The Green Remains (23 page)

Chapter Fifty-One

“Don’t believe everything you hear.”

— Marcy Heidish,
Witnesses

5:57
PM

Nora rested on Cook’s sitting-room loveseat, a warm afghan spread over her, watched over by Kate who was perched by her feet. She held her hands out in front of her, seeing her swollen fingers but feeling they belonged to someone else. Cook’s lair was small but cozy; family photos covered the wall over the television. Through a doorway, Nora could see a neatly made iron bed. Simon appeared in the door from the kitchen, holding glasses and a bottle of sherry, and Kate waved him in.

  Nora rose up on one elbow. “I’m so embarrassed. I’ve never fainted in my life.”

  Kate sat on the edge of the cushion. Simon moved into the small room and stood next to them.

  “I turn my back on you for ten minutes, Red, and look at the fine mess you’ve got yourself into,” he said in his best Cary Grant imitation.

  Nora laughed. “
The
Philadelphia Story
,” she said appreciatively, swinging her legs over to sit up. “I’m fine.” She inspected her thick ankles and puffy feet. “But it appears from my size and the baby’s weight that the count might have been off. Doc Lattimore thinks I’m due sooner than we’d calculated.”

  Kate raised an eyebrow. “How much sooner?”

  “Instead of the third week in November, more like the first or second.”

  Simon frowned. “Shouldn’t your OB in Windermere have caught that?”

  Nora blushed. “Don’t blame Dr. Ling. She already raised the idea.”

  “Which you didn’t share with us,” Kate threw in.

  “Not knowing when I got pregnant made the due date a guesstimate from the beginning,” Nora protested. “She told me last week I was larger than expected but said that could also be down to my being so short—there’s no room for the baby to go but out.” She gestured in front of her. “I’m to see her at the end of this week for measurements.”

  “An appointment one of us will take you to,” Simon said firmly.

  “Absolutely,” Nora agreed. “I know better than to argue with you, Simon. I want to keep this baby healthy, and I need to know how much time I have left. I don’t even have his name.” She shook her head. “Some mother I’m going to be.”

  “No other problems?” Simon asked.

  “No, the doctor checked my blood sugar and blood pressure, and both are fine. He thinks I’ve been on my feet too long today after the strain of the last week, and the added news of Daniel pushed me over the edge.” She shrugged. “Any news on how Daniel died?”

  Kate looked away. “Ian won’t be trading confidences with me now.”

  Nora looked up at Simon. “I bet when Robbie Cole checked on Daniel he was already dead. And there’s his friendship with Jack Halsey—their deaths are connected.”

  Simon blew out an exasperated sigh. “Can’t you confine yourself to worrying about things like what to name your baby and when he’s due?”

  Nora struggled to her feet. “Did you know Doc Lattimore’s first name is Mungo?”

  She saw the look that passed between Simon and Kate. “What? It’s Celtic for ‘beloved.’ And didn’t Eliot use it for one of his cats? I think it’s rather sweet.”

  Kate said, “Now I know she needs to see her doctor.”

*

6:15
PM

Nora sat at the table watching Cook rinse a platter, which Kate dried. She’d been forbidden to help, but Doc Lattimore had allowed her to partake in a sherry, and she’d protested at the thimbleful Simon poured her. He sat at the table with her. The green baize door swung open, and Sommer motored into the room.

  “The guests have gone, and Robbie’s giving a statement about going to Daniel’s hut yesterday,” he announced. “And I am very ready for my sherry.”

  Simon obliged and handed him a glassful, which he sipped gratefully. “Doc Lattimore saw Antonia, and she’s lying down. I see you’re up and about, Nora. Hope you’re feeling better.”

  Nora felt a surge of empathy for the man. After all he’d been through this day, he still had the grace to inquire after her. “Just a momentary glitch,” she assured him.

  “Robbie said Daniel’s garbage is all over the place up there,” Simon said.

  “Yes, I’ll get someone to clean that mess up eventually, but for now Ian says it’s a crime scene.” Sommer blew out a long breath. “What a bloody hellish day.”

*

6:16
PM

Gillian assisted Edmunde into bed and was leaving his room when Robbie found her in the upstairs hall.

  “Ian Travers wants a word, Mum. I’ve finished my statement.” The young man was subdued. “I wonder if Daniel was still alive when I saw him yesterday. I should have broken in.”

  Gillian rubbed his arm. “Nonsense. Don’t bother yourself over that sod, Robbie.” She inclined her head toward Edmunde’s closed bedroom door. “I’ve just settled him. Plain knackered out.”

