The Green Remains (15 page)

Chapter Thirty-Four

“‘There’s been an accident,’ they said,

‘Your servant’s cut in half; he’s dead!’

‘Indeed!’ said Mr. Jones, ‘and please

Give me the half that’s got my keys.’”

— Harry Graham,
Mr. Jones

11:40
AM

Nora sat at Simon’s table. She’d tried to convince Simon they had to take his position seriously, but when she’d taken out her notebook, he’d stubbornly refused to help her make a list of anyone who could have a motive for wanting Keith dead.

  “Not enough information, Nora. We weren’t close enough to him.” He’d tapped the tip of her nose. “You are supposed to be resting and working, not on a murder case. Leave the detecting to Ian.”

  Like that’s going to happen, she’d silently retorted as he escaped to his studio to expand upon the book cover sketch he’d started the day before. She could hear the Mozart sonata he’d put on.

  Nora tried to make a list, but Simon was right. She could write down the people who were at Clarendon Hall, and then what? She wavered at the thought of adding Simon’s name and felt instantly disloyal. She could add any townspeople who didn’t approve of Keith’s plans, but how would she know who they were? There had to be a way to narrow the focus, but she didn’t see how she could do that at this point.

  She brought her water glass to the kitchen sink and refilled it. Her doctor had stressed the need to keep fluids circulating through her system, important for the baby and for her circulation. Looking out the window, she saw Robbie and Gillian Cole talking on the corner. As she watched, they moved off toward the town center, and Daniel Rowley crossed their path, hurrying somewhere. They stopped to talk briefly, causing Nora to wonder what the older man’s relationship was with the younger. Another thing she needed to figure out.

  She should be working on a story idea. She’d made some notes about Kate’s industrialist, then jotted down ideas for calamity at the church, but when she tried to flesh out either story, her band of fairies started to whine. She couldn’t concentrate when there were more important things on which her brain could focus, like Keith’s death. Nora drained her glass and put it in the sink. She was thinking of stealing back to her room to inspect more of Keith’s work on the flash drive when Simon came out of his rooms, carrying an empty water jug. “I admire your dedication to your work.”

  Simon put his jug in the sink. “Not going so well on your end?

  “Terribly.” Nora stretched her arms over her head, arching her back to loosen it up. “I need to get away from it for a while. Right now I hate them all.”

  Simon laughed. “I know that feeling, when a painting isn’t going right,” he assured her. “I was going to take a break anyway. How about a pub lunch today—The Scarlet Wench?”

  “Lovely.” A chance to listen to gossip and grow her list of suspects. “What about Kate?”

  “She’s working.” In two long strides, Simon reached the kitchen door and opened it, calling out across the garden. “Kate—leave for lunch in five at the pub?”

  Nora watched Kate appear around the corner of the lodge, stripping off her gloves. Simon joined Nora at the sink as she washed her hands. Before he had turned off the water, Kate came in and added her hands to the running water, then started flicking droplets at Simon. Nora thought the silliness was just what they needed, with Simon under a cloud of suspicion and Kate on edge with Ian. She joined in, wetting her hands and slinging water at Simon’s face.

  Simon flicked back, and a serious water fight erupted, with all three of them laughing and flinging water at each other. Kate grabbed a cup lying in the sink and tossed the accumulated water at Simon, who ducked just in time. The water hit Nora smack in the chest, soaking her blouse and the front of her jumper and running down her belly.

  Kate sucked in her breath, her mouth forming a silent O, but when Nora exploded with raucous laughter, Kate joined in, and soon the three of them were wiping tears from their faces.

“Simon, you owe Nora a dry shirt,” Kate said. “That cupful was meant for you.”

  Simon pulled paper towels from the roll and handed them around. “Yes, but I had the good fortune to dodge it. I’d say
you
owe Nora a pint at lunch, but since she’s not able to drink, I’ll have hers and she can have a shandy.” He grinned broadly, mopping his face.

  “You’re on,” Nora said, swiping droplets from her hair. “Let me just change these wet clothes.” She opened the kitchen pocket doors and walked down the hall. Reaching into her pocket for her key, she stopped when she saw the door was ajar.

