Death at a Country Mansion Page 6

  Ruth paid and left, keen to get to the office before it opened at nine.

  As she’d cleaned up, Daisy pondered what Ruth had said about Pepe’s rheumatism and why Violeta had never mentioned it before. Was it possible they had conspired to steal the Modigliani to pay for private medical care? Had Serena caught them in the act?

  It was a crazy notion, and one she was hesitant to run by Floria. It felt like a betrayal. Daisy knew how much Floria loved Violeta. The maternal housekeeper had been instrumental in her upbringing, particularly in the early years, before Floria had been dispatched to boarding school, and again, during the summer holidays when Floria had no choice but to go home. Violeta had sheltered Floria from her mother’s temper tantrums, shielded her from her violent mood swings and provided a shoulder to cry on when Floria had inevitably got in the way. Daisy remembered her friend telling her how she used to stay with Violeta and Pepe at their cottage on the estate when Serena and whichever husband was in residence at the time had a row, or she’d been entertaining a lover and hadn’t wanted Floria around.

  But now Serena was gone and the Bonellos’ livelihood was in jeopardy, would they resort to theft and, inadvertently, murder?

  Chapter Seven

  As soon as Daisy saw “Unknown Caller” on her phone, she knew it was Detective Inspector McGuinness ringing.

  “Good morning, Inspector.”

  There was a slight pause. “Good guess, Miss Thorne. I wonder if you’d be able to meet me at the Scouts’ hall. I want to pick your brain about something.”

  Now that was a turn for the books.

  “Sounds intriguing. I can get away around five. Will that do?”

  “Perfect. I’ll see you then.”

  She was about to chastise him for not calling her by her first name, but then thought better of it. DI McGuinness was a stickler for protocol. She had the feeling that no matter how many times she told him, he’d still insist on Miss Thorne.

  By midafternoon, the wind had died down, the temperature had risen into the nineties, and the flurry of pollen had been replaced by swarms of midges. Daisy swatted them out of the way as she made her way across the meadow to the Scout hall. There was a road, but because she’d walked to work and it was such a brilliant day, she didn’t want to go home first to get her car. Besides, nothing in Edgemead took that long to get to on foot.

  Fifteen minutes later and dripping in perspiration, she was regretting her decision.

  DI McGuinness sat outside at a low wooden table with two connected benches on either side waiting for her. It had obviously been designed for children and made his legs look ridiculously long. “Please, sit down.” He motioned to the opposite bench. “We can talk out here. The barn is sweltering.”

  There were two bottles of water in front of him. He passed one to her.

  Daisy flopped down and gratefully took a sip. She felt as if she were melting. Her clothes were sticking to her and perspiration was running down her cleavage. She pulled her blouse away from her clammy skin and wished she had a moment to compose herself.

  “Nice to see you, Inspector. How is the investigation going?”

  He shrugged. “Slowly but surely. I wanted to ask what you know about Collin Harrison. What kind of man is he?”

  She cut to the chase. “You mean is he capable of murdering his wife?”

  He inclined his head.

  Daisy thought for a moment. Did he fit the profile of a killer?

  “I think he genuinely loved Serena when they got married, so he’s capable of feeling deep emotions and, of course, he’s having an affair, so he has normal masculine desires. . . . ”

  He was watching her closely.

  “But Serena was a difficult woman, particularly in the last few years. She had a drinking problem, as you know, which made her mood swings even more violent than usual. She had a terrible temper. One minute she could be charming, the next a complete harridan, screaming at Collin or anyone else who was in the firing range. I heard they had some fantastic rows, but as far as I know, he never abused her in any way, so he can control himself and his temper, and he doesn’t get physically aggressive.”

  “So, you don’t think he could have done it?”

  “He doesn’t really fit the profile, does he? You’d know more about this sort of thing than me.” Her course had only just begun covering criminal profiling.

  “I’m asking for a character reference, not a psychological profile.”

  “Oh, well in that case, I can tell you he was very controlled; appearances mattered to him. He didn’t come from money, but worked his way up to the successful man he is today.”