  They started down the main stairs side by side. Robbie grabbed his mother’s elbow, stalling her. He whispered, “I didn’t say anything about you and Rowley being friendly.”

  There was a long pause. Gillian looked down the staircase toward the entry hall. The front door stood ajar, and she could see the legs of a constable who paced the hallway. When Gillian spoke, she addressed Robbie’s left ear, her face devoid of emotion. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Chapter Fifty-Two

“I returned from the City about 3 o’clock on that May afternoon pretty well disgusted with life.”

— John Buchan,
The Thirty-nine Steps

6:30
PM

Ian climbed the track to Daniel Rowley’s hut. On top of Keith’s murder and the death of Jack Halsey, now Daniel had been thrown into the mix. His quiet corner of the world was suddenly a hotbed of dead bodies, and it didn’t bear thinking about how this would go down with his superiors. Then there was the attack on Agnes, and Ian had the feeling they were all connected. DCI Clarke was pretty reasonable, but the higher-ups often behaved as though a really good copper could stop anything negative from happening on his patch.

  When he arrived, the area had already been sealed off around its perimeter. He nodded to the constable logging people in and out of the crime scene and ducked under the blue-and-white tape. The stench of rotten garbage and dead body mingled in an odiferous, rank foulness that seemed to seep into his clothing.

  Milo Foreman came out onto the small porch, and Ian stepped up to meet him. The pathologist removed his second glove with a snap that tore the thin latex; he threw it into the SOCO’s garbage bin.

  “Better out here, Travers. Too crowded in there, and the smell is—unpleasant.”

  “I can tell that from here.” Ian had his pen out and his notebook open. “Anything you can tell me?”

  “Dead several days. Unfortunately, I need to get him on the
table to even hazard a guess when. Something’s been at him—rodents, I imagine. I’m waiting for toxicology on Halsey, too, but based on his appearance, I won’t be surprised if it shows the same poison as with the Clarendon boy. Could be the same here, too. You’re keeping me busy these days.” He stopped a masked SOCO carrying video equipment out of the hut. “Nesbitt, please radio in and ask my office to call the house and tell my wife to take the bouillabaisse off the heat. I can’t get any bloody mobile reception up here.”

  Ian shook his head and wrinkled his nose. “How can you even consider food after seeing what’s left of Rowley in there? It’s enough to put me off my dinner, I can tell you.”

  The pathologist uncapped a small bottle of antibacterial gel and squirted a dollop into his palm. Rubbing his hands together briskly, he told the detective: “With the amount of death that surrounds me, I’d say the question should be, ‘How can I not?’ Life’s short, Travers—get every pleasure whilst you can.” He added, “Would you and the lovely Kate care to join us tonight? Always room for a few more around the table.”

  “No, thanks, I couldn’t really,” Ian answered, wishing to do just that, especially with Kate. “I’ll take a rain check, though.”

  “Splendid. I’ll come up with something really special. You’re not Scottish, by any chance?” The gleam in the doctor’s eye was unmistakable.

  “My grandfather, but no haggis for me, thank you, Milo. A nice joint of beef goes down well or a bit of fish?”

  Milo was disappointed. “Too mundane. Leave it to me to suss out something wonderful. After we clear this mess up, of course.” He started down the hill.

  “When can I expect some details?” Ian called out after him.

  “No idea, but I’ll keep in touch,” the pathologist called back, waving as he disappeared.

  Ian watched his back retreat. He wished he were going to Milo’s home tonight with Kate. For that matter, he wished he were going anywhere but back into this hovel. He straightened his back and marched into the hut.

Chapter Fifty-Three

“Lord Melamine is right about one thing, at least. I was never a spy.”

— R. V. Cassill,
Doctor Cobb’s Game

6:45
PM

Kate entered Ramsey Lodge by the front door. Its sense of history and her pride in maintaining the place gave her a moment of comfort. At least she could do
something
right. Then she thought of her small emergency fund and wondered how long it would hold out if she had to spend it defending Simon. She hadn’t realized how much she’d been counting on Ian being a part of her vision for the future. If he was truly out of the picture, could she carry on alone?

  She checked the registration log. Maeve hadn’t signed in anyone new, which meant they were down to Tony Warner and Glenn Hackney. On one hand, she was glad not to have to deal with new guests; on the other, continued cancellations were going to be difficult to overcome. News of the attack on Agnes would fade, but if Simon were detained, that might be insurmountable, even if—no, she corrected herself,
when
—Keith’s death was solved. Not to mention Jack Halsey and now Daniel Rowley.

