“But that’s silly,” I said. “How do we know which side she was on?”
“Thank you, Katherine,” said Rupert. “Maybe she was a Carew spy and deserved her fate?”
“Ladies, gentlemen,” said Shawn quickly. “This is a cold case and it’s likely it will remain so—”
“I don’t know,” said Aubrey slowly. “If it was possible to track down Richard the Third’s descendant in Canada—why don’t we take your DNA, Rupert?”
“Why don’t we take yours?” said Rupert. “But frankly, what does it matter now?”
“I must admit I’m curious as to who she was,” I said. “And my mother will be, too.”
“Mrs. Muriel Jarvis and Ms. Violet Green,” boomed Cropper, putting an end to further speculation. Apart from her shocking-pink Crocs, Muriel was still dressed in black. Violet wore a pale-blue linen suit. Given the current state of their friendship, I was surprised to see them arrive together and hoped that Muriel had kept her promise to talk to Rupert about her financial predicament.
“Violet Green!” Aubrey spun around. “We meet again. I hope your car came off better than mine.”
My heart sank. It had been me who had mentioned Violet’s name to Aubrey.
“Do you or do you not drive a green Morris Minor Traveller?” Aubrey demanded.
Violet’s eyes widened. She turned white.
“Not only did you hit my car with your appalling driving; you left the scene of an accident.”
Shawn stepped forward. “Would you like to press charges, milord?”
“Oh, please, please,” whimpered Violet. “It’s my glasses. They’re cracked. I couldn’t see properly. I … I…”
“You should press charges,” Muriel declared. “I took my life in my hands this afternoon. She’s a maniac on the road.”
“And that’s the thanks I get for giving you a lift,” fumed Violet. “I should have let you walk.”
“I wish you had!”
Clearly, Muriel’s love affair with her bicycle had been short-lived.
Aubrey regarded the two women with displeasure. “And a good afternoon to you, Mrs. Jarvis. I hope you two ladies followed the orders of the court and made up your differences.”
“Unfortunately not, sir.” Muriel’s expression was pure spite. “Violet still hasn’t paid for Fred’s hard work. I’m certain it was the stress that did him in.” She pointed to Violet. “It’s her fault that my poor Fred had a heart attack.”
Violet’s eyes blazed. “I don’t have that kind of money. I’ve only got my pension and what scraps I make from my tearoom.”
Shawn patted his doublet, obviously searching for his policeman’s notebook and pencil.
“No need, Shawn.” Aubrey waved him away. “Let me handle this.”
“She keeps coming up with excuses,” Muriel went on. “And me with my money problems.”
“Oh yes, those problems,” said Violet childishly. “The next thing you’ll tell us is that all the money for the Skirmish has been stolen. Just like your car.”
Muriel gave a cry of distress and, reaching blindly behind, sank—as luck would have it—onto a Dutch marquetry chair.
“Mew?” Violet rushed forward, concern etched on her face. “Are you—?”
“Muriel?” Rupert cut her off. “Cropper, bring Muriel a glass of water.”
“I’ll get it,” I said, but Cropper had glided off with surprising speed.
“I’m alright, really; well, actually, no. I’m not alright at all.” Muriel put her face in her hands.
“Is it your heart?” said Violet anxiously. “Tummy? Rheumatism? Phlebitis?”
“Don’t you think we should call a doctor?” I suggested.
Muriel finally looked up. “Oh … milord, I don’t know how to tell you this. I’m so upset.”
“You can tell me, Muriel. We’re family.”
“Violet is right.” She swallowed hard. “All the money for the Skirmish has been stolen.”
Violet’s jaw dropped in astonishment.
“I just … I just—” She opened the clasp of her handbag and pulled out a clean lace handkerchief. “I only just realized half an hour ago.”
“All of it?” Rupert exclaimed.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Violet cried.
“Why would I?” Muriel shot back.
“Because … because … we’re friends.”
“Are we?”
Their feud was clearly back on.
“All of it,” Rupert said again.
Shawn finally produced his notebook. “When was the last time that you saw the money?”
“Just before Fred passed.” Muriel began to sniffle into her handkerchief. “He kept it in a biscuit tin.”
“A biscuit tin?” Rupert cried. “Not under lock and key?”
“Keeping cash in a tin is asking for trouble,” said Shawn.
