THE VAMPIRE KNITTING CLUB:
CORNWALL
NANCY WARREN
CONTENTS
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
A Note from Nancy
Also by Nancy Warren
About the Author
INTRODUCTION
A knitting shop in Cornwall—what could be more peaceful?
Turns out, just about anything!
When Boston-bred witch Jennifer Cunningham agrees to run a knitting and
yarn shop in Tregrebi, a fishing village on the Cornwall coast in England, she
worries she’ll be bored. Okay, she knows there are vampires living in a
former tin mine, but she’s accustomed to vampires. They knit so fast that they
make excellent customers and some of them are becoming good friends.
Fascinated by the magic and myths in Cornwall, Jennifer’s falling in love
with her new home. However, when she’s exploring a rocky beach one
morning, she discovers a dead body. The man appears to have fallen from the
cliff, but did he really die by accident? Or was he murdered?
The more she discovers, the more Jennifer is convinced there’s a killer on
the loose. And, with all the colorful characters she’s meeting, both living and
undead, she’s pretty sure one of them is the murderer.
But which one? The all-too-attractive undead pirate? The vagrant artist
with a mesmerizing talent? The fellow shop owner who’s a little too helpful?
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P R A I S E F O R T H E VA M P I R E K N IT T I N G C L U B
SERIES
"THE VAMPIRE KNITTING CLUB is a delightful paranormal cozy
mystery perfectly set in a knitting shop in Oxford, England. With
intrepid, late blooming, amateur sleuth, Lucy Swift, and a cast of truly
unforgettable characters, this mystery delivers all the goods. It's clever
and funny, with plot twists galore and one very savvy cat! I highly
recommend this sparkling addition to the cozy mystery genre."
— JENN MCKINLAY, NYT BESTSELLING AUTHOR
“I’m a total addict to this series.” *****
“Fresh, smart and funny” *****
CHAPTER 1
T
here are places in the world that just call to you. You get there and
something inside you says, Yes. Cornwall was like that for me. I’ve
always lived near the ocean, but the ocean near Boston is a quieter affair. The
ocean that crashes against the rocks on the jagged Cornwall coast is much
more muscular. It says, I am an elemental force, and you’d better respect me
or you’ll suffer.
I’m a witch, and there’s so much magic in Cornwall that it’s no wonder
this area feels familiar. I’d come to Cornwall to try living and working here
for three months. My best friend in the entire world, Lucy Swift, and her
brand-new husband, Rafe Crosyer, had a house called Shadowbrook Manor
in Cornwall. And for various reasons, Lucy’s grandmother, Agnes Bartlett,
needed to get out of Oxford and find something to do. Agnes had always run
a knitting shop and was extremely good at it, so she’d decided to move to
Cornwall and open a new shop. Since she was more nocturnal, I would be
managing the shop in the day.
Shadowbrook Manor was in Tregrebi, a fishing village that relied more
and more on tourism while being one of the few that actually still had an
active fishery. At five in the morning, the boats would go out and by noon the
restaurants would have the fresh catch on their menus. Tregrebi had become a
local favorite and a tourist hub. This was very good for people who wanted to
open a knitting shop.
I’d been a little leery when asked if I’d like to work in retail, but I didn’t
have anything else to do, and I had plenty of reasons not to return to Boston. I
was thirty years old. I’d recently decided, mutually with my company, that
working in technology sales was not the career I was best suited for. Trouble
was, I didn’t know what I was suited for.
Being a witch is awesome, and it’s great having magical powers, but it’s
not exactly a paying profession. And I didn’t want to set up some sort of
practice as a fortune teller or mind reader. But I do love to knit. And probably
the reason that I got into sales in the first place was that I like meeting people.
So, I agreed to try running a knitting and yarn shop for three months—and
help Lucy’s grandmother.
Because Agnes may be extremely good at running a shop, but she also
has a few issues—needing to sleep in the day being a big one. You see,
Lucy’s grandmother is a vampire. I love Agnes. I loved her when she was
alive, and I still love her, even though she’s now one of the undead.
Agnes and a couple of other vampires and I traveled from Oxford to
Tregrebi together.
One was Agnes’s best friend, Sylvia Strand. Sylvia isn’t the warm and
fuzzy type, but we’ve sort of bonded. In the 1920s, she’d been a stage and
screen actress, and when it turned out I’d seen a couple of her silent movies
in an introduction to film course, she decided she liked me. But honestly, a
century has passed and Sylvia still doesn’t believe a good film’s been made
since Grand Hotel with Greta Garbo.
The second was Alfred, a sharp-nosed vampire who’s allergic to garlic,
fussy about blood types, and an excellent knitter. He’d often chauffeur both
the living and the undead, probably because he enjoyed driving Sylvia’s
Bentley so much, and thus he was driving today.
Our foursome arrived at Shadowbrook Manor at 5 a.m. and my first
thought was coffee. Shadowbrook had been a bed-and-breakfast, so I was
hopeful they stocked a decent brew.
The three vampires said to settle in and they’d see me later. They were
staying elsewhere on the property.
I carried my case through the front door, and then I was alone. Ahead of
me was a large living room with comfortable furniture and huge French doors
that opened onto a veranda overlooking the sea. Nice. Next to it was a wellstocked library that had more ocean-facing windows, this with a telescope on
a stand. I’d browse the titles later, but for now, I needed coffee badly.
There was a door with a sign on it that read Private. Since Shadowbrook
Manor had formerly been a B&B, I surmised that behind this ground-level
door was where the breakfasts had previously been assembled. And, sure
enough, when I pushed through the swinging door, I found myself in a big
kitchen with a huge Aga range, plenty of counterspace, an industrial-size
fridge and dishwasher.
I’d barely opened the first cupboard, hunting for a coffee, when a voice
behind me demanded, “What is it you want?”
I nearly jumped out of my skin and turned to find an irritable-looking
woman wearing dark trousers, a crisply ironed white blouse, and a black
cardigan. Her hair was gray and in one of those styles that looked as though it
was kept up by a weekly visit to the hair salon and a lot of hairspray in
between visits. And even though it was just after five in the morning, she was
wearing face powder and lipstick.
“Who are you?” I asked, wondering if she was an intruder and whether I
had enough mental bandwidth left to expel her by magic.
“I’m Mrs. Biddle. The housekeeper. I live here,” she said. “And you must
be Jennifer. I wasn’t expecting you until later.”
Rafe had mentioned a housekeeper, but I’d imagined it was a local who
came to clean once in a while—not a live-in servant, who looked humorless
and rather grim.
“I was just going to make myself some coffee.”
She bustled forward. “Did you not read the sign on the door? You go and
sit in the lounge. I’ll bring it through.”
If I was going to live in this house, I wanted to be clear from the
beginning that I wasn’t a guest. So I stood my ground.
“Mrs. Biddle, I appreciate that you work here, but you have to
understand, it’s not me who’s paying you. I wouldn’t feel right to have you
waiting on me. Please let me make my own coffee.”
She didn’t have any time for my self-sufficient ways. “Certainly not. And
have you messing up my clean kitchen? I have something else to do besides
keep tidying up after you. Now I’ll have no more nonsense. You go in the
lounge.”
And believe it or not, I obeyed. But before I left the kitchen, I turned
back. I might be down, but I wasn’t completely out.
“You’re not going to make me a cup of instant, are you? Because I can’t
stand that stuff.”
The hard line of her mouth might have lightened just a bit. “I know what
you Americans like. Is it a dark or a medium roast you’ll be wanting?”
Okay, perhaps there was hope after all. “Medium roast, milk and no
sugar.”
“Very well. Will you be wanting breakfast too?”
I shook my head and left the woman to her domain. Well, that had gone
well. I tried to reason with myself that Mrs. Biddle probably enjoyed her job,
and it wouldn’t be fair of me to keep doing it for her. But me having a
servant? Really?
I was going to have to adjust to living in Rafe’s Cornish mansion. The
place was gorgeous, with all kinds of interesting nooks and crannies and
views over the fishing harbor. He’d rented it out for a long time to people
who operated it as a B&B, but they’d retired now, and he’d decided to take it
over. I think now he was a married man, he was beginning to domesticate.
I was looking through the telescope in the library watching a fishing boat
bobbing up and down when Mrs. Biddle brought in my coffee, a full carafe of
the stuff, on a tray, with a croissant, jam, and butter along with it. She seemed
more human now that I was on the correct side of the kitchen door. “I’ve
prepared your room,” she informed me. “I’ll have Mr. Biddle take your case
up while you enjoy your coffee.”
There was a Mr. Biddle? I was perfectly capable of carrying my suitcase
up a flight of stairs, but somehow I knew she’d think less of me if I carted my
own luggage. So I simply said, “Thank you,” and reached for my coffee.
Mrs. Biddle might remind me uncomfortably of Mrs. Danvers from
Daphne du Maurier's novel Rebecca, but on the positive side, she made an
excellent brew.
I drank two cups, ate the croissant I hadn’t known I wanted, and felt
ready to explore. Across the hall was a dining room that could easily seat
twenty people, and on the ocean side was a breakfast room. It had six tables
to choose from, though I knew I’d always sit at the one in the alcove with the
best view. No doubt Lucy and Rafe would make some changes to the décor
when they got around to it.
Mrs. Biddle found me wandering and said she’d show me to my room. I
followed her up a broad flight of stairs. The walls were covered in floral
wallpaper and there were prints of Cornish scenes, mostly in blues and
greens.
The bedroom Mrs. Biddle led me to still had the number plate on it.
Room 1.
“Mr. Crosyer told me to give you our best room,” she said.
I wondered where she would have stuck me if he hadn’t given her those
instructions.
I walked in and sighed with pleasure. My room was huge, with a balcony
overlooking the harbor view, a luxurious bathroom and, best of all, its own
turret. A spiral staircase led up to a round room with a desk and comfy chair
by a window. I could see myself sitting up here for hours with a book.
Mr. Biddle had deposited my case on one of those luggage racks you get
in hotels.
Mrs. Biddle said, “I’ll leave you to unpack.” She presented me with keys
to the front door of the manor house and my room.
I’d get a place of my own eventually—if I stayed. But at least for the next
three months, I had an interesting place to stay and a job to go to every day.
After that? I’d let the future sort itself out.
I opened my case and began to unpack.
N OW THAT WE ’ D arrived in Tregrebi, we hit the ground running with our first
task—the search for the perfect site for a knitting shop. Rafe’s business
manager in the area was an energetic man in his forties named Trevor
Morton. He’d narrowed down the possible choices to three. He gave us the
locations, and Alfred was driving Agnes, Sylvia, and me in the Bentley to
view them—following Trevor, who was leading the way in his non-descript
gray Ford.
“How do you like Shadowbrook Manor?” Agnes asked.
“It’s beautiful. Really an amazing place.” I hesitated. “But there’s a
housekeeper. Mrs. Biddle.”
“That’s right,” Sylvia said. “She worked at the bed-and-breakfast, and
Rafe kept her and her husband on to take care of Shadowbrook.”
“I don’t need servants.” I was American. We didn’t have servants, at least
nobody I knew did.
“Mr. Biddle keeps up the grounds,” Sylvia said, as though I hadn’t even
spoken.
I shook my head. “I can’t have personal servants. First of all, I won’t be
making enough money to pay them.”
“My dear, the Biddles have worked at Shadowbrook Manor for twenty
years. They’d be devastated to lose her jobs. Besides, it’s Rafe who pays their
wages, not you,” Sylvia reminded me.
“But that’s not right. He’s not even living in Shadowbrook. I am.”
Sylvia leaned forward. “Let me give you a piece of advice, Jennifer.
Where Rafe is concerned, it is much easier to let him have his way.
Otherwise you’ll get involved in a tedious argument which he’ll win,
anyway. Save yourself the bother.”
I could understand what she meant. I’d seen him with Lucy, and he was
tender and sweet, but he was also a very commanding presence, and I had no
trouble believing that he usually got his own way.
I determined that I would cook my own meals and tidy up after myself
anyway, and if that left Mrs. Biddle with nothing to do all day but read
magazines or play board games, that was up to her and Rafe.
I was enjoying the scenic drive as I caught glimpses of colorful cottages,
pretty gardens and the sea, but sightseeing would have to wait. We were in
Tregrebi on business. I quickly learned that Trevor was a man who didn’t
waste time. Our first stop on his list of three possibilities for our shop was a
fairly large space about twenty minutes outside of Tregrebi, but on the tourist
route with lots of parking. A former pub, the building was large, with plenty
of room to store stock and run knitting classes. But, on the downside, there
was no other retail nearby, and the building was soulless.
The second place Trevor showed us was closer to Tregrebi, but down a
flight of stairs underneath a block of flats. There was a grocery store beside it
and a dentist on the other side. It had housed a craft store before, but that had
gone under, which didn’t bode well. None of us liked it.
With two down and only one to go, we drove to the third location. Trevor
had obviously saved the best one for last, because even as we drew up, I
knew it was perfect. On the high street of Tregrebi, it was a little old cottage
with pretty windows and an inviting look to it. There was retail all around it
and even from the Bentley, I could see there were quite a number of shoppers
wandering in and out of the stores. Tregrebi wasn’t very big, but this was the
retail hub.
I couldn’t believe our luck that such a prime location was available.
When we walked in, my enthusiasm dimmed. I couldn’t guess when it
had last been occupied in any capacity, but based on the cobwebs, the level of
grime, and the dust coating everything, it had been a while.
Trevor said, “This cottage has been vacant for some time, but given the
location, I think it’d make an excellent knitting shop. I’ve got demographics
of the area and was able to get information from the local retail council.” He
handed me a folder of information.
I could picture the cottage filled with pretty wools and buzzing with life.
There was an old countertop unit that I thought we could keep, but other than
that, it was a blank canvas.
Agnes looked at me. “What do you think, dear? Is it too small?”
I turned to Trevor. “Is there any kind of storage?”
“Yes. Upstairs. Be careful of the steps. This was originally a bakery and
the family would have lived above. The staircase going up is a little on the
rickety side, but I’m sure that can be fixed.”
Upstairs had plenty of room to store things, and room to run classes.
There was even a tiny kitchen and washroom that could also use updating,
but I thought we could make it work.
We came back downstairs, all looked at each other, and nodded.
“We’ll take it,” Agnes said.
Trevor Morton was obviously human like me, and if he thought the two
older women and Alfred were slightly different, he pretended he didn’t
notice. Or maybe he did so because he knew Rafe.
Trevor Morton went outside to make a call, and the deal was done. Later
that day, we returned to make the deal official. The owner’s agent was an
older man who seemed relieved to have the cottage rented. “It will do the
town good to have a nice, respectable shop on the high street. Knitting, yes.
That’s good.”
It was me who signed the lease, since I was the one with a pulse, and the
rent was reasonable enough that I was pretty sure we could put a little money
into fixing that rickety stairway and sprucing up the place a bit. Its bones
were good, but it would need a lot of elbow grease to clean it up. I had a
feeling I knew whose elbows were going to be doing the greasing. However,
I hadn’t been doing much exercise lately. It would probably do me good.
The windows at the back of the shop were smaller, and my neck began to
tingle, as though I was being observed. I turned to see a cat with brown-black
fur staring at me through the window. She seemed to be checking out the new
occupants of the cottage with a cat’s typical curiosity.
Even though I suspected she couldn’t hear me through the window, I said,
“I hope you’ve been keeping the mouse population at bay.”
She continued to stare, and I don’t think it was my imagination, but she
didn’t look very happy to see me in the space. Maybe she didn’t like
Americans.
After I signed the lease, we celebrated our new business by trying to
decide once again on a name.
“The Knitting Basket?” Agnes suggested, without much enthusiasm.
“Cast Off,” came out of my mouth. Probably because that’s how I felt. Or
did I mean cast out?
“When will we be open, do you think?” Agnes wanted to know.
I was wondering the same thing. “Do you think we could be ready in two
weeks?” I asked.
“I don’t see why not,” Agnes said.
“If we can come up with a name,” Sylvia reminded us.
Two days later, we still hadn’t come up with a shop name, but I had the
keys and plenty of work ahead of me. I boldly entered Shadowbrook’s
kitchen to ask Mrs. Biddle for a bucket, rubber gloves, and cleaning supplies.
She was slicing onions and looked very displeased to see me, but that could
have been the onions.
A TV was playing and before I could ask Mrs. Biddle for what I wanted,
she held up her hand. I followed her gaze to the TV.
On the screen, a woman—with gleaming chestnut hair that fell past her
shoulders in perfect waves—asked, “Why do you think this year’s tourism
numbers will be higher in Cornwall?” Her face looked as though it was made
for smiling, which she was doing now, and she had a great radio voice.
The man she was interviewing was clearly a bureaucrat, but I appreciated
that Mrs. Biddle wanted to keep up with tourism. It would matter to me and
the knitting shop, too.
The TV show was called Cornwall Today! We both watched the fiveminute segment before a commercial break. An announcer said, “And we’ll
be back with Jodie Rymer and Cornwall Today!”
Then the housekeeper, who’d finished chopping the onions and moved on
to carrots, asked, “Yes?”
When I told her what I needed, she reluctantly dug out her cleaning
supplies, and I walked down to the nameless knitting shop to give it a good
scrub out. It took about twenty minutes to walk into town, and I wondered if
I’d soon get to know the people who lived in the neighboring cottages,
whether the dog who barked as I went by might become more friendly when
he got used to me.
This time when I went in, I was alone and it was very anticlimactic
walking in to face all that dust and grime. It wasn’t like I’d expected the
agent would have cleaners in as he’d made it clear we were taking the shop as
it was or not at all. With such a prime location, I imagined there’d be
competition, so we’d gladly accepted the terms. I debated phoning Lucy and
Rafe to update them, but it didn’t seem right to disturb them on their
honeymoon. She’d get hold of me when she was ready.
I set about with rubber gloves and rags, but it was a big job. After an
hour, my back was aching, my arms were aching, and I found myself in dire
need of fresh air and a cup of coffee. And I hadn’t explored the high street
yet. I definitely ought to find out where the good coffee places were. And if
there wasn’t a good one, I was seriously going to have to rethink this threemonth trial. I had my standards, after all.
I walked out and stood for a minute, stretching out my back and breathing
air that wasn’t tinged with ancient dust.
The high street was quiet on a midweek midmorning in late June, but I
hoped it would be thronged with shoppers as the season progressed. I looked
down at the jumble of shops, colorful and many with hanging baskets of
greenery inviting customers in, and thought it was as pretty as any I’d seen.
There was a pub, of course, The Unicorn, and a small grocer’s that proudly
proclaimed they sold local produce. Several clothing stores, a gift and
housewares shop, and some others I’d have to investigate when I had time.
Across the street was a women’s clothing store, Boutique Henrietta, and I
decided to window shop while I was here anyway. As I crossed, I noticed that
someone had painted the wood on one side of the shop, and that caught my
attention and made me stop.
I stared at the painting, mesmerized. I’m not going to pretend I know
anything about art, but something about that picture held me there. It was a
close-up of a small section of what I assumed was a local cove. Dark rock
and shingle surrounded a tide pool. I peered closer at the details, the way the
artist had drawn the fine lines on the rock, and now I realized there were tiny
sea creatures, barnacles, and wet seaweed. Every bit of it had the most
astonishing detail. Each grain of sand looked like the artist had rendered it
individually.
The painting, for I could not think of it as graffiti, was signed with one
word. Tre. Whoever this Tre was, I was a fan.
As I stood there continuing to stare, a woman’s voice said, “Good
morning. I saw you working across the street. Are you opening a shop?”
I turned to see a woman somewhere between forty and fifty, with red hair
that needed touching up as the gray roots were showing through. She was
dressed almost entirely in purple and wore thick eyeglasses, which made her
green eyes look slightly unfocused.
“Yes,” I replied, “I’ll be managing a knitting shop.”
“Oh, a knitting shop. We haven’t had one of those for some time.”
I wasn’t sure if this was good or bad news. “Do many people locally
knit?”
“Well, nobody’s got much time in the summer, not those of us who are in
the tourist trade or the fisherfolk. But once the tourists go home, and the rains
come in, absolutely. You’ll find plenty of us more than happy to have
somewhere local to buy our wools.”
The businesswoman in me worried that the winter business from the
locals wasn’t going to be enough to sustain a shop. I hoped that a lot of
knitters came through Cornwall on their holidays. And that I could gather
enough email clients that I could ship yarn and knitting kits.
“My name is Henrietta. This is my shop.” She gestured to the woman’s
clothing store.
I forced myself not to get lost in gazing at the amazing painting again—
and instead focused on the cheerful windows. Inside were Barbour and Boss
and Cornish brands that looked high-end casual. It was the kind of clothing
shop I always browsed in when I was on holidays and rarely bought anything.
Henrietta clearly specialized in country casual, and I was guessing most of
her product was aimed at the tourist trade. Which gave me hope. If her stop
could survive the slower season, so might mine.
With savvy business-owner eyes, she surveyed my shop—which had a
long way to go—and said, “It will be so nice to have some decent retail back
in that spot. It’s been empty for far too long.”
“Really?” I said. “But it’s such a great location. Right on the high street
beside the other retail.”
“I know. But the leasing agent was very particular. The number of
businesses he’s turned down, you wouldn’t believe. Nice ones, too. There
might have been a toy store for children, and someone had the idea of a gift
store selling only Cornish wares, but every time the owner said no. And of
course, since he owns the place, there wasn’t much we could do.”
“Well, I’m here now. And I hope to be an important part of this
community.” Then I remembered my manners and said, “And I’m Jennifer.”
“You sound like you’re a long way from home.” She’d noticed my
accent.
“I am. I’m from Boston.”
“Welcome to Tregrebi,” she said. “I hope you’ll be very happy here.”
Since, so far, the only community I had was of the undead kind, I had to
ask, “What do people do here?” It wasn’t like I’d been a wild party girl in
Boston or anything, but Tregrebi wasn’t exactly a bustling metropolis.
She paused to think about it. “If you’ve a husband or children or both,
that tends to keep you busy. I can tell you that. The boating and fishing is
excellent if you’re into that, and there’s lovely walking, of course. We’re
right on Cornwall’s coastal path.”
All good things, but as a single person, I felt I was looking ahead to a lot
of long, lonely evenings.
“And, as you get to know people, we’re mostly friendly. But, as I said, in
the tourist season, we’re all run off our feet. As things calm down, you’ll find
we’ll have dinner parties and craft clubs and all sorts.”
I had a bad feeling that I was going to be the only unattached thirty-yearold within miles, except for the ones that walked through with backpacks and
kept going. It wasn’t that I was looking for a boyfriend or anything, but it
would sure be nice to have some people my own age to hang out with.
“What about, I don’t know, going to the movies?”
“You’ll have to go to a bigger city, like Newquay, for that sort of thing.”
I’d have to see how far that was.
She said, “Are you single then?”
“I am,” I said it in an embarrassed tone as though it was something to be
ashamed of.
She obviously agreed. “Why? A pretty young girl like you? I suppose you
haven’t met the right person. Have you tried online dating?”
