English Trifle Page 7

  “Yes, madam,” he said. “It’s been suggested that the plaster has been damaged there for a period of time, something about new window treatments a few months back that resulted in the injury to the wall.”

  “Who suggested that?” Sadie asked.

  The inspector just smiled and tapped his paper. “It’s in my report; no need to worry yourself about it.”

  “Are you a homicide detective, Inspector?”

  His expression didn’t flinch in the slightest. “I’m a recorder,” he said, grinning broadly. “It’s a unique position where I document certain cases and reports.”

  “Document?” Sadie repeated.

  Dilree nodded. “Yes, I take statements, organize reports, manage case files—that kind of thing.”

  “And you were sent here to document this case—not investigate it?”

  Dilree nodded sharply. “Yes, exactly.”

  Sadie let out a breath. “Will they be sending a real inspector?”

  Now Dilree’s face fell a bit. “I am a real inspector, madam,” he said. “A recorder.”

  “I didn’t mean to offend you,” Sadie said, trying to offer a smile she didn’t feel. “I just meant would they be sending a homicide inspector. In America these kind of things are investigated with the assumption that people don’t make up a murder.”

  It was the wrong thing to say. Inspector Dilree’s face hardened. “In England,” he said, “we proceed with a bit more caution, especially when told that those reporting certain circumstances are unreliable. We are proceeding as we see fit.”

  “Someone told you we were unreliable?” Sadie asked. “Who?”

  “That is not information I can share,” he said. “Let’s just say that we do not take such claims lightly—unless given reason to do so.”

  “And has it crossed your mind that perhaps whoever said we weren’t reliable could be the very person who is responsible for this crime? Was it the same person who suggested the damage to the plaster was a result of new curtains?”

  That stumped him, but only for a moment. “If in fact my documents show good cause for there to have been a homicide, a homicide detective will be sent out. It will be determined upon the completion of my investigation. I’ve already taken pictures and samples of the area where you say there was a body. We’ll have those results in a few days.”

  Days? she repeated in her mind. “I see.”

  “Please send in . . .” He looked over the paper in front of him until he found the name he was looking for. “Mrs. Land, please.”

  Sadie stood to leave the room, but had just turned when the door opened. Grant came in holding a large metal bucket, similar to a garbage can. At first, Sadie couldn’t see what was in it. Then Grant reached in and pulled out a fireplace poker, causing Sadie to startle.

  “Pokers?” she said out loud, shocked by the sight before her as she turned back to look at the inspector. “You had him gather all the pokers?”

  Chapter 9

  ~

  Dilree came around the front of the desk, looking quite pleased with himself. “Please lay them out on the floor,” he said to Grant who complied, though he didn’t seem to like being ordered around by this man. Sadie watched, shocked, as Grant laid out all the pokers. A total of seven were soon lined up on the library floor.

  “Some of the fireplaces have been converted to natural gas,” Grant explained. “And others have fireplace stands only as decoration, but I brought all of them.”

  Sadie continued to stare at the display he’d set out on the floor. There were three different styles of both handle and the end hook—some had a double hook on the end, others just one—but Sadie’s eyes were immediately drawn to two pokers with brass handles that looked exactly like the handle she’d seen sticking out of John Henry’s chest. She looked carefully at the one closest to her—it had a thin shaft, thinner than the others, and though it did have a small hook on the end, the point was sharper and finer than the others. The longer she looked at it the more it looked like an actual weapon—almost like those thin swords used for fencing, only with a hook—or barb—on the end. Despite herself, Sadie pictured how perfectly it would fit between the intercostal spaces of John Henry’s chest. The vision was very CSI-ish and she could imagine the metal pushing through John Henry, where the delicate—but deadly—hook then grabbed the plaster, holding John Henry to the wall. She swallowed at the image of it. What a horrible way to go—and yet no one seemed to believe it had actually happened.

  “Do any of these look familiar to you, Mrs. Hoffmiller?” Dilree asked.

