Death at a Country Mansion Page 14

  Mimi shrugged. “At least I know now.” Then she got up and stalked out of the room.

  Donna was next. She poked her head around the door and tentatively asked, “Can I come in?”

  “Please do.” Daisy gestured to the chair Mimi had vacated.

  Donna gingerly sat down. It was clear she was very nervous, despite the fact she had nothing to be nervous about. “I–I’m sorry, I’ve never been interviewed by the police before,” she stammered, casting furtive glances at DI McGuinness, who didn’t do anything to lessen her discomfort.

  “Don’t worry, it’s just routine.” Daisy gave her a bright smile and saw her slender shoulders relax. She really was very uptight.

  “What’s your full name?” asked Paul, following the same procedure as before.

  “Donna Brunner.”

  “And you live in Kitzbühel, Austria, is that right?”

  “No, I was born in Kitzbühel—that’s where my parents live, but I stay in Vienna.”

  “Ah.” Paul made a note on his pad.

  “Vienna is a beautiful city,” said Daisy. “I went to the opera there once.”

  Paul raised an eyebrow but didn’t speak.

  “Oh yes, we have a fabulous opera theater,” said Donna, her eyes lighting up now she was on familiar ground. “We have all the best stars come and sing for us; in fact, I’m sure Serena Levanté came once. I remember seeing her face on a poster. Of course, I had no idea . . . ” Her voice faded off.

  Daisy smiled sympathetically. “You couldn’t have known.”

  “But you were aware you were adopted?” Paul leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest.

  “Oh yes. My parents never made a secret of it. But like I said before, we didn’t make the connection with Serena Levanté because she wasn’t known by that name when she gave birth to us.”

  “Do you know what name she went by?” asked Paul.

  Donna thought for a moment. “Edith Humphries—that was it. My mother fished out the birth certificate before I flew to London. I have it with me somewhere.”

  “God, no wonder she changed it,” blurted out Daisy, earning her a stern look from Paul.

  Donna giggled. “It’s awful, isn’t it?”

  “So, where were you when Mr. Edwards called and told you the news?” Paul asked, trying to get the conversation back on track.

  The light went out of Donna’s eyes. “I was at home. I live with my boyfriend, Hans, the director of the orchestra I play in, but we broke up shortly after I got the call from Greg, I mean, Mr. Edwards.”

  “Not because of the news, I hope?” Daisy looked alarmed.

  “Oh no, nothing like that.” She hesitated, uncertain as to whether she ought to continue.

  “So what happened?” urged Daisy. She sensed this was important.

  Donna sighed. “Hans wasn’t home when I got the call, but I was so excited, I wanted to pack immediately, then stop at my parents’ house before going to the airport. So I got down a suitcase from on top of the cupboard, and inside I found the rental agreement for our flat.” She stared into her lap and her back curled like she wished the chair would swallow her whole. “He must have hidden it there.”

  “Why is that such a bad thing?” Daisy struggled to see the relevance.

  “It’s so shameful,” whispered Donna, tears coming into her eyes.

  Daisy reached for her hand across the table. “It’s okay. We aren’t here to judge you. We just need to know the truth. I could see you were upset, but DI McGuinness needs to know why, else he might think you were involved in Serena’s death.”

  Paul nodded in agreement.

  Donna gasped. “No, it’s nothing like that.”

  “Then tell us,” said Daisy. “What was the significance of the lease?”

  “The rent was being paid by Hans’s wife.” She hung her head in shame. “Our apartment was in her name. He’s separated and we were engaged to be married. He even gave me a ring.” She stared at the ring finger on her left hand, now conspicuously bare. “Hans was going to divorce his wife, except when I confronted him about the lease, he admitted she holds the purse strings and funds the orchestra—his orchestra—so there’s no way he’d ever divorce her.” Her eyes pleaded with them to understand.

  “It’s okay, Donna. We all make mistakes. You weren’t to know.”

  Donna dropped her head into her hands. “I feel like such a fool. All the time we were together, he never intended to divorce his wife.”

