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- Herausgeber: Allison & Busby
- Kategorie: Krimi
- Sprache: Englisch
When Juno Browne purchased a car for her lover, Daniel Thorncroft, she was not expecting that the previous owner would lock a dead body in the boot. Who the dead man could be is a persistent question, as is the whereabouts of the seller, Amber Horrell. While Inspector Ford and the Ashburton police are on the case, Juno's insatiable curiosity and concern for the missing Amber lead her to start sleuthing on her own. It turns out that the Horrells, Amber's family, are notorious in this corner of Devon, with an ancient murder and vanishing red diamond in their past and a shady antiques business very much in their present. With a second murder, Juno's involvement in the investigation becomes more complicated and the line between reality and fiction also become blurred. But the truth, she discovers, is far more complicated than it seems.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025
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3
How to Get Murdered in Devon
STEPHANIE AUSTIN4
5
For Sue Tingey 6
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
‘There’s a body in the boot of my car.’
I considered this joke in very poor taste. Just because I’ve discovered the odd corpse myself. ‘That’s not remotely funny,’ I said.
There was a pause at the end of the line. Daniel sounded breathless. He repeated his words deliberately, weighing each one with care. ‘There is a body in the boot of my car.’
I realised he wasn’t joking. ‘When you say body, you mean …?’
‘A dead one, yes.’
I struggled to make sense of what he was saying. I’d dropped him off at his car barely fifteen minutes before, outside Moorview Farm. I’d only just got back through the door of Old Nick’s. ‘Have you phoned the police?’
‘Of course. They’re on their way. Now I’m phoning you.’
‘Where are you?’ I knew there was no phone signal at the farmhouse. ‘You must have run down the hill.’
‘I didn’t fancy driving, obviously.’
The sarcasm didn’t fool me. I know the man I love, 8and I could hear how shaken he was. ‘Daniel, are you sure this person is dead?’
‘Oh yes,’ he answered softly.
‘I’m coming straight back.’
‘If you could, Miss B. The police will want to talk to you anyway.’
‘I’ll be there in a few minutes,’ I promised him.
‘I’m going to have to go,’ he told me. ‘I can see a police car coming. I’d better get back to the farmhouse. Meet them there.’
The line went dead. I shoved my phone back into my bag and swept up my keys from the counter, where I had dropped them a minute before. ‘I’ve got to go.’
Sophie looked up reproachfully from the painting she was working on. ‘It’s Friday, Juno. You haven’t forgotten I’ll be going in a little while?’ She’d be off to catch her bus to Cardiff soon, to spend the weekend with her boyfriend who was at university in St Davids. She’d come in early to open up the shop as a favour to me. I was supposed to be in charge today. Pat, busy at the animal sanctuary she helps to run, couldn’t do Fridays.
‘It’s okay, Soph. Just put the closedsign on the door if I’m not back before you go.’
She arched her dark brows quizzically, as if finally taking in the fact something was wrong. ‘Are you alright?’
‘I’ve got to go back to the farmhouse. There’s a problem with Daniel’s car.’
She frowned. ‘The one you just bought him?’
‘Yes, that’s the one,’ I called back as I headed for the door. The car I’d just bought him.9
We weren’t even due to pick the dratted vehicle up until later in the day, but our plans began to go awry before Daniel had even arrived for the weekend. He was booked on a flight direct from Donegal to Exeter. Not the friendliest way for an environmentalist to travel, I admit, but the train–ferry–train journey just took too long for a weekend trip. By the time he made it to Ashburton, it would be time for him to turn around and go back again. I was supposed to have collected him at the airport at five yesterday afternoon. We had tickets for a concert in the evening. But an accident on the road from Inishowen meant he missed his flight from Donegal and there wasn’t another direct one that day. The best alternative was for him to board a flight to Bristol and then take the train down to Devon. In the end, I picked him up at Newton Abbot railway station at close on midnight. We’d both missed the concert. I didn’t fancy going on my own.
I raced back up the hill to Halsanger Common, making Van Blanc take the twisting narrow lanes as fast as I dared. One day soon I must do something about Van Blanc. Trying to run two businesses and having a plain white van was a waste of advertising space. But which one should I advertise? Or should I have Old Nick’s Antiques and Collectibles painted on one side of it, and Juno Browne, Domestic Goddess on the other? I couldn’t make up my mind. But right now, I had more important things to think about.
The glowing green leaves of summer, the flickering sunlight and lush, frothy hedgerows, which had delighted me on my leisurely drive down the hill, 10whizzed by unnoticed now. I was worried about Daniel. It must have been a shock opening up that boot and discovering, well, whoever it was. He had never found a dead body before, whereas I had a nasty reputation for finding them. Could this all be an elaborate hoax, I wondered as I hammered up the hill, someone’s idea of a not-at-all-amusing joke?
The common opened up around me, and I brought Van Blanc to a jerky halt at the end of the track leading to Moorview Farm. I could see two police cars parked outside the farmhouse. The old stone building had been almost derelict when Daniel inherited it, most of the farmland sold off. Now it stood caged in scaffolding while seemingly endless renovation work went on, and the day when it might be ready for him to live in slipped further and further away. Nearby was the caravan he had bought to stay in while the work went on; but that was before a shortage of funds forced him to take a job in Ireland to pay for it all.