“That’s what I told Fred,” Muriel agreed. “But he wouldn’t listen. He’s been the treasurer since 1982 and has never had any problems before.”
“Why didn’t he put the money in the post office safe?” Shawn asked, which was exactly what I had been thinking myself.
“He didn’t like to mix post office business with his treasury responsibilities.”
“And you’re certain he didn’t put the tin somewhere else?” said Shawn. “Perhaps Fred moved it before he died?”
Muriel shook her head. “It was always in the bottom drawer in the kitchen along with the saucepans. I’ve looked high and low.”
“I think it best if you come down to the station and we’ll file a proper report. Perhaps you might like to check for anything else that might be missing—jewelry, perhaps? Unfortunately, since you don’t know when the money was stolen, there is no point dusting for fingerprints in the post office or in your kitchen. It’s too late for that now.”
Muriel nodded. She looked miserable. I glanced over at Violet, who was watching her former best friend with an expression I just couldn’t fathom.
“And you mentioned your car was stolen as well?” Shawn said. “Why didn’t you report that?”
“I didn’t want to trouble you.”
“How much money was stolen, Muriel?” Rupert demanded.
After some hesitation, Muriel cleared her throat. “Eleven thousand, five hundred and forty-eight pounds.”
“WHAT!” Rupert tore off his hat—and wig—and raked his fingers through his short hair. “But that’s an astronomical sum. Surely, not all raised by local jumble sales and church fetes? I had no idea!”
“The Totnes Rotary Club put money in, I believe, milord,” said Shawn. “And the Hare & Hounds fronted some hoping to get the funds back from the ticket sales to the Hog Roast.”
“This is very serious!” Rupert exclaimed. “The balance of the marquee equipment must be paid for today; and the pig, tomorrow.”
“I’m sure we can find a solution to this,” said Aubrey. “You know I’m always happy to bail you out. Again.”
I caught the implied dig and winced.
“No thank you, Aubrey,” said Rupert stiffly. “This is a Honeychurch matter.” He turned to Shawn. “Perhaps you can send in a few officers to give Muriel’s premises a thorough search immediately.”
“I was thinking the same thing only we’re a bit short-staffed,” said Shawn. “Roxy is on holiday in Majorca.” He frowned. “But given there were no signs of a break-in, I can’t help thinking someone knew where to find the cash. What do you think, Ms. Green?”
Violet’s eyes widened. “Are you accusing me?”
“Not at all,” said Shawn. “But we know you’re observant. Perhaps you saw something—or someone—suspicious.”
“Well … I did notice a strange man in the churchyard this afternoon. I expect he’s staying at the Hare & Hounds. And of course, we have newcomers at Honeysuckle Cottage.”
“Oh?” Shawn turned to Rupert. “Isn’t that a tied cottage?”
“Pippa Carmichael and her son, Max,” Violet went on. “He’s quite a handful.”
“Yes,” Muriel said suddenly. “Violet’s right. I caught him stealing some sweeties yesterday right under my nose. And to be honest, milord, and forgive me for saying this, I don’t think Max Carmichael is a good influence over Master Harry—”
“And someone stole my Crown Derby teapot,” Violet added. “It’s always been on the windowsill in my tearoom and now it’s vanished.”
“Hardly something a boy would take surely, Ms. Green,” said Shawn, pencil poised.
“Maybe not Max, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it was his mother. She wants to put me out of business, you know.”
“Your mother is a genius,” Lavinia cried as she threw open the door to the downstairs loo and drifted into the reception area in her dark-burgundy gown. She looked quite lovely despite her battered face and the fact that the bodice bore enough pins to sink a battleship.
Mum joined me. “Just a few tweaks needed to the bust.”
Lavinia circled Rupert and swished her skirts.
“Not now, Lav,” said Rupert crossly.
Lavinia stroked Rupert’s arm and then went on to circle her father.
“Oh!” she exclaimed. “What’s Muriel doing here? Good. I want a word with her—”
“Pippa Carmichael and Lady Jessica Carew,” boomed Cropper. “And Mrs. Cropper.”
The trio filed in. I saw Violet stiffen and glare at Pippa. She mumbled something that sounded distinctly like “trollop.”
“Good heavens,” said Mum. “Quite a party.”
I was struck by Pippa’s tidy appearance. She had redone her blond hair in a neat French plait and even wore a smidgen of lip gloss. A pale-yellow shift dress showed off her curvaceous figure and tanned legs. She’d swapped her Edwardian button boots for red ballet flats.
