“He said that the effects of too much heart medication looks like heart failure. But apparently there was too much heart medication in his stomach. Then again, I suppose that could have been an honest mistake. He might have felt poorly after all the excitement and decided to dose himself.”
“Not impossible,” Christopher agreed.
“But for the sake of argument… Francis had a good motive for killing both of them, if your grandfather threatened to withhold the drugs Francis relies on. He doesn’t have an alibi, at least not for the shooting.”
Christopher nodded, his jaw tight.
“Of course, we don’t know that your grandfather did that, so Francis might have had no motive whatsoever. Your mother would kill for either you or Francis—”
“Or you,” Christopher said.
“—but I don’t think she would have killed your grandfather. Then again, I feel like there’s still a question of whether or not he was murdered.”
Christopher nodded.
“She has no alibi for Grimsby’s murder. Not if your father was asleep by then. Or if they were in it together.”
“My mother wouldn’t try to shoot you, though,” Christopher said.
No, she wouldn’t. And just in case the aim had been off and Christopher was the intended victim, it was even less likely that Aunt Roz was behind it. So this was either someone else, not the murderer of the other two, or the reason was different.
“I have no idea what your father’s motive would be, but if he and your mother were in it together, it was likely because of Francis.”
Christopher nodded.
“I have no idea about Aunt Charlotte or Uncle Harold. Crispin didn’t mention them, nor did Tom. We could ask him, and see if there was anything in Grimsby’s notes he’d be willing to share. But without that, there’s nothing I can come up with but wild guesses.”
Christopher nodded.
“They don’t share a bedchamber, though, so either of them could have gone down to the hedge maze and shot Grimsby, I think. Even if I have no idea why they would.”
I took a breath. “And then there’s St George.”
“Tell me,” Christopher said.
“He had opportunity to kill both of them. He was alone in his room when we went down to the conservatory Saturday night—or at least I assume he was—and he could have gone out to the maze after we left. Or could already be there, I suppose, if he’d gone out and left his light on. We didn’t hear any noises from inside his room that night. Or at least I didn’t. Did you?”
“I don’t think so,” Christopher said. “The argument with Uncle Harold was earlier in the evening.”
And we both clearly remembered that. “Like everyone else in the house, he knew where to find the gun and ammunition. And on Saturday afternoon, he was in the duchess’s passage, listening to everyone’s conversations. It would have been easy for him to go through the hidden door into his grandfather’s room and kill him. He wouldn’t even have to venture into the hallway to do it.”
Christopher nodded thoughtfully. “That’s true, of course. But why would he?”
“Well,” I said apologetically, “he’s the Viscount St George now, isn’t he?”
Christopher’s eyes widened. “You think he killed Grandfather for the title? But…” He shook his head. “No, Pippa. Grandfather was on his way out already, surely? He was almost ninety. Crispin would have become viscount in a year or two anyway.”
“Yes,” I said, “but the girl he wants to marry might have married someone else by then. With your grandfather dead, he’s one step closer to the title, and maybe a step closer to getting what he wants, as well.”
Christopher was silent for a few seconds. “It’s possible, I suppose,” he said reluctantly.
“Of course it’s possible. Maybe that was one of the conversations he overheard while he was lurking in the passage. His father and grandfather discussing how they’re not going to let him marry the woman he wants. So he waits until his father leaves the room, and then he pops through the hidden door and kills his grandfather. But Grimsby comes in and sees him. He puts Grimsby off, offers him money, probably—he’ll have more of it now that he’s the Viscount St George—and then he arranges to meet him in the garden maze at eleven.”
Christopher opened his mouth, and I held up a hand to silence the objection I knew was coming. “This would have been after Grimsby arranged to meet you, but there would be more money in meeting Crispin, so it makes sense that Grimsby would ditch the meeting with you over the meeting with him. And it’s not like he could come to you and reschedule. How would he explain it?”
“Ye-e-e-s,” Christopher said, although he didn’t sound overjoyed.
“Problem?”
