Death at a Country Mansion Page 18

  “I know, Dad.” Floria sat down again, and Mimi gripped her hand.

  “Can I just get this straight?” Greg turned to Carmen. “When I called to tell you Serena had died—you were actually in London?”

  Carmen looked shifty.

  “But why? Why were you here?”

  Carmen glanced at Paul. “You can tell them,” he said.

  “If you must know, I was spying on my boyfriend. There, I’ve said it. Is everybody happy now?” Her eyes blazed as she admitted it. “I followed him to London because I suspected he was having an affair.”

  “Your boyfriend?” Floria stared at her.

  “Yes, that is why I was here. I surprised him at the Hilton in Park Lane and we spent the week together.”

  “So, he wasn’t cheating on you?” The question came from Mimi.

  Carmen focused her fiery gaze on her. “No.”

  “That’s why she was so hard to track down,” said Daisy. “She wasn’t in Spain at all. When she finally got Greg’s message she lied and said she’d catch a flight to London as soon as possible.”

  “But why lie?” said Donna. “Why not just say you were already here.”

  “I saw the papers,” she said sulkily. “I knew how it would look. I thought it would be better to pretend I was coming from Spain.”

  “It certainly complicated matters,” said Paul. “You had ample motive, you hated your mother and you were in the country at the time. You could have come around to the house that Saturday night, and Serena, recognizing you, would have let you in. Then, it would have been simple to hit her on the head and throw her over the landing.”

  “It wasn’t me,” spat Carmen.

  “What about the painting?” Floria pointed out.

  “Ah, that is why this theory doesn’t hold water.” Paul tilted his head to the side. “Carmen couldn’t possibly have known that there was a valuable painting upstairs, or in fact that there were any valuables in the house. And she certainly wouldn’t have been aware of the priest hole in the pantry. Besides, the receptionist at the Hilton corroborated your alibi.”

  “See.” Carmen sat back and folded her arms across her chest. “It wasn’t me.”

  “No,” said Paul. “It wasn’t you. It was someone who knew the house intimately, who had a key to the front door, who knew Serena’s habits and who had a strong motive for killing her.”

  His gaze shifted to Sir Ranulph.

  “No way!” Floria jumped off the sofa. “You can’t be suggesting it was Father.”

  “I think you’d better listen to what he has to say first, Floria,” Daisy said softly.

  Floria knelt by her father’s side and took his hand in hers.

  “Sir Ranulph, you had a key to the property that you claimed you’d lost many years ago. Well, I think you still have that key. You also knew about the priest hole in the pantry and the Modigliani upstairs in Collin’s study. But robbery wasn’t your motive, was it?”

  Sir Ranulph didn’t say anything. He just stared at Paul through rheumy eyes and waited for him to continue.

  “You wanted to murder your ex-wife, Serena Levanté.”

  “No,” Floria gasped. “It’s not true. Tell them it’s not true, Daddy.”

  Daisy felt her heart break for Floria. “It was you who Collin saw at the airport in Marseilles, wasn’t it, Sir Ranulph? He’d just arrived to spend the weekend with his mistress in Lourmarin and you were leaving, on your way to London to kill Serena.”

  Floria stared at her in horror. “Daisy, you’ve got it all wrong.”

  But Sir Ranulph didn’t deny it. He just sat there, staring into the distance, like he wasn’t fully with it.

  “I’m sorry Floria, but it’s the truth. He murdered Serena, but he did it to protect you. It was done out of love for you.”

  “I don’t understand.” Floria clutched her father’s hand and stared up at his face.

  Daisy perched on the coffee table in front of Floria, who was still kneeling on the floor. “Can I tell her, Sir Ranulph?”

  The old man nodded, his lip quivering. A single tear ran down his cheek.

  “Tell me what?” Floria was beside herself.

  “That you are not Serena’s biological daughter.”

  Gasps were heard around the room as what she said sank in.

  “B–but Serena would have told me,” stammered Greg. “I would have known.”

  “She was going to tell you, Greg,” explained Daisy, turning to face him. “That’s what she wanted to meet with you about, and that’s the reason why she wanted to change her will.”

