Главная страница | Современная зарубежная литература | Deadly Treasures

Deadly Treasures
Vivian Conroy


‘Vivian Conroy's series gets more exciting, adventurous, and dangerous each new books.’ – Nikkia's ReviewsThe third book in the Lady Alkmene Callender Mystery seriesMurder on the coastLady Alkmene Callender has little interest in marriage, especially when her father is up to his matchmaking tricks, but when the opportunity arises to visit an archaeological dig she cannot resist.However, when she arrives to find her potential groom under arrest for murder Lady Alkmene begins to wonder if she isn’t in the right place at the right time.Putting her extensive sleuthing skills to good use, Lady Alkmene along with reporter Jake Dubois, starts to investigate hoping to uncover the real killer before she too ends up six feet under…Don’t miss the next Lady Alkmene Mystery1. A Proposal to Die For2. Diamonds of Death3. Deadly Treasures4. A Fatal Masquerade







Murder on the coast

Lady Alkmene Callender has little interest in marriage, especially when her father is up to his matchmaking tricks, but when the opportunity arises to visit an archaeological dig she cannot resist.

However, when she arrives to find her potential groom under arrest for murder Lady Alkmene begins to wonder if she isn’t in the right place at the right time.

Putting her extensive sleuthing skills to good use, Lady Alkmene – along with reporter Jake Dubois – starts to investigate, hoping to uncover the real killer before she too ends up six feet under…


Available from Vivian Conroy (#u36aad884-34d7-5d88-ab66-cdea2a4e29f6)

A Lady Alkmene Callender Mystery series

A Proposal to Die For

Diamonds of Death

Deadly Treasures


Deadly Treasures

Vivian Conroy







VIVIAN CONROY

discovered Agatha Christie at thirteen and quickly devoured all the Poirot and Miss Marple stories. Over time Lord Peter Wimsey and Brother Cadfael joined her favourite sleuths. Even more fun than reading was thinking up her own fog-filled alleys, missing heirs and priceless artefacts. So Vivian created feisty Lady Alkmene and enigmatic reporter Jake Dubois sleuthing in 1920s’ London and the countryside, first appearing in A Proposal to Die For. For the latest on #LadyAlkmene, with a dash of dogs and chocolate, follow Vivian on Twitter via @VivWrites (https://twitter.com/vivwrites)


Acknowledgments (#u36aad884-34d7-5d88-ab66-cdea2a4e29f6)

Thanks to all editors, agents and authors who share insights into the writing and publishing process.

Thanks to my fantastic editor Victoria Oundjian, for her continued enthusiasm for Lady Alkmene’s adventures, and to the design team for the fabulous cover with the coastal feel.

A special thanks to all book bloggers and readers who have left reviews for the first two books in the Lady Alkmene series or have reached out to say how much they love the character dynamics. Nothing makes me happier than to know my books bring the same sleuthing fun to readers as I experience myself when I dive into a mystery.


Note (#u36aad884-34d7-5d88-ab66-cdea2a4e29f6)

Writing mysteries set in the 1920s I’m grateful for all online information – think dress, transportation, etiquette and much more – to ensure an authentic period feel. Still Lady Alkmene’s world remains fictional, including street addresses, establishments, villages and even a castle with a fabled gold treasure of my invention.


Contents

Cover (#u9a9ba539-dce1-5643-8d39-72a87ab2d4f5)

Blurb (#u3e2259a8-5286-5c1c-ae05-3caadfc1eab7)

Book List (#u716de1dd-8d2e-5bbb-b5fb-5de541572182)

Title Page (#u4fd3704b-77d9-5d69-819d-c9e64d6a1406)

Author Bio (#udd479157-a12a-5964-91c1-462dc887dcd3)

Acknowledgements (#u51b23efb-a557-5841-aa18-48693171ff46)

Note (#u6b06d3b8-e66e-596a-b2d9-5aa6bebf2bfc)

Chapter One (#u9fb12285-802f-5a02-9030-436fd74251d8)

Chapter Two (#u93cdc99c-8cde-52a2-99dd-2b8d08f4e18d)

Chapter Three (#ue7d1891f-7d39-5456-9a06-3a9f790028e7)

Chapter Four (#u4341b31a-a95d-5f63-8452-4ecdd093f026)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#u36aad884-34d7-5d88-ab66-cdea2a4e29f6)

Lady Alkmene Callender had not heard the doorbell ring, as she was wondering how on earth a wife managed to knock off three husbands in a row, by poison, without anybody around her asking any questions.

The story had been provided to her, written in longhand on shabby sheets ripped from various notebooks, including the title page torn from a novel, by her friend, reporter Jake Dubois, who had researched it for the upcoming trial and planned on publishing it in the paper he wrote for as soon as his editor agreed to his demands for a raise.

Jake’s value had gone up – or at least he himself thought it had – since he had cleared a friend of his, a famous cat burglar, of an accusation of murder. Alkmene herself had had a substantial share in the resolution of that case, but she had a deal with Jake to keep her name out of the papers as her poor father, on a botanical quest in India, would surely burst a vessel if he ever found out how she passed the time in his absence.

At the moment Jake was attending the opening of a new yachting club in Plymouth, having left his notes with her to read through and comment upon. He had mockingly asked her if she couldn’t type out a decent summary for him, implying she couldn’t type.

Of course she couldn’t, but she would never tell him that. ‘Father doesn’t have a typewriter,’ she had adduced instead. ‘He insists on writing everything in longhand and so far he has never had a complaint from anyone.’

The door opened, and Brookes, her father’s impeccable butler, appeared on the threshold. ‘Viscount Woolsbury to see you, Lady Alkmene.’

Alkmene blinked. She had not seen the viscount in years. And why would a man who stuck to protocol under all circumstances call upon her without having announced his visit in advance?

Had something happened?

‘Show him in, Brookes,’ she said, organizing the notes in her lap, her thoughts racing.

The viscount’s son, Duncan, had been her childhood nemesis. They had been forced to play together, Duncan always throwing sand in her hair or hiding toads in her bed at his father’s mansion in a remote shire where Alkmene had been placed to spend the summer when her father was away.

Having lost her mother at the age of four, Alkmene had been shipped around from one house of pitying friends to another by a father who had certainly loved her, but loved his botanical adventures even more.

Not one to be resentful, Alkmene had enjoyed her times in other households where she was spoiled by the servants and readily forgiven for any pranks she pulled by the mistress of the house who did not dare punish such a ‘sweet little thing without a mother’.

Duncan Woolsbury, however, had had no qualms about pestering her, and she in turn none about getting even with him for it.

After they had grown up, she had seen him once or twice at a soirée of mutual friends, where she had concluded he had become a lot more serious and bookish-looking than the boy she remembered from climbing trees and splashing through brooks. Duncan had always wanted to become an explorer and find something spectacular like a new species of bird or a forgotten tribe. But Alkmene recalled having heard more recently that he had become assistant to an expert in archaeology, no longer looking for live cultures, but dead ones, long buried.

And now his father was here to see her, out of the blue. It could hardly be a social call. Where Alkmene had enjoyed a rather close bond with Duncan’s mother and his two younger sisters, she had never had much contact with the viscount. He had been kind to her but in the way you treat a puppy you take care of for a few weeks. Good care, but in a sort of detached manner, because it is not your own dog and you know you will let the little thing go again, after a while.

Putting Jake Dubois’s stack of notes on the table beside her, she rose to meet the large man with gingerbread hair who barged into the room, to shake her hand. He examined her from head to toe and boomed with his baritone, ‘Alkmene, you look well, girl, very well. I do apologize for dropping in like this, unannounced, but it is rather an informal affair.’

‘Of course,’ Alkmene said as if she had expected no less, gesturing for him to take a seat. To Brookes, who hovered at the door, she said, ‘You may bring us some coffee.’

Brookes nodded and shut the door with an impeccably soft click.

Alkmene knew he would stand there for a few seconds listening, anxious to hear what this unexpected visit was all about. So she waited until she was absolutely sure Brookes had walked off to see to the coffee. Cook would have to heat water, so it would take some time for the butler to return.

To her visitor she said engagingly, ‘I have not seen you in ages. Then again I have not seen a lot of my old acquaintances in ages. I’m afraid I get out too little.’

Her conscience pricked a moment as she had been out and about, to Dartmoor and then again to the Winters estate, with Jake Dubois, for murder investigations. But it would be unwise to mention anything like that to an old friend of her father’s. They were surely corresponding, and if the viscount would mention something like Alkmene being involved in anything potentially damaging to reputations, Father would write at once to other friends to have her shipped off to the countryside where she could do no harm.