  “The ones with the brass handles,” she said, pointing at the one that had brought on such a dark vision of John Henry’s death. She looked up at Grant. “There’s one missing, isn’t there?”

  The butler looked uncomfortable and didn’t answer, but he seemed to be thinking about it. The inspector came to stand in front of the pokers, rubbing his smooth face with his hand as if he had a beard, which Sadie felt sure he couldn’t grow even if he wanted to.

  “How many rooms have brass sets?” she asked, then immediately looked toward the large stone fireplace in the library. A wrought-iron stand was placed just to the left of the hearth—two brass handles, one for the broom and one for the shovel, reflected the final rays of sunset filtering through the windows. Of course the poker was missing from the stand because—wait. “Did you gather the poker from this room?” she asked. When Grant still didn’t answer, Inspector Dilree looked up at the butler.

  “Grant!” she nearly yelled, completely losing her cool. “Answer me!”

  Grant stiffened and the inspector looked at her in surprise. An awkward silence descended between the three of them, causing Sadie’s cheeks to heat up with embarrassment.

  “That will be all,” the inspector said to her.

  “No, wait,” Sadie said, putting up her hands as if she could wave away her reaction. “I’m sorry, Grant, I didn’t mean to yell.” She took a breath to calm herself. “Did you gather the poker from this room?”

  There was silence for a few moments as Sadie waited. Thankfully Grant spoke before Dilree had the chance to tell her to leave again. “No, madam,” he said. “I did not gather the poker from this room. Besides the brass set in the library, there are two other brass sets in the house—one in the earl’s sitting room and one in the billiard room.”

  “And they were both in place?” the inspector asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Grant said, nodding.

  A wind seem to rush through Sadie’s chest. That there was a missing poker lent credibility to Sadie’s story. That the missing poker had a brass handle and was just a couple rooms away from the sitting room said even more. She tried not to appear smug as she looked back at Inspector Dilree, assuming he’d want to ask her more detailed questions now.

  However, he didn’t. “That will be all, Mrs. Hoffmiller,” he said, turning back to the desk. “And thank you, Grant, for your help. Please see that Mrs. Land is shown in.”

  “But, don’t you want to—”

  “That will be all,” Dilree said, sitting down. He picked up his pen and made some notes.

  Sadie couldn’t believe he wanted her to leave. “But—”

  “Mrs. Hoffmiller,” he said in a booming voice she wouldn’t have thought him capable of. “Please send in Mrs. Land. If I have any more questions for you I assure you I will ask.”

  Sadie pressed her lips together and pivoted on her heel, practically stomping her way to the door. Grant was already there and held the door open for her, his expression impassive.

  As soon as she saw Austin, Sadie knew who had told the police that the report they’d received was unreliable. She could see it now—him hanging up with Grant and immediately calling the police and explaining that they had a couple American houseguests with Agatha Christie complexes. That the police sent anyone at all was perhaps a point in their favor, but she looked at Austin now with more than just anger and annoyance.

  “The inspector would
like to speak with you, Mrs. Land,” Grant said, still holding the door open. Mrs. Land turned a shade paler, but didn’t look at anyone in particular as she headed for the library. The door shut behind her and Grant took up his post beside the door as if it were an everyday occurrence to be assisting an inspector with interviews.

  Sadie’s thoughts remained squarely on Austin, who stood against the wall with everyone else, though they gave him ample room on either side. “Why were you in Exeter today?” Sadie asked him, standing next to Breanna and across from Austin.

  “Business,” he said simply. “I had a meeting with the manager of one of the earl’s shops.”

  “Where do you live?” she asked. “You haven’t been here since we arrived.”

  “Haven’t I?” Austin asked, raising one eyebrow. “Perhaps I have been here the whole time, but simply chose to keep to myself. It’s a large house, Mrs. Hoffmiller. All kinds of things can happen without the other occupants being aware of it.”

  His insinuation that he could have been here these two days without any of them knowing about it gave Sadie a shiver. What was he trying to say anyway? Why tell her that at all?

