Thirteen

Nick came downstairs just as the inspector’s car pulled away from the house with Lady Louisa in custody.

“I seem to have missed all the best bits,” he said. “Not exactly a shocker, though, after what you told me last night. What do you think?”

“I’m not convinced about Lady Louisa’s guilt, but now Joan makes much more sense.”

“I would have thought the indomitable Mrs. Pike would have been in the middle of everything, threatening to chain herself to the inspector’s rear axle rather than see Lady Louisa taken away.”

“I’m given to understand Mrs. Pike finally convinced Mr. Pike to take her to visit Count Kuznetsov in his time of need.”

Nick nodded sympathetically. “I see.”

“And to buy a new hat.”

“Naturally.”

Drew considered for a moment. “I suppose this means the count will be released. They really didn’t have much of a case against him. I’d very much like to have a talk with him about why he so badly wanted to come to the Open. I can’t help but think there’s much more to all this than just a pleasant little family killing.”

Joan came back from Edinburgh about teatime with a stack of parcels and a much more serene expression on her face. Drew gave her a moment to hand her parcels to one of the maids, and then he took her into the drawing room and asked her to sit down. He hated to upset her, but she had to be told that her mother had been charged with her father’s murder and Hugh Barnaby’s as well.

“Why?” Joan fumbled in her handbag. Hands shaking, she removed a cigarette from her case and lit it. “What—what did they say? Why would she have killed Mr. Barnaby anyway?”

“Before I give you the theory the police seem to have concocted, I’d like to know your thoughts on it. Can you think of any reason she’d do such a thing?”

Joan shook her head. “She hardly knew him. My father was the one who dealt with him, and that wasn’t very often, at least that I’d heard of. I suppose there’s the will my father asked Mr. Barnaby to draw up. I don’t understand that part at all, but he’d already told the police about it. It’s not like Mother was trying to make sure nobody knew about it. Why should she kill him over it now?”

“I’ve wondered the same thing,” Drew said. “It hardly makes sense.”

She took a deep, slow drag of her cigarette. “It’s not at all like her. What do the police say?”

“They think he was blackmailing her.”

“Then why would he tell the police and you about the new will?”

“The more I think about all of this, the more I’m convinced this bit about your mother is all wrong. And Kuznetsov is wrong, too. I’m thinking your father’s and Barnaby’s deaths are part of something much bigger.”

Her eyes widened. “You don’t think Mr. Barnaby had anything to do with my father’s death, do you?”

“I don’t know for certain,” he admitted, “but I have wondered.”

“But it doesn’t make sense. Why would he want to help someone kill my father?”

“Perhaps because your father knew more than he should? Or was a threat to the killer? And then perhaps Barnaby himself became a threat, because he knew what the killer had done.”

She looked away, gnawing her lower lip, her brows pulled together.

“The police claim he was blackmailing your mother,” Drew said. “Do you think he was the sort who’d do that?”

“I didn’t know him really, so I don’t know what he might have done. Dad never talked to me about his personal affairs. He just said Mother and I would be taken care of should anything happen to him and that we needn’t worry. I just want you to find whoever’s behind all this. Mother’s been through enough as it is.” She took a few more puffs on her cigarette. “I have to go see her. I can’t just leave her there in jail.”

“Better to wait a bit,” Drew advised. “They probably won’t let anyone see her just yet. Tomorrow we’ll telephone and see what we’re allowed to do.” He gave her hand a comforting squeeze. “I don’t believe she’s guilty, and I haven’t given up trying to find out who is.”

She nodded, her lips trembling into a smile. “I’m so very grateful, Drew.”

“But you must understand, I might uncover things you won’t like.”

“As part of this something bigger you were talking about?” There was a tinge of fear in her dark eyes. “What is it?”

“I know you’ve heard Mr. MacArthur talk about Germany and Italy and other events taking place in the world just now.”

The fear turned to annoyance. “I always wished Dad would biff him one on the nose. They got into some rows over that, I can tell you, but surely you don’t think Mac would have killed him over a political tiff, do you? It’s ridiculous.”

“No, but I’ve wondered if Mac might have gone beyond just talk.”

“You mean spies, state secrets, and all that? Don’t be silly. Mac? No. I never liked him, but no.”

It wasn’t just Mac, of course. There was the blonde, Lisa Shearer. Perhaps Barnaby had been part of it, too. Drew remembered some of the things he’d said when they’d met in Barnaby’s office. And, worst for Joan, there was Jamie Tyler. Were they all in it together?