Knowing the viscount he would readily believe her lie of getting around so little. He was the sort of man who thought women should sit indoors and paint, or if they ventured out of doors, should tend to roses and shop for hats. Innocent little pursuits that didn’t get them tired. According to the viscount anything could get a girl tired.

Probably because he had a wife plagued by suddenly arising headaches and two daughters who got the vapours as soon as they didn’t like something or someone.

Alkmene smiled at the viscount. ‘Have you already been to Alberley?’

The house was one of the family’s favourite summer haunts, a place she remembered fondly for the many old trees growing in the garden and the mysterious stone steps leading down into what was basically an ordinary wine cellar but which had been a smugglers’ hiding place to her and her playmates.

She remembered Duncan had this wooden sword he always brought on their adventures and swung in the air, one time knocking into a bit of lead piping that gave a bang audible through the entire house. The servants in the kitchen had been certain the entire house was collapsing upon them and had fled outside, where they had stood gossiping until it was too late for dinner.

‘No, we have not found the time to go to Alberley this year,’ the viscount said. ‘My wife is very busy with Anastasia’s twins and preparing for Delphine’s wedding.’

It was logical that his wife would be loath to leave London when such joyous familial developments put her in the centre of attention with all of her friends.

Alkmene remembered vaguely that her father had written a letter of well wishes when the twins had been born to the viscount’s eldest daughter. Two boys right away. That was so like Anastasia, who had always liked to do everything perfectly in a single try.

And since there was mention of an upcoming wedding, the youngest, Delphine, had apparently gotten engaged.

Alkmene could not remember having read an announcement of the engagement in the papers, but then these things could happen overnight. Especially if the parents were eager to have the wedding performed before the groom and bride got to know each other better and might decide they were not the perfect match after all. She suspected Delphine would have had only a small say in the choice of groom. He would no doubt be the parents’ carefully selected candidate, someone of the same background, who brought in property and smarts. But what made a man eligible in the eyes of demanding parents didn’t guarantee he was a likeable person to deal with on a daily basis.

Knowing such considerations would never enter the viscount’s mind, Alkmene smiled politely. ‘I'm so happy for you all.’

The viscount sat on the edge of his seat, resting his hands on his knees. ‘My wife is preoccupied with all of these things, but one thing is never far from her mind.’

He fell silent as the door opened and Brookes carried in the silver tray with coffee cups. Apparently there had been hot water ready and waiting in the kitchen for him to have prepared this so speedily.

Alkmene gestured to the butler that he could put the tray on the central table. ‘I will pour myself. You may leave us.’

Brookes was clearly disappointed that he didn’t get a chance to overhear some snippet of conversation that would give him a clue as to why the viscount was here, at night, for this informal visit. He lingered at the table, rearranging one of the pink lilies in the tall crystal vase.

But Alkmene kept her eyes on the reluctant butler with a stern gaze, so that he retreated to the door and closed it behind him, still soft and polite, not betraying any frustration on his part over this missed chance to find out more.

Alkmene checked that the door was indeed closed and then went to pour coffee.

The viscount said, ‘My wife is concerned about Duncan.’

Alkmene glanced at him. ‘Is he unwell?’

‘Oh, no, no, he is doing fine, has been travelling everywhere since he became involved with all these excavations. His tutor is well known in the field. You might have heard of him. Trevor Price.’

Without waiting for Alkmene to confirm or deny she had ever heard of Mr Price, the viscount continued, ‘Price’s health has never been particularly strong, but since a cold last Christmas, he has developed a lung problem and after a very difficult winter, his doctors have advised him to seek out a warm dry climate to recuperate for a few months. He is not allowed to travel to any place that might worsen his condition, so Duncan is now in charge of it all. I…’

The viscount hesitated a moment, then said, ‘I would very much like you to go see him.’

Alkmene almost dropped the viscount’s coffee cup. She envisioned herself sailing down the Nile, standing at the foot of the pyramids, walking through a narrow trapdoor into the secret burial chamber of some pharaoh of old. Jake would be so jealous!

Perhaps she could write up a travelogue, complete with pictures, and sell it to a paper, via Jake, under a fake name of course. Preferably a male pseudonym so she’d be taken seriously. If it was well received, others might invite her to write an engaging piece about their dig. Excavations cost a lot of money, and good publicity was the best way to attract funding. If they did not understand that themselves, she might open their eyes to it.

‘As you have just explained you get out so little,’ the viscount said, ‘you may have no wish to leave London…’

Appalled by this wrong conclusion, Alkmene hurried to say, ‘Oh, but I do. It’ll be no inconvenience at all. I do want to see Duncan again. I mean, see what he has been up to and all. In the past he already had this tendency to make exciting discoveries.’

The viscount grimaced. ‘We had hoped that he would pursue a career a little more…suited to his distinguished past. He could easily have become a diplomat in Vienna or Istanbul. This whole…pursuit of adventure is extremely aggravating to my wife.’

Alkmene handed him his coffee cup and smiled. ‘I’m sure that Delphine’s wedding will be a pleasant distraction for Lady Eleanor.’

The viscount sighed. ‘Not really. Alkmene, you have to understand how painful this all is. Delphine is ten years younger than Duncan. She is marrying while he shows no inclination at all to find a wife. But he’s my heir, and he will have to think about the future for our family name, the seat, the lands.’

Alkmene sat down with her own cup. She swirled the spoon round and round in the coffee even though she had not inserted any sugar. Duncan was older than she was, but she knew that people were also critically following her own life to see when she would finally find a husband and settle down, bear heirs that would ensure her family property would not one day fall to the crown.

Not just strangers were expecting her marriage, but her own father never stopped bothering her about it. She could imagine how Duncan felt, now in charge of his tutor’s archaeological empire and not willing to let a wife keep him from it.

The viscount said, ‘Delphine’s wedding has made it a matter of the utmost importance to us that Duncan also takes his matrimonial prospects seriously.’

‘He might meet someone on his travels,’ Alkmene suggested.

The viscount sat up. ‘That is exactly our worst fear. That he will meet someone unsuitable and marry on a whim. It must be prevented at all costs.’

‘I do not see how.’ Alkmene took a sip of the coffee.

‘We want you to go see him and rekindle your former friendship. We want you to uhm…present yourself to him as a suitable bride.’

Alkmene clenched the cup. Duncan had always teased her and emphasized how he disliked everything about her. How she could not compare to his elegant sisters who were real girls, while she was just a tomboy who tried to be brave and fell short. She had no intention of marrying, soon or maybe not ever, but even if she did, Duncan would be the last man alive she’d ever consider.

But voicing these thoughts out loud would be a grave insult to the viscount and indirectly to Duncan. She had spent many happy childhood summers with them and had no wish to offend anybody.

Besides, the prospect of seeing the pyramids beckoned. She would have to be mad to dismiss an opportunity to travel at another’s expense and see a fabulous place.

Still, it was impossible to act like she was going along with this scheme. She couldn’t let the poor viscount believe she would really throw herself at Duncan as his bride to be.

However, she might find a way to reconcile the two interests here: her own desire to travel and the viscount’s offer to fund it, if she helped persuade Duncan to think about his future.

Instead of offering herself as eligible bride, she could seek a moment of confidentiality, to speak with Duncan about his parents’ wishes and try to persuade him to look in earnest among the suitable young ladies of his mother’s acquaintance. There had to be somebody there whom he could like.

Someone not too young and too silly, with an interest in what he did and the desire to support him in his efforts. Someone who wouldn’t pine away while Duncan was travelling, but who would visit her own friends and show her face at the familial gatherings where Duncan’s mother could show her off.

Most men Alkmene knew had never been madly in love with their wives but had married them because they had a lot in common. Those marriages seemed to work.

Yes, if she played this wisely, she might see the pharaonic burial sites without having to marry for it. After all, Duncan would not want to marry her either. She could go see him, mention somewhere in passing his father had sent her to see if they were a match, but that was of course preposterous and she could go back home to tell the viscount and his wife that unfortunately there hadn’t been…enough of a connection to warrant a marriage. But that Duncan did intend to look for a wife in earnest as soon as he was back in town.

They’d have to accept that.

The viscount took her prolonged silence for consideration and continued in a rush, ‘We’re well aware of your position, Alkmene. You are not just a very well-bred, well-positioned young lady, but you are also intellectual. Your father has written to me several times that you will never marry a husband who is not as intelligent as you are, or if you did, you’d forever loathe him for it.’

Hmm, at least her father had understood that well. She was touched that he had taken the trouble to think about her ideas of the ideal man and actually cared that she would not marry someone she could not respect.

The viscount said, ‘I can assure you Duncan is very astute and has knowledge of those fields of science you find particularly fascinating.’

Alkmene nodded.

