Cherringham--The Last Puzzle (11 page)

Jack laughed.

“You know, you haven’t told me where this place is yet?”

Sarah smiled at that. “I know. Not the most pleasant place for you to go on a chilly dawn.”

Because Jack had to be on Mabb’s Hill, to see who showed up.

If anybody does
… she thought.

“Dress warmly,” she said. “And Jack, I’ve sent a text to my pal in London, to check Quentin’s phone record. Going to have to wait until morning. If he can get it at all.”

“Right. Okay. So now — where am I going?”

And then she told him the site of the last clue …

*

Jack pulled his Sprite off the road. He felt the right front tyre sink into a rut. Nothing he couldn’t get out of, he hoped.

He killed the lights.

Stopping here, he’d left himself a bit of a hike, up this hill …

Up Mabb’s Hill, a place of local legend and death, where three witches had met their fate.

Sarah had given him a head start so he could get into position.

He checked he had his phone with him, then wrapped his coat tight.

And now, he walked away from the road and started up what had seemed like a path but was actually just a narrow trail where frost-glazed leaves and small branches crunched under his feet.

He had to wonder …

What if he and Sarah were wrong?

What if the whole puzzling matter of Quentin’s death, his secret visitors the week before — and then that last night when someone came to see him — what if it meant nothing?

No one plotting to work together.

No one wanting Quentin dead so they could get to the amazing cash.

And while now they had something, a bit of evidence, what they really needed was to catch two people in the act.

Would two competing heirs, each given a different bit of the solution, somehow show up on Mabb’s Hill?

Only if they broke the rules and put their pieces together.

So much for those heirs ‘competing’ against each other …

Sarah had sent them all a different piece of the puzzle. Any two pieces … should lead them to Mabb’s.

That is … if they were working together …

He felt achy climbing up to the great hill that overlooked Cherringham. No sun up yet, but the sky to the east had started to shift from an inky blackness to a deep, dark blue.

Couldn’t think of more spooky place to be,
Jack thought.

And knowing what legend said had happened here, he could feel something ancient, evil.

Then he looked for a hiding place … well away from the centre of the hill and the circle of stones that marked this as a historic, even mystical site. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to hide up here in the line of duty.

Then he remembered a place.

There was a fat tree just where the hill started to slope down.

Perfect.

He hurried there and crouched down behind the trunk — again his bones aching in response.

And waited.

The sky lightened a bit more.

But other than that — so quiet up here. No small animals hopping about, no birds screaming at the sky to wake everyone up.

His steady breathing in and out making small clouds.

And, all alone, he had trouble shaking off his doubts.

Thinking:
we got it wrong.

Sometimes when the evidence wasn’t there — despite all the odd circumstances — there could be nothing.

Then — from below he saw a pair of headlights racing around the curvy road that led this way.

The car’s lights occasionally vanishing behind tall hedges so that only their glow was visible, then reappearing, like animal eyes in the night.

Coming right here,
he thought
.

Until he saw the car take a loop that would bring it right to the foot of the hill — away from Jack’s hidden Sprite.

Lights on one moment, then off.

But not before he watched
two
people step outside of the car, dark shadows barely visible against the ever-lightening sky.

Well,
Jack thought.
There we are.

Only way two people would show up here, now, was if they had put together their mysterious pieces of the clue that fell out of the sky.

Because they were working together all along …

Now — all they had to do was come up.

Walk around the stones.

Find that one special stone — and they would have the answer to the Last Puzzle.

And Jack would see it all.

He pulled his coat close, his leather gloves barely keeping his hands warm and waited as the two people trudged their way up Mabb’s Hill.

Sarah had tumbled into such a deep sleep that only Chloe, tapping her shoulder — as she had asked her daughter to do in a note stuck on the fridge — finally got her to rouse.

“Hmm,” she said, blinking.

“Mum — you said to wake you.”

“Oh, right.”

She smiled at Chloe who smiled back.

All was well with the world
.
Then a sudden worry.

