The Green Remains (18 page)

  Nora held her breath as the constable moved closer, directing the beam of light onto his face. Jack Halsey’s eyes stared back at them, filmed in a milky coating of death. The peace of the evening was shattered when the constable hit the emergency button on her radio.

Chapter Forty-One

“‘You’ve got to get him, boys—get him or bust!’ said a tired police chief, pounding a heavy fist on a table.”

— Mary Roberts Rinehart,
The Bat

11:55
PM

It was near midnight when Ian swept up the back steps to Simon’s kitchen door. His stop at the station had taken longer than he’d planned due to Jack Halsey’s death. There was still no sign of Anne Reed, the missing girl, and he’d had a mountain of paperwork to wade through. When he’d finished reading Milo Foreman’s formal report, he’d realized what he had to do, and the knowledge made his heart heavy.

  On the ride over, he’d worried Ramsey Lodge would be shut for the night, but the lights were still on in Simon’s rooms, and he could see Nora slumped in a chair by the fireplace. Across from her, Simon spoke earnestly. In pantomime, he appeared to be reassuring her. Darby lay by her feet, sleeping. He noticed Kate’s head was barely visible on the arm of the sofa, but she leapt up at his knock, smoothing her ruffled hair as she opened the door.

  “Back from beating the bushes in Oxford?” She ushered him into the room. He leaned forward for a kiss, but Kate stepped pointedly back, leaving him to stand awkwardly outside the warmth of their circle. She sat back down.

  Ian pretended not to notice and plopped beside her. “I’ve been going over the initial reports on Jack Halsey’s death. Sorry you had to find him, Nora. Can’t have been fun,” Ian said.

  “Not how I expected to end the weekend, after Agnes’ assault,” Nora agreed, sitting forward on her chair.

  “At least Halsey’s grandson was returned to his mother before he saw his granddad like that,” Simon said.

  Ian balled his fists and girded himself. “I’m afraid you’ll have to come back down to the station, Simon,” he said, bracing for the reaction.

  “Whatever for?” Kate’s eyes narrowed, her anger palpable.

  “Keith’s tox reports confirmed the Tanghinia
poisoning,” he explained. “I need a list of anyone you can think of who had access to your studio while the plant was in there.”

  Simon’s face darkened. “That could be almost anyone, Ian, even you.”

  “Then you’ll just have to make a long list, won’t you, Simon? Or would you rather I just arrest you?” the weary detective replied.

  Kate exploded. “You’re carrying this too far, Ian!”

  “No, Kate, I’m actually being considerate of Simon because he’s your brother, and by rights I should be putting him in handcuffs.”

  “If that’s what you call consideration, I have some considering of my own to do,” she said coldly, twisting her left ring finger. She threw her engagement ring at Ian and stomped out, banging the sliding door to the hall behind her as Nora stood up and rushed after her.

Chapter Forty-two

“It is no time for mirth and laughter,

The cold, grey dawn of the morning after.”

— George Ade,
The Sultan of Sulu

Monday, 25th October

7:10
AM

Antonia Clarendon stood on the small balcony outside her bedroom. The early morning haze had yet to burn off. She could see the peaks of the nearest fells through a layer of lavender mist, and she shivered, wrapping her dressing gown tightly around her thin frame.

  She had slipped out of Sommer’s bed before he woke and before Gillian came to do his morning routine.

  So many wasted years, she thought, watching the haze swirl and waver in the weak light. So very many years of the same routine, the same dull chores to be attended to if Sommer’s life was to be preserved. But she couldn’t imagine her life without him in it. At least he had his mind and his speech. If she had been Edmunde’s wife—she shuddered at the thought.

  Antonia rubbed her temples to ease the tightness that hadn’t left her since absorbing Keith’s death. She knew from the expression on DCI Clarke’s face when he came to the house that he carried devastating news. That sober man had the gravest task of all, having to tell families their loved ones had perished.

  After she’d run up to Keith’s room and seen the undisturbed bed, a cold fear had gripped her head and had tightened over the next hours. Shock, she’d imagined. What could she be afraid of now that the worst had happened? Those pills Doc Lattimore had given her lessened the tautness a bit but left her feeling like a sleepwalker. Even so, they did lighten the heavy feeling of dread, a hollowness surrounding the knowledge that she had nothing left in her life to look forward to, no purpose to sustain her.

  No, she decided, it was better to face the facts instead of dulling the pain; better to steel herself for the phone calls and flowers and gestures of sympathy she’d pretended not to notice all weekend. She’d save the pills for the next day’s funeral service, which she knew she’d have trouble getting through, and then she’d hoard them for a day down the road when she couldn’t face getting up anymore.