The viscount said, ‘He, if any, can satisfy your needs for intellectual discourse about a variety of topics. We believe that if you meet again, on site, can connect over his work and interests, there will certainly be a spark that can even convince Duncan to change his mind about not marrying. He’ll find a companion like you irresistible.’

It was very flattering to be considered an equal match for a man who was no doubt very smart and experienced in the ways of the world, who had travelled to all of those exciting places her father had refused to take her.

She said, ‘Have you asked my father if…’

‘My dear, this plan is his entirely! He wrote to me from India explaining it all. I agreed at once and so did my wife. I am here now to tell you that if you would like to try, you can leave as soon as you are finished packing for the journey.’

Alkmene said in a demure tone, ‘If my father wishes it, I have to consider it seriously.’

Inwardly she was grinning from ear to ear. At last Father understood that she needed to see places. Perhaps trying to pair her off in the same effort was a bit in bad taste, but she was confident Duncan would never fall for her, so she could safely go. That the trip did not yield the engagement both families were pushing for would only be known afterwards and she for one did not mind seeing her father sulk about it. Duncan would have to deal with his family’s disappointment in his own way.

‘I certainly would not want to disappoint my father as he has taken the time off from his quest in India to write to you and you have come out here especially to invite me.’ She smiled. ‘I can’t guarantee that there will be any connection between us. I’m sure we will have a lot to talk about, but you can’t force feelings. I do assure you, however, I’ll speak with Duncan about his prospects.’

The viscount nodded. ‘Handle it the way you see fit. You’re sensible enough. But we just don’t want to see Duncan married on a whim to someone who is only after his money.’

Alkmene nodded. ‘I’ll do anything in my power to prevent that. I’ll pack my things and be ready to leave in a day or two. Depending on how much I’ll have to take and what other precautions might be necessary?’

‘Precautions?’ the viscount asked with a puzzled expression.

‘Well, of course I would have to bring protection against the sunshine and perhaps against disease? Are there no mosquitoes there with a lethal sting? Or other exotic creatures?’ Most ladies would faint at the idea of snakes and scorpions, but Alkmene considered them natural hazards that common sense should deal with. No doubt Duncan would have some tips for her to avoid trouble.

The viscount shook his head. ‘Not as far as I know. You won’t need much more than you do here in London. Packing shouldn’t take long.’ He emptied his coffee cup and rose. ‘I do appreciate you seeing me right now and agreeing to my plan.’

He consulted his pocket watch. ‘As you don’t need to do much packing, I’ll send my driver Kramer for you in the morning. Around ten. It is only fair he should take you there so you need not hire a car or travel by train. I’m not even sure any train goes as far as that little hamlet.’

Alkmene rose as well, her eyes narrowing. ‘Little hamlet? Train?’

The viscount was already at the door. He turned with his hand resting on the knob. ‘Cornwall, my dear. Duncan is excavating a medieval village in Cornwall.’


Chapter Two (#u36aad884-34d7-5d88-ab66-cdea2a4e29f6)

Alkmene leaned back in the padding of the viscount’s car, the latest Buick, fresh from America.

The driver, in full livery, kept his eyes on the road ahead. It was too bad he ignored her completely because Alkmene had the impression from the few words he had exchanged with Brookes that he was German and she had always wanted to know more about the Black Forest.

Sort of a sinister place it seemed to be.

Nothing like Cornwall.

Of course Alkmene should have shouted no way, the moment the word Cornwall had been said. But after she had affirmed she was eager to do her father’s bidding, as the old dear had written all the way from India, she couldn’t say no.

Gritting her teeth, she had closed the front door behind the broad back of the viscount who had so easily lured her into his trap. She should have realized her father would never ever let her go anywhere exciting. He had only written to an old friend and confidant to make a stupid plan to get his daughter to marry the other’s son, thereby solving their mutual problems in a single stroke.

The only good thing about the debacle was that Duncan would never ever want to marry her and whether they met in Cornwall or the Himalayas, she’d not come back engaged.

Still, she would have rather visited the Himalayas.

Alkmene pursed her lips in self-depreciation. It was just like her to want to sail the Nile and end up in a meadow staring into a hole full of pottery shards. The only good thing about it was that Jake Dubois didn’t know. By the time he’d come back from Plymouth she’d be in Blackcastle, and he’d have no idea.

She had put his notes on the serial poisoner in a sealed envelope, for Brookes to hand back to Jake if he came to see her. She had instructed the butler to tell Mr Dubois that she had left town on an urgent errand for a friend of her father’s and would not be back for some time.

She had not told Brookes in so many words that Mr Dubois was not to know where she had gone to, but the staff’s loyalty was beyond question, and Jake had already alienated Brookes by his impolite behaviour on an earlier occasion. The butler would never tell him a thing, so she was perfectly safe from Jake’s scorn over her journey.

Still, it was too bad Jake was not here beside her, so they could discuss the poison case. It had left so many questions in her mind. Investigating murder with him was almost more exciting than seeing the pyramids.

It would certainly have been more exciting than seeing Duncan, who would just insult her again.

Alkmene raised a hand to check on her hair. Duncan had often teased her when she was a girl about her unruly hair and ungainly walk. His sister Delphine had been considered a little beauty even at eight, destined to court the interest of princes and dukes, and compared to her, Alkmene had always felt second-rate.

On her way now to face a man she had no intention of pleasing, she caught herself wanting him to admire her anyway, if only to make up for all the scorn he had unleashed on her in the past. Even so it would be easier if he still loathed her, for if he suddenly saw something in her and started courting her in earnest, their families would push them to no end to go on with it.

Why had she gotten herself entangled in this mess?

To distract herself Alkmene leaned forward and asked the driver, ‘Is it very far still?’

‘I do not know.’ He pursed his lips as if every word cost money.

‘But you must have made this journey before. Has the family never gone to see Duncan on site?’

‘I drove him out here in the spring when he began his work.’ The driver kept his eyes on the road ahead, speaking in the monotone words of someone reciting a lesson. ‘I asked him if he didn’t need a car while he was here, but he said he wanted to walk more, to improve his stamina.’

‘But the land is so wide,’ Alkmene observed, looking out of the side window at the patchwork blanket of meadows and cornfields, separated by lines of trees. ‘Walking is fine, but I don’t see that every distance can be crossed by walking.’

‘I said so too. But he wouldn’t listen. He wouldn’t take one servant from his father’s household with him.’

Alkmene heard the undertone in the words and understood the implication at once.

Determined not to look as if she was pouncing on this interesting tidbit, she kept her eyes on the land that was soaking up the sunshine. She said casually, ‘He took the job here to get away from his family?’

The driver was silent.

Alkmene was certain she had been too blunt and should have drawn him out by more subtle means. She just didn’t seem to have that gift.

Then the driver said, ‘Not to get away from anybody, but to be with someone, rather.’

Alkmene froze. Suddenly an alarm bell was ringing in the back of her mind. ‘And his family knew this?’

The driver nodded. ‘They suspect.’

Aw, no.

Alkmene sank back in the padding. She had easily believed her father had written to his old friend from India to discuss his only daughter who really did need a man, if only because the acquaintances were talking and it was never nice to be the object of gossip in town.

But now she saw a bigger truth. Her father’s letter had been a reply to an urgent cry for help sent by that old friend. The viscount had confided in Father that his son, his hope for the future, had fallen in love with an unsuitable woman, someone he was courting by using his excavation work as an excuse. Perhaps the lady lived in these remote parts, but it was more likely she had taken up residence here for the summer to be able to meet with Duncan away from prying eyes in London.

Duncan believed his family knew nothing of this, but they had been on to him from the start and had devised their own plan. Alkmene had to be sent over to win him from the other woman. Alkmene was strong-willed; she would know how to handle him.

Oh, she could just see her father’s hand, writing down the words. She was ashamed of it right as she sat here, fiery blood rising into her cheeks. Not just that Father had written it and his friend had believed it, but that she herself had risen so readily to the bait. She had just wanted to travel; she had not cared for Duncan at all, whether he was intellectual or not, a master of those fields she took an avid interest in. She had believed she could outsmart them all by going first, then moulding Duncan to be at least a little open to finding a suitable wife, and she could return home with fabulous experiences and nothing to feel bad about towards the viscount and his wife.

But at her ready agreement the viscount had thought she really wanted to snare Duncan and that finding opposition on the way would only make her desire stronger. Her desire to secure her childhood friend and to outwit another woman who had no right to him.

It was a clever plan on the viscount’s part, but it hinged completely on the assumption that she did want Duncan and she did not. Her appearance on the scene would be extremely painful, not only for Duncan and his secret love, but for her as well, because she would appear to be hunting a man who did not care for her, who indeed was pursuing another.

It might look quite desperate of her to follow Duncan to Cornwall where he had retreated to ‘work’.