  Agnes had left a message saying she felt much better, and she was making noises about coming back to work Thursday. Maybe this newest death would gain national attention and bring a round of reporters. She hated to be gruesome, but they needed the income. She flipped through the weekend dinner reservation book. Simon appeared from the lodge kitchen, drying his hands on a towel.

  “There are individual frozen shepherd’s pies in the oven for the three of us.” He glanced at his watch. “Where’s Nora?”

  “She said she was feeling better, so I dropped her at the drugstore on the quay. She had to get some heartburn tablets.” Kate closed the book. “I’m actually relieved our census is low. Too much going on for business as usual.”

  Simon nodded in agreement. “Kate, I know it’s hard for you to communicate with Ian right now, but I wish you would see that I’m fine with how he’s handled things. You have to admit he would have been less than professional if he hadn’t questioned me. I did have access to that plant.”

  “So did tons of other people, Simon,” Kate said curtly. “But you’re missing one important thing.” She ran her fingers through the curls at the nape of her neck.

  Simon lounged against the wall, ankles crossed, and tossed the towel over his shoulder. “What’s that, then?”

  “You didn’t do it.”

*

6:50
PM

Nora left the chemist with fresh antacids in her shoulder bag. She walked along the quay in the direction of Ramsey Lodge, feeling fat and ungainly, her thoughts swirling. The lights were on in the various shops and strung along the quayside, but their cheeriness did little to improve her mood. A third dead body, Simon still under suspicion, Kate’s engagement broken—and her baby coming sooner than she’d expected rounded things off nicely. The thought of a third body struck a new thought: could there be a serial killer at work? She hoped that the two newer deaths at least would take the focus off of Simon.

  The fresh air felt good. She slowed her stride when she recognized Glenn Hackney ahead of her on the promenade. Allowing a group of Asian students to fill the gap between them, she discreetly followed him until he stopped at a carousel of telephones. As he lifted the receiver, Nora ducked into the entrance of a postcard shop opposite, maneuvering through the store until she was opposite him at its exit. She stationed herself at a rack of colorful scenes of the Lake District, pretending to compare the merits of the first two she grabbed off the rack.

  Why use a public phone when she was certain he had a mobile? Nora could see him from the side and shifted her eyes to catch the movement of his lips, studying them closely. After a few seconds of careful scrutiny she decided lip reading was definitely not in her bag of tricks. She rotated her position so her back was to Glenn and edged closer to the door, hoping to overhear his conversation.

  Nora closed her eyes as she strained to pick out Glenn’s voice above the tourist chatter. A gentle tap on her shoulder startled her. She opened her eyes to find the shopkeeper pointing to her cards.

  The broad man with a tired face said, “You gonna buy those, miss, or just memorize them?”

  Nora whirled around to the open door. A woman walking her black Scottie, a tartan bow tied jauntily around his neck, had taken Glenn Hackney’s place.

*

7
PM

Nora closed the lodge door, her parcel from the chemist’s crackling in her shoulder bag. Only a few more weeks of indiges
tion, swollen hands and feet, and pressure on her diaphragm and back, and she would be free again.

  Cancel that. Only her body would be free. She would be tied forever to the baby who kicked inside her, already fighting his way out.

  She trudged down the hall. Her failure to overhear Glenn Hackney’s conversation still stung. Darby came prancing up to greet her. “Some detective I’d make,” she told the dog, bending down to scratch his rough ears.

  Kate appeared at the end of the hall. “There you are. Come into the lodge kitchen. Simon’s heated up some dinner for us.”

  Nora decided Kate looked as defeated and tired as she herself felt.

  Dinner was a quiet affair, and the three friends digested their food while discussing the news of the day. Talk moved from the death of Daniel Rowley to Nora’s new due date. Simon put out cookies with berries and ice cream; he was the only one of the three whose appetite seemed unimpaired.

  “We need to get that alcove painted for the baby,” Kate said. “I should have time tomorrow with the census so low. You can work or rest in my room so you’re not around the paint, although it’s not supposed to have fumes.”

  “I’ll give you a hand,” Simon offered. “It’s a small space and won’t take a tick.”

  “You two are so good to me.” Nora crumbled a cookie and added it to a small scoop of ice cream and berries, eating it all together. “Thank goodness you’ve both been to childbirth classes with me. I need all the support I can get.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Simon said. “The camera’s all ready.”

  “I’m excited,” Kate admitted. “I’ve never seen a birth before.”

  “Me, neither,” Nora said dryly, and all three of them laughed. “No turning back now.”

  Simon patted her hand. “It will be fine. You’re going to be a spectacular mum.” He cleared their bowls, and they sat nursing mugs of tea.