The car I had bought him a few days before, a dark grey Volkswagen Bora – old, reliable and cheap – was being guarded by a nervous-looking constable in uniform. The boot, I noticed, was tightly shut. It would remain shut, I imagined, until the divisional surgeon arrived to examine its grisly contents. A second officer was busy unreeling tape with do not crossprinted on it, one end tied to the gatepost. As I climbed out of the van he strode towards me, about to give me the I’m-sorry-madam-you-can’t-come-in-here routine, when a voice hailed me from the door of the caravan. Detective Constable Dean Collins waved as he jogged down 11the path. ‘It’s alright, Charlie, let her in,’ he told his uniformed colleague. ‘Hello, Juno. Daniel said you’d be on your way.’
‘Where is he? Is he alright?’
‘He’s a bit shaken up, but he’s okay.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘He’s not like you, always discovering dead bodies.’
‘Not always,’ I responded indignantly. ‘I’ve only found the odd one, occasionally.’
‘It’s not catching, is it?’ he asked, his grin fading. ‘Your lover boy’s not going to turn into a sleuth as well?’
I decided to ignore this. An amateur detective was the last thing Daniel would want to turn into. We’ve broken up before because of my investigating activities. He’s always hated my tendency to poke my nose in where it wasn’t wanted, begged me to stick to safer behaviour like dog-walking and selling antiques. ‘So, where is he?’
‘In the caravan there, telling the boss all about it.’
‘He’ll want to see me after?’
‘The boss will, yeah. Meantime,’ he said as opened the door of a police car, ‘why don’t we sit inside and you tell me what happened. Off the record.’
Off the record perhaps. Dean and I might be friends – in fact, I was godmother to his daughter Alice – but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be comparing what I said to him now with whatever I told Inspector Ford later. I slid into the back seat, and he sat in the front and turned around to look at me. ‘So, first off, tell me about this car.’
‘Okay. Well, Daniel’s been coming backwards and forwards between here and his job in Ireland for the 12last few months, as you know, whenever he can take the time off. He usually grabs a quick flight and leaves his car behind in Inishowen. But he decided it would be useful to have his own set of wheels to drive when he’s here. It would save him borrowing my van. If he’s here on weekdays, I need it myself for getting about between clients.’
Dean nodded patiently, waiting for me to get to the relevant bit.
‘He didn’t want to spend a lot. We thought we’d look for something this weekend at the car auction in Exeter. Then one day last week, I saw this car parked in Ashburton with a for salesign in the window.’
‘This car over here?’ He pointed to the Bora.
I nodded. ‘The price was right and it had recently passed its MOT, so I called the phone number and arranged to see the owner.’
‘When was this?’
‘Monday. She had moved it by then, had the car at her house. So, after I’d finished work for the day, I drove up to see it.’
‘Where?’
‘Not far from here, a big place on the road to Bag Tor. Langworthy Hall, it’s called.’
‘And who was the owner?’
‘It was Julian Horrell.’
‘Hang on,’ he stopped me, frowning. ‘Where do I know that name from? Antiques dealer, isn’t he?’
‘Antiques and fine art. He had a shop in Buckfastleigh, part of a family firm. He specialised in country house sales.’13
Dean grinned. ‘You mean he sells proper antiques, not like the rubbish you sell.’
I ignored this slur on Old Nick’s. ‘He did. If you remember, Julian Horrell died last year.’
He nodded. ‘Accident, wasn’t it? Turned over his quad bike. Broke his neck. So, who does the place belong to now?’
‘His daughter, Amber. The estate’s just been through probate. She didn’t want to keep his car.’
‘Right. So, when you went to see it, you looked in the boot, did you?’
‘Of course I did!’ I answered indignantly. ‘And under the bonnet and underneath the car. And I took it for a test drive.’ Honestly, what did he take me for?
Dean held up his hands in surrender. ‘Alright, keep your hair on! And this was on Monday?’
‘Yes, and there was no dead body in the boot then.’ A horrible thought occurred to me. ‘It’s not Amber in there, is it?’
He shook his head. ‘No. It’s a male.’
‘Thank God! Sorry,’ I corrected myself, ‘whoever it is, it’s horrible, but I’m glad it’s not her.’ I’d only met Amber briefly. She seemed a complete nutcase but I’d liked her. ‘How did he die?’
‘I can’t tell you that.’ I gave him a cynical look and he added, ‘We don’t know yet. Not until the doctor arrives. Any road …’ He cleared his throat as he changed the subject. ‘What happened then?’
‘I took some photos of the car and phoned the details through to Daniel. He said if I was happy with its condition, we should grab it. He paid for it straight away 14by bank transfer. Amber and I sorted out the paperwork. The plan was for me to drive Daniel up to her house later today so he could pick it up. But then …’
Dean frowned at my hesitation. ‘What?’
‘I thought this was odd at the time,’ I admitted. ‘I got a text on my phone yesterday, from Amber. She said the car had been delivered here at the farmhouse and the keys were under the wheel arch. That was all. I thought the message was a bit abrupt, but I assumed she must have had to go away unexpectedly.’ I shrugged. ‘She could’ve just left the car at Langworthy Hall and we could have picked it up from there. She needn’t have bothered to deliver it.’
