I glanced at the clock ticking away on the wall. “It’s not even ten in the morning. On a Sunday.”
He shot me a look. “Is it more acceptable to drink before ten on the other days of the week?”
“I’m with you,” Christopher said. “And I didn’t even see the body. A drink sounds like just the thing.”
They headed for the door to the hallway. I trotted after. “Maybe just some whiskey in a cup of tea? It might make it look less like alcoholism and more medicinal?”
“If it’ll make you feel better,” Christopher said with a shrug. “I’ll get the whiskey. You pour the tea?”
“Fine by me.” I headed for the breakfast room, where the warming dishes were still ranged along the sideboard and the tea was still warm. After I had lined up three cups and as I started to pour tea into each of them, the clicking of heels outside the door warned me that company was coming, and most likely of the female variety. I turned my head, just in time to see Aunt Roz breeze through the doorway. She took in me and the three teacups in a single glance, and arched her brows. “Goodness. Having a party this morning?”
“Christopher, St George, and I are having whiskey,” I said.
Aunt Roz blinked. “What is the occasion?”
“Grimsby’s dead.” I put the teapot down and plopped the cozy over top of it, so the contents would stay warm. “St George just found the body in the middle of the garden maze.”
“Dear me,” Aunt Roz said. “Has anyone called the police?”
“Tidwell went off to do it. Christopher and Crispin went to find the whiskey.”
“Better pour me some, too,” Aunt Roz said, and reached for a cup and saucer, which she put next to the other three.
I reached for the pot again, while Aunt Roz added, “Who would want to kill Grimsby?”
I imagine she meant it rhetorically, and it probably meant that Aunt Roz, at least, had not been one of Grimsby’s victims.
“I can’t imagine,” I said, while I focused on keeping my hands steady. “Perhaps he killed himself. His employer just died. Is it possible he expected to get the sack, and he didn’t want to deal with it?”
“I don’t think Grimsby would have had a problem finding another position,” Aunt Roz answered. She lifted her teacup and took it over to the table, where she sat down and crossed her ankles demurely. “He was with His Grace for a long time. And dear Henry might have provided for him in his last will, as well. It wouldn’t surprise me.”
Maybe not. In my admittedly limited view, the late duke hadn’t had a sentimental bone in his body. He’d been a terrible old curmudgeon who had delighted in making things as difficult as possible for his family, and I couldn’t imagine him willing anything to anyone beyond what was entailed in the estate. But it was possible that he had had warmer feelings towards a servant and confidant who had been with him for years. He certainly hadn’t seemed particularly warm towards either of his grandchildren, and as for me, he had mostly pretended I didn’t exist.
“I suppose we’ll find out when it’s time for the will to be read,” I said. “Not that Grimsby is in any position to benefit now.”
“Clearly,” Aunt Roz said. “If there was a bequest for Grimsby, and it was sizeable, it will be interesting to see who gets the money now.”
Ah. So Aunt Roz was thinking that someone might have killed Grimsby for the inheritance. It was a possibility I hadn’t considered, but now that I did, I couldn’t dismiss it outright. Whoever did it would have had to have known what was in the will, of course, but someone might have known that. Whoever had signed as a witness, for instance.
It was far more likely that Grimsby had been murdered because he was a blackmailer, of course. Because he knew something about someone that that someone didn’t want to get out. That’s the sort of thing someone kills over.
Although Aunt Roz might not have known about that. It didn’t seem as if she had.
A chill passed through me when I remembered that when the shot rang out, I’d been by myself in the conservatory.
Now, Grimsby hadn’t been blackmailingme, so I was hardly a suspect. But he had been blackmailing Christopher, and Christopher had also been alone in the garden.
But of course he hadn’t been anywhere near the hedge maze, I told myself. Grimsby had arranged to meet him in the formal garden on the east side of the house.
Unless, a little voice in the back of my head said, hehadbeen near the hedge maze. I couldn’t prove that he hadn’t. When Grimsby hadn’t turned up in the formal garden by the predetermined time he was supposed to meet Christopher, Christopher might have taken it upon himself to go looking for the valet.
Did I think he had?
Of course not. I was sure he had done exactly what he told me he’d done: waited by the fountain. Christopher wasn’t a murderer.
But could I prove he hadn’t gone to the garden maze and shot Grimsby?
No. Not at all.
