A Devious Lot (Antiques & Collectibles Mysteries Book 5) (26 page)

After fifteen minutes of walking, the trees thinned and the trail ended at a fieldstone wall. On the other side, about two miles away, was the manor house. To get there, she’d have to go over the wall. It occurred to her that Giles probably had enough time after the tea party to walk to White Dove Cottage. He could have poisoned Tiffany’s tea and made it home before anyone missed him. She wasn’t sure if the stone wall was a demarcation line between the estate property and public grounds, or if it was a relic from some ancient farm, but she had to get around it. Placing her hands on the rough stone wall, she carefully lifted one leg at a time and pushed herself up and over to the other side. Easy, she thought, dusting off her hands.

As she continued her walk, she wondered if Mrs. Jackson would be working at the hall, and what she would do if she saw her coming down the hill. Would she call the police? Or worse, would she call Brenda at the shop? She really didn’t want to see Brenda.

When she reached the driveway, her first impression was that the manor house was empty. There were no cars parked outside, and no lights on in any of the windows. There didn’t seem to be any point in hanging around. She’d confirmed the distance between Channing Hall and White Dove Cottage was walkable. As she turned to go, she heard the sound of a car engine coming down the driveway at a high rate of speed.

Molly looked around frantically. There was no place to hide, and she couldn’t make it back to the woods without being seen. On the verge of panic, she tried to think up a story about why she was there without her car. Then she saw the sandy gravel path that led to the vine-covered brick-walled garden. She hadn’t been to the garden since her visit as a young child, but remembered it being a maze pattern with garden rooms at almost every turn, all of them with a different theme. She ran down the path and hurried inside. Peeking around the corner of the brick archway, she watched as an older model car with a noisy muffler came to a halt in front of the house. The driver’s-side door swung open and Alice stepped out. She slammed the door shut and went up to the front door, pressing the doorbell. When no one answered, she tried again, punching it over and over, as if that would help. Molly thought she heard her swear out loud. Finally, she gave up and walked back to her car, where she opened the door but didn’t get in right away. Holding on to the top of the door, she looked up at Channing Hall, a look of confusion and hurt on her face. Molly wondered what was going on with her. Had the news media put out a report about Giles being taken into custody? Had she come over to see if it was true? Or did she have a pre-appointed time to meet him, while his mother was at the store?

Molly hated to think that Giles would have used his charms on Alice to manipulate her into killing Tiffany, but she couldn’t put it past him. He’d certainly beguiled Dora, and she’d done his bidding at great personal risk. If the police had taken the time to confirm, without doubt, that the person who’d died that day was Dora Lang, and discovered she was lying to them, she would have been in big trouble.

Alice got into her car and drove off at the same high rate of speed. Molly waited until she couldn’t hear the muffler anymore before she moved even an inch. She was immediately struck by the silence that fell between the walls of the garden. It was as if she were in a time machine that had hurtled her back to an age before cars and airplanes and smartphones—a world without noise.

The sky was getting darker, the clouds heavier, but she thought she had enough time to take a quick look around the garden. Following the twisting and turning path, she wandered through rooms filled with decorative birdbaths and sundials, and fountains and pool surrounds. One room had beautifully carved stone angels and chubby smiling cherubs, and another an elegant shepherdess watching over a family of stone bunnies. Most of the flower beds were dormant, but there were some autumn blooms, and plenty of boxwood plants. Molly loved the scent of boxwoods. It made her think of North Carolina.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, and Molly knew it was time to go. But when she tried to retrace her steps, she found herself going from room to room without finding the exit. She soon realized she was lost in the maze. Taking a deep breath to quell her rising panic, she looked around the room she was in. It was in the throes of construction, with stone borders piled in one corner and a large flower bed recently tilled. As she walked past it, she thought the dirt smelled rank, but soon forgot about it when she noticed a small pinprick of light shining through the foliage on one of the walls. Pulling the branches aside, she almost cheered out loud. At some point the brick wall had ended, and the only thing standing between her and freedom was a thick hedgerow. In a frenzy, Molly pulled the bush apart, tearing the branches with her bare hands, ignoring the scratches and beyond caring if she damaged it. If she did, she’d pay Brenda back. Right now, all she wanted to do was get out of the garden and back to her car before the rain came pouring down on her.

