Death at a Country Mansion Page 9

  “Let me try. There might be an after-hours recording.” He pulled out his phone from his pocket and dialed the number. Daisy watched his face as he waited for it to divert to voice mail.

  Except it didn’t.

  His expression turned to one of surprise as someone answered.

  “Hello? Yes, with whom am I speaking?”

  Daisy held her breath. They were an hour ahead in France, so it would be nearly midnight. That was late for someone to answer, unless it was a residential number.

  “Boutique d’art?” Paul switched to French. “Connaissez-vous Mr. Harrison? Collin Harrison?”

  She listened as Paul interviewed the person on the phone in flawless French. Daisy’s French was passable, but nothing like Paul’s. She picked up enough to realize that they didn’t know, nor had ever heard of Collin.

  When he hung up she said, “Your French is très impres-sionnant.”

  He grinned. “I paid attention at school.”

  “Clearly.”

  She sat opposite him on the sofa, curling her legs underneath her. “So, it was an art store?”

  “Yes, in Paris. The woman who answered said they were hosting an event tonight, which was why they were still open. It seems aboveboard. I suppose Collin could have been passing the number to a contact or something. It is his industry, after all.”

  Daisy sipped her coffee and studied Paul over her mug. That was more than paying attention in class; he was practically fluent. She’d spent a lot of time in France during school holidays, and he spoke like a local, no hint of an accent. At some point in his life he’d learned to speak the language fluently. The handsome inspector was full of surprises.

  “I’ll get the techies to ping his phone first thing tomorrow, and if we can get a location, the local French police can contact him.”

  “According to his diary, he’s due back in London tomorrow anyway, but I suppose it’s worth a shot.”

  Paul studied her. “I still don’t like you nosing around. It’s dangerous, but thank you. This is very useful information.”

  Daisy picked up her paraphernalia and stuffed it back into her handbag. “We got lucky, that’s all. Besides, it looks like Collin’s in the clear anyway.”

  With Collin out of the equation, that left Tatiana and Sergio, or Violeta and Pepe, as their prime suspects. Hopefully, the interrogation would bring something to light. Perhaps it was just a burglary gone wrong? Somehow, though, Daisy didn’t think things were that simple. She wasn’t sure why; it was just a feeling.

  “How are you getting on with Serena’s other ex-husbands?” she asked, recalling the names on the whiteboard in the makeshift incident room.

  “Slowly. We have other lines of inquiry and we’re short-staffed, but we’ll get to them.” He shook his head. “Four husbands and she wasn’t even that old.”

  “Not to mention the countless lovers,” added Daisy with a grin.

  “It’s a security nightmare,” Paul admitted. “Any one of them could have come to the house that night. We’re checking their alibis.”

  “I think you’ll find they’re all in the clear.” Daisy stretched her neck. “None of them had a motive. They’re all wealthy in their own right. Besides, Sir Ranulph lives in France, and I think Floria said Niall was away. That leaves Hubert, but he’s such an old dear, he wouldn’t say boo to a ghost.”

  “An interesting cast of characters,” he mused. “Then there’s the illegitimate daughters coming from far and wide to pay their respects.”

  “At Serena’s request?” asked Daisy.

  He nodded. “She was quite adamant, according to Mr. Edwards, her solicitor. Apparently, she wanted all the girls to meet.”

  “A flash of humanity,” murmured Daisy, earning herself a surprised look from Paul.

  “Oh, Serena wasn’t a nice woman,” she clarified. “I can say that because it’s true. Everybody who knew her had felt the brunt of her temper at one point or another. Poor Floria got the worst of it. I wouldn’t have been at all surprised if she’d completely ignored her other daughters and written them off without a penny.”

  “She may still have planned to do that,” surmised Paul. He was thinking about the appointment to change her will.

  “It’s possible,” admitted Daisy. “I’d never take anything for granted where Serena’s concerned.”

  “Thanks for the tip,” said Paul.

  Daisy stretched her neck. The long day was taking its toll.

  “I can see you’re tired, so I’ll get going.” He downed his coffee. Daisy didn’t object. She was tired, but she enjoyed his company and didn’t want him to go; however, saying so would compromise her, so she didn’t reply.