‘You didn’t see her again?’
I shook my head. ‘I tried calling her as soon as I got her text, but her phone was off. I drove up here to rescue the car keys. I checked the handbook and the paperwork were in the glove compartment. I didn’t bother to look in the boot again.’
‘No.’ Dean puffed out his cheeks. ‘Pity, really.’
Langworthy Hall was a rambling Devon longhouse with low white walls, a golden thatch and mullioned windows. I’d tried to stifle a groan of envy as I drew Van Blanc to a halt outside the gate on that Monday evening. The garden full of foxgloves, and the roses hanging in clusters of apricot blooms over the roof of the tiny thatched porch, didn’t help much either. Amber Horrell had inherited this. All I’d inherited was a run-down antique shop with a grotty flat above it, and I was lucky to get that. But any inclination I might have had 15to hate her guts evaporated when she opened the door and greeted me with a warm and radiant smile.
Hers was a lively face set beneath a fringe of short blondish hair. She had the straight nose, wide cheekbones, fine jawline and long, smooth neck that the gods don’t give out very often, and large, speaking brown eyes. She was a bit younger than me, late twenties at most. She wore leggings and a silk waistcoat, and, hanging from one ear, a complicated earring composed of what looked like metal clock parts. ‘The famous Juno Browne!’ she cried, as she flung back the door. ‘I’ve read about you in the Dartmoor Gazette.’
There are times when I could cheerfully murder the Dartmoor Gazette and all who sail in her. ‘Don’t believe all you read,’ I warned her.
‘But I want to,’ she insisted with a gurgle of laughter. ‘And I love your hair!’ Everyone does, except me. ‘Is that red natural?’ she asked.
‘I’m afraid so,’ I replied – as was its unruly nature. I decided the sooner we turned our attention to the car, the better. ‘Can I take a look?’ I could see the Bora parked across the lane. I could also see what looked like another acre or two of garden, just to ramp up the envy stakes. And there was a quaint cottage in that garden, not much bigger than a summerhouse. ‘That’s sweet,’ I said. ‘Looks like a gingerbread house.’
‘My granny used to live there,’ she told me, leading the way to the car. ‘But it’s been empty for years now.’
After I’d given the vehicle a thorough once-over, Amber let me take it for a test drive. I told her she could keep Van Blanc as a hostage till my return. The Bora 16was old but behaved perfectly, and I phoned Daniel as soon as I arrived back at Langworthy Hall. He decided we should go ahead with the deal. I was pleased, and a bit surprised, that he trusted my judgement. Men can be fussy about cars.
Amber invited me in for coffee while we sorted out the paperwork. I didn’t refuse the offer. I was longing for a look inside that longhouse and I wasn’t disappointed. The walls were crooked and plastered white, faded rugs covered its ancient flagstones. Above my head, the ceiling sloped and sagged with age. Some of the supporting beams had come from a wrecked galleon, Amber told me, which meant the building must have been at least five hundred years old. The evening sun, slanting through mullioned windows, cast fingers of light on the oak wainscot and glowed on copper pans hanging by the inglenook fireplace, an old bread oven built into its wall. In the hall, a grandfather clock ticked away the centuries, giving the whole place an atmosphere of measured calm.
The room Amber showed me into was cheerfully untidy, two bulging carrier bags dumped against a wall spilling quantities of fabric onto the floor, a nearby table scattered with sheaves of paper. She pointed to an elderly drop-end sofa, inviting me to sit, which eventually I did. But first I enjoyed the moments when she was busy in the kitchen to look around.
This had been Julian Horrell’s home and he had been an antiques dealer – so I had to assume the heavy silver candlesticks on either end of the mantlepiece were genuinely William III, and the Delftware plate in 17the middle of the shelf dated back to the seventeenth century and was worth a lot of money. Thank God I didn’t have the responsibility of dusting it. A lacquered Chinese cabinet stood in one corner, its doors inlaid with mother-of-pearl and folded back to show me rows of ingenious little drawers just begging to be teased open and pried into; but I kept my itching fingers to myself.
On the wall above the cabinet, an eighteenth-century lady stared down at me from a heavy gilt frame. She was dressed fashionably in a silk gown with a low-necked bodice and bunches of foaming lace at her elbows, a large ruby glinting at her throat. But the interesting thing about her was that she was obviously not European. Brown-skinned and black-eyed, she stared out from her frame with a kind of wary defiance. Curious, I went for a closer look. It was then I noticed a marble bust sitting in a deep windowsill, the head of a Roman emperor sporting a leather flying-helmet and goggles. I decided this must be Amber’s touch.
An elderly brown spaniel appeared in the kitchen doorway, his tail waving slowly, his claws clicking as he plodded across the stone-flagged floor towards me. I was forced to turn away from the emperor to make his acquaintance. He gazed up at me questioningly, his brown eyes ringed with grey-flecked fur. I sat down and smoothed his noble head.
‘That’s Ben.’ Amber came in carrying two coffee mugs and placed them on an iron-bound chest that looked as if it was made for pirate treasure. It was currently doing duty as a table, sheets of paper slewed across the top of it, covered in drawings of people in Victorian costume. 18Some had snippets of fabric pinned to one corner.
