don’t understand.” Rupert didn’t fight Simon’s restraint. “He killed our daughter, and he probably killed that girl upstairs.”
Grayson stood and threw his napkin down. “I don’t have to stay and listen to this.”
“I’m afraid you do,” Declan said.
Grayson plopped back into his chair to communicate his annoyance. He was happy to see Rupert’s hands were shaking.
Poppy leaned over to whisper to him. “Let it go, Gray, don’t make it worse.”
Declan stepped forward. “Why don’t you come into the drawing room now, Mr. Denton?” He took the man’s elbow, and Nora followed them out.
Grayson saw Lydia clench her hands. She wouldn’t sit at the same table with him at this moment.
Simon guided her over to his own chair in the corner by the child and Maeve. “Lydia, why don’t you keep Sean happy, and Maeve will get you a hot cuppa?”
Maeve was already rising. Comely lass, that one, Grayson thought, admiring her. Lydia sat down and reached out to rub the baby’s arm. Sean responded with a toothless smile and squeal that diffused the strained scene. Bless the child for being a distraction.
Grayson finally let out his breath. He leaned back in his chair. What a bunch of histrionic hams.
*
8:58 AM
Nora flipped to a fresh page in her notebook as Rupert took the seat his wife had vacated. The man had lost his color; his hands still trembled. He rubbed his face briskly and leaned forward, long arms dangling between his legs. Nora felt a rush of great pity for him.
“Some gallant knight.” His voice was husky with pain. “I should have gone for a punch in the face.”
“Then I’d have to bring an assault charge against you, Mr. Denton.” Declan’s smile was wry and loosened the man up. “Take a deep breath. I expect you’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.”
“Almost two years, actually,” Rupert acknowledged. “I know what you’re thinking: Is he the one caused that bloody accident, made him break his wrist?” He shook his head. “Believe me, if I were stronger, it wouldn’t be his wrist I’d break.”
Declan shook his head. “You don’t need to be saying things like that, Rupert.”
Rupert met his gaze. “I couldn’t help it. I really believe he killed my Maggie.”
Declan nodded. “Your wife told us the story. I’m very sorry.”
Nora felt a pang of sorrow for the man’s loss. It upset the balance of nature for a parent to lose a child. She reached out to touch the man’s arm, thinking of the pain the Pembrokes must have endured when Paul died. Rupert gave her a grateful look and patted her hand before she dropped it to return to her notes.
“Just to clarify,” Declan asked. “Was there ever any suggestion Grayson had anything to do with your daughter’s overdose?”
“No, she died by her own hand, full of sorrow, poor thing. Whether it was accidental, trying to block out her pain, or true suicide we’ll never know.” Rupert’s fire returned. “But he’s as culpable as if he’d held the water to her lips to wash those pills down.”
“I understand. Let’s go over a few points.” Declan gave Nora a subtle look to be certain she was getting all this in her notes. “If you feel such anger toward Grayson, why agree to be in this play?”
Rupert’s eye glowed. “He owed us those roles. And I wanted to make him squirm every time he saw us. I wanted to confront him, tell him what I thought of him, face to face.”
This matched Lydia’s account. Nora put an asterisk next to his response. She had enormous difficulty imagining this frail, emotional man capable of plotting and carrying out the events of the past few days. If Grayson were the object of his wrath, why arrange for Fiona to fall or put a dead bunny on Gemma’s pillow? Unless those were meant to disrupt the play. But then why kill Gemma? Nora thought Rupert would be more the type who would warn the young woman to stay away from the director.
Declan’s thoughts must have run along the same line. “What did you think of Grayson’s relationship with Gemma Hartwell?”
Rupert sighed. “Morals are so different these days. I’m hardly one to sit in judgment on that score.” He shook his head. “Mostly I felt sorry for her, because when Grayson tired of her, he’d throw her away and be on to his next conquest.”
Yes, but now Grayson didn’t have to go through that upset, Nora thought. Gemma was conveniently out of his world. Lydia’s words about Maggie came back to her: “He tossed her away like a used tissue.”