As she squeezed through the hedge to the other side, it started to rain, and she realized she was at the back of the manor house, and she was out of time. Rain pelted her hair and face, and a bolt of lightning lit up the sky, followed by a crack of loud thunder. She had to find cover fast, but her options were limited. There was a detached garage, but it was too far from the house. The only other option was a greenhouse about two hundred yards away. She ran for it.

The greenhouse was a domed structure constructed of glass and iron, and she was relieved to find the door open. The moment she stepped inside, another bolt of lightning sparked the sky directly above her head, and a clap of thunder shook the ground beneath her feet. Molly slammed the door shut and breathed a sigh of relief as the rain pounded the windows. She’d made it to shelter just in time.

With nothing to do but wait out the storm, she took a look around the greenhouse. Tables were set out in long rows, covered with potted plants and flowers, sprouting seedlings, and pallets of sweet peas, onions, and three different kinds of lettuce. Tomato plants were plentiful, as were herbs for cooking. She sniffed lavender and mint plants and they smelled divine. And strawberries! Pots and pots of strawberry bushes were lined up in rows against the back wall. Molly was tempted to pluck off a few to eat, but she already felt guilty about trespassing and resisted the urge.

She was about to go back and wait by the door when she glanced at the floor. It looked like something had spilled there, soaking deep into the concrete. It was a rusty color, and she wondered if the strawberries had leaked, then crouched down to get a closer look. Staring at the floor, her brain registered what it was, even if she didn’t want to believe it. This wasn’t a stain from strawberries, or anything else growing in the greenhouse. It looked like a bloodstain.

Chapter 31

When she heard the door open, Molly froze. Someone had seen her from the house. Maybe Mrs. Jackson had arrived for work, and now that the rain was tapering off and the storm was moving away, she’d come looking for her. Or Alice could have returned. She wouldn’t have heard her car over the din of the storm. Still crouched on the floor, Molly peeked under the table. All she could see was black slacks tucked into black Wellington boots.

“I know you’re here,” Brenda’s voice called out. Molly cursed softly under her breath. It was the lady of the manor, the last person she wanted to see. She must have come home while she was lost in the garden. Molly knew she wouldn’t be in a welcoming mood. “I saw you from the window right before the storm hit. You can come out now.”

Molly stood up slowly and gave Brenda a little wave. “I came by to see you,” she lied. “I heard about Giles and wanted to see if you needed anything, but no one was home so I took a stroll in the garden and then it started to rain . . .” Her voice trailed away. Brenda was walking toward her and pointing a .38 short-barreled gun at the center of her chest. “You thought I was an intruder,” Molly said, trying to understand why she was armed.

Brenda pushed the hood of her wet jacket down. “No. I recognized you,” she said.

“Then why are you pointing a gun at me?”

Brenda sighed. “Because you couldn’t leave things alone, could you?” She walked down the aisle, the gun coming closer with every step. “My son may go to prison because of you.”

Molly wasn’t sure what to do. Her worst fear was coming true: Brenda held her personally responsible for Giles’s arrest. But how did she find out Molly had anything to do with it? She decided her best chance was to act innocent and ignorant. “I really have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said.

“Oh, please, drop the act,” Brenda snapped. She wasn’t buying it. “Giles was interviewed by the police this morning and it all came out. His attorney rang me up and told me you exposed Dora as an impostor, and in doing so led the police straight to Giles.”

Molly stood still as her mind raced. She was trying to think of a way out of this situation that didn’t end with her getting shot by an angry mother. The only thing she could think of was to give Brenda a reason to hope.

“I’m sure everything will turn out all right,” Molly said. “If Giles cooperates with the police, they’ll give him a plea deal and let him off with a light sentence . . . or maybe none at all.” She had no idea if plea bargains were offered in the U.K., but hoped they were. “He has a good lawyer, right?”

“Giles has an excellent barrister.” Brenda was so close to Molly now that she could smell her fruity perfume. Or was she smelling the strawberries and flowers? “What I want to know is how you managed to find Penelope when no one else could.”