  Nora was certain she’d locked her door that morning. She pushed the door open, then sharply drew in her breath, stifling a scream.

  Every drawer and door stood open; clothing lay in heaps on the bed and on the floor in a riot of mixed colors and textures. The file box holding her flash drives was overturned. Then a low moan issued from the bathroom.

Chapter Thirty-Five

“Elgar Enders patted the four new, crisp rent books in his pocket with tender satisfaction. At last he had a business … ”

— Kristin Hunter,
The Landlord

11:45
AM

The streets of Oxford were busy with weekend traffic. Ian Travers drove past Inspector Morse’s Randolph Hotel to St. Aldate’s police station to check in with the local force as a courtesy. Speaking to Detective Sergeant McAfee, he explained his reasons for visiting Oxford. McAfee told him about the break-in at Worth’s and made him a copy of the report. It was unlikely the event was related to Keith Clarendon’s death, but both detectives agreed the report could contain information he needed.

  Ian decided to walk the few blocks to Worth’s and left his car safely in the police station yard. Walking up St. Aldate’s past the magnificence of Christ Church Cathedral and College, he noticed an advert for a new production of
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
that Magdalen College was mounting next month, complete with pyrotechnics and acrobats.

  Just the sort of event Kate would enjoy, he knew, navigating the busy, narrow streets crowded with a mix of travelers and locals, students and dons, the latter often attired in the dark coats of academic sub fusc. He paused at the corner of the Covered Market before turning left on Queen Street, resisting the impulse to stop in, though a medley of scents from foods, baked goods and flowers reached him. The unique shops inside offered the promise of a far more enjoyable afternoon than did pursuing a murderer. There was an air about Oxford’s centuries-old architecture and academia mingled with a sophisticated cultural life that provided a compromise to the rat race of London. He resolved to bring Kate here for a few days’ getaway amongst the golden spires as soon as this case was solved.

  “This case!” He could hear Kate’s remonstration clearly, accompanied by a snort of annoyance. “All right, Keith’s murder,” he replied in his mind, for that was the firm pronouncement from Milo Foreman that he’d received on the drive here. Once Tanghinia poisoning had been confirmed as the respiratory and cardiac toxin producing the results Milo had seen in the autopsy, the pathologist insisted it was an unlikely way to commit suicide. Ian wondered if they would ever be certain.

  He would have to re-interview Simon, a task he was reluctant to pursue. He couldn’t imagine Simon had anything to do with Keith’s death, but duty forced him to follow every lead. Kate would be upset with him again. He’d also need to investigate more closely the inhabitants of Clarendon Hall, where Sommer’s plant collection stood readily available to anyone coming in and out. He needed something more, a lead that would tip this investigation into an area to follow, and maybe this break-in would give him that link.

*

The mess inside Worth’s had been cleaned up, but the glass had yet to be replaced in the door. When Ian entered, a girl looked up from the stack of brochures she was sorting from a pile on her desk. She stood, sniffing into a crumpled tissue and showing off a clingy knit blouse that outlined small breasts and an equally tight knit skirt that covered an area no larger than a dishtowel.

  Ian couldn’t decide if the dark roots of her otherwise white hair were evidence of the need for a touch-up or were an integral part of her fashion statement. Silver rings gleamed from every finger, including her thumbs, making her stubby fingers appear even smaller. With unexpected delicacy, she removed a blob of purple gum from her mouth and rested it on the edge of her blotter for future use.

  “Can I help you?” she asked.

  Ian showed her his warrant card. “Is Mr. Edgar Worth available?”

  The girl looked at his card and then at her watch. “He should be here shortly.”

  Ian’s raised eyebrow indicated she should continue.

  “He called and said he’d be in today, as our manager is away, but he’s running late.”

  Ian nodded in encouragement. This one wasn’t a talker. How did she get this job?

  “After what’s happened this weekend, he was awfully upset, you know?”

   “Yes, the police at St. Aldate’s explained you’d had a break-in. I’ll just wait for him then. I’m here from Bowness to ask a few questions about Keith Clarendon.”

  The girl’s eyes misted over at the mention of Keith. She motioned Ian into a chair and slumped back into her own. “I can’t believe he’s really dead. I keep expecting it to be a mistake or something.” She dabbed at her eyes.

