The Blue Virgin (16 page)

Chapter Thirty-Eight

“If a man insisted always on being serious and never allowed himself a bit of fun and relaxation, he would go mad or become unstable without knowing it.”

—
Herodotus,
The
Histories

7 PM

Nora drove the Celica on its last voyage, Simon beside her. Tomorrow she would turn it in for the Volvo that Simon had examined and pronounced sound. She was keyed up and hungry.

  Val rode in the back with Janet. She had insisted they take Janet out for drinks and dinner. “We can toast Nora and Simon’s book news, too. Jeff Nichols told me to get a good meal and a good night’s sleep, and I plan to do both.” She checked her watch. “Louisa and May should be getting the train right about now.”

  “What’s your plan with them?” Nora asked.

  Val made a face. “I suppose I’ll have to thank May for getting me Jeff Nichols. I told her I’d bring Janet to the Randolph tomorrow to meet her. Will you two come along?” Val caught Nora’s eye in the rearview mirror. “Please don’t make me inflict her on poor Janet alone. Even Lou isn’t enough to counter that experience!”

  Nora laughed. “What do you say, Simon—up for a bit of running interference for Val?” She made a left at the foot of the Banbury Road and turned into the driveway of The Old Vicarage.

  “Absolutely,” Simon said. “I’ve always wanted to play footie.”

  Nora parked, and they entered a honeyed stone building with mullioned windows, draped lavishly with wisteria.

  “It’s lovely here, Val,” Janet said as they were led to their table in a corner. The dark fuchsia walls were covered with oil paintings. Soft lighting reflected the patina of the antique furnishings, while discreet classical music in the background enhanced the polished feel. “Much more elegant than my parsonage,” Janet declared, scanning the tall menu placed before her. “I haven’t been here since my teens. I came for a bank holiday with a group of friends, and we had high tea, right outside in that lovely garden, gossiping and laughing over the silliest things. It seems like a lifetime ago,” she said wistfully.

  “After enduring meeting May, Janet’s going to go home until the inquest,” Val explained. “There are neighbors and friends she wants to see. I admit I’m curious to see how May will behave.”

  “In terms of you?” Simon asked.

  Val nodded. “If she’s not properly sorry for me, or for Janet, I may well earn the murderous title Barnes wants to give me.”

  “Shh, don’t say that.” Janet patted Val’s hand.

  May Rogan always had such a hard time with Val, Nora thought, and worried about her influence on Louisa. Could May have decided to eliminate Bryn Wallace? Val’s stepmother certainly had the financial resources to hire someone to do her dirty work if she were enraged enough. Of course, killing Bryn wouldn’t have changed Val’s lifestyle. There would always be someone lining up to fall in love with her golden-eyed friend. But would May have been perceptive enough to consider that? Aloud, Nora asked, “How was your meeting with Nichols, Val?”

  “Dad’s old partner came through for me. I feel better after talking with him, like someone believes me.”

  “We all do, Val,” Nora said, feeling a twinge of guilt for the few moments she’d doubted her friend.

  “He also told her to get back to normal activities until this is all settled,” Janet added, patting Val’s arm.

  “That’s why I’m going to stop at the co-op after running Janet home tomorrow. There might have been developments in the approvals for the new building, and it isn’t fair to leave Lottie shouldering everything alone.”

  “Lottie’s a dear,” Nora said.

  “She’s such a dependable colleague. I owe her so much. I should have invited her along tonight.” Val’s eyes darkened. “I feel so guilty having a nice dinner out with Bryn gone.”

  The table’s occupants were still until Janet spoke up. “Val, if Bryn were here she would be coaching you from the sidelines, urging you to live while you have the chance.”

*

Simon pushed his empty dessert plate away. “That was an incredible meal.”

  The quartet lingered over coffee and pudding. As Janet excused herself to find the ladies’ room, the others turned once again to the events that brought them all together.

  “I still have no idea who would have wanted Bryn to die,” Val confessed. “I think I’m numb to the reality of it.”

  Nora immediately pulled out her notebook and heard Simon unsuccessfully stifle a sigh. “I’m determined to look into this, Val,” Nora said. “You can’t go on being a suspect while the real murderer walks around enjoying life. I’ve made a list of a few people I’m going to talk to over the next few days—”

  Val interrupted her. “Nora, that could be dangerous, and I’ve already lost someone I love.”

  “Thank you, Valentine,” Simon threw in.

  Nora was prepared for their opposition. “I’m not going to be in any peril just talking to a few people. I can’t believe you and Janet don’t want to know what really happened.” She pushed her glasses up her nose. “Besides, I’ve already started. I went to see Declan Barnes today and then to see Bryn’s neighbor Althea Issacs. Barnes wouldn’t talk about the case with me, of course, but I got Althea to remember a very important point.”

  Nora related her theory that a late visitor came to Bryn’s flat after Val went home. “I know it’s upsetting, but Val, it’s a real possibility.”

  Simon had remained silent during her explanation, but Val’s excitement showed. “Finally, a reasonable explanation that doesn’t include me.”

  “Can you think of anyone who might have visited Bryn that late?” Nora asked. “Was she expecting someone?”

  “Not at all,” Val said.

  Janet rejoined the table. “Janet, I was just going to ask Val to think back to her time at the station last night,” Nora said. “Val, did you hear anything relevant, any names that caught your interest or seemed connected?”

  Val considered this as Janet spoke up. “Nora, I appreciate what you want to do, especially for Val, but you have a child on the way. None of us wants you to endanger yourself.”

  “I promise I’ll be safe, Janet. I’ve almost convinced Simon to come with me for more interviews tomorrow—” Nora broke off and gave Simon an appealing look.

  “My friend, you can be so manipulative at times,” Val said.