“I don’t have anything but speculation just yet, so I’m telling you this only because I don’t want you to worry about your mother, no matter how bad it seems at the moment.”

“Thank you, Drew. I mean that. I just couldn’t take any more bad news just now.”

“I know it’s been rough. Hold tight and we’ll get it all sorted, right?”

She nodded, blinking hard. “I trust you, Drew.”

He couldn’t disappoint her.

Drew made his way to the clubhouse at Muirfield and requested a private room. He thought he might have some difficulty because he wasn’t a member, but when he told the proprietor he was working on behalf of the late Lord Rainsby, the man was eager to cooperate, saying he would send Jamie Tyler to Drew the moment he came in from the course.

Drew settled into one of the clubhouse’s overstuffed chairs. A few minutes later he heard two sharp knocks on the door and then it swung open.

“Mr. Tyler,” Drew said.

The caddie’s professionally pleasant expression turned cool. “Oh. You again.” He shut the door and, arms crossed over his chest, came to where Drew sat. “Well?”

Drew nodded toward the chair opposite his own. “A few words, if you don’t mind.”

“No bother for me. I’m done for the day.” Tyler wadded up his cap and stuck it in his back pocket. Slicking back his hair with one hand, he sat down.

“All right, here it is, and I want the truth.”

Tyler lifted his dark brows, an incredulous half smile on his face. “You do, do you? Or what?”

“Or I’ll let Inspector Ranald handle the questioning in future.”

Tyler’s eyes narrowed. “What do you want to know?”

“Do you happen to know where Joan Rainsby was Friday night?”

The caddie was silent for a moment. Then he shrugged. “Where does she say she was?”

“I really haven’t the patience for games. If you happen to know where she was that night, then say so.”

“There are certain things a gentleman doesn’t discuss.”

“A gentleman does,” Drew told him evenly, “if it has to do with a murder investigation.”

“What do you mean? What has that night to do with the murder investigation? Her father was killed nearly two weeks ago.”

“Look here, either answer the question or tell me you’re not going to. Either way, tell the truth.”

“If you like. Makes me no odds. I’m only trying to be discreet about a lady. Anyhow, she was with me.”

“What time was that?”

The caddie shrugged. “Maybe one or so, until about quarter past two. More or less anyhow.”

“Where?”

“In the stables, out there at Thorburn Hall.”

Drew exhaled, nodding. That lined up with when he found her coming back into the house that night. “All right. How did you leave?”

Tyler smirked. “In very good spirits.”

“Were you in a motor car?” Drew asked, unamused.

“No.”

“Do you own a motor car?”

Tyler snorted. “On what I make?”

“You didn’t drive one that night?”

“No, I walked from the village. It was a fine night and it isn’t far. Why do you ask?”

“What about Saturday night?” Drew pressed.

“I stayed in. I walked the course four times that day and I was tired.”

“I suppose someone can vouch for that,” Drew said, watching his eyes.

“Maybe. Why?” Tyler asked. “What’s this about?”

“Do you know a man called Barnaby? A solicitor by trade.”

“No. Why do you ask?”

“He was murdered Saturday night. In his office. On the high street. Have you heard about it?”

Tyler pressed his lips together. “I’d heard there was a murder. Not much more than that.”

“You never met him? Never heard of him?”

“Why should I?”

“He was the Rainsbys’ solicitor. Took care of all of Lord Rainsby’s legal matters here in Scotland.” That only earned Drew another shrug. “Miss Rainsby never mentioned him?”

“Not that I can remember. Discussing solicitors was rather far down on the agenda whenever we met.”

“I can well imagine.” Drew was silent for a moment, considering how to proceed. “And what about the lady herself? Now that her father can no longer object, do you intend to marry her?”

For only an instant, there was an odd look on the caddie’s face, but it was immediately replaced with his usual slow, knowing grin. “Make an honest woman of her, eh?”

“It’s been known to be done.”

Tyler snorted. “I’m not much of the marrying kind. Not that I wasn’t tempted once she threw herself at me. Thorburn Hall wouldn’t half be a nice change from carrying bags all day.”

Drew pressed his lips together. The chap really was a first-class swine.

“But I can’t see myself being tied to anyone the rest of my life.” Tyler leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. “There are too many girls I’ve yet to meet to be leg-shackled to just one.”

“Girls like Lisa Shearer?”