  He stood up. “Do you play?” He nodded toward the grand piano in the corner of the room. It had been in her parents’ house at one point, but they’d never used it, except as a showpiece, something for guests to tinker with when they came around, so when they’d moved to Spain, she’d expropriated it.

  “A little. My mother insisted I take lessons all through school. I hated it back then, but I enjoy playing now. It relaxes me.”

  “I played the clarinet, but I was so bad at it, I think my mother was secretly relieved when I quit.”

  Daisy couldn’t help laughing. The vision of tall, broad-shouldered Paul playing a clarinet was too incongruous for words.

  She got up to show him out. He followed her to the door, his keys jingling in his pocket. A pile of her class books lay on the kitchen countertop. He picked up the top one, titled Psychology and Violent Crime, and gave her a quizzical look.

  “I’m studying forensic psychology.” She felt herself blushing but wasn’t sure why. It was a perfectly legitimate area of study. “When I’m qualified I want to help law enforcement agencies profile criminals. It’s an interest of mine.”

  He nodded slowly, a contemplative expression on his face. She had expected ridicule, or at the very least an arched eyebrow, so she was pleasantly surprised.

  “You know, nothing much surprises me anymore.” He wagged his finger in the air. “But you, Daisy Thorne . . . you surprise me.”

  She tilted her head to one side. “Is that a good thing?”

  She was flirting with him. Good heavens, she hadn’t flirted with a man in years, not since Tim left, and after that she hadn’t thought it possible she’d be attracted to a man again.

  His stormy-gray eyes, which were now much calmer, but no less intense, bore into hers. “Very. Now I’d better be going. I’ve got a long drive ahead.”

  Daisy, who had paused with her hand on the doorknob, gave it a hard twist. Cool air rushed in and the moment passed. She stood aside to let him through.

  “Thanks for the coffee,” he said over his shoulder.

  “Any time.”

  She watched as he climbed into his car and was still watching as he pulled out of the driveway and sped off, his black BMW blending seamlessly into the night.

  Chapter Twelve

  Floria sank into the comfy leather chair with a soft sigh of delight and lay her head back on the basin. She was having a much-needed cut and blow-dry before the weekend, when she’d be inundated with guests for her mother’s memorial service, including her long-lost sisters. It was important she made a good impression.

  “The world is going to be watching,” she explained to a wide-eyed Asa. “I’ve already had offers from Hello! and OK! magazines for an exclusive.”

  “Heavens,” murmured Asa. “Aren’t you nervous with all those celebs coming?”

  “You get used to it.” Floria sighed. “Although Sir Elton’s agent rang me yesterday and said he’d be there. He and Mother go way back. That’s enough to ensure most of the TV networks will come. It’s going to be chaos at the vicarage.”

  Krish nearly dropped the tray of utensils he was carrying. “Oh my gosh. I’d love to meet him.”

  “You’ll have to make sure you get there early,” said Daisy, who’d been listening to their conversation while removing Mrs.
Winterbottom’s curlers. “The traffic will be gridlocked with limos and Bentleys dropping off their famous passengers.”

  “Not to mention all the locals who want to pay their respects,” added Krish with a pleading look at Daisy.

  “Oh, I plan to,” said Floria. “The flowers are being delivered first thing, and the vicar wants to revise the service schedule as two of my sisters will be performing.”

  “Really? That’s a wonderful idea. Which two?” asked Daisy, intrigued. She could hear the pride in Floria’s voice. Floria’s half sisters seemed inordinately talented, but then, with a mother like Serena, it was hardly surprising.

  “Donna’s going to play an accompaniment to one of the hymns and I believe Carmen will be singing.”

  “It’s so exciting,” sighed Asa, who’d finished washing Floria’s hair and was wrapping it in a toweled turban. “I wonder if Stormzy is going to be there? He’s so fit. Now that’s someone I’d like to meet.”

  “I’m not sure Serena was into gangster rap,” said Krish, flicking one of her braids.

  Daisy laughed as Asa scowled at him.