  Ian nodded sympathetically.

  “He was bursting with happiness lately,” she continued, tearing at her soggy tissue.

  Ian’s instincts perked up. “And why was that, Miss, er—?” Ian reached into his pocket with a practiced gesture and withdrew his notebook.

  “Franks, Amy Franks. Mr. Worth was talking of opening a satellite office in Bowness. It had been a dream of Keith’s for a long time. It was to be headquartered right in Clarendon Hall. Can you imagine that?”

  Ian could think of too many people, including his almost-brother-in-law, who could imagine that and wouldn’t like it at all.

Chapter Thirty-Six

“We dance round in a ring and suppose,

But the Secret sits in the middle and knows.”

— Robert Frost,
The Secret Sits

11:55
AM

“Simon! Kate!” The urgency in Nora’s voice had the brother and sister sprinting down the hall. Nora heard them stop at the threshold of her disheveled room. “In the bathroom—” she called out.

  Nora knelt awkwardly on the tiled floor beside Agnes, wiping her face with a damp cloth. Semi-conscious, Agnes moaned and muttered as Nora tried to calm her. “It’s all right, Agnes. Kate and Simon are here now.” She looked up and saw their anxious faces. “Call an ambulance and get some ice.” They hurried out, and she continued to croon to Agnes, whose eyelids finally fluttered and stayed open. She looked at Nora with a panicked expression, then winced in pain.

  “Don’t talk,” Nora told her. “You’re in my bathroom, and we’re getting an ambulance. You’ll be just fine.”

  Kate returned with a plastic bag of ice wrapped in a towel. She helped Nora turn Agnes slightly, and Nora pressed the pack against the back of the woman’s skull. The skin had split, and blood lay in a small puddle on the floor and was caked in her hair.

  Kate helped Nora stand and took her place, talking quietly to Agnes in the same unflappable tone. Simon returned to report that the ambulance and the police were on the way. It was crowded in the bathroom, and he pulled Nora into her bedroom.

  “Don’t touch anything, Nora,” he instructed. “We shouldn’t disturb things until the police get here.”

  Nora surveyed the mess. “Poor Agnes—who would do this? She could have been killed!”

  Simon pushed his hair off his forehead. “Nora, it’s your room that was ransacked. Somebody was looking for something. There’s every reason to think it wasn’t Agnes they were after—it was you.”

*

2
PM

Agnes was at the hospital, and Nora’s room swarmed with a video cameraman and other crime scene techs. Ian had been notified, but until he could make his way back from Oxford, DS Higgins was on site to cover the case.

  Higgins took brief statements from Nora, Kate and Simon, and the whereabouts of the other lodge guests were quickly established. Tony Warner was supposedly on a hike and missed all the commotion. Glenn Hackney had asked directions for Clarendon Hall and had not yet returned. The other four guests were out on a tour north to Keswick; they’d had Simon trace the route on their map at breakfast, as they were huge Walpole fans and wanted to see Watendlath, the hamlet he used as the setting for his
Herries Chronicles
novels.

  In the lodge kitchen, Simon sat with Nora and Kate around an old drafting table that Kate had outfitted with a marble top and that Agnes used for prep work and baking. They picked at a plate of sandwiches Simon had thrown together.

  “This is where Agnes rolls her pastry,” Kate noted, tracing her finger in a pattern of the marble. “I wish they’d release me so I could go to see her.”

  “She’ll be all right,” Simon reassured his sister. “The hospital called. They’re doing a scan to rule out a skull fracture. She needed stitches, but with luck, she’ll just have a nasty headache for a few days.”

  Nora had been uncharacteristically quiet, brooding in silence. She sat up straighter, as though she’d reached a decision.

  “Look, I’d like to take you both into my confidence about something, but I don’t want to mention it to the police right now, nor compromise your relationship with Ian. Any suggestions?”

  Kate spoke up. “I appreciate your tact, Nora, so it’s probably in all of our best interests that I don’t know anything Ian might try to pry out of me, and on some level I’m still annoyed with him.” She slipped off her stool and carried their plates to the sink. “It’s time for me to call Agnes’ sister in Scotland.”

