Читать книгу Cornish Castle Mystery Collection: Tales of murder and mystery from Cornwall - Vivian Conroy - Страница 18

Chapter Seven

Tegen was even redder now. ‘I barely knew him. I never went to his house or saw his family. I don’t even know what cases Leah handles. I suppose she makes a lot of money. Mum is bugging me to get a degree that can get you money. But I want to do something creative, or work with kids. One lawyer in the family is enough.’

‘In the family?’ Guinevere queried.

‘Yes, my brother. He has a degree in business, marketing and stuff, but suddenly he’s going to evening school to get a law degree. I’m not even supposed to know about that. I found out by accident, seeing something on the computer that was meant for Mum.’ Tegen shrugged. ‘Lance never knew what he wanted. He got the marketing degree because two of his friends were doing the same course and he could share a flat with them. Maybe he’s figured out now there’s no money in it and he’s changing his tune?’

Guinevere shifted her weight. She wasn’t really interested in Lance Morgan who hadn’t even been at the castle last night. She wanted to know what Haydock had given to Tegen. Whether they had had an affair. But you couldn’t ask something like that.

If they had, Tegen would never admit it.

If they hadn’t, she would be livid. And justifiably so.

Tegen held the bowl upside down and said to the chickens, ‘All gone, ladies. Now make sure you turn it into the best eggs for our guests. See you later.’

Then she waved Guinevere along. ‘There are some scones in the oven that must be about ready. Come on in, you can have one.’

Guinevere was surprised that Tegen was actually inviting her in to the B&B and wanted to spend more time with her. They didn’t know each other at all, and last night Tegen had seemed like a teenager willing to pick a fight with just about anybody. But maybe the island was a lonely place for her, and she would like some female company?

Through an open door they went into a large kitchen. A sweet scent filled the air.

Dolly saw a basket covered with a cloth in a corner and grabbed the cloth with her mouth, tearing it off the basket. ‘Don’t, girl,’ Guinevere said, as she pulled Dolly back by the collar and then put the cloth back in place over the basket. It held books and papers full of neat handwriting. Guinevere caught the word Branok and treasure. An electric shock of excitement went through her, but she didn’t dare look closer, or Tegen might think she was snooping.

Treasure.

What treasure?

Did it have to do with the secret stash Branok had supposedly hidden? Hadn’t Oliver mentioned Branok had written down directions to find it before he had died?

Tegen dropped the feeding bowl on the table and went to the oven. She almost reached out for the door, then seemed to remember something and fetched an oven glove. It was covered in drawings of plants.

She opened the oven door and pulled out the plate with scones. ‘They’re best when they’re fresh. There’s clotted cream in the fridge. And jam in the cupboard. Help yourself.’

Maybe Tegen was used to guests walking about in the B&B and was treating her in the same way? Guinevere opened the fridge and got the clotted cream out.

Tegen had put the plate on the sink and tried to pick up a scone. ‘Ouch, hot!’

‘It should hurt, young lady.’ Kensa had appeared in the archway that led into another room. Her brows were drawn together, and the shadows under her eyes were even deeper than the other night. ‘Those scones are for the guests, not for you. And what’s that feeding bowl doing on the table? Put it in its proper place.’

‘Yes, Mum.’ Tegen picked up the bowl and placed it on a shelf under the sink.

Kensa stood at the scones now, hovering over them like a protective force.

Guinevere placed the clotted cream on the table. ‘Good morning, Mrs Morgan. Are you all right after last night?’

Kensa looked at her. ‘What on earth are you doing, handling my things?’

Guinevere said, ‘Tegen asked me to get them.’

Dolly whined and pressed herself against Guinevere’s leg, as if she cringed under Kensa’s accusing tone.

‘Mum!’ Tegen protested. ‘I asked her to have a scone with me. I haven’t seen anybody around here for ages. I just wanted to talk.’ Tegen leaned against the sink, stretching her tall, athletic body.

‘The scones are for the guests,’ Kensa repeated. ‘If you’re asking someone over, you buy them a treat out of your own pocket.’ She crossed her arms over her chest. ‘And forget about angling for information about Oliver Bolingbrooke. He’ll never look twice at a girl like you.’

