On Sunday afternoon, I was left alone. Richard had dashed off to another rehearsal, Scott was touring the area with Ethan, and Aunt Lydia was having lunch with Zelda and Walt. Determined to keep the weeds at bay, I decided to do a little work in the garden.
It was in good shape, due to my diligence as well as the recent efforts of Aunt Lydia and Scott. But I knew we had to stay on top of it if we hoped to keep it tidy for the wedding. The spring rains caused new weeds to sprout every day, and the early roses needed to be regularly deadheaded so they’d continue blooming into late May.
As I wielded my clippers, cursing the thorns that somehow managed to pierce my suede garden gloves, my cell phone buzzed in the pocket of my worn cotton slacks. Yanking off my gloves, I fumbled the phone from my pocket and glanced at the number displayed on the screen.
It was Sunny. “Hi there,” I said, crumpling my gloves in my other hand. “What are you up to today?”
“Not much. Had a late night, so I’m basically in recovery mode,” Sunny replied.
“Oh, that’s right. You went on a date with Fred Nash. How did that go?” I strolled over to one of the white benches at the edge of the garden path. I sat down, dropping the gloves onto the wooden plank seat.
“Fine, but that isn’t why I called.” Sunny cleared her throat. “Along with the normal getting-to-know-you questions, I did manage to slip in a few inquiries about the investigation into Mr. Kendrick. I thought you might like to know what I found out.”
I stretched out my legs and leaned against the back of the bench. “Of course I do. Spill.”
“Well, here’s the thing. Fred isn’t just digging into Mr. Kendrick’s business. He’s also involved with something connected to your brother.”
I sat bolt upright. “What? Why would he be doing that?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t go into any details. Just mentioned it in an offhand way. Actually”—concern tinged Sunny’s tone—“I think it was a slip. Because as soon as he mentioned something about Scott, he changed the subject. I couldn’t get anything else out of him after that.”
“I guess he realized that you’re my friend and might share info.”
“That’s what I figured. Anyway, as far as Mr. Kendrick is concerned, Fred and Hugh are looking into his past involvement with the Kelmscott Chaucer. Apparently, he might have been secretly involved in a deal over a copy of that book many years ago.”
I stared blankly out over the garden as I recalled what Emily Moore had told me about a scandal surrounding the Chaucer. I frowned. “A stolen copy sold to someone unaware of its questionable provenance?”
“Exactly. Fred told me there has always been a shadow hanging over that situation, even though no one was ever charged with wrongdoing. But when the buyer died, his kids sued or something. Anyway, it was a big scandal in the art world.”
“Emily Moore told me something about that. She said the buyer died unexpectedly and the accusations of buying stolen property created so much stress that it contributed to his death. At least according to his children.”
“Really? I guess that might be the reason why Hugh is still digging into that old scandal. He must be trying to close a cold case.”
“And he wants to lay the blame on Kurt, I bet,” I said. “Although, according to Emily, it was Oscar Selvaggio who was directly involved in the sale.”
“Maybe Mr. Kendrick was a silent partner or something?”
“It’s possible.” I focused on a butterfly perched on one azure blossom in a bed of decorative thistles. “What did you think of Fred Nash? I mean, I know he’s handsome, but is there more to him than that?”
“He’s also smart and easy to talk to.” Sunny sounded guarded, which told me she was far more interested than she wanted to admit. “He used to be a cop, you know.”
“I’d heard that.” I didn’t mention that Brad had been the first person to share that information with me. Although I believed Sunny was totally over any romantic feelings for Brad, I still sometimes hesitated to bring him up in conversation.
“Anyway, I liked him well enough to see him again. After that, who knows?” Sunny tossed off this information with a nonchalance I suspected she didn’t feel. I’d never seen her react to any man as strongly as she had to Fred Nash upon meeting him. There’d been a sense of electricity sparking between them that made me question whether this might not be the start of a more serious relationship. But I wasn’t about to say anything about that. I knew such words would drive my free-spirited friend into denial.
“Okay, I’ll let you go. I just wanted to share that bit of info, but I’m sure you have things to do, and honestly, I just want a nap,” Sunny said, before telling me good-bye.
After we hung up, I continued to watch the butterfly dance over the spiky purple thistle flowers for a few minutes, then decided the rest of the garden work could wait. Sunny’s mention of my brother had unnerved me. The fact that he was on the radar of a PI as well as the sheriff’s department was something that required action. I needed to find a way to untangle the sticky threads of coincidence that seemed to be entrapping the truth.