In my experience, the people who most quickly asked me if I’d ever tried
online dating were married people who’d never even heard of it when they
were young because it hadn’t been invented. I’d done my fair share of
swiping left and right. And Lucy’s cousin Violet swore by a site called
WitchDate, but I hadn’t been tempted by that either.
I said, “I’m going to be busy setting up the new shop. I’m not looking to
date right now.”
“Very wise. I always say the right man comes along when you’re not
looking.”
Many people have said that to me, the same way they’ve said things like,
everything happens for a reason or it is what it is. Empty phrases that are
supposed to be comforting but mean nothing.
Desperate to change the subject, I pointed to the curious painting on the
side of Henrietta’s shop. “I can’t stop looking at that. It’s so beautiful.”
She glanced at the painting. “It’s done by a homeless man who lives
hereabout.”
“A homeless man painted this?” I couldn’t believe it.
“Yes. He comes into town once in a while, always carrying a few
paintings with him. People buy them for ten or twenty pounds and it’s
enough for him to buy provisions and more paint, and then he wanders off
again. He’s all right, I suppose, if you like the doodles of a vagrant. You’re
bound to come across him. He can be a bit smelly, but he’s harmless.”
As I said, I don’t know anything about art, but this painting spoke to me
in a way that I couldn’t explain.
I turned my attention back to Henrietta. “I could tell my shop hasn’t been
occupied for a while. It’s filthy. You don’t know someone I could hire to help
clean it, do you?” There was no way I was asking for Rafe’s housekeeper’s
help. She already disapproved of me. And I didn’t think any of my vampire
friends would volunteer to don rubber gloves and start washing walls.
She thought for a moment, then said, “There are so many holiday rentals
now that it’s nearly impossible to find a cleaner. But there is Mrs. Bolton. I’ll
ask her if she’s got time. If she hasn’t, she might know of someone.”
“I’d really appreciate it,” I said with feeling. My arms and legs were tired
from scrubbing. Coming from tech sales, I was definitely more of a desk
jockey. “Oh, and where can I get a good cup of coffee around here?”
“That I can help you with,” she said. “The Cornish Teapot is down the
block and around the corner. You can’t miss it.”
I thanked her and went on my way.
As she’d said, The Cornish Teapot was only a block away and round the
corner from my shop. I liked it immediately. It was bright and cheery and all
the cups and teapots and dishes were that blue and white striped Cornishware
that’s so famous in this part of the world. And as much as I loved tea, I was
delighted to see a proper barista machine behind the counter.
A woman who looked barely out of her teens was manning the counter.
She looked up and smiled. “Can I help you?”
“Yes. I need a cappuccino, large, with an extra shot in it.” And then I saw
the baked offerings in the display case. I was hungry immediately.
I recognized several varieties of Cornish pasties, a lemon drizzle cake, a
fruitcake, and then something called Cornish Saffron Cake. It was bright
yellow.
“Is that good?” I asked, pointing.
“I think so.”
I decided to try it. I was going to ask to have my order to take away, but
then I realized they didn’t have go-cups. Right. I wasn’t in the States
anymore. There wasn’t a Starbucks on every corner.
She handed me my coffee in one of the blue and white mugs and my treat
on a blue and white striped plate. What could I do but take a seat by the
window and look out at the ocean? Besides, it was a beautiful day, much too
nice to be scrubbing walls. Getting in on the ground floor of this business
meant I got to be the one to polish the ground floor—and probably paint the
walls and wash the windows.
There was nobody else in the café, so I said to the woman behind the
counter, “I’ll probably be seeing a lot of you. I’m Jennifer Cunningham. I’ve
just taken over the empty shop across from Boutique Henrietta. I’ll be
managing a knitting store.”
She looked pleased at this news. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Claire
Trevellen. I help out here when I can. I’m at university the rest of the time.
The coffee shop belongs to my mum.”
Because it seemed to be the theme of my morning, I asked her, “What is
there to do around here?”
She started to laugh. “Well, I guess if you’re opening a knitting shop,
you’ll be knitting.”
I rolled my eyes. “I hope I’ll be doing more than that.”
She said, “The local pub’s great on Thursday and Friday nights. Come in
for a drink, and I’ll introduce you to all the locals. Otherwise, you pretty
much have to drive to one of the bigger cities.”
“Is it too quiet for you?”
“Not once the summer season really gets going. Then it’s rammed down
here with tourists.”
“But,” Claire added, “in the off-season, it’s very quiet. It’s beautiful, but I
have to admit, I don’t plan to settle down here when I finish my degree. I’ll
probably move to Bristol or London, somewhere where there’s a bit more
life.”
I thought about Lucy in Oxford. At least Oxford was a bigger town than
this, with all the infrastructure of the universities. When I’d said yes to a
knitting shop in a seaside community, I’d pictured something a little larger
than Tregrebi.
Anyway, I reminded myself I only had a three-month commitment, and if
it didn’t work out, there’d be no hard feelings between me and Lucy. And by
then I’d have her knitting shop up and running, all ready for someone else to
take over and help Agnes. It seemed a bit negative to be thinking about
leaving when I’d just arrived, so I sipped my cappuccino and took a moment
to savor how absolutely delicious it was. Then I took another bite of my
saffron cake and took a moment to savor that, too. But I couldn’t stop feeling
a little disheartened that instead of walking into a pretty knitting shop like
Lucy’s, I was starting from scratch. Bare shelves I could have handled, but
the cobwebs and grime and the dilapidated state of the walls made me realize
that I was going to have to delay the opening. Unless I could hire a helper.
Since I’d put out the word with Henrietta, I said to Claire, “You don’t
know anybody who could help me clean my store, do you?”
She said, “Yes, I might be interested myself. I’m trying to earn as much
money as I can over the summer, as I’m too busy studying to work during the
school year.”
I could have kissed her. “Are you kidding me? That’d be fantastic. I’ll
pay twenty pounds an hour,” I said rather rashly, wondering if that was even
the going rate.
From the way her eyes lit up, I suspected it was more than her mother
was paying her to run the barista machine.
“Fantastic,” she said.
Then she looked a bit bashful, before dragging in a resolute breath and
saying, “I’m taking a degree in interior design. Do you want me to help you
with paint colors and so on?”
Had I fallen asleep and was dreaming? My arms and shoulders ached, and
I had cobwebs in my hair and a dingy shop to open, and here was a woman
promising to help me clean and decorate the place. “I’d be very happy to
have all of your help.”
“In fact, maybe I could use the store as one of my projects for school?”
I was delighted with her suggestion. “That is a fantastic idea.” I could tell
we were both pleased with this transaction, and I said, “How soon can you
start?”
She glanced at the clock on the wall that showed a rugged-looking
fisherman and his net. “I’m off at three today. I’ll come right over.”
“Excellent. And, if you want to be my best friend forever, you’ll bring a
coffee with you.”
She nodded. “Extra-large cappuccino with an extra shot of espresso. Got
it.”
I felt like I’d made my first friend in Cornwall.
I was going to ask her more about Tregrebi, but the door opened,
announcing new arrivals.
CHAPTER 2
A
man and woman entered the coffee shop. I wouldn’t have paid them
much notice except there was something about their energy that caused
a stir. He was probably in his early sixties, wearing a pale-pink sweater and
cream trousers. His gray hair was wavy. His complexion, clearly once
handsome, was lined. His companion, presumably his wife, was of a similar
age, beautifully turned out with shining blonde hair and one of those casual
frocks that I suspected cost a fortune.
“Good morning, my dear,” he said to Claire in a frightfully posh accent.
I hadn’t been in the UK that long, but he sounded like King Charles.
He ordered a pot of tea and two scones. Then he and his wife settled at a
table and, since we were the only customers, he nodded at me and said,
“Good morning.”
“Good morning,” I replied. “It’s a beautiful day.”
“A visitor to our lovely town, I see,” he said. “From America, if I’m not
mistaken.” Again, he somehow reminded me of King Charles—this time as if
welcoming a foreign dignitary to Buckingham Palace.
Claire had obviously heard every word because when she brought a tray
with the tea and scones, she said, “She’s not a visitor. This is Jennifer
Cunningham. She’s taking over the abandoned cottage on the high street.
She’s going to open a knitting shop,” she said with enthusiasm.
I wondered why she was telling them all of my business, but they seemed
truly interested.
“Welcome, my dear.” He rose to shake my hand. “I am Matthew
Trelawney, Lord Gilpin, and this is my wife, Elizabeth, Lady Gilpin.”
I was certain he expected me to be impressed by the title. And I suppose I
was. I didn’t meet lords and ladies in my usual life.
I said, “It’s nice to meet you.”
He motioned to the tea and scones Claire had brought to his table. “As
you can see, we like to support the local shops.” As though that was going to
keep The Cornish Teapot in business single-handedly. “And no doubt we
shall find a way to patronize your knitting shop, won’t we, Elizabeth?” He
looked over at his wife.
She said, “Yes, I’m certain I’ve seen one of the housekeepers knitting on
her lunch break. No doubt she’ll frequent your shop.”
Ouch. Lord Gilpin hadn’t been kidding when he’d said they’d patronize
my shop. His wife had instantly put me in a class far beneath her own. Did
aristocrats not knit then? They left all that to their servants? I felt like I’d
been given a glimpse of a world I knew nothing about. Since I couldn’t think
of a single thing to say to that, I just nodded.
I think Lady Gilpin would have let it go at that, but her husband was more
inclined to chat, even to someone as lowly as myself. He had a grand manner
about him.
“Where are you from in America?”
“Boston.”
“Ah, Boston. Don’t we have people there?” he asked his wife.
She said, “Well, Lord and Lady Bidford’s eldest is in banking there.” She
turned to me. “He’s a keen yachtsman. Was chosen as an alternate for the
Olympic sailing team.”
“Wow. That’s impressive.” Since I was not a yachtsman and unlikely to
have used his fancy pants bank for any reason, I didn’t have much to add to
that conversation.
A short silence ensued.
“And how do you like Cornwall so far?” his lordship asked me.
“It’s beautiful,” I said with utter sincerity. I’d rarely seen a more
appealing coastline or picturesque village.
He nodded. “My family has been here for seven hundred years. I cannot
imagine living anywhere else.”
I was impressed. “That’s some pretty deep roots.”
He laughed as though I’d made a joke. “It is indeed. Well, we shall let
you return to your coffee.” And then he turned back to his wife and, in low
voices, they began discussing someone named Jeremy.
I really didn’t want to listen. I pulled out my phone and very
ostentatiously began to catch up on email, so they wouldn’t think I was in any
way eavesdropping on their probably super boring conversation.
I finished my coffee and cake and had no excuse not to get back to work.
I said goodbye, and as I was leaving, his lordship said, “We wish you every
success with your little shop, dear. In fact, if you want my wife to cut a
ribbon or anything for your grand opening, I am sure she would be only too
pleased.”
Her ladyship looked anything but. She smiled rather coolly. “Yes. Do
check with my secretary to find an appropriate opening in my calendar.”
“Of course.” I paused, but neither of them told me how to contact her
secretary or gave me a business card or anything.
So how on earth was I supposed to get hold of her secretary? And would I
even want someone so cold and entitled cutting the ribbon to open my shop?
On the other hand, maybe it was important in this area to cultivate their
goodwill. I had no idea.
When I had Claire alone, I’d ask her. I gave them another moment to
offer me some contact information and when they didn’t, I waved a cheerful
goodbye.
I glanced at Claire, and she said, “See you later.”
The great thing was that I would see her later. I couldn’t wait to have the
help.
Feeling that I was on my way to my first friendship since I’d moved here
and had discovered an excellent coffee shop, I left The Cornish Teapot
feeling a lot more positive than when I’d gone in. Then I stopped in at the old
post office, which was also a general store and hardware store, and purchased
another couple of sets of rubber gloves, another bucket, and more cleaning
stuff.
Washing walls was slow going, I have to admit. I thought about running
back to the coffee shop at lunchtime, but I’d brought lunch from
Shadowbrook Manor. And I knew the job would go a lot quicker if I just got
on with it, and so I ate the cheese sandwich Mrs. Biddle had made for me and
plowed through.
My day brightened enormously when Claire showed up just after three
o’clock with the promised coffee. It was just more fun to have someone to
talk to, and it made the time go more quickly.
When she walked in, she immediately said, “What a great space. We
could make this beautiful. I’ve been thinking about it. I have all kinds of
ideas. Plus, my mum’s a knitter. She is so excited about you opening a
knitting shop here in Tregrebi, and she’s planning to tell all her friends.
You’ll have to have an opening party. Everybody in town will come. It’s a
big deal when a store that’s been lying empty for so long opens again. You’re
going to be a local hero.”
That immediately made me think of the encounter in the coffee shop with
Lord and Lady Gilpin. I certainly hadn’t expected to meet titled people in a
little village. “Do I really want Lady Gilpin to open this shop? I wasn’t even
planning on having a ribbon-cutting ceremony. After he offered her services,
they didn’t give me any contact information for her secretary. Lady Gilpin
certainly didn’t seem very keen.”
Claire grimaced. “Lord and Lady Muck. They mean well, I suppose, but
they do have a way of making you feel like you’re lower than dirt.”
“He seemed friendly enough, but that was my impression too. I felt like I
was supposed to curtsey when I said goodbye.”
She laughed. “He likes to play lord of the manor. She just wants to live
like an aristocrat without any of the obligations.”
I smiled to myself. Somehow, I’d imagined Rafe would be lord of the
manor here, but I guessed not. Rafe’s manor house, where I was currently
living, was the most impressive place I’d seen in the area, but I’d barely seen
anything.
“Where do they live?”
“Carenna House. It’s a very grand place, out of town a way and up on a
hill.”
“Well, they certainly didn’t invite me over for coffee as a new neighbor.”
She laughed at that. “If you want coffee at Carenna House, my love,
you’ll have to buy it there. Their home is open to paying visitors. For all their
high and mighty ways, that’s how Lord and Lady Muck make their money.
And they’re not associated with the National Trust or English Heritage either.
They operate privately. They’re always looking for ways to make money.
Lots of TV shows and films are shot there. You’ve likely seen Carenna
House on screen.”
“Really?” Then I said, “I’ve heard that it costs a fortune to run these old
estates. And don’t you have crippling inheritance taxes here in England?”
“Oh yes. It’s difficult for the old families. And, though guests have to
pay, it’s well worth a visit if you get the chance.”
I tucked that bit of information away. I was pretty sure I’d be far too busy
for the next little while to be playing the tourist in my own town. I had a
knitting shop to open.
Then I asked her, “Do you think people would want knitting classes
here?”
“Sure. I’d even come.” She glanced around. “Not a lot of room, though.
You’d have to keep classes small.”
“I’ve got rooms upstairs,” I told her.
We made our way up the rickety stairs, and she agreed we could do
something with the upstairs space. But we both agreed we should work on
getting the downstairs ready first, and I needed to have the stairs fixed. Find a
handyman was now added to my to-do list.
Claire worked with gusto, which spurred me on too.
During a pause, while we changed the water in our buckets, she said,
“I’ve been watching the way the light comes in here. I’m starting to get some
ideas already for colors. I mean, you’ve got so much color with your wools,
of course. So you want something that just provides an inviting background
color but draws people in.”
I thought somebody’s been paying attention in their classes.
Then she said, “I’d love to stay all night, but I have to leave at six to get
home for dinner. My cousin Hattie is coming.” From her tone, she didn’t
sound very excited.
“Are you not a big fan of Hattie?”
“No, she’s nice enough, but she’s younger. She’s only nineteen, and she’s
at that stage where her life is still all drama. There’s always some guy and
some story, and I’ll have to listen to it. She grew up here, but she’s finished
her first year of uni and is back for a visit.” She grimaced. “I probably
wouldn’t mind so much if she wasn’t so pretty. She’s always got boys
flocking around her. It’s enough to make you sick.”
“You’re very pretty, too,” I said. And she was. Claire was slim and about
five two or three, with delicate features and brown hair that she’d clipped
back out of her face.
“Not like Hattie,” she said, not sounding particularly jealous. “She’s got
long, blonde hair, big blue eyes, and a figure to die for.”
“I hate her already.”
Claire was a great companion. Not only was she a hard worker, but she,
of course, knew the village as only someone who’d grown up here could.
I said to her, “I’ve been thinking about painting the walls blue, just
because we’re by the ocean and I want to draw people in.” I could tell right
away she thought blue was a terrible idea, but she was too polite to say so.
She said, “Don’t forget your wools are going to be so colorful, you want
the eye going there. My suggestion—and it’s only a suggestion—is to keep it
simple. Let the wools draw people in.”
I hadn’t thought about that. I was extra pleased that I’d hired her. I said,
“Okay. Bring me some ideas and a color palette. I think we can have some
fun with this.”
She said, “I don’t want to be pushy or anything, but have you got your
suppliers sorted for your wools and things?”
I looked back at her, surprised. I put the sponge back in my bucket, happy
to have a break, and put a wet rubber gloved hand on my hip.
“I was going to use the same suppliers as my friend uses in Oxford.”
She nodded. “Okay.”
But there was something in that okay that I felt needed prodding. “Why?
Do you have a better idea?”
“No, but Mum gets some of her wools from local spinners. I was thinking
you might want to sell local wools here.”
I was already excited by this idea. “Yes. That’s exactly what I want to
do.” Naturally, I wanted to differentiate our stock from that of the Oxford
store. Mimicking what Lucy did had been our first idea, but what if I started
with a mandate to use as much local wool as I could? I loved this idea. I said,
“I’ll talk to your mother. And go and see these wool spinners. How much
wool could they provide me?”
She shook her head. “Honestly, I don’t know. It was just an idea.”
“I love it. Don’t be shy if you have any other ideas. I’ve never run a
knitting shop before, and I certainly don’t know Cornwall. I could not be
more open to suggestions.”
She said, “The only thing I can suggest is adding other things like sewing
or needlepoint. I’m not completely sure there’s enough business here to keep
a purely knitting shop going.”
Yeah, there I knew something that she didn’t know. I had a built-in
customer base of vampires. However, what if the local vampires didn’t knit
the way the ones in Oxford did? Then I’d be in serious trouble.
When six o’clock came, I was exhausted but happy with our progress. I
thanked Claire, paid her cash out of my wallet so she would know I was on
the level, and asked her when she could work again.
She said, “Why don’t I spend some time tonight thinking about the design
for your shop and tomorrow I’ll once again come over after my shift at The
Cornish Teapot. We can talk through the colors, and I think I can even get
you a discount on the paint and other supplies through my school.”
This casual meeting was getting better and better.
CHAPTER 3
I
returned to Shadowbrook Manor exhausted. Every muscle ached and
there was dust and grime under my fingernails and in my hair. I
discovered a cobweb hanging from the elbow of my sweater. I’d never
needed a shower more. The housekeeper looked more ominous than usual
when she saw me.
“Round to the kitchen entrance for you!” she shrieked when she saw me
coming in the front door.
Seriously? She was sending me to the servants’ entrance? Wasn’t she
supposed to be the servant? However, I was way too scared to take her on. So
I meekly trotted around the side of the manor house. Then I was glad she’d
made me walk round. When I got to the back of the house, I saw the view and
just took a moment to enjoy the spectacular surroundings I found myself in.
Rocky outcroppings looked out over a blue and noisy sea, and on the
horizon a lighthouse stood on a craggy point. I breathed deep of salt-tinged
air and stretched out my sore shoulders. Then, carefully taking my boots off
and leaving them outside the backdoor, I went into the kitchen. Naturally, the
housekeeper had made her way to the kitchen to glare at me.
If I wasn’t going to stand my ground some time that one was clearly
going to be the boss. So I glared right back at her and said, “What do you
want me to do? Strip right here?”
There might have been a glimmer of a softening in her expression as she
said, “I assume you’re going up to have your bath?”
“No. I am not. I’m going upstairs to have my shower.” And take that, you
nosy, old broad.
She let out an irritated sigh and mumbled something that I’m pretty sure
was unflattering to Americans and which I did not ask her to repeat.
However, she let me pass, and feeling mildly triumphant, I went upstairs and
enjoyed a very long, very hot, very indulgent shower where I shampooed my
hair twice before conditioning it. And after I’d scrubbed my body thoroughly,
I put on some beautiful body lotion and one of the soft, white robes that were
still here from when the place had been a B&B. Then I poured myself water
from the jug in the little fridge in my room and sat outside on the balcony.
I got out my phone and started to make a list. I was dictating ideas into
my phone when there was a tap on my bedroom door. I hoped it was the
housekeeper with a pot of tea and a scone, even though I seriously doubted it.
And sure enough when I said come in, it turned out to be Agnes and her
friend Sylvia.
Agnes asked, “Whatever have you been doing, Jennifer? Mrs. Biddle says
you came home filthy.”
And thank you very much, Mrs. Biddle. “I’ve been cleaning the shop. As
you saw, it must have been derelict for years. The place was filthy.”
They looked surprised.
“Well, we could hire people for that,” Agnes said.
“You’re here to be a manager, not a scullery maid,” Sylvia added,
sounding unimpressed by my labors.
“But I want this to be something I put my stamp on. I want to know every
corner and every wall and how the light comes in and what colors to paint the
walls and if the lighting needs fixing. You only find that out by being in a
space. Besides, we haven’t made a single penny yet. I don’t want to spend a
lot of money we don’t have.”
They glanced at each other.
Sylvia gave me a significant look that seemed to me to say, I’ll talk to you
later.
I had no time for cryptic glances. I said, “I would kill for a cup of tea and
a scone.”
They both sighed and Sylvia said, “So would I.”
Oh, ouch. I tended to forget they couldn’t indulge in the same foods and
drinks that I could. I was learning a lot about vampires and getting rid of
some misconceptions. I found they were like the people they’d been in life—
only wiser, richer, better educated, and oh so bored. But they hadn’t forgotten
the tastes of foods they’d loved in life.
Agnes said, “Why don’t I go and get you tea and scones? Mrs. Biddle’s
quite nice to me.”
“Agnes, you are the grandmother I wish I’d had.”
Once Agnes had shut the door of my room behind her and was out of
earshot—and that took a while because vampires have extremely good
hearing—Sylvia came closer to me.
She said, “I didn’t want to say anything in front of Agnes, but you know
the only reason Lucy and Rafe are opening this shop is to keep Agnes away
from Oxford. Nobody’s expecting you to turn a profit, dear. Rafe has more
money than he can ever spend, quite frankly, and if he spends a bit each year
in order to keep Agnes happy and occupied and out of Oxford, it’s well worth
it to him.”
While I understood that was true, I had my pride. “Sylvia, I don’t want to
be a charity case. If I’m going to take on this job, I want the shop to do well.”
To my shock and Sylvia’s horror, Agnes poked her head back around the
door. “I had a feeling you were talking about me behind my back.”
Sylvia started to argue and then gave up.
Agnes said, “I know perfectly well what’s going on. And I love Rafe and
Lucy for trying to find another life for me outside of Oxford. I’ve known for
a while I needed to leave, but the circumstances weren’t quite right. I was
worried about Lucy, but now that she has Rafe looking after her, I know
she’ll be fine.” She sighed. “They make such a lovely couple. I believe
they’ll be very happy together.”
