Design for Murder (12 page)

We had long since left the Haslop Hall grounds behind and
were wending our way along a bridle path beside the river.
The sun, slanting through the willow trees, glinted on the
water.

“How much wine do you reckon to produce?” I asked Tim. “I’ve just no idea of the sort of scale involved.”

“In our best year we picked about thirty-five tons of grapes,
which yielded well over thirty thousand bottles.”

“That sounds an
enormous
amount.”

“It’s pretty good for the acreage involved, which of course
is tiny by continental standards. I wish we could equal it
every year.” Tim sighed. “Anyone who starts a vineyard in
England has to be a bit of a lunatic.”

I laughed.

We jingled on in a companionable silence, emerging onto a
lane a quarter of a mile from Haslop St. John. At the Barlow
Mow we decided to stop for a drink. There was a rustic bench
facing the triangular village green, and I tethered the two
horses while Tim went inside to fetch us two half pints.

“When I walked into the bar,” he told me when he
emerged, “the conversation stopped dead.”

I smiled ruefully. “I bet they’re talking all the harder now.”

Billy Moon was waiting for us when we got back, sitting in
the violet-shadowed yard smoking his pipe. He was grateful
for the tobacco I had given him, but Tim he couldn’t even
bring himself to acknowledge. It distressed me, but Tim
seemed not to notice anything.

We drove back to Honeysuckle Cottage each in our own
car. I’d bought some sliced ham this afternoon, and I made a
big salad to go with it. Tim had brought along a bottle of his own wine.

“I’m afraid it’s got somewhat tepid in the car,” he said, “so
we’ll commit the unpardonable and stick it in the ice com
partment of the fridge for ten minutes.”

It was long past midnight before he left.

* * * *

Sunday morning could have been lie-in time, but I was up
early. Happiness, too, can make you restless. I pottered
around, doing nothing in particular. I was still drinking
breakfast coffee when the phone rang.

“Hallo, Tracy. This is Neil. I was just checking to know if you’d be in. I’d like to drop by and see you.”

“On a Sunday?” I objected.

“You don’t imagine that makes any difference in a murder
investigation, do you? I wish to God it did, I could do with a
day off.”

“You could always delegate someone else to do your dirty
work,” I pointed out coldly. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“As a matter of fact, sending Detective Sergeant Willis to
see you did produce an interesting result.”

“And what was that?”

“The story you told him, and the story you told me, didn’t tally in every particular.”

“But they must have done,” I protested. “I told the truth to both of you.”

“You told
me
that you took your watch to the repairers’ in
Cheltenham on Wednesday morning. But you made no men
tion of that to the sergeant.”

“Oh ... I must have forgotten.” Quite suddenly rage took
hold of me. “You mean you’ve noted that down as a black
mark against me, a simple little oversight? That sort of thing
could happen to anyone if they were asked for every tiny de
tail of their movements days after the event
...”

“Have you finished?” enquired Neil calmly. “If you’d allow me to get a word in edgeways, I could tell you that if anything it’s a small point in your favour. We know you did go to the repairers’ when you said you did ... checking up on that
was a routine matter. But there’s such a thing as being too
word perfect, and that’s when we get suspicious.”

Feeling slightly deflated, but still angry, I muttered, “Have you got any clue about who sent you that letter?”

“Not yet, but we’re working on it. I can be with you in about half an hour. Okay?”

“If you must.”

He had robbed the day of its brightness. I wished that I’d
been out when he phoned, but it was too late now. I waited
for him nervously.

The moment Neil walked in the door he tossed at me,
“Are you being wise, Tracy, seeing so much of Baxter?”

It was done deliberately, of course, to throw me. And he
succeeded.

“Is it the slightest business of yours?” I demanded angrily.

“In the sense, can I prevent you
...
no. But it’s not helping me one bit.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Neil gave me a really dark look. “You’re muddying waters
that are murky enough already. Having dinner at the Lamb
on Friday evening, up at his place yesterday morning, and out riding with him in the evening.”

“You must have spies everywhere.”

“And a good job, too,” he retorted. “If we relied solely on volunteered information, we wouldn’t get far in this village.”

“Have you got someone tailing me round the clock, or
something?”

“My information about you is purely accidental. You being at the Lamb ... well, that’s almost on the doorstep of police
headquarters, so it’s hardly surprising that you were seen.
Then one of Baxter’s workers had a lunch-time drink in the
bar of the Trout Inn yesterday, and he happened to mention that you’d spent the morning helping out at the vineyard ...
the locals have got to find something to chat about while they
drink their ale. And as for the riding, the two of you were
seen arriving at the pub in Haslop St. John on horseback. My
men are careful to report everything that could have the
smallest relevance.”

Feeling cornered, I resorted to sarcasm. “And what other terribly vital information have your spies brought back? I stocked up with groceries at the village store yesterday afternoon, did you get that? Perhaps the police concluded that I’m preparing for a siege.”

“You’d be surprised what can be picked up in a village
pub,” Neil said equably. “Would I have discovered in any
other way that Sir Robert and Lady Medway had the very
dickens of a quarrel on Wednesday morning?”

“Oh? What about?”

“Regrettably, the details weren’t forthcoming. Are they in the habit of quarrelling?”

“I’m not on close enough terms with them to know about that.”

“But you sounded very surprised. Did Oliver Medway ever
discuss his father and stepmother with you?”

“Not what you’d call discuss, just the odd comment about them from tune to time.”

“What sort of things did he have to say?”

I shrugged. “He was a bit tickled at the idea of his father
taking a wife more than twenty years younger than himself.
He used to make rather coarse jokes about it.

“But I never heard anything to suggest that she and Sir Robert don’t get along reasonably well. I suppose that ex
plains the curious atmosphere between them after the news of Oliver’s death.”