I wanted to question Kurt Kendrick, who appeared, as always, to be at the center of the web.
Fortunately, Walt and Zelda had picked up Aunt Lydia after church, so I had access to the car. Driving out to Highview, I reminded myself that this might be a fool’s errand. Even though Kurt often spent weekends at his country house, he also traveled a great deal and sometimes stayed in Georgetown at the townhouse next door to his gallery. There was no guarantee that he’d even be home today.
Turning off the gravel mountain road onto Highview’s paved driveway, I was surprised to see the gates standing open. Typically the gates were left unlocked only during parties or other events. At any other time I had to use the intercom attached to a pole near the gates to introduce myself before Kurt or one of his staff would buzz me through.
I hope I’m not crashing a party, I thought as I drove down the gently winding driveway. Lined with trees and shrubs, the drive masked the view of the house. There would be no way to know if Kurt had guests until I pulled into the circular parking area at the end of the drive. But there’s really no harm. If I spy vehicles, I’ll just turn around and leave.
When I reached the house, I realized I’d been mistaken. Only one vehicle sat in front of the picket fence–enclosed cottage garden that separated the driveway from the house, and that was Kurt’s glamorous black Jaguar.
I parked, sitting in my car for a moment to consider my next move. Something was off—I’d never seen the Jag parked in front of the house. A smaller driveway led to a garage behind the house, where the expensive sports car was normally kept under lock and key. Added to the oddity of the gates being open, this was a definite red flag.
Don’t be silly, I chided myself. Kurt might have simply forgotten to close the gates after returning from some errand. Maybe he was in a hurry and just parked out front for convenience. Perhaps he plans to drive out again soon.
That would explain everything. I shook off my sense of unease and climbed out of my car. Smoothing my loose T-shirt over my worn slacks, I reached the gate that led into the cottage garden.
As I strolled the flagstone-paved path to the small covered porch, I admired the myriad colors of the blooming garden. Kurt’s landscaper had planted old-fashioned flowers and shrubs, most of them native to the area, and so the air was filled with fragrance—seductive scents that modern, genetically modified flowers just couldn’t match.
Remembering Brad’s words about aconite being a common garden plant in this area, I surveyed the kaleidoscope of brightly colored flowers for any traces of blue. And there it was, in the far corner—a tall plant with feathery silver-green leaves. The spiky stems were covered in purple-blue blossoms shaped like a cap, or like the monk’s hood that had given the plant one of its common names.
Another of which is wolfsbane. I considered the irony of this as I climbed the steps to Kurt’s front porch.
As I reached out a finger to press the doorbell, I noticed that the forest-green front door stood slightly ajar. Like the open gates, this gave me pause. Kurt wasn’t fanatical about security, but he kept his doors locked unless he was throwing a party. And then, as I’d discovered, he always hired private security to blend in with the guests. Which made sense, given the value of the art and antiques that filled his home.
I considered returning to my car to immediately call the sheriff’s department but decided that Kurt would probably not appreciate such an action, no matter the circumstances. I was concerned, though. Not so much about thieves, since I’d seen no other vehicles, but rather that Kurt could’ve suffered some sort of medical emergency. Despite his air of strength and vitality, he was in his seventies. He could easily have experienced a spell of light-headedness, if not something worse.
Since Kurt didn’t keep a full-time staff, preferring to hire in a chef, cleaners, or other workers only when they were needed, I knew that he might be alone in the house. If he was incapacitated, no one would know … I pulled out my phone and held it in one hand, prepared to punch in 911.
Before I could even lower my fingers to tap the phone, the door was yanked open and I found myself face-to-face with a strange man.
He was almost as tall as Kurt but much thinner. Almost skeletal, I thought. There was nothing weak in his appearance, however; lean muscle sheathed his bare lower arms, and the hollows of his bony face were sharpened by genetics rather than illness. His dark hair, worn longer than most, flopped over his wide forehead, shadowing his deep-set, pale eyes.
Eyes that blazed as he stared at me for a second before shoving me aside and barreling down the porch steps. I grabbed one of the railings to steady myself as he disappeared around the side of the house. Clinging to the balustrade, I puzzled over his lack of transportation. How had this strange man traveled to Highview without a car?
My question was answered by the roar of an engine. The stranger, his face now covered by a black helmet, spun his oversized motorcycle out from the side of the house and raced off down the driveway.
Recovering my balance, I dashed into the hall, allowing the door to slam behind me. I knew from other visits that a hard close would engage the automatic lock mechanism, which would hopefully keep any other strange visitors at bay.