  Floria moved from the sink to a workstation, holding the turban in place. “I’m going to ask the girls to stay with me at Brompton Court after the service. It seems rude not to, especially because I’ve got eight bedrooms at my disposal.”

  “I think that’s a fabulous idea,” said Daisy. “Are they arriving today?”

  She nodded. “Yes, but I think they already have accommodation for tonight. Besides, they’ll be exhausted after their flights, especially Mimi, who’s come all the way from Australia. Greg said he’d let them know they are welcome to stay at Brompton Court.”

  “Is your father staying there too?” asked Daisy. Floria’s little flat in Mayfair was only a one-bedroom.

  “Oh yes, he loves Brompton Court. He designed the rose garden, you know.” She got a faraway look in her eyes. “I still remember how he planned it down to the last tiny detail, guided by his friend, Alan Titchmarsh, and then, once it was done, he spent every weekend there, pruning and attending to the roses. He knew all the varietals by name.” She sighed wistfully. “It bought him endless joy. I think he missed his roses more than my mother when they split up. She was never one for gardening.”

  Daisy doubted Serena ever gave the garden a second thought, other than when she was seducing her latest lover behind the hedgerows. “If they agree to stay with you, it will give you all a wonderful chance to get to know one another.”

  Floria met her gaze in the mirror and her voice faltered. “I’m so nervous, Dais. What if they don’t like me? They’re all so talented and so musical. Not like me. I can’t play an instrument to save my life, and my voice is nothing to write home about. How did Serena’s genes skip me entirely?”

  “Don’t be silly, Flo. You’re bubbly and vivacious, and you have an incredible way with people. Everybody loves you. You’re the friendliest person I know.” She gave her friend a hug. “Trust me, they’re going to adore you.”

  Floria gave a tremulous smile. “I hope so. My stomach is in knots just thinking about it.”

  “It’ll all be fine. I promise. Besides, I’ll be there to hold your hand.”

  “Thanks, Daisy. You’re the best.” She took a shaky breath.

  “What’s not to love?” Krish gave her shoulder a quick squeeze on his way to the front of the salon, where his next client was waiting. Floria smiled at him.

  “Hello, Mrs. Roberts,” he gushed as a smart, middle-aged woman in a two-piece suit stood up from the sofa. “Sorry to keep you waiting. Do come and take a seat at the basin.”

  Daisy smiled at Floria. “Now, do you want the usual, or shall I crop it a bit to make it more on trend?”

  “Crop it,” said Floria, never one to back down from a challenge. “I need to upgrade my look. I don’t want to be the dowdy younger sister.”

  Daisy grinned. “You could never be that.” With Floria’s effervescent personality, pale golden curls and glittering blue eyes, she was always the center of attraction. She radiated positivity and good humor, which made people gravitate toward her. No, “dowdy” was not a word Daisy would ever associate with her friend.

  Then she got to work.

  “So, I heard that Tatiana and her boyfriend confessed to breaking into Brompton Court,” said Floria when Daisy was almost finished with the cut. “DI McGuinness didn’t seem to think they’d stolen the Modigliani, though, which I thought was rather odd, considering they admitted to being there.”

  This wasn’t news to Daisy, who’d also spoken to McGuinness earlier that morning. After their conversation last night, they’d developed a mutually respectful relationship, and Daisy was flattered that the normally uncommunicative detective had thought to phone her to tell her the outcome of the interrogation. But then, she had been the one to tell him Sergio’s alibi didn’t check out.

  “Apparently, Sergio let himself in using Tatiana’s key around two in the morning and found Serena lying on the floor. He panicked and took off. He claims he didn’t enter the house.” She relayed what DI McGuinness had told her.

  “But do you believe him?” asked Floria.

  “Serena was killed shortly after midnight, so if he really did go at two in the morning, he couldn’t have killed Serena. Anyway, he doesn’t strike me as the murdering type.”

  Liz Roberts, who was chairwoman of the Edgemead Women’s Institute and a formidable figure in the community, looked out from under her silver-foil wraps. “I wouldn’t trust him, Floria dear. Those criminal types will say anything to get off the hook. He could quite easily lie about the time he was there. In fact, he’s probably got the painting stashed away somewhere right now, waiting for the heat to die down.”