‘Are you a costume designer?’ I asked as she gathered them up.
‘Fashion is my passion,’ she responded with a self-mocking smile. She gathered up her designs and laid them carefully on a side table. ‘But not my job,’ she carried on cheerfully. ‘I am trapped in the family firm.’ She plumped down beside me on the sofa, kicked off an expensive-looking pair of spike-heeled ankle boots and curled her legs underneath her. Ben collapsed beside her on the rug.
‘I was sorry to hear about your father,’ I said.
She just shrugged her shoulders. I didn’t know what to say then, how to respond to her display of indifference. I sipped coffee. ‘Does Mrs Horrell live here too?’ I asked. I couldn’t believe she lived in this rambling place by herself.
She gave a crack of laughter. ‘No, thank God! Anita ran off with her yoga instructor when I was fourteen. Left us to get on with it.’ She paused suddenly, her thoughts turned inward. ‘Poor Dad, he was devastated. I haven’t spoken to her since. She didn’t even turn up for his funeral. Anyway,’ she announced, brightening, ‘I want to know about you. You took over that old junk shop in Shadow Lane, didn’t you? It used to belong to some foreign man.’ She clicked her fingers, searching for his name.
‘Mr Nikolai,’ I supplied for her. ‘Everyone called him Old Nick.’
She nodded. ‘It was a really creepy, run-down old place. When we were kids, we were frightened to walk 19past there. It looks lovely now,’ she added hastily.
‘It ought to, after what I’ve spent on it.’
‘Dad said he was a crook,’ Amber ventured.
‘Dad was right.’
She hugged her knees. ‘Is it true he was murdered? I was working in London at the time and I missed all the gory details.’
I could have told her she was lucky to have missed them. But then, I’d found his body. He might have been a crook, but I’d been fond of Old Nick. I’d taken him on as a client of Domestic Goddess, my home-help business. When he was killed, I was astonished to discover he’d left the shop to me. Why he’d done so, I’ve never really worked out. ‘Yes, he was murdered.’
‘And is that what started you off on all your sleuthing?’ she asked enthusiastically.
This kind of conversation makes me uncomfortable. ‘It wasn’t intentional.’
‘Sorry!’ she said, picking up on my discomfort. ‘I’m being a pain. Of course, it’s not just antiques any more, is it?’ she went on, going back to the shop. ‘You sell all sorts, arts and crafts and stuff.’
‘Sophie sells her artwork,’ I explained. ‘And Pat makes crafts to raise money for Honeysuckle Farm – you know, the animal sanctuary? She runs it with her sister and brother-in-law. I sell antiques, well, mostly junk,’ I admitted, ‘from the storeroom at the back. I shouldn’t describe it as junk really. I do sell some quality items, when I can buy them cheap enough.’
Amber’s mobile phone, which up until now had been lying on the chest, began to buzz and vibrate. She 20glanced at the display and grimaced in distaste. ‘He can wait,’ she pronounced, refusing the call.
‘And talking of antiques,’ I said, patting the iron-bound chest, ‘this is an amazing thing. It must take two men to lift it.’
‘Actually, it takes four,’ she told me laughing. ‘It’s been in our family for centuries.’ The phone rang again and she rolled her eyes. ‘Sorry. I’m going to have to take this.’ She got up and wandered into the kitchen. ‘For God’s sake, Peter!’ I heard her complain as I sipped my coffee. ‘I’ve told you the answer is no! I don’t care. I don’t want anybody here …’ There was a long pause while she listened. ‘I’m not selling! I don’t care. How many more times do I have to say it? And you don’t have to keep checking up on me every five minutes. I’ll be there in the morning, okay? First thing … no, I haven’t … Yes, I promise. Look, I’ve got someone here about Dad’s car … Tomorrow. Yes. For God’s sake … Goodbye.’
She wandered back into the room and threw her phone down on the lid of the chest with more force than was probably good for it. ‘Treats me like a child,’ she muttered. ‘Sorry about that.’ She smiled bitterly. ‘My Uncle Peter is a royal pain in the arse. He’s just checking to see I’m going to turn up at work tomorrow.’
‘You work for him at Horrell’s Antiques?’
‘For my sins.’ She came to sit, running a hand through her short, spiky hair. ‘Where were we?’
‘You were telling me about this chest.’
‘It’s quite a story …’ she began, but stopped suddenly. A noise came from above our heads, a muffled thump 21and the creak of floorboards. I looked up in surprise and she followed the direction of my gaze. ‘There’s no one up there,’ she told me, a little too hastily. ‘Except for the ghost.’
I laughed. ‘Really?’
‘No, not really. This house is full of creaks and groans.’ She hesitated, and then a moment later, turned our conversation back to the chest. ‘It’s got four locks,’ she pointed out.
There were certainly four chunky lock-plates, but only two of the keyholes had keys in them. ‘Why four?’ I asked. But before she could reply, the grandfather clock delicately chimed the half hour, and she looked at her watch. This was obviously my cue to depart. The warmth had gone out of our conversation anyway, the mood ruined by the call from Uncle Peter. I left shortly after, promising to return with Daniel on Friday and pick up the car.
As I opened the door of Van Blanc, I turned back to look at Langworthy Hall.
