Screaming Yellow (9 page)

* * * *

“Who’s that?” Jennifer nodded toward a man on the side of the road. “He’s waving at us.”

“I’ve no idea.” Simon laid his hand on her arm. “Better pull over and see what he wants.”

Jennifer indicated and stopped the car next to the man. Simon rolled down his window. “Can we help you?”

“Cheers for stopping, mate.” The man smiled as he leaned down to the height of the window. “Magic. Can you tell me where The Larches is?”

“The Larches?” Simon’s voice raised in surprise. “Of course. Go to the end of the road and turn left into Cherry Tree Road and the house is past the first bend on your right.”

“Cheers mate. I owe you one.” He stood, rapping on the roof of the car and leaving nothing but the impression of aftershave and an odd accent. Simon craned his neck to look behind the car.
 

“What an odd fellow. I wonder who he was.”

“You should have asked him.” Jennifer indicated and pulled out again. “He might have been Grace’s lover or something.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Jennifer. He’s probably a friend of Richard’s from college.” He looked at the time on the dashboard clock. “It’s early yet. How about a nightcap at the White Art?”

“Are you sure?” Jennifer was dubious. “You’ve had several already.”

“A little one won’t hurt. Come on. You know you want to.”

“Very well.” She accelerated toward Laverstone’s only hotel. The internet could wait another hour for her presence.

The White Art was a rambling old building on the corner of Lovatt Street and Taunton Road. Several men stood at the open doorway smoking cigarettes but Jennifer pulled into the car-park at the back and followed Simon into the lounge. She glanced up at the sign as she passed beneath. It depicted a full moon bisected by the lines of a pentagram. “You ought to complain about that sign.”

Simon laughed. “Why should I? It’s been like that since before I was assigned the post here.”

“It’s not right. They should go back to being called the White Hart instead of all this witchery nonsense.”

“It’s good for the tourists. Mike makes a mint when they come to see the village stones. He gets quite a bit of trade in the summer from the folks doing the Stonehenge and Glastonbury tour.”

The lounge was quiet, though a fair amount of noise filtered through from the bar. Jennifer stood at the bar and removed her gloves while Simon flagged down the barman.

“Father Brande. This is a pleasant surprise.” Mike Chapman jerked his head toward the bar. “You any good at darts? We’re being thrashed by the team from Morley Croft.”

Simon shook his head. “Sorry, Mike.”

“No matter. What can I get you?”

“A small scotch for me and...” He looked at Jennifer, his eyebrows raised.

“I’ll have a port and lemon.” Jennifer looked at the other guests. There was no one she recognized.
 

“There you go.” Simon took out his wallet and laid a five-pound note on the bar. “Is Richard upstairs?”

“I don’t know offhand.” Mike glanced into the bar. “I’ve not seen him, though he might well have come in and gone straight up.”

“Mind if I check?”

Mike shook his head. “Help yourself.”

“Splendid.” Simon touched Jennifer’s arm. “I'll only be a minute. You go and sit down.”

* * * *

“So what did you find out?” asked Jennifer when they got home. She was already seething from the silent car journey. “You were gone for ages when you went to see Richard and then just swallowed your drink in one gulp. It must have been something important.”
 

“Actually, no. Richard wasn’t there so I left him a note to come and see me. The trouble was I had to go and find a pen and then needed a piece of paper.” Simon looked at her as she took his coat to hang up. “I have to think.” He kicked off his shoes and put his slippers on. “Robert told me some disturbing news. I need to pray for guidance.”

“Tell me something, at least.” Jennifer put the discarded footwear onto newspaper. “You and Robert were cloistered in his study for over an hour.”

Simon headed up the stairs. “You were right all along. I’m going to bed.”

“Right about what?” Jennifer shouted, her exasperation with her secretive brother reaching boiling point, but he gave her no reply.

* * * *

Jennifer was engrossed in an online conversation about Margaret’s dog when the phone rang. She looked at the clock in the corner of the screen. Eleven-fifteen. The ringing stopped, answered by Simon in his bedroom. Minutes later he came thundering down the stairs pulling his clothes on as he went.

Jennifer ran into the hall. “What’s happened?”

His face was grim. “That was Amanda, the maid at The Larches. Robert’s been murdered.”

Chapter 10

Jennifer pulled up onto the gravel drive, avoiding scraping the other parked car by a finger’s width. “That was close,” she said, turning off the engine.

“Close? You could have wrecked Robert’s Jaguar.” Simon was breathing far too heavily for the simple drive. Jennifer put it down to the drinking. It always made him tetchy.

“Anyway, what would it matter if Robert’s dead? He’s hardly going to complain is he?” Jennifer pulled off her leather driving gloves and stowed them in the glove box. “And if he comes back from the dead to moan about it, I’ll apologize, okay?”

Simon scowled and got out of the car, forcing Jennifer to hurry after him toward the dark house.
 

She caught his arm. “It’s all closed up for the night. If there’s been a murder here, why isn’t it bustling with activity and the police? Are you sure it wasn’t somebody’s idea of a joke?”

He scowled. “It’s in very bad taste if it is.” He stepped back, looking up at the darkened windows. “Perhaps they’re all at the back. You wait here and I’ll go and check.”

Jennifer wrapped her coat more tightly around her as he disappeared around the side of the house. She could hear nothing but the
tink-tink-tink
of the engine cooling and the hiss of traffic in the distance. She was just debating calling out when the crunch of gravel announced Simon’s return.