Alkmene resisted the urge to clap her hands to her face and groan out loud. Her first, hot-headed inclination was to order the driver to turn around and take her back to London where she could tell the viscount to his face what she thought of him and his clever little plans.

But he was a dear friend of her father’s and she had no intention of humiliating him. She had to grit her teeth and make the best of this embarrassing situation. It was after all – in part – of her own making. If she had not been so eager to make a trip, she would have declined. Her own motives had pushed her to accept, and now she had to face the consequences.

A sign flashed past, reading ‘Blackcastle’. ‘Is that the village where I will be staying?’ she asked the driver, hoping she’d sound normal and not like she was crushed by his revelation. It had been a shock, but for a very different reason than the driver might assume.

‘Yes. It was named after an old castle nearby. There is just one tower left of it. The excavation site is a few miles to the south. You can see the tower from the site.’

‘How interesting.’ Taking a few breaths, Alkmene felt calmer. Her heart rate returned to normal, and she relaxed her clenched hands.

She just had to press on now, meet Duncan and find out all about his secret love. Perhaps if he was sincere and the young woman was suitable enough, she might even put in a good word for him, convincing his family that his choice was not so bad?

Her heart skipped a beat again. Who was she fooling here? Now that the viscount and his wife believed they could have her for a daughter-in-law, no other woman would do, let alone someone who had for some reason not been eligible to begin with. Her present involvement made it that much harder for the young lovers to ever wed, not easier.

How Duncan would hate her as soon as he realized what she was here for…

Meanwhile the driver steered the car ably through a small village. Stone houses on either side of the road with gardens in front of them, fruit-bearing trees beside them, climbing roses on trellises…

In front of a low-roofed building marked ‘livery stable’ a girl was brushing a fine dark horse, not even bothering to look at the Buick.

Alkmene was surprised that an unknown car, especially such a fine imported model, didn’t draw a response from the locals. One could argue that perhaps girls were not interested in cars, but a few more yards down the road two old men sat on a bench discussing something and they didn’t turn their weathered faces to the sound of the car engine either, but kept talking, one gesturing wildly with one hand holding a pipe. Their conversation seemed to engage them so that they were completely oblivious to their surroundings.

Alkmene turned her head to look at them through the rear window. Perhaps some local event had shaken the natives. She wondered what that all-important occurrence could be.

As they left the houses behind, the road rose to the top of a hill. Directly behind it lay flat grassy land, with bushes here and there. Birds rose from them, flashing around too quickly to make out what they were. In the distance a tall round tower stood outlined against the blue skies. It was much larger and plumper than a church tower. It had to be the remainder of the old Black Castle, after which the village took its name.

The sun beating down from the cloudless sky above outlined everything in stark bright lines as if drawn by an exquisite artist.

Alkmene breathed and tasted the freedom she had often wished for in the past. With a smile she sat up straighter and looked to her left where she could just discern an area that had been fenced off. Rough wooden fences were used, also wicker ones, and even string, running from one wooden pole inserted into the earth to another. She assumed that was the excavation site. There also was a simple wooden construction that was probably a tool shed or something.

The driver slowed down and turned the car left into a dirt track that led straight to the excavation site. It was full of potholes that shook the car and reverberated in Alkmene’s back and neck.

But she barely noticed, staring intently ahead. The wall of the tool shed that was directly opposite her now had been painted white, but the coat of paint wasn’t even. Some parts lay deeper.

Like there had been carving in the wall that the paint had been intended to cover up.

Letters. G-e-t…

O-u…

Get out?

It sounded much like a threat.

‘There they are,’ the driver said, and Alkmene followed his nod. A group of people had gathered to their right. Workers in overalls with leather kneecaps, a man in a sharp suit… Had they gathered because some exciting find had been made? She would be lucky to arrive at some high point in the excavation’s proceedings. Duncan would be pleased and not suspicious to see her, and she could immediately join in the group sensation, without being stared at for being both a woman and a non-specialist in this field.

The driver braked. Alkmene did not wait for him to get out and open her door for her, but opened it herself and climbed out. In preparation of the conditions on site she had put on a tweed skirt under a sturdy jacket and some decent shoes that would do for walking, climbing and the like.

The wind coming across the hilly land grabbed at her hair as she marched up to the excited group. The well-dressed man in the suit turned to her with a frown as if he was not sure what she was doing there.

Past him she spotted two uniformed policemen, each holding an arm of…

‘Duncan!’ Alkmene cried.

Duncan Woolsbury had not changed much since she had last seen him. He had always been tall for his age and sturdily built, with broad shoulders. He had a real barrel chest now and his bare arms were covered with muscle cords. His reddish hair shone in the sunshine like fire. He pulled himself free from the policemen’s hold, exclaiming, ‘I will not flee.’

Apparently his short words made an impression for they did not take hold of him again.

Duncan stepped forward to Alkmene and said, ‘This is not a very good time for a visit, I’m afraid.’ He scanned her from top to bottom. ‘You’ve come on behalf of my father? To talk some sense into me?’

Alkmene felt a fiery flush come up. She hadn’t expected Duncan to be quite so forthright. In the presence of others at that! ‘Your father did mention to me you were here now and doing interesting work.’

‘My father doesn’t find my work interesting, or worthwhile. He wants me to give it up and come back home. Has he sent you to tell me that?’

Alkmene pulled back her shoulders. ‘You should know better than to believe I would be sent on such a mission.’

A smile jerked up the corners of his mouth. ‘Or any mission at all. Alkmene only does what Alkmene wants, right?’ That irked her a little, but it was true.

Duncan’s smile disappeared as quickly as it had come, and he said, ‘I’m not sure what you want here, Alkmene, but I’m afraid I can’t be your host and show you around. I have to go with these gentlemen to the police station.’

‘How come? Has something happened?’

Duncan sighed. ‘I have to give a statement in an accidental death that happened on my site.’

One of the policemen, older than the other, with the deep-set eyes of a melancholy basset hound, said, ‘Excuse me, sir, but the death was hardly accidental. The victim’s skull was fractured with a hammer. Your hammer.’

Alkmene winced.

Duncan said quickly, ‘In any case I have to explain what happened. I don’t have time to show you around now. Perhaps you had better go back to the village.’ He gestured to Kramer, who was waiting nearby.

‘She can stay.’ The good-looking man in the suit nodded at her. ‘I can show you around. Simon Peartree, at your service.’

Duncan said, ‘That won’t be necessary. I can do it myself.’ His tone was curt, and the look he threw Peartree almost vicious. He added, ‘I hope to be back in time for dinner. We have some catching up to do.’

The older policeman gestured to the car that was waiting at the back of the shed, mostly out of sight, so Alkmene had not noticed it until now. She watched with a frown as Duncan followed both men and was put in the back. Although they had not cuffed him, this still felt like…an arrest. If Duncan was merely wanted for a statement, why had they not asked him to stop by? Why had they been holding him by the arms?

Taking him in, publicly, amid all of his workers, was almost like a deliberate humiliation. Had Duncan acted rudely before, refusing to come to the station of his own accord because he was busy with some excavation details?

Duncan could be obsessed with his own little things, paying no heed to another’s wishes. And if those wishes happened to be those of the local authorities, he might have ticked off a few people who had decided to show him who was in charge in this area.

Beside her Simon Peartree said, ‘Forgive me for not knowing your name.’

Alkmene smiled at him. ‘Alkmene Callender. I practically grew up with Duncan. My father was away a lot, and I was shipped off for the summer to the Woolsbury country estate. Alberley. Perhaps you know it?’

He shook his head. ‘I've never been invited there.’ There was a slight stress on ‘invited’ and a tightness around his mouth.

Alkmene hurried to say, ‘Well, anyway, I had a fabulous time there. Ever since Duncan became engrossed in the whole archaeology thing, I’ve seen so little of him; so when his father told me he was in Cornwall now, it seemed like the best of chances to catch up. Closer than Egypt, you know.’

Simon Peartree laughed, erasing the tension in his handsome features. ‘Indeed it is. Well, I could show you around. I know all the ins and outs, have been here for weeks now, helping out. But apparently Duncan wants to do it himself as soon as he is back. So I suggest I put the workers to work first and then offer you some tea.’ He pointed to a picnic basket that was leaning against a half dug out wall. ‘It’s still warm, I hope.’

He gestured to the men. ‘Spread out and resume working. There is nothing to see here any more.’

He sounded almost like a constable clearing the scene after a crime.

A victim with a skull bashed in by a hammer… That was not accidental. It might have been an act on impulse, during an argument, or even in self-defence. But it had not been an accident, and the police would not treat it as such. That could get tricky for Duncan.

