Murder in Mind (17 page)

'Casey drove me home. We need to call her a taxi,' he said, knowing that the explanation was woefully insufficient.

'That was kind of her.' Kendra led the way through to the kitchen. 'My God, Matt! What on earth have you been up to?'

Matt looked down at his clothes, becoming aware – for the first time – of the grass and mud stains on his beige trousers and the elbows of his jacket. He sighed.

'I – er . . . had a spot of trouble,' he said.

A quarter of an hour later, when the taxi arrived, Kendra was in possession of the full story and, due to Casey's interjections, far more of the details than Matt had intended she should have. Her reaction had been less pronounced than he'd expected, but it clearly wasn't an accurate gauge of her emotions for, as soon as they had seen Casey off, she got straight down to business. They were back in the kitchen, where he was finishing a cup of coffee to which Kendra had added a good slosh of whisky. It was making him feel drowsy, and he was looking forward to a hot bath.

'I want you to stop this, Matt,' Kendra said suddenly.

'Stop . . . ?'

'You know damn well what I mean. Stop this messing about – playing at being a private eye! I know
why
you're doing it, and I love you for it, but it's getting scary now. You could have been killed today, and for what? You say you don't even know why they attacked you. It's crazy! If Jamie's innocent, he'll be OK. The police will find out who did do it; it's their job. Those men were right
– your
job is riding horses, as if that wasn't dangerous enough . . .'

'Hang on,' Matt cut in. 'What do you mean
if
Jamie's innocent? Don't you believe it anymore?'

'Well, of course I
want
to believe he is – but how can we be 100 per cent sure?'

'
I'm
sure,' Matt stated quietly. 'And you were, last time I heard. You've certainly changed your tune.'

'I haven't. Oh, don't change the subject! We were talking about you getting beaten up – for nothing.'

'But, don't you see? This means I'm getting somewhere. Somebody's scared of what I might find out; that's what this was all about. Why else would they go to all that trouble?'

Kendra, who had been pacing round the room, stopped and made an exasperated noise.

'But how does it help, if you don't know what prompted it and you don't know who sent them?'

'We'll wait and see what the registration number throws up,' Matt said.

'No. Give it to the police. If this was just a warning, what'll these people do next time?'

'I'll be more careful now,' he promised. 'And
I
will
tell Bartholomew, if Casey comes up with something.'

Kendra pulled out a chair and sat on it, abruptly, heavily, as if all the strength had gone from her legs. She pushed back her long blonde fringe and Matt was shocked to see tears in her eyes. She rarely cried.

'What's this all about?' he asked gently. 'It's not just what happened today, is it? You've been on edge for a while. Can't you tell me about it, Kennie? Maybe I can help.'

'No, it's not just what happened today,' she admitted. 'It's everything – Sophie, Jamie, you doing this stuff, Deacon's cat, everything. I just feel scared all the time and I should be so happy – especially now . . .'

Matt's attention sharpened.

'Especially now?' he asked, the penny teetering on the edge.

'Because I'm pregnant,' Kendra announced, and burst into tears.

'But that's brilliant!' Matt exclaimed. 'Are you sure?'

'Of course I'm sure!' she sobbed. 'Oh – and I wasn't going to tell you like this – I wanted it to be special . . .'

'It
is
special.' Matt leaned over the table, reaching out to take and hold her hands, oblivious – in the joy of the moment – to the discomfort of his bruises. 'It's absolutely amazing! When's it due?'

'About May-time, I think.'

'Oh, wow! This is incredible!
You're
incredible!'

'Well, you had a little something to do with it,' Kendra told him, with a flash of a watery smile.

'That's a relief to hear,' he joked. 'But, you know, that's why you've been so anxious lately. You're hormonal.'

'Oh – that's it! Now you're happy,' she exclaimed. 'The male answer to every female emotion – hormones.' She pulled her hands free and wiped her eyes.

Matt prudently changed the subject.

'One thing still puzzles me. Where does your brother's cat fit into all this?'

'Oh, that was so sad. The poor little thing got run over.'

'Not by Deacon?'