  “So, he wouldn’t have wanted to damage his image?”

  “No, it’s not likely; however, he did have a narcissistic side.”

  At his inquisitive look, she explained. “Collin was the type of guy who’d wine and dine you if he thought you had something to offer, and then dump you just as fast if something better came up. I’ve seen it happen. He befriended Colonel Snodgrass because he wanted to poke around his World War Two attic, but when he realized there was nothing of value, he didn’t bother to contact him again. The poor colonel felt very used.”

  “He’s an art dealer, I gather?”

  “Yes, and a very good one by all accounts. He loves hunting down old masterpieces, then selling them for obscene amounts of money to private buyers. He can sniff out a valuable piece of art a mile away, a bit like a bloodhound. His gallery is in Mayfair.”

  McGuinness wrapped his big hands around his water bottle. “I’ve been to his gallery. They haven’t seen him since Saturday.”

  “The night Serena died. And he’s not in the Bahamas?”

  McGuinness gave her a strange look. “No, he didn’t get on the flight, as I think you well know.”

  Daisy smiled. “I have a friend who works at Heathrow.”

  “Of course you do.” McGuinness sighed and ran a hand through his hair. It was damp at the temples and the moisture from the water bottle made it stand up in messy spikes. “Why would he pretend to go away?”

  Daisy gnawed her lower lip, then said, “There was some talk about an affair with an air stewardess. Violeta, the housekeeper, said that’s what he and Serena had been arguing about before he walked out. He was leaving her.”

  McGuinness slammed his hand down on the table, making Daisy jump. “Why am I only hearing about this now?”

  Daisy, who didn’t like surprises, glared at him. “Violeta was in shock when you questioned her before, and if you don’t mind me saying, you aren’t the most approachable of men.”

  “You don’t think I’m approachable?” He glared back at her.

  It was a standoff. Her blue eyes locked with his gray ones. “No, I don’t. While that steely glare no doubt works to intimidate suspects, it doesn’t work too well on witnesses or harmless locals who might have inside information.”

  “Or you, quite clearly.”

  She chuckled, easing the tension. “I don’t intimidate easily.”

  “Point taken.” His broad shoulders unfurled as he leaned back on the bench. “So, how do you suggest I get the locals to open up to me?”

  She pursed her lips. “Well, you could smile more, that might be a good start, and stop glaring at everyone as if they’re a suspect.”

  He folded his arms across his chest and fixed his gaze on her.

  “Kinda like now,” she said pointedly.

  He sighed and turned his head to study a small herd of cows grazing in the meadow. “You’re asking me to be someone I’m not.”

  “That’s why you should work with me. I know everyone involved in the case, and they open up to me. I can find out anything you need to know.” She leaned forward across the table and smiled coquettishly. “You should use me more. It will be to your advantage.”

  His eyes narrowed as he gazed at her contemplatively. “Okay, you win, Miss Thorne. Very well played. I admit, your local knowledge would be an advantage in this case. But I ha
ve to warn you, if you find anything important, you must let me know, because without properly documented witness statements, we won’t be able to prosecute.”

  “I know the rules, Inspector. My grandfather was a detective.”

  “Yes, well, times have changed a bit since his day,” he said gruffly. “There’s a procedure now, and trust me, criminals will do whatever they can to find a loophole. Our case has to be watertight.”

  Daisy nodded. “I understand, and please, if we’re going to be working together, do you think you might call me Daisy? I really hate Miss Thorne.”

  “Okay, Daisy, and you may as well call me Paul.”

  She grinned. “Okay, Paul. Well, now that we’ve cleared that up, there are a few things I should tell you.”

  He frowned. “Like what?”

  “About Sergio, Tatiana’s Polish boyfriend, for starters, and then I’ll tell you what I know about Pepe’s rheumatism. I’m not sure if it’s relevant or not, but it’s better that you know.”

  Paul listened in amazement as Daisy explained how she’d questioned Sergio at the bar and discovered he hadn’t been home on Saturday night. “He didn’t know anything about the steak, you see.” She turned her hands palms up on the table. “They both lied.”

