Authors: Marni Graff
Kate had been lovely in her mother’s dress, a simple
1970
s empire gown with an embroidered overlay she’d made her own by running a length of Forbes tartan from one shoulder to under her bust. She’d pinned it in place with a fresh nosegay that matched the flower circlet that held her grandmother’s veil in place. Forbes was her new mother-in-law’s clan, and Kate’s tribute had endeared her to Ian’s family. Ian had worn a kilt in the same tartan as he’d waited at the altar. Nora’s great joy for the newlyweds had felt tinged with sadness that she had skipped this traditional step on her way to motherhood.
But then marrying Paul would have been a truly bad idea, one she’d acknowledged before he’d died. His handsomeness had matched an intelligence she’d admired, but his obsessive work ethic had left her cold. She was as conscientious as the next person, but even when they’d managed time together, she’d felt his mind wandering, his intensity elsewhere. Their so-called engagement hadn’t merited a ring, and he’d resisted taking her to Cornwall to meet his parents. At times she had felt there was some mystery surrounding them he hadn’t shared, but Paul had said they were country folk and blamed his work commitments. He’d insisted he’d get around to introducing them at some point.
She’d missed out on so much, she thought, a brief hormonal wave hitting her and making her tear up. He’d had the bad grace to go off on a business trip for the Ministry of Defense and die in a plane crash before she could formally break their engagement, she thought unreasonably, then shook herself. Paul had found a way to haunt her thoughts forever. She’d found out three weeks after his memorial service that she was pregnant.
She roused herself from her daydream and scrutinized the baby that was Paul’s legacy. His small head tilted to one side, his breathing regular. She checked her watch. She’d been here longer than anticipated, dwelling in the past. Simon would be on his way to the lodge, and she needed to get Sean back for his lunch and to help with the check-ins of the new arrivals.
The steep downhill walk back would let her work up a good sweat after a stop at the post office. She left the church and paused outside on the path as she heard the crying once again. Walking nearer the graveyard, she came to an abrupt stop.
Centuries-old yew trees stood there. Underneath one, an elderly man lay stretched out across its roots on his stomach. Nora set the buggy brake and was about to run and help him when she realized the keening sounds were cries of grief. She stopped herself from flying to his side.
The man’s cries echoed in the churchyard; his hands clawed into the dirt. The noise fell away to a pitiful moaning. Obviously he thought his outpouring had been conducted in private. Nora turned silently away and passed through the gate to the street before the man could see she’d been a witness to his despair.
Chapter Three
“As you talk of her she sounds enchanting.”
Ruth: Act
I
, Scene 1
11:45 AM
Simon Ramsey opened the Volvo door and turned sideways in the seat to stretch his long legs outside. The train from Carlisle via Oxenholme was late; what else was new with British Rail? His mobile beeped a message, and he read that the electrician had finished the upgrades needed for the hot stage lights. With luck, this might be the first of many productions held at Ramsey Lodge.
He might as well use this brief respite to do something useful. He checked the Notes app and scrolled down the list of ideas he’d made for Nora’s illustrations after reading her story text. He’d completed the cover and several other specific pages they’d agreed on featuring the church, but he still needed an image for the ferry ride from Sawrey.
His fingers itched to get back to work. The Oxford gallery that showed his landscapes had been on to him for a while about a fresh round, and he would start those after he finished Nora’s book. More income for the flagging coffers, he rued.
Simon knew Nora would keep his confidence about the state of his financial affairs and he was trying hard not to dwell on it. Even though he’d agreed to share in the prop rental, the nice fee they’d receive for hosting Grayson Lange’s Traveling Theatre Troupe would more than balance that out. His take of the tickets made up for closing their weekend dinner service to the public with a little left over. If sales continued to be brisk, it would all be profit for the lodge. Plus, the marketing and free publicity at someone else’s expense would draw attention to them and drive in new business. With any luck, he’d have time to get back to his painting right after the troupe left. Thank goodness Nora was willing to step in for Kate and help him run things smoothly.