“Hello,” I called out. “Kurt, are you here?”
A groan, followed by a swear word, answered me from the living room.
I ran into the room, stopping short at the edge of one of the Oriental rugs that covered the weathered wood floor. Kurt was sprawled across the rug, his white hair stained red at one temple.
Blood, I thought, and again raised my phone, prepared to call for help.
“Don’t.” Kurt lifted his head and fixed me with a piercing glare.
“You need medical attention,” I said, my fingers hovering over my phone screen.
“Do. Not. Call.” Kurt spat out the words like bullets.
I grimaced but pocketed my phone. “All right, but let me help you.” I crossed to him and knelt down. “I can try to lift …”
Kurt’s laugh was raspy as a saw cutting through cement. “You can’t possibly do that, little girl. Just help me sit up. I can do the rest.”
I didn’t even try to mask my displeasure at being called a child. “All right, old man,” I said, emphasizing the last two words.
Kurt’s laugh roared out again, but with a more cheerful ring this time. “Touché, my dear. Now, if you don’t mind—sit down with your back to me and allow me to use your shoulder to hoist myself into a less embarrassing position.”
I did as he requested, wincing as he reached out and pressed his heavy palm into my shoulder. He pushed off, almost shoving me over.
I spun around to face him, eyeing the blood staining the linen handkerchief he’d pressed to his temple. “That might need stitches.”
Kurt adjusted his legs, crossing them one over the other in a yoga pose. “I have some butterfly bandages and antiseptic upstairs. I can take care of it.”
“Don’t you want my help?”
“No.” Kurt looked me over. “I may be old, but I’m not feeble.”
“I wasn’t suggesting that you were. Just that it might be easier for someone else to place the bandage properly. And”—I met his sardonic gaze with a lift of my chin—“a blow to the head can be dangerous. You should have someone stay with you for a while, in case you develop symptoms of a concussion.”
“Please don’t fret. I’ve had concussions before. I know what they feel like. This is just a minor wound.”
I scrambled to my feet, glad I was wearing long pants and a baggy shirt. I might look awkward, but at least I wasn’t showing any skin. “A minor wound that knocked you to the floor.”
“That wasn’t the blow. That was someone kicking my legs out from under me.” Kurt motioned toward a heavy wooden chair. “Can you push that over here? I think I can stand if I have something to pull up on.”
“Okay, but if you get dizzy and fall over again, I’m calling 911, no matter what you say.”
“Fair enough.” Kurt waited for me to scoot the chair over, then pulled himself up to a point where he could slump into the seat. “Thank you. Now, if you could just grab me a glass of water from the kitchen, you will have fulfilled your mission of mercy and can go.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “I’ll get the water, but I’m not leaving. Not until I see you stand and walk around without assistance.”
Kurt quirked his lips. “Making sure the old man doesn’t keel over?” His expression sobered as his gaze raked over me. “I don’t mind being old, you know. Not most of the time. Although, occasionally, I admit to wishing I was young enough to …” He laughed and dabbed the handkerchief at his temple, where the blood had dried to a dark blotch. “Never mind, my dear. Just make that drink Scotch instead of water. I think you know where to find the booze.”
“In the butler’s pantry,” I said, cursing the heat that had flushed the back of my neck. “Oh, by the way, I caught Adele in there during the party, pouring herself a stiff drink.”
Kurt’s blue eyes went cold. “Did you?” he asked lightly. “Not that I mind. She’s welcome to whatever she wants.”
“I figured. It was just odd … But never mind. Let me get you that drink.” I turned on my heel and headed out of the room, considering Kurt’s reaction to my mention of Adele. He had seemed perturbed by my words, which was curious. Very little rattled Kurt Kendrick.
Certainly not a blow to the head. It’s almost as if he’s survived plenty of those in the past, I thought with a wry smile, as I returned to the living room carrying a glass of water in one hand and a tumbler of Scotch in the other. I set them down long enough to slide a side table close to Kurt’s chair. “Here you go—water and liquor,” I said, placing the drinks on the table. “Pick your poison.”
“Hmmm, perhaps that isn’t the best choice of words, all things considered.” Kurt grabbed the tumbler.
I pulled another chair around so I could sit facing him. “Yeah, speaking of that …”
“I prefer not to.” Kurt eyed me over the rim of his glass.
“I’m sure you don’t. But I have to tell you that I heard the sheriff’s department has placed you at the top of their suspect list.”