I almost expected to see a ghostly face at an upstairs window, peering at me through the mullioned glass. Amber might have insisted we were alone in the house, but I wasn’t sure I believed her. Because when I had looked up at that noise from above, Ben the spaniel had raised his head from the rug and had waved his plumy tail, in recognition.
CHAPTER TWO
I told all this to Inspector Ford when I was eventually summoned to the caravan, a few minutes after Daniel had been escorted out of it into a waiting police car. It was obvious we weren’t going to be given a chance to talk to each other until the police had taken our separate statements. I saw the car drive off as if they were taking him away.
‘Where is he going?’ I demanded, as soon as I got inside the caravan.
‘My officer is giving him a lift into Ashburton.’ Inspector Ford smiled as he gestured for me to sit. ‘I’m sure you’ll catch up with each other later.’ The inspector is unfailingly polite, even if, like Daniel, he disapproves of my sleuthing activities. But then, I have helped him catch a few criminals.
The caravan was snug inside. He and I sat on opposing banquettes with the put-up table between us, trying not to nudge each other’s knees. He listened to me in thoughtful silence, arms folded across his broad chest, as if he was trying to make himself as small as possible. Detective Sergeant Christine deVille, a.k.a. 23Cruella, sat beside him and scratched away on her notepad. Dean Collins and one of the uniforms had already been despatched to Langworthy Hall in search of Amber. She wasn’t answering her phone.
‘This text you received about the car being moved,’ the inspector asked, ‘you’re sure it came from Miss Horrell?’
I pulled my phone from my bag, found the message and showed it to him. He studied it for a moment. ‘Thank you. Now, as far as you could tell, when you talked to her on Monday evening, she seemed happy enough? She didn’t strike you as at all worried or upset?’
‘Quite the opposite. She seemed happy and eager to chat, at least until the phone rang. She took a call from her Uncle Peter …’
‘Peter Horrell?’ the inspector cut in. ‘He’s related to Julian Horrell, a cousin I believe,’ he explained to Cruella, ‘carries on the family firm.’
‘Well, she accused him of checking up on her,’ I went on.
The inspector grunted. ‘Probably with good reason.’
‘Oh?’
‘Shall we just say Miss Horrell is not unknown to us.’
I waited, hoping he was going to explain further, but he just said, ‘Carry on, Miss Browne,’ so I did.
‘The conversation on the phone seemed to be about selling something. It was really more of an argument.’
‘You didn’t find out what was for sale?’
‘No. Except whatever it was, Amber seemed adamant she didn’t want to sell it. Then, soon afterwards, we heard the noise from upstairs.’24
‘Which you’re convinced was caused by someone up there?’
‘I don’t believe it was a ghost,’ I told him frankly.
Cruella took the opportunity to look up from her notepad, flicking back her bob of dark hair and favouring me with one of her killer glares. I smiled sweetly.
‘Tell me, once she had delivered the car here yesterday,’ the inspector went on, oblivious of our silent exchange of mutual loathing, ‘would it have been possible for her to walk back to Langworthy Hall?’
I nodded. ‘It can’t be more than a couple of miles.’
‘She wouldn’t have needed a lift then, someone to drive her back there?’
‘Not unless she was in a hurry.’ I hesitated for a moment. ‘You’re wondering if there was someone else with her when she delivered the car?’ I thought for a moment. ‘What you’re really asking is whether she could have put that body in the boot on her own, aren’t you? Or whether she would have needed an accomplice.’
The inspector gave me one of those long, searching stares which I try not to find intimidating. ‘Is that what I’m asking you, Miss Browne?’
‘Well, if that is what you are asking …’ I’d started digging a hole, so I thought I might as well keep going. ‘Then the answer is no. I wouldn’t have thought her big and strong enough to heave the weight of a dead body into the boot on her own.’ The truth was, I was having difficulty imagining Amber murdering anyone, let alone driving a car two miles with a dead person in the back. 25The alternative was that she might be a victim too. I was having difficulty with that as well.
Inspector Ford cleared his throat. ‘Thank you for your observations, Miss Browne. And when you arrived here yesterday morning and saw the car parked outside, there was nothing about it to arouse your suspicions?’
‘No. There was no one else around. And the car looked just as it had when I’d seen it on Monday evening. Of course, if I’d looked in the boot …’
Cruella’s voice cut in sharply. ‘Why did Mr Thorncroft phone you this morning, immediately after he’d phoned us?’
‘Well, obviously, to tell me what he’d found,’ I said, puzzled by this change of direction. ‘And because I was the one who purchased the car. He knew you’d want to speak to me about it.’
Her little mouth twisted. ‘It wasn’t so you could get your stories straight?’
I bit back a laugh. Cruella and I detest each other and she loves to make insinuations. I think she fantasises about seeing me in handcuffs. It seems her resentment also extends itself to Daniel because he and I are lovers. ‘Are you accusing him of something? Or just me?’
‘It’s alright, Miss Browne, you don’t have to answer that question,’ the inspector assured me with a weary sigh. ‘Sergeant deVille was just indulging in a flight of fancy, weren’t you, Sergeant?’ He directed a glance at her from beneath his heavy brows and her tiny mouth shut like a trap. His phone rang at that moment and he pulled it from his pocket.