Nora. She’d put her life on the line, and her baby’s, too, to ferret out the real murderer last year to prove his innocence. He’d seen her at her worst over the past months: crying through post-partum blues, adjusting to breast-feeding, feeling sleep deprived but thrilled with her infant son. It had forced him to see her as a real person, not as the romantic notion he’d harbored. He would always look at her differently—that one night together assured that—but his ardor had cooled as he understood his feelings weren’t reciprocated. Nora loved him, but it had taken him time to realize she wasn’t
in love
with him, and he knew there was a distinct difference. He’d taken a giant step back from putting any kind of pressure on her. At the same time, becoming a murder suspect had renewed his instincts for survival and made him inspect his own future. Nora would always be there for him, but she’d seemed relieved when he’d started dating his manager, Maeve Addams.
He’d dated the brunette with the shiny hair briefly in school. When Kate hired her years later to help manage the lodge, he’d protested. Now he could see what Kate had seen, that Maeve was industrious and organized. Her presence allowed both Simon and Kate time off, and for Simon, that meant valuable hours to pursue his painting.
Maeve quickly proved herself an asset to Ramsey Lodge and made no secret of her interest in Simon. He’d missed having a real relationship and envied Kate and Ian. When he’d asked her out, they’d seemed to click, and their dating hadn’t impacted his working relationship with Nora. If anything, they were more at ease with each other than ever.
Having someone in his life reciprocating his desire for affection and companionship wasn’t half bad. All good things on the horizon these days, and with financial relief in sight, Simon felt his spirits on the rise. Now where was that bloody train?
*
12:20 PM
Simon pulled up in front of Ramsey Lodge and turned to the ruddy-faced man with white hair sitting next to him.
“Here we are. Ramsey Lodge in all its glory.”
“Delightful,” Rupert Denton said, exiting the car and opening the rear door for his wife.
Lydia Denton gazed around her and made a beeline for the end of the drive, where she scrutinized the lake across the road. “Rupert, look!” She waved for him to join her.
Simon watched the couple talking and pointing as he retrieved their suitcases. They had shared an amiable chat on the way from the station. Lydia must be over seventy but still had a lovely English rose complexion. He’d seen the sparkle in her blue eyes in the rearview mirror when she’d talked of honeymooning in Bowness.
“We stayed at the Belsfield Hotel and walked by the lake every afternoon,” she said.
“Didn’t have money to travel far in those days,” Rupert added. “Still, did us just fine, didn’t it, Lydia?”
“Forty-three years this May,” she agreed.
The lodge door opened, and glimpsing a flash of reddish hair, Simon expected to see Nora welcoming the visitors, but it was Callie Barnum who came out to help with the suitcases. Callie had been a boon to him getting the lodge ready before and after Kate’s wedding.
Simon pulled up the handles on the Dentons’ rolling cases as Callie reached for one. “Thanks.” He threw a garment bag over his shoulder. “Nora back yet?”
“Nope.” Callie bumped the suitcase up the stone steps and into the hall.
Simon stopped at the desk to check Kate’s list. The Dentons entered behind him, and Simon introduced Callie. “She’ll be around all week, so don’t hesitate to ask her if you need anything.”
“You’re Dr. and Mrs. Bradman,” Callie said with a light blush. “I read Nora’s copy of the play.”
“Easy parts for two old-timers like us. Not too many around that let us work together,” Lydia said, looking around her. “Who’s Nora?”
“She’s the writer who lives here with her baby,” Callie answered.
Simon reflected that Callie’s remark neatly summed up the situation. “You’re in the William Morris Suite,” he announced and led the way upstairs.
Chapter Four
“It’s all a question of adjusting yourself.”
Elvira: Act
I
, Scene 2
12:35 PM
Declan smiled at the BMW that cut him up as he approached Bowness. Let the bugger get ahead. Nothing could spoil his good mood. Traffic had been light, and he’d breezed through the drive from Oxford with only one brief pit stop, reveling in using his vintage MGB. His sergeant continuously marveled at how Declan squeezed his large frame into the small vehicle, but once settled in the leather bucket seat, Declan enjoyed driving the car he’d restored. He didn’t often get the chance to take it for this kind of long run.
He’d told Nora he preferred to be introduced to the other guests without his official title. It put people off to know there was a policeman around. He didn’t want to be seen as a detective inspector this week, just as a chap enjoying his holiday, much like anyone else.