  “I spoke to Agnes,” Kate said. “She’s definitely coming back Thursday. She already heard about Daniel’s death, and I think she’s brave to come back under the circumstances.”

  “She can’t handle missing all the action,” Simon said.

  “A third dead man; that surely must be the end of it,” Nora said. “My grandmother McAllister always said deaths come in threes.”

  “Let’s hope so,” Simon said. “By the way, Mr. Hackney is checking out in the morning.”

  “I wonder if he’s accomplished his mission,” Nora said. “Whatever his true mission has been.”

  “Hackney hasn’t been able to score with Tony Warner, who should be leaving soon himself,” Simon said.

  “Somehow I doubt we’ll be that lucky,” Nora said. “I wager tomorrow’s headline will make it seem he was almost an eyewitness to Daniel’s death.”

*

8:15
PM

After cleaning up, the three friends retired to their respective rooms. The day had been long and exhausting, and Nora was finally alone with her thoughts. She should turn to Keith’s work, but she couldn’t handle the thought of concentrating. Instead, she brought out her notebook, turning to an earlier list she’d made of things to do before the baby came, and crossed off “paint alcove.” She could count on Kate getting that done with Simon’s help tomorrow. She still needed a dresser and a changing table. The wing chair she’d brought from Oxford that would be perfect for nursing was already situated in the room, as was the crib, still in its box. She’d have liked a bassinet to keep the baby next to her bed for the first months to make nursing easier, but she was on a budget. She’d just have to get up more often.

  Her mother had sent a box of layette clothes, and Nora felt drawn to the alcove and sat in her chair. She opened the cover of the carton and lifted out the tiny garments, onesies and blanket sleepers that looked incredibly small. Receiving blankets in soft pastels were at the bottom along with a pack of cloth diapers—“for burp pads” her mother had noted on a sticky note attached to the outside.

  Amelia, Nora’s mother, planned to visit with her stepfather, Roger, for a few weeks after the baby was born. Should she have them change their travel plans? Were their tickets even subject to changing?

  Nora bit her lip. Maybe she should let her mother keep her travel arrangements as planned and be surprised if the baby came early. That would give Nora a little time to get used to taking care of the baby herself. She wouldn’t seem too bumbling in her mother’s eyes. Amelia was such a capable person, all efficiency and good cheer. Sometimes, she was overwhelming.

  Nora’s hormones would settle a bit, too. The more Nora thought about it, the more she thought she wouldn’t say anything to her mother right now. Besides, first babies were notoriously late, which is why Amelia had thought she might be there for the birth. Maybe Nora was getting her knickers in a twist for nothing.

  She walked back to her bed, picking up her baby name book and turning on her CD player. Ella Fitzgerald sang about being “Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered,” and
she
had Oscar Peterson to accompany her. Nora knew exactly how the singer felt. Too early to climb into bed, Nora sat instead in a chair near the French doors, propping her puffy feet up on the trunk Simon had moved over.

  Mentioning her Grandmother McAllister had given Nora the glimmer of an idea. What was this baby about, after all? Making a family of her own, husband or not. Nora valued the importance of family, so she started making a list of all the names of relatives she could remember. Movement at the front of the lodge distracted her. Thanks to the light over the front door, she could see someone walking up the front path.

  Instinctively, Nora looked at the French doors. Still firmly locked. She got up from her chair and leaned over the trunk just in time to see Maeve Addams entering.

  On her way to visit Simon. That woman just didn’t give up. Nora didn’t know whether to admire or hate her persistence.

*

8:45
PM

Simon stood at the hall desk, putting stamps on bills to be sent out in tomorrow’s post. The door opened, and he was happy to see Maeve walk in rather than Hackney or Warner.

  Maeve approached, and Simon caught the scent of her perfume, sweet and strong. The hall light bounced off her glossy hair. He remembered how alluring she could be when they’d dated. A wave of desire swelled him.

  Maeve held up a set of keys. “I found these in the pocket of my skirt when I got home.” She handed the desk keys over and smiled warmly.

  Simon didn’t see how she fit her hand into the tight leather skirt. “Thanks. You could have waited until tomorrow.”

  “No problem. Fancy a quick one at the pub?”

  Simon hesitated. That tight skirt emphasized her curves. “Thanks, Maeve, but after today I’m beat, and I have a lot on my mind. Maybe another time.”

  “Right then, I’m off. See you tomorrow.” She left as gracefully as she’d arrived, and if she was disappointed, she hid it well.

  Simon watched the roll of her hips as she sauntered down the hall. It was only when he’d settled on his sofa, feet up and the latest issue of
ARTnews
in hand, that he wondered exactly what Maeve had been offering—and if he was a fool for having refused.