I kept my smile to myself. I couldn’t imagine how Lucy would react if
she heard anybody saying she needed a man to protect her. Agnes might not
be as antiquated as some of the vampires, but she’d still come from an age
when people said stuff like that, even if they didn’t believe it. She’d made a
great success of her life as a single businesswoman, and Lucy had been on
track to do the same. But, whatever kept Agnes here was fine with me. And
so long as Lucy didn’t overhear these kinds of comments, who was hurt by
them?
Then Agnes’s eyes began to twinkle. “However, Sylvia, I agree with
Jennifer. Since we’ve been exiled out here, I’ve a bit of fire in my belly. I
think between us, we can make a real success of this thing. I’m not saying we
can build a better business than Lucy has, but surely we can do at least as
well.”
My smile was so huge it hurt my cheeks. “Agnes, even if you don’t bring
me a scone and tea, you are currently my favorite person on the planet.”
Sylvia shook her head. “Far be it from me to stand in your way. I’ll do
whatever I can to help make this enterprise profitable.”
I said, “Tell me about the vampire knitting club here. Is it as busy as
Oxford? Because we all know that’s where a lot of Lucy’s business comes
from. I was hoping there’d be a good base of undead customers in Tregrebi,
but is that true?”
They glanced at each other. “It’s not exactly the same down here. You’ll
see for yourself. We’ve called a meeting for tomorrow night.”
“Tomorrow night?” That seemed so soon.
“This is a lovely suite, isn’t it?” Sylvia said, looking around. “It’s the
nicest of the guest rooms.”
I agreed that it was. “Where are you staying?” I’d an idea it was close by
but not in the manor house. Maybe, like in Oxford, there were tunnels
underneath this town.
“Naturally, you must keep it completely confidential, but we’re living in
the old tin mine on the Shadowbrook property,” Sylvia said.
“An old tin mine?” That made sense, actually. This area was riddled with
abandoned mines and knowing the vampires, they’d have made the space
luxurious.
“It’s quite comfortable,” she assured me. “And Nyx is staying there with
us for the time being, though she likes to wander. You may see her here.”
“But, how—?”
I was interrupted by another knock on my bedroom door and Mrs. Biddle,
looking as though she disapproved of me wearing the robe, having visitors,
being in her space, or all of the above, announced that dinner would be
served at seven.
First, I didn’t want to be dictated to by this woman, and second, I was
capable of looking after myself. I said, “I can cook my own meals, you
know.”
She looked as though she highly doubted my abilities in the kitchen.
“That as it may be, but I’ve been hired to do the job.”
Not by me. I’d have put her resume on the bottom of the pile five minutes
after meeting her. William—Rafe’s butler, general manager and fabulous
cook—would be welcome to look after me anytime. Why did I have to get
miserable Mrs. Biddle?
“What’s for dinner?” I asked, wondering if I’d have the courage to tell
her I didn’t want whatever she’d dictated I’d be eating.
Her expression soured even more. “A salad of local greens picked this
afternoon from our own kitchen garden, followed by John Dory—which is a
fish, caught locally early this morning—served with new potatoes and fresh
asparagus.”
Okay, there was no way I could say I didn’t want that.
“For dessert, you’ve a choice of sticky toffee pudding or flan with fresh
local strawberries.”
How could I hold out? Secretly, I wanted both desserts, but told her I’d be
happy with the strawberries. With a curt nod, she left.
Maybe I could talk to Rafe about telling her not to cook for me, but even
as I had the thought, I wondered if I was cutting off my nose to spite my face.
I’d eat my dinner and then decide. If she was a good enough cook,
perhaps I could make allowances for her sour personality.
A S I’ D SUSPECTED , Mrs. Biddle was a brilliant cook. She might be a difficult
human being, but when I bit into her strawberry flan, I forgave her
everything. I ate in solitary splendor in the dining room, with candles and
linen. I read the latest Teddy Lamont knitting magazine while I ate. I carried
my dessert dishes into the kitchen, determined not to act like a hotel guest.
She was leaning against her immaculately clean counter perusing a long
printed form of some kind. Her expression looked as annoyed as though I’d
walked in the house with mud on my shoes.
“Is everything all right?” I placed my dishes on the counter beside her.
She seemed to debate whether to tell me off or take me into her
confidence. I could sense the issue hang in the balance, then she said, “Mr.
Biddle’s been taken advantage of.”
“Oh, no.” I thought of all the scams in the world, and wondered which
one poor Mr. B had fallen for.
“He saw it in a magazine and bought it for us, without saying a word to
me. My DNA and Me, it’s called.”
“I’ve heard of that, Mrs. Biddle. I don’t think it’s a scam. They can tell
you about your family history, diseases, and so on.” I knew all kinds of
people who’d done it. They discovered interesting things about their ancestry.
She glared at me as though I might be part of the scam. “Me and Mr.
Biddle, we both had to take a swipe round our mouth, sent it off, and here it
is.” She flapped the form at me.
I could see the logo at the top, then a long list in small print.
She jabbed her finger on the logo repeated at the bottom on a strip of blue
ink. “It tells us both the same thing. That we’re from Cornwall, have been
born and bred in Cornwall for hundreds of years, as far back as they could
find. Well, we already knew that. Complete waste of money if you ask me.”
Then she jammed the test results back in the envelope. “If you want me,
there’s a bell in the dining room.”
A bell I could not imagine ringing. But I’d been made to understand that
running the house and kitchen and keeping me fed was her job. I could butt
out. Maybe Sylvia was right and the best thing I could do was give in with
grace to having my meals cooked for me and served in the dining room. I’d
just make sure not to get used to it, as I’d be looking after myself when I left
Shadowbrook Manor.
After dinner, feeling I needed some air and exercise, I decided to go down
to the shop to smudge the space. It wasn’t enough to scrub dirt off walls and
sweep cobwebs out of the corners. I needed to rid the former bakery of
leftover emotions and energy, too. I was taking my smudging sticks, and I
was going to cleanse the atmosphere so the cottage was psychically sparkling
brand new.
Rafe’s business manager Trevor Morton had told us the cottage was at
least two hundred and fifty years old, so you had to know there was some
serious old energy trapped inside. I was far too sensitive to energy at the best
of times, but I suspected that customers might be too. Often non-magical
people reacted to an atmosphere without really understanding why. I didn’t
want that to happen here. Lucy had managed to make a success of Cardinal
Woolsey’s in Oxford, and while we were totally best friends, there was
enough of a competitive feeling inside me that I was determined to make sure
my shop was at least as successful as hers.
I’d talked with Agnes a lot about the shop, and we’d decided that for
those who didn’t want to ply the needles themselves, we’d offer a range of
those amazing Cornish fisherman knit sweaters and other locally knitted
items. What better souvenir from Cornwall than a hand-knit sweater or a pair
of knit mittens or socks? I could proudly put on the label that they’d been
knitted locally. My knitters were all from this area. They were also undead,
but I wouldn’t put that on the label. I’m not stupid.
Before I headed to the shop, I wanted a glimpse of the tin mine. I walked
around Shadowbrook’s property until I discovered an old brick stack and a
few derelict buildings. A thick wooden door bore a sign saying Keep Out and
Danger. A hefty padlock seemed to underline the words. I bet a lot of the old
mines were used as settings for Poldark and other Cornish TV programs, but
the one on Rafe’s property was not open to film studios or tourists.
There was no sign of life. I wondered if inside the tin mine was like going
beneath Lucy’s shop in Oxford and walking along a disused underground
tunnel. While looking like nothing on the outside, you could enter an old
wooden door that looked extremely disused and find yourself in the most
amazing set of underground condos. I had learned that when somebody’s
been undead for a few hundred years, they’ve usually managed to amass a
fortune. There were treasures and artworks down there and high-end furniture
and rugs and tapestries like something you’d find in a top museum. Frankly,
if you didn’t mind the complete lack of natural light, the condos under Lucy’s
shop were awesome.
I hoped there was something as nice behind the old door in front of me. I
knew that Agnes was sad to be separated from Oxford where she’d lived so
long, and from her beloved granddaughter, Lucy, but coming to Cornwall
was a great solution for everybody. Agnes no longer had to worry so much
about going out in the daytime since no one knew her here, and she was a
businesswoman at heart, too.
She was excited about the challenge of creating a knitting shop from
nothing.
Honestly, in this I think she was a lot like me. She was slightly
competitive. She wanted this shop to do as well as—or even better than—the
Oxford one. There’d been a wicked twinkle in her eye when she’d said to me,
“I think we should focus on the Cornwall aspect of this knitting shop. We
need to set it apart from the original.”
I agreed wholeheartedly but neither of us ever said, And wouldn’t it be
fun if this new shop really took off?
I was tempted to add some giftware items, but I was resisting. In retail,
you never want to get too scattered. A knitting shop at its heart needs to be all
about the knitting and the crochet. And sure, it’s okay to add silk threads for
the needleworkers, but once you start getting into pottery and soaps, you’re
diluting your purpose. So, for now, if it didn’t involve wool or thread and a
needle of some sort, it probably wasn’t going to be in our store. We’d stretch
as far as selling already completed knitted items. For now, that was enough.
I turned away from the tin mine and headed for the shop. The streets were
quiet, but I could see lights on in the pub and a few remaining diners in one
of the restaurants.
Looking inside other businesses inspired me to imagine what I might do
with my shop’s front window display. The front window was one of the
prettiest parts of the cottage. It’d clearly always been a retail establishment,
although there was the apartment upstairs where presumably once upon a
time the owner’s family had lived. Trevor Morton had said it’d once been a
bakery, and I liked the idea that something as wholesome and sustaining as
bread had once been baked here. I liked to think I could catch a hint of yeast
as I walked in, but I’m sure that was just my imagination.
I put my key in the door. Old key, old lock. I liked the heft of the big key
and the clunking sound it made as the lock turned. I walked in and shut the
door behind me. I didn’t turn on the light, not yet. I wanted to take in the
atmosphere using every sense I had, my eyes getting accustomed to the dark,
my ears open to the creaks and sounds of the old cottage at night, my skin
taking in whatever sensations there might be.
Did history have a flavor?
I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. I could smell the lemon scent of the
cleaning supplies we’d used, and I tried to go deeper. I had my smudging
sticks and candles with me, but first I wanted to summon all the old energy. I
caught the scents of candle wax, a whiff of baking bread and then, strangely,
a scent like fish.
And then I heard a sound that pretty much made me jump out of my skin.
It was like the cry of a baby. What the heck? Then the baby’s cry turned into
a little growl. I’d had enough of darkness. I slapped the closest wall,
frantically searching for a light switch. Even as I did so, I was trying to
remember the words to a protection spell. The low growling continued, and I
managed to find the switch at last and flick it on. The shop didn’t exactly
burst into light, but at least there was enough that I could see.
And I let out a sigh of relief.
Perched on the old display case that we’d decided to keep and use to
display some of the goods was a cat. I was fairly sure it was the one that’d
peered at me from outside when I’d first toured the cottage. From the way it
was bristling and glaring at me, I had a feeling the cat figured it owned the
place. I took a good look and there was no collar, and something about it
suggested it was a feral cat. Great, just what I needed. I’d come to rid the
place of stale energy. First, I had to get rid of a clearly annoyed-looking
feline who, from the way its hair was standing on end, had no intention of
going quietly.
I sensed she was female. She was not black and not brown, but a color
between the two. And while I was looking at her, her fur seemed to grow
even bigger. Suddenly I laughed, thinking of what she reminded me of. “You
look exactly like a Busby. You know, one of those fur hats worn by the
soldiers who guard Buckingham Palace. Or are they called Bearskins? You
know, I’m not sure.”
If I had thought my observation would lighten the atmosphere, I was
wrong. That green-eyed glare only deepened. And the eyes went to slits.
I stared right back. “I should warn you,” I said loudly. “If you’re thinking
of launching yourself at me, you should know I’m a witch. I’ve got more
power in my little finger than you have in that beautiful, furry hat of yours.
So why don’t I do us both a favor and I’ll open this door, and you’ll go
quietly out.” I thought I sounded pretty confident, even though I felt a bit
nervous at the way this cat was staring at me still. I never broke eye contact
but backed slowly to the door and opened it.
The cat yawned.
“Come on, don’t make me get tough. It’s nice out there. I’ll bet the streets
are crawling with mice. Or you could always hang around at the back door of
the restaurant. Isn’t that what wild cats do?”
She lifted her paw and began to lick it with slow, long licks that I could
tell were going to take a long time to get one paw clean. And she had four.
Then she took the recently wetted paw and rubbed it behind her ear. Oh great,
she was having a full-on cat bath. I did not have time for this.
“Look, Busby, I get that you’re annoyed. No doubt this shop has been
empty for a while and you’ve had it all to yourself. But it’s mine now. And
I’ve got a lease if you’d like to see it. I’m guessing you don’t have one of
those.”
She scrubbed harder at the back of her ear as though there was something
particularly tough behind there. Probably a flea. Now I’d have to de-flea the
place as well as smudging. My evening to-do list was getting longer and
longer.
First, the biggest vermin I had to get rid of was this cat. I left the door
wide open and silently counted to five. I don’t know why I did that. I think I
was giving myself some time while I decided how to handle this. Part of me
wanted to shut the door and go away and hope that when I arrived in the
morning Busby would have made herself scarce. I mean, she had to have
found a way in. Presumably, she could find her way out again. I was going to
have to figure out how she was getting in and block the entrance.
I tried to be cheerful about one thing. With Busby here, there were
probably no mice on the premises.
Our stand-off continued.
Finally, I said, “Right, that’s enough. You really have to leave.” I was
glad I was wearing a jean jacket because I suspected she was going to take a
swipe at me when I tried to dislodge her. However, if I was going to run a
shop, I was going to have to get used to difficult customers. And Busby was
clearly my first. I wondered if I went behind her and gave her a nudge on the
butt, she’d take the hint, preferably without violence. I walked around, telling
her what I was planning to do, so there were no surprises.
Not that I imagined for a second the cat understood my words, but I felt
like cats had an instinct like some of mine. She may not understand my
words, but she could understand my intent. Wide-open door, person clearly
not planning to leave, and same person walking around to the back of her.
I pulled my jacket sleeve as low as I could over my hand and gave the
cat’s butt a gentle shove and then jumped back in case she tried to attack me.
But my jump turned into a shriek of alarm, and then I actually tripped over
my own feet and fell. Because when I touched her, oh she moved all right—
she launched herself off the table and flew across the shop onto a plate rail
that ran around the whole perimeter of the shop. From there she stared down
at me and hissed.
From my position sprawled on the stone floor, I stared up at her. And I
actually had a funny feeling she was laughing at me in cat. “Oh, you’re not,”
I said.
She made that same sound again, but it no longer sounded like a hiss. She
was definitely laughing at me.
Just my luck. I hadn’t had a familiar in a while. And I certainly hadn’t
brought one in my luggage when I traveled from the States. I’d figured I’d
spend the three months in Cornwall, see how things went before I got too
caught up in witchcraft.
But as every witch knows, familiars don’t work to your schedule. They
cross your path and sometimes you just have to accept that—like that guy
you know isn’t good for you, but you keep dating, and eventually marry—
you’re sort of stuck with each other. I got the feeling that Busby wasn’t any
more thrilled about the situation than I was, but if she’d been around a while,
and depending on where she was in her nine lives, she probably knew we
were likely destined for each other as well.
But still I resisted. I sat there for a minute, trying to decide whether I
should book the next flight back to Boston, when I had another surprise.
Not far from where I was still sprawled on the floor, I heard the scrape of
stone on stone. Before my horrified gaze, one of the flagstones began to lift
off the floor.
CHAPTER 4
I
was so stunned I stayed silent, watching as the stone lifted higher.
And then a man climbed out looking like he’d stepped right out of
Pirates of the Caribbean, holding a lantern and a fish and saying in a
booming British voice, “And how’s my darling?”
There was a moment of complete silence. I stared at the man who
honestly looked like he belonged in Disneyland. Except he was too authentic.
This wasn’t a person dressed like Jack Sparrow with a fake sword and
painted on grime. This guy was the real deal. In my bones, I knew it.
Probably he could hear my sudden gasp, for he stared at me and I stared
back at him. It was a bit like what had happened with Busby except more
embarrassing because this man had speech and also he was looking at me the
way Busby was staring at that fish. Like he’d like to eat me all up.
Finally, he seemed to regain his wits. I could see the moment when he
tried to decide whether he would disappear back down that hole and put the
flagstone back in place or keep coming toward me. Then he gave a grin that
reminded me again of a swashbuckling hero, and with a shrug, decided to
tempt fate one more time. He kept coming.
Clearly, there was some kind of staircase below the flagstone, and he
walked up and then put the stone back in place. Busby leapt down from her
perch and ran toward him like an old-fashioned maiden throwing herself into
the arms of her beloved. He chuckled and bent down to pat her. I noticed he
didn’t get the growling, hissing treatment I’d received.
“And how are you, me darling?” he asked, offering the cat the fish.
She let him stroke her and rubbed up against his legs before gently taking
the fish and walking to a corner of the shop to settle down and eat her
evening meal. I now understood why, when I’d scrubbed that corner, I’d
smelled old fish. Then the man took a handkerchief, I swear it was linen,
from his pocket and cleaned his hands before coming toward me.
He must not have noticed that the lights were on in the shop, for he held
the lantern up to study me better. And I decided that lying sprawled on the
floor was not my best look. So, when he reached out his hand to help me up, I
took it. There was an instant zing between us. I glanced up and caught his
gaze as he looked down at me speculatively. Then he pulled me all the way to
my feet and let go. Thank goodness, because I’d had a momentary insane
urge to act like that cat and throw myself against his broad chest. This guy
was seriously hot.
“Who might you be?” he asked.
I couldn’t help it. I laughed. “I think I should be asking you that question.
This is my shop. And you are intruding. And if you’re planning to steal
anything, I have to tell you there’s nothing here but the cat. And you’re
welcome to steal that.”
He shook his head. “You’re mistaken. I own this shop. I believe you’re
the intruder.”
I was completely confused now. “I’ve leased this space. I’m opening a
knitting shop here.”
He looked extremely disconcerted by this news. “There’s definitely been
a mistake.”
But I wasn’t a fool. I’d dealt with loads of contracts in my time. I’d never
sign anything if I didn’t know the name of the other party. I said, “Land’s
End Holdings owns this shop. And I’m the legal lessee.”
Now his eyes really began to dance. “I’m Land’s End Holdings.” He had
dark-brown hair that hung curling to his shoulders, eyes the color of dark
chocolate, a straight nose, several days’ worth of stubble, and when he
laughed, which he did now, he displayed a beautiful set of white teeth and a
fan of laugh lines appeared around his eyes. I got the feeling this was a man
who’d laughed in the face of danger more than once. “That is to say, I’m
Gryffyn Penrose. Land’s End Holdings is my company.”
“Well, then, Mr. Penrose, someone in your company, acting on your
behalf, leased this property to me,” I said. I had a copy of the lease in the
shop just in case I needed it. I fetched it and showed him.
He checked the signatures and then shook his head. “I left the wrong man
in charge. My agent’s a fool. A knitting shop? I can’t have a knitting shop.”
He looked at me again. “Look, I’m afraid there’s been a mistake. You’ll have
to leave. I was very specific about the kinds of use this shop could be put to. I
don’t mind a funeral parlor. I suppose an accountant, or a solicitor who didn’t
do much business, would be fine. But I can’t have people in and out of the
place all day. It’s impossible. I’ll refund your money, even give you extra for
your trouble.”
Something about his attitude irritated me. I felt like because he was
dealing with a woman, and one who had just hit thirty, he thought he could
run roughshod over me. I was determined he would learn his mistake, and
soon.
I straightened my shoulders and said, “No. That is a legal document, and
I’m holding you to the terms. I looked everywhere for the perfect location
and this is it. I’ve been up and down the coast of Cornwall, there wasn’t
anything like this.” Okay, up and down the coast was a bit of an
exaggeration, but we had looked at three spaces, that had been whittled down
from every available space—and Agnes, Sylvia, and I had all agreed this was
perfect.
I gestured around me. “I’ve spent all day cleaning. I had to pay someone
to help me. It was that much of a mess, by the way. I’ve met other high street
shopkeepers, and they’re very excited to have the shop rented again.”
He said nothing. We seemed to be at an impasse.
So I added, “I’ve already begun ordering stock, and my sign’s being
painted as we speak.” This wasn’t true, as I was still figuring out exactly
what stock I needed. And the sign couldn’t be painted until we came up with
a shop name, though I did have a sign painter lined up, an artistic vampire
named Theodore had offered his services. So I wasn’t so much lying as
stretching the truth a little. Or a lot. I waved my hand to brush that thought
aside. “Whatever the case may be, it’s way too late to back out now.”
The cat made a noise from the corner, possibly just enjoyment of the fish.
He turned to look at her and then back at me. “Let me talk to my people.
How can I get in touch with you?” He glanced at the contract. “Jennifer.”
I didn’t want him to know where I was staying, but on the other hand,
there were the Biddles, not to mention vampires living on the property. I was
pretty sure if I let out a holler, they’d come running. I said, “I’m staying
temporarily at Shadowbrook Manor.”
His eyes widened, and he stepped closer. “But you’re not one of our
kind.”
Then it hit me. I don’t know how I’d been so slow putting two and two
together. A guy who popped up from underground at nine o’clock at night,
wearing a linen shirt that looked two hundred years old, probably wasn’t a
normal human. I’d been so surprised and dazzled by him that I hadn’t figured
out he was probably one of the occupants of the tin mine on Rafe’s property.
Still, I didn’t want to use the word vampire in case I was wrong. So I just
said, “I don’t think so.”
He did a weird thing then. He came closer, leaned in, and breathed
deeply. “No. You’re not. I thought not when I touched your hand to help you
up. I felt the blood pumping in your veins. There’s a lot of life force in you.
Blood type A.”
I took a step back. I’d become so used to Rafe, Agnes, and Sylvia that I’d
forgotten not all vampires spent their spare time knitting. I was pretty sure
there were some who—instead of drinking blood bank rejects from a crystal
goblet or one of those thermos coffee cup things—still preferred the old ways
of getting food. I took another step back and put up my hand over my jugular.
He took his own step back and shook his head. “No, lass. I’ve no interest
in consuming you, as tasty as you’d no doubt be. But if you’re staying at the
home of Rafe Crosyer, you’re connected to my kind somehow.”
“Rafe married my best friend.”
He nodded then. “Very persuasive man is Rafe.”
He had that right. Rafe had persuaded my very living friend to marry him.
Still, I’d never seen her so happy. So who was I to argue that the dead/undead
thing couldn’t work?
He said, “So, you’re planning to run a knitting shop, are you?”
“I am.” Then, because I was feeling at a disadvantage, I got a little cocky.
“I don’t suppose you knit?”
He looked quite offended. “Of course I knit. And crochet. I’ve even been
known to do lacework, but it’s too fine for my big fingers.”
Honestly, my jaw nearly dropped. “You knit?” It seemed hard to imagine.
Then I changed tack. “And may I ask what you’re doing here? Inside this
shop and just recently underneath it?”
