Chapter 8 #2
I had no interest in playing games. So I bluntly stated, “Well, we had a death on the property earlier in the day. We’re trying to figure out what happened, and I wondered if you saw anything unusual during your tour.”
“Oh.” Daphne’s already pale face grew whiter. “Oh, my. I thought you were going to try to sell me a piece of art. Someone died? How?”
“They were shot,” I answered. Getting to the point seemed like the best strategy with her.
“Oh, that’s terrible.” Daphne finally sat down on the armchair, her little body barely taking half of the cushion.
“Yes, we’re not suspicious of anyone right now. But we’re trying to piece together what everyone was doing, what they might have seen. Do you mind giving me an idea of what your afternoon’s been like?” I asked. “You may know something and not even realize it.”
“Certainly. It’s true, I did come to see the artwork.
And yes, I know it’s not currently for sale, but there’s a little piece in the grand foyer that I’ve had my eye on for a few years.
I wondered if maybe I could come to an arrangement with you or your brother.
” She looked to the side as if she were admitting a terribly embarrassing secret.
“Maybe. We can talk about it later.” She had no idea that I wasn’t attached to any of the art on the main level. The pieces that were precious to me were all in our private living areas.
“Really?” Her face brightened. “Oh, that’s… well, now let me tell you about my afternoon. I arrived around 1:30, I believe. I thought about visiting the gardens, but it was so cold, and I’m not fond of a lot of noise. So…”
“Noise?” Henry looked confused. I was too.
“Well, you know the four-wheelers or whatever it was they were driving out there. I came to the country for some peace and quiet. It sounded too much like the city.” She waved her wrist as if we would obviously know what she was talking about.
“Did you by chance see who was driving the four-wheeler?” I asked, though I remembered the Longfields mentioning the four-wheeler as well.
“I assumed it was your security team. That’s what it looked like, anyway.
” She shrugged and continued, “Inside the house, I examined the historical portraiture and impressionist landscapes. It’s interesting to see what’s featured in these nice houses.
It helps me know what my clients might be interested in this season. ”
“Right,” I answered, not wanting to tell her we always focused on the classics instead of featuring whatever was popular. So Pemberley was probably the last place to check if she were following the trends.
Daphne droned on about some artist I’d never heard of, and we politely listened for a few minutes.
“Well,” I finally interrupted. “Thank you so much for sharing with us. Dinner is at 7:00 p.m. in the main dining hall. We’re having butternut squash bisque, salad, rolls, and whatever else they surprise us with. Would you like me to request something special for your dietary needs?”
“Oh, that will be fine. It’s usually just the sugary treats that give me any problems.” She blinked as if she made perfect sense.
Henry and I left the room and walked further down the guest hall.
On one side of the hall were the guest bedrooms, and on the other was a series of large-paned windows.
The world outside was buried in white. Earlier in the day I could make out pine trees, patches of grass, and country roads, but now snow blanketed the horizon.
“I don’t think she was out shooting anyone this afternoon,” I said, watching the snowflakes fluttering down from the darkening sky.
“I don’t either. But we’re looking for someone who might’ve known Zac. Two things made me a little suspicious. First, she didn’t ask who died. And second, she had a slight French accent,” Henry said. “Oh, wait, and third, she didn’t eat any of your amazing cookies. I mean, these smell so good…”
I smiled and wondered how I’d never thought of him this way before. “She did have a slight accent, didn’t she? You think she may have run into Zac in Paris? Maybe they were planning an art heist together. Remember, the money in Zac's pocket was euros.”
“Maybe,” Henry agreed and snuck another cookie from the basket. “Want another?”
“Oh, no thanks.” I shook my head. “But then why would she admit she was interested in one of the paintings in the main foyer?”
“No idea. Unless it's worth a lot more than you realize and she's trying to get it.”
“Maybe. Well, there’s one more guest on the list, and then there’s the staff.
That’s a lot of people to suspect. So we’ll need to narrow this down quickly.
” I pulled up the spreadsheet on my phone.
“The final guest is Farley Arnold. He lives on an estate a few miles away. He claims he was returning a horse he’d borrowed while his grandson was visiting him. ”
“So he could have been out on the property?” Henry asked.
“Yes, but I think he’s in his mid-seventies. I have a hard time picturing him chasing someone at high speeds and shooting them.” I frowned.
“You think there was a chase?”
“I guess they could have met up. Something about the four-wheelers being out makes me wonder about that, though. I’m not sure why I didn’t hear them. Let’s see what he says.” We knocked on door 218 and an older gentleman with gray hair, glasses, and a cane opened it. He hardly looked like a killer.