  When she got to Pepe’s visit to the doctor, he scratched his chin, which was beginning to show signs of a five-o’clock shadow. “He’s an old man. Do you really think he’d be capable of something like this?”

  Daisy shook her head. “No, to be honest, I don’t. Violeta is younger than Pepe, but even so, I can’t imagine them plotting to steal the Modigliani, let alone killing Serena. Besides, according to them, they were at their daughter’s house on Saturday night. I just thought I ought to mention it because it does give them a motive.”

  “I’ll check up on their alibi, but their fingerprints are likely to be all over the house.”

  “Hers, but not his.” Pepe hardly ever ventured into the house itself, apart from the kitchen. “I suppose you checked the balustrade?”

  He gave her a look that said, what kind of policeman do you think I am?

  “Sorry.” Daisy grimaced. “What about the whiskey bottle?”

  He swatted a couple of midges out of the way. “We’re still waiting on forensics to get back to us on that, but even if we did find her prints on it, it would be circumstantial.”

  “So you’d need a confession.” It was more a statement than a question.

  “Preferably, yes.” He studied her across the table. “Or something definite that would stand up in court.”

  “What about Sergio?” she asked, wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead.

  “I’ll have him brought in for questioning,” McGuinness acknowledged, then his face relaxed slightly. “My intimidating glare might come in useful with him.”

  Daisy laughed. “I’ll leave you to it. I’ve got to get home. Floria and her father are coming around for dinner.”

  “Floria’s father?”

  “Yes, Sir Ranulph; that’s Serena’s first husband. He flew back from the south of France as soon as Floria told him the news. I expect he’ll be at the memorial service, along with Serena’s other exes and countless lovers.” She shook her head. “It’s a bit of a circus.”

  “What do you know about the other ex-husbands?”

  “Not a lot. I only know Sir Ranulph because Floria and I stayed with him in the south of France last summer. He’s got a lovely, crumbling mansion out there. Not short of cash, that’s for sure. He was quite a bit older than Serena, more like a father figure than a husband, but perhaps that’s what she needed at the time. He got her career going. Then there’s Hubert, Serena’s second hubby. I have no idea how Serena didn’t notice he was gay before they were married, but he’s a sweetie—wouldn’t hurt a fly. Niall is the Irish charmer, always has a glamorous woman on his arm, but he did fall hard for Serena. She divorced him, but it was amicable, or so I’m told. Then she met Collin, but by that stage she was drinking heavily, and I think things turned south pretty quickly.”

  “You seem to know the family pretty well.” He’d been listening hard while she was talking but hadn’t made a single note.

  “I’ve been friends with Floria for a long time. Every year Serena hosted these glamorous garden parties—that Floria organized, by the way—so I’ve met her exes several times. Last year’s was particularly interesting. Collin caught Serena making out with a young Russian musician called Vladimir Kustov and went berserk. He threatened to leave her then, but he didn’t. Luckily, it was at the end of the party, so not many of the guests were still there, and the ones who were, were too sozzled to remember anything clearly.” She laughed, then her face fell. “Floria was extremely upset, though, because Serena was beastly to her when she tried to calm things down.” She shook her head. “She really wasn’t a very nice woman, you know.”

  Paul raised an eyebrow. “So I’ve been told. It doesn’t excuse what happened, though. Her killer still needs to be brought to justice.”

  “Oh, of course. I didn’t mean that. It’s just that she inflicted so much pain on the people closest to her, and she was desperately unhappy herself. It’s tragic, really.”

  There was a pause as Daisy reflected on her words. Poor Floria; but at least something good had come out of it. Hopefully, her three half sisters would make up for Serena’s nastiness and disinterest over the years. Her friend would have a proper family at last.

  Paul looked at his watch, then threw his long legs over the bench and stood up. “Thanks for coming down here, Daisy. You’ve given me a much clearer picture of all the players in this little drama.”

  She smiled. “I’m only too happy to help. See you tomorrow, Paul.” And she left him standing there, staring after her, as she wove her way back through the meadow toward her house.