Tyler lifted one dark brow. “Who’s that?”

“You don’t know her?”

“Can’t say I do.”

Drew kept his expression blandly neutral. “My mistake, then. I’d heard she was seeing one of the caddies at Muirfield. Must be someone else.”

“Understandable.” Again Tyler looked smug. “I know a lot of girls.”

“I imagine you do, a man of the world such as yourself. I suppose you get about quite a bit. So, what’s your take on world events?”

Tyler looked baffled. “Not really my game.”

“Surely you have an opinion about what’s going on in Germany and Italy.”

The caddie snorted again. “What should I care? None of that puts a ha’penny in my pocket or beer in my mug.”

“And if it did?”

Tyler’s jaw tightened. “What do you mean?”

“If you could turn a profit? Perhaps sell a bit of information here or there that might be of use to someone with such leanings?”

The caddie’s eyes flashed, his mouth twisting into a sneer. “Why, I’d sell, man. Anything for a few pence, eh? Britain? Germany? You know my type. I can see it in your face. Well, you have the right of it, as no doubt you always do. Jamie Tyler’s my country. The only one I’m loyal to, anyway.” He crossed his arms and slumped back into his chair, jaw set hard. Clearly he was done.

Drew pushed a pound note across the table to him. “Thank you for your time.”

Tyler didn’t move. “I’m dismissed? Sir?”

“Do as you please.”

Drew left the room, not knowing whether or not the caddie had taken the money.

Drew walked out of the clubhouse and, thanks to information provided to him very unofficially by Sergeant Shaw, made his way to the home of Miss Ethyl Grahame. She had a room at Mrs. Kensington’s just round the corner from Barnaby’s office. It was a stolid but respectable two-storied house with abundant red roses in the front. Soon he and Miss Grahame were seated in the small parlor. As was proper, the door was not quite pulled to.

The woman sat on the sofa peering at him through her spectacles with red-rimmed eyes. “I don’t know that I can tell you anything, sir. You were there.”

Somehow she looked older than she had the last time he saw her. Perhaps it was the dowdy cotton dress and shapeless cardigan she had on. Perhaps it was the bedroom slippers that must have been at least a decade old.

“What did you tell the police about that day?”

“There wasn’t much to tell. I’d just got into the office when I noticed that smell . . .”

She was tearing up, so he gave her an understanding smile. “I suppose you liked working for Mr. Barnaby.”

“Well enough,” she said, settling again. “I’d been employed by him for the past thirty-two years. Well, I say Mr. Barnaby. I started as private secretary for Mr. Ingram, who was head of the firm at the time. Then he went to keep bees in Sussex, and we always thought it was quite amusing, you know? Just like Sherlock Holmes.”

That seemed to cheer her a bit, and Drew nodded, encouraging her to go on.

“Anyway, I worked for Mr. Barnaby after that, eight years now. Never a grumble about my work, I can tell you, and I thought I’d stay working for him until it was my time to put my feet up for good.” She dabbed at her eyes with her cotton handkerchief. “Now I don’t know what I’ll do. The men these days, they want smart young things doing their typewriting and dictation. I’m fifty-six, Mr. Farthering.”

“I’m sure it must have come as a great shock,” he soothed, making a mental note to have someone from his company look into vacancies where her skills and experience might be appreciated. “I think the only thing that can be done for Mr. Barnaby now is to see if we can find out who murdered him.”

She sniffled again and then nodded. “You’re quite right. I don’t really know, sir, that I can be of help. Mr. Barnaby, well, you saw him in the office. He wasn’t so much younger than I am, but he always was that careful the way he dressed, the way he did his hair, and how he never would wear his eyeglasses when there was a young lady about the office. Not Masie, mind you. She wasn’t his type. He liked women with some style and sophistication to them. With the London look, if you know what I mean.”

Drew nodded.

“Liked the young ones, did Mr. Barnaby, not to speak ill of the dead. Old enough to be their father, most of them, but I suppose that’s as may be.”

“And you think he was meeting one of them at the office the night he was killed?”

“I can’t think it was anything else.”

“Did he usually meet women up at the office?” Drew asked.

“No. Not until the past few weeks. I mean, if that was what he was doing.”

“But that’s what you believe he was doing.”

“It seems so, by the state of the office on those Monday mornings after.” She colored and then cleared her throat. “I don’t mean anything untoward, sir, but there were often empty wine bottles in the bin. Sometimes the odd box of sweets, empty or nearly so. That sort of thing. And cigarette ends. More than Mr. Barnaby could have smoked on his own for the whole week sometimes.”