  “You mean she was going to cut Floria out of it?” whispered Donna, aghast.

  Daisy looked at Sir Ranulph, who nodded sadly. “She phoned me the day before and told me what she planned to do.” He gazed lovingly at Floria and stroked her hair. “I couldn’t let her do that to you. Not after everything she’d put you through.”

  “No, Daddy. I don’t believe you.” Floria was crying now, the tears flowing freely down her cheeks.

  “Floria was a baby when you met Serena, wasn’t she?” Daisy asked Sir Ranulph.

  He nodded wearily. He seemed to have aged considerably in the last few minutes. “Yes, your mother and I were very young when we had you. We weren’t married, it was a mistake and she died in childbirth.” His eyes glazed over as he remembered. “She was so beautiful, like an angel, with golden hair just like yours.”

  “I always wondered why I didn’t take after Serena.” Floria sniffed. “Look at all of you; you’re all like her in some way. You’ve got dark hair, green eyes—her eyes—and her musical talent. I’ve got none of that.”

  Daisy put out a hand and touched her leg. “You’ve got plenty of other talents, Floria. Just because you’re not like Serena doesn’t make you any less worthy.”

  Paul added the final details. “So you caught a plane on Saturday evening to Gatwick, rented a car and drove to Brompton Court, where you used your key to get in. Serena heard you and woke up.”

  “She was drunk,” said Sir Ranulph, a look of disgust on his face. “Drunker than I’d ever seen her. She could hardly walk straight. I hit her on the head with my cane and she collapsed on the landing, but she wasn’t dead, only stunned. I knew that I had to kill her, but I didn’t have the strength to hit her again, so I helped her up, then pushed her over the balustrade.”

  Floria cried out, then covered her mouth with her hands. The others stared at him in horror.

  Sir Ranulph continued, oblivious to anyone else in the room. “It was surprisingly easy. She was so inebriated she fell over almost on her own accord.”

  “So that’s why you got a new cane.” Daisy nodded to the one positioned next to the armchair. “Your old one was the murder weapon.”

  Again he nodded.

  “I threw it into the sea during the crossing back to France.”

  “You took the ferry to avoid the airports in case anyone was looking for you.” Paul came a little closer. “Then, when Floria called you with the news about Serena’s death, you caught another flight to London and arrived two days ago.”

  Floria stared at her father like she’d never seen him before. “You did all this to save me from being disinherited?”

  He took her face in his hands. “I didn’t know what to do. I tried reasoning with her, but she was adamant; you weren’t her real daughter and she felt she didn’t owe you anything. She could be so malicious, as you well know. I couldn’t have her cutting you out of the will, not after everything you’ve done for her over the years. Even though she treated you appallingly, you put up with it all, helped organize her parties and soirées,” he scoffed, “even her bloody funeral. She didn’t deserve any of it. She didn’t deserve you.”

  “Oh, Daddy.” Floria flung herself into his arms. He held her like a child, before Paul gently pulled her away and passed her to Daisy.

  “I’m afraid I’m going to have to arrest you now, Sir Ranulph.”

  The old man nodded and g
ot unsteadily to his feet. “I understand. I’m ready.”

  “No,” cried Floria, reaching for her father. Daisy held her tight while the other sisters looked on in shock. Even Carmen was silent.

  Buckley came forward and led Sir Ranulph outside where the patrol car was waiting. At least they didn’t put handcuffs on him. Daisy held on to Floria, who was verging on hysteria. As her father was put into the back of the vehicle, she made to go after him, but Daisy held her back. “No, Floria. You’ve got to let justice take its course. Your father knew what he was doing.”

  “But he did it for me,” she sobbed, tears streaming down her face.

  Daisy felt like crying herself.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “He did it for you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  After Sir Ranulph had been taken away in the squad car, Paul came back inside, his features taut. The emotion of the conviction had got to him too. Violeta had taken an inconsolable Floria up to her room and given her a mild sedative, but the rest of them were seated in the living room, still in shock after the morning’s revelations.