Declan parked and retrieved his suitcase and rucksack, then walked past the small flower garden on the east side of the lodge. He remembered Nora’s suite looked out on this space, and he glanced through the trellis, hoping she might be there with Sean. Empty, except for a few chairs and a table littered with pale pink clematis flowers coming into bloom, giving off a faint, sweet scent.
Declan continued on the curve past the library with its bay window, wondering how Nora would react when they first saw each other. What a great surprise, showing up the day before she’d expected him. He looked up, and there she was, getting ready to lift the buggy up the front steps. His heart lurched and he quickened his pace. She’d be so happy he’d arrived a day early.
He reached her side. “Let me help.” The baby was fast asleep in the buggy, a thin line of drool spilling out of his mouth.
Nora wheeled around, her face flushed, glowing with vitality. She’d never looked lovelier, filled out with the curves motherhood left on her slight frame. But for a fraction of a second, Declan thought that instead of being thrilled to see him she actually looked horrified.
*
12:40 PM
Nora wiped the startled expression off her face, softening it to one of welcome. She became acutely aware of the damp wisps of hair that escaped her clip and curled around her sweaty face and salty lips; her Caesarean scar itched.
“Declan! I didn’t expect you until tomorrow,” she said aloud. She bit back saying aloud:
If I had, I’d have shaved my legs and not been a mass of perspiration when you first saw me.
She sucked in her belly and wiped her hands on her jeans. So much for the silky dress she’d bought to impress him. In contrast, Declan’s chinos and shirt hardly looked wrinkled. She resisted the urge to take off her baggy sweatshirt and wipe her face with it. A smile lit his face and gave her butterflies in her stomach.
“Work was quiet, and I have so much time off owed,” he explained. “Is that a problem? Kate said the room was saved for me … ”
“Of course not, you just—surprised me,” she said. “Pleasantly,” she hastened to add. Now that she was faced with him in the flesh, she felt awkward. She reached up to kiss him briefly on the cheek in welcome, hoping he couldn’t smell perspiration or Sean’s dribble.
Declan crouched down to inspect the sleeping baby. “He’s huge.”
Nora nodded. “Wait till he wakes and you see him smile.”
“Let me get this.” Declan scooped the buggy up over the steps as Nora held the lodge door open.
Callie ran to greet her. “Oh, he’s so cute asleep. Want me to put in him his cot, Nora?” She nodded to Declan. “Hello, Mr. Barnes.”
“Declan is fine. Nice to see you again,” Declan said.
Nora was pleased Callie remembered to leave out
Detective
. “Thanks, Callie.” The deep purring of a throaty engine caused Nora to turn back to peer outside. “That must be Grayson with Gemma Hartwell and Fiona Church. They’re riding in from London together.”
Declan followed her out onto the stoop to see a silver Jaguar XKR turn into the drive at a fast clip. It shrieked to a stop in front of the lodge with a belch of petrol fumes. Declan made a face, and Nora supposed he disapproved of the way the driver abused his tires. Or was it that she’d used the director’s first name? Three of the car’s four doors opened, spilling out the male driver and his two female passengers. The boot swung open as the driver ran around the car and up the steps.
“As I live and breathe, it’s the red-haired fox,” the man pronounced.
Chapter Five
“You always behaved very badly.”
Charles: Act
II
, Scene 2
12:45 PM
Declan gritted his teeth when Grayson Lange scooped Nora into a bear hug that swept her off her feet. He relaxed his jaw when Nora caught his eye and rolled her own. The director’s long nose and angular jaw were offset by eyes that crinkled with laughter as he deposited Nora back on the ground.
“Good to see you, too.” Nora smoothed her hair.
Grayson put his hands on his hips and surveyed the area. “Just as charming as I remember it from last autumn. We missed you then, Nora.”
“I was busy in hospital having a baby, Grayson. Let me help you with your luggage.” She pulled a small bag and a laptop case out of the boot, and the director dipped back for a large suitcase.
Declan pushed the door wide and looked around for a doorstop. Nora winked as she passed him; the director followed, rolling the large case with another bag balanced on top.
“Hello,” Grayson said, looking Declan up and down. “Come along, Gemma.”