Mrs. Cropper was wearing her usual pink-and-white-striped pinafore over a white linen short-sleeved dress. A mobcap completed the resemblance to Mrs. Patmore from Downton Abbey.
Jess seemed even smaller than usual sandwiched between Pippa Carmichael and the cook. She greeted everyone with a smile—giving me a friendly wave— before slipping alongside Aubrey and planting a kiss on his cheek. “I hoped I’d find you here, darling.”
Aubrey’s cheeks turned pink, and judging by the way his eyes softened, it was obvious to everyone that he was enamored with his new wife and—supposedly—she with him.
Aubrey took Jess’s hand and squeezed it—a gesture not lost on Lavinia.
“Oh for heaven’s sake, Daddy!” she exclaimed. “Do you have to maul each other in public?”
Jess laughed. “I’m sorry, Lavinia, but I think we do.” She kissed Aubrey again.
“I think we’ll go, Rupert,” said Aubrey. “Leave you to this mess—and Ms. Green, I will be in touch, so don’t go leaving the country.”
Violet looked as if she’d just been given a death sentence.
The lovebirds left.
Lavinia turned her attention to Pippa. “Where is Harry?”
“Out exploring,” said Pippa. “You know what kids are like.”
Lavinia seemed put out. “I’m sorry? What did you say?”
“They’re out somewhere.”
“Out somewhere … who?” Lavinia said.
Pippa looked puzzled. “Who?”
Cropper stepped up to Pippa and whispered in her ear. “You’re kidding?” He whispered into her ear again.
With a heavy sigh, Pippa said, “Master Harry and Max are out exploring, your ladyship.” She shot me a look of derision.
“I’m afraid you’ve all had a wasted journey,” said Rupert curtly. “The meeting has to be postponed.”
“Cropper filled me in on the theft, milord,” Mrs. Cropper said.
“Theft?” Jess and Pippa chorused.
“I’m afraid the money for payment of the marquees and the pig has been stolen,” said Rupert.
“That’s frightful!” Lavinia exclaimed. “I knew we had a thief in our midst. My riding crop is missing.”
“And my Crown Derby teapot,” Violet said again.
“I’d like to take some details if I may,” said Shawn.
“With due respect, milord,” Mrs. Cropper went on. “I don’t think we even need to have a meeting. Violet and I have done the Hog Roast for decades. We know what we’re doing.”
“I’m afraid there is a change this year,” said Rupert, looking more than a little sheepish.
“A change?” said Mrs. Cropper.
“Pippa is overseeing the Hog Roast this year,” Rupert said. “She has some healthy options on the menu.”
“But no one wants healthy options at the Hog Roast,” Mrs. Cropper declared. “We’ve never had healthy options.”
“Exactly, so that’s why it’s time for a change,” said Rupert. “Pippa has generously offered her services for no fee.”
“But we’ve never been paid a fee, milord,” Mrs. Cropper said stubbornly.
“None of us have, milord,” said Violet. “Ever.”
I saw a nervous tic begin to beat above Rupert’s right eye.
“We don’t need any help,” Mrs. Cooper went on. “Especially from an outsider, do we, Violet?”
“No. Definitely not from her.”
“Let’s go, Mum,” I whispered. “All this bickering is making me tired.”
“You can. I’m not. I’m thoroughly entertained.”
“We need to cater to vegetarians,” Pippa said. “My quiches—especially the mushroom and artichoke—are hugely popular. Surely the goal is to make a profit? Not have everyone dropping dead of a heart attack.”
There was a ghastly silence. Violet actually patted Muriel’s hand in sympathy and Muriel let her.
“Oops,” Mum whispered. “She certainly knows how to put her foot in it.”
Pippa seemed oblivious.
“So let me get this straight,” said Mrs. Cropper, rallying the troops. “You’re buying the ingredients for your fancy quiches from the generosity of your heart?”
Pippa turned to Rupert. “Can you just tell them I’m in charge?”
There was a gasp of disbelief from Mrs. Cropper and Violet.
“Excuse me,” chimed in Lavinia. “You’re being frightfully rude, Mrs.… whoever you are.”
“Pippa. My name is Pippa. I’m Max’s mother. Harry’s friend.”