Tegen’s expression contorted. ‘Why do you always have to humiliate me in front of people? I hate you!’ And she stormed out of the kitchen.

Kensa began to check the scones, picking them up one by one and putting them back in place. The silence lingered. Then she said, ‘I just don’t want my daughter to get disappointed.’ Her voice was thick with emotion. ‘Hurt. It’s the only way it can turn out if she sets her sights on him. He’s too old for her and he doesn’t want to settle here.’

Kensa glanced at her, her face mottled. ‘And his father killed Arthur! I still can’t believe that he’s dead. He had so many plans for the island.’

‘Last night before the re-enactment started, were you … Did you see Haydock in his cell? Maybe go down to talk to him, ask him about some detail? You had made changes to the scenario, right?’

‘No.’ Kensa plucked at her cardigan. ‘I didn’t go down until we all went.’

‘And you didn’t talk to him through the air hole either?’

‘The air hole? I don’t understand what you mean.’ Kensa straightened, putting her hands on her hips. ‘We all know Bolingbrooke was under pressure to sell the castle. With Arthur dead he’s in the clear.’

‘Far from it,’ Guinevere said. ‘Haydock wasn’t the only one interested in the castle, as I understand it. And financial troubles don’t go away just because someone dies.’

Kensa’s eyes lit triumphantly at the mention of financial troubles. She turned away again and fingered the scones. ‘I’m putting on a brave face for the guests, but I really should be in bed. I can’t deal with anything right now.’

Guinevere had the impression Kensa was holding up pretty well for someone who had seemed frantic last night, but of course you couldn’t be sure how someone else felt inside.

She asked, ‘You were the secretary of the historical society, right? Did you contribute most of the script for the Branok trial?’

‘All of it. I looked through the sources. I did all of the work. They can’t take that away from me.’

‘Who would want to take anything away from you?’

Kensa waved a hand. ‘There was a discussion about who should be credited in the press release about the re-enactment.’

Guinevere remembered the leaflet she had picked up. Would there be credits given there? Would it reveal anything particular? She had to check as soon as she was back at the castle.

She asked Kensa, ‘Do you know more about that ring Haydock was going to wear last night? The one he said had a special connection to Cornisea?’

‘No, he was very quiet about that. He had bought it some place. I do know that. But he didn’t tell me anything about it. He wanted to wait until after the rehearsal to show everybody. Now he will never have the chance.’ Kensa pushed a hand to her face to smother a sob.

‘I’d better go,’ Guinevere said. Raw grief always made her feel uncomfortable and awkward, unable to find the right words to say. ‘Take care.’ She retreated to the back door, Dolly walking ahead of her.

Outside the dachshund shook herself.

‘Yes, I’m also glad to get away,’ Guinevere said softly. ‘I should feel sorry for her, but she’s just so eager to accuse Lord Bolingbrooke. Does she really believe he did it? Or is there another reason?’

The chickens had dispersed and were looking for worms among the carrot beds. The peacock cried, perched on a branch of a gnarled old tree. His long tail feathers hung down, a show of lacy white.

‘What do we make of Tegen?’ Guinevere continued, talking to Dolly as they followed the path again. ‘She behaves like a ten-year-old. As soon as she doesn’t get her way, she storms off. Her mother must have a hard time raising her. And what about her brother Lance? Why is he suddenly interested in getting a law degree? If he can never make up his own mind, but does what others do, I wonder who talked him into it. And why is he keeping it a secret? Tegen said she had found out about it by accident. Isn’t that odd?’

Dolly barked. Along the path was a low stone wall, and she poked her nose into a hollow between the stones.

Guinevere leaned over. ‘What’s that, girl? Do you smell something?’

Dolly yapped and ran her paws over the stone as if trying to dig a way into them.

Guinevere looked at the wall more closely and discovered a niche at shoulder height with a stone in the back that had weathered lettering on it. It seemed to be some kind of dedication.

To a Ganoc.

She had no idea who that was.