“Hey — shouldn’t you be in school?”

“It’s Easter holidays, Mum — remember?”

“Of course, love. Sorry — been so busy …”

“You properly awake?” Chloe asked, a doubtful grin on her face.

Sarah nodded, then sat up — though falling back between the warm sheets seemed irresistible.

But she wanted to do some last-minute digging after Jack had texted her.

What more could she learn before the meeting in Tony’s office?

Could she get that phone number from her friend in London?

Tony had been alerted, Alan — Cherringham’s lone policeman — as well.

So the only surprises would be for the quartet who showed up for the end of this game.

She was still in her clothes, all rumpled now.

A few minutes to run a comb through her hair, grab a coffee on the run.

Then, after gathering all she had found, heading to Tony’s office.

And as tired as she was, she knew that by the time it all started, she’d be completely wide-awake.

Halfway out the door — her phone vibrated in her hand.

*

Tony Standish sat at his desk.

One by one, Sarah watched the potential heirs walk in.

Each said nothing, just a nod to one or the other, before sitting down.

The carer, the spy, the lover, the brother …

And Sarah saw that — as each sat down — Tony looked up, gave them a quick smile, then went back to the papers on his desk.

Finally Quentin’s brother Patrick cleared his throat.

“Shouldn’t we be getting on with this, Mr. Standish?”

Tony looked up again.

He’s clearly enjoying this,
she thought.

“Oh, we shall Mr. Andrews. Two little matters. First, it is not yet …”

Tony pointed to the massive wall clock over his desk, an emblematic item for someone who billed by the hour, Sarah imagined.

“The right time, still only eleven twenty. A few minutes more, as you can see.” Then Tony let his smile fade.

“And one of our designated ‘observers’ is not here.”

At this, all eyes went to the sixth and empty chair off to the side.

Sarah hoped that Jack hadn’t given in to the temptation to lie down.

But then she heard his voice outside the office, saying a loud ‘good morning’ to Tony’s secretary … and she knew she had nothing to worry about.

He wouldn’t miss this for anything …

He entered the room quickly, smiling at everyone as he took his chair.

“Sorry, folks. Running a bit late this morning. Busy night.”

So funny …

“Not a problem, Jack. We still have,” another look at the clock — “another minute left.”

“Good,” Jack said, rubbing his hands together.

And like the cat about to eat a whole bunch of canaries, Jack sat back, folded his hands together, and waited for those last sixty seconds to run out.

*

Then … Tony stood up.

“Dear friends of Mr. Quentin Andrews. The deadline has fallen, and it is time to reveal which one of you, if any, has won Mr. Andrews’ substantial fortune.”

He picked up one envelope, and used a thin, slivery letter opener to neatly slice the top open and pull out a sheet of paper.

“Ah, Ms. Emma Carter. And I see, yes, you have all the squares filled in. But, well, many are quite clearly incorrect.”

Emma looked from Sarah, then to her the others. “Lots of guesses, mostly. Marty and me, just guessing.”

“Sorry,” Tony said. Then, more brightly, “Next …”

Another slice, and another sheet unfolded. “Mr. Patrick Andrews. And well, hmm … looks
nearly
perfect.” Then Tony looked up. “Save for the clue in the centre. ‘Confusion’ is the answer you have?”

Patrick nodded. “Yeah, cos I was bloody confused.”

“Sad to say it is not correct. So close …”

“Bollocks,” Patrick said. “This whole thing is—”

Tony put up a hand.

“We can discuss any complaints you might have with your brother’s process when we’re done. Agreed?”

“If you mean me taking legal action afterwards … agreed.”

Sarah looked over at Jack. Still in his same position.

Two envelopes left.

From the last two heirs.

If anyone looked over, they’d see no sign from Jack that he knew … or expected what was to happen.

“Onwards,” Tony said. And he picked up a third envelope.