  “I left Southgate early this morning. When Grant called, I cut short my meeting to return. I can give you the shop manager’s information if you’d like to check up on me.”

  Sadie narrowed her eyes a little more and didn’t reply.

  “Liam said he would work on finding new flights for you,” Austin continued, changing the subject. “Mrs. Land has assured me that dinner will be ready at eight. You’re welcome to retire to your room until then.”

  Sadie didn’t know how that was possible, since there didn’t seem to be any dinner preparations underway when she’d been in the kitchen, and Mrs. Land had spent the last hour up here, not cooking in the kitchen.

  “Does she need any help with the meal?” Breanna offered, apparently mirroring Sadie’s own thoughts.

  Sadie thought that was a great idea and hurried to help explain the offer. “Breanna and I are pretty handy in the kitchen and obviously don’t have anything . . . to . . . do.” Her voice trailed off in reaction to the looks she and Breanna received from Austin and the staff. They looked at them as if they’d suggested everyone build birdcages out of popsicle sticks while they waited.

  “Dinner will be at eight,” Austin repeated, his tones clipped. “And you will both remain out of the kitchen. You are guests, not part of the staff.”

  She wondered if he treated all guests so rudely. “I only meant that seeing as how Mrs. Land is shorthanded and this afternoon has taken a time-consuming turn that we could—”

  “No,” Austin said sharply. “It’s simply not done. Guests do not help run the household. Mrs. Land has ample assistance.”

  Sadie clenched her teeth. “Fine,” she said in surrender. “I guess we’ll be in our room. If you have some needlepoint we could work on, we’d be ever so grateful for the distraction.” The ladies were always doing needlepoint in the Regency romance novels. She hoped Austin understood her insinuation, but didn’t wait to see if he’d come up with an equally quippy comeback. Instead she turned to Breanna, who nodded her agreement. They fell in step with one another, heading for the staircase.

  “He’s watching us,” Breanna said, glancing quickly over her shoulder when they reached the bottom of the stairs.

  Sadie nodded. She swore she could feel his eyes on her back.

  “Something really weird is happening here,” Breanna continued.

  “You mean other than bodies stabbed with fireplace pokers?” Sadie asked sarcastically.

  “That then mysteriously disappear so that no one believes us,” Breanna added with a frown. “I showed the inspector the pictures on my cell phone—but he didn’t even ask for a copy; just told me to hold on to them.”

  “The poker came from the library,” Sadie told her, since they were sharing information. “There are two other sets like it in the house, but the poker from the library was missing from its stand. Whoever went into that sitting room had to bring the poker with them.”

  “Premeditation,” Breanna said, shaking her head. “And they still act like we’re making this up.”

  “You know,” Sadie said carefully as they reached the top of the stairs. “There’s really only one way to convince them we’re telling the truth.”

  “Find John Henry?” Breanna suggested. “He’s got to be around here somewhere, right?”

  Sadie’s heart leapt with hope that Breanna was beginning to see things her way—that, like it or not, they were involved and that they could very well be the solution. “Or find out who killed him and why everyone seems to be working together to keep it a secret.”

  They reached their door and Breanna turned to her mother. “Do you think that’s it? Some kind of conspiracy?”

  Sadie shrugged. “It has certainly crossed my mind. And I’ve got a feeling that we’re going to be shipped to London first thing tomorrow. I had thought maybe having an investigation would mean we’d be ordered to stay—but since they sent a secretary to document everything instead of investigate, I think we’re out of luck. ”

  Breanna bit her bottom lip for a moment, then let it go and nodded. “I agree. You can count me in,” she said with a nod before pulling open the door. “And consider yourself released from your promise. You are now free to put your nose into absolutely anything you like.”

  Chapter 10

  ~

  Sadie raised her eyebrows once they were in their room and the door was shut. “Released? Really?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Now, you’re not going to go back on that, are you? Get my hopes up and then tell me that I’m diseased again?”