Nora turned to the last page of her notebook where she’d listed everyone’s name and possible motives. She circled Grayson’s name. Could Grayson Lange be the type of person who would cause his own accident to deflect attention, just to get rid of a lover he’d tired of? After all, Gemma was in the car that night with him. Nora warmed to her theme. He could have cut those brakes, not meaning to crash hard enough to break his wrist. It was an interesting thought. She added “Maggie Denton” next to his name.
She realized with a start that her attention had wandered from the interview, but it seemed Rupert’s description of last evening matched his wife’s.
“I got up to use the loo once. Didn’t look at the time, but I expect Lydia might know. Fell right back to sleep until I heard her shouting.”
“So you didn’t realize your wife had got out of bed?” Declan asked.
“We both get up at night. I don’t always wake.” Rupert shrugged. “Lydia would never hurt a fly. She’s a gentle soul.”
Nora made her notations. Interesting that Lydia had described Rupert in exactly the same way.
*
10:15 AM
Declan watched Poppy Braeburn flounce back into the dining room. There was more here than met the eye with that young woman. Remembering her furtiveness with her iPad, he suspected Poppy was responsible for posting those unflattering photos of Fiona and Gemma.
The young woman insisted she was a heavy sleeper and hadn’t heard anything until Lydia’s shouting woke her.
“I’m the farthest away on the other side of the lodge,” she pointed out.
When she’d gone, Nora shared her suspicion that the actress had an old-fashioned crush on Grayson Lange. She seemed awfully certain, and Declan had the distinct feeling Nora knew more than she said.
“And you would know that how?” he asked.
Nora blushed. “My experience with theatre people and celebrities.”
“I don’t want to know.” He didn’t need the details of Nora’s snooping to confirm what he’d seen with his own eyes when he escorted Rupert back. Poppy had moved to fill Gemma’s seat before the chair was cold. Would she try to fill the void in his private life as well?
“I should check on how Maeve’s getting along with Sean.” Nora stood.
Declan rubbed the back of his neck and stood for a moment before mounting the stage and walking to the windows. Anxious to change the subject from how she knew about Poppy’s infatuation? “Please bring Fiona in when you come back.”
The rain had slowed to a desolate drizzle, the sky filled with grey clouds. There were no cars out yet, which meant the roads were still flooded. The moment the water receded enough to let a car pass, he knew police would be out inspecting damage in the area. Soon after, he hoped they could get through to Ramsey Lodge for Gemma’s body. And Val could come for Sean. Maybe he should reconsider letting Nora stay at the lodge. But then, he knew Nora well enough to know he couldn’t change her mind once it was made up.
He checked his watch. Too soon to call Kendal station again. The car crash was already in the hands of the local police. Could he have prevented Gemma’s death if he’d investigated Fiona’s fall more thoroughly? He’d left details of all the incidents with Kendal, and DS Higgins had been out to investigate. He’d even frozen the bloody carcass of a dead bunny. What more could he have done?
He heard footsteps, and Nora joined him at the window. “Fiona’s in the loo; she’ll be here in a moment.”
“Sean all right?”
“Went right down for a nap. Maeve will keep watch. No one will get past her. I have the monitor at the desk, too. Put fresh batteries in it and in the base and left his baby sleeping bag on to ward off the chill.”
Declan rubbed her arms briskly. “Not exactly the week either of us anticipated.”
Nora looked up at him. “But you’ll figure it out.”
He had the feeling she had been about to say “we” but had stopped herself.
“Here I am, ready for my grilling from the great and powerful Barnes.” Fiona Church stood in the doorway.
She moved lithely to a chair and carefully draped herself across it. Despite everything, Fiona had dressed with care in a blue pantsuit with crisp creases and had pinned up her hair in a sleek French twist. Were these people ever “off?”
Declan started his questioning, and Nora flipped to a clean page. He took Fiona over her movements last night.
“It was biting cold. I took my makeup off and found the extra blanket and got right under the covers.”
Declan nodded. “Did you hear anything after that?”
“No, nothing. I usually sleep very well without using anything.”