'No. It was Niall, I think – Niall Delafield. Deacon was devastated. I didn't see him, but Mum says it brought on one of his awful migraines. He stayed in his room all day.'

'Oh, I'm sorry. Poor Deke!' Matt wasn't a cat man, but he knew how he'd feel if it happened to one of the dogs. 'By the way, when are we going to tell your family the news?'

'Not just yet, I think,' she said. 'Let's keep it to ourselves for a little bit longer, shall we?'

With the conversation back to Kendra's exciting revelation, they spent some little time marvelling and making plans before Matt finally rose stiffly to his feet and headed upstairs for the longed-for bath.

In spite of his aches and pains, he felt wonderfully content. They hadn't planned to start a family so soon, but, now that it had happened, he wouldn't have had it any different. The only cloud on his horizon was their unresolved disagreement over his efforts to clear Jamie's name, but he decided, with a complacency born of exhaustion, that he'd deal with that another day.

Unfortunately, 'another day' turned out to be the very next day and, furthermore, first thing in the morning, over the breakfast table.

Unusually for him, Matt had slept late, and Kendra had let him, informing him – when he awoke in a panic – that she had already rung Rockfield and excused him from riding out.

'You didn't say anything about what happened last night?' Matt asked in alarm.

'No, I just said you'd had a problem with the car and didn't get in until late. I also said you'd picked up a few bruises from your fall yesterday. Well, John's bound to notice, with you moving around like an eighty-year-old!' she added, as he started to protest. 'And that's another reason why you should leave this Sophie business to the police. If you won't do it for me and the baby, you should do it for yourself. If you get yourself all beaten up, you won't be able to ride. I know you're in demand right now, but only as long as you deliver the goods. Look what happened to Jamie. If word gets about that you're not as fit as you might be, they'll drop you like a shot.'

'That sounds like your father talking,' Matt said, the knowledge that she was right giving his voice a bitter edge. 'Anyway, they just caught me by surprise yesterday. I'll be more careful in future.'

'Oh, and that'll be all right then, will it? From what Casey said, they were big powerful men.
Just how do you propose to deal with them if they come looking for you again?'

'She's right, Matt.' Unseen by either of them, Jamie had come to stand in the kitchen doorway. 'God knows I'm grateful for what you've been trying to do, but I don't want you to muck up your career on my account. Bad enough that one of us is on the breadline. And I don't want you guys falling out over me, either. I've been thinking it might be better if I head off back to Cambridge.'

'Oh? And what are you going to use for rent money up there?' Matt enquired. 'You're skint, remember?'

'I dunno – get myself a paper round or something. Anyway, I think you two deserve a bit of space. Or should I say, you
three
– sorry, I kind of overheard you last night. Congratulations, by the way!'

Matt wasn't keen on the idea of Jamie being so remote while he was still see-sawing on the edge of depression. Who would watch out for him if he drank himself into a stupor again?

'Thanks,' he said. 'But I think you going up to Cambridge is a bad idea. Besides, you haven't worked off what you owe
us
for rent yet.'

He didn't pitch it any stronger, unsure of how Kendra would view the situation, but she rose to the occasion as he'd hoped she would.

'And I call it bloody ungrateful to waltz off just when I need a bloke around the house to do the heavy lifting for me when Matt's not here.'

She didn't say just what heavy lifting she had in mind and nor did either of the others question it.

'Well, if you put it like that,' Jamie said, glancing at each of them in turn. 'Of course I'll stay.'

It being a Sunday, early evening found Matt and Kendra heading for Birchwood Hall and the family dinner. There was still some tension between them, but Kendra hadn't returned to the contentious matter of Matt's extracurricular activities, and
he
certainly wasn't about to.

At the Brewer home, the atmosphere wasn't much better. Deacon was still indisposed and missing from the pre-dinner gathering, as was Charlie, who – Joy told them, as she greeted Matt with a kiss – was in his office dealing with a matter of business.

'Oh dear. You look as though you've been in the wars,' she remarked, stepping back to arm's length and taking a good look at him.

'Been fighting with the horses again?' Grace enquired from the sofa, where she was sitting within the circle of Rupert's arm. 'Or has my sister been beating you up?'