‘Collins,’ he informed Cruella. ‘Any joy?’ He listened 26in silence for a moment. ‘No sign of her? Right, well get yourself inside there, Collins. We have to assume Miss Horrell could be in some danger. Break in, if you have to.’
He disconnected and shot a glance at me. ‘Thank you, Miss Browne. That’s all the information we need from you for the moment. You can go. Apologise to Mr Thorncroft once again, for his having to cancel his meeting with his builder.’ He nodded through the caravan window in the direction of the Bora and the blue tent the forensic team were constructing around it. ‘I’m afraid an inspection of the renovation work on his farmhouse won’t be possible just now.’
I had to find Daniel. He wasn’t answering his phone. I drove Van Blanc back from Halsanger Common, down the hill and past Belford Mill, an odd, wedge-shaped building local people call ‘the coffin house’, and back into Ashburton. At Great Bridge I crossed the little river Ashburn and turned right, passing a row of old weavers’ cottages and The Victoria Inn, now sadly defunct, and on into North Street. The pavements were busy with shoppers, knots of small children and dogs on leads.
Daniel didn’t have a key to get into my flat, so it was unlikely he would be waiting for me back there. I took a detour into Sunflowers, the café owned by my landlords, to see if he’d turned up there, but neither Kate nor Adam had seen him, so I drove around to Shadow Lane.
He wasn’t waiting outside Old Nick’s either. Unfortunately, Ricky and Morris were. My old friends 27kept a clothes rail in my part of the shop, and had come to replenish their display of vintage clothing, bits and pieces from their vast stock of costumes they could no longer hire out for theatrical purposes. They were also the last people you wanted to bump into when you had information you should keep to yourself. As I parked Van Blanc, Ricky’s tall, rangy figure unfolded itself from their old Saab. It was almost an antique itself. ‘What sort of time do you call this to open a shop?’ he demanded, grinning.
I didn’t answer, just headed for the shop door with the keys in my hand. It was locked. Sophie must have set off for Cardiff already. Ricky began pulling garment bags from the back seat of the car. ‘You been lying about in bed with that bloke of yours?’ he called out, just loud enough for the whole of Ashburton to hear. ‘I suppose we’re lucky you’re opening at all.’
I love Ricky, but there are times I could kill him and this was one. ‘You are lucky, as a matter of fact.’
Morris came puffing after him, his short arms clutching bags trailing scarves and feather boas. ‘Take no notice of him, Juno,’ he recommended, shaking his bald head.
‘Sorry, I got delayed.’ I unlocked the door and flipped on the lights. ‘There’s a problem with Daniel’s car.’
‘What, his new one?’ He dropped a boa and stooped to pick it up. ‘Won’t it go?’
‘I’m pretty sure it’s not going anywhere for the moment.’
I was worried about Amber. I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Was she in danger? Where had she gone? 28Had she really not known there was a dead body in the boot when she’d driven that car the short distance from her place to Moorview Farm? Had whoever killed the man in the boot also killed her? And when Dean Collins broke into Langworthy Hall, what would he find?
It was gloomy in the back room where I sold my antiques. There was only one small window, high up in the wall, and even in the daytime it needed lights on if customers were to stand any chance of seeing what they were buying. I went around flipping switches on a variety of old table lamps. Lamplight was more atmospheric, more suitable to antiques, I always felt, and it didn’t show the dust. The vintage clothes rail was certainly in need of a refill. Someone’s costumed birthday party last week had more or less cleared it out, and empty wire hangers hung from it in a row of forlorn triangles.
‘Mavis could do with a new outfit an’ all,’ Ricky commented, lingering in the hallway. ‘She’s been wearing this green frock for ages.’ Mavis was a mannequin he and Morris had brought into the shop. She stood in the hallway with a sign around her neck pointing the way to Antiques and Vintage Clothes, and taking up a lot of room in the narrow passage, forcing everyone who wanted to go that way to squeeze past her or get poked by her outstretched fingers.
‘The red polka-dot suit should fit her,’ Morris called out to him, dumping all his various bags on a nearby table, and brushing a boa feather from his lips.
Ricky lifted her wig and whispered in her ear. ‘You haven’t put on any weight, have you, Mavis?’29
I used the shop phone to try Daniel’s mobile again, but there was still no answer. ‘I’ll make some coffee,’ I called out, mounting the stairs to Nick’s old kitchen.
‘About time,’ Ricky responded.
‘I’ve brought cake,’ Morris yelled from the back room. Then I could hear him muttering. ‘It’s in one of these bags here somewhere, I know it is.’
The truth was I wanted to be alone for a moment. I wasn’t in the mood for idiocy or banter. I needed time to think. Where had Daniel got to? He hated it when I got involved in murder investigations, hated the thought of me putting myself in danger. Finding that corpse must have been a shock to his system. I just hoped the discovery wasn’t going to lead to arguments, opening up old wounds. At least this time I couldn’t be blamed for finding the body myself. Just for buying the car the damn thing was hidden in. I filled up the kettle. Damn thing, I repeated, chiding myself. The dead body wasn’t a damn thing. It was a someone.
There were voices down in the shop, quick footsteps on the stairs, then Daniel burst into the kitchen. For a moment we stared. Then we fell on one another, clinging together like survivors from a shipwreck. He breathed softly into my hair. ‘That was God-awful, Miss B.’