His expression grew quite serious then. “No, you may not, young
mistress. And you’ll not mention this to anyone, either. Especially not Rafe
Crosyer.”
Oh, this did not sound good. “Why not? Are you doing something illegal
down there?” I couldn’t imagine all the things a vampire with too much time
on his hands and all night could come up with.
There was silence for a moment. I felt him weighing his options.
Finally, he said, “I’m doing nothing illegal, but I’m a man who values his
privacy greatly. You may run your knitting shop, but I require certain
agreements and, more than anything, your absolute discretion. Is that clear?
I felt that if I so much as asked another question, he’d cancel our
agreement, contract or no contract. So I did the smart thing. I nodded.
“Right, then,” he said, blowing out the lantern and placing it near the
door. “I’ll let you get back to”—he glanced around, but I’d yet to take the
smudging stuff out of my bag—“whatever it is you were doing.”
“Taking measurements for the shop. I need to have shelves built.”
“I’ll leave you to it then.”
He left by the front door. Stealthily, I thought, for he opened it and
checked left and right before proceeding. What on earth?
After he was gone, I made sure the door was locked. The cat, who I’d
hoped would’ve departed with her fishmonger, instead sat staring at me. It
was very unnerving.
“Look,” I said. “If you and I are going to get along, you’ll have to work
with me.” I thought of the way she’d flown across the room. “You’ve
obviously got some power, so let’s see if we can work together.” I looked at
the spot in the corner where she’d eaten her piece of fish.
Nothing remained. He must have boned it for her.
She needed water and proper cat food. I had a vague feeling you had to be
careful feeding them too much fish. Though she seemed sleek and healthy, if
bad-tempered. With me, at least.
I wondered if you could smudge a vampire’s energy and somehow
doubted it, especially since the vampire in question obviously used the
cottage as his personal depot. In fact, between Busby and Gryffyn Penrose, I
was too rattled to concentrate on smudging. I’d try another day.
I moved to turn off the lights and as I did, something glittered on the
floor, catching my eye. I went closer and saw a gold coin near where the
flagstone had lifted. I picked it up and turned it over in my hand. Didn’t take
much brainpower to figure out who must have dropped it.
He’d be long gone now. I put the coin in my pocket. I’d return it when I
next saw my undead landlord and instinct told me it wouldn’t be long.
Unfortunately.
I picked up my bag and headed for the door. I opened it and hesitated. A
black streak dashed past me and out onto the street as I’d half-dreaded but
also expected—considering the streak was now my familiar.
“I hope you’re house-trained,” I said to Busby. “Otherwise, Mrs. Biddle
will kill both of us.”
Busby turned to look back at me as though daring Mrs. Biddle to try. A
brave attitude that didn’t impress me. She hadn’t met Mrs. Biddle.
When we reached Shadowbrook Manor, I walked inside following in the
steps of my feline companion. I felt like I was discovering the place all over
again through new eyes. Not that I’d been there long. Still, I saw the way
Busby paused and glanced around the main front room. No doubt she was
checking for errant mice, but I also stopped every time I entered this room
just to take in the view. I crossed, as I nearly always did when I first came in,
to the huge French doors that opened onto the veranda overlooking the sea.
Tonight, the moon and most of the stars were hidden behind choppy clouds.
Equally choppy was the ocean, crashing against the rocks and rumbling
beneath the veranda beneath my feet.
I was miles away when a voice nearly made me jump so high I all but
launched myself off the veranda altogether.
“Lovely night, isn’t it?”
I turned to find Agnes and Sylvia, dressed for an evening out.
I put a hand to my chest where my heart was pounding. “You startled
me.”
“I’m so sorry, dear,” Agnes said. “I always forget how soundless we are.”
I pulled in a breath. “Even an elephant would have scared me. Those
waves are pretty noisy out there.”
I came back inside and the women asked me to sit with them. Busby
paused in her mouse exploration expedition and jumped up beside me on the
chintz couch where I sat. You could tell this place had been a bed-andbreakfast because the furniture had that feel to it. Comfortable without being
fussy but slightly anonymous. No tchotchkes, no personal pictures, just very
tasteful paintings of the local area.
Agnes and Sylvia sat across from me, and Agnes said, “There’s
something we want to discuss with you, dear.”
The cat crawled up into my lap. She was surprisingly warm and felt as
though she belonged there. Without even thinking about it, I began to stroke
her.
Agnes looked at me with something like sadness. “I do miss having a
familiar. One doesn’t, you know, when one becomes undead. It’s one of the
tragedies of a witch becoming a vampire.”
Sylvia, being slightly more acerbic than Agnes, frowned at her and
grumbled, “One is even more troubled by being a movie star unable to appear
on film. Oh, the career I could have had. They don’t know how to act
anymore, not like in the old days.” She shook her head. “I can’t even see to
do my own makeup in the morning. Lucy’s grandmother has to do it. And
I’m never convinced she has the deftest hand.”
I could have confirmed her suspicion, but chose to keep my opinion to
myself. Instead, I said, “I think you both look very nice.”
Agnes, clearly wishing to avoid an awkward conversation about her talent
as a makeup artist, said, “We wanted to talk to you about starting a knitting
club here in Cornwall.”
I was quite surprised. “Don’t you already have one?”
Sylvia said, “We made a few false starts, but without a proper knitting
shop locally, it was very difficult. Now, of course, you’ve come along, and
we’re going to open this wonderful shop.” Agnes looked quite pleased with
herself. “And vampires make very good customers. Not only do they knit
extremely quickly, but if I’m to be honest, they get quite competitive.”
Sylvia piped up, “Well, you and I aren’t.”
Both Agnes and I turned to stare at her. I’d heard the stories.
And Agnes had obviously lived them because she said, faintly, “No, of
course not, dear.” Then she turned back to me. “Anyway, everyone’s at loose
ends and, to be honest, I think it would be a very good idea to introduce you
to the other people who live here in a positive environment.”
I wasn’t sure what that meant or what a negative environment would be,
but I didn’t really want to know.
“Okay,” I said. “But I haven’t ordered the stock yet. It’s too early.”
Agnes looked very pleased with herself. “I took the liberty of bringing
some stock down with me. Enough to make a very simple scarf.” She paused.
“It’s one of the projects we started Lucy on, though I’m not sure she’s
finished it yet.”
“Lucy is both human and has no natural knitting aptitude,” Sylvia
reminded her friend. “No offense. She’s your granddaughter, and she’s a
lovely girl with many other talents, but knitting simply isn’t one of them.”
“No, nor crochet,” Agnes said sadly.
I’d love to have jumped in and defended my friend, but if her own
grandmother acknowledged she was hopeless at handicrafts, who was I to
argue? Besides, they were right. And in fairness, Lucy would be the first one
to admit that her talents did not lie between a pair of knitting needles. She
was becoming a pretty good witch, though. Though, again, she’d been late to
discover her powers.
In both knitting and witchcraft, I’d had a head start. Lucy, however, had
found her path in life, while I was still struggling to find mine. Would I really
end up forever in a coastal town in Cornwall selling yarn to locals and
fisherman knit sweaters to tourists? At this point, I had no idea. And certainly
nothing better on the horizon. I couldn’t go back, I reminded myself. I could
only go forward.
“And where are we going to have this knitting club?” I asked. The shop
wasn’t ready and had limited space, and I wasn’t sure that going into an old
tin mine was something that I wanted to do on a regular basis. Especially
since it was inhabited entirely by creatures who lived off human blood. But
the knitting club wasn’t all about me.
“We thought we’d have it here in Shadowbrook Manor, of course,”
Sylvia said. “The breakfast room is still set up for twenty-five people to dine
together—not that they ever had that many, I’m sure. Why don’t we start
there and see how it goes?”
“You want me to invite vampires into my living space?” Not to mention
the Biddles.
I must have sounded seriously doubtful, for Agnes tutted at me. “Have
you not been around Lucy and Rafe and all of our friends long enough to
realize none of the local vampires are of any danger to you?” She paused for
a moment. “Unless, perhaps, they’re very hungry.”
Well, that was a comfort. I thought of Gryffyn Penrose leaning toward me
and inhaling deeply. I left a moment’s silence, pondering what he’d truly
thought of me. “Will you please make sure the vampires are fed before they
arrive at the knitting club?”
She looked at me like I was being difficult. “Of course.”
That reminded me of something. “I met a vampire tonight who says he’s
a knitter. Will he be part of the club?”
“I’d need more information, dear.”
“Gryffyn Penrose is his name.” I felt the coolness in the air that was
generated by sitting across from two vampires dip a little lower.
“How did you come to meet Sir Gryffyn Penrose?” Sylvia asked,
sounding as though I’d committed some sort of social solecism.
Sir? Somehow I hadn’t figured him for a sir.
Then I remembered that he’d asked me not to tell anyone about the
flagstone trapdoor that led to who knew what beneath the shop. And I’d
agreed. I didn’t owe him an allegiance, but he did own the shop I was leasing.
Until I knew more about the situation, I decided to keep my mouth shut. I
simply said, “I was tidying the shop, and he came in.” That was true as far as
it went. Let them assume he came in by the front door.
“Be careful around that one,” Sylvia said.
But I recalled how sweet he’d been to the cat and the cheerful way he’d
negotiated a bargain with me. My instincts with humans are pretty good.
Maybe they weren’t so good with the undead, but I wasn’t going to condemn
Gryffyn Penrose without getting to know him better.
“What’s wrong with him?”
The two vampires looked at each other.
Sylvia was the first to speak. “He’s a man of many secrets. I’m not sure
he’s to be trusted.”
“I’ll bear that in mind,” I said. Though I had just trusted him with a
verbally renegotiated lease agreement. I guess I’d soon see whether he was a
man of his word or not. Curious as to what they’d say, I showed them the
gold coin that I was pretty sure was Gryffyn’s. “I think he dropped this. Do
you know what it is?”
Sylvia took the coin, and they both studied it. It was weird, because I
remembered Agnes as always having to put her reading glasses on before she
could see anything up close. Now her eyes were probably better than mine.
Sylvia said, “I’m no expert, but I’d say this is a Spanish doubloon.” She
tutted. “Once a smuggler, always a smuggler.”
She gave it back to me, and I returned the coin to my pocket. I wasn’t
surprised to discover the man who’d reminded me of Jack Sparrow might be
a smuggler. Could he also be a pirate?
It still didn’t make sense. The kind of things people smuggled these days
were not Spanish doubloons. Besides, according to Lucy, all vampires older
than a hundred years had had loads of time to amass fortunes. I didn’t think
Gryffyn was active in the smuggling trade. But I was pretty sure he was up to
something.
I wondered if I’d ever find out what it was.
“We’ve decided the knitting club meeting will be at ten o’clock,” Sylvia
said. “That means everybody’s well-slept and has had a good feed. We’ll all
be fresh.”
“And,” Agnes added, “it’s not too late for you, dear.”
“Fine,” I said. “What night do you want to start?”
“Well, tonight we’ll be out socializing and spreading the word,” Agnes
said. “So we thought tomorrow night would be a good time to begin.”
“Tomorrow night? So soon?”
“Did you have other plans?” Sylvia asked with an edge.
“No. Tomorrow’s fine.” I had to trust it would be.
“Good. That’s settled, then. And we’ll bid you a good night. We’re off to
catch up with some old friends I want Agnes to meet.”
The two of them left, and I headed up to my room.
I washed and brushed my teeth in the ensuite and when I returned to my
bedroom, I discovered Busby sprawled across my bed.
I put her on the floor.
She jumped back on the bed.
We negotiated. I got the side of the bed closest to the door. She got the
side nearest the wall. After pawing the pillow until it was to her liking, she
settled down.
To my surprise, I liked having her there, and fell asleep almost
immediately.
I wondered what tomorrow would bring.
CHAPTER 5
T
he next day dawned with heavy clouds and blustery winds. Still, I
felt an irresistible urge to go exploring before I dove back into the
project of transforming a derelict cottage into an enticing knitting shop. After
all, Cornwall is a tourist destination around the world. And, from Rafe’s
manor house perched on the cliff, I could see part of the coastal path that
snaked along the entire coast of Cornwall.
I had an idea that I might try walking it in bits and pieces. Partly to get in
shape, but also just to enjoy the scenery. It was as pretty as anywhere I’d
been. In fact, I couldn’t think of a better time than the present to explore the
coastal path closest to where I was living and working. At the very least, if
people came into the shop and asked me about the area, I’d be able to tell
them something.
I didn’t have any hiking boots with me, but I did have the trail runners I’d
bought in one of my many attempts to get fit. They were barely worn, but I
thought they’d be perfect for the coastal path. I put on a pair of black
leggings and a T-shirt and wrapped a fleece around my waist. I had a daypack
and put my phone and a flask of water into it. There was always a bowl of
apples on a table by the front door, another reminder of the days when this
place had been a B&B, so I took one and put that in my pack as well. I was
good to go. I didn’t think I’d need a map. I’d only walk the path until I was
tired, then turn around and walk it back again.
It took me a bit of time and a few false starts to find my way down to the
coastal path. I got the feeling that Rafe and the mysterious, gardening Mr.
Biddle probably did everything they could to keep local hikers and tourists
from approaching the house by any other than the main drive. However, by
walking down the road, I was able to find a route down. And sure enough, I
pushed my way through some overgrown bushes onto the coastal path. I felt
inordinately proud of myself. Was I a mountain woman or what?
I noticed Busby had followed me and was happily diving in and out of the
bushes, sort of following me and sort of not. I figured she’d return to
Shadowbrook Manor when she was ready. She did not strike me as a cat who
had trouble finding her way home. And I kind of liked the company. I even
talked to her as I walked, telling her that I wasn’t sure how long I was going
to stay, and she might be looking for a new witch before long.
Now that my new reality had sunk in and I was settling in—negotiating
leases with a swashbuckling vampire and soon to be knitting with the undead.
I was living in Lucy and Rafe’s manor house without Lucy being here.
Suddenly, the whole endeavor seemed much less like a lark and more like a
life path I’d stumbled on by accident. Which was fine. I liked the idea of
letting my path come to me sometimes, but I also didn’t want to drift into a
life that wasn’t right. But then—as I reminded myself and Busby, who was
currently stalking something or other beneath a bush—my only commitment
was for three months. Three months was nothing but an extended holiday. A
mini sabbatical. It would give me time to think about what I really did want
to do.
My old life was closed to me. I only had to think of those last months in
Boston, and I shuddered and slammed the mental door on those memories. I
couldn’t go back. Sure, I was hiding here in many ways, but no one had to
know that. And for now, I had something to do. Who would ever think to
look for me in an obscure knitting shop in Cornwall?
So I breathed fresh early morning air and looked out at the beautiful,
beautiful ocean around me. Cornwall is like a baby finger sticking out into
the ocean. Okay, a very gnarly witch’s baby finger. And the amazing thing
about the Cornish Coast Path is that although Cornwall itself isn’t particularly
large, because of all its craggy coves and ins and outs, the path is actually
about 300 miles. I’d read that in a tourist book left, along with the furniture,
in Shadowbrook Manor from when it was a B&B.
I figured I could do bits and pieces of this path, and I’d either finish the
whole thing or I never would. It didn’t matter. Walking a scenic route was a
lot more fun than an hour in the gym.
Reminding myself that this was supposed to be exercise as well as
sightseeing, I quickened my pace. It was early in the day, so I seemed to be
alone—except for Busby, of course. The ocean rumbled and rolled way
below me, and I could hear the sound of my feet on the path. Birds were
singing, and to my delight, a butterfly led me on my excursion. After running
from my past and worrying about my future, I suddenly felt my spirits lift. I
would stay in the moment. That was the safest place.
Busby and I walked like that for a while, and to my surprise, she
generally stayed with me. I passed a man with a black lab. Fortunately, at that
moment Busby was out of sight, so they passed me with a murmured good
morning and a tail wag.
I continued on further, enjoying the exercise and views. The sky was
brightening and my mood along with it when I saw a young woman
approaching. She hunched into herself as though she were cold. Her long
blonde hair, held in place by only her black headphones, was being ruffled by
the breeze.
I felt her distress before I was close enough to see that she was crying.
She was looking down, so didn’t notice me until we were nearly upon each
other. As we passed, she shot me a quick glance, then dropped her gaze back
to the ground. She continued without a greeting or any acknowledgment of
my presence other than that quick glance. Perhaps she was listening to a sad
audiobook.
I got to a lookout point and below me was a cove that appeared perfect
for sitting closer to the ocean. Maybe I’d get brave and take off my shoes and
let my toes decide how cold that water really was. I’d take a few pictures, eat
my apple, drink my water, and then call this the halfway point and head
home. I needed to preserve enough energy for another day of physical labor
at the cottage. With that intention in mind, I picked my way carefully down
the fairly steep trail to the cove, which was made up of pebbles and slabs of
whatever the local rock was.
Busby followed, more sure-footed than I. When we reached the bottom, I
opened my arms wide, as though giving the ocean a hug. I breathed in the
crisp air and filled my lungs.
This was my new start, I reminded myself. Everything was going to be all
right.
He couldn’t find me here.
I turned to scan my little cove, thinking I’d find a sheltered spot to eat my
apple. Then I noticed a pair of shoes. At first I thought someone had
forgotten them on the beach. Then I realized that the shoes were attached to
someone who appeared to be sound asleep. I wasn’t sure whether to walk
away or move closer and make sure they were okay when Busby stepped
forward and then stopped still in her tracks, arched her back, and hissed.
And then it hit me too, that heavy feeling of darkness.
I now knew the person lying face down on the black rocky beach was not
asleep. I wasn’t sure what to do. I admit to an initial craven impulse to
scramble up the trail and pretend I’d never seen this. I was American. I’d just
arrived in Cornwall. I did not need to get involved in whatever this was. But I
took a breath and then another one. I knew I couldn’t leave whoever that was
just lying there for someone else to find.
I grabbed my phone and snapped a few hasty pictures before I got closer.
I couldn’t see any footprints or anything, but I’d watched enough detective
shows to know you don’t mess up a crime scene.
Then I looked up at the top of the cliff where the coastal path overlooked
the cove and suspected it wasn’t a crime scene but the site of a terrible
accident.
I walked closer and saw the victim was a young man, probably not even
twenty. His head was turned toward me, like he was sleeping on his belly.
His eyes were closed under a flop of dirty-blond hair that lifted in the breeze.
He had a narrow face, a nose that was large in comparison to the rest of his
face, and a full-lipped mouth. He wore jeans, a black hoodie, and I could see
the collar of a plaid shirt. A navy backpack sat beside him.
I stepped closer. Instinctively, I’d sensed he was dead, but I felt that I
should make sure. My hands were shaking, so it was hard to even think about
trying to find a pulse, but as I touched his arm, it was so cold I knew there
was no point. There was no pulse in this body.
What to do?
I went to use my phone once more. And swore. There was no cell
reception down here. Even if there was, I couldn’t remember what you called
in the UK. It wasn’t 911. What the heck was it?
Busby was looking at me like she was really disappointed in me.
I said to her, “What? You think I can bring him back to life? I have
powers, but I don’t have that much power. Do you?”
She sat down and just stared at me. Right, pull yourself together.
I said, “I’ll go and get help.”
I scanned the area around me and registered a gloomy-looking house on
the cliff. It was the only structure I could see. Like something out of a
Victorian melodrama, it perched above me—all dark stone, unlit windows,
and peaked dormers.
I’d retrace my steps to the steep trail up, thinking if I couldn’t get a
mobile signal, I’d make my way to that house for help. It wasn’t much of a
plan, but it was all I had.
Before I even made it to the bottom of the trail to start up, a voice said,
“We meet again.”
I turned to find Gryffyn Penrose. He wore the same clothes he’d had on
last night, with a wide-brimmed hat. I didn’t care if he was a vampire, I was
so glad to see him.
I ran up to him and pointed behind me. “There’s a man there. He’s dead. I
don’t know what to do.”
He looked quite startled. But only for a second. “A dead man, you say.
That’s unusual.”
I nearly laughed with hysteria. Unusual was such a strange word to use. I
hoped it was unusual, or I’d be getting the next bus out of here.
Then Gryffyn looked at my face, really looked at me. He put his hands on
my shoulders. “It’s all right, girl. I’m here. Just breathe deeply. Maybe sit
down and use your smelling salts if you feel faint. I’ll have a look at him.”
I wanted to argue with him that I wasn’t some damsel in distress who
might faint, but actually, I did feel like I might topple over at any minute. I,
of course, didn’t own smelling salts, but I could put my head between my
legs. I sat on the nearest rock, and if I didn’t put my head between my legs, I
did rest my forehead in my hands. Busby rubbed against my legs and
somehow that helped.
When I felt a bit stronger, I lifted my head and glanced toward the dead
guy. To my shock and horror, Gryffyn Penrose seemed to be searching the
body. I wanted to throw up. Sylvia had said he was a smuggler, but surely he
wouldn’t take loot off a dead man.
After a minute or two, Gryffyn came back to where I was still sitting on
the rock, with Busby by my side.
“His head’s bashed in,” he said.
I nodded and dropped my gaze to my feet. “Oh, how awful. Do you think
he went for a morning walk, like I did, and slipped?”
He said quite gently, “He didn’t die this morning. He’s been there most of
the night.”
I glanced up and stared into his eyes. As dark as the deepest secrets.
“How do you know that?” I asked.
“I have an extremely sensitive sense of smell. His blood type is O, if
that’s of interest to you, and it’s no longer pumping in his body. It’s been
sitting there a while. Smells stale.”
He was describing it the way I might describe a quart of milk I was
thinking about pouring on my cereal but had forgotten to put in the fridge the
night before.
I said, “I feel so stupid. I don’t even know who I’m supposed to call.”
He rubbed his nose. “I’d prefer we didn’t call anyone at all. I can dispose
of him. No one will ever know he was here.”
I was horrified. “What about his family, the people who love him? No.
We have to report this to the authorities.”
“Well, if you don’t mind, I’d like you to keep me out of it. And you call
999.”
I could understand why he didn’t want to be involved, but I was nervous
about being responsible for a dead person all by myself. Still, he’d offered to
get rid of the whole problem for me. I just knew I couldn’t let that happen.
Somebody, somewhere, must have loved this person and needed to know
what had happened to him.
I agreed that I’d take care of it, and he said, “Give me ten minutes and
then make your call.”
He was about to walk away when I stopped him. “Mr. Penrose…”
He shot me the same cheeky grin I recalled from the night before. “I think
at this stage you can call me Gryff. It’s how my friends address me.”
I doubted we were ever going to be friends. “Gryff,” I said, “What did
you take from the body?”
He shook his head. “Nothing. I was looking for identification, but there’s
nothing at all.”
I glanced over at the body still lying there. “But there must be something.
Wallet? Phone?”
“Have a look for yourself. But as I told you, there’s nothing.”
I wasn’t going to search a dead person, but I had to wonder. Was there
nothing there because there’d been nothing to find? Or because Gryffyn
Penrose had already taken anything of value?
He’d asked me to wait ten minutes. It was going to be a very long ten
minutes.