'Oh Grace, you're so not funny,' Frances told her.

'How long do you think Charlie will be?' Matt asked. 'I was hoping to have a word with him.'

'Well, he said ten minutes or so, but that was half an hour ago,' Joy told him, consulting her watch. 'So you could go and see. Only don't keep him too long or dinner will spoil.'

'And I'm hungry,' Grace added in a plaintive tone.

'Oh well – that'll certainly make me hurry,'
Matt said, sending a private wink Frances's way as he headed for the door.

Charlie Brewer's study was on the first floor, at the end of an impressive corridor flanked on both sides by items of antique furniture bearing numerous objets d'art. On the deep-red walls hung an extensive collection of portraits – amongst them, one each of the Brewer family in sumptuous evening wear and painted in the old style. The door stood slightly ajar and, as Matt approached, the noise of his footfalls lost in the dense pile of the carpet, he could hear voices emanating from within the room. He hesitated – Charlie wasn't alone, and, by the sound of it, there was some pretty significant business being conducted.

Matt was debating whether to postpone his own business with Kendra's father or whether to cough loudly, knock on the door, and go in, when the sound of Charlie's angrily raised voice temporarily distracted him from either course.

'I don't care how politically incorrect it is; in
my
house,
I
make the rules, and I say get rid of him.'

'You're overreacting. He's never been here – and never would have.' The second voice was calmer and sounded familiar to Matt, although he couldn't immediately put a name to it.

'It's not up for discussion. If you want to keep your job, you know what to do.'

Matt started to turn away. This quite plainly wasn't any of his business and it just as plainly wasn't an auspicious moment to raise his own point of contention with Kendra's father.

The other voice came again.

'That's an empty threat, you know you're not going to fire me.'

'And
you
know you can't talk,' came the response. 'Not now.'

There was a long silence, during which Matt leaned closer, etiquette forgotten in the face of this fascinating exchange. He'd recognised the second voice now. It was Niall Delafield, Charlie's security man.

'Well, just make sure you keep your end of the bargain, or we'll all be fucked!' It was Delafield who eventually spoke, and so much nearer to the door that Matt was shocked into swift retreat.

The corridor was way too long to traverse in the second or two he might have, so, to be spared the ignominy of being caught eavesdropping – albeit accidentally – he waited until he saw the door open, and then began to walk forward.

'Oh, hello!' he exclaimed, on coming face to face with Delafield.

Delafield glowered, nodded briefly, and stood back to let him pass.

Charlie was sitting staring at his desk when Matt knocked on the open door. He looked up.

'Oh, hello, Matt. I didn't realise it was that late.' He glanced at the ornate Regency carriage clock on the mantelpiece and got to his feet. 'I'd better come down. Er . . . did you want something?'

'No. Just to say the meal's ready,' Matt told him, and Brewer, his mind clearly distracted, seemed to find nothing odd in this.

* * *

The mood at the dinner table that evening was edgy and uncomfortable, a state of affairs which Grace did nothing to improve. It was clear to Matt that he and Kendra were not the only ones wrestling with problems; even had he not overheard the exchange in the office, he would have guessed that something was bothering Kendra's father, because he spoke little and his usually prodigious appetite had apparently deserted him. Joy, too, seemed tense and unhappy, displaying dark circles under her eyes, as if she hadn't slept well.

With conversation floundering, it was left to Grace to hold the floor, which she did by regaling the company with the details of her visit to Rupert's father's jewellery showrooms. Since, for her, the most memorable aspect of the tour seemed to have been the extravagant prices of the various sumptuous pieces on show, Matt very quickly grew bored, but Joy and Kendra exhibited the requisite wonderment – whether real or feigned – so Grace was encouraged to continue. When she had exhausted that topic, though, she reverted to her usual pastime of stirring up trouble and, as was often the case, Matt was her target.

It was as the dessert was being served that she casually dropped the most unwelcome nugget of information into the silence.

'So, Matt, Kendra tells us you've been tangling with thugs.'

Surprised and disappointed, Matt looked across at Kendra, who coloured up, saying, 'I didn't! I was talking to Mum. You shouldn't have been listening, Grace. You bitch!'