Declan watched her fingers curl and her eyes stray to the side and knew this wasn’t the truth.
“So no pills, but how many of us really sleep through the night?”
Fiona shrugged. “Heard those two next door. The loo flushed a few times. That’s it. My room is tucked away in a corner.”
“Did you know Gemma Hartwell before this play?” Changing tactics might shake her composure.
Fiona paused. Trying to decide how much can be found out if she lies, Declan decided.
“Certainly I knew
of
her,” she admitted. “Ours is really a small world.”
“You weren’t friends, then.”
“Hardly.” She examined her nails.
“Did you know the Dentons?” He watched her facial expression.
“I knew them by reputation, but we’d never worked together.”
Very careful answers. Smart woman. “What did you make of their daughter’s death?”
“A tragedy of course, but nothing Grayson was responsible for, the way Rupert believes.”
Nora interjected: “You were with Grayson when Maggie died, weren’t you?”
Fiona had the grace to blush. “We were an item for a while. It might have been during that time. I can’t remember.”
Declan raised his eyebrows at Nora to desist. She bent her head over her notebook, duly chastened. Small community, yet Fiona couldn’t recall when Maggie Denton had died? Declan doubted Fiona’s memory lapse but left it alone for now.
“Going back to Gemma. Can you think of any reason why someone would murder her?”
Fiona raised her head then to glare at him. “Don’t forget I was almost killed, too, Mr. Detective.” Fiona’s brown eyes widened. “I could have broken my neck falling down those stairs. And Grayson’s lucky he only broke a wrist in the accident.”
“I notice you don’t mention Gemma could have been hurt more seriously in the car accident.” Declan leaned forward into her space. “But you and Grayson survived, and it’s Gemma who’s dead now.”
There was a moment of silence between them. Fiona stared defiantly at him.
“Are you certain there isn’t something you know about these incidents, Miss Church?”
“Really, I have no idea who’s responsible.” She lifted one shoulder eloquently. “Just that it had to be someone who either knew Gemma well or had done their homework.”
“Why do you say that?” He felt Nora raise her head at this remark.
“Because of that dead rabbit on her pillow. Gemma’s real name was Bunny Sipling.”
The minute Fiona left the room, Nora turned to Declan.
“That’s what Gemma meant.” Nora explained what the actress had said right after the rabbit had been found on her pillow. “‘Who knows?’ She meant her real name.”
“Easy enough to find out if you Googled her or looked her up on Wikipedia,” Declan pointed out.
“Yes, but someone went to the trouble of doing that, so that prank was specifically meant to alarm her; it wasn’t a random event.”
Declan had to agree with Nora’s assessment. Soon she’d be wanting to sit for her sergeant’s exams if he wasn’t careful. Helen Mochrie entered the room, gliding over to them, her long skirt flowing around her ankles. Today’s turban was purple with turquoise stripes and a row of silver discs along her forehead.
“Please have a seat, Ms. Mochrie.” Declan pointed to the chair beside him.
“Mrs. Still miss my dear Archie, but you can call me Helen.”
For a moment, Helen seemed almost normal, and Declan realized it had taken Gemma’s murder to shake her out of character.
He took her through the same questions about her evening routine and sleep.
“Oh, yes, I heard footsteps all night long.” She nodded, setting the metal discs swaying. “I sleep with one ear open, always.”
After everyone else protesting they hadn’t heard a thing, Declan was momentarily disconcerted. He caught Nora’s eye and saw her bite her lip to stifle a laugh at his raised eyebrows.
“Was there any way you could tell where these footsteps came from, or when?”
“Let’s see.” Helen looked into the distance. “There were some around
2 AM
, then at the other end of the house around
3
-ish, some toilet flushing with those, then more after
6
.” She looked directly at him. “But those last must have been Lydia going to get candles, because I heard those steps pass my door to the head of the stairs and then head back toward her room. A few moments later, the screaming started.”
Declan immediately alerted. The
2 AM
footsteps were the important ones.
Helen looked pleasantly at them both. “Is that what you wanted?”