Alkmene turned to the driver who was still hovering a few feet away. His expression was blank, but Alkmene was certain he had followed everything with great interest. If he returned to London right away, he might start gossiping about it to the other servants. Lady Eleanor would have more than a headache if she found out.

Alkmene said, ‘I think it is better if you stick around here for the night, Kramer. You can take a room at the same inn where the viscount booked my room. The Catch in Blackcastle. You have to drop my luggage there anyway. I’ll let you know in the morning what the situation is and whether you are still needed here or may return to London.’

The driver seemed hesitant. ‘But my employer…’

‘I need you now. That the viscount must understand. I’ll clear it all up with him, should it be necessary. For the moment the family need not be troubled with the news of this unfortunate brush with the police. Now go.’ She waved him off with a careless gesture of her hand.

Kramer snorted, but did as she had told him.

She turned to Simon Peartree again. ‘So somebody died here?’

‘Why yes, two days ago.’ He shifted his weight uncomfortably, avoiding looking her straight in the eye.

‘A local man?’ Alkmene pressed.

Peartree shook his head. ‘A friend of Duncan’s, from London, I gathered.’

Alkmene’s jaw sagged. ‘Really? In that case I might know him. What was the victim’s name?’

Peartree held her gaze as if he was eager to see her response when he spoke the words out loud. ‘Reiner Goodman.’

Alkmene frowned. The name meant nothing to her. ‘And you are sure he was a friend of Duncan’s from London? From the peerage?’

Peartree’s mouth twitched as if he was about to laugh. ‘Not all Duncan’s friends are from the peerage.’

Alkmene bit back a remark about Duncan’s family being rather particular about whom they associated with. She had better be careful, as she had no idea who Peartree was himself and any careless remark about social standing might be hurtful to him.

She said slowly, ‘But you are sure that Duncan did know the victim well? I mean, he wasn’t someone just dropping by to see the excavation, perhaps on invitation from Duncan’s tutor, Trevor Price?’

Peartree shrugged. ‘That I don’t know for sure. All I do know is that Duncan was not happy to see Goodman when he appeared. They had a fierce argument the first night Goodman was here. I overheard them. I…am afraid I had to tell the police about that after the body was found.’

He swallowed a moment. ‘It was rather awkward, you know. Duncan having said to the victim: “I will break your head for that,” and the next day him being dead and all, skull bashed in with a hammer… One of the tools Duncan uses frequently on site.’

Alkmene stared at him in disbelief. ‘Duncan threatened the victim the day before he died? And then he was murdered in the same manner as referred to in this threat?’

This was even worse than she had first assumed. The local police would consider this pretty conclusive evidence and might actually charge Duncan.

Simon Peartree leaned over to her. He lowered his voice as if to make absolutely sure nobody could overhear this. ‘Duncan is calling this little trip down to the police station “coming along to make a statement”. But that is not what those officers said when they drove in here to ask for him. They said plainly that they had orders to arrest him for the murder of Reiner Goodman. Either Duncan finds himself a very good lawyer to get him off for the time being, or he won’t be back here tonight.’

Peartree held her gaze as if he wanted to gauge her reaction when he continued. ‘In fact, he might not be back here at all.’


Chapter Three (#u36aad884-34d7-5d88-ab66-cdea2a4e29f6)

If only she had known about the threat to the victim before she had let Duncan be taken away by the police.

As usual he was making light of his situation and needed a friend to drag him out of the mire he had ambled into. Duncan probably had nothing to do with the man’s death, but as the victim had been an acquaintance from London and Duncan had threatened him, everything pointed at Duncan as the perpetrator.

He did need a good lawyer, like Peartree had just suggested. And if he was too pig-headed to ask for one, or afraid the family solicitors would get involved and his father would be livid, she had to arrange something for him. Jake would know what to do.

She had to get to a phone right away to call him. If she was lucky, Jake would be at his hotel in Plymouth or at the yachting club. If not, she’d leave him a message to contact her as soon as possible.

Alkmene glanced over her shoulder to see if her car was still there, but the indignant German driver had already turned the Buick around and was disappearing over the hill. She sighed in frustration. Turning to Peartree, she shot, ‘Do you have a car here?’

He seemed surprised at the sudden question. ‘Yes, but it is at our lodgings. Duncan and I are staying at a cottage a mile down that way. You can’t see it from here because there are trees and shrubs around it. I have a car there. We walk out to the dig every morning though. Duncan used to say it’s good for the lungs.’

He was using past tense to refer to Duncan as if he was already dead. Executed for murder.

Alkmene shook her head inwardly. It would never come to that if it were up to her. There had to be some misunderstanding. Somebody else had killed the victim, and Duncan was only a suspect because of the unfortunate argument with the victim the night before his death. As Peartree had apparently been a witness to it, he could give her more information about it.

She said briskly, ‘Then let’s walk to that cottage of yours and get your car. I want to get into the village as soon as possible to make a call.’ Her mind was racing. Not only could Jake tell her how to find a discreet lawyer to handle this unfortunate arrest, but he might also have some information for her about the victim. If Duncan had known him in London, he had to be somebody. And Jake had contacts to ferret out things about everybody who was somebody.

Perhaps the victim had left London because he had been under pressure from someone – over work, debts, a family affair – and the perpetrator had followed him to kill him here and shift the blame to somebody else.

Energized to dig into it right away, she gestured at Peartree, who had not moved. ‘What are we waiting for?’

Peartree made an appeasing gesture in return and led the way down a small path only suitable to traverse on foot. They could barely walk side by side so Alkmene had to stay a step behind him. In the distance she heard gulls cry.

Peartree called back at her, ‘I had no idea you were so close with Duncan you’d jump to his defence right away. When you arrived, you looked like one of his many casual girlfriends.’

‘He has casual girlfriends?’ Alkmene enquired.

Peartree laughed. ‘Well, at least two ladies from London have popped up here during my stay to talk to Duncan. One he seemed mortified to see. He dragged her away from the cottage so I couldn't see her very well. I have no idea who she was or what she wanted of him. He was so tight-lipped about everything. And then there are the girls from the village. The innkeeper’s daughter in particular. Little Sarah.’

There was a vicious tang to his tone as he spoke the name. ‘Always coming out with an apple pie or something. And Duncan going there to hire a horse for a beach ride. They also keep horses at the inn, you know. I never knew Duncan enjoyed horse riding. Must have been for Sarah’s sake.’

Alkmene remembered the girl who had been brushing the horse outside the livery stable. She had been blonde and quite attractive, but very young to attract a man like Duncan. Perhaps the girl was infatuated with him, while Duncan barely noticed that she existed? Of course he had good looks, was strong and active, and his excavation work made him doubly interesting.

Yes, she could very well imagine such an untried girl falling for him. If only Duncan had not encouraged her. She could not be the person he was here for, right?

Peartree said, ‘I do hope I have not embarrassed you by mentioning the female interest in him. I mean, you’re not engaged to Duncan, are you? He would be just the type to have a sensible fiancée tucked away somewhere, you know, for when life has to get serious.’

‘Oh, no,’ Alkmene said. ‘Just old friends, that’s all.’

‘But you immediately assume he is innocent of this man’s death. If you know Duncan well, you know he is a hothead who gets into arguments in the blink of an eye. What makes you so sure he can’t have killed a man in anger?’

That was a question to ponder, but Alkmene would not let Peartree notice even a trace of doubt inside of her. ‘Duncan’s family is known to me; his sister is about to wed in the fall. His other sister has just had twins. Their mother would just have a fit if her son was accused of murder.’

Peartree laughed softly. ‘The law won’t take that into account. I do know about character witnesses and all, but no matter how many pretty ladies Duncan can produce to say what a wonderful man he is, my testimony stands, about the argument the night before. He was livid when Goodman showed up out of the blue. He yelled all kinds of things at him. Duncan is tall and strong, and the tool was there for the taking. I think he could have committed the murder. Easily.’

After a moment Peartree added, ‘The morning when the body was found Duncan was very agitated. Nervous, jumpy. I came up behind him and he started. Now when we were kids if we were jumpy my mother used to say it was our guilty conscience. Once the body was found and I recalled Duncan’s behaviour, it did seem very suspicious to me.’

Alkmene swallowed hard. If Duncan was trying to hide an illicit love affair, this visit from a London friend might have been very unwelcome indeed. Who said that in a heated argument it couldn’t have come to blows between them?

But she figured that in such a case Duncan would strike out with his bare hands, not pick up a weapon. It was only her gut feeling about Duncan’s character, based on her childhood memories of him. A shaky foundation for a defence, but you had to start somewhere. Jake would have to help her gather evidence that pointed to a different suspect.

And she had to ask Duncan as soon as possible why he had been nervous on the morning the victim’s body had been found. Also what he had argued about with the victim the night before.