  Antonia remembered another funeral she had wept through steadily but quietly, supported by her mother and father, her body weak and in pain to match that in her heart. Her husband lay in critical condition, his future uncertain. Her brother-in-law remained locked in his rooms, refusing to leave for the service as though he could delay facing the death of his wife if he stayed away from the chapel and from those coffins, one miniature and white next to the large one of oak.

  She thought of the baby who’d waited for her that day, the lone impetus that allowed her to make it through that day and the next and the next, the sole reason she’d retained her lucidity while her world collapsed around her.

  Now that child was gone, and no other would ever take his place. And she wondered if this time she would be able to hold onto her sanity.

*

8:45
AM

Kate rose late after crying herself into a fitful sleep. Had she overreacted last night? She had sat with Nora for more than an hour, hashing out the entire situation. The only thing she’d decided firmly was that if Ian wanted to go after Simon, he’d have to do it without her help. She’d sent Nora to bed and fallen into her own, exhausted.

  At this moment, she didn’t think she could tolerate being a police officer’s wife, if suspecting their closest relatives was part of the job. How could she be loyal to both men in this situation? If she sided with Ian, she was being disloyal to her brother; she had no choice but to defend Simon. Underscoring it all was the fact that she knew Simon’s history with Keith.

  As she dressed, she wondered how Simon was doing today. Last night, she’d left an urgent message with their family solicitor, who should be working on Simon’s case at this moment. She’d check with him once she got herself sorted. She had so much to do today.

  Yesterday, she’d called Sally Kincaid, who substituted for Agnes when she was on vacation or out sick and who agreed to work for the next week, and today Maeve was to bring around the planned menus for Sally to review. At least it was Monday, and they had no dinner service until Thursday. They would see how Agnes felt after that.

  Once she knew about Simon, she would pick Agnes up from Saint Margaret’s Hospital and get the patient settled at home. Then she would retrieve Agnes’ sister Hazel from the train in Windermere. Hazel had insisted on coming down when Kate had spoken to her, but had asked for her visit to be a surprise for Agnes.

  Half an hour later, Kate stopped in her workshop to inspect the drying of a painted piece she was working on. The creamy yellow was drying well, and she was trying to decide whether to add a pale green glaze to pick out its features. This was her therapy, a way to distract and calm herself after last night. A movement at the end of the garden caught her attention, and she walked over to the studio door and looked out.

  Simon knelt, weeding. Nora stood over him, talking and leaning on a hoe. The morning soil was damp and made pulling weeds easier. It all looked so normal, but shocked to see her brother, Kate hurried out. Seeing her excitement, Darby ran up to greet her. She fondled the dog’s ears as she resisted the impulse to grab Simon and hug him.

  “Hey, you two.”

  “Hello yourself,” Simon answered, getting up and slapping his gloves on his dirty jeans before pulling them off. “Get my note?”

  “What note?”

  “The one I left on your door when I got home after talking with Ian. He didn’t arrest me, Kate.” Simon’s face was drawn. “But I’m to have legal guidance, whatever that means.”

  “Oh.” She stepped forward and hugged him anyway. “I came out through my studio, so I didn’t see any note. I thought you were locked up.”

  Simon draped his arm over her shoulder. “Not quite yet. How’s my sister holding up?”

  Nora looked tired but smiled at Kate. “I heard him coming in, and we had tea together early. I made him toast and eggs, and he wolfed them down.”

  Simon kept his arm around his sister but looked away. “We had a few cancellations. The news must have hit about Agnes being hurt on the premises.”

  Kate noted Simon didn’t include the cloud of suspicion that hovered over
him
as a reason for the guests’ change of mind. Nothing horrible like this had ever happened when their parents were in charge, and it seemed like a betrayal of their good work. Kate felt like her entire world was falling apart. Had she and Simon made a mistake keeping the lodge running?

  Nora stepped over to them and broke her reverie. “Hey, you two. My mom always says, ‘This too shall pass.’ Just give it time.”

  Simon squeezed her shoulder before dropping his arm. “Let’s change the subject. Too nice a day to dwell on last night. It will all work out, you’ll see.”

  Kate wished she shared his confidence, but she acceded to his wishes. “I’m glad you’re home and working hard.”

  “Want to help? My helper here pleads pregnancy for weeding; lousy excuse, I think.” Simon held out his gloves.

  Kate held up her hands in defense. “No, thanks, I’ve got my own chores today, and most of them revolve around Agnes.” She looked around. “What happened to Daniel? He was supposed to weed today.”

  Simon put his gloves back on. “Didn’t show, and since I was up, I thought I’d get a jump on it.”