“Was Mr. Barnaby the political sort, Miss Grahame?”

“How do you mean, sir?”

“Was he the type to talk about world affairs at all? Or how things should be managed here at home?”

“Well, he sometimes did. Mostly when he read the newspapers and saw there were strikes or that sort of thing. Or waste in government. He thought things could be better run, more orderly and efficient. Like they do in Germany, or so he said.”

He frowned, thinking. Then, realizing she was afraid she had said something that displeased him, he softened his expression. “Is there anything else you can tell me, Miss Grahame? Anything at all?”

“I’m sorry, sir, no. I just don’t know what else I could tell you.” She dabbed at her eyes again and gave him a hopeful smile. “Would you care for something before you leave? Mrs. Kensington made some lovely custard tarts just this morning. Won’t take her a moment to bring some up with tea.”

“Very kind of you,” he said, standing and reclaiming his hat from the little table at the end of the sofa, “but I’m meeting my wife and some friends for dinner at The Swan. You can reach me at Thorburn Hall if you think of anything more I should know.”

“I will. Thank you.”

He went to the door and turned back to her. “Is it possible someone else in the firm will keep you on now? Surely you’re far too valuable to lose, especially now that Mr. Barnaby’s gone. You’d be just the one to help whoever takes on his old cases. Tell the fellow what’s what, eh?”

She brightened measurably. “Do you think so? They’ve been very kind, letting me have a day or two to collect myself.”

“I’m certain of it. And if they don’t happen to remember, you make sure and tell them.”

He tipped his hat and walked out to the street, thinking about what she had said. Lady Louisa was a smoker, to be sure, and stylishly attractive for her age, but no one, not even the most smitten suitor, would mistake her for a girl half as old. And Lisa Shearer smoked, he was certain of it. There would be a good many things to discuss over dinner.

Madeline rose the next morning to find Carrie curled up at the window of their sitting room, her cheeks and nose pink and a cup of coffee in her hands.

“What are you doing up so early?” Madeline pulled the tie of her robe a little more snugly around her waist and went to sit beside her. “Are you all right?”

Carrie shook her head.

“Anything I can do?”

Again, Carrie shook her head. “I had an awful night. I can’t stand being cooped up here like this, but I can’t stand the idea of leaving, either. Not as long as . . . everybody is staying.”

“So long as Nick is staying, you mean.” Madeline smiled sympathetically. “Where did you get that coffee? I could use some just about now.”

“You can have this. I haven’t touched it.”

Carrie handed Madeline the cup, and Madeline immediately set it down. “It’s cold. How long have you been sitting here?”

“I don’t know.” Carrie ran one hand through her tousled red-gold hair and drew a hard breath. “What am I going to do? I can’t stand thinking something awful is going to happen any minute. I don’t know how you do it.”

“I had to make a decision.” Madeline smiled more to herself, remembering. “Drew and I almost didn’t get married, you know.”

Carrie blinked at her. “What?”

“Oh, I was so confused and afraid I was making a mistake, I almost left him and went back home to Chicago. And that would have been the worst mistake of my life.” Madeline clasped her friend’s hand. “And all because I didn’t trust God with my future.”

Carrie looked away but didn’t let go of Madeline’s hand. “I just wish I could be sure.”

“It wouldn’t be faith if we could see everything ahead of time.”

Carrie’s mouth twitched at one corner. “It’d be nice all the same.”

“I suppose it would.” Madeline patted her hand and released it. “You never did tell me what time you perched yourself out here.”

“I don’t know. Maybe around six?”

“It’s after seven now. You can’t just sit here moping all day. Come on.” Madeline stood and hauled Carrie up with her. “Go get dressed, something pretty now, and we’ll have a nice walk along the beach. Getting out into the fresh air will make things look a lot better, I promise.”

“I don’t know.” Carrie looked out the window to the street below. “I think I’ll just stay here.”

“Now, don’t be that way. The beach is very pretty in the early morning, and the tide probably brought in all kinds of interesting shells and things.”

Carrie shrugged listlessly.

“Maybe,” Madeline added, “if we walk toward the Hall, the boys will see us and ask us to breakfast.”

That brought a hint of a smile to Carrie’s face. “I suppose it would be nice to get out in the fresh air for a little while.”

Madeline grinned. “I’ll race you.”