CHAPTER 6
I
peeked over one more time at the body and registered what I hadn’t
seen before. That backpack on the sand beside him. It didn’t look as
though he’d fallen while wearing it since he was on his stomach. The pack
was sitting beside him, unzipped. I was no detective, but it seemed to me that
he must have come down here and taken off the backpack when he did.
Which made a fall from a great height seem extremely unlikely.
After nine minutes had passed, I walked back up to the lookout point on
the coastal path and found a spot that had cell reception. I called 999. The
line wasn’t great, but I managed to make myself understood and as far as I
could, I explained where I was. I was told to stay put.
I didn’t know how long it’d take for someone to arrive. I didn’t even
know where they were sending people from. I tried to remember if I’d ever
called the police before. I didn’t think I had. There’d been a couple of wild
parties in college when I’d been tempted to call the campus patrol, but I
didn’t really think that counted—and besides, I hadn’t.
I liked a peaceful life. And here I was embroiled in something that was
anything but. I had to say, the past twenty-four hours had been pretty crazymaking. First, I’d tried to tidy the shop, and a vampire had appeared from
under the stone floor. That was a great start to business. Then I was told to
prepare to host a vampire knitting club with a bunch of Cornish vampires in
my temporary home. Not even Lucy had done that. She’d always hosted the
Oxford meetings in her shop.
What was I supposed to do? Invite them all in? Surely, all the vampire
lore in books and movies couldn’t be wrong. The one thing you should never
do with a vampire was invite them into your home.
Then all I’d wanted to do this morning was take a nice walk. Get some
exercise. Enjoy the scenery. And I’d all but walked straight into a corpse. I
didn’t like that last bit of information I’d gleaned from glancing back at the
body, either. There was no way that backpack had fallen off him after impact,
which made the ‘he fell from the path’ story not so good.
Busby waited with me for a little while, then headed off on her own
business. Which left me completely alone.
A couple about my age strolled by holding hands. I prepared to stop them
from taking the trail down to the cove if necessary, but they only wished me a
cheerful good morning and continued on the coastal path. I wished I could
join them.
Instead, I stood on the path, thinking.
Where had Gryffyn come from? Okay, it was hard to hear over the roar of
the surf, and I’d definitely been more than a little shocked by what I’d found,
but was it suspicious that a vampire that Sylvia said I shouldn’t trust was so
near a dead body?
No, I reminded myself, he’d said it wasn’t that fresh. But if he’d killed
the guy, he would say that to convince me he wasn’t the murderer. I couldn’t
believe that he’d drained the blood of a victim and just left him there on the
beach. Especially given what he’d suggested, that he could just get rid of the
body for me, made it pretty clear he would have done that if I hadn’t
protested. Had I arrived before he could dispose of his victim?
Or had he or one of his buddies done the poor kid in last night and come
this morning to dispose of the evidence? I shuddered. I didn’t like where that
train of thought was leading me. The trouble was that I didn’t know
vampires. The only ones I knew were the three who’d accompanied me to
Cornwall and Lucy’s friends in Oxford.
I felt like I had nowhere to turn, no one I could trust. A breeze whipped
up, and I felt a chill. I wanted to return to Shadowbrook Manor and crawl
back into bed, but I knew I couldn’t. I had a civic and moral duty. Not that
this was even my home yet. I wasn’t sure how long I’d stay, given the way
the first—I glanced at my phone—twenty-seven hours had gone.
At the end of what seemed like forever and was probably not more than
forty minutes, a small cluster of people in uniforms came toward me. They
were young and wearing hiking boots and carrying a stretcher and backpacks.
I took a wild guess that this was the search and rescue team sent whenever
there was an incident on the coast. I waved, and they were beside me before I
knew it. There were four of them.
The youngest one, who couldn’t have been more than thirty, stayed
beside me and walked me through what was happening unseen on the beach
below us. Her name was Sergeant Frances Draycott, and she seemed like
somebody I’d really get on with if we met in a pub over a glass of beer. But
she was professional too. She told me she wasn’t search and rescue, but a
junior detective.
And I described exactly what I’d seen. When she asked if I’d seen anyone
in the area, I mentioned passing the dog walker and the young woman with
the headphones.
I left out any reference to Gryffyn. I felt terrible lying by omission, but I
couldn’t say, Yeah, there was a vampire hanging around. For whatever
reason, I’d agreed not to tell anyone that he’d been there and, crazy as it was,
I’d keep my promise. But if he’d killed that boy, he wasn’t getting off scotfree. He’d have to pay.
The police might not be able to investigate him, but I knew vampires who
liked solving mysteries. I had Agnes Bartlett and Sylvia Strand, two of the
sharpest minds I’d ever seen. And if they couldn’t get the Cornish vampires
onboard to help, then I bet a Bentley full of Oxford undead amateur sleuths
would soon arrive and be only too happy to help solve the crime. Because
more and more I was thinking it was definitely a crime.
Frances told me her team was erecting a tent over the body. I wondered
how much time they had before the tide came in, or if he was too high up on
the beach for the tide to disturb him. It must be the latter because if Gryffyn
was right, and the man had died the night before, then wouldn’t he have been
dragged out to sea by the tide?
Frances asked for my name, phone number, and address. When I
explained where I was living and what I was doing, she just nodded and
wrote down my details. Then she said I could go now, but they might need to
interview me again. I just nodded, grateful that I didn’t have to stay here any
longer.
As I headed back to the manor house with a much heavier heart than the
one I’d set out with, Busby picked up my trail again.
I walked in by the back entrance and headed straight for the kitchen,
thinking I’d brew a cup of coffee. I know the English always think tea solves
everything, but I’m sorry, I’m too American. I didn’t even think coffee would
solve my problems. But making it would just give me something to do. Some
mindless task that might distract my mind from the horror.
Mrs. Biddle was making pastry. Cornwall Today! was playing on the TV
and something about the show’s host, Jodie Rymer, learning about the latest
trends in summer bathing suits settled me a little.
Mrs. Biddle turned to tell me off and must have seen I was in a state, for
she said, “Is it coffee you want?”
“Yes.” And a Valium would be good to go with it.
“I’ll bring it to you in the lounge.”
I was such a wreck I hadn’t noticed Busby by my side. She gazed at Mrs.
Biddle. Mrs. Biddle returned the scrutiny. My hands were shaking, and I still
felt a bit faint. I didn’t have the energy for a fight.
To my shock, Mrs. Biddle said, “I’ll put some milk out for the cat.”
I could only nod.
I got to the lounge room and suffered another shock. Once more, I nearly
jumped out of my shoes. Gryffyn Penrose was standing by the French doors
that opened onto the veranda, staring at the ocean.
“What are you doing here?” I seemed to say that a lot.
He turned. He looked uneasy. “I wanted to make sure you were all right. I
didn’t feel right in myself that I left you to cope with the authorities.”
“I managed.”
He still looked uncomfortable. “And I wish to make it very clear I had
nothing to do with that young chap’s death. I feel like perhaps we got off to a
rocky start, you and I.”
“You think?”
He looked at me uncertainly. “Was that a joke of some sort?”
I shook my head. “More like plain sarcasm.”
“Ah,” he said.
They must have had sarcasm in the eighteenth century or whenever he’d
been born, but I really didn’t want to get into that right now.
So I said, “The authorities are there now. They asked if I’d seen anyone
in the area, and I lied and didn’t mention you.”
He nodded. “You did right. I can see that it was hard for you not to tell
the absolute truth, but the truth’s far too complicated for most daywalkers.”
“It’s not uncomplicated for me.”
“Nay, but you’re a daywalker too. Even if you have a few magical
powers.” So he’d figured that out.
“Did you know the dead guy?” I looked at him, really looked at him.
“And please don’t lie to me.”
“I did not know him.” He shook his head. “Daywalkers have been
snooping around, though, and lately more often. Young fools who seem to be
searching for buried treasure or something.” He made a dismissive sound as
though only fools would go looking for treasure on the coast of Cornwall.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the gold doubloon. “You mean
like this?”
He’d had hundreds of years to work on his poker face, but still he looked
slightly startled. “Where did you find that?”
“You dropped it in the cottage.”
His eyes began to twinkle. “Careless of me. I’ll make you a present of it.”
“What would I do with a very old gold coin?”
He shrugged. “Poke a hole in it and hang it round your neck? You could
sell it for a fair sum. You’d have to make up some story about where you
found it. Or you could put it in your coin box, I suppose, against a rainy day.”
I didn’t want to do any of those things. I wasn’t at all sure where this
valuable old coin had come from, but I doubted very much it was by legal
means. I handed it back to him. “I’d be much more comfortable if you just
take it away with you.”
He looked surprised but shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He pulled out a leather
bag, and it jingled.
I had to assume that the doubloon was going to be shaking around again
with its cousins. I couldn’t help myself. I asked, “How do you get through
life?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You’re wandering around in clothes that look like they came out of a
costume museum, carrying a leather bag of doubloons. Do you spend those at
Tesco to buy a quart of milk?”
He looked a bit sad. “There’s not much I need at Tesco. And besides, I
have accounts for all those things. Nobody ever seems to want to use real
money here anymore. It’s all cards and tapping on little machines. I like the
jingle of coin around my person. It always makes me feel if I had to make a
quick exit, I’d be able.”
I knew the vampires who’d been around for a long time usually had
extensive holdings. “Are you telling me you don’t trust banks?”
He made a distasteful expression. “The number of banks I’ve seen go
bust, young lady, would curl your hair. I like my money where I can see it.
Portable property.”
“So that’s all your wealth, there in that bag?” It wasn’t that big. I was
extremely glad I’d given him back his gold coin now.
He laughed. “I also believe in land and property. And jewelry. Rafe
started me on a fine collection of old books, but I’m not sure it’s my thing. I
prefer art.”
“So your bank vault is a house with some paintings on the wall?”
He chuckled. “Something like that.”
“And you manage all this without a bank account?”
“It’s all too complicated for me. I have accounts, and people who manage
them for me, but the bulk of my wealth I can touch. That’s how I like it.”
I told him that the police had questioned me and might want to talk to me
again.
He didn’t look very surprised. “You will keep my name out of it?”
“Well, I’ve done it so far. I’d look like a liar if I now suddenly
remembered I’d seen a pale gentleman in eighteenth-century dress wandering
around the beach, wouldn’t I?”
“You’ve a point.”
Mrs. Biddle came in then with my coffee. She didn’t look very surprised
to see Gryffyn. “Good day to you, Mr. Penrose.”
“And how are you faring, Mrs. Biddle? How is the elbow?”
“I can’t complain. It’s just arthritis. And a lifetime of hard work will do
that to you.”
Her soft moaning was annoying since I’d originally said I would get my
own coffee and now she made me feel like I was a lazy, entitled brat being
waited on hand and foot by a woman old enough to be my grandmother. But
before I could defend myself, she’d put her tray down in front of me. It
contained a white china pot of coffee, a white china mug, milk and sugar—
even though I’d said I didn’t take sugar—and a plate of biscuits. I didn’t eat
biscuits often, but these looked and smelled good. They were some kind of
sugar cookie with raisins in them and sugar sprinkled on the top. I could tell
they were homemade.
After settling the tray, the housekeeper left.
There was only the one cup, but still I said to my guest, “I’m assuming
you don’t want a cup of coffee or a biscuit?”
“Sadly, no. I do enjoy the scent, though.”
“Right.” I liked the scent too, in fairness. “You don’t mind if I have
some?”
“Help yourself. Perhaps it’ll help settle your nerves. Though if you take
my advice, you’ll put a drop of brandy in that.”
I was sure that in his time a drop of brandy solved all sorts of things, but I
didn’t think I wanted to be muddled in my head any more than I already was
if the police came to call. It was such a simple story. There were just a lot of
things I had to leave out.
“What were you doing there this morning?”
“Nothing related to that young man’s death, I assure you.” And that was
all he’d tell me.
CHAPTER 7
A
s much as I wanted to stay in my bedroom with the covers over my
head trying to block out the sight of that dead body, I couldn’t. Maybe
if I hadn’t known that Claire was bringing her design and paint samples to the
shop this afternoon, I would have given in.
Coming to Cornwall was supposed to be a new start. The worst part was
that the bad thing that had come before was so traumatic I couldn’t even tell
Lucy. I’d genuinely believed that I could leave the bad experiences, and
partly my own bad choices, behind me in Boston. That I could just enjoy
living somewhere completely different. What did I know of Cornwall? Most
of my knowledge I’d gleaned from watching Doc Martin on TV.
People were nice here. The pace of life was slower. Everybody’s
problems always seemed to be getting their slight aches and pains looked at,
figuring out what kind of fish to eat for dinner, maybe dabbling in romance.
All this sounded perfect to me. I had not, in my wildest dreams, imagined I’d
be plunged into murder. This was definitely not what I’d had in mind when
I’d accepted this three-month gig.
I could go back. Except that I couldn’t. There are some mistakes you just
don’t recover from. And unfortunately, I’d made one of them.
Charming, charismatic creatures seemed to be my weakness. I was very
much afraid that Gryffyn Penrose might turn out to be another one. I’d be
giving that vampire as wide a berth as I could. I liked to think that I could
learn from my mistakes, though so far that didn’t seem to be true.
So I pulled myself together as best I could and made my way to the
cottage. I had at least an hour before Claire arrived with paint samples, so I
could continue the cleaning.
As I drew close to the cottage, and was already pulling the key from my
pocket, I noticed a man staring inside the front display window.
I was pleased that I’d had the idea to put a little sign in the window
informing the village that this space would soon be a knitting shop. All I
needed was a shop name. But, a knitting shop was a knitting shop, and I
hoped that local crafters would spread the word. Maybe even, when they saw
me at work inside, stop in with suggestions of the kinds of products they
wanted me to order in. I was determined that the knitting shop would become
a valuable part of this community.
Hoping he might be a knitter anxious to find out when we were having
our grand opening, I greeted him. “Good morning.”
The man turned to me, and I immediately discounted the idea that he
might be a customer. He was a big man with broad shoulders and sturdy legs.
I knew this because he was wearing ragged shorts that showed off muscular
calves. On his feet were hiking boots that looked as though they’d been up
and down Everest a few times. He wore a canvas coat over a T-shirt with a
hole in it. But the most notable item of his clothing was a large scallop shell
that he wore on a bit of twine around his neck.
The scallop shell made me think of pilgrims. I’d often thought I’d like to
walk the Camino de Santiago and all the movies and articles I’d ever seen
featured that scallop shell either hanging from a backpack or around a neck.
This man’s hair was long and shaggy, as was his beard, and his face was
weather beaten and somehow sad. His eyes were a faded blue. To add to his
pilgrim image, he even had a wooden staff in his hand.
“Morning,” he replied. “You’re opening a shop, then.”
“I am.”
“This cottage has been empty for some time.”
“You’re a local?” I’d assumed he and his staff and his boots and his
scallop shell were merely passing through.
Something about my words seemed to amuse him. His eyes crinkled
slightly. “Aye. I’m a local.”
I couldn’t figure out what his accent was. It sounded to my American ear
like a bit of English, a bit of Irish, and a bit of Scottish. Maybe it was just
Cornish. I hadn’t been here long enough to figure that out. We stood looking
at each other for another moment or two, and it seemed rude to just go in the
shop and leave him.
So I asked without much hope, “Are you a knitter, then?”
He shook his head at that. “I like to paint.”
And then, as they like to say in this country, the penny dropped. Could
this be the itinerant painter Tre? In hopes that it was, I asked him, “Do you
have any of your paintings with you?”
He nodded, but he didn’t immediately rush to pull out his wares. Instead,
he said something curious. “Are you interested in art?”
I had to think about my answer. Was I? I finally spoke as close to the
truth as I could.
“It’s not something I’ve studied, or understand very well, but sometimes
I’ll look at a picture and it just pulls me in. I couldn’t tell you why. I couldn’t
explain the brush strokes. I can tell a Van Gogh from a Monet, but not a
Monet from a Manet.” Okay, now I was getting clever. I had to slap myself
down. “So, I guess the answer is no.”
The breeze shifted slightly, and I realized that it’d been a while since this
man had had a shower. It fit with what Henrietta, who ran the clothing shop
across the street, had told me about the painter.
He said, “That’s a fair answer and an honest one.” And then he shifted the
backpack off his shoulders. Like the rest of him, it was well worn and a little
shabby. He opened the top and pulled out a piece of driftwood that had a
seagull painted on it. The seagull had managed to pry the shell off an oyster
and was in the act of eating its prize.
I felt at once as though I was the seagull enjoying a tasty meal, the
onlooker appreciating a moment of nature, and I even had a sense of the
bird’s alertness as though it was surrounded by other seagulls who might like
to take that treat from it. As I’d noticed in the picture painted on the side of
the building that housed Henrietta’s shop, every tiny detail was realized.
My words burst from me. “This is beautiful.”
He didn’t so much as smile, merely offered it to me. “Then it’s meant to
be yours.”
I didn’t have a lot of money on me, but I reached for my wallet.
He put up his hand. “No. I make you a present of it. I don’t paint for
money. It gives me pleasure, and if it gives someone else pleasure, then I
know I’ve been heard.”
I glanced up at him. “You said heard, not seen?”
He scratched his cheek with a broken fingernail. There was a streak of
yellow paint caked in the nailbed. “A painter has a voice, you see. Not
everyone can hear it.”
I accepted the gift and then said, “But I want to give you something in
return.”
He scratched his cheek lower this time, where his beard began, and
seemed to think deeply. “Well,” he said, “I’ve quite a sweet tooth.”
I should probably take this man to the grocery store and buy him some
nourishing food, but it wasn’t up to me to decide how he lived his life. “I’ve
got a great idea. Can you come back in about twenty minutes? And tell me,
do you prefer coffee or tea?”
I could see his day was getting better by the second. “I’ll have a good cup
of tea if you don’t mind. Milk and sugar.”
“I’ll meet you back here in twenty minutes,” I said.
Clutching my painting, I all but ran to The Cornish Teapot. In truth, I
would have ended up there anyway at some point today. I couldn’t imagine
starting a few hours of work at the shop without something to fuel me. When
I got there, I waited in line as the two people in front of me ordered and paid.
This wasn’t like my local coffee shop, by the way. The choices were a lot
more limited. Sure you could get soy milk or almond milk, but there was no
macchiato or pumpkin spice latte. The choices were espresso-based drinks
such as a latte or cappuccino, an Americano. There was a flat white, and I
still wasn’t entirely sure what that was. And then there were the teas.
Because the choices were more limited, the line moved quickly. When it
was my turn, I asked for an Americano—because, come on, I was one—and a
tea to go. And then I perused the day’s offerings. I bought a Cornish pasty
because I wanted Tre to have something savory and nourishing and not just
sweets, but then I really piled it on. I took two of everything in the display
case. Even if he didn’t have refrigeration, I was pretty sure everything would
last a couple of days, and he was a big enough man that he would probably
get through the food that fast. Since I didn’t know if he was a meat eater, I
got a vegetable pasty. In fact, I got two of those as well. And then, feeling
reckless, I bought one for myself. I’d yet to taste a Cornish pasty.
The woman behind the counter looked cheerful and one of those people
that is doing the right thing in life. She had full cheeks that if they weren’t
smiling, seemed on the brink of it. She was in her forties and plump, as
though she very much enjoyed her wares. She gave me a slightly amused
glance as she packed my large order, but she didn’t say anything.
For some reason, I felt the urge to explain. “These are mostly for a
friend,” I told her. “But one of those Cornish pasties is for me. I’ve never
tried one before.”
She said, “You’re in for a treat.” She pulled out the Cornish pasty—that
was for me—using the little wax paper tissue thing and put it on one of her
plates. Then she glanced behind me and since no more customers needed
serving, I assumed she decided she had time to chat. “You do know the story
of the Cornish pasty, don’t you?”
“There’s a story?”
I looked down at it. It looked to me like a simple round of pastry had been
stuffed with something, folded over and had its edges crimped. Did it really
have a story?
She said, “The pasty goes back centuries, but became popular here in the
days of tin mining. The wives would make their miner husbands a pasty in
the morning filled with the leftovers of the meal from the night before. So
maybe a bit of meat, some potatoes, onion, swede. Then she’d fold the edges
of the pastry over, as you see. But of course the miners’ hands being so very
dirty, they would hold on to it just here.” She pointed to the edge of the
pastry, kind of the corner of the moon. “And when they finished eating, that
would be so blackened they’d throw it away. Besides, there was arsenic in the
dust, so they really couldn’t eat it. Some of the pasties were two-thirds savory
and one-third jam or fruit, like a dessert and a meal, all in one.”
“That’s fascinating. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. My name’s Agatha. I’m Claire’s mother.” Then she
stuck out her hand. “Are you by any chance Jennifer?”
For some reason, I suspected she already knew who I was. But I nodded
and happily shook her hand. “I’m so grateful to have the help of your
daughter. Claire’s amazing.”
“And she’s just as pleased to have met you. She’s delighted to be able to
use your shop as a project for school.”
“And I’m just as happy to have her help. She’s got a really good eye.”
“Kind of you to say so,” she said.
Then I said, “You must know Tre, the painter?”
“I do. And I can see that’s one of his creations that you have there in your
hands.”
I loved her British reticence that she’d recognized the painting and yet not
mentioned it until now. I’d have asked her about it right away if the positions
had been reversed. I turned the driftwood painting with all the pride of new
ownership so she could see all of it. “I wanted to buy it, but Tre told me it
was meant to be mine. Instead of giving him money, I’m taking him some
sweet treats. It was all he wanted.”
“He likes you then.” She smiled at me. “Tre’ll take money from people if
he doesn’t care for them so much, but when he decides he likes you, he’ll
only take gifts in return.”
Something about that made my heart swell. After all the bad stuff that had
happened this morning, I wouldn’t have believed I could feel such a moment
of happiness bloom in my chest. I knew from being a witch, that light and
dark reflect off each other and inform each other.
She said, “And give Tre one of these from me, with my love.” She took a
box of cookies off the shelf and added it to the pretty hefty bag I already had.
Then she looked at me. “Will you need some help carrying that?”
I shook my head. “I’ll drink my coffee and eat my pasty here, and then
it’ll be easier to carry everything else.”
I was able to tell Agatha that I was a new fan of the Cornish pasty, which
made her smile. She made Tre’s tea and then put it in a takeout cup that she
dug out from under a shelf.
I was as good as my word and still arrived back at my shop within my
allotted twenty minutes. Tre was standing waiting with all the patience of
someone who did a lot of that. I handed him the bag and the tea in the takeout
cup. I remembered at the last minute to tell him the cookies were from
Agatha.
He thanked me and then said, “Good luck to you.”
“And good luck to you,” I said. And as he walked away, with the bag that
had dragged down my arm seeming weightless in his, I whispered, “Blessed
be.”
Agatha Trevellen had not mentioned the death that morning. I wasn’t
certain if it was because she didn’t know or just preferred not to discuss dark
subjects over sweet baked goods, but when Claire arrived later that day, she
was bursting with the news.
She banged down a bag that clanked enough that it must contain several
small pots of paint and burst out with, “Have you heard the news?”