“Her name is Dora Lang,” Molly said.

“Whatever her name is, you found her, and the police suspect Giles is her accomplice,” Brenda said. “They aren’t going to be satisfied charging him with identity fraud. Oh, no. His lawyer told me they want to go after him for murdering Tiffany. And it’s all your fault.”

Molly felt her own anger begin to grow. “None of this is my fault,” she said. “I’m not the one who stole someone’s identity. The truth is, your son’s fiancée was missing, and I thought I had a lead on her. If she hadn’t been an impostor, you and Giles would have been happy I’d found her. Admit it.”

Brenda lowered the gun a little, and Molly breathed easier.

“True. I would have been pleased,” Brenda said. “I’m most disappointed in her. I thought she was an heiress, and now it turns out she’s a nobody.”

“A nobody who tricked Giles and tempted him with her millions,” Molly said. She knew what she had to do to get out of this mess: lie, lie, lie. “Giles is so trusting. He didn’t know she was pretending to be Penelope Cassidy. They look a lot alike, and people got them mixed up all the time. No one can blame him for being confused. Sure, he might have been suspicious at some point, but he couldn’t be sure it wasn’t Penelope, right? Dora knew her so well it was easy to mislead him.” Her rambling sounded ludicrous even to her ears, but she thought Brenda might be buying it as she lowered her weapon a fraction of an inch lower. “Dora was the one who ran away after Tiffany was murdered,” Molly went hurriedly on. “Giles didn’t run because he wasn’t guilty. I’m sure that will count for something. The police want to arrest someone for Tiffany’s murder. They don’t care if it’s Giles or Dora. What you should do is tell Giles to swear he had absolutely nothing to do with it, stress how he didn’t run away, and try to make it sound like Dora ran because she’s guilty.”

Molly hoped she hadn’t overplayed her hand, but Brenda’s shoulders had relaxed a little, and for a moment she thought she’d gotten away with it. Then suddenly, Brenda raised the gun again.

“You think Giles is guilty, I know you do,” Brenda said. “So do the police.”

“That’s not true,” Molly said, trying to sound offended. “Why would I think he’s guilty?”

“Because you’re a nosy reporter and you like solving crimes. I’ve read your articles. You think you’re smart, but this time you’re in way over your head. It’s a pity you didn’t go back to America with your husband when you had the chance. Now I’ll have to kill you too.”

Molly was stunned. How could she have been so stupid not to see it before? “It was you,” she said. “You killed Tiffany.”

“I had no other choice,” Brenda said. “I did try to reason with her. I suggested she go back to London and leave Giles and Penelope in peace. I told her about their engagement weeks in advance, so she wouldn’t be surprised and could make a graceful exit. But she wouldn’t listen, and I knew if I didn’t do something soon to stop her, she would ruin everything. Giles deserved better than Tiffany, and Penelope was perfect for him. Together, the survival of Channing Hall would be ensured, as well as our family legacy.”

Molly took a micro-step toward her. It was time to go on the offensive. “What legacy? Your husband sold cars for a living,” she said. “You might live in an eighteenth-century manor house, but that doesn’t mean you’re from the original family line that built it. You’re nothing but a commoner.”

Brenda’s jaw clenched. “How dare you? You have no idea what I’ve had to do to keep this place going, and how difficult the last year in particular has been,” she said.

“Because your husband died?”

Brenda smiled, but it wasn’t a friendly smile. She looked like a wicked witch dressed in an Armani pantsuit. “Dear Donnie,” she said. “I’ll tell you about him, then perhaps you’ll understand why I had to take care of matters. He had a gambling addiction, you see, enjoyed betting on the horses. Unfortunately, he was also expert at losing. Over the long years of our marriage, I tried to help him with his addiction. He was in and out of rehab so many times I lost count. But finally, about four years ago, I thought we’d finally succeeded and he was cured. He had a long stretch of being in control, but when he retired two years ago, he started up again, this time behind my back. It went on for over a year, and I had no idea he was gambling away our money. He didn’t confess it to me until he was diagnosed with cancer, and by that point, we were on the verge of bankruptcy.”