‘Hey, wait!’ Running footfalls rushed up to her, and there was Tegen, gasping for breath. She looked back at the B&B as if to ascertain her mother wasn’t watching them from an upstairs window. ‘Mum can be such a pain. Never mind her, all right? She’s just upset Haydock’s dead.’

‘Why would she be?’ Guinevere asked. ‘I mean, the tone he took with me last night, about me having to be some sort of student. Because theatre work could never be real work. I bet when he worked with your mother at the historical society, he bossed her around, not taking her seriously. Maybe he even took the credit for her work?’

Tegen shrugged. ‘Mum has known him for a long time. Even when Dad was still alive.’

Dolly came to sniff Tegen’s shoes, and Tegen leaned down to scratch her behind the ears. Dolly didn’t object and even closed her eyes.

Guinevere registered that the shoes were different than the ones Tegen had been wearing last night. A small size.

She said, ‘Is it long ago that your father …’

Tegen made a face. ‘Three years last spring. Sure, it was sudden, but you have to move on, you know. Mum can’t. She adores everything to do with Dad. You should see her bedroom. It’s just like a shrine, full of photographs and all. Nothing is all right now; it was all better in the past when he was still there. But I have to live now and make something of it. I don’t want to stay around this place for ever.’

Guinevere looked her over. ‘How do you mean?’

Tegen sat on her haunches now, rubbing Dolly’s back. ‘Well, Haydock was a pompous ass. But I did know he had money so I was nice to him for that reason. You never know when you might need a local connection. I thought this re-enactment could get me noticed. Now you’re from London. Do you think you could … recommend me to someone?’

Ah. That was Tegen’s reason for being nice to her, inviting her in for scones and all. For rushing after her to talk to her, away from the B&B. It wasn’t about Oliver, as Kensa had suspected, but about a chance to get away from Cornisea, to London.

Guinevere said, ‘The theatre where I’m at is undergoing renovations. We don’t open up again until after summer. I guess you’ll be back in school then.’

Tegen scoffed. ‘Who needs school?’ She shot to her feet and stood with her weight forward, her youthful face tight with tension.

Guinevere studied her. ‘Can you vouch for your mother that she was with you all of the time before the re-enactment began?’

Tegen turned to the wall with the niche. ‘Sure.’ She pointed at the alcove and said, ‘Do you know who Ganoc is? Our very own patron saint. He’s all over the island, also at the castle.’

Ignoring the distraction, Guinevere pressed, ‘Can you vouch that your mother didn’t go down to the dungeon to talk to Haydock? Or that she didn’t leave the castle for some time? There’s this new chap around, you know, an inspector, and a sharp observer. He saw things about the crime scene nobody else noticed.’

Tegen looked taken aback. ‘A new police officer?’ she asked in a shaken tone. ‘An inspector even?’

‘Yes, brought in from the mainland.’

‘But why? It isn’t a big case or something.’

‘Haydock was an influential man, and the castle is part of your local heritage, I suppose.’ Guinevere hoped Tegen would offer some revelation at this point, but the teen just looked dejected. She turned away.

‘Tegen!’ Guinevere took two steps after her. ‘You better be sure that your mother and you were together all of the time. Because lying to a smart inspector could be a very stupid thing, you know. He’ll find out sooner or later, and then you could both be in major trouble.’

Tegen held her gaze as if to determine if she meant this or had an ulterior reason for acting concerned for them. Then she made a dismissive gesture. ‘We told the truth. Bye now. See you later.’

And she ran back to the B&B.

Guinevere said to Dolly, ‘What do you think?’

Dolly cocked her head.

‘Not sure, huh?’ Guinevere said with a sigh. ‘Me neither. I felt she was lying about being with her mother all of the time. She put too much stress on it. And hearing that LeFevre showed up seemed to spook her.’

Guinevere sat on her haunches to scratch Dolly behind the ears. ‘But I don’t think she had an affair with Haydock. I think she likes Oliver. She watched us as we walked down from the castle together and she thought Oliver was also coming to the B&B. She didn’t know about him having to meet the lawyer.’

Her stomach knotted a moment, thinking about this meeting and what the lawyer might say. How bad it could really look for her new employer.

