Back at the Pemberley Inn, Alice threw herself down on her bed.
She stared up at the canopy, thinking over what she’d learned. She couldn’t concentrate. Every time she thought of Vince’s murder and the clues she’d gathered so far, Rich’s face swam into her mind, interrupting, and she thought she heard her phone buzz again.
When she checked the phone, the lock screen notified her of more missed calls and messages, but nobody was calling her now.
She lay back down with a sigh.
Darrell’s threat to contact Rich had rattled her. She didn’t know what she’d say or do if Rich showed up. But the fact that Darrell had threatened her, didn’t that, more than anything else, suggest that he was guilty?
And yet there was the necklace…
It didn’t prove or disprove anything that Darrell wore a necklace. Still, it was a blow to her theory that he’d murdered Vince to get his hands on the bookstore.
She closed her eyes. If only she could find concrete evidence that Darrell was guilty…
Thump, thump, thump.
A banging from outside made her open her eyes. She got off her bed and went to the window. Out in the street, cars drifted past, people hurried along the sidewalk on their way home from work, and above the rooftops the afternoon sun was sinking in the sky.
She couldn’t see where the banging was coming from, but it continued.
On the staircase landing, she stopped and listened.
Thump, thump, thump.
It might be coming from out back.
At the bottom of the stairs, she expected to see Ona in the reception, but the counter was abandoned, a small chalkboard stood on an easel. The chalk letters said,
Be back soon—or find me out back.
The hallway led straight from the front door to a common room at the back. This might once have been a dining room. Oriental rugs covered lacquered hardwood floors. A French window opened onto the backyard. Once, this must have been dominated by a long dining table, offering a view of the outside—not to mention direct access to a game of croquet.
These days, however, it was a place for inn guests to sit in armchairs and read books or play boardgames at one of several round tables.
Alice examined the bookshelves. There were several sets of the collected works of Jane Austen. She picked out a hardbound edition of Persuasion to reread later.
Then she studied the many games stacked on the shelves. There were Austen-themed puzzles, a board game called Polite Society, and another titled Lizzy Loves Darcy: A Jane Austen Matchmaking Game.
Thwack, thwack, thwack.
Alice turned toward the hammering. The sound was closer now, and she could tell that it must be a hammer on wood. She opened the French doors and stepped onto a porch.
The sight that met her made her stop in her tracks.
The Pemberley Inn had a long backyard, which would once have been perfect, as she’d guessed, for croquet. But there was no room for games now. Because the entire backyard was filled with tiny houses—like a miniature village.