Declan bit back a protest that he wasn’t the bellboy. He held the door for the woman from the front seat. Her full-lipped face held light-hazel eyes; chin-length wavy blonde hair topped a voluptuous figure. Gemma Hartwell wore a fitted, navy-and-white polka-dot dress that nipped in at her waist and revealed a wealth of cleavage. In one hand, she carried a large flowered case. The other held a soft leather bag.
“Hello, sailor,” she purred as she passed him.
Declan watched her saunter down the hall after Grayson, hips swinging. The woman exuded sex appeal of a rather obvious sort that left him cold. Simon came down the stairs and met them at the registration desk.
“Could I get some help here?” a woman’s voice said.
Declan turned at the request of the second woman, a brunette with a thick fringe and shoulder-length hair cut bluntly straight. Fiona Church, he assumed from Nora’s description of the actors. Her silky, green tunic and pants were wrinkled but clung in all the right places to her slim frame. She stood by the backseat holding a leather train case and tapped one pointed shoe on the pavement to underscore her impatience. He decided to be a gentleman.
“Actually, I’m another guest,” he explained as he reached for her bags.
“Don’t bother, then.” She tried to hoist a huge leather sack out of the footwell of the backseat.
“My pleasure,” he insisted, hauling the bag out. What did she have in here, a dead body? He admired the car’s interior, soft, charcoal leather with ivory stitching. Directing must be lucrative.
She slung her purse over her shoulder and slammed the door. Declan followed her into the lodge, studying her smart look and trim figure. Too bad she came across as such a stuck-up tart.
Nora came down the stairs as they reached the desk. “You must be Fiona.” She held out her hand in greeting. “I’m Nora Tierney, and I see you’ve met our guest, Declan Barnes.”
The actress ignored Nora’s outstretched hand and looked back over her shoulder at Declan. “I thought we were the only people here this week.”
“You’re in the Lewis Carroll Suite,” Nora replied smoothly. She reached for the leather bag. “I’ll take that, Declan.”
“I have it,” he insisted. “It’s quite heavy.”
Fiona glared at him. “It holds all the stage makeup,” she said, ice dripping from each word. She swept past them and started up the stairs. “And I hope my room isn’t filled with little creatures from
Alice in Wonderland
.”
Behind her back, Nora stifled a laugh and whispered to Declan: “Oops—”
*
2 PM
Sean’s midday bottle, greedily consumed, settled easily on his stomach. Nora showered and decided to save her new dress, opting instead for capris and an untucked lavender shirt that brought out her green eyes. She scrutinized her image in the mirrored door of the antique armoire that held her clothes. Not as full-figured as Gemma Hartwell or with as pretty a face, Nora readily acknowledged, even as she noted that Gemma seemed awfully chummy with Grayson. Nora’s damp auburn hair would wave around her face as it dried, not at all sleek like Fiona’s bob, and she wasn’t as tall as the dark-haired beauty. Would Declan’s head be turned by the comparisons? God, she hated feeling like a schoolgirl again.
When Nora reappeared in the dining room, pushing Sean in his buggy, Declan was finishing one of the sandwiches Agnes had assembled for the guests.
“Want me to take him for a walk?” he offered. “You said you’re supposed to help Simon.”
“That’s Callie’s job today. With a full belly and fresh air, he’ll be satisfied.”
Nora felt flattered he’d offered. After all, she was a package deal. “You can keep me company instead.”
“No problem there.” His smile lit his eyes, and he suddenly crouched down to tweak the baby’s face. “You were right.”
“About what?” she asked.
“I’m a sucker for his smile—and for his mother.”
Callie appeared from the kitchen before Nora could stammer a reply. “He’s all ready for you, Callie,” Nora said.
“Off we go, then. Wave bye-bye to Mummy.” Callie thanked Declan for holding the heavy lodge door for her as she left.
He turned back to Nora. Her heart hammered in her chest. “Let me show you where the play will be held.” She held out her hand and he clasped it.
They were barely inside the drawing room doorway when he drew her to him. Nora fell into his embrace and the kiss that followed. “Nice to have you here in the flesh instead of on a computer screen,” she murmured. God, that was inane, but Declan merely nuzzled her neck.
Simon passed the doorway carrying a huge earthen jug, and they broke apart. Bloody teenagers, Nora thought, but she felt herself grinning. Simon propped the door open, letting in a gentle breeze that brought with it the sweet scent of bluebells flowering under the hawthorn tree in the front yard.