In the hours between me getting coffee and Claire arriving at the shop,
the story of the dead man being found must have made the rounds.
Still, I wasn’t going to fall into that trap, so I asked, “What news?”
“There was a body found this morning. On the beach. And it was dead!”
I wasn’t going to feign a surprise I didn’t feel, so I said, “Do they know
who it was?” This had really been bothering me. If the man had no wallet or
phone and therefore no ID, how would they alert his family?
She obviously hadn’t noticed that my shock and awe weren’t as great as
hers. “No. The police are being very tightlipped. I suppose it’s a case of
having to tell the family first. But I heard it was a man, and he was young.
My friend Marie saw the police activity, and she followed them to see what
was going on. They’ve erected a tent and everything. And there were ever so
many police scouring the beach. I wonder what they were looking for? Do
you think he could have been murdered? Could they have been looking for
the murder weapon?”
I shrugged. I had no more idea than she did. Well, okay, I had quite a bit
more idea than she did since I had been first on the scene. I’d tried to hold on
to the possibility that his death had been accidental, but then how did his
backpack get off his back and sit beside him as though he’d reached in to
open it for something?
Unless it wasn’t his backpack and I’d made up a story based on
circumstantial evidence. I would have to do what the rest of this small town
did and wait for the evening news.
Then Claire seemed to shake herself and said, “Right. I’ve got some ideas
for you.” She pulled out drawings and began to explain her ideas. Shelves
here, baskets there, and her color scheme.
I was thrilled to see that her passion for this decorating project was
undimmed by the murder news.
She’d chosen three colors, a main, an accent, and a trim, and she’d played
with ideas for shelving. She showed me a design with sleek white cubes, and
another with dark wood open shelves. She’d really gone to a lot of trouble.
I had decided Claire was going to be a famous designer one day, so I was
smart enough to let her make the choices. I could see that she already had a
strong feeling of what would look best. I preferred the dark wood, and when
she said, “Yes,” I knew she’d wanted me to choose those. When we costed it
out, it was well within my budget, so I said yes to everything, including a few
accessory display tables and ladders. And I wished all my dealings in
Cornwall might be this simple.
And then they ceased to be simple the second after I had that thought
when she said, “The shelves are going to take six weeks to make and
deliver.”
“Six weeks?” I was horrified. “But we’ll miss most of the summer trade.
No, I want to be open in two weeks.”
My declaration didn’t make her panic, but she did look slightly
concerned. And this was where my extra ten years of living in the world
came in handy. I said, “Could we find similar wood and get someone in
Tregrebi to build them?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t know any carpenters here.”
I had a sneaking suspicion that I could find some undead woodworkers. I
said, “If you can source the wood, I’ll find the carpenter.”
She didn’t look convinced. “They’ll have to work night and day to be
ready in two weeks.”
I hid my smile. I didn’t think that the working all night part was going to
be a problem.
And then we got to work, she and I. She painted from sample pots onto
the wall, the main color and then a smaller splash of the secondary color and
then a line of the trim and gave me a couple of options. We both agreed on
the one that combined a cream background with accent colors of teal and
cranberry. I wouldn’t have chosen them, but when I saw her mood board,
they were perfect.
I asked her to leave me a couple of samples of the wood that we were
considering for the shelves and said I would see if I could find someone who
could build them. If Gryffyn didn’t know a shipbuilder, I’d be very surprised.
There wasn’t much more to do after that. I was about to lock up and leave
when—through the front window and across the street by Tre’s painting on
the side of Henrietta’s store—I noticed a young blonde woman in intense
discussion with a young dark-haired man. I was almost positive it was the girl
I’d passed that morning on the coastal path. The one who’d been crying and
wearing headphones.
Since Claire seemed to know all the locals, I said, “Do you know who
that is?”
She’d been busy packing her bag and then she followed my gaze and
said, “That’s Hattie.”
“Your cousin?”
“Yeah. She came to dinner last night, but she was acting weird. Mum
thought she might be on drugs, but she still made me go to the pub with
Hattie. I think Mum wanted me to keep an eye on her.”
I watched the couple’s interaction and there was something really intense
going on between them. I wished I was close enough to hear what they were
saying.
I said, “Do you know who the man is?”
She said, “Sure. That’s Nick. He was at the pub last night, too. So was
Nick’s best friend Daniel. The guys aren’t local and no wonder Hattie was
acting weird with them both being crazy about her. Like I said, she’s always
got boy drama.”
A cold feeling began to form in my belly, a place where I find truth often
starts.
“What does Daniel look like?”
She gave me an odd look. “Why?”
Perfectly understandable question. I just didn’t have a good answer. So I
went with, “No reason. I thought I saw her with someone earlier.”
The one she was having the conversation with right now had an intense
expression on his face. I got the feeling that he always looked intense, but I
couldn’t have said why I thought that. And then as I watched, he tried to put
his arm around Hattie and she pushed him away.
Meanwhile, Claire came closer, and we both watched the drama out of
the window.
“Daniel’s the same age as those two. He’s got blond hair and kind of a
thin face.” All she had to do was mention he’d been wearing a dark hoodie,
jeans, and a plaid shirt the day before, and I thought I had identified our
murder victim.
The cold feeling in my belly spread to my chest. It’s one thing to read
about a murder in the newspaper or hear about it on the news, but I had seen
the man’s lifeless body. A young man just beginning his life, who’d had it
brutally shortened. I don’t know why, but I felt I had to help him. I couldn’t
give him back his life, but I could give him justice. Maybe if I did that, I’d
feel less terrible about what had happened in Boston. Or at least I could feel
that I was making amends for my poor choice. It was all I could do.
As we continued watching the two outside, Claire said, “I didn’t like
Daniel much, to be honest. He called Nick your highness, and he and Hattie
started snickering. I can tell you, Nick didn’t like that one bit. He told them to
shut it, but that made them laugh harder. When Nick went to the loo, Hattie
said he’s got a mum who’s mad as a box of frogs.”
I loved hearing the expressions English people came up with, but I was
more interested in hearing what else had happened during what I suspected
was Daniel’s last visit to a pub. Hopefully we’d move off Nick’s life story
and get to Daniel’s soon.
Claire said, “Hattie told me that Nick grew up on a council estate with
Daniel, but Nick’s mum kept saying she was better than all the neighbors and
so was Nick. She claimed she was related to royalty. Apparently, Nick never
talked about it, but his mum would tell anyone who’d listen, so he got teased
pretty badly.”
“Poor kid.” No wonder Nick looked permanently angry. “What about
Daniel?”
“From what I saw at the pub, I’d say he was the leader of the three of
them. Boasted a bit about university football. I got the feeling he was a star
player. He was all over Hattie, I can tell you that. Whispering secrets, it was
so annoying I left after one pint and went home.”
“Is Hattie your father’s sister’s child?”
“No. She’s Mum’s sister’s kid.”
“So, Hattie’s last name isn’t Trevellen.”
She looked at me strangely. “No. It’s Moyle. Why?”
Why indeed was I asking her so many nosy questions? “I’m trying to
work out who’s who in my new home. There’s a lot to learn.”
She laughed. “There is, but you’ll soon know everyone. My mum’s
definitely planning to introduce you to everyone she can. The locals are
excited to see this cottage finally used for something and lots of people round
here knit.”
I wanted to ask more nosy questions, like what time did Hattie leave the
pub? But if Claire had left after one pint, she wouldn’t know.
I felt that I’d come to the end of any information Claire could give to me.
So I opened the door for her.
She went off promising to return with the painting supplies at nine in the
morning because she didn’t have to work at the coffee shop tomorrow. She
also said, “We can paint the shop together. It’ll be fun.”
I didn’t think that fun would have been the first word I would have used,
but it was a small shop and I had a feeling that the locals would respect me
more if I painted my own walls than if I hired someone to do it all for me.
Besides, it was more hours I could pay Claire for, and she’d told me she
needed the money. So I agreed to tackling the painting together. I also told
her I’d start putting the word out for carpenters.
After she left, I remained inside the shop, frankly spying on the two
people who were still standing across the street. They’d be out of sight of
people strolling the high street, but I had a direct view of the drama as though
my front window was a TV screen.
I was pretty sure Hattie was crying again. And I was pretty sure I knew
the reason why now. I cast my mind back to this morning. I had passed her
on that path, and she’d been wearing headphones and crying. I’d assumed at
the time that she was listening to a podcast or an audiobook on a sad subject.
But now I suspected she’d already been mourning the loss of Daniel. Had
she been there when he died? Did she know who killed him? With a shudder,
I wondered if she’d done the deed herself.
It wouldn’t have been that hard for her to have directed his gaze toward
the ocean, so he turned his back to her while they were on the coastal path.
And then one good shove, and he’d have tumbled down easily, breaking his
neck.
I wondered again about that backpack. Maybe he’d been holding it and
fallen, or been pushed. But the top had definitely gaped open when I’d found
him. If he’d been holding it when he fell or was pushed, wouldn’t the
contents have fallen out as it tumbled down the hill with him?
Had she then gone down the trail to the beach and searched his backpack?
And if so, what had she wanted so badly she’d rifled through it?
Maybe I should find out.
CHAPTER 8
I
wanted to help the police find out who’d killed the dead man I’d
discovered. I’d love to share information, but they weren’t going to
tell me anything. And if I gave them too many clues, they might think I was
one of those crazies who kill a person and then phone it in.
At this point, I knew one thing that the police didn’t. I knew the identity
of the girl who’d walked past me that morning, and I suspected I knew the
name of the victim. Maybe I was a fool, about to confront a killer, but I had
some pretty good powers that would protect me. I wasn’t too worried about
my personal safety.
I was still watching the interaction between Hattie and Nick. It appeared
as if he was begging her or appealing to her in some way. Once more he tried
to touch her and once more she shook him off. He said something else and
then turned with slumped shoulders that suggested defeat and walked away.
She leaned against Tre’s painting, watching Nick go.
Before she had a chance to go as well, and while I figured she was still in
a pretty emotional state, I locked up the shop and headed toward her. Now
she was texting on her phone so I was nearly upon her before she noticed me.
She glanced up with no recollection on her face, then glanced back down to
her phone as though whatever I was doing in her personal space was nothing
to do with her.
I said, “Excuse me.”
This time when she looked up she seemed to register that I was there.
“Yeah?” She didn’t sound friendly or unfriendly, just puzzled as to why I was
addressing her.
Okay, now that I had her attention, I didn’t know what to say. I tried, “I
saw you this morning, on the coastal path.”
Her eyes flickered, and I was certain I saw fear there. She didn’t deny
being on the path, just said, “So?”
So what? Was I going to accuse this utter stranger of murder? Maybe
she’d been going for a walk and hadn’t even noticed a dead body down in the
cove. If you hadn’t gone down to the beach, you wouldn’t have seen it. But
then why had she been crying? I went with that.
“I noticed you were crying. Is everything okay?”
For a moment, I thought she’d start weeping again. Her eyes were still red
and damp from the last episode. Instead, she said, “What do you want?”
It was actually a really good question. What did I want? Justice for a
young man who’d died before his time.
I said, “I found a dead guy on the beach this morning. I have a feeling
that you saw him, too.”
“Leave me alone.” She moved to push past me.
“Hattie,” I said, using her first name to stop her in her tracks. “You need
to go to the police. You need to tell them what you saw.”
I decided I’d assume she had merely seen what I’d seen and not caused
the death. That might gain me some more of her time. Her eyes looked quite
wild.
“How do you know who I am?” She narrowed her gaze. “Are you a
detective?”
I could have laughed at that. But I didn’t. I also didn’t answer her
question. Instead, I said, “I think you’ll feel a lot better if you tell me what
happened.” I’d been about to say this morning, but if Gryffyn Penrose was
right, the death had happened during the night and not this morning.
For a second, I could see her teetering on the edge. Did she want to talk to
me? Or would she push past me and stomp off?
I said, “I only want to help you.” And it was true.
She suddenly waved her free hand in the air. “I don’t know what
happened. I don’t even know why he was there. He was supposed to wait for
us.”
I didn’t interrupt. I just took everything in. If I started asking questions
she might clam up, and she had some kind of stream of consciousness going
here, so I just nodded as though I had a clue what she was talking about.
“But I had a feeling he was trying to go in ahead of us. Daniel was like
that. Greedy. A sneak. He didn’t care about anybody else. I see that now.”
Okay, not exactly a eulogy for her friend. “How did you know Daniel?”
And please drop his last name.
She shrugged. “We met in uni.” This confirmed what Claire had said.
“The three of you?”
She glanced at me again, seeming amazed at how much I knew. And all
I’d done was observe her twice and listen to what her cousin knew.
“Yeah. Nick and Daniel had been friends since they were kids. Daniel
was interested in Cornwall and when he found out I was from here, he asked
me loads of questions. Said he’d love to visit. Daniel and Nick did everything
together and, I don’t know, we all got to be friendly. We’d all just left home,
and it was our first time living away. We looked out for each other at
university. And when they heard I was coming down here, they decided to
come too.” She sniffed and reached into her pocket, pulling out an empty
package of tissues.
I reached into my bag and handed her the half pack I had left.
She nodded as she accepted it, took out a tissue, wiped her eyes, and then
blew her nose. She said, “I can’t stop crying. It was such a shock. I was cross
with Daniel, but I can’t believe he’s…” She couldn’t finish the sentence.
I could imagine. I wanted to offer her a cup of tea somewhere, but I was
worried that if I stopped this flow of words even temporarily, they might not
start up again, so I stood there and waited.
She said, “Anyway, we were just having some fun. It was like a game.
But we—all three of us—were supposed to meet at Pilchard Cove. I was
early, so I thought I’d meet them there. And then I got there, and Daniel was
just lying there, broken.”
I knew what she’d seen, because that was exactly how I would have
described it. But what game? What had Daniel done without them? I asked,
“Did you see anyone else there?”
She shook her head.
“Can you think of any reason why anyone would want to hurt Daniel?”
Her look was absolutely haunted and her answer was most peculiar. “I
don’t know.”
Both Claire and her mother had noticed Hattie acting peculiar during the
dinner they’d shared, so I asked, “Did Daniel seem fine at the pub last
night?”
She stared past my shoulder and said, “I’ve got to go.”
“Wait. What game? Why were you meeting at the cove?”
Before I could remind her to call the police, she was walking quickly
away. I glanced over my shoulder to see what she’d seen.
It was about five-thirty. There was a family heading into the pub for an
early dinner, a woman with a brightly colored shopping bag heading into the
grocer’s, and behind her—looking in the grocer’s window—was Tre. I
glimpsed another man, only for a moment, and recognized it was Gryffyn
Penrose before he’d slipped between two buildings. Why had he not wanted
me to see him?
I made up my mind right then and there that Gryffyn and I were going to
have a little chat.
I did my own quick walking and went between the buildings where
Gryffyn had disappeared. Why was I not a bit surprised that he wasn’t there?
I could run around like a fool searching for him or I could be strategic. I
walked back to Shadowbrook Manor and went round to the kitchen door. I
took off my shoes before I even entered and found the housekeeper busy at
work in the kitchen. It was full of delicious scents.
“There’s a roast chicken for your dinner,” she said. “It will be ready at
six.”
I might have said I didn’t want chicken. I might have said six was not
convenient, and I would prefer to eat at seven. But the kitchen just smelled
too good.
I said, “Thank you.” Then I went outside, put my shoes back on, and
headed to the tin mine. I knew that was where Agnes and Sylvia lived, but I
didn’t know exactly where inside. I hovered by the padlocked door,
wondering how smart was it to plunge myself into a nest of vampires. They’d
be coming to the knitting club that evening, and I could question them then,
but frankly I had a mad on.
When I get angry, I don’t always act sensible. However, I also wasn’t
stupid. The door to the tin mine was locked and had a very large sign across it
that said Danger and Keep Out. If I was the undead living down there, I’d
have put those signs up too.
But I wasn’t living down there, so I pointed my finger at the lock and
said:
“Spirits of the north, south, east, and west,
I join with your powers to act as a key.
Open this lock at my behest,
As I will, so mote it be.”
With a heavy click, the big padlock opened. I unhooked it from the
handle, but when I tried to pull the door open, it wouldn’t budge. The wood
was so old I wondered if it had got stuck.
I was mentally rooting through my personal stock of spells when, from
behind me, a voice snarled, “Can’t you read?”
I spun around to face a slim vampire wearing a leather jacket, jeans, and
green Wellington boots. I was already annoyed with Gryffyn playing hideand-seek with me. I didn’t have time to play games with an undead
gatekeeper.
“Yes, I can read. But I have business in this mine.”
His eyebrows rose. “And what business might that be?”
I could get snarky, but probably mouthing off to a vampire I didn’t know
wasn’t the best idea, so I tempered my irritation. “I’d like to speak to Agnes
Bartlett and Sylvia Strand, please.”
The vampire’s expression wasn’t friendly. And when I mentioned Agnes
and Sylvia, he looked at me with even more suspicion. Then he said, “You’re
not one of us.”
Yes, I knew that. I didn’t really know how to answer, so once more I
asked about Agnes and Sylvia.
He looked at me as though thinking I was too scrawny to bother draining
and said, “Wait here.” He turned to leave, then he spun back to face me.
“And I’d appreciate it if you’d return the lock the way you found it.”
I did just that as he stomped off. It occurred to me that the whole lock
thing was a big ruse. Especially when he didn’t go in through the door but
went around the side of the mine.
I’d expected Agnes or Sylvia to come out, but instead, the same vampire
returned five minutes later.
“Follow me,” he said curtly.
I hesitated. This felt like a test. Was I about to be an afternoon snack?
Early dinner? Were Agnes and Sylvia even down in the mine? I had powers,
but I doubted very much I could protect myself against a nest of hungry
vampires. And yet, I also had a burning curiosity to see what their place
looked like. I’d seen the underground condo complex, for want of a better
term, beneath Cardinal Woolsey’s in Oxford, and I had to wonder what the
Cornish version looked like.
The vampire escorted me around the side of the mine and into what
looked like an old quarry. I’d have passed the gap in the rocks if he hadn’t led
me into it. He turned right, and I had to watch my feet scrambling over rocks
to follow him. We were now completely hidden from sight. Again, I
wondered if I’d done something very stupid following a vampire I’d never
seen before into a quarry that didn’t appear to have seen miners or humans
for a century or more.
I glanced back, but I’d never get out before he could catch me. However,
instead of turning on me, he walked behind a rocky outcrop, disappearing
from sight.
I was about to follow, when I heard a sound like a cat meowing and, like
an apparition, a small black cat appeared, padding daintily toward me. I
couldn’t believe it.
“Nyx?” I called out.
And, sure enough, Lucy’s familiar scampered to me. She seemed as
happy to see me as I was to see her.
We both followed the vampire, who had his back to me. I couldn’t see
what he did, but a door opened in front of him. One minute, there was a rock
wall. The next minute, there was a recessed doorway.
“Don’t stand staring,” he said, ushering me to follow him inside. “Come
in.”
Right. I followed him. And Nyx decided to follow me, for which I was
grateful, and then the door slid closed behind us.
I found myself in a cavern lit with very low lighting. Of course, vampires
see much better in the dark than we mortals. I felt the ground still uneven and
rocky beneath my feet. I was going to fall over if I didn’t get some more
light, so I took out my phone and put on the torch function.
The vampire turned and glared at me but didn’t say anything, so
presumably I was allowed to keep my flashlight on. We went forward down a
rickety wooden platform, and I could see ahead more stairways that headed
straight down, the stone walls felt damp.
Could this be right? If the accommodation was this lacking in comfort,
Agnes and Sylvia were not going to stay here long.
I’d seen their living housing in Oxford, and to say it was sumptuous
would be a gross understatement. They lived in luxury, surrounded by every
treasure imaginable. From art to jewels to designer clothing. The only thing
they didn’t have, of course, was fabulous food, but I guess you can’t have
everything.
Clinging to the wooden railing, I reached the bottom of the first set of
stairs, Nyx by my side. I saw the hulk of old mining machinery as giant
shadows. It smelled musty. I headed toward the second set of stairs that led
deeper.
But the vampire said, “Over here.”
Nyx looked back at me as though saying, ‘Keep up.’
Again, the vampire made very sure that I couldn’t see what he did, and
then another door opened, sliding back soundlessly, and once more he
ushered me forward. And this time, when I walked through the doorway, it
was like I’d entered a magic kingdom.
Ah.
The hallway was paneled in some kind of dark wood. Cherry or
mahogany maybe. Ahead of me was an elevator, but we turned to walk down
the corridor. I was glad not to be stuck in a small space with a strange vamp.
Nyx stayed with me as though she knew I needed the support.
The hallway was lined with paintings, no doubt from private collections,
but there was no time to stop. We walked down another flight of stairs, down
another corridor, and turned a corner to another hallway. There were closed
doors along the way. Finally, when I felt like we’d reached the center of the
earth, the vampire knocked on a door.
And Agnes opened it, looking delighted to see me. “Come in, my dear,”
she said. “Nyx, did you have a nice run?” she asked the cat, who rubbed
against her legs and meowed for her dinner.
Agnes and Sylvia had obviously been napping, for they both looked a bit
sleepy when I turned up.
Their underground condo was as high-end as the one in Oxford, I was
happy to discover. It was decorated in classic Sylvia style, all art deco and
with black and white photographs of her in her heyday. I’d ceased to be
amazed at the artworks. When I had more time, I’d take a closer look. I was
pretty sure the painting of ballerinas in rehearsal was a Degas, and there was
a melted clock over a table that had to be Dali. Sylvia’s furniture was pure
deco. A chaise longue in dark and pale wood. Cabinets and tables that looked
like a film set from the 20s or 30s. Then, in a corner, there was an overstuffed
chintz armchair with a matching footstool. I had that moment of thinking that
one of these things is not like the others.
Agnes saw me looking and beamed. “I see you’re admiring my new chair
and footstool. They just arrived today.”
“It hardly fits the décor,” Sylvia said, as though that needed explaining.
“But it’s so much more comfortable, dear. Those chairs that have scallop
shell backs are very pretty, I’m sure, but not very cozy for settling in to knit a
jumper.”
Sylvia settled herself on the chaise.
Agnes said to Nyx, “Yes, all right. I’ll get your dinner.” To me, she said,
“Jennifer. Is everything all right?” She served Nyx her dinner in a handpainted Limoges bowl, with a matching one for water.
She had to have known that it would take a lot for me to disturb them,
especially as I hadn’t even been down here yet.
I said, mostly to Sylvia who knew this area better, “Can you take me to
see Gryffyn Penrose?”
She looked quite surprised at my request. “Why would you want to see
him?”
“Because I think he might have some information I need. I found a dead
man on the beach this morning, in case you hadn’t heard.”
From the way they glanced at each other and then back at me, I could see
they hadn’t heard. I would have thought the Cornwall vampire
communication network was as good as any. Had Gryffyn not told anyone?
Why not? Maybe he just wasn’t a gossip, but it struck me as curious. I’d been
tempted to call Lucy. The only reason I hadn’t was because she was on her
honeymoon. When something awful happens, you want to tell someone. I
supposed, for vampires, finding a dead body wasn’t a big deal. More so if
they hadn’t caused the death themselves, I supposed.