As if Dolly noticed her anxiousness, the dachshund threw herself on her back to be patted on her tummy. She wriggled all her four short legs in the air.

Guinevere laughed, the heavy feeling fading into the background. ‘Silly girl. Shall we go see Meraud? And her bookshop? I’m quite curious what it will be like on the inside.’

***

The words THE COWLED SLEUTH were inscribed over the window in curly golden lettering. The gold had faded a little over time, but the mere name put a rush of excitement in Guinevere’s stomach. Going through old books was like sleuthing, searching for clues and hitting on gold dust.

The books on the rack beside the entry door were all leather-bound and old-looking, dealing with sea travel, local lore, and gardening. She ran her finger across the spines, spelling out the titles that were sometimes barely legible.

Hey, Ganoc. The patron saint Tegen had just mentioned.

Guinevere picked out the book and leafed gently through the dry, breakable pages.

Ganoc was the patron saint of fishermen, revered all along the coast, but especially on Cornisea where he was supposed to have spent the last years of his life, as a hermit in a little shack on the beach. His only companions had been the gulls and the sea mammals that swam to the shore to greet him every morning.

‘I’d rather have you,’ Guinevere told Dolly as she put the book back in place. ‘Let’s go in, huh?’ She pushed down the door handle and stepped inside, an old bell ringing somewhere over her head.

The hushed silence made her walk on tiptoe to the counter where a woman with greying hair was completely focused on repairing the binding of a book.

Guinevere watched her gentle movements with admiration. There was precision and certainty in each step of the process, like she had done it countless times before, but still she held her breath to see if it was working, determined to have the best possible end result.

Then Dolly yapped, and the woman looked up with a jerk. ‘I hadn’t heard you come in.’ She leaned over the counter to see Dolly. ‘Hello there, who are you?’

‘That’s Dolly.’ Guinevere perked up when she heard an answering bark from behind the counter. ‘And what dog do you have there?’

The woman sighed. ‘I’m just taking care of him for the time being. I’m not keeping him.’

‘Of course not,’ Guinevere said, suppressing a smile at the emphasis put on the statement.

The woman placed her tools on a clean sheet of plastic and reached down, to pick up a cute, fluffy golden retriever puppy. ‘Jago is trying to find a home for him on the island.’

‘I see. Tegen mentioned the other night that an ad for puppies was up at Emma’s Eatery.’

The woman nodded. ‘Jago is trying to find homes for three puppies.’

‘Can’t Jago take on a puppy?’

‘Not really. He’s out on the water most of the time. He can’t take a dog. At least that’s what he said.’ The woman held up the puppy to look him in the eye. ‘That’s what he said, but we know he was making that up, right?’ She lowered the doggy and looked Guinevere in the eye. ‘It was a setup.’

Guinevere suppressed another smile. ‘A setup?’

‘Yes.’ The woman looked down. ‘My own dog died a couple of weeks ago. Jago was trying to cheer me up by dropping off this little fellow with me. But he can’t replace …’

‘I don’t think Jago wants to replace anything,’ Guinevere said quickly. ‘Maybe you can take care of him just for the time being. What’s his name?’

‘Vivaldi.’ The woman rolled her eyes. ‘Jago likes his classical composers.’

Guinevere reached out and patted the puppy. ‘Hey, Vivaldi.’

The little fellow put a paw on her arm, his snout out to her to sniff her scent.

‘There you go.’ The woman put him down again behind the counter. She reached out her hand to Guinevere. ‘Meraud.’

‘Guinevere. I come from London. I work at the theatre with your brother.’

Meraud’s friendly expression froze. ‘I see.’ She leaned over her book again and ran a finger over the bit of spine that was still tattered. ‘What does he want?’

‘Nothing.’ Guinevere was taken aback by the abrupt change in Meraud’s demeanour and tone. One moment she had been interested and engaging, now she was aloof and dismissive as if a wide-open door had suddenly snapped shut. And Guinevere had been so eager to find out what lay behind that door, in the treasure trove of books collected in this quaint little shop.