  “Diseased?” Breanna asked, looking confused.

  “You called it Detectivitis,” Sadie said.

  “Are we really going to get caught up in semantics, Mom?”

  Sadie glared at her, but Breanna managed a small smile. She held out her hand, as if inviting Sadie to shake on it. “I give you permission to put your nose in things,” Breanna said.

  Sadie grinned, basking in the feeling of power only produced when a grown woman gets her way. She took Breanna’s hand. “Deal.”

  They smiled at each other—sealing the agreement.

  “So, what do we know so far?” Breanna asked, heading to her framed backpack she’d brought as luggage. “Did you bring a pad of paper?”

  “Of course.” Sadie always packed well. She opened her bag and shuffled through her sewing kit, address book, recipe book, lint roller, and collection of Ziploc bags that contained a myriad of lotions, cleansers, and other hygiene essentials like shaving cream and Preparation H—for bags under her eyes, of course. Finally she found both pads of paper she’d brought with her. “Full or half-sheet?”

  “Either one,” Breanna said. She was going through her carry-on. “I can’t find my pen.”

  “Oh, I’ve got pens,” Sadie said. “Or do you want a pencil?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Breanna said, still digging. Finally she let out an exasperated breath and stopped looking. “Pen.”

  “Ballpoint, felt-tip, or gel? I’ve got a couple of Sharpies too, but they’ll bleed through the paper.”

  “O-kay,” Breanna said, eyeing her mother strangely as she climbed up onto the bed and crossed her legs. “Ballpoint.”

  “What color?”

  “For heaven’s sake, Mom, are you really this neurotic?”

  “Don’t you mean ‘are you really this organized’?”

  “At some level it becomes the same thing.”

  Sadie cocked her head to the side. “Do you or do you not want one of my pens? Because if you do want one of my pens I think you owe me an apology.”

  Breanna took a breath and put out her hand, palm up. “Yes, I want your pen. I’m sorry.”

  Sadie leaned toward her and cupped her hand around her ear. “What was that?”

  “I’m sorry with cream, sugar, and chocolate ganache on top?”


  Sadie smiled at the saying she’d taught them as children. Shawn was the only kid in the fourth-grade spelling bee who could spell both ganache and frittata. That had been a proud day.

  Sadie placed the pen in Breanna’s hand. “Apology accepted,” she said with a nod, returning the rest of her writing instruments to her bag.

  “Okay, so, other than seeing John Henry and his unexplained disappearance, what do we know?” Breanna asked again.

  Sadie opened her mouth to answer, but paused, scowling. What did they know? A lot of very strange things had happened, but did they know anything for sure? Breanna seemed to be thinking the same thing. “Well, we know Mrs. Land is hiding something.”

  Breanna hurried to write it down. “Right—what else?”

  “The staff was gone both when we found John Henry the first time and when we discovered the body had been moved,” Sadie offered.

  “What if they were hiding from us?” Breanna asked. Sadie pictured them all secreted away in nooks or crannies watching her and Breanna run out of the sitting room and then into the kitchen. The idea made her shiver.

  Breanna wrote down a note about the missing staff.

  “The other cook ran off,” Sadie said, pointing at the paper so that Breanna would be sure to write that down.

  Breanna looked up at her mother, her eyebrows puckered. “I don’t think you told the staff about her running off when you recounted everything in the library.”

  “I didn’t?” Sadie asked, reviewing her own words. “Austin interrupted right about then, didn’t he? He threw me off.” One more thing to hold against the man.

  “I wonder what Mrs. Land would think of that,” Breanna offered.

  Sadie shrugged, wishing she’d included the information so that she could have seen Mrs. Land’s expression. Too late now, but perhaps she’d have another chance to watch Mrs. Land’s reaction to the news. “We also know from the heel marks in the rug that someone dragged the body—”

  “Which means it was probably just one person,” Breanna interjected, writing as she spoke. “Two people would have just lifted him and avoided creating any evidence, don’t ya think?”