“Hi Farley. I’m Georgiana, do you remember me? We’ve met several times,” I said, offering him my hand and releasing a bit of soothing magic like I had with the others.
Farley raised his bushy eyebrows and gave me a hearty handshake. “Well, of course I remember you, kiddo. I’ve seen you at the Pemberley Fall Gala for years now. I wouldn’t forget that.”
“Oh, well I was away at school for a while—finishing my undergrad degree.”
“That’s right.” Farley eyed the basket of cookies in Henry’s arms.
“We made these to share. Have one,” Henry said, holding out the basket.
“Gingersnaps are my favorite. Would you care to come in for a minute?” Farley asked, opening the door widely.
The guest rooms usually had a small sitting area with armchairs and a loveseat, and one or two queen-sized beds and an attached private bathroom.
This room was similar to the others, but it also had a large bookshelf with several classic editions on the shelves instead of a television set.
Henry and I entered the room and sat like we had in Daphne’s room. But Farley immediately settled onto an armchair, anticipating a long friendly chat.
“Are you a reader, Mr. Arnold?” I asked. “Most of the guest rooms come with a television, if you would prefer one?”
“No television for me. Rots your brain… I requested this room. I was good friends with your parents, and they mentioned that they kept a guest room with only books.” He smiled happily at the bookshelf. “Just as comfortable here as I would be at home.”
“I enjoy reading as well. We do have another library on this floor if you need more options. But we actually stopped by for something a bit more important,” I said. The third library was the largest and the one we shared with our guests, though I’d always preferred my own.
“All right, I’m listening.” Farley grinned. “You’re not here to sell me a magazine subscription, are you?”
I laughed. “No. I wish it were something like that. We actually had a tragedy this afternoon. Someone was shot on the property.”
“Oh, those poachers.” Farley cursed. “I’m glad my grandson wasn’t out there. Are they all right?”
“Unfortunately, it wasn’t a hunting accident, and the victim died. We think this was murder,” I said.
“Murder? Not the best day for that if they were hoping to make a clean getaway,” he grumbled. “Of course, it might be helpful for the police.”
I blinked, unsure how to respond.
Henry continued the conversation. “What time did you arrive, Mr. Arnold?”
“I see how it is. Guess I can’t blame you. You should ask questions. I just arrived before the squall, probably 2:00 p.m. Who was it that go shot, anyway?” Farley asked.
“Just a young man, not sure who he was,” Henry bluffed.
“Sorry to hear it.” Farley signed a cross over his heart. “Be careful who you get mixed up with, especially when you’re young. Well, and when you’re old—people start wanting to get into your will. Money makes ‘em crazy.”
“Mr. Arnold, I have no suspicion of you,” I spoke truthfully. “We just wondered if you saw anything suspicious. You were returning a horse, correct?”
“Yes, your chocolate mare, Hetty. She’s a good one. One of your butlers will usually drive me home when I drop her off.” He nodded. “I know you’re not suspicious of me, Georgiana, and I’m glad. But you should still be careful in situations like this and question everyone.”
“I’m trying to be. So you saw nothing?” I asked.
“Well, not unless the victim was out on horseback. Someone was out riding this afternoon. Saw them dash by on a dark gray horse going really fast.” He rubbed his chin.
The person out on the dark horse was probably me, unless he saw Zac riding back.
“Do you remember if they were riding toward or away from Pemberley?” I asked.
“Toward, I think.” Farley crunched up his brows and thought before answering, “Yes, because I was coming from the south and they were coming at me from the north, so definitely toward.”
But that made no sense. I hadn’t ridden back to Pemberley, and there’s no way Zac could have been racing back in his condition.
“Are you familiar with our horses, Mr. Arnold? Was it my horse Luna that you saw out there?” I asked. “I’m assuming you didn’t recognize the rider?”
“Of course I know Luna. She’s a sweet girl. No, this was another one, bigger with more gray in the mane.” He answered. “The rider was wearing a dark coat, hat, gloves… no idea.”
I remembered the sopping wet thing in the coatroom. “Wait, could it have been a dark burgundy by chance?”
Henry looked to the side and made eye contact with me.
“Could have been.” Mr. Arnold nodded.
“The horse sounds like Storm,” I muttered. Storm was a thoroughbred racehorse. Someone must’ve taken him out, and the timeline lined up enough that they could have been the killer. “Well, you’ve been so helpful. I hope you’re comfortable, and dinner is in the main hall at 7:00.”
“Looking forward to it.” He smiled and opened the door for us.