A Killer Ball at Honeychurch Hall (4 page)

Mum hauled me up and out and I filled her in on what was down there. “That's absolutely horrible!” she said with a shiver. “I wonder who on earth she was? I wonder what happened?”

“Me, too.”

“Do you think she was put there deliberately?”

“I think it's more a question of who knew about the double-hide.”

Mum's jaw dropped. “So you think the culprit must be connected to the
Hall?
Someone who lived here?”

“I don't know, Mum,” I said.

“We should study my family trees,” Mum declared. “You never know. They may give us a clue.”

One hour later, Detective Inspector Shawn Cropper stepped out of the double-hide. His hazel-flecked eyes were dancing with excitement. Even his drab trench coat that he insisted on wearing seemed crisp and unusually clean.

“A word, Eric?” He drew Eric aside whilst Mum and I watched the pair of them whispering animatedly. I caught the words, “Honeychurch mint” and “mechanical press.”

Rupert burst into the King's Parlor. “Well?” he demanded. “Is it true?”

“Yes, sir,” said Shawn. “I'm afraid there is a body—”

“But no silver coins, m'lord,” Eric chipped in. “They're gone.”

“Are you certain?” Rupert strode to the open panel. “Did you search everywhere?”

Shawn stepped in front of him. “That won't be possible, m'lord.” He withdrew a roll of blue crime scene tape.

“Good heavens, Shawn,” said Mum. “Do you always keep that in your pocket?”

Shawn ignored her. “We're taking every precaution not to contaminate the scene, m'lord.”

“Contaminate the scene? I don't understand.” Rupert frowned. “What does it matter? The woman has been dead for years.”

“I'm sorry to say it's officially a cold case and must be treated as such,” said Shawn somewhat pompously. “I've already put a call in to the ME. He'll want to do isotopic testing, radiocarbon and that sort of thing. And notifying the next of kin—should there be one.”

“I'm afraid we can't do that,” said Rupert. “Got to keep this under wraps, Shawn. You know what Mother is like. It's probably someone who lived on the estate. We'll handle it.”

“How many people knew about the existence of the double-hide?” Shawn asked.

“I have no idea,” said Rupert. “The secret location is traditionally passed down from father to son but obviously, I didn't know it was here.”

“And the man who built it,” said Mum, who, I noticed, was holding onto the book we'd found as if her life depended upon it. “He'd know.”

“Quite,” said Rupert.

“What will happen to the body—to her?” Mum said.

“The pathologist will want to look at her in situ—as they say—and then she'll be taken away.”

“Can I at least take those drawings?” I said. “Otherwise they won't make next Thursday's sale. As it is they won't be in the catalog.”

“And I'd like to look at the minting tools,” Rupert declared.

“Not until we've got the all-clear,” said Shawn. “Until then, this room is out of bounds.”

WPC Roxy Cairns raced into the King's Parlor. She seemed out of breath. “Sorry, sir! I just heard from Muriel at the post office that Kat and Eric found a skeleton in a priest hole!”

“The post office?” Mum exclaimed. “Bad news travels fast.”

“Mrs. Cropper told her,” said Roxy. “You really need to tell your grandmother to be more discreet, Shawn.”

Shawn's jaw tightened. So much for keeping news under wraps!

Fortunately Rupert and Eric didn't seem to have heard. They were talking in whispers in the corner of the room and then, without saying a word, just left.

“Well, at least you're here now,” said Shawn dryly.

“I had to cover for our desk sergeant,” Roxy protested. “Malcolm had a doctor's appointment and he got held up at the surgery.”

“By gunpoint?” Mum muttered.

“Then I had to buy stamps,” said Roxy. “We're running low.”

The local police were always short-staffed. The satellite station at Little Dipperton was only open from Monday to Friday and kept strict business hours.

“We won't know how old the deceased is until we've run some tests,” said Shawn.

Roxy's eyes widened. “You mean—it's not a priest? I bet it was some poor servant the toffs didn't like and wanted to get rid of.”

Mum got out her Post-its. “Like whom? I'm working on a below-stairs family tree.”

“Roxy!” Shawn said sharply. “That's enough!”