  Paul rubbed his forehead. It was clear that Donna had had nothing at all to do with Serena’s murder. She had been dealing with her own crisis back in Austria, and that was the reason she was so upset.

  “Listen, we’ve all been there,” said Daisy soothingly. “My boyfriend walked out on me a couple of years back without so much as a warning. Floria was dumped only last week. Serena had four husbands, for goodness’ sake. It happens.”

  She felt Paul’s eyes on her.

  “I suppose so,” sniffed Donna, trying to pull herself together. “It’s just such a terrible cliché.”

  Daisy stood up and walked around the table to put an arm round Donna’s shoulders. “Come on, let’s go get you another glass of bubbly.”

  It was Carmen’s turn next. The opera singer sat stiffly at the table, her hands in her lap, staring straight in front of her.

  Daisy opened her mouth, but Paul surprised her by holding up a hand.

  “I’ve got this one.”

  Daisy nodded and sat back. She didn’t envy him. Carmen would be a tough nut to crack.

  “What is your full name?” His voice was clipped and to the point.

  “Carmen Vega.”

  “So, Serena took your father’s name, even though they weren’t married?”

  “At least it was good for something.” Carmen scowled. “She could take his name, but not his child.”

  Paul met Daisy’s eye. Carmen was filled with bitterness, and it was clear she hated her birth mother. But was she capable of murder?

  “Where were you the night Serena Levanté was murdered?” asked Paul.

  Carmen gave an arrogant toss of her head. “I was in Barcelona, of course. You know this.”

  “Can anyone vouch for you?”

  “My boyfriend, Pedro. I was with him.”

  Paul nodded and opened a file on the table. Inside was a printout that he slid across the table toward her. “This is a passenger list compliments of easy Jet. It says here that your boyfriend Pedro was in London last weekend. He arrived on the Friday morning and flew back to Barcelona on the Sunday night.”

  A heavy silence descended on them.

  Daisy stared at Paul, then Carmen, who’d paled perceptibly. He’d certainly kept that one close to his chest.

  Eventually, Carmen whispered, “Then I was alone.”

  “Well, which was it, Carmen? Were you alone or were you with Pedro?”

  She glared at him. “I was alone.”

  He stared back at her, his steely eyes unwavering. Daisy could see why he was good at interrogations. He knew just how to intimidate his suspect.

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to change your story? I should remind you that lying to a police officer is a criminal offense. You wouldn’t want to jeopardize your singing career before it even got started, now would you?”

  She swallowed, the reality of her situation sinking in. After a long moment she sighed and said, “Okay, I was in London too.”

  Daisy inhaled sharply. So she had been here when Serena was murdered. This put a new spin on things. She had to admit Paul was tough, but he got results.

  “Could you be more specific? When exactly did you arrive and why were you here?”

  Carmen stretched her neck to the side, as if she was straining to leave the room. “It’s personal.”

  Paul raised his voice a notch. “I don’t think you understand how serious this is, Carmen. You were in London the night of your mother’s murder and you have given us no alibi. Ever
yone knows you hated Serena and you will probably inherit from her will, which means you had ample motive. So if I were you, I’d start talking.”

  “I didn’t kill that woman,” spat Carmen.

  “Then tell us why you were here,” begged Daisy.

  She studied Carmen’s face, the hard, green eyes angled down into her lap, the permanent scowl on her otherwise flawless brow, and how she fiddled with a small gold ring on her right hand.

  “Was it because of Pedro?”

  Carmen’s eyes flickered.

  Bingo, thought Daisy. “Did you come to be with him?”

  Carmen tossed back her head and said with much disdain, “I came to see if he was with anyone.”

  “You mean another woman?” Paul frowned.

  Carmen leaned forward and hissed at him. “Yes, of course another woman. Who else do you think he’d be with? A man, maybe? I can assure you Pedro is not gay.”

  “That is not what I meant.” Paul’s eyes burned with an intensity Daisy hadn’t seen before, but he kept his tone even. She had to admire his control, but then, she supposed he was used to interrogating violent criminals. Compared to that, Carmen must be a walk in the park. Still, the two glared at each other across the table.