She said to Peartree, ‘You were very quick to share your testimony of the argument with the police.’

Peartree halted with a jerk so she almost bumped into him. ‘The constable asked us if we knew anything that might aid in the investigation. Do you think I should have kept my mouth shut? Is that your idea of loyalty to a friend?’

His accusing tone irked Alkmene. As if she would cover up some guilty secret for Duncan’s sake. If she found evidence he had been involved, she would not keep it back.

Not even if it…could save him from the gallows?

For a moment she had the same sinking feeling she’d had during her first murder investigation. That maybe you would discover that the killer was someone you could actually like, understand, feel sorry for. Not someone you wanted to see accused and convicted. And what then?

Here it was even more personal because Duncan’s family had actually sent her to save Duncan, from an unsuitable alliance. Now much more threatened his future, his life. If she became a part of this investigation and Duncan was convicted of murder and hanged, how could she ever face his parents again?

Taking a deep breath to calm down, she said, ‘There is a big difference between concealing information and running to the police first thing to tell all you know. I’m hardly here on the scene and you’ve already shared with me that Duncan fought with the victim. You’ve assured me he has a temper, is strong, that you could just see him bashing somebody’s brains in. Almost like you want Duncan to be guilty.’

Peartree flushed under his collar. As the colour flooded from his neck into his face, his eyes narrowed, and he seemed to suppress a heated retort.

A hot-headed man himself. Also capable of striking out when he felt attacked…

Peartree turned on his heel and began to walk again. Because Alkmene had to stay behind him on the narrow path, she couldn’t see his expression well enough to read his emotions better.

Peartree spoke, through gritted teeth. ‘Of course I don’t want that. I just…knew Duncan would have this callous attitude about it. Like nothing can touch him. He thinks he is above the law just because his father is a viscount. I thought the police should know the truth so they can judge him on the basis of evidence, not shy away from confrontation, just for the sake of his family name.’

‘I see.’

Peartree’s irritation about Duncan’s privileged position and possible preferential treatment by the police reminded Alkmene of what Jake had told her about events in London. Cases where poor people were involved were easily dismissed, whereas crimes against the upper classes got more attention.

Jake even claimed sometimes innocent people were condemned for a crime they had not committed because the police wanted to close the case as quickly as possible, show results for the wealthy and powerful families of victims. The injustice in that might drive Peartree to his current behaviour.

Jake would probably approve of it.

The path got wider, and Alkmene came to walk beside Peartree. In the distance the grass gave way to rock. Those had to be cliffs close to water. She could hear some splashing. All the sounds were so clear, carried along by the sharp wind.

She said, ‘You have done the right thing not withholding anything based on someone’s last name. But you should realize that an argument and words spoken in anger don’t mean a whole lot. Duncan might be innocent.’

Peartree glanced at her. ‘Who else would have had any reason to kill the victim? Nobody knew him. Just Duncan.’

‘Are you sure of that?’

‘Well, the locals surely didn’t know him. They had never worked on an excavation site before so it was all new to them. Duncan was new to them, I was, everybody who came here from London was.’

So the killer could not have been local.

Peartree continued, ‘Duncan was very vague about who Goodman was and what he wanted here on the site. But when he turned up dead, I heard that he was into archaeology as well. A colleague of Duncan’s, so to speak.’

So their argument could have been about the excavation. With what news had Goodman come from London?

Alkmene increased the length of her strides, as if physical energy could also increase her confidence in a good outcome in the case. ‘I have to talk to Duncan before he starts blabbering nonsense to the police. I wish I had understood the full implications when he was taken away. I would have gone with him to talk to him on the way into Blackcastle.’

Peartree scoffed. ‘Duncan wouldn’t have told you anything. He is an arrogant man who thinks the world of himself. He wasn’t any good at archaeology, you know. He was only taken on because he brought money with him. I had to work my head off to get to where I am today. He walks in with a bag full of money and he can become the right-hand man of the excavation leader. When Price falls ill, Duncan can take over everything. Where is the justice in that?’

‘So you were after the position Duncan has now?’ That would put Peartree’s insistence to accuse Duncan in a wholly new light. He might have a personal interest in seeing Duncan leave the scene, for good!

Peartree laughed. ‘Not at all. I’m not into archaeology.’

‘Oh. Why are you here then?’

Peartree waved a hand. ‘Just a visit. Duncan asked me to come see him if I had the time for it, and it seemed like a nice sort of change.’

Peartree’s tone was a little too casual. And he had said before he had been here for weeks, helping out on the dig. He had acted around the workers as if he was in charge of them. That was different than just a nice visit.

There had to be more behind Peartree’s presence at the site. Some sort of rivalry or enmity of a different kind.

Some reason why Peartree had jumped at the chance to share his incriminating evidence with the police as soon as the dead body had turned up.

Alkmene intended to find out exactly what his involvement was.



At the police station in Blackcastle, Alkmene asked Peartree to wait outside for her at the car in which he had driven her into the town. She didn’t want him to be present when she talked to Duncan. She also didn’t want him to know who she was calling and what about.

Peartree seemed irked to be ordered about like that, but wordlessly removed himself to sit on a bench under an oak tree, opposite to the village store. The girl who had been brushing the horse earlier was just entering the store with a big twine basket on her arm.

Alkmene stared after her a moment. If this girl Sarah had been close to Duncan, it might be worthwhile to ask her what she knew about the victim and his reasons for visiting Duncan here in Blackcastle.

Then she shook her head. It would have to wait ’til later. Duncan came first now.

She stalked into the police station. A constable was typing up notes from a stack by his side. As he rose to come over to her, his baton moved against the desk, producing a metallic thud that reverberated in the air.

Alkmene cringed at the aggressive sound.

‘Yes?’ the constable asked with a suspicious frown. It was the man with the basset-hound face who had taken Duncan in.

Alkmene mentioned her name, title included of course, demanding to speak with Duncan Woolsbury as soon as possible.

The constable shook his head. ‘He is being questioned right now. You cannot see him.’

‘I will see him now.’ She put her hands on the desk to underline her point. ‘You have no right to question him without an attorney.’

‘He doesn’t want one. We did ask. He says it is all a silly misunderstanding that can be set straight in no time.’

Alkmene sighed. It seemed Simon Peartree had been right about Duncan’s pig-headedness. He would keep thinking nothing was wrong until it was too late. She had to change tack, fast. ‘Can I use your phone, please?’

The man nodded and put it on the desk for her. He retreated to his own desk and rearranged the notes he had been working on. Were they about the murder? She needed some details. Where the body had been found, how it had lain there, traces around it – footprints, a cigarette butt, anything that could shed light on the presence of people on the murder scene.

But she was pretty certain this hostile constable wouldn’t tell her a thing.

With a sigh she asked the operator to connect her with the number in Plymouth that Jake had given her. She hoped he was in.

A hotel clerk answered and had to send a bellboy to look for Mr Dubois. ‘He has just been seen leaving with another gentleman.’

Alkmene kept her fingers crossed the bellboy would catch the two of them outside before they vanished.

The hubbub of a busy lobby buzzed over the line. The sound of voices, laughter, and the distant ding of an elevator bell.

Then a rustle and a short, ‘Dubois.’

Excitement flooded through her that they were connecting again about a murder. Not one Jake was writing about, and graciously sharing with her, like the poison case, but one she had hit upon herself. He would be surprised to hear it. ‘Alkmene here. I can barely hear you. Can you hear me?’

‘If I concentrate.’ There was a hint of laughter in his voice. ‘What is it?’

Just hearing his voice made Alkmene feel better. Jake would have some idea of what they could do to prove Duncan’s innocence. She turned away from the desk with the inquisitive policeman and spoke into the receiver. ‘I’m in Cornwall looking in on an old friend of mine. As it so happens, he is being questioned in relation to a dead body found on his dig.’

‘On his what?’

‘His dig. He’s an archaeologist.’

‘Interesting friends you have.’

‘Not as interesting as yours,’ she retorted, meaning the cat burglar who had set off their earlier case of the diamonds of death. ‘I need some information about certain people. Can you dig it up for me? I’ll call you again tomorrow from a different phone.’ Maybe the inn had one, or the village store? She had not seen a telephone box anywhere. Yet. ‘Let’s say around noon?’

‘That won’t be necessary. Where did you say you were? Cornwall? Maybe I can arrange something with Seaton.’

‘What?’

‘Buck Seaton. He is here to discuss the idea for a race. A boating race that will end in Plymouth. The yachting club could host the reception when the boats come in. I’m supposed to write about it, but I could ask Seaton to give me all the details later when we're both back in London. I could get myself a car for a few days and come out to you. Where exactly are you? How far from Plymouth do you think it is?’