In spite of myself, I smiled. Miss B. It used to annoy me when he called me that. It’s short for Miss Browne with an e and is a result of his reading about my exploits in the Dartmoor Gazette. Now I recognise it as his most tender term of endearment. If he just calls me Juno, I’m usually in trouble. He pulled back to stare at me, frowning, his dark brows drawn together, searching my 30face. He looked pale, strained, as if the experience of the morning had drained the life out of him. ‘Are you alright?’ he asked.
‘I am now you’re here. Where have you been?’
‘I needed a walk to clear my head.’ He managed a smile. ‘I didn’t remember I’d switched my phone to silent until just now. Sorry.’
‘Where did you go?’
‘Around the lanes towards Cuddyford, more or less where we took the Tribe earlier.’ He’d got up early that morning and accompanied me on my daily dog-walking duties. We’d taken five dogs out to chase about in the sunshine, tails wagging and carefree. It seemed a lifetime ago now.
We were both silent. Neither of us wanted to be the first to mention the corpse in the car. I remembered, with an inward cringe, that one of the reasons we’d liked the Bora was because of its capacious boot. ‘This body …’ I began.
He sat down heavily at the kitchen table, rubbing his face with one hand. ‘I just opened the boot and there he was,’ he said helplessly, ‘staring at me. Just his face. His body was wrapped in some kind of plastic.’ He hesitated a moment, his grey eyes bleak as he remembered. ‘I couldn’t see any obvious sign of injury, but then I didn’t …’ He paused a moment and swallowed. ‘I didn’t want to touch him.’
‘No, of course not. Inspector Ford didn’t give you a hard time, did he?’
‘No, he was very kind.’ For a moment a look of bitter amusement crept into his eyes. ‘But Cruella seems 31to think we’re involved in a criminal conspiracy.’
‘She’ll be loving this! We’ll be her prime suspects.’ I thought for a moment. ‘Are we really suspects, d’you think?’
‘Of course not.’
‘But the circumstances are incriminating. I bought the car. You found the body.’
‘I’m sure they can eliminate us from their enquiries as soon they talk to Amber Horrell.’
‘If they can find her. I’m worried something awful has happened to her.’
There was a knock on the kitchen door. I knew it must be Morris. Ricky would have breezed straight in.
‘Sorry to interrupt you two,’ he said as he entered, carrying a brick-sized object wrapped in tinfoil, ‘but I thought it would be easier to cut the cake up in here. It’s only lemon drizzle,’ he added, almost in apology.
‘Sounds delicious,’ Daniel said manfully. I didn’t suppose he had much appetite for cake right now. I didn’t either, but refusing Morris’s homemade offerings would be like kicking a puppy.
‘I haven’t made the coffee yet,’ I realised.
‘Don’t worry, Juno love, I’ll do it,’ Morris volunteered. ‘You’re needed down in the shop. There’s a lady down there who wants to know the price of a tea caddy and you haven’t got a price label on it.’
‘It must have fallen off,’ I protested. ‘I’m obsessive about labelling. I label everything.’
‘Well, she needs rescuing. Ricky’s trying to talk her into buying a tea set as well and I can see she doesn’t want it. You’d better get down there before she runs away.’32
I cast an apologetic glance at Daniel and headed for the door. As I passed, Morris laid a hand on my arm. ‘Is everything alright?’ he whispered, his blue eyes blinking anxiously over his little round specs.
‘Of course.’ I patted his arm comfortingly and fled downstairs.
I managed to rescue my customer from Ricky. She got off lightly, escaping out of the door with only the tea caddy and not a twenty-four-piece, bone-china tea set to go with it.
Ricky shook his head sadly. ‘You’re a hopeless saleswoman, Princess.’
‘I know,’ I agreed. ‘But I don’t like the hard sell, and anyway I’m not much good at it.’
Morris and Daniel came down into the shop then, bearing coffee and plates of cake. ‘It’s a shame you being stuck in the shop while Daniel’s here,’ Morris said as he handed me my mug.
‘Well, someone’s got to be here,’ I told him. ‘Sophie’s gone away for the weekend to see Seth, and Pat can’t do Fridays, she’s too busy with the animals. Elizabeth has offered to come in tomorrow and I didn’t like to ask her to come in today as well. In any case, she’s seeing her sister in the care home.’
I’d been quite happy to be on duty on Friday morning, because Daniel had arranged to see his project manager up at the farmhouse. In fact, a chance to talk to the builder face to face was the main reason for his coming back from Ireland for a long weekend, apart from seeing me of course. But that plan had been thwarted by the turn of events.33
‘Ricky and I could look after the place for a few hours, couldn’t we?’ Morris volunteered. ‘If you two want to go off together. It’s a lovely day. You should be up on the moor.’ He looked around him as if he’d suddenly noticed something missing. ‘Where’s your dear little whippet, then?’ he asked Daniel. ‘Didn’t you bring her with you?’
He shook his head. ‘Lottie gets terrified on planes. I decided I wouldn’t bring her again unless I’m coming over on the ferry.’ He grinned. ‘She’ll be alright. My landlady back in Inishowen has just got a Labrador pup. He and Lottie are great friends. Anyway,’ he added, ‘it’s easier at Juno’s place if I don’t bring her, because of the cat.’