  “How did you work it out?” Greg asked Paul in awe.

  Paul grinned and put a friendly arm around Daisy’s shoulders. “Actually, it was Daisy who figured it out.”

  “I wish I’d been wrong.” Daisy felt awful about causing Floria, her best friend, so much pain.

  “It’s not your fault,” said Greg diplomatically. “Sir Ranulph was responsible for his own actions, and it seemed to me he knew exactly what he was doing.”

  “He planned it down to the last detail,” said Paul. “He stole the Modigliani to make it look like a robbery, but he couldn’t be seen with the painting, so he hid it in the priest hole instead, never dreaming that it would be found before he had a chance to come back for it.”

  “How on earth did you know Floria wasn’t Serena’s biological daughter?” Mimi asked Daisy, her legs curled underneath her on the couch. “I must admit I didn’t see that one coming.”

  “Me neither.” Donna shook her head.

  “It was something that the Austrian doctor, Kurt Bachmann, said. He claimed he’d seen Serena live in Milan in ’92, but that was the year Floria was born. Serena would have been pregnant with her at the time of the concert, but she wasn’t. I Googled it last night. There’s a photograph of Serena performing in Milan, and I can guarantee you she wasn’t seven months pregnant. Not in that dress.”

  Mimi shook her head. “You’re amazing, Daisy. You’ve got a real gift for this sort of thing.”

  “Keep on with that forensic psychology degree,” chimed in Paul. “I think you’re on the right track there.”

  “Did Sir Ranulph kill Collin too?” Greg poured himself a finger of scotch and offered the bottle around. Pepe accepted, but everyone else declined.

  “Surely not,” said Donna. “That was Hubert. We saw them arguing in the hall.”

  Daisy shook her head. “I’m afraid not, Donna. Collin spotted Sir Ranulph at the airport in Marseilles on his way here to murder Serena. He was about to say as much at the reception, but then Sir Ranulph stumbled and Floria rushed to help him, creating a diversion. After that, Collin thought he’d try to blackmail Sir Ranulph instead—he always was an opportunist—and they arranged to meet in the rose garden.”

  “But Sir Ranulph was in bed,” said Donna, confused. “I saw Floria take him upstairs.”

  “He knows this house better than anyone,” Daisy told her. “There’s a staircase from the east wing, where the guest bedrooms are, which leads out into the garden. It would have taken no time at all for him to get to the rose garden that way without being seen. He met Collin, they argued and Sir Ranulph stabbed him in the stomach, leaving him to bleed to death.”

  “But the murder weapon was found in Hubert’s jacket.” Greg’s eyes widened as realization dawned. “Oh, right. So Sir Ranulph planted it in the jacket because Hubert had left it in the upstairs loo.”

  “Conveniently,” said Paul. “Sir Ranulph had to get rid of it, and who better to blame than the very man who Collin had had a public argument with earlier that evening.”

  “Clever,” said Mimi with a shiver.

  “I didn’t think the old man had it in him,” confessed Greg, shaking his head. “And all because he didn’t want Floria to be disinherited.”

  “It’s so sad,” said Donna.

  Carmen remained silent, but Mimi turned on her. “What do you think now, Carmen? Would you rather have had this fate? Look what Floria’s going through. Serena let her down more than any of us. Perhaps you should think about that next time you turn up your nose at her.”

  “That’s enough,” said Donna with a rare show of fortitude. “I think we’ve all had more than enough trauma for one day.”

  At least Carmen had the grace to look ashamed.

  * * *

  “I think I’d better go.” Daisy stood up. It had been an emotional morning and she didn’t feel particularly happy about it. Yes, justice had been done, but it had destroyed Floria. Her mother not really her mother. Her father a murderer. The tabloids were going to have a field day with that one. She shook her head.

  “You will look after Floria, won’t you?” she said to Mimi and Donna. “She’s going to need a lot of support right now.”

  “Of course,” Donna replied, and Mimi nodded. “We’ll make sure she’s okay.”