  “And was he?” whispered Daisy, hoping to dissipate the sudden tension. “Was he having an affair?”

  Carmen turned her blazing gaze onto her. “No, he was alone.” The satisfied smirk told Daisy she was telling the truth.

  Paul glanced down at his notes. “So, you didn’t come anywhere near Brompton Court on Saturday night?”

  “No,” Carmen sneered. “I was with Pedro all night. We had dinner at the Hard Rock Cafe and then returned to the hotel.”

  “And Pedro will vouch for you, will he?” asked Paul.

  “Of course.”

  Once she’d left the room, Daisy confronted him, “You are a very sneaky man, Paul McGuinness. You knew she’d been in London all along, didn’t you?”

  He tried to prevent a grin but couldn’t quite manage it. “I checked to see whether Carmen or Donna had been on any flights the weekend Serena was killed, and there it was in black and white. Carmen Vega flew into Gatwick at three o’clock on Saturday afternoon and left on Sunday evening, on the same flight as her boyfriend. I was immediately suspicious, but I didn’t want to jump to any conclusions until I’d spoken to her. Just as well, seeing as her visit had nothing to do with Serena’s death.”

  “But she had opportunity and motive, and just between you and me, she also has the temperament. It wouldn’t have been hard to catch a train or taxi to Edgemead, walk to Brompton Court—there’s a path through the woods from the station—murder Serena, then return to Edgemead and catch a taxi back to her hotel.”

  In fact, in her mind’s eye, Daisy could imagine Carmen wielding a heavy object and smashing it down on poor Serena’s head. She couldn’t get the disturbing thought out of her head.

  “Except I checked with the hotel. They had a reservation at the Hard Rock Cafe, as she said. According to the night manager, they got back around eleven on Saturday evening and didn’t leave their room until the following morning.”

  “Okay, so she was telling the truth. She really did come to London to check up on her boyfriend.”

  He nodded. “It would seem so.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The reception was in full swing when Krish, Penny and Asa arrived. They’d worked that morning because Friday was one of their busiest days of the week, but now the salon was shut and, as a treat, Floria had invited them to the reception.

  Daisy met them outside. “Did you have a busy morning?”

  “Frantic,” gushed Krish, gazing in awe at the four-pillared portico that stood at the entrance to the house. “Mrs. Halliard came in with bright-green hair because she peroxided it in Spain, then went swimming in the hotel pool. So we had to juggle several customers at once until we’d sorted her out.”

  The front doors were wide open and several guests stood outside, smoking and admiring the view. Brompton Court was built on a small mound, so one could look out across the wooded valley and over the village of Edgemead, which lay nestled beyond, its steeple just visible above the treeline.

  “It’s gorgeous,” breathed Asa, staring up at the shimmering stone façade. “I had no idea it was so massive. My entire apartment block could fit in here.”

  They walked up the stone steps and went inside. Niall Barclay, husband number two, stood in the hallway, chatting up a pretty brunette.

  “Hello, Niall.” Daisy gave him a knowing look.

  He grinned. “Hello, Daisy darling. Lovely to see you again. You are looking well.” His eyes roamed over her body, then shifted to Penny, who’d followed her in. In his midfifties, Niall had lost none of the charismatic Irish charm that had attracted Serena’s attention and made him one of the most successful horse breeders in the country.

  “Wow, is he taken?” Krish’s eyes were popping out of his head.

  “He’s an incorrigible womanizer, Krish dear. Not really your type.”

  “Pity.” Krish followed Daisy into the parlor, where alcohol was being served, along with a vast table of canapés.

  “Oh good, I’m starving,” said Asa, dashing off to fill a plate with goodies.

  “I think I’ll get a drink.” Penny headed in the direction of the bar. “Are you coming, Krish?”

  Floria rushed over, her lips pressed together in fury.

  “What’s the matter?” Daisy asked. Her friend had been so upbeat after the memorial service.