‘He’s not my cat,’ I objected. Bill belonged downstairs with Kate and Adam. But he decided long ago he owned me as well as the flat I live in, and hasn’t quite adjusted to the idea of sharing me with Lottie when she visits. Which is a shame, because, although I love Bill dearly, I also love Lottie and I miss her when Daniel leaves her behind.
Ricky wasn’t interested in pet-talk. ‘Yeah, take the day off.’ He swept a disparaging arm around the objects in the room. ‘Give us a chance to shift some of this old tat.’
‘That’s a very kind offer.’ Daniel raised his brows at me in a querying glance. ‘Why not?’
Much as I would have loved the opportunity to flee up onto the moor with Daniel, I had my reservations. I’d left Ricky and Morris in charge of the shop before and they couldn’t resist rearranging things. I didn’t care 34about my own stuff, they could mess about with it as much as they liked, but Sophie and Pat weren’t too keen on their stock being interfered with. Admittedly, the men’s flair for design meant everything looked more professionally arranged after their interventions, and they always managed to sell more in a day than we did. But that was usually because they couldn’t resist buying things for themselves. ‘Well,’ I began weakly. I was saved from going further by the bell on the shop door, which jangled annoyingly.
The door did not open to admit a likely customer, but Detective Sergeant Cruella deVille, accompanied by an officer in uniform. ‘I’d like a few words with you, Mr Thorncroft,’ she told Daniel, not bothering with subtle niceties like hello or how are you feeling after your terrible experience? She swept a scorching violet glare around the rest of us. ‘Perhaps somewhere less crowded.’
‘Kitchen?’ Daniel suggested, looking at me. I nodded, but by then Cruella was already leading the way up the stairs. He followed her, and after a moment we heard the door shut firmly behind them.
Ricky leant forward in his chair. ‘Right, Princess,’ he asked softly. ‘What’s up? Bog Man looks as if he’s seen a ghost.’
I opened my mouth to tell him not to refer to Daniel as Bog Man, but shut it again because I knew that would only make him do it all the time. ‘There’s some trouble with his car,’ I said weakly.
His eyes narrowed in suspicion. ‘Cruella wouldn’t be here because of a parking ticket.’35
‘There’s been an accident.’ I tried to avoid his eye, and that of Morris whom I could feel gazing at me over his specs.
‘Blimey! He hasn’t had it five minutes.’ He shook his head. ‘You can’t fool us, Princess. Tell us what’s really going on.’
CHAPTER THREE
‘You didn’t tell them anything, did you?’ Daniel had been released by Cruella and we’d taken Ricky and Morris up on their offer to mind the shop, but had only escaped as far as the nearest wine bar. It was early in the day to start drinking but we reckoned we needed alcohol. We sat at a table in the tiny, sunny courtyard at the back of No.14, calming our nerves with glasses of Sauvignon Blanc.
‘I couldn’t tell them anything, could I?’ I responded.
‘I can’t imagine Ricky and Morris being satisfied with that.’
‘Well, they had to be, at least for the present. I told them, it’s a police matter.’
‘It is, Miss B, and let’s make sure it stays that way,’ he said sternly.
‘What do you mean?’ I asked, although I knew perfectly well what he was getting at.
‘It’s their job to find out what happened to the dead man, not yours.’
‘I’m far more worried about what’s happened to Amber.’37
‘I know.’ He took my hand, idly caressing my fingers. ‘But I want to go back to Ireland on Monday night and not be worrying about you …’ He frowned as he groped for the right words, ‘getting into trouble,’ he finished lamely. Trouble, of course, was a euphemism for something much worse. ‘This is assuming I’m allowed to leave on Monday at all,’ he added with a bitter smile. ‘That was Cruella’s parting shot. “Don’t leave town without informing us, Mr Thorncroft. We may want to question you again.” This was after she’d told me I can’t go back to the farmhouse until they’ve finished poking around. The car is being taken away for forensic investigation and I might not get it back for weeks.’ He pulled a face. ‘To be honest, Miss B, I’m not too keen on getting it back at all.’
I felt the same. The Bora would be forever tainted by the memory of the poor murdered man in the boot. ‘What did she want, anyway?’
He shrugged. ‘Just to run through my statement again. She wanted to be sure I hadn’t touched the body.’
‘You didn’t. Did you?’
He shook his head. ‘You know what it’s like when you get a new car. I sat in the driver’s seat, played around with the controls for a minute or two. I got the handbook from the glove compartment, and the only other thing I remember touching was the catch to open the boot. And to close it again,’ he added, his eyes troubled by the memory. ‘I couldn’t leave it open while I ran down the hill to pick up a phone signal. I felt bad enough leaving the poor man at all.’ He returned his eyes to my face. ‘But going back to what I was saying just now.’38
‘I won’t interfere in the police investigation,’ I assured him.
‘Promise?’
‘I promise, but …’
‘But?’
‘I can’t really believe Amber is involved in this man’s death,’ I told him. ‘But if she isn’t, where is she? What’s happened to her?’
‘You think she might not have known about the body in the boot?’ Daniel frowned. ‘But then, why the change of plan, the sudden unexplained departure?’