  “A painting like that would be very hard to fence,” pointed out Daisy, who knew a little about the art world.

  Floria, who knew a lot more, agreed. “Absolutely, a Modigliani is so instantly recognizable, especially if it’s been reported stolen, that no self-respecting art dealer would touch it. It could only be sold on the black market, and I doubt Sergio has those kinds of contacts.”

  “Collin might,” mused Daisy, earning herself a startled look from her friend.

  “I thought he’d been cleared?”

  “He has,” said Daisy. “I was just thinking out loud.”

  “Hmm . . . ” Floria admired her new haircut in the mirror. “Great job, by the way. I love it.”

  “Thanks. It’ll look even better when it’s dried.”

  Floria turned around in the chair. “I don’t know, Dais. It seems like a hell of a coincidence that Mother was murdered the same night Sergio broke in to steal the Modigliani.”

  Daisy tapped the comb against her cheek. Floria did have a point, and normally she wouldn’t go in for coincidences, but something about this one didn’t make sense.

  “Sergio insisted Serena was already dead when he got there. He said all he wanted was the painting. He’s a petty criminal—he served time in Poland for theft—and when Tatiana told him Serena would be drunk and alone on Saturday night, he saw an opportunity.”

  “I knew he was dangerous,” piped up Krish from across the room. “I could see it in his slanting, gypsy eyes.”

  “Who’s to say he didn’t kill her, then steal the painting?” interjected Liz, refusing to let it go.

  Daisy flashed her an irritated look. “He’s a small-time crook, an opportunist, not a cold-blooded murderer. It’s a whole different psyche.”

  “I think you’re taking your studies too literally,” Floria said kindly as Daisy plugged in the hair dryer. “People don’t always fit into neat psychological categories. With the right motivation, anyone can kill.”

  “I’d tend to agree with that,” said Liz.

  “Don’t you need to rinse off that tint now, Mrs. Roberts?” asked Daisy, raising her eyebrows at Krish.

  Once Krish had led her to the basin, Daisy said, “Do you really believe that, Flo?”

 
Floria swiveled around to face her. “Okay, most people. Wouldn’t you if your child was threatened, or someone you loved was in danger?”

  Daisy threw her hands in the air, still holding the hair dryer. “Okay, you might have a point, but those are unusual circumstances. Sergio had nothing against Serena. He didn’t even know her. This was just a burglary. Besides, his fingerprints weren’t found anywhere inside the house.”

  “He could have worn gloves.”

  Daisy sighed. “That’s true, but without any evidence they can’t hold him.”

  “So my mother’s killer is still out there?”

  Daisy grimaced. “It looks that way.”

  The hair dryer was far too loud for sensible conversation, but the minute Daisy switched it off, Floria put down the Cosmopolitan magazine she’d been browsing and said, “Now tell me, Daisy, what’s happening with this hunky Irish police detective? Has he made a move on you yet?”

  Daisy was momentarily stunned. She had been miles away, her mind on the dwindling suspect list and looking for possibilities that may or may not be there.

  She covered by pretending outrage. “Floria, I’ve only just met him, and no, he hasn’t made a move on me.” She shook her head. “Nor is he likely to. We’re working together to solve this case, that’s all. He values my input. Besides, you know I’m not interested in dating anyone.”

  “Hmm . . . I’ve seen the way he looks at you and I’m sure it’s not just your input he values.”

  At Daisy’s exasperated look, she grinned, “Anyway, it’s been almost two years since Tim left. You have to move on. It’s time, Daisy.”

  Daisy bit her lip. She wasn’t so sure. Tim’s abandonment had left her feeling raw and vulnerable, and she didn’t think she would ever be ready to put herself in that position again.

  “I think Paul McGuinness is just what you need to get over Tim,” Floria insisted. “What do you think, Daisy? How about a nice, casual fling—nothing serious—just to get you out of the rut you’re in.”

  “She’s right, darling,” Krish interjected as he led Liz, freshly washed, back to the mirror. “You really do need to get back in the game. You’ll forget how to play at this rate.”