What bothered me was that Gryffyn had spent a lot of time in the vicinity
of that body while I’d sat feeling faint. Then he’d skulked away after seeing
me with Hattie. Why?
I knew he’d gone through the dead man’s pockets. He’d claimed there
was nothing there, but I didn’t believe him. What had he taken?
Briefly I explained what had happened and Agnes, who was still closer to
human than Gryffyn or Sylvia, was obviously stirred to pity.
“Oh, you poor girl. What a terrible shock for you.”
“It was.”
“And you don’t know who the dead man was?” she asked.
“Gryffyn said he had no ID on him.” I knew the dead man’s name was
Daniel, but I didn’t feel ready to share that.
Agnes thought about it for a minute. “Do the police know who it was?”
“I don’t think so. But they’ve no reason to keep me in the loop.”
Sylvia said, “We can certainly do something about that. Rafe has more
contacts in Oxford, but Gryffyn has plenty here.”
Gryffyn, always Gryffyn. You didn’t need to know a great deal about
vampire lore to figure out that Gryffyn was the alpha in Cornwall. Head
honcho of the local vampires. He was to Tregrebi, what Rafe was to Oxford.
“I think he’s keeping something from me. Will you take me to see him?”
Sylvia looked annoyed. “I don’t know why he can’t live here with the rest
of us. As you can see, Jennifer, the accommodations are lovely. But oh no, he
has to go his own road, that man.”
Agnes said, “In fairness, you told me the house had been his home when
he was alive. You can’t blame him for wanting it back.”
Sylvia didn’t look convinced. “Don’t you think I’d like to live in my
lovely old apartment in London? Or my charming pied-à-terre in Paris? But
we have to move on with the times. We’ve changed and our circumstances
have changed.” She shook her head. “Gryffyn is far too fond of the old
ways.”
My heart jumped in alarm. “When you say old ways, you don’t mean—?”
“No, no. He’s as tame as we are. It’s much more convenient to have our
food delivered to us nicely chilled, whichever blood type we prefer. By the
old ways, I mean, a great deal of Gryffyn’s sensibility has never changed in
three hundred years.”
I kind of knew what she meant. He dressed somewhat eccentrically, and
carrying a leather sack of doubloons was hardly useful in a world that was
increasingly based on plastic cards and cryptocurrencies. Where vampires
like Lochlan Balfour had embraced new technologies, Gryffyn Penrose
seemed to take a perverse delight in refusing to have anything to do with
them. It made him a colorful character, and I kind of respected his
commitment, but it couldn’t be very convenient, and he really needed to sew
up that moneybag so he didn’t keep dropping doubloons.
Sylvia said, “Give us half an hour, and we’ll pick you up in the Bentley.”
“We’re driving to Gryffyn’s house?”
“Well, I’m certainly not walking there in daylight. I don’t care if it is
cloudy. I have to think about my complexion.”
Since the two of them mostly went around carrying parasols with UV
protective fabric, or wearing hats of the same material, I suspected it wasn’t
the day part that bothered her. I thought they wanted time to get themselves
ready. Sylvia might be undead, but she never went out without her full
makeup and dressed to the nines. And since Agnes had become a vampire,
and Sylvia was the one who did Agnes’s makeup, Agnes tended to look
elegant as well. And, no doubt, they had to wake up poor Alfred to drive
them in Sylvia’s Bentley.
So, I told them I’d wait for them at Shadowbrook Manor. And, then as I
was leaving, I paused beside a painting.
“Is that you?” I asked Sylvia. It was a particularly beautiful painting of a
young woman—very much alive and brimming with confidence and sex
appeal.
She looked fondly at the picture. “Oh yes. Picasso painted me, before he
went so peculiar and kept drawing people all misshapen.”
Of course, Picasso had painted her. Of course, he had.
The same vampire who had escorted me down was waiting outside the
condo door to escort me up again. When we came out of the mine and I was
heading back across the grounds toward the manor house, he said, “Make
sure you don’t tell any daywalkers about this place. We have enough trouble
with intruders.”
I turned back. “You do?”
I was surprised. Rafe’s Shadowbrook property was a twenty-minute walk
from town and well hidden from prying eyes. And abandoned tin mines were
all over the place in Cornwall. Why would anyone trespass on private ground
for something that looked so closed up and uninteresting from the outside?
I’d have asked him more, but he’d already disappeared.
CHAPTER 9
I
returned to Shadowbrook Manor and tried to figure out how I was
going to get the information I wanted from Gryffyn Penrose. My
burst of annoyance had faded, but I still felt certain he had not been entirely
honest with me.
Working in the shop and traipsing down into the mine had left me less
than fresh. I showered quickly and put on a clean pair of jeans and a pretty
ruffled blouse I’d bought on sale in Oxford. As I dried my hair and did my
makeup, it occurred to me that the blouse looked like something from the
eighteenth century. Had I chosen to wear it on purpose? Was I deliberately
trying to put Gryffyn at ease by showing myself in a way that would be
familiar to him? Sometimes I didn’t understand my own motives. And hadn’t
that got me into plenty of trouble in my past?
A half an hour after I’d left Agnes and Sylvia, the long-suffering Alfred
showed up exactly on time with the two ladies in the back of the Bentley.
They were fully made up. Both were dressed in designer trousers and longsleeved blouses, and each carried a hat and a parasol.
The drive to Gryffyn’s house wasn’t long. We pulled into a narrow lane
with hand-built high rock walls on either side. Alfred had been driving long
enough that he took the corner smoothly, barely breaking his speed, and there
was not more than an inch on either side between the car and the rock walls.
It was an impressive feat of driving. Once through the narrow alleyway, the
house that greeted me looked like something out of a gothic novel with high,
pointed gables, a widow’s walk, and a turret. I was nearly certain it was the
house I’d spotted from the cove where I’d found the dead man.
Was that why Gryffyn had been down in the cove this morning? Had he
seen something from up here?
There were no lights on and it had a kind of bleak aspect to it. The trees
had been allowed to grow so high and thick that little daylight reached the
house. I suspected the abandoned look was quite deliberate. Gryffyn did not
want visitors.
They must have called ahead, for as we got out of the Bentley and walked
toward the front door, it opened—and Gryffyn himself was standing there.
His eyes narrowed very slightly as he saw me.
“Good afternoon to you,” he said.
The other three didn’t say anything, so I replied, “Good afternoon.”
He said, almost reluctantly, “You’d better come in.”
I’d seen Jehovah’s Witnesses treated with more warmth when they came
calling. Once inside, his place—very much like the tin mine—was
transformed. Gryffyn didn’t go in so much for the fine art and rich carpets.
He had an adventurer’s love of the unusual. I was drawn to a drawing of a
ship on what looked like a tooth, on a heavy table. Gryffyn said, “That’s a bit
of scrimshaw, a whaler in Nantucket sold it to me. He engraved the ship on a
sperm whale’s tooth.” I had to remind myself that back when he’d been alive,
whaling hadn’t been outlawed.
There were ancient statues, some of which looked Greek, some Egyptian,
and quite a bit seemed to be from the New World. His love of gold was
apparent in the goblets and candlesticks dotted around as though he used
them rather than having them for display.
Instead of fancy paintings, he had old maps on his walls. I could suddenly
see him at the prow of a ship, eyes squinting against the sun as he navigated
his way to adventure and treasure.
He said, pulling me away from my perusal of his home, “I was told you
wanted to see me?”
It would be easy to assume he was just grumpy because he’d been woken
up from his nap and treat him as an overtired toddler, but I’d seen him in
town too recently for that.
“I did. Do you remember this morning when you went to check if that
man was dead?”
He frowned slightly. “You don’t still think I had something to do with his
unfortunate demise?”
That was an interesting sticking point. I believed he hadn’t drained the
man of blood, but he’d been suspiciously near the body when I’d discovered
it. However, I wasn’t here to accuse him of murder.
I said, “No. But you weren’t completely honest with me, were you?”
His eyes lit with sudden humor. “You’d have to be more specific.”
He was toying with me, and I didn’t like it.
“You were ages searching the body. You said there was nothing there, but
I saw you take something.” Okay, actually I hadn’t, but I was bluffing for all
I was worth. To my relief, he didn’t deny it.
“You have sharp eyes on you. I must remember that you’re magical, too.
I always make it my policy never to turn my back on a witch.”
If I’d thought about it, I’d have said my policy was never to turn my back
on a vampire. However, throwing darts at each other wasn’t going to help. I
just waited with my eyebrows raised, as though I knew perfectly well what
he’d taken. I’d have put my hand out to receive whatever he’d taken, but I
thought that was going a bit far.
He said, “There was almost nothing on the body. No identification, just
this tucked deep down in a pocket that could easily have been missed.” He
reached into his own pocket and passed me a scrunched up piece of paper.
I’d assumed he’d removed the dead man’s wallet. But this was it?
The paper looked like it had been torn off an official document, like a
school schedule. If the dead man was who I thought he was, he’d been a
university student, so it fit he might have torn the bottom off a school
document and scribbled on it. But what exactly had he scribbled? Something
was scribbled in ballpoint pen, but I was having trouble reading the writing.
“Parena?” I said aloud. And there was a phone number.
Gryffyn said, “Not Parena, but Carenna.”
“What does it mean?” I asked.
Sylvia showed off her knowledge here. “Carenna House is a grand local
estate. They used to have a magnificent deer park. I spent the odd weekend
there with the duke.”
I had no idea what duke she was referring to—and didn’t much care—but
Carenna House jingled in my memory.
Gryffyn said, “And that phone number rings through to the main
switchboard at Carenna House.”
I stared down at the paper again, irritated that I couldn’t remember where
I’d seen the name. “Have we passed it or something?”
Sylvia shook her head. “No. But you’ve likely seen it on the tourist
posters. It’s open to the public now. I used to go as a private guest. It’s of no
interest to me to go as a paying tourist.”
I really had to bite my lip to stop myself from smirking at her snobbery.
Now I remembered where I’d heard the name. “Carenna House is owned by
Lord and Lady Gilpin, isn’t it?”
“Yes. You’re catching up on your local history nicely,” Agnes said,
looking pleased with me.
“I met them yesterday at The Cornish Teapot. They came in for tea and
scones while I was having a coffee,” I said.
“That’s lovely that you’re meeting the locals, dear,” Agnes said.
I didn’t bother telling her that Lord and Lady Gilpin hadn’t seemed as
though they wanted to be my friends. Instead, I said, “Why do you think that
was in the dead man’s pocket?”
“He could have been thinking of going there.”
“Maybe for a university project?” I pondered aloud. I had no idea what
Daniel, Nick, and Hattie had been studying, but if it was Cornish history, that
would make sense.
Gryffyn said, “What I find peculiar is that it’s the only thing that was in
his pockets. No wallet, no identification, as though whoever killed him didn’t
want his identity discovered.”
“But who would do that?” I asked.
And would we ever find out the answer?
“Did you search his pack?” I asked. “It was beside him on the ground.”
According to Gryffyn, the only thing in Daniel’s backpack had been a
thermos of cold coffee, an energy bar, and a fleece jumper.
I thought about all the university kids I’d ever known and I had to ask,
“Where was his phone?”
“There wasn’t one.”
I crossed to the window and, as I’d suspected, it overlooked the cove, but
not the spot where I’d found the dead man. I turned back to face Gryffyn.
“What were you doing in the cove this morning?” I asked.
He said, “I was out for a stroll. I often go early in the day when there
aren’t many daywalkers around.”
I opened my mouth to argue that it seemed extremely suspicious that he
should be in that particular spot at that particular moment, and then he did a
curious thing. He stepped between me and the others and put a quick finger to
his lips. Okay, he wanted me to shut up, but why? What secret did he have
from the other vampires?
I didn’t know him very well, but the way he expected that I would drop
the subject made me think he would give me the answer I was seeking, but
just not in front of anyone else.
Going on that supposition, I changed what I’d been going to say to, “Do
you have any idea who the dead man might have been?”
He looked a bit shifty. “I do not. Nor do I wish to know. But the soonest
the authorities can clear up this murder and leave us in peace, the happier I’ll
be.”
“I agree,” Sylvia said. “We came here because it’s such a sleepy, out of
the way village. The last thing we need is a load of daywalkers causing
trouble and poking their noses where they don’t belong.” She glared at me as
though I had something to do with the increase in tourism in this village.
“We’ve got enough of that going on already.”
I also wanted to ask Gryffyn why he’d ducked down the high street
alleyway and pretended he hadn’t seen me earlier. I also wondered if Hattie
had taken off after seeing him on the street, as though she might have seen
him earlier this morning as well. There were a lot of questions I had for this
vampire.
Sylvia said, “Well, we won’t trespass on your time any longer, Gryffyn.
But we’ll see you later, I hope.”
He looked confused. “Have we an engagement?”
“The knitting club meeting,” she reminded him. “If you come, they’ll all
come. It would be nice to introduce Agnes to more of our kind. And she and
Jennifer are going to need plenty of knitters to keep their shop in business.”
He made a sound like hmmph. I suspected he’d be only too happy to see
my shop close so he could have control of the cottage again, and the sooner
the better.
However, he said, “Thank you for the reminder. My men and I will be
there. But first I must speak with them.”
It was clearly an invitation for us to leave, but bearing in mind that
moment when he’d put his finger over his lips, I said to Agnes, Sylvia, and
Alfred with an assumption of casualness, “You go on without me. I think I’ll
walk back to Shadowbrook. Wouldn’t mind getting some air.”
Sylvia gave me a sharp look but said, “Suit yourself.”
And the three vampires left. This now left me alone with Gryffyn.
I didn’t waste any time. I said, “What couldn’t you say in front of them?”
He stared at me for a long time as though measuring me up. Then he said,
“First, thank you for not pressing me to tell more lies. I prefer to speak the
truth. I’m going to trust you, Jennifer, and I’ll quickly know if you betray my
trust.”
This was the first time he’d used my name. Perhaps because I was now
inside his house, we’d moved to a kind of intimacy I wouldn’t have chosen. I
sensed not only a mystery, but that Gryffyn had chosen to reveal something
he preferred not to share with the other local vampires. Naturally, the intrigue
had my heart beating a little faster.
“I understand and promise not to share whatever it is.” I had plenty of
secrets of my own and managed not to blurt them out. I was pretty sure I
could keep his.
He wavered for another moment, then said, “Follow me.” He led me
down a corridor and then down a flight of stairs to what appeared to be the
basement of this vast and fascinating house.
One day I’d love to poke around all the nooks and crannies. But I wasn’t
here for a social visit, and he certainly hadn’t offered me a tour.
Since we were going below ground level, I wondered if he was taking me
to where he slept. That would be weird. But we reached the bottom of the
staircase to what looked like a stone cellar with nothing in it but a few boxes,
some broken furniture, and a coil of rope. It was chilly down here and I
shivered.
He walked to the end of the cellar, where the floor sloped down. It was so
dark here I could barely see. There was a heavy black oak door that looked
held in place with ancient nails. He reached behind an ancient-looking timber
post and must have pushed a button or something, for a panel opened
revealing a super high-tech looking keyboard that was backlit. It immediately
brought to mind Lochlan Balfour, the Irish vampire who owned one of the
most prestigious worldwide technology and security firms. I wondered if this
was his work.
Gryffyn keyed in a code and, open sesame, we stepped into a cavernous
tunnel. It smelled like the sea and something else. It might have been rum.
There were old fixtures black with soot where torches had clearly been used
back in the day. But there was also modern recessed lighting, which was
slightly jarring in this ancient space.
I followed Gryffyn, noting lumps of netting and rope that didn’t look
particularly old or disused. I also saw more doors, and I was dying to know
what was behind them. I pictured pirate’s booty. Old trunks with pearls and
emeralds spilling out of them along with gold plates and sterling-silver
tankards.
But if that’s what was behind those doors, I wasn’t going to find out
today. Gryffyn strode past the doors without a glance as though they were
none of my business.
We kept going, down and down as the ground sloped until we reached a
series of stone steps with dents in the middle where so many feet had trod
over them. Finally, I saw ahead of me a wall that ended in brick. I could hear
the sea. I’d been trying to orient myself as we’d traveled and I had a feeling I
was on the other side of the wall in the cove where I’d found the dead body.
As far as I could see, it was impenetrable.
Gryffyn turned to the right down another narrow corridor. He
electronically opened yet another heavy door, and when I came through, he
closed it behind us. I now found myself in what appeared to be a blocked-up
cave. It looked like nobody had entered it in at least a century or two. It was
damp and crusted with old seaweed. There was another brick wall in front of
us, and Gryffyn disclosed another keypad, which also had a security camera
that showed the cove outside.
As I’d guessed, the tunnels led to the same cove where I’d found the dead
man. The body was gone and so was the tent the police had erected. There
was no sign a crime scene investigation had taken place.
Gryffyn made sure that no one was in the vicinity, and when he was
satisfied, he pushed a button and some of the bricks slid out of the way,
revealing a door just wide enough for a person to pass through. We walked
through and once more he shut the door behind us.
He said, “And there you are. Now you know my secret.”
I’d read about smugglers and seen them portrayed in movies, of course. It
wasn’t that hard to put two and two together. “So, when you lived here in
life, you were a smuggler?”
He laughed that rich laugh of his. “I prefer to use the term free trader.
Something that was quite fashionable in this country until recently.”
I didn’t want to argue free-trade agreements and politics. Not now.
Instead, I asked, “Are you sure there isn’t some connection between that dead
man being found outside your door and what caused his death?”
I wasn’t accusing Gryffyn of murder. If anything, the fact that he’d
shown me his tunnel suggested that he wasn’t the killer. And it would be to
his advantage to have the case closed and the police far away from a tunnel
that led to his house as soon as possible.
He looked both frustrated and confused. I knew how he felt, for I was
experiencing the same emotions.
He said, “I can’t see how, but it is an odd coincidence. We still use it, you
see. My men get bored and restless, so we often go out at night. And this is
the way we return.”
I thought about what he was saying. “So, had you seen him that night
when you came home? Assuming you were out at sea that night?”
“We did not.”
“What time did you get back?”
“It was about three in the morning. There was no moon, but even so, we’d
have sensed a dead daywalker in our path.”
I glanced around. “Where’s your boat?”
“It’s moored nearby.” And I guessed he wasn’t going to tell me more than
that.
“So we know that he was killed sometime between three and seven when
I arrived.”
“I can tell you for certain it was closer to three. His blood was definitely
stale when you found him in the morning.”
I doubted a forensics team could do a better job of pinpointing the
timeline of the man’s death.
I asked him again. “And you’re sure you don’t know him?”
“Very sure. And I’d never seen him before. I’d have remembered. I keep
an eye on who comes here.” He hesitated and then told me what I’d sort of
already guessed. “I keep a great deal of treasure hidden in these tunnels.
What you might call a king’s ransom. I would not want a random stranger to
find their way in.”
I agreed. I didn’t think it would’ve ended up well for Gryffyn or the
random stranger.
CHAPTER 10
I
had a thought. I turned to Gryffyn. “Do you by any chance have
CCTV cameras that record?” If he used the camera to see what was
going on outside his tunnel, might not the camera have recorded something
on the morning of the murder? It would be to his advantage as well as mine
to get this thing solved as soon as possible. He looked back as though he’d
never seen the camera before.
“To tell the truth, Jennifer, I use it like a peephole. And to my way of
thinking, a peephole would be just as useful. But Lochlan Balfour was very
persuasive, and since the bulk of my fortune is secreted behind these doors, I
was inclined to listen. I don’t know if you’re acquainted with Lochlan, but I
warn you, if you meet him, he’ll be selling you things you didn’t know you
needed.”
I felt for him. I really did, but I was pleased that Lochlan was known
here. “I do know him. He’s very good at what he does.” I felt like I needed a
chat with Lochlan. I was just about to say that very thing when my phone
rang. I knew it was Lucy. I took her call and put on my most cheerful accent.
“Hey, how’s it going? How’s the honeymoon?”
“It’s very nice,” she said. And I could tell even in those few words that it
was. She said, “But what’s going on there?”
“Not much,” I said breezily. “We chose a fabulous cottage right on the
high street for the knitting shop, as you know. I can’t wait for you to see it.
The interior was in pretty rough shape and…” I paused to shoot Gryffyn a
glance, knowing he was listening. “And so I’ve been cleaning it, and I’ve
found a local girl who’s helping me plan the colors and the layout. I’ll send
you some pictures.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line. Then Lucy said, “Cut the
crap, sister. I know when you’re in trouble. I’ve been feeling you. I waited
for you to call me, but you didn’t.”
A beat of silence went by. I heard a wave crash on the beach. “Lucy,
you’re on your honeymoon.”
“Yes, I am. And I’ve had five wonderful days. And now my closest
sister’s in trouble. How can I enjoy a honeymoon when I’m worried about
you? So, tell me, what’s going on?”
I gave up at this point and told her everything that had happened from the
moment I’d taken my fateful morning walk to this moment, leaving out only
Gryffyn’s tunnel of treasure. Did he really not trust Rafe and Lucy? He must
have trusted Lochlan because he’d hired the vampire tech mogul to fit the
security system. Still, I felt there was a lot about Gryffyn that he kept hidden.
Lucy remained quiet through the whole of my recital, which I
appreciated. There were no interjections of Oh my God or You poor thing.
At the end she just asked, “Are you okay?”
And really, that was the only question that mattered between us. I thought
about it. Was I?
I said, “Honestly, I don’t know. I’ve never seen a dead person before,
never mind a recently killed young person.” I’d seen plenty of undead people,
but I wasn’t sure if that counted. They didn’t freak me out in the same way as
stumbling across a murder victim did.
She said, “I’m going to talk to Rafe. Hopefully, we can be there
tomorrow.”
“Hey. You should enjoy your honeymoon. I don’t need a babysitter.”
“I know,” she said, sounding hurt. “I just want to be there for you. Like a
best friend.”
Now I felt bad for snapping. But still, I legitimately did want her to have
a good honeymoon.
I said, “Why don’t you at least finish out the week? The police are
investigating the murder. And we don’t even know for sure that it is a
murder.” Although, of course, in my heart, I was sure it was. “A woman
doesn’t have a honeymoon every day.”
Lucy’s reply was a low chuckle. “With Rafe, I feel like every day is a
honeymoon. I have a feeling it’s always going to be like that.”
Did she have to rub it in? “I’m happy for you.” And I was.
She said, “Okay, then. You’ll see us in a few days. Apart from knowing
you were in trouble and wanting to help you, I also called because I wanted
to let you know that Lochlan’s on his way to Tregrebi.”
“He is?” Well, that was timely.
“He’s been doing some business in Truro and called Rafe this morning to
let him know he was going to stop by and see how Agnes and Sylvia are
doing.” There was an unspoken and you at the end of that sentence.
“Great,” I replied and meant it. Frankly, there was no one I wanted to see
more right now than Lochlan Balfour because, hopefully, he could tell me a
lot more about the security camera than the vampire who owned it.
On the other end of the line, I sensed that Lucy’s attention had perked up
at my reply.
“Yeah? Are you interested in Lochlan?”