The little redheaded policewoman made no secret of just how much she despised the “toffs” as she called them, too.

Shawn checked his watch. “I'll be back in a couple of hours. I've got to go and pick up Ned and Jasper from school.”

“Don't worry, Shawn,” said Roxy. “I'll stand guard here and wait for Dick and co.”

“Kat's being used as a free babysitter at the moment,” Mum said suddenly. “She's got to pick up Harry. Maybe she can pick up the boys, too?”

“I'd be happy to,” I said.

“They've got dental appointments,” said Shawn. “But I appreciate the offer.”

“You're such a wonderful father.” Mum gave me a pointed look and mouthed, “Already trained.” I ignored it but it was true, he certainly seemed to be. Having tragically lost his wife to cancer, Shawn was bringing up twin boys of five on his own and doing a good job, too.

“I was surprised to see Harry at Little Dipperton Primary School,” Shawn went on.

“It's better for him there than those stuffy boarding schools,” Roxy said boldly. “Look how those kids turn out!”

“Roxy!” Shawn said again. “Keep your opinions to yourself. Now, if you'll excuse me. I'll be back as soon as I can. Officer Cairns will take over from here.”

And with that, Shawn hurried away.

Roxy got out her notebook. “Can you tell me exactly what happened?”

“
Again?
” said Mum.

“Again,” Roxy said.

As we trooped over to the entrance to the double-hide, I told the story again.

Roxy took out her flashlight and swept the beam across the bottom of the floor. “So you say you were in here and tripped?”

“That's right and—”

“She fell onto the bookshelves,” said Mum helpfully.

“Did you trip over that little purse, I wonder?” Roxy stuck the flashlight between her teeth, pulled out a pair of disposable latex gloves and put them on. She stooped down to pick up the grubby purse.

“We haven't touched anything,” Mum lied. “Come on, Katherine, we'd better go.”

“No, wait,” I said. “That's vintage. Can I take a look? You never know. Maybe it belonged to that poor woman.”

“You're the expert.” Roxy snapped open the clasp and showed me the inside. Sewn on the fabric of a small pouch was the logo W
HITING &
D
AVIS,
M
ADE IN THE
USA. There was also a powder compact, lipstick and a packet of Lucky Strike cigarettes.

“I'd date that somewhere in the fifties,” I said.

“Lucky Strikes.” Roxy frowned. “Those are American cigarettes. I watched
Mad Men
on TV. Everyone smoked Lucky Strikes over there.” Roxy frowned again. “I bet these belonged to old Edith.”

“Don't you mean, her ladyship?” Mum said pointedly. “And how do you know she smoked?”

“They all did back then.” Roxy thought for a moment. “I wonder where she got those cigarettes from?”

“America?” Mum stated the obvious. “I suppose everyone went to America back then.”

“Well, if she didn't, then I bet she knew who did,” said Roxy. “I bet this purse belonged to the dead woman.”

“Really? We never thought of that, did we, Katherine?” Mum's voice was dripping with sarcasm. I knew she didn't care much for Roxy.

“Maybe she fell in there, just like you did, Ms. Stanford?” Roxy went on. “Or she was pushed.
Pushed
so she'd keep quiet about some scandal or other that this lot like to keep hushed up.” Roxy seemed pleased with her theory. “And we'll get the DNA from the lipstick. This was the deceased's purse alright, I'm sure of it.”

“What about the book?” I said.

“What book?” Roxy said sharply.

“One has nothing to do with the other,” said Mum, glowering at me. I saw then that she no longer had it.

“Let me be the judge of that,” Roxy said. “Where is this book?”

“Mum? What have you done with it?”

“Me?” Mum exclaimed. “Nothing. It was you.”

I caught a flash of red peeping out from behind a velvet curtain on the windowsill. “Well I certainly didn't put it over there.”

Roxy marched over to the windowsill but as she picked it up a flyer fluttered to the floor. Mum lunged forward but Roxy was too fast.

“Well, well, well,” she said. “What do we have here?”

“Has anyone ever said you sound like a policeman?” said Mum nervously.