  Left alone with Nora, Simon watched her look down at her entwined hands, resting on her belly, and then as the quiet stretched, she picked at a cuticle on her right thumb.

  Finally she cleared her throat. “I don’t know how to explain this unless I can get you to see it from my point of view.”

  Nora paused, and Simon met her eyes, nodding in encouragement. With the light coursing through the windows, he could pick out gold flecks in her green eyes.

  “When I found Keith’s body, I felt thrust back into the story of someone else’s life, the one that started the day a man arrived at my office from the Ministry of Defense and told me Paul’s plane was missing. There was never a crash site nor debris found; the plane simply disappeared.” She paused and swallowed. “It makes it harder to accept someone’s dead when there’s no body to mourn. That was followed by the horror of Bryn’s death. And then, just when I shook off that fog by moving here, I found Keith’s body.”

  Simon saw her distress and covered her hand with his own for a moment as she continued. “I was still in that surreal place when Kate and I visited the Clarendons the next day. I was left in Keith’s study, and he had some interesting research on his computer about Belle Isle. At one point, he’d promised to share it with me, and I reacted without thinking it through.” She hesitated and dropped her gaze. “I guess maybe I thought there might be a clue to his death there.”

  Simon nodded and hoped he kept his expression from being judgmental as Nora described how she’d impulsively taken a flash drive and copied Keith’s file.

  “So you see,” she finished in a rush, “I feel responsible for what happened to Agnes, because what if someone was looking for that drive?”

  Simon took a moment to digest what Nora told him. He watched the pink blotches that appeared on her neck extend to a rosy flush that gave her a feverish look. He knew he’d been taken into her confidence after careful consideration, and he needed to calm her down. “No matter what you did, no one had the right to ransack your room—or to assault Agnes. It isn’t your fault.”

  Nora’s frown deepened. Oh-oh, wrong tack to take. Simon tried again.

  “When she was on the stretcher, Agnes told me she thought you’d left your door open for the Barnum girls. They were late, and she was bringing you clean towels and went right into the bathroom. Just as she heard a movement behind her, she said ‘the lights went out’ before she could see anything more.”

  Nora’s hand shook as she sipped her glass of water, watching Simon intently.

  He sat forward on his stool, his thoughts racing, resting his chin in a hand. He needed more information. What if Nora was right? This could be the very thing that could clear him, too. “Do you know if anyone saw you make that copy?”

  Nora shook her head. “I didn’t think so at the time, but Antonia might have guessed, and Gillian Cole came in just after I’d finished. Then Daniel Rowley almost ran me down with his bicycle a bit later as we were leaving the Hall, but the drive was in my skirt pocket so it wasn’t among the things that fell out of my bag.”

  “And where is it now?” he asked. What the hell was he going to do?

  “Zipped in my laptop case, in your kitchen. And I made a copy on my hard drive. I’ve only just started to look at it.”

  “I see.” Simon hid his surprise. He was a possible murder suspect and knew Ian would see this very differently. Then he looked at Nora, expectant and worried, and chose his words carefully. “I think I know how hungry you can be for knowledge when you’re deeply committed to a project. Part of you was snooping about Keith’s death, but more of your motive was to gain information for your use, is that it?”

  Nora nodded eagerly and sat up, hanging on his every word.

  He couldn’t believe he was going along with her. Every instinct told him Ian needed to know about this. “Why don’t we keep this between us for now and let Ian in on a need-to-know basis?” But wouldn’t it be nice to turn Ian on his head? And he didn’t want to do anything else that might rile up Kate and jeopardize the wedding. Despite everything, Simon still trusted Ian and knew he was the right match for his sister. Beside him, Nora let out a breath. One day, he thought with a rueful smile, they would all laugh about this—or at least dismiss it. Chances are there was nothing on that flash drive worth killing for, anyway.

  “Thanks for not judging me. I know I’m impulsive at times.” Nora lightly touched his arm.

  “We’ll blame it on the fairies, but promise me if you find anything suspicious, we’ll both take it to Ian.”

  Nora nodded solemnly. Simon wanted fervently to believe her.