“Not surprising, considering that the murder happened at my house, during a party I was hosting, and the victim was a business rival.” Kurt took a slug of the Scotch.
“You don’t seem particularly concerned.”
“I’m not. I didn’t kill Oscar. Where would be the fun in that? Yes, I wanted to beat him out to acquire the Kelmscott Chaucer, but only if I could do it fair and square.” Kurt leaned back in his chair, stretching out his long legs. “Despite the suspicion in your eyes, I promise I don’t murder people over such things.”
I almost asked if he’d killed anyone over other things, but decided against it. He would undoubtedly find a way to prevaricate without telling an outright lie, as he had many times before. “Speaking of criminal actions, who was that guy who knocked you down? A thief?”
Kurt took another swallow before replying. “I have a better question—why are you here today, Amy?”
“You aren’t going to tell me why someone attacked you and fled?”
“Not unless you tell me what you want. You obviously drove all the way out here to satisfy that insatiable curiosity of yours.” Kurt tipped his head to one side. “What are you trying to find out?”
“If you are somehow involved in Oscar Selvaggio’s death, of course. You’ve already told me no, so I guess that’s that.”
“It should be, but I’m sensing that you don’t necessarily believe me.”
“You do have a motive, and you had the opportunity.” I fixed him with an unwavering gaze. “My dad saw you hand Selvaggio a snifter of cognac, which is apparently what he drank right before he died. And Richard and I caught a glimpse of you outside the house that day, you know. You walked out of the woods and into the backyard right before we found Selvaggio’s body.”
“Did you? And I suppose you’ve already informed the authorities about that, since they questioned my whereabouts at the time rather intensely. I told them the truth, of course.”
“Which was?”
“That I was out looking for Oscar, but not to harm him. Actually, I saw him right before he rushed outside—due to some text message, according to his assistant—and he looked ill to me. He was breathing irregularly. I was afraid he was having a heart attack. So I went outside to see if I could find him.” Kurt lifted his glass. “I didn’t think to check that shed, because why would he have gone there?”
“Why indeed? Unless someone asked him to meet them there.”
“Not me, I assure you. Anyway, as for me being outside, I wasn’t the only one. There was Adele, for one. Oscar’s mousy little assistant for another. And”—Kurt’s eyes narrowed—“your brother.”
I stiffened my spine, pulling my back away from the chair. “True. But they don’t have a motive to murder Selvaggio. You do.”
“Are you so sure they don’t?” Kurt swirled the remaining Scotch in the tumbler. “People can keep secrets, even from friends and family. Sometimes quite deadly ones.”
“I know that all too well.” I rose to my feet. “Are you going to report what happened today to the authorities?”
“I wasn’t planning on it. Are you?”
I looked him over. Despite the dried blood darkening the white hair over his temple, he appeared totally at ease and, as always, in control. “Not immediately. I’ll give you time to reconsider and report it yourself. That could be beneficial, in terms of helping to clear your name, I mean.”
Kurt bared his teeth in his typical wolfish grin. “Why, Amy, I didn’t know you cared so much.”
I bit my lower lip to stifle a rather unsavory comment before replying. “I’m thinking of Richard. He considers you family. And honestly, I’d hate to see you incarcerated right before the wedding. That kind of scandal is the last thing we need.”
Kurt set down his glass and stood to face me. “More importantly, the last thing you need is to get tangled up in another murder investigation. Leave it alone, Amy.”
“You always tell me that.”
“And you never listen.” Kurt held up his hands. “But this time, you must. That man today is not working alone. And, as you can see”—he touched a fingertip to his temple—“he and his cohorts are playing hardball.”
“Is this all connected to the Kelmscott Chaucer?”
“Perhaps. And perhaps not. But that is irrelevant. What’s crucial for you to understand is that the people involved in this situation are not amateurs.” Kurt’s rugged face could’ve been sculpted from stone. “This is not something you can fumble your way through. Walk away. Leave it alone.”
He took a step toward me, his blue eyes cold as a glacier. I backed away but met his imperious gaze without flinching. “Are you really all right?”
“Fine, as you can see.” Kurt moved closer.
“Then I’ll leave. But I hope you’ll call someone to come and sit with you tonight, just in case.”
“My chef is coming over shortly. I’m sure she’ll be happy to keep an eye on me.” Kurt reached out and took hold of my shoulder, giving me a little shake. “You haven’t promised to stay out of this investigation yet.”
I pulled free of his grip. “I never make promises I’m likely to break,” I said as I strode off into the hall.
A string of colorful swear words followed me out the front door.