‘I’m staying in Blackcastle. Must be less than forty miles. But I really don’t need you here. Just get me the information I want and I can manage finding the culprit on my own.’

Jake sounded very far away as he said something in reply.

She pressed the receiver closer to her ear. ‘What? I can’t hear you.’

‘Sorry. I was getting a notepad and pen. What people do you want information on? I can ring a contact or two before I find myself a car to come out to you.’

‘You don’t have to do that,’ Alkmene insisted. ‘Just get me the information, will you? The suspect is Duncan Woolsbury, my friend. I want to know how he got in with this expedition. Check out his tutor and patron Trevor Price.’

‘The Trevor Price?’ Jake whistled. ‘This could get interesting. He is a master in his field. What exactly is your friend Duncan digging up?’

‘Uh, a medieval village, I heard.’

Jake huffed. ‘Seems like small stuff for Price to be involved in. Nothing big and exciting lost in that area?’

‘I have no idea. I did hear there used to be a castle here. There is just one tower left of it. The excavation site is quite close to it. It was called the Black Castle. The village where I’m staying takes its name from it.’

She was moving around a bit while talking and caught the constable’s glance. Like he had perked up. At her mention of the castle?

She lowered her voice as she continued, ‘Also find out if Duncan is in any financial trouble. And female friends, if you can dig up some.’

If Peartree had been right in his observations about ‘casual girlfriends’, there had to be plenty. She only had to glance out of the window to see Simon Peartree talking to the girl with the basket, who had apparently come back from her grocery shopping. Little Sarah, as Peartree had referred to her earlier. There were several wrapped parcels in the twine basket, as well as the green heads of leek.

Upon closer examination Sarah didn’t seem quite as young as she had earlier. She could be twenty. Suitable for Duncan anyway?

Just then the girl burst into tears and ran off into the building on the corner of the village square. Not into the right half of it in front of which she had been brushing the horse, but the left half, with a sign over the door depicting a net full of fish. ‘The Catch’ was written underneath in chipped golden letters.

That was the inn Alkmene was staying at. Wonderful. It would give her a chance to connect with this Sarah and find out more about her relationship with Duncan.

She refocused on the phone call and said to Jake, ‘Besides all you can find about Duncan, I also want everything on the victim. His name was Reiner Goodman.’

‘German?’ Jake asked.

‘Could be.’

For a moment it struck Alkmene as possibly significant that the Woolsbury driver was also German. The enigmatic Kramer, who had been so tight-lipped all during their journey, but who had readily confided in her that Duncan had a love interest here that he was keeping hidden from his family. She didn’t suppose the driver had told her because he felt sorry for her, turning up where she was not wanted. What could have been his purpose with that revelation?

Shaking her head to concentrate, she pushed on. ‘You should find out if Goodman was German. And if he was a connection of Duncan Woolsbury’s patron, the famous Trevor Price. Also find out what Price was working on before his health trouble sent him on a long holiday. After all, his ill health got Duncan the job here. I also want to know why this dig is so important. I mean, I do understand digs in Egypt, but here… Like you said, there must be more than a medieval village to unearth.’

‘All the more reason for me to come out as soon as I can. See you later.’ And Jake disconnected.

With a huff Alkmene put down the receiver. Jake believed he could gather some information, drive down here and solve the crime. But in Plymouth he was cut off from his main source of information: his London street informers. He could not call them and he could not meet with them in person. He had to rely on other contacts who were reachable by phone. Maybe a newspaper colleague or someone at a club? It could get him background information, but not the details of the murder and the possible suspects. That information was right here in Blackcastle. At her fingertips.

Alkmene smiled. In their first investigation Jake had dismissed her offer to trade information because he had been sure he held much more than she did. This time their trade would be even. When he came in, she would have something substantial to share.

She smiled at the policeman who surveyed her with narrowed eyes. A second one had come in, younger, with unruly blond curls. He said, ‘Everybody knows why the dig was so important.’

‘Oh?’ Alkmene hitched a brow. ‘When I was there just now, I did not see anything particularly exciting.’

‘Well, there has to be something, or else they wouldn’t have written threats on the wall for him to get out, would they?’

The constable at the desk shook his head at his colleague. ‘Don’t tell the lady nonsense, Eddy.’

Eddy looked innocent. ‘It isn’t nonsense. There were words carved there in the planking of the tool shed. Mr Woolsbury had me come in and look at it to deduce who had put it there.’

The older constable scoffed. ‘And could you deduce it, Eddy?’

Eddy hung his head. ‘Not really. But I’m working on it.’

‘Sure you are.’ The constable got up and waved his hand at the younger man. ‘You better get back out there to see about that stolen bicycle Ms Rivers complained about.’

‘It isn’t stolen. She just misplaced it. She always does.’

The other growled, ‘If I say so, you go.’

The young man grimaced. ‘All right.’ He turned to Alkmene and said, ‘You will hear about it soon enough. Everybody knows about it. Especially Mr Page. He has been looking for the Black Castle gold for ages.’

Alkmene’s eyes went wide. ‘The Black Castle what?’


Chapter Four (#u36aad884-34d7-5d88-ab66-cdea2a4e29f6)

The older constable came for them with a raised hand. ‘Out of here, Eddy. I won’t warn you again.’

The younger man inched back as if he was really afraid to be slapped by his superior. He muttered a greeting to Alkmene and took off.

His older colleague stared after him with narrowed eyes. ‘Young people. Know absolutely nothing about police work. Or local history. Just tidbits that stir their imagination. Gold!’

He shook his head as he returned to his desk. He leaned over his typewriter and attacked the keys with determination. It was plain Alkmene would get nothing more out of him. She had to hope Jake would hear something about the real purpose of the dig in his inquiries into Trevor Price’s work before he had been cut off by his lung problem.

As Alkmene walked back out, into the sunshine, her mind raced. The viscount had said Duncan was excavating a medieval village. Now there was suddenly talk of something like the Black Castle gold. It sounded potentially sensational.

Had Duncan lied about his true purpose here? Just to his father, or also to his employer Trevor Price?

Was that why Duncan had not been happy when someone from the archaeological circles in London had appeared to see him? Had he believed his whole scheme would fall through?

Had he wanted to return to London with a major find to prove that he was more than just a titled man with money who liked his little hobby? That he was a serious contender in the field?

But how secret a scheme had it been when the younger policeman, Eddy, knew all about it? Even claimed everybody around here knew about it? Especially some Mr Page.

Maybe she had to ask who he was and go see him right away?

But before she was two paces away from the police station, the dismissive constable appeared behind her. His hand on her shoulder made her start.

‘You better be careful what you get into.’ His expression was solemn. ‘That excavation has caused no end of trouble in the village, you know. We’d all be glad to see those people leave again.’

‘I saw locals there working,’ Alkmene countered. ‘I’d think the village would welcome the offer of extra work.’

‘Oh, but some have worked there and have been fired, for supposedly taking something.’ The policeman leaned over to her, a strange fire in his deep-set eyes. ‘The threat left on his tool shed wasn’t the only thing that happened, you know. After Woolsbury fired the innkeeper’s son, accusing him of theft, the villagers were not happy and they waited on Woolsbury one night as he walked from town to his cottage and beat him up.’

Alkmene gasped. ‘Beat up a big man like Duncan?’

‘If there are enough of you, you can overcome any man. Two black eyes he had the next morning and no end of bruises.’ The policeman sounded almost smug. ‘He wanted us to investigate who had done it and punish them, but how would we know? He himself had seen no faces, it being half dark and all. And as he had drunk quite a lot of liquor, his testimony about their number and appearance wasn’t worth a penny. How can we find those people not even knowing how many there were or what they looked like?’

‘Perhaps you are not trying very hard either, knowing they would be your own people?’ Alkmene suggested.

He pulled back his shoulders. The sun glinted off his polished uniform buttons. ‘We do a good job here, we do. And now you’d better be leaving. There’s nothing left to do here for you. The gentleman will make his statement about what happened that night, and then we’ll see what we are going to do about him.’

Alkmene realized that neither Duncan nor she had made friends on the local police force. She retreated to Peartree, who still sat on the bench, chewing on an apple.

She sat down beside him and nodded at the apple. ‘A gift?’ She wanted to steer the conversation in the direction of doe-eyed Sarah, but Peartree pointed at the village store opposite with the inviting assortment of fresh vegetables and fruit laid out in crates on a table. ‘I pinched one to sweeten the wait.’

Alkmene hitched a brow. ‘You didn’t pay for it? No wonder the locals don’t like the invasion from London.’

Peartree laughed softly. ‘They started the hostilities, not us. Damage done to the site, things gone missing. They even waited for Duncan one night and beat him up.’

‘Yes, the constable just told me. Was it really because Duncan had fired someone?’