“There’s not a light on anywhere.” He half-ran up the steps and banged on the door. “Better to wake the house than ignore the call, though. Imagine if Sir Robert were lying bleeding to death in his bed? ”

It took several minutes for lights to come on and the door to be opened. Amanda was pulling a red silk kimono closed. “Father Brande? Did you forget something?”

“What?” Simon tried to look behind her. “You phoned me about the murder.”

“No, I didn’t. I was in bed.” Amanda rubbed sleep from her eyes. “What murder?”

“Robert Markhew, your employer. You phoned me a few minutes ago.”

Amanda shook her head, a few locks of hair falling from her tight braid. “I assure you I did no such thing, Father. As far as I know, Mr. Markhew is perfectly fine.”

“Someone’s playing a joke on you, Simon.” Jennifer pulled at her brother’s sleeve. “Let’s leave these good people to their beds.”

“No. I must insist upon speaking to Robert.” Simon looked from Jennifer to the maid, wide eyes reflecting the light from the hallway. “
Someone
phoned me and I can’t take the risk that Robert is lying dead or injured somewhere. Wake him up, please, if he really is asleep. If I am just the victim of a cruel prank I will happily apologize afterward.”

“Best do as he says.” Jennifer pressed Amanda’s arm. “There’s no dissuading him when he gets like this.”

Amanda shrugged and opened the door wider, standing to one side to allow them passage. There was none of the activity one would associate with a murder evident.

“Amanda? What’s going on?” Nicole Fielding stood at the top of the stairs, frowning at the unexpected activity. For such an attractive woman during the day, Jennifer thought, she made up for it at night with her hair in curlers and a dressing gown that looked to be a hand-me-down from her grandmother.

“It’s Father Brande.” Amanda closed the door and went to the bottom of the stairs. “He reckons Mr. Markhew’s been murdered and won’t leave until he sees him.”

“Nonsense.” Nicole did up the cord of her dressing gown. “Come back in the morning.”

“I must insist on seeing him forthwith.” Simon glared up the stairs. “Good God, woman, this is a matter of life and death. Would you wake him, please?”

Nicole grimaced. “Very well but I shall blame you for the inconvenience. Sir Robert doesn’t take kindly to interruptions.”

“Please do.” Simon looked back at Jennifer, who nodded encouragement.

She guided Amanda to one of the high-backed chairs. “Let’s get all this sorted out and get back to bed.” Amanda said nothing, merely covering her mouth with her hand to yawn.

“He’s not in his room or his studio.” Nicole returned to the landing. “Why isn’t he there?”

“How should I know?” Amanda asked. “He was in the study, the last I heard.”

“Then let us check.” Simon stepped to the door and rapped on the old wood. “Robert? Are you in there?” When there was no reply he tried the handle. “It’s locked.”

“Break it down,” Nicole urged, having come downstairs at last. “If something’s happened to him…”

Simon threw himself against the door but the oak didn’t budge. He tried again with the same result.

“This is ridiculous,” Nicole said. “Amanda? Go and fetch Peter.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Amanda hurried off.

“Peter Numan?” Simon rattled the doorknob one last time and stepped away. “I didn’t know he was here as well.”

“Yes, he looks after the cars and the grounds.” Nicole bit her lip as she looked toward the kitchen. “Mr. Markhew took him on when he left school. He was a good friend of Richard’s at the time and didn’t have the qualifications for university. It seemed an apt solution.”

“I see.” Simon nodded.

“I told you all this at the time.” Jennifer took the seat vacated by Amanda. “Head like a sieve, you. That’s what Mum always used to say. I don’t know how you passed your exams.”

They looked up at the sound of footsteps. Amanda returned with the young Peter Numan, clad only in his jeans.

“Father.” Peter nodded a greeting.

Nicole clasped his arm. “Will you bash this door open, Peter? Father Brande here hasn’t got the muscle to manage it. He thinks Robert has been murdered.”

“Murdered?” Peter grimaced and landed a side kick to the lock. Wood splintered. He kicked twice more until the wood around the lock gave way and the door lurched with a resounding crack. He pushed it open and entered the room, the others following on his heels.

“Oh my Lord.” Simon made the sign of the cross.

Robert Markhew was slumped half across his desk, one hand trailing the sea of woolen carpet. His glassy eyes stared at the door, specks of blood peppering the pages of the book beneath his head. The dagger protruding from his back had allowed blood to run down his arm and pool on the floor.

“You were right.” Amanda pressed her fist against her teeth. “He has been murdered.”

“And burgled.” Peter pointed to the open window. “We’d better call the police.”

* * * *

Jennifer looked across at her brother, spotting the telltale signs he was over-tired. He rubbed his eyes, yawned and pinched himself on the arm. “I’ve already gone over all this with Sergeant Davies.” He was talking to a plainclothes policeman taking notes in front of him.

Detective Inspector White nodded. “I appreciate that, sir, and I’m very grateful, but I like to hear the events myself. It helps me form my own opinion, you see. Besides, you might think of something else with the re-telling.”

“Very well.” Simon took a long draught of the sweet tea Amanda had served earlier. Jennifer hoped it was warmer than hers had been. “I was woken by a phone call from Amanda at a little after eleven.” He nodded toward the maid. “At least I thought it was her, although when I got here she said she knew nothing about it and that as far as she knew, Robert was alive and well.”

“What time would this be, sir? How long was it between you receiving the phone call and arriving here?”