  Daisy knew they would. The sisterly bond between them would grow stronger because of this, she had no doubt, and hopefully, in some small way, it would make Carmen realize she wasn’t the only one who had suffered because of Serena’s neglect. Perhaps something good would come out of this ghastly affair.

  “I’ll run you home,” said Paul, putting an arm around her shoulders. She liked it. The weight of his arm comforted her and made her feel warm and appreciated.

  She smiled up at him. “That would be great, thanks.”

  Greg made his excuses too. “I’ve got to get back to the office.” He followed them out. “Sir Ranulph’s conviction will cause complications with the execution of the will.”

  “You aren’t going to cut Floria out?” asked Mimi, aghast.

  “No, not unless you lot contest it.”

  They all shook their heads.

  Greg smiled. “What I meant was, Brompton Court will go to Floria now.”

  “Well, that’s something at least.” Daisy was pleased. Floria deserved it.

  Greg rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe Serena’s dead and buried and she’s still my most difficult client.”

  Daisy’s phone beeped as Paul turned out of Brompton Court’s long, winding driveway and merged with the mainstream traffic.

  “It’s Krish.” She opened the text message. “I asked him to check out that art shop in Paris that you called the other day.”

  “Why did you do that?” Paul glanced across at her. “I thought we wrote that off as one of Collin’s random contacts.”

  “Let’s just say I had a hunch.” She read the message, then glanced up at Paul. “I was right! The art shop is a front for forged paintings.”

  “What?” He pulled over into a lay-by surrounded by trees. This section of the road cut through the woods, which covered most of the countryside between Brompton Court and Edgemead.

  “Explain?”

  “Okay. Krish got his friend who works at the Louvre to pay them a visit and commission a fake Modigliani. He told them their details had been passed on to him by a Mr. Collin Harrison.”

  Paul shook his head. “Sneaky.”

  Daisy grinned. “After some consideration they agreed to put him in touch with an artist who specializes in Modigliani. He’s sent me the details.”

  Paul raised his eyebrows. “I’ll pass them over to the relevant authorities. If what you’re saying is true, Hubert may well have been right about that painting. It could have been a fake after all.”

  “Indeed. Poor Hubert; he’s been through the ringer. I wonder how many of Collin’s paintings have b
een forgeries? He may have built his entire business selling forged masterpieces. I always knew he had a dodgy past, but I didn’t for a minute imagine he was tied up in art fraud.”

  “We’ll let INTERPOL handle it. They have a division that specializes in international art fraud.” He signaled and pulled off into the traffic.

  “Are you going to take me home now?” Daisy asked. Part of her was emotionally drained, but another part wanted to drag out the drive as long as possible. Could it be she didn’t want to say goodbye to Paul?

  “I am.” His eyes sparkled. “But only for a short while. I have to go back to the station to tie up the case, but how about we go to Nonna Lina’s tonight? I’d like to have a decent conversation without having to dash off anywhere.”

  Daisy grinned. It seemed he’d solved the problem for her.

  “Now that sounds like the perfect plan.”

  Don’t miss the next delightful Daisy Thorne mystery

  DEATH AT THE SALON

  Coming soon from Kensington Publishing Corp.

  Keep reading to enjoy the first chapter . . .

  Chapter One

  The tiny brass bell attached to the front door of Ooh La La hair salon tinkled as Liz Roberts, head of the Edgemead Women’s Institute, marched in, bringing with her a blast of rain-drenched wind.

  “Heavens, it’s appalling out there,” she said as she shook out her umbrella and left it dripping against the antique hatstand. “I trod in a puddle outside the Fox and Hound, and I swear I’ve ruined my new suede boots.” She glanced disdainfully down at her feet.

  “Can I take your coat?” Daisy smiled sympathetically.

  Liz removed her practical Barbour raincoat and handed it over. “Thanks, Daisy dear. Oh, it is nice and warm in here. Hopefully, my shoes will dry out.”

  “Come on, we’re over here.” Daisy led her to one of the comfy leather chairs positioned in front of a gilt-framed mirror. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

  “You wouldn’t happen to have anything stronger, would you?” Liz arched an eyebrow. “I’ve had such a trying day.”