Guinevere said quickly, ‘I’m going to work at the castle for the summer, cataloguing books for Lord Bolingbrooke, and I thought that it would be nice to drop by and say hello.’

‘For Lord Bolingbrooke no less.’ Meraud scoffed. ‘You can tell that my brother hasn’t set foot on the island in years. He doesn’t understand one bit of what our lives are like.’

Guinevere said softly, ‘Maybe he wants to get back in touch?’ She wasn’t quite sure what Mr Betts had wanted when he had recommended her to Oliver, but she did want to help him achieve whatever he had intended.

Meraud narrowed her eyes as she focused on the book’s damaged spine. ‘Maybe. So you work for him at the theatre? Selling tickets or what?’

‘I do costume design, help with props, décors. I also worked out some kinks in the scenario for the play we’re doing when the theatre reopens.’

‘Reopens?’ Meraud sounded startled. ‘It’s closed now?’

‘For renovations only,’ Guinevere rushed to reassure her. Her heart skipped a beat that Meraud did seem to care for her brother’s life’s dream.

‘And he’s believing that?’ Meraud scoffed again. ‘Renovations. Leave the theatre for the time being. Before he knows it they will have knocked it down and built apartments in its stead.’ Meraud waved her finger at Guinevere, her voice rising. ‘The injustice that is committed in the name of progress.’

‘Here on the island too?’ Guinevere asked. ‘By people like Arthur Haydock?’

Meraud’s expression grew cautious. ‘I don’t want to speak ill of the dead. You do know that he’s dead, right?’

‘Yes, I was there last night when it happened.’

Meraud looked her over, narrowing her eyes. ‘You don’t say. You must be stronger than you seem, girl. How old are you anyway?’

‘Twenty-four.’ Guinevere held her gaze. ‘Did everybody hate Arthur Haydock?’

‘I can’t speak for everybody else. But I can tell you a lot of people didn’t like him. He always knew better. He wanted to change things. He wanted to buy up our stores and turn it all into his concept.’

‘His concept for what?’

‘Cornisea.’ Meraud gestured around her. ‘This island, the whole place, one big tourist attraction. An open-air museum he called it even. But this is our home. We grew up here; we live here. We don’t want to be part of a museum.’

Guinevere’s thoughts were racing at this new information. So Bolingbrooke hadn’t been the only one under pressure from Haydock to hand over his property and cater to Haydock’s plans for the island. ‘How did he respond to your objections?’

‘He laughed them off. He said times are changing. We could live on the mainland and come here to work. In his open-air museum. Playing islanders for the tourists, instead of being islanders like we truly are.’ Meraud laughed softly. ‘Haydock should have known we would never fall for that.’

Guinevere studied her. ‘Now that he’s dead, his plans will probably never become a reality.’ And that gave several people a motive for murder.

Meraud held her gaze. ‘Probably not. And personally I’m not sorry for that. But I am sorry that he died. For his wife and daughter. Leah’s a sweet girl. She can’t help it that her father is … was so overbearing.’

Behind the counter was a whining sound and something falling over. Meraud looked down quickly. ‘Vivaldi! You naughty boy.’ She sighed and looked at Guinevere. ‘Jago forgot that my dog was old and obedient, snoozing in his basket during opening hours. This little fellow wants to play all of the time, and I can’t just lock up and leave for a beach walk in the middle of the day.’

‘I can take him along for a while. You’ve got a leash?’

‘Of course. Are you sure though? He’s a handful.’

‘Dolly will teach him to behave.’ Guinevere smiled. ‘Dogs learn behaviour from each other. Vivaldi will look to her and see how things are done.’

‘I hope so.’ Meraud went to a corner and picked the leash off a hook on the wall.

Vivaldi shot after her like a ball of fluff at high speed. He bounced into her and yapped.

Meraud leaned down to clip the leash onto his collar. She held it out to Guinevere. ‘There you go. Keep an eye on him because he’s smart. He senses when you’re not paying attention and he’s off like an arrow. Last week he even managed to use his front paws to slip the collar over his head.’

‘I’ll be careful. Hey, boy. Let’s go for a walk.’