  Kate frowned. “I’ll bet Daniel slept in. I could use him to pick up some things to help Sally out. I’ll give him a call and roust him out of bed.” She moved to head back to the lodge.

  “Can’t,” Simon called after her.

  She turned around. “Can’t what?”

  “Can’t call Rowley—phone’s been disconnected over a week. Hasn’t paid his bill again. Didn’t Agnes or Maeve tell you?”

  “Neither one mentioned it.” Kate chewed the inside of her lip. “And no mobile. Maybe I can get Robbie Cole to rally him. His cottage is closest to Daniel’s hut.”

*

9:30
AM

Robbie Cole put aside his online reading to carry out Kate’s request, leaving behind the technical world of environmental science to climb the path to Daniel’s hut. The track from Clarendon Hall’s kitchen to the small cottage he and his mother shared branched off into the woods, and he paused as a butterfly distracted him.

  Looking up at the puffy clouds, edged in pink and purple, he closed one eye, making them seem near enough to push away with his fingertip. Across the lake, the steep fells became the rugged mass known as Pillar, rising almost three thousand feet above sea level, but with one eye closed, it appeared no taller than his pinkie. Amazing.

  The view was more than picturesque to Robbie. The rough tracks and hiking paths had attracted travelers since the early 1800s, the peace and stillness of the nature-filled area sought by many. It was busy enough already, he ruminated; all this area offered could be worn away by those unable to take vigilant care of the primordial beauty he called home. He was comfortable here and liked his life just as it stood.

  Robbie tackled his coursework in the mornings and did chores Cook listed for him some afternoons. When he had free time, he hiked and consulted his trail logs. He’d started a birding journal, too, after joining a group in Windermere, and he was saving for a really good pair of binoculars. Six days a week, he helped his mother get Edmunde or Sommer in and out of the large stainless whirlpool bath with the aid of a mechanical lift. His small paycheck from Sommer gave him spending money and a small modicum of independence.

  He thought of his mum with pride as he resumed his walk. She’d made a decent life for them both with her career. He hoped to take care of her one day, when he finished this course and could earn his way. Interested in the land and the environment, he thought his future would lie in its preservation. Now that Keith was gone, there would be no conflict between his mother and the Clarendons on that score when he followed his plans. The pretense of supporting Keith’s development ideas could just fall away, and he would be free to follow his dreams. Robbie pictured himself in a crisply pressed uniform, patrolling the lakeside and the fells.

  The air shifted, and he frowned, smelling the hut before it came into view. Animals had knocked down Daniel’s garbage bins and torn open the bags inside. It had taken Robbie months to get Daniel to stop burning his garbage. Now several weeks’ accumulation had spoiled in the sun, spread out over a large area behind the hut, fouling the air.

  Robbie considered picking up some of the larger stuff, but he’d need to re-bag it all to tote down the road, and he hadn’t come prepared. At least he’d offer to give Daniel a hand with it. He knew most of the town avoided the man, but he’d seen him talking to his mother, and Robbie knew many people who never took the time to do that.

  Daniel liked his ale too much, Robbie mused. He knocked on the back door to the grey wooden building several times. No response. A pane in the window over the sink was missing; a loud buzzing made him squint to look inside.

  Flies hummed noisily amongst the stacks of piled dishes, feeding greedily on leftovers and dregs of takeout food. Robbie thought every dish Daniel owned must be thrown in that sink. He rattled the doorknob.

  “Daniel! Daniel Rowley! Open up in there.”

  He decided to walk around to the front. Robbie stood for a moment enjoying the view of the lake, breathing in air warmed by the autumn sun, crisp with dried leaves—land getting ready to slumber for the winter. He had a good view of Belle Isle and even Ramsey Lodge across the bay from up here. The boats were out in full force already. A steamer headed toward Ambleside, its decks filled with colored sprinkles like on ice cream, the mixed colors of tourists and brightly clad hikers exploring the area where he lived.

  Robbie mounted the two rickety steps to the porch, avoiding the broken chair set outside the front door. After pounding on the door and calling for Daniel again, he peered through the one window in the front room. He could see through to the tiny kitchen and the door to the water closet off of it. Dirty clothing lay in heaps on the floor. A worn cot sagged in the right front corner of the main room; a rough, wool blanket had landed on the floor in a heap. Lying amongst the tattered, grey sheets was the hairy bulk of Daniel Rowley, face down, one leg hanging off the bed.

  Robbie banged hard on the door, calling for Daniel in a voice so loud he was certain it echoed across the lake. He felt in his pockets and realized he’d left his mobile at home.

  Bloody sod, he thought, and started back down the hill. He’d have to call Kate Ramsey back and let her know that once again, Daniel Rowley had had one too many and wouldn’t be coming in to work today.