Rupert took Lavinia’s arm. “Come on, darling; you’re not feeling yourself. Let’s get you upstairs for a proper nap. I’ll make you a cup of your favorite tea.”
“Oh, Rupey, you’ve never made me a cup of my favorite tea.” Lavinia gave a heavy sigh. “I do love you. You know I love you, don’t you?”
“Yes. Yes. But enough of all this nonsense.”
“Can Iris and Kat take me upstairs for my nap?”
“Of course, milady.” Mum paused at the door. “Oh—Muriel, why don’t you let me take you home afterwards? I’ve got a burning desire to understand how the British postal system works.”
“No thank you,” said Muriel. “I am perfectly content to wait here for Violet.”
“You’ve changed your tune,” Violet replied. “I thought you couldn’t stand my driving.”
“I’ll take you home, Mrs. Jarvis,” said Shawn wearily. “I’d like you to show me where Mr. Jarvis kept the biscuit tin.”
“But wait—” Muriel came up to me and slipped a pale-lavender envelope into my hand. “Thank you, again.”
Ten minutes later, Mum and I had helped Lavinia out of her pinned-up gown and were tucking her up in her own bed in her own room. She began to snore immediately.
“I can’t believe they don’t share a bedroom,” Mum said. “Oh wait, I remember now. Doesn’t his lordship suffer from—?”
“Something like that,” I said hastily. I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to visualize Lord Rupert Honeychurch’s nightly bathroom habits.
Mum took in Lavinia’s bedroom. “What a mess! It looks as if a tornado has been through here.”
Lavinia’s bedroom was chaotic. There was a saddle on the back of an armchair, Horse & Hound magazines stacked on the floor along with piles of unfolded clothes. A beautiful walnut dressing table held a set of monogramed silver brushes, old-fashioned glass perfume bottles and used tissues.
Two framed photographs sat on Lavinia’s night table. One showed a much younger Rupert dressed in polo-playing attire; and the other, of Harry kitted out in his Biggles regalia looking adorable.
“Don’t they have a housekeeper anymore?” said Mum in a low voice.
“Someone from the village comes up once or twice a week,” I said. “They tried an agency, but it seems that no one stays for very long. Apparently Edith is very demanding.”
“Ah-ha! A fan!” Forbidden, Mum’s latest book in her Star-Crossed Lovers series, lay open, spine up on the floor. She grabbed it. “Lavinia’s dog-eared the pages,” she whispered. “Let’s see what parts fascinate her ladyship.”
“Mum!” I hissed.
“Ah yes.” Mum nodded. “I thought so. Look.” She jabbed a finger at a paragraph. “That love scene in the stumpery took me a long time to write—oh God.”
“What’s the matter now?”
“I should have forced Muriel to talk to me,” she said. “She would rather drive home with Violet than talk to me. That’s guilt. What if my manuscript never shows up?”
“It will,” I said firmly. “Did you call the publisher?”
“Yes.” Mum nodded. “They are going to have another look in their mailroom. What if whoever stole the club funds found my manuscript and stole that, too?”
“Now you’re being silly.”
Ten minutes later we pulled into the Carriage House courtyard and found an old blue Mercedes parked on the forecourt. It was in dire need of a wash. Someone had traced the words “Please Clean Me” on the rear window.
Mum frowned. “It looks like we have visitors.”
“Perhaps it’s the ME or Dr. Crane the anthropologist?” I suggested, although I doubted it.
“Or we’re being robbed.”
“You’re so dramatic.”
Back in the kitchen, we heard peals of laughter.
“It’s coming from Cromwell Meadows.” Mum opened the rear door to the field and pointed to a white canopy and screen that now stood over the grave. “Over there.”
“Mum … I think that could be Harry and Max. They shouldn’t be there. I’ll go and see.”
As I drew closer, I also heard a male voice.
I stopped and peeped around the side of the tent. A man in jeans and a short-sleeved white shirt was hunkered down in the grave. I couldn’t see what he was doing because Harry and Max were blocking my view.
“Hello,” I said.
Startled, the man sprang upright, Swiss Army penknife in hand. He slipped something into his pocket.
“It’s Kat!” Harry cried. “Come and see a real skeleton! It’s wicked, isn’t it, Max? A real skeleton!”
Max grinned in agreement. Both boys were in their flying outfits, but I noticed that Harry’s white scarf was missing.
“I’m Kat Stanford,” I said. “You must be Dr. Crane.”