“I’d better get to work,” she whispered, then louder: “So the chairs go here, and risers will elevate a stage in front of the windows.”
“Very nice.” Declan walked with her into the hall. “Thanks for that sandwich. I’ll unpack unless I can do something constructive.” He raised an eyebrow, his look filled with meaning.
“See you later.” She joined Simon at the desk. If he noticed her high color, Simon chose not to comment.
Nora consulted Kate’s listing. “Gemma Hartwell plays Elvira, the first wife’s ghost who makes life miserable for Charles Condomine. That’s the part I played. She’s in the Shakespeare Suite. Kate said Grayson chose the rooms, right?”
Simon nodded. “He gave himself the suite with the best water view.”
“I think it’s interesting he installed Gemma right next door and put Fiona in the farther corner, with the Dentons separating them.”
“Don’t go looking for trouble, Nora.”
“I’m not.” Her face was all innocence. “It’s just that in the play he’s still in love with his dead wife and gets exasperated with his second wife. That’s who Fiona plays—”
Simon stopped her rush of words with a “time out” gesture. “It’s a
play
, Nora, not reality.”
A taxi honked, and they turned to watch it deposit a striking older woman with a slightly hunched posture. “That’s Helen Mochrie,” Nora said. “She plays—”
“Madame Arcati, the medium. Our turn to play our parts.” Simon strode to the driveway.
Nora followed in his wake. With her snowy hair, the actress could be any age between sixty-five and eighty. Helen appeared already in character, sweeping ahead of them into the lodge with a swirl of printed skirt, a long, yellow scarf wrapped around her neck, her blue eyes glittering.
They took her luggage and showed her to the Wordsworth Suite. When Simon opened the door to the narrow, yellow room, Helen ran to the west window that looked out onto Windermere.
“Brilliant!” she proclaimed, turning to take in Kate’s hand-painted daffodils splashed upon the walls. “Delightful!” she trilled, waving her hands to point to the lines of poetry stenciled as a border near the ceiling. Simon met Nora’s eye with a barely concealed smirk; she had to look away.
“Kate Ramsey was a stage decorator before running the lodge with Simon,” Nora explained. “She decorated all the suites.”
Simon opened a door. “Here’s your private bath—”
“Glorious!” Helen boomed, sweeping past Nora and into the bathroom. “If you don’t mind, I’ll just check with my control.” She shut the door with a slam.
Simon gave in to his chuckle. “Her control?”
“Hush, she’ll hear you.” They left the room, and Nora closed the door behind her. “Her ‘control’ is the ghost she uses at séances to reach the spirit world.”
“You’re taking this much too seriously.” Simon started downstairs. “But she’s aptly cast. The play’s not subtitled
An Improbable Farce in Three Acts
for nothing.”
Nora’s mouth gaped open. Long ago, Simon had told her he was a wealth of trivial information. He’d just confirmed it.
The lodge phone rang. Simon quickened his pace and answered. “Ramsey Lodge.”
Nora joined him at the desk.
“I’ll see if she’s in. Hold, please.” Simon punched a button. “For you, a solicitor named Daniel Kemp.” He held the phone out to Nora.
“Who?” Why would a lawyer call her?
“He says he represents Mr. and Mrs. Harvey Pembroke.”
Nora’s throat constricted. Paul’s parents? Why were they calling her now, and through a lawyer? She’d met them for the first and only time at Paul’s memorial service, and it had not been a heartwarming experience for either side. His parents blamed Nora for keeping Paul from them. Nora hadn’t had a chance to explain it was Paul who hadn’t wanted to bring her to Cornwall before Muriel Pembroke had advanced on Nora, eyes blazing, and only Val plunging in to pull Nora out of the way had prevented an altercation. She hadn’t known she was pregnant that day, but that meeting explained why almost six months after Sean’s birth, she still dithered about telling them they had a grandson.
These thoughts flitted through Nora’s mind in an instant. She gulped. “Why are they having a lawyer call me? Did they find out about Sean?” The lump that had been in her throat plummeted to her stomach; her hands were clammy as she reached for the phone.
Simon whispered, “You won’t know what they know until you take the man’s call.”