Guinevere led both dogs out of the shop. Dolly was curious about her new friend, sniffing him and licking him. Vivaldi wasn’t interested in anything but the freedom beckoning outside the shop door. He pulled on the leash, wanting to go to the pier. Maybe he remembered Jago and wanted to look for him?

Guinevere walked fast enough to stay beside the dogs, not letting Vivaldi get the idea he was leading her. Dolly did her best to stay in front of him as well, consciously coming into his path so the puppy collided with her and was pushed back. He whined in indignation.

Guinevere spied a familiar tall figure on the pier. Oliver shaking hands with a man in his fifties, who had a shock of white hair and a briefcase in his free hand. That had to be the lawyer he had wanted to meet to discuss his father’s case.

After the handshake Oliver turned away and came walking towards them. Dolly spotted him and tried to race ahead, Vivaldi following her. Guinevere had to hold on tightly to the leashes to prevent them from being torn from her palm.

‘Hello!’ she called to Oliver. ‘Didn’t you take him to the castle?’

‘No, are you crazy? My father can’t know a thing about this. Hey, who’s that?’

Oliver sat on his haunches and let Vivaldi try to climb up his legs.

‘Vivaldi, Meraud’s new dog,’ Guinevere explained. ‘Jago got him for her. She’s not sure yet she wants to keep him, but I think she’ll come round.’

‘He’s a lot to handle for someone who has a shop to look after.’

‘He’ll calm down as he gets older. We can lend her a hand now.’

‘We?’ Oliver asked with a hitched brow.

‘Don’t you like him?’

Vivaldi had turned away from Oliver and wanted to walk onto the pier, but Dolly got in his way and stopped him. The puppy looked at her and then sat down on his rear.

‘See?’ Guinevere winked. ‘He already understands who’s the boss.’

Oliver shook his head as he rose to his feet again. There were tight lines around his mouth. Guinevere asked softly, ‘What did the lawyer think of your father’s case?’

‘Not looking good. He knows LeFevre. The ambitious type. He thinks he’ll want to make a big arrest, and quickly, to set an example. Show off that he doesn’t care for names and titles.’

‘He won’t arrest your father just to make a point.’

‘He did say he doesn’t have a lot of time for this particular case. What better way to wrap it up quickly than by arresting my father? I bet you his fingerprints are on the knife. That will seal the deal.’ Oliver clearly wanted to continue, but his phone began to ring. He pulled it out – one of the newer models, sleek and black – and answered. He looked at Guinevere with a surprised expression as he said, ‘Yes, Leah.’

So Haydock’s daughter was calling him.

‘Of course that’s fine, but … Where? What time?’ He checked his watch. ‘Yes, I can make that. All right.’

He looked stunned as he lowered the phone. ‘She just hung up on me without even saying goodbye. She wants to meet me to have a bite for lunch and discuss something important with me. She sounded rather mysterious. Maybe even … anxious?’

Guinevere pursed her lips. ‘Maybe Leah has an idea who killed her father, but she’s afraid to tell the police in case she can’t back it up?’

Oliver put the phone away. ‘I guess I’ll hear more when we meet. Are you coming along?’

Guinevere hesitated. ‘Didn’t she just ask for you?’

‘Well, the call ended abruptly. I’d rather you came along. Should we be seen together, I don’t want people to think I’m influencing Leah or anything. She is the victim’s daughter, you know. And I’m the son of the suspected killer.’

That was a real risk. ‘All right. I’ll come along. If you don’t mind the dogs. I just promised Meraud I’d take care of Vivaldi for a while. Where’s this meeting anyway?’

‘At The Bull and Crow, an inn in the countryside. We’ll need to drive out there. I’ll take my father’s’s car. It’s parked on the mainland because the island is kept as automobile-free as possible. The inn has dogs of its own so taking Dolly and Vivaldi there isn’t a problem. We’d better go back up to the castle to get the car keys.’

Oliver glanced down at his clothes. ‘And maybe I’ll grab a jacket or something. Leah likes it formal.’

Guinevere wondered why Oliver even cared what Leah would think of his outfit. He seemed a free spirit who followed his own path in life.