“That?” I rushed over to Nina and looked down over the stone balustrade to see a body sprawled below, half in and half out of a flower bed. A stone urn had mashed the head like a melon dropped on concrete. I quickly averted my gaze from the pulpy mass. It was Dorinda; I recognized her from her clothes. She was as dead as the proverbial doornail. No need to go down there and muck about in the mess of her death; I could feel her death from here. It’s a vampire thing, you know; if I focus, I can feel and almost hear someone else’s heartbeat. The fake Dorinda’s heart had stopped beating.
I turned back to Nina, whose eyes were still glazed over from the shock of her discovery. She was mumbling to herself, but I could make out the words with little difficulty. “Can’t believe they actually did it! Why on earth? The stupid bitch! What did she do?”
“Nina! Get a grip!” I clasped one of her hands in mine. It was even colder than my own.
Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Nina focused on me. She withdrew her hand from mine, then pulled another cigarette from her purse. Her hands were almost steady as she lighted the cigarette.
“What did you mean by ‘they,’ Nina? Who was responsible for this?”
Nina blew smoke in my face. “I was just shocked, Simon. If anyone’s responsible, it was probably that snotty boyfriend of yours!”
She had begun to recover; the barracuda was back.
Now was not the time to convince Nina that Giles was not my boyfriend. “Don’t be ridiculous, Nina! Giles would not have killed this woman. He had no reason for doing such a thing.”
Nina tossed her head. “Come off it, Simon! Anyone can see the idiot is besotted with you. Who’s to say he didn’t do it, thinking it was in your best interests?”
Ignoring my sputtered protests, Nina pointed to her left. “The urn used to sit on there, on the balustrade. Dorinda must have been standing on the lawn beneath, and someone pushed it off on her.”
“Yes, it certainly looks that way.”
Nina exhaled a cloud of smoke. She extracted a mobile phone from her purse. “Here.” She handed it to me. “Summon someone.”
I recalled from memory the number of our local crack homicide specialist, Detective Inspector Robin Chase, and punched it in on the keypad. Robin was in his office, and I tersely explained what had happened. To his credit, Robin made no comment on my reporting yet another corpse. Instead, he assured me that he and a team from CID would soon be here at Kinsale House to take charge.
I handed Nina’s mobile back to her and informed her that the authorities were on the way. Then I took her arm and guided her away from the scene of the crime. “I think we’d better go inside now.” I looked up into the sky. Rain was imminent. “And I think I’d better find something to throw over the body before the rain washes everything away.” Nina grimaced. “I believe I shall leave that little detail to you, Simon.”
“Yes, heaven forfend that you should get your hands grubby, dear Nina.” She ignored that as I ushered her back into the house, into the Raj Room, as I had decided to call it.
“Did you see anything before I joined you, Nina? Anything that the police should know?”
She faced me, her chin set with determination. “Don’t be ridiculous, Simon. What could I have seen? She must have already been dead when I went out onto the terrace.”
She didn’t exactly answer my question, but now was not the time to pin her down. Later on I’d tackle her about who or what she might have seen on the terrace. She might actually have seen the murderer leaving the scene of the crime, but Nina wouldn’t part with that information until she had figured out how best to use it to her own advantage.
“We’ll continue this later, but for now, go find Lady Hermione and break the news to her.” I glanced around the room. Several hideous tiger-skin rugs littered the floor. I gathered up three of them, while Nina marched huffily out of the room.
Out on the terrace, I quickly shook out as much dust as I could from the tiger skins, then went and placed them across the corpse and as much of the crime scene as I could. Rain began to pelt down as I was placing the last tiger skin, and I hoped that Robin and his team would get here soon, in time to protect the area more effectively.
I sprinted back inside and shut the French windows firmly behind me. I realized too late that I shouldn’t have touched the handles again. Now I would have smeared the fingerprints someone else might have left on them. Wiping the rain away from my face and head with my handkerchief, I looked up to see Lady Hermione come charging through the door from the hall.
“Dr. Kirby-Jones! Whatever is going on here? Nina said you had found Miss Darlington dead on the lawn!”
She had continued toward me as she spoke, and as she made a move to go past me, to open the doors out onto the terrace, I laid a restraining hand on her arm. She stiffened.
“Pardon me, Lady Hermione, but your getting wet and looking at what happened will serve no purpose right now. We’ve summoned the police, and it’s best now to wait until they arrive.” She made a move to shrug off my hand, and I applied gentle pressure. “Please, Lady Hermione, don’t go out there.”
“Very well,” she said, suddenly yielding. “No doubt you’re right. There’s nothing I can do, I suppose. You’re entirely certain the poor girl is... dead?” She faced me with horror dawning in her eyes.