‘Two,’ Peartree said unperturbed. ‘One was a farmer’s lad who broke a pot that Duncan had managed to get out of the earth whole. He was fussy with those things, always thinking he could do everything perfect and others could do nothing at all.’

‘And the other?’

Peartree pointed with his half-eaten apple at the inn. ‘The brother of that girl who was making the doe eyes at him. I think he’s called Mark or something. He was just a kid. But Duncan took him on because he saw some talent in him. But all the kid was good for was big talk. He claimed to know where the gold was hidden.’

Peartree fell silent as if he had said too much, but Alkmene leaned back against the bench’s mossy railing and said in an indifferent tone, ‘I know about the gold.’

Peartree took a bite of apple and chewed. There was juice on his chin. He rubbed it away with his wrist. ‘So the kid talked about the gold like he knew where it was. It also seemed Duncan turned up something made of gold; the next day it was gone. Duncan claimed Mark had stolen it and Duncan wanted to press charges.’

Peartree laughed softly. ‘The dumb fool actually wanted a search made of the inn and livery stables and barns for the missing item, certain the lad had hidden it there. Do you think the local police are going to search the house of one of their own for something gone missing from some fancy city crew?’

Alkmene shook her head. ‘Not likely. So the missing find was never recovered.’

‘No. It wasn’t.’ Peartree finished his apple and carelessly tossed the remains down on the cobbles. He crossed his ankles like he was sitting in his easy chair at home. ‘I think the kid never had anything. Duncan only accused him to get rumours started that there really was a golden item dug up. People had started to say there was none, as he made no progress at all. He felt pressured to turn up results and he believed such a tale would aid him.’

He shook his head. ‘That was stupid. It only brought out vultures. People with spades digging in the fields, trying to find something themselves. He had to guard the site at night to make sure nobody got on there.’

‘And on that guarded site the man was murdered? This Reiner Goodman?’

Peartree nodded. ‘But don’t expect the night guard to tell you anything useful. The old sod saw nothing. I bet he was drunk and sleeping it off in a dry ditch. These local people aren’t good for anything.’

He rose and stretched himself. ‘I suppose the police didn’t want to let you see Duncan, huh?’ He didn’t add ‘told you so’ but his tone clearly implied it. ‘Shall we go back to the cottage?’

His smug attitude irritated Alkmene, and she wanted to go to the inn, not the cottage. On the other hand, she would be spending enough time at the inn later, getting her chance to speak with Sarah and maybe also her brother, who had allegedly stolen this gold item from the dig.

Right now she needed all the information she could get about the victim and his movements before his death. As she had no access to Duncan, he could not tell her what the argument with the victim had been about. But Peartree had allegedly overheard it, so he had to know. Perhaps if she acted like she was accepting his better judgement, he would start to thaw and give her what she needed?

With Jake already on his way to Blackcastle, determined he could solve the crime before she could, she didn’t have a lot of time to gather something big and revealing.

She nodded. ‘All right, let’s return to the cottage. My throat is parched; I need some tea.’



In the car on their way down the country road she began, ‘So Reiner Goodman came to see Duncan, the night before he died. I assume this happened at the cottage? That that is where you overheard them arguing?’

Peartree nodded. ‘It was right underneath my bedroom window.’

How convenient, Alkmene thought. ‘What did they say exactly?’

Peartree kept his eyes on the road. ‘Duncan said he’d break his head for what he had done.’

‘Yes, I know that. But what had Goodman done exactly? What did they say before that threatening remark?’

‘I have no idea. I was about to turn in. I walked over to the window to close my curtains. The weather was so warm and dry that I had left the window open. They were standing below in the yard. I heard Duncan’s voice clearly. Goodman was speaking much more softly. I have no idea what he said.’

How convenient again. Alkmene shifted her weight in the seat. She didn’t trust Peartree’s testimony at all, but the local police would have no reason to doubt him.

Unless she could prove Peartree had a grudge against Duncan and therefore a reason to incriminate him. What was the true reason for his visit to the dig?

Peartree said, ‘Look, nobody out here knew the murdered man. Usually killers don’t strike at victims they do not know, unless they’re insane. Are you suggesting we have a madman out here?’

On the contrary. She considered Peartree very sane, rational and organized. He had overheard a conversation where Duncan threatened the man who had come to see him. It might have given him an idea or two. If Peartree had never wanted Duncan to be in charge of the expedition, as his own bitter words earlier had clearly suggested, this might have seemed the ideal opportunity to remove Duncan from the scene.

But would you really kill a man to frame another? It seemed like such a risky thing to do. Despite her dislike of Peartree’s attitude now, and also in town earlier, she had to keep an open mind and look for other suspects besides him.

Suddenly Peartree braked hard, and she was thrown forwards. She just got her hands against the dashboard, but she felt a painful twinge in her neck. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Ruddy dog,’ Peartree cried, gesturing at the road in front of them.

A big shaggy dog had jumped away from the car. It stood looking at them disdainfully, then jumped into the meadow to their left and ran off. Alkmene looked to the right to see where it had come from. She spied a crooked man carrying a big sack over his shoulder.

Peartree honked at the man, swinging his fist at him, before he drove on.

‘That crackpot also worked on the site,’ Peartree said to Alkmene. ‘Old Paul, they call him. Nobody knows if he even has a last name. Seems he had family living near the Black Castle for centuries. He can trace his genealogy back to Noah if you ask me. I thought it was only the Irish who were obsessed with their family line and heritage, but the Cornish are just as bad.’

‘I’ve never had a problem with a man who was proud of his legacy,’ Alkmene said, looking back at the sturdy little man. ‘What on earth is in that sack he’s carrying?’

‘His finds for the day. Old Paul is a beachcomber.’ Peartree grimaced. ‘Seems he has laid claim to the land Duncan is digging on. He has an old deed that says the land belongs to his family and Duncan is not allowed to work there. But Price got permission for Duncan via a relation in London. I think the former mayor of this place or something? Anyway, if Duncan recognized the little man’s claims, he would have to share the finds with him. Duncan is not the sharing type, you know.’

Alkmene nodded. ‘It sounds like Duncan was at odds with a lot of people out here. How long had he been working here?’

Peartree shrugged. ‘For months I think. I came in a little later. I had been to Monaco on business first.’

‘Yes, what do you do exactly?’ Alkmene studied him.

‘I’m into wine. Import, export. I met Duncan when I delivered some fine Chardonnay to his father. Duncan told me all about his work here and invited me to come take a look.’

The meeting surprised Alkmene. She had guessed that Duncan and Peartree had met via Duncan’s patron Price. Or maybe even were old acquaintances, for instance from Duncan’s time at Eton. After all, you didn’t invite someone over for a stay, for weeks on end, without knowing him fairly well.

With Peartree turning out to be a wine merchant who had just delivered some goods to his father’s house, it seemed a bit odd that Duncan had immediately sought his friendship.

Jake would probably have considered that a typical class-conscious conviction, but Alkmene knew better than most how Duncan had been raised. He had to have changed a lot to act so at odds with his upbringing.

As if Peartree sensed her disbelief, he smiled and spoke slowly. ‘No, actually it wasn’t like that. I spread that tale to be kind to Duncan. I don’t want to embarrass him with the truth.’

Alkmene waited.

Peartree said, ‘Duncan and I met at a club, playing cards. Duncan was a bit drunk at the time and boasting about a treasure he was going to unearth in Cornwall.’

Alkmene’s heart beat fast. The Black Castle gold, again.

Peartree said, ‘I bet Duncan he couldn’t find this alleged treasure and he bet me that he could. I’m afraid that he was so drunk at the time he wagered quite a lot of money on it.’

Alkmene blinked. It wasn’t Duncan’s excess drinking that baffled her, although it was disconcerting that he had also been drunk when he had been attacked by the locals recently. How much was he drinking and why?

But far above this unfortunate revelation, Peartree had handed her a far more vital clue. In a few callous words he had explained that Duncan had wagered part of his family fortune on the chances of finding an elusive treasure here on site.

It was so like Duncan.

It was so…

Dumb.

Alkmene suppressed a deep sigh. ‘So if Duncan doesn’t turn up this alleged treasure, you’ll be rich?’

Peartree shrugged. ‘Rich is a big word, but I’ll be able to travel to France on holiday instead of business for a change.’

Alkmene nodded. It still didn’t explain how Peartree had known Duncan. She refused to accept that they had been in the same club by coincidence. They had to have known each other before the unfortunate wager. But the wager did explain why Peartree had come out here. He wanted to see for himself how Duncan was getting along.

Or rather not getting along. After all, it would be in Peartree’s interest that Duncan did not find anything. That his excavation here would end in abject failure.




Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/vivian-conroy/deadly-treasures/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.