I burst out laughing. “Lucy, don’t do that annoying thing that happy
couples do where they try to set you up all the time.”
“But I really think he likes you.”
“I’m sure he does. I like him too. But not in that way.” Lochlan and I had
spent a fair amount of time together during the run-up to Lucy’s wedding and
the aftermath, but I’d never felt he saw me as anything more than Lucy’s best
friend. And I liked and admired him, but he was Rafe’s best friend. I didn’t
think either of us had romantic feelings for the other.
“But I really want you to find something that will keep you here in
England.” She sounded so keen for me to stay that I immediately forgave her
unsubtle matchmaking attempt.
“Come on. I already agreed to stay for three months and run the new
shop.”
“But I don’t want you here for just three months. I want you here forever.
You’re my best friend. With you here, I’m hardly ever homesick for the
States. But coming to England was different for me. When I arrived, I had
Gran in Oxford, and I still have her close by in Cornwall. And I have Rafe.
But I’m not sure just a knitting shop is enough to keep you here.”
“Don’t look too far ahead, sister.” What she didn’t know was that she
may have had things drawing her to stay, but I had things holding me back
from returning to Boston. However, I could not tell her that. Maybe one day,
but not today.
Instead, I said, “Can you get a message to Lochlan that we’re having a
vampire knitting club meeting tonight? I have some questions for him.”
“I’ll tell him,” she said, then made a sound of annoyance. A bit like
Busby when I pushed her out of the shop door when she was in the way. “I
wish I could be there too.”
“Don’t worry about it. We’re right at the beginning of investigating this
death. I’m sure there’ll be plenty for you to do after you finish your
honeymoon.”
“Just don’t solve the case before I get there.” She was kind of joking, but
I could tell that she meant it.
I said, “Luce, if I could solve it before tomorrow, believe me I would. But
I don’t think there’s any chance that will happen.”
Then she went serious on me. “Jen, you just make sure and take care of
you.”
“I will. See you soon. And remember, tell Lochlan about the meeting
tonight, okay?”
“I will.” Then she said, “Blessed be.”
I returned the blessing and ended the call.
To Gryffyn, I said, “I need to get home and decompress before the
meeting tonight.” Maybe I’d sneak in a nap. It had been a day I’d never
forget.
I wondered what the night would bring.
I WOULDN ’ T SAY I’m the shyest person on the planet, but like most people,
when I go into a new situation, I can be a little apprehensive. However,
tonight I felt I had every right to be wary. Imagine me—red-blooded and very
human—walking into a room full of vampires, deliberately. And these
weren’t vampires I already knew. They weren’t the friendly vampires I was
used to in Oxford.
Sylvia had warned me that they would be a different crowd. But how
different? Not until I paused outside the closed door to Shadowbrook
Manor’s breakfast room and noticed my heart pounding did I realize that I
was anxious. But I wasn’t going to cover myself with garlic and carry a
crucifix or anything. If I did that, I had a feeling I’d be laughed out of the
room.
Instead, I relied on Agnes and Sylvia to protect me. And Alfred, if he was
attending. And maybe Lochlan too. Had he received Lucy’s message? I
hoped he’d be in the breakfast room as I’d met him at Lucy’s wedding and
felt I could count on him to protect me. I put my hand on the doorknob and
realized Rafe wouldn’t have let me come to Tregrebi if he didn’t trust the
local Cornish vampires.
It was ten after ten. I’d deliberately arrived late to give Agnes and Sylvia
a chance to explain who I was and reassure the local vampires that they could
trust me.
I opened the door and walked in. The buzz of conversation suddenly went
quiet. Every face turned toward me. A couple of them were friendly. Agnes
and Sylvia gave me encouraging smiles.
And Alfred, thank heavens he was here as well, said, “Jennifer, come on
in.” But he might as well have said, ‘We were just talking about you,’
because it was pretty obvious that’s what they’d been talking about.
I halted and glanced around the room, not quite ready to rush in.
About a dozen vampires had paused in their work to check out the human
in their midst. They sat in groups around Shadowbrook’s breakfast tables. I
smiled, trying to appear at ease.
Gryffyn Penrose stood up, and I saw that he was knitting one of the
Cornish fisherman sweaters I hoped to sell in the shop. He looked as
comfortable with knitting needles and wool as I imagined he would at the
prow of a smuggling ship. “Jennifer,” he said. “It’s good of you to host us
here.”
“No problem,” I said, like I had a choice. Going down in the tin mine for
a knitting club meeting would have made me even more nervous, and the
shop was nowhere near ready.
I looked at the men gathered round the largest table and wondered if there
was some new Cornish knitting stitch I knew nothing about. They had large
expanses of white string-looking stuff, and then I realized they were mending
nets. It seemed like such an old-fashioned thing to do. And I was fascinated.
But of course the midnight boating crew weren’t going to buy that stuff from
my knitting shop, were they? I needed to get more of this club knitting
sweaters and socks and things.
“Men, this is Jennifer. Best manners, mind.”
“Aye, Captain,” they said in unison, bobbing their heads.
“This is my crew,” Gryffyn said, and I wondered what he needed a crew
for. But I kept my mouth shut.
When meeting new vampires, the part that I really cared about was that
they all appeared well fed. Ten o’clock was late for me, but early for
vampires. Once they’d finished staring at me, they went back to knitting and
net-mending with incredible speed. And I breathed a sigh of relief.
“Come and sit here,” Gryffyn said, gesturing to a seat beside his—at a
table for four near the window.
I noted he didn’t sit at a table with any of his men. He sat alone. Until I
joined him.
“Thank you for agreeing to hold the club meeting here,” Agnes said,
looking very pleased to be knitting in a group again. “We’ll make sure
everything’s tidied away for the morning when Mrs. Biddle comes.”
I had to remember how important it was for Agnes to feel accepted here
in Cornwall. And for the knitting shop to do well. This wasn’t only about me.
I settled myself at Gryffyn’s table and opened my knitting bag. I’d
decided to work on something simple as I wanted to keep my brain as fresh
as I could, hoping Lochlan would turn up, and we’d have a chance to pool
information about the dead man I’d found.
I was knitting striped socks, thinking I might need them when summer
was over and winter crept into Cornwall. I had no idea how cold it got here,
but I had a feeling being so close to the ocean it would be chilly and damp.
Wool socks seemed like a good idea.
Apart from Gryffyn and his crew, there were Agnes, Sylvia, Alfred, and
three other vampires in the room. Gryffyn introduced the men in his crew.
Until I got to know them better, they were relatively interchangeable. Each of
them bobbed their head at me and mumbled some sort of greeting.
The grumpy guy who’d escorted me in to—and out of—the tin mine sat
at a table on his own. He seemed like a lone wolf. Or a lone vampire. I
wondered if that was why he got the job of being the sentinel.
When Gryffyn introduced him, I learned that his name was Robin.
Gryffyn didn’t supply Robin’s surname.
From Robin I got a curt nod and a “We’ve met.”
I wouldn’t say that was exactly true. Was it meeting someone when they
ordered you to stay out and then to follow them? It wasn’t like we’d engaged
in conversation or even exchanged names.
The other two vampires—who weren’t part of Gryffyn’s crew—seemed a
lot nicer. One was a woman named Gwendolyn Poulsen, who looked like a
schoolteacher—or some kind of woman in authority—dressed in an outfit
from the 1940s or 50s. I wasn’t quite sure. She had a stern, sharp-featured
face, but kind eyes.
She said, “I’m very pleased to meet you,” and I thought her voice
sounded upper-class English.
As I’ve said, I’m not very good with accents, but something about her
made me think she was well-educated.
She said, “I do get tired of ordering wool and knitting supplies online, so
it will be fabulous to have a local shop. I’m hoping you will order in
especially anything we need?”
I assured her that I would.
The last person to be introduced, the man sitting beside Gwendolyn,
looked like a surfer dude. Honestly, if I’d met him in the States, I’d have
guessed that he was from California. It was the tanned face, the shaggy blond
hair, and the fit body that kind of slouched back against his chair. He was
dressed in cut-off jean shorts, espadrilles, and a white shirt worn open over a
red T-shirt.
Gryffyn introduced him as Dougan—and once again did not supply a last
name.
I was slightly disappointed to see that Dougan was macraméing
something. It looked a bit like the fishing nets, but I didn’t think he was part
of a late-night boating crew. “What are you working on?” I asked.
He grinned. He had a great smile. “It’s going to be a hammock. I thought
I’d give it a try and sleep in it.” He wasn’t American, but Australian.
“Okay,” I said. “Do you ever knit sweaters or socks or anything?”
“Well, I know how, and I probably will do it if we start meeting on a
regular basis. But I don’t want to sit and knit by myself. That’s a bit dull,
isn’t it?”
Yes, he didn’t look like the sort who’d sit by himself doing anything. He
needed to be out having adventures. I’d bet he’d been turned in the last thirty
years. If he’d been around three hundred years ago, he might have been very
much like Gryffyn.
“What did you do in life, Dougan?” I don’t know why I was so interested.
“I was a surfing pro,” he said, and I was pretty impressed with my guess.
“Traveled all over the world. Some of the best surfing in the world is here in
Cornwall, and it did me in. I was all but drowned when she found me.” He
angled his head toward Gwendolyn.
I’d heard the story from Lucy about how Sylvia had turned Agnes into a
vampire when she was nearly dead from a vicious attack. Had something
similar had happened to Dougan?
Sure enough, Gwendolyn took up the story. “I’d been watching him surf.
Oh, he was good. But, a storm came up, his board hit him in the head, and he
was going down for the third time. I could see him out there fighting for his
life. I wouldn’t have interfered, but it seemed such a shame for such a young,
energetic life to be wasted.”
“No. I’m glad you got me.” He glanced around the room. “It’s a different
life, that’s for sure. But I surf all night now and never worry about getting
hurt.” He grinned at me. “It’s awesome.”
I had to laugh. I hadn’t heard this much enthusiasm about being a
vampire ever. Not that I’d known them for long, but still, it was nice to see
someone who accepted their fate with cheerfulness.
I wanted to ask Gwendolyn how she’d become a vampire, but the door to
the breakfast room opened and Lochlan Balfour strode in. I was very pleased
to see him, not for the reason that Lucy had hoped for, but because he was
someone who I knew was brilliant and competent—and as interested in
amateur sleuthing as I was.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said. “I was reviewing the CCTV footage.”
Now that he’d entered the room, we all perked to attention. There was an
energy about him. He was like the CEO of a Fortune 500 company who
walks into the boardroom and raises the energy tenfold. Well, he actually was
that person in his own business, so it wasn’t surprising that he brought the
same energy to the Cornwall knitting club.
He had a laptop case in one hand and under his other arm he carried a
projector. He wasted no time putting the projector up and opening the case.
He said, “How are you settling in, Jennifer?”
Since I hadn’t seen him since I’d arrived in Tregrebi, it was a good
question. “Not bad, apart from stumbling across a dead body the second day I
was here.”
He nodded. “Bad luck, that. But Lucy tells me you’ve taken some interest
in the case.”
“I have. He was so young, and finding him made me feel responsible
somehow. I have this strange compulsion to try to find him justice.”
He nodded again. “I can see why you and Lucy are best friends. It’s the
sort of thing she’d say.”
Gryffyn spoke up then. “And I have a vested interest in seeing this case
solved so that I can get the police away from Pilchard Cove. It’s very
uninteresting to me having a crime scene all but in my front garden.”
“I completely understand,” Lochlan said.
And Robin, the grumpy undead security guard of the tin mine, said,
“Maybe one of them turning up dead will warn the other daywalkers not to
poke around where they’re not wanted.” He shot me a glance, but I tried to
believe he included me as one of those who wanted to keep the daywalkers
away, not as a daywalker who was nothing but an irritant.
While Robin was speaking, Lochlan unpacked his laptop case. He took
out a super fancy laptop and pens suitable for writing on a screen. That’s
when I realized he hadn’t put up a projector as I’d thought, but a fancy
whiteboard.
“We all have reasons for solving this murder. I’ll show you what I’ve
come up with and we can pool our information?” He glanced around the
room.
I nodded my agreement.
We all must have nodded, for he said, “Good. What do we know so far?
What are the burning questions we need answered?” He turned to me.
“Jennifer, could you share with us exactly what you saw—and your
impressions, as well—when you most unfortunately came upon this dead
young man?”
I liked the way he was both businesslike and compassionate. Not all of
them appreciated that finding a dead body was not an everyday occurrence
for me. I was still shaken by the horror of it. I stood up, because it seemed
like the right thing to do, and turned to address the room.
Robin took out a penknife and cleaned his nails while I was talking to
him. It was disgusting, but I didn’t say anything. A couple of the sailors kept
working on their nets, but everyone else gave me their full attention. Even the
surfer.
I went through everything I’d seen, including passing the dog walker and
the young woman I now knew was Hattie Moyle. And then I had to swallow
hard before going through finding the dead man. It was like a movie rolling
out in front of my eyes, and since no one interrupted me, I was able to tell it
my way. From walking down to the deserted beach…
I described what I’d seen, from the way his body lay, his clothing, and the
backpack sitting beside him. I didn’t waste everybody’s time pontificating on
how that suggested he hadn’t fallen. I let them make that conclusion for
themselves. Or not, as the case might be.
Gryffyn spoke up now. He said he’d found me looking distressed, then
searched the body. He told them what he’d told me, that the blood had been
stale and he was certain the man had been dead at least three or four hours,
and that the back of his skull was bashed in. I shuddered when he said it. He
held up the scrap of paper he’d found in the dead man’s pocket.
Lochlan transcribed the word Carenna and the phone number onto the
whiteboard. Then he asked if there were any questions. Gwendolyn asked if
there were injuries consistent with a fall from the path. I thought that was an
excellent question.
Gryffyn said, “Not in my opinion. The lad wasn’t broken enough. No
bruises or cuts on his face or hands. No bones broken. I think he was attacked
from behind and killed.”
She nodded. “Could he have fallen and smashed his head? It gets very
slippery on the path, and if he was out that late at night—or early in the
morning, as was the case—could he have been drinking or on drugs of some
kind?”
I had thought of her as an intelligent woman, and I was pleased to see I
was right.
Gryffyn paused and seemed to think about it. Then slowly he nodded.
“It’s possible, I suppose.” He began to mime the action. His feet slipping out
from under him, and he flailed his arms dramatically and then pretended to
fall back. He put his hand on the back of his own skull and said “Bang” to
illustrate one’s head hitting the rock, and then he said, “But at that point he’d
have had to have had enough sense left in him to turn himself over in perhaps
an attempt to rise.”
They all nodded.
Then one of the sailors spoke up. “I’ve seen a man do that. A bad bar
brawl in Lisbon, it was.”
The man beside him said, “No, it was Cape Town, if it’s the one I think
you’re thinking of.”
“Cape Town, was it? Anyway, a great brawl was going on. And a man
was hit over the back of the head with a stone, just as you describe. He fell
down and appeared to be dead. And then he began to rise up again. Had to be
struck a second time, didn’t he? That dropped him.”
I couldn’t help but wonder if this man’s hand had been wielding the rock,
but I didn’t ask.
“So, an accidental death is still a possibility?” I asked, quite eagerly.
“Yes,” Gryffyn agreed. “A possibility. He could have fallen, broken his
skull, tried to rise and then the catastrophic wound got the better of him, and
he fell forward and died.” He seemed to do what I’d done, let it play out like
a movie. Then he said, “But I didn’t notice any blood stain on a nearby
stone.”
Lochlan took the floor back. “Well explained, Jennifer and Gryff. Thank
you.” Then he glanced at me. “Would you like to run the rest of this
meeting?”
I appreciated him asking, but I was very happy for him to continue taking
the lead and told him so. He nodded. Then he uncapped a blue pen. He wrote
the word Victim on the whiteboard and underlined it.
On his laptop, Lochlan pulled up what was clearly a police photo taken in
the morgue. It showed the face of the dead guy. There was another picture of
the clothing he’d been wearing.
“Where did you get that?” I had to ask.
He gestured to Gryffyn. “Gryff has contacts in the police. And the
morgue.”
Well, that was interesting. Gryffyn hadn’t revealed any of that to me.
Lochlan said, “Does anyone recognize him? His name is Daniel
Rutherford. And he was twenty years of age.”
Robin stopped cleaning his nails and got up and went close to the laptop
screen to peer at it. “Aye. I’ve seen him. Hanging about the mine. We’ve had
more daywalkers than usual lately. I should take a shotgun to them.”
“You’ll have to take that up with Rafe,” Lochlan said.
And I was pretty sure I knew what Rafe would have to say about that
idea.
Robin said, “I wouldn’t kill them. Just give them a good fright.”
“Again, you’ll have to take that up with Rafe.” Lochlan turned to me.
“Robin was Shadowbrook’s gamekeeper. He still believes intruders should be
shot and poachers hanged.”
“Teach ’em a lesson,” Robin muttered and went back to cleaning his
nails.
I had a pretty strong suspicion he’d already asked Rafe and been given a
very definite no.
Then Lochlan pulled up what was clearly CCTV footage. “Is this him?”
he asked Robin.
“That’s him. Those three were hanging around for ages. They tried the
door and kept poking about. Tried to get into the chimney. Course, they
couldn’t.” He nodded at Lochlan. “You saw to that.”
The screen showed three people. I could see one of the chimneys in the
background and three people standing there. They were Hattie, Daniel
Rutherford, now deceased, and the guy I only knew as Nick.
I told Lochlan that was Hattie, the girl I’d walked past on the path, and
she’d been crying.
Lochlan said, “Do you think she killed him?”
“Maybe. I assumed she was listening to a really sad podcast or audiobook
as she had her headphones on.”
“You’ll need to find her and talk to her,” Lochlan said to me.
I nodded. I’d thought the same thing. “I’ve spoken to her once, but yes,
I’ll talk to her again.”
In the CCTV footage, Hattie and Nick were gathered around Daniel, who
had a phone in his hands.
“His phone’s missing,” I said.
Lochlan said, “And here’s where it gets really interesting.” He pulled up
more footage.
Somebody had spent a long time going through the footage, unless he had
some fancy new technology for putting in a face and pulling out the results.
Gryffyn said, “Wait a minute, that’s my peephole.”
Lochlan looked slightly amused. “Your peephole is also a highly
advanced surveillance system.”
And this surveillance footage showed the same three, in the same outfits
—so I wondered if it was the same day—and once more they were staring at
Daniel’s phone.
Gryffyn suddenly stood up. “Has someone been spilling secrets they
shouldn’t?” He looked quite fierce as he glared at the other vampires.
There was a flutter of tension in the air. I didn’t like the dark feelings he’d
stirred.
Lochlan put his hand on Gryffyn’s shoulder. “Let’s assume that’s not
what happened. Think about it. Why would any local vampire want to bring
in daywalkers? We protect ourselves by protecting each other.” His words
had the desired effect.
Gryffyn calmed down and said, “It’s a very strange coincidence, though,
isn’t it?”
“It is. But let’s look at the other possibilities.” Then Lochlan displayed a
close-up of Daniel’s phone, which was a pretty standard model in a black
case. “I want a search party out tonight,” Lochlan said. “We’ll scour the
beach and see if we can find the phone. I expect if we find the phone, that
will lead us to clues about the death.”
“But aren’t those phones security protected?” I asked.
He sent me a wicked grin. “Not from me.”
Right.
On the whiteboard, Lochlan added a heading for suspects, and underneath
it, he wrote:
Daywalker 1, Female. Hattie Moyle.
Daywalker 2, Male. Nick?
It wasn’t much to go on. I felt like Robin’s name should be added to the
list, but didn’t say so.
Instead I said, “I met the owners of Carenna House. Could there be some
kind of connection between Daniel Rutherford and the house? If he had its
phone number in his pocket?”
“Excellent point, Jennifer,” Lochlan said. “This could be one of those
random bits of information that turn out to be unimportant, or it could be a
vital clue.” He looked around. “Does anyone know Lord and Lady Gilpin
enough to call on them socially?”
“Not I,” Gryffyn said in a hard, flat tone.
No one else did either.
I said, “Well, I understand their home has visitor days. I should probably
get to know the area. I’ll take a tour of the house, you never know.”
It was as farfetched as anything, but we had very little to go on.
Lochlan added Lord and Lady Gilpin to his list of suspects. They seemed
unlikely killers, but so did this whole thing.
Now that the murder-info-sharing business was concluded, everyone went
back to knitting, or macramé, or net mending. I glanced at Agnes and Sylvia,
both busily working on fisherman knit sweaters. I loved that they were
already thinking ahead to stocking the new shop.
Then I focused on Gryffyn, who was still knitting his own fisherman knit
sweater. Had Agnes or Sylvia asked him to make one or was this serendipity?
I had to ask. “Is that for the shop?”
He stared back at me. “Of course. What would I do with a great, thick
jumper like this? I don’t feel the cold. You can sell it at an inflated price to a
tourist with my goodwill.”
CHAPTER 11
I
went to bed at midnight, wondering what I’d let myself in for.
Cornwall vampires who stitched nets and hammocks rather than
knitting sweaters. Running a shop basically all on my own. And feeling like
if I didn’t help solve Daniel Rutherford’s murder, it would haunt me all my
life.
Sleep was slow to come and about three in the morning I gave up and got
out of bed. I was hot, tangled in bedclothes, and couldn’t stop my mind from
going over and over what I’d learned in the knitting club meeting. Why had
Daniel, Nick, and Hattie turned up at the tin mine entrance and the brick wall
concealing the tunnel to Gryffyn’s home?
There had to be a connection, but what? The vampires stayed out of sight
and lived peaceful lives. Few were like Lochlan, with high-profile careers.
Most lived in the shadows, avoiding mortals. So what had drawn these three
mortals to where the vampires lived?
Lured by the sound of the sea, I opened the balcony doors and stepped
out. I saw the moonlight glint off the choppy waves, and for a moment I was
certain I heard a sea shanty being sung, as though by a male choir. I shook
my head. Sleep deprivation was getting to me. Then I caught a glimpse of—
but only for a second—the tall masts of a sailing ship like something out of
Mutiny on the Bounty.
Maybe my hearing and my mind weren’t playing tricks on me after all.
Was this why the sailors had been repairing nets? What were they doing out
there in the middle of the night?
After a while, I grew chilled and Busby came looking for me. I scooped
her up, went back inside, closed the balcony doors, and crawled into bed. But
as I drifted off to sleep, I heard the faintest echo of a sailing song.
The next morning, I decided to find out what was going on. There were
too many questions I didn’t know the answers to, but if Gryffyn and his
crew’s nighttime adventures had anything to do with the murder, I needed to
know.
I knew there was something I was missing. Something important. I felt
that I’d seen something or someone had said something that I couldn’t quite
catch. It had floated across my disturbed dreams, the few dreams I’d
managed to have in the short amount of sleep last night.
Busby, no doubt annoyed that I’d interrupted her slumber so frequently,
sat on the foot of my bed and glared at me.
“I can’t help it,” I said. “I’d have liked to have a nice, peaceful night,
too.”
She padded across the tousled bedding and then, when she reached my
side, flopped onto her back and wriggled around. