“Unless we’re lying for each other.”
“Well, we’re—”Not, I was going to say, until I remembered that actually, we were.
Not about that, though.
“Do you think someone killed him?” I asked.
Christopher shrugged helplessly. “I have no idea what to think. It didn’t cross my mind until Scotland Yard brought it up—why kill a man who’s going to die in a few months or a year anyway?—but it seems like they think someone might have. Or at least they’re looking into whether it was possible. I’m guessing Doctor Curtis will take him in for autopsy.”
We both grimaced at the thought.
“If you’re going to write a murder mystery,” Christopher said, “you definitely know what to write about now. You’ve seen two dead bodies, one of which was violently murdered.”
“Funny enough,” I answered, “the appeal has somewhat left me, to be honest.”
Christopher nodded. “I can quite see that.”
After a moment, he added, “I’m not sure, Pippa. Maybe if we treat this like a crime novel? The old duke is dead, by what’s maybe a fatal dose of heart medicine, and his valet and confidant has been shot. The suspects are his sons, his daughters-in-law, his grandchildren, and his staff. Who did it?”
“Someone without an obvious motive,” I said. “Me, probably.”
He snorted. “You weren’t even on the list.”
“I should be on the list,” I said. “I was here. I had access to the gun room and the duke’s—your grandfather’s—medication. As much as anyone else did.”
“But you were with me when he was poisoned.”
“If he was poisoned.” I shook my head. “This isn’t working. If we all had means—access to the gun and the medication—and opportunity—access to your grandfather’s room and the maze—then motive is what matters. Who had motive?”
“Me,” Christopher said. “For Grimsby, at least. And what’s more, I’m the only one we know for certain had a motive for killing Grimsby. We’re theorizing about everyone else.”
Yes, we were. But if Christopher hadn’t done it, then someone else must have. And they must have had a motive, too.
“He might have blackmailed someone else, as well. Most likely he did. Why stop with one?”
Christopher shook his head. “In novels, it’s usually about money, isn’t it? Inheritances and such?”
It was. Often enough that ‘usually’ probably qualified.
“The estate is entailed,” Christopher said. “The title goes to Uncle Harold and then to Crispin, along with the Sutherland properties. The Hall and the House in London. But Grandfather owned things that weren’t entailed, too. And he could threaten to withdraw those from someone who misbehaved.”
Yes, he could have. “Like he could have threatened your father into not bankrolling you and me and our flat in London.”
Christopher nodded. “Which we would have hated, but we wouldn’t have committed murder over it. Someone else, for whom the stakes were higher, though…”
“Like Francis and his drug habit. Or Crispin and whatever is going on with this girl he thinks he’s in love with.”
“If he says he’s in love with her, he probably is,” Christopher said. “But yes. Uncle Harold clearly didn’t approve, and since it came up this weekend, it’s likely that Grimsby brought it to Grandfather’s attention this weekend, and then Grandfather brought it to Uncle Harold’s attention. And Uncle Harold yelled at Crispin about it. And if Crispin feels strongly enough…”
I made a face. Crispin St George in love.Ugh. “So there’s Crispin and Francis. There’s your mother and her sideline, although I don’t see her murdering your grandfather because he found out that she’s been selling gossip to the weekly tabloids. That’s hardly a killing offense.”
“None of them are killing offenses,” Christopher said. “At least not to you and me. I wouldn’t kill anyone over Kitty, and you wouldn’t, either. So what if we’d have to move back to Beckwith Place, or even Sutherland Hall? We’d survive.”
I nodded.
“But who’s to say what someone else believes is worth killing over? Grimsby was a blackmailer, and Grandfather wasn’t going to live much longer anyway. It’s quite easy to justify murder under those conditions.”
Perhaps it was.