  Simon cleared his throat as he composed a reply. “I think I’m the last one who’d want to see Nora in jeopardy. But I’ve also seen that once she becomes determined about something she won’t let it go.” He kept going even as Nora put her hands on her hips. “So when I can be available to accompany her, I will. Against my better judgment, I might add.”

  “You couldn’t resist adding that last bit, could you?” Nora teased.

  “Absolutely not,” he answered.

  “Last night I did hear something,” Val said. “I didn’t think much of it at the time, but now that I’m concentrating—”

  Nora leaned in, pen poised over a clean page. “Yes, go on.”

  “Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Yankee. But when I was being escorted to my overnight accommodations, the officer at the desk congratulated that young sergeant for going through Bryn’s mail.”

  “I would think that’s standard, Val,” Simon said.

  “I know, but at the time I was chucked off at the invasion to her privacy. Anyway, he asked, ‘Any joy, McAfee?’ And my escort answered along the lines of: ‘Not till we’ve checked out Wilson and Wheeler for a connection.’ And then he shut up like he shouldn’t have said that in front of me, but I think he meant Cam Wilson.”

  Even Janet sounded interested. “Bryn dated him. I met him once and wasn’t impressed. She talked about him for a few months, and then he suddenly wasn’t in the picture, and she said they weren’t seeing each other anymore.”

  Nora scribbled away.

  “Bryn told me she outgrew him. They weren’t together when we met,” Val said. “But that last night she did mention he’d been calling and bothering her.”

  “But who’s Wheeler?” Simon asked.

  Val answered him. “I’ve no bloody idea.”

Chapter Thirty-Nine

“The Assistant Commissioner was careful of his appearance before meeting men younger than himself.”

—
Graham Greene,
It’s a Battlefield

Monday

10 AM

Louisa Rogan brushed her silky blonde hair until it shone. On the train up last evening, as her mother read the latest issue of
Vogue
, Louisa had given thought to what she would say to Janet Wallace when they were introduced. “I’m sorry your daughter was murdered” wasn’t the way to go. And she wanted to be sincere. She knew the pain of sudden loss from when her father had died.
Our
father, Louisa corrected herself, smiling at the thought that Lloyd Rogan connected her by blood to Val.

  She wished she could see Val more. As a small child she hadn’t been aware of the distance her mother put between them. When she got older and more observant, Louisa recognized her mother treated Val almost as she treated Louisa’s school friends—polite and pleasant, but rather patronizing and aloof. Her mother was prone to let cutting remarks fly at Val, too, remarks Louisa noticed never occurred when their father was home.

  The girl sighed. May did have moments of true caring, especially toward Louisa, and even enlightenment at times, but that was not her typical reaction to situations. Her mother was who she was, and Louisa was old enough to wish for change but not expect it.

  She sat back and wondered how she could possibly get away from her mother today to begin her search to help Val. She rummaged through her train case, debating whether to let her hair hang loose or to wear a black velvet Alice band. Louisa opted for the headband, hoping it would prevent her mother from constantly whispering “brush that hair off your face” during the meal.

*

In the second of the two elegant connected rooms, May Rogan finished the last touches to her makeup before slipping into her clothes. She had decided a demure cream silk blouse with gold buttons worn with black dress slacks would be appropriate and flattering. May always presumed she would be inspected by the people around her, at the center of the spotlight as it were. She leaned close to the mirror, examining her facial lines and the slight sag of middle age that appeared despite her best efforts to control it with facials, toning exercises, and cream imported from Switzerland.

  Stepping back to check her full-length reflection, May was satisfied, flicking a stray hair into place. She stifled a yawn while changing purses to match her outfit. May didn’t care for an early start to her day, but she did like to control events when possible. She had told Val to bring Janet Rogan to the Randolph for their meeting. Afternoon tea might be considered too twee, so a late breakfast it would be, the better to leave the rest of her day free for the shops. She would still impress Janet with the hotel’s pedigree. Celebrities stayed there when in town, and several films had shot scenes at the hotel as well. Upon arriving in her suite last night, May had decided it must be the same one Sir Anthony Hopkins had occupied during the filming of
Shadowlands
.

  The only drawback was the noise of the traffic, but everything had its faults, and a small flaw in presentation was unlikely to faze Janet Wallace. She pictured Bryn’s mother as a countrywoman in tweeds and wellies, working as she did at a bed and breakfast in the Cotwolds in a truly distasteful job, having to change all those strangers’ sheets and to clean up after them. Not for her, a life of picking up after others. One of the perks of being financially stable was a biweekly housekeeper, “for the heavy work,” she confided to friends. She hoped the poor bereaved woman would appreciate being treated to the splendor of this revered hotel, although May was quick to remind herself that once the funeral was over, it was doubtful she would ever see Janet Wallace again.

*

An hour later, Cam Wilson was outwardly composed, knowing he looked put together. Inwardly he quaked as he browsed the shelves at The Inner Bookshop. What was he supposed to do? What if he were recognized? How would he know the person who had sent him the note? And more importantly, did he really want to?

  He knew his actions on the night in question had put him in jeopardy. He had no choice but to see what this person wanted. If it was blackmail, and Cam shuddered at the thought, he might be trapped for life. He checked his watch for the fourth time and tapped his foot impatiently, just as a voice whispered in his ear.

  “Fancy a coffee?”

  Cam whirled around to see a short, muscled man with clipped brown hair and a neatly pressed shirt. The man was smiling at him, but Cam hesitated, unsure if this was his assignation or the current trendy opening line for a pickup.

  The young man saw his uncertainty; his brown eyes narrowing, he stepped into the void with a determined air, taking Cam by the elbow and guiding him toward an empty booth. “No need to worry, Mr. Wilson, just a spot of conversation between two level-headed men over a coffee, and if you’re very lucky, a croissant as well.”