“Yes, I’m sure.” I resisted any urge to tell her just how well I knew death. I doubted it would have been of any comfort.
“Poor girl,” she repeated. “Nothing like this has ever happened at Kinsale House.”
I didn’t take that as an accusation, though it had sounded a bit like one. “I know this is terribly upsetting, Lady Hermione, but I’m sure the police will soon find out what happened. I know the officer who will no doubt be in charge of the investigation, and he is highly competent. He’ll get this sorted out in no time.”
Lady Hermione’s eyes narrowed as she examined me. “Ah, yes,” she said, her tone cool. “You do have firsthand experience with murder, don’t you? The late, unlamented postmistress of Snupperton Mumsley.” She sniffed. “One had quite forgotten that.”
At this rate, I doubted I’d ever be on the guest list for Kinsale House again. Oh, well, at least I wouldn’t have to be offended by the dubious taste of generations of Kinsales and their misguided attempts at decoration.
“Perhaps we should await the arrival of the police in your sitting room,” I suggested. Lady Hermione sniffed once before stalking out of the room, leaving me to follow or not.
I followed.
Nina was ensconced in a chair, calmly sipping tea, when Lady Hermione and I arrived in the sitting room. Lady Hermione poured herself another stiff tot of brandy, tossed it down, then rang the bell. Dingleby appeared moments later, as if he had been hovering in the hall outside.
“Yes, Lady Hermione?”
“More tea, Dingleby. The police will be arriving shortly. One of our guests has met with an unfortunate accident on the terrace. When the police arrive, be so good as to show them to the terrace.”
“Yes, Lady Hermione.” Dingleby retreated, his face calm and composed, as if the “unfortunate accident” were of no interest whatsoever to him. I guess they have a course in that at butler school.
Within moments, the local bobby had arrived, as Dingleby informed his mistress when he came back bearing fresh tea. Not long after that, Robin and his crew appeared. Robin paused briefly to be introduced to Lady Hermione and Nina, explaining who he was and what he and his squad would be doing.
“Do you have a room we might use for interviewing witnesses?” Robin asked politely.
Lady Hermione waved a hand. “Just ask Dingleby. He will see to whatever you need.”
“Thank you, Lady Hermione.” Robin turned suavely to me. “Dr. Kirby-Jones, if I might have a word with you?” He nodded at Nina. “Miss Yaknova, I’d like to interview you next, but that won’t be for a few minutes. If you would be so kind as to wait here for me.”
“Certainly, Detective Inspector,” Nina said in her sweetest tones. I could already see the wheels turning. Robin is a very attractive man, and Nina no doubt thought she would be able to charm him without much effort. Nina might just be surprised.
Out in the hallway, Robin turned to me, his expression stern. “What now, Simon? One begins to think you’re like that American woman on the telly. What’s her name, Fletcher? Everywhere she goes, a dead body turns up.”
“Really, Robin,” I protested. “I go lots of places where no one dies.”
Robin’s lips pursed. He really is most attractive, but he’s also hard to read. I can never tell if he’s flirting with me or if he simply finds me amusing. No doubt you can imagine which I’d prefer.
“Who is the victim, Simon? Tell me again.”
“She claimed to be Dorinda Darlington, author of a highly successful series of detective novels featuring a female sleuth.”
Robin picked up my slight emphasis on “claimed.” “What do you mean? Was that not who she was?” Bright man; he follows verbal cues very quickly.
“No, she’s not Dorinda Darlington. I’m not sure who she really was. I’ve been trying to find out, because I want to know why she was impersonating m—” I caught myself. “Impersonating Dorinda Darlington. I know the real Dorinda, and this woman is not she.”
Robin’s eyes narrowed at my stumble. “Then just who is the real Dorinda Darlington? That might have some bearing on this case.”
Should I come clean with Robin? I had been secretive about Dorinda’s real identity because the reading public might not be too happy to know that “her” books were written by a man. Leaving aside the fact, naturally, that the author was both gay and dead. The PC police might have a field day, and I wanted to stay out of the spotlight—natural behavior for a vampire.
But perhaps Robin could keep the secret and keep it from becoming “official” knowledge. “If I confide something in you, Robin, can you try to keep it under the table, as it were?”
Robin’s right eyebrow rose interrogatively. “Perhaps, Simon, but you know I can’t really promise that. If it has direct bearing upon what happened, I might not be able to hold it back.”
That was just what I had expected him to say. Oh, well, in for a penny and all that.
“I am Dorinda Darlington. That’s how I know she was an impostor.”
His jaw dropped.
Then he recovered, and I watched him, almost seeing the wheels turn as he assessed this new piece of information. Had I just put myself at the head of the list of suspects?