  She took a shallow, angry breath. “I’ve just caught that bastard Collin pitching Brompton Court to some Texas billionaire like it’s a foregone conclusion he’s going to inherit the place. Can you believe the audacity of the man?”

  “It’s a bit premature, isn’t it?” Daisy wondered if something had happened that she didn’t know about.

  “Exactly.” Floria frowned. “You don’t think he knows what’s in the will, do you? Oh, Daisy. I’ll die if I lose this place. It’s my childhood home.”

  “Let’s not count our chickens, okay? Not until the will is read and we know for sure who’s going to inherit the mansion.” She glanced around. “Speaking of the will, where is Greg?”

  “He’s prepping, most likely. We’re going to adjourn to the dining room to read it in a minute. It’s immediate family only, I’m afraid, although your detective has insisted on being present.”

  “That’s okay,” said Daisy, vaguely disgruntled, not because she needed to be there, but because she was dying to see if Serena had left anyone with a big enough motive to kill her. Paul would no doubt inform her of the outcome later. She patted Floria’s hand. “You can tell me all about it afterward.”

  After the family disappeared into the dining room, Daisy decided to fill in the gaps in their investigation by talking to Serena’s exes. Niall, she already knew, had been in Argentina at the time of the murder, so he couldn’t have stolen the painting or killed Serena. Hubert, Serena’s third husband, a respected antique furniture dealer with one store in Notting Hill and another in Paris, was stuffing a vol-au-vent into his mouth when Daisy approached.

  “How’s the antique business, Hubert?”

  He chewed frantically before clearing his throat. “Going through a bit of a slump at the moment actually, Daisy. How are things at your salon?”

  Hubert was one of their few male customers, despite not living in the area. The barber at the other end of the High Street did most of the men in town, but Hubert, being fabulously gay, loved the glamour and the free prosecco he got at Ooh La La. Daisy remembered Floria saying he’d signed a prenup when he married Serena—Greg had insisted on it—so when they got divorced he’d only received a small settlement. If his business was in trouble, that might provide a motive for stealing the painting. She studied him, taking in the slightly chubby face with mottled cheeks, no doubt from too many late-night sherries in front of the fire. But his expression was open and he ra
diated an energy and excitement for life that was contagious. No, she doubted very much Hubert had stolen the painting, even though it had to have been someone with an intimate knowledge of Brompton Court.

  “Did you know the Modigliani is back?” She wanted to gauge his reaction. She’d seen the forensic van pull up an hour before.

  “Really?” He perked up. “Where is it? I haven’t seen it for a while. Shall we have a naughty little peek?”

  Daisy wasn’t expecting that, but she nodded. It would be interesting to see his expression when faced with the painting. “I believe it’s in Collin’s study.”

  They snuck up the grand staircase and across the landing to the study. Hubert gazed up at the painting of Serena and shivered. “I can’t help but feel she’s still here, looking down on us.”

  “It does have that effect on one,” agreed Daisy. She’d felt it many times before as well. The eyes of the painting seemed to follow you as you walked across the landing. The study door was unlocked and they went in. The Modigliani lay on the desk, unwrapped.

  Daisy turned on the desk lamp so they could have a better look. It really was exquisite. Hubert stared at it, enraptured. “I’ve never seen it this close before.” She watched his eyes follow the pale face of the woman in the painting, then move down her slender neck and finally hover over her dark clothing. Suddenly, he frowned.

  “What is it?” Daisy asked.

  He bent over the painting and stared at the golden signature mark for a long time before straightening his back. “I thought it was damaged just there over the signature, but I see now I was mistaken. It’s in pristine condition.”

  “We’d better go before anyone finds us here.” Daisy didn’t think Collin would take too kindly to them ogling his beloved Modigliani. Luckily, he was still in the dining room with the others and would be for another half hour at least.

  Hubert nodded, and together they left the study and went back downstairs.

  Daisy found Niall chatting up Penny, who looked stunning in a floor-length black gown with tiny, spaghetti straps that showed off her elegant shoulders. Her mass of fiery red hair was up in a loose bun, with tendrils caressing her neck.