  Chapter Eight

  Daisy had just set the table when Floria arrived with an enormous bunch of white roses in one arm and her father gripping precariously to the other. Sir Ranulph had aged since Daisy had last seen him at Serena’s garden party back in May. It was only two months ago, but his hair was now completely white and his face was weary and lined despite his Mediterranean tan, or perhaps because of it. His eyes, however, still sparkled with the same blue intensity as his daughter’s.

  “Daisy, it’s so nice to see you.” He leaned forward on his cane and kissed her on both cheeks. He smelled of Eau Savage and stale cigars.

  “Likewise, Sir Ranulph. Please, come in and make yourself comfortable. These are gorgeous, Floria.” She took the roses into the kitchen to put in a blue-green glass vase—one of her favorites—while Floria led her father into the living room area. Once seated, the retired music producer put his cane aside and muttered, “This damn thing isn’t as good as my last one. Some bugger swiped it from a restaurant in Nice last week.”

  “What a shame.” Daisy came back with a bottle of red. She poured everyone a glass and the three of them sat and chatted while the salmon baked in the oven.

  “Did you know about Serena’s other daughters?” Daisy had been dying to ask the question since Floria’s father had arrived.

  Sir Ranulph shook his head. “No, it came as quite a shock. I thought I knew everything about Floria’s mother when we got married, but she didn’t say a word about any illegitimate children. Not in all the years we were married. I had no idea.”

  “It’s a big secret to keep,” muttered Daisy. “One daughter would be hard to hide, but three . . .?”

  Sir Ranulph stared into his wine. “She was an incredibly focused woman and she had a way of blocking out things that didn’t agree with her vision. To her, they simply wouldn’t have existed.”

  “I’ve been doing some more Googling,” Floria said, changing the subject. “It seems my half sisters, apart from being hugely talented, also have fairly colorful histories.”

  “Definitely related, then.” Daisy laughed. Floria had been rather wild in the days before she’d met James and, consequently
, had a reputation as quite the party girl, not unlike her mother.

  “Remember I mentioned Mimi, the Australian one, was in a band called Toxic Phonix . . . ”

  “Was?” Daisy preempted her.

  “I’m getting there.” Floria grinned. “And this is the good part. A few weeks ago she was sacked for punching the lead singer in the face during a concert. The audience booed her off the stage. Can you believe that?”

  Daisy had to laugh. “I can’t wait to meet her.”

  Sir Ranulph shook his head. “That’s no way for a singer to behave.”

  “Then there’s her twin, Donna, who lives in Austria. Apparently, they were separated at birth and adopted by two separate sets of parents.”

  “I didn’t know they did that anymore,” remarked Daisy. “Split up twins, I mean.”

  Floria shrugged. “Well, they certainly did in this case. They ended up in opposite corners of the world.”

  “Did they know about each other?” asked Daisy.

  Floria shook her head. “I don’t think so. Greg said they both sounded shocked by the news.”

  Daisy pursed her lips. “What a crazy scenario.”

  Sir Ranulph nodded in agreement.

  Floria got back to her story. “Anyway, Donna, the violinist, seems better behaved. I haven’t been able to dig up any dirt on her yet. In fact, I haven’t been able to find out much about her at all. She doesn’t even have a Facebook profile.” She stared at Daisy. “Who’s not on social media these days?”

  “I’m not,” murmured Sir Ranulph, but Floria ignored him and went on.

  “Then we come to Carmen, the Spanish one. Isn’t it an ideal name for an opera singer? I wonder if Serena came up with that? Anyway, I’ve seen a photograph of her singing in Madrid, and she’s the spitting image of Mother. You won’t believe it, Father. It’s creepy.”

  Sir Ranulph didn’t reply. Daisy got the impression he didn’t want to be reminded of his late ex-wife, especially a younger, more beautiful version, like Serena had been when they’d first met.

  “She’s also a model,” added Floria, “but then, she is very striking and singing rarely pays the bills until you’re famous. At work, singers and musicians come in all the time begging for an advance on their royalties. They’re desperate, hoping to strike it lucky with their next album, but it hardly ever happens.”