“Atmosphere?”

“They seemed so cold and distant with each other. Not at
all as you’d expect a husband and wife to be after hearing
such dreadful news. And it doesn’t look,” I continued, “as if
their quarrel has been made up, either, because Sir Robert
hadn’t said anything to her about my staying on at the Design
Studio. It was clearly news to Lady Medway when I men
tioned it to her yesterday.”

“Perhaps,” suggested Neil, “he’s the sort of old-fashioned
husband who doesn’t like to discuss business affairs with his
wife?’

“No, I wouldn’t have thought Sir Robert was like that. And besides, Lady Medway was obviously livid at not knowing.”

After a brief pause, Neil asked, “How did Lady Medway
get or with Oliver?”

“So-so. He used to consider it a huge joke the way his step
mother puts on airs and tries to queen it with the locals. But I doubt if he actually said anything to her face. I don’t really
know what Lady Medway thought of him. She was very
pleased, though, with the way Oliver redesigned her boudoir
and some other rooms at the Hall when she first came here.”

“And her other stepson, Sebastian? What was their relationship like?”

“According to Oliver, they don’t like each other much. It’s
understandable, I suppose. Sir Robert taking a third wife
can’t have pleased Sebastian. He probably lives in fear that
she will bear Sir Robert other children. And another son—or a daughter, come to that—in the bloodline, might jeopardize
his position somewhat.”

“Could be.”

I asked, “How did you come to learn about Sir Robert and
Lady Medway having quarrelled that morning? I mean, who
was talking about it in the pub?”

“I’m sorry, Tracy, but I’m not prepared to tell you that.”

“In which case,” I said frostily, “aren’t you taking a big risk in disclosing even this much information to me?”

“Why?” He threw me a very stern look. “Do you intend to pass it on to someone else?”

I flushed, knowing that he meant Tim.

“There are one or two other bits and pieces we’ve come
across that you might be able to comment on,” Neil continued. “For instance, that the stable-hand at Haslop Hall had
no great liking for Oliver Medway.”

“Oliver was a bit withering with him sometimes, that’s all.
Billy Moon is an inoffensive old man who never harmed any
one.” Even as I spoke I knew that I’d reacted too swiftly in Billy’s defence, so I added as a counterweight, “He’s an odd
ball character, and he’s apt to take sudden dislikes to people.”

“Oh? Who else, for example?”

I lifted my shoulders to show how totally without significance it was. “Well, for some weird reason he seems
anti-Tim Baxter at the moment.”

“Why’s that?”

“Goodness knows. I can’t imagine Tim’s ever having done anything to upset him.”

Neil didn’t pursue that, to my relief. Instead, he said,
“About the owner of the What-Not Shop ... Mrs. Ursula
Kemp. What was Oliver Medway’s attitude towards her?”

“His liked her, and they seemed to get on well together. Now and again we used to buy things from her shop.”

“Like the fertility god statuette? Did that come from her,
by any chance?”

“It did, as a matter of fact.”

“It’s rather unlikely, wouldn’t you say, that Mrs. Kemp
would have purchased such an object to put on display in her
shop window? More likely she saw it at a sale somewhere and
bought it because it was just the sort of thing to amuse her
friend Oliver Medway.”

He was dead right. I said, “So what?”

“It suggests that they were on close terms. Very close
terms, perhaps.”

“Oh, come off it. Ursula must be nearly fifteen years older than Oliver was.”

“Would that have prevented her from hoping? She’s an attractive, well-preserved widow. Oliver Medway, by all accounts, was the kind of man that women pursue. Did Ursula
Kemp pursue him, d’you imagine?”

“No, I can’t buy that,” I said emphatically. “And as for
Oliver,
he found her amusing company.”

“So he’d drop in there quite often
...
to look over her stock and enjoy a bit of chit-chat?”

“But that’s all it ever was,” I said. “I’m quite positive.
You’re not seriously suggesting that Ursula might have killed
him?”

“I’m suggesting nothing. At present she rates no higher as a
suspect than a number of other people.”

“Including me?”

Neil was unperturbed. “We always have to look for motive,
Tracy, as well as opportunity. Now what would your motive have been—assuming it’s true, as you so vehemently insist, that there was no ‘relationship’ between you and Oliver.”

“I
had
no motive. I didn’t kill him.”

“On the other hand,” he suggested, “if you two had been
having an affair
...”

“But we weren’t,” I said shrilly. “Why won’t you believe that?”

“If only I could, Tracy, without the tiny reservation I’m obliged to keep in a corner of my mind.”

Why wouldn’t he go away and leave me alone, I thought desperately. But first there was something I wanted to know
from him.

“What was the outcome of your interview with Ralph Ebborn?” I asked. “I haven’t heard from Ralph since.”

“I’m not surprised that he’s keeping a low profile,” Neil commented. “He was a thoroughly chastened man when I’d
finished with him.”

“And Sebastian Medway?”

“What about Sebastian Medway?”

“You said he had some explaining to do,” I reminded him.

“Which he has now done.”

“So Sebastian
is
in the clear, just as Ralph said? All the big
fuss you made was over nothing.”

“I didn’t say that he was in the clear,” Neil pointed out. “I
merely said that he has given me an explanation for his pres
ence in this area on Wednesday morning. It’s been checked
on and—as far as it goes—it holds water. But it doesn’t mean
that he couldn’t also have killed his stepbrother.”

“Then Sebastian is still a suspect?”

Neil smiled grimly. “You see what I mean about murky
waters, Tracy?”

He had the nerve to suggest that I provide him with coffee
once again. And I was weak enough to agree—though I was anxious to see the back of him. Tim and I had planned to go
out for the day, taking a picnic lunch, and I’d got things to do
before he arrived.