*

Envelope three opened, and Tony scrutinised the crossword puzzle. “From Mr. James Carlisle, and sadly — that central clue space is
empty
.” He looked up, right at Carlisle. “Must have been a tricky one, hmm?”

“Not my kind of puzzle,” Carlisle said back, as affably as if he had merely misplaced his coat check.

Tony picked up the last envelope, and held it up like a cleaver. “Only one left. Shall we see what will be happening to dear Mr. Andrews’ fortune?”

No one said anything.

Though Sarah felt everyone shift in their seats as the letter opener made its quick tearing noise.

Tony unfolded.

“Oh my,” he said.

Again silence. Sarah looked over at Jack.

Had something gone wrong?”

Finally in what must have clearly been a theatrical move by Tony, he looked up, gesturing with the finished crossword puzzle.

“From Ms. Tricia Guard. A
perfect
solution.”

All eyes turned to the glamorous woman, who acknowledged her ‘win’ with a serene nod.

“And that means that Mr. Quentin Andrew’s entire estate will go to Ms. Guard, post-haste, including all funds, all properties, as per the will.”

Which is when Jack finally unfolded his hands, cleared his throat, and stood up.

“Not so fast, Tony …”

And as if a major actor in a drama had somehow appeared in the last row of the orchestra, everyone craned around to look back at Jack.

Who was not above some theatrics himself.

*

“’Fraid we have a few problems here.”

“What Jack — do tell?”

“Oh, God,” Tricia Guard said, “Leave it to an American to have
questions
.” The woman turned back to Tony. “We are done here, yes? Can we get on with it?”

“Oh –” Tony said, “I think we have time to hear what my good friend Jack has to say …”

“Thanks, Tony. So, as observers, Sarah and I were able to learn a few things …”

Sarah looked over at Emma, sitting here alone. On her way in, she’d seen Marty sitting in the reception area alone. Banished from the confidential inner sanctum of Tony’s office.

Sarah felt bad for the carer, who had been put in such a difficult spot.

“First, thanks to Emma, we know that some of you … I’m guessing …
all
of you had met with Quentin and learned about this will.” Jack nodded. “With none of you too happy about that.”

“I thought …” Patrick said, “that he told only me?”

“Thought wrong,” Jack said. “But see … it seems as though someone went back for another visit.”

Pin dropping time, Sarah thought.

Jack was so good at this.

“Someone here wanted another … chat with Mr. Andrews. That person even arranged for Marty Kane to pick up Emma Carter early. Clearing the decks, so to speak.”

Jack looked around the room. “Only when that person showed up, it wasn’t any ‘chat’ she wanted.”

At the word ‘she’ Sarah could feel everyone in the room straighten up in their chairs and then turn … to look right at Tricia Guard.

Which is when Jack walked over to her, sitting in the chair. “Now, isn’t that right Tricia?”

“I don’t have a bloody idea what you are talking about.”

“I’m afraid you do. See, Marty told me how
you
asked him to pick Emma up early that day. Money talks, hmm?”

“This is ridiculous.”

Sarah watched Jack as he turned to face the room, his back to the woman.

With timing like this, he would have made a great lawyer,
she thought.

“And afterwards, with the death looking completely like an accident, would they ever tell anyone?”

Now Jack turned back to Tricia Guard: “Guess … you thought you were perfectly safe, Ms. Guard?”

“Stupid Yank.”

She sat there for a moment as if the accusation could go away.

“You were the last person to see Mr. Andrews alive. Only one reason you would neglect to tell the police that … because you did all you could do to trigger a heart attack for Quentin Andrews. Maybe said things, about how he betrayed you for his wife? Something like that.”

“God. So he had an
attack
. The old man died. No law broken there.”

Jack nodded, then looked around the room as if there might be some merit in what she just said.

“Except — you moved those pills of his. Put them on the table. They’re running prints on them right now.”

“I’ve never heard such nonsense!”

“I guess one thing we’ll never know for sure — did you have to hold him down Ms. Guard? That frail, old man. Did he beg for the pills? Reach for them …?”