“It's a flyer for a summer fair at the Hall in 1958.” Roxy skimmed the contents and laughed. “Bushman's Fair and Traveling Boxing Emporium.”

In the foreground was a boxing ring showing two bare-chested men, gloved and looking ready to fight. A list of sideshows included Professor Jon's Flea Circus, the Dance of the Seven Veils and Madame Z's Psychic Touch.

On the right was a brand-new attraction. A young woman in a short blue dress with angulated shoulder pads is pictured with her finger stuck into an electrical wall outlet. Her hair—obviously a wig—stands up on end and her eyes look wild. The caption read, E
LECTRA!
T
HE 27,000
V
OLTS
G
IRL:
N
O HOME SHOULD BE WITHOUT THIS WONDER OF TECHNOLOGY.

“‘With Electra you will see these household chores disappear in a flash!'”
Roxy read aloud.
“‘Put the spark back into your relationship!'
This is hysterical!
”

“How funny.” I looked over at Mum who suddenly seemed to find her mink coat far more interesting.

“Why does the name Bushman mean something to me?” Roxy turned to my mother. “Wasn't this your lot, Iris?”

“Those flyers were left all over the country,” Mum said defensively. “Not just here.”

Roxy stuck the flyer carefully back inside the book, then her eyes widened. “Golly!” She burst out laughing again.

“What's so amusing?” I asked.

“This is only
Lady
bloody
Chatterley's Lover
!” Roxy grinned.

I looked again at my mother who was now engrossed in stroking the sleeve of her mink coat.

Roxy took a peek inside the book. “This is pretty tame stuff,” she said. “I wonder why it's covered in this awful paper? What kind of paper is this anyway?”

“Can I take a look?” I asked.

“Not without gloves,” said Roxy. “It could be evidence.”

I retrieved my white cotton gloves. “Satisfied?”

Although the end boards had been completely covered both inside and out with the garish kitchen paper, the title page and verso showed this book to be a first edition that had been printed in Italy.

“This is a rare book,” I exclaimed excitedly. “To begin with it was only printed in Italy. It was banned in England up until 1959. Perhaps that was why it was covered? To hide the title?”

Roxy seemed impressed. “And if it belonged to our dead girl—along with the purse and cigarettes—that might give us a time frame. Maybe she traveled a lot?”

“So, not a servant girl, after all,” said Mum. “Can we go now?”

I handed the book back to Roxy.

She sat down on the joint stool and cracked it open. “Yeah. We'll keep you posted.”

“We'll leave you to your reading then,” said Mum.

I took Mum's arm and propelled her out of the room. I knew she was hiding something. I could tell.

“Why are you holding my arm like that?” Mum grumbled and yanked hers free.

“Because you and I are going to have a little chat,” I said. “And for a change, I want the absolute truth.”

 

Chapter Four

“Well?” I demanded, as Mum and I returned to her MINI for the short drive back to the Carriage House. The weather was appalling with the rain coming down in sheets and a gale-force wind. “Aren't you going to tell me what's going on? I know that book has something to do with you. And you were at the Hall in the fifties. I know you were.”

“That book does not belong to me,” Mum said hotly. “Cross my heart and hope to die. Anyway, where would I get hold of a book like that? I've never been to Italy.”

“You'd find a way,” I said darkly.

A black Fiat 500 barreled toward us. As we pulled onto the grass verge to let it pass by the engine promptly stalled. I recognized the earnest face of Dick, the forensic scientist, at the wheel. He gave us a cheery wave as he sailed on by.

I glanced over at the fuel gauge. It was just as I thought. “You're nearly empty.”

“Stop nagging,” said Mum. “I hardly drive anywhere.”

We set off once again.

“I wonder if there is a connection to the book, the purse and that poor woman,” I mused. “I suppose Shawn will check any missing person reports for that time period.”

“Roxy watches too much television,” Mum grumbled.

“It's a great idea to take a look at your family trees.”

“Not today.” Mum suddenly seemed to change her tune. “I'm working on my publicity campaign for
Forbidden
—it comes out in just a couple of weeks—and then my publisher wants an outline for the next in the series.”

“Well, can't I look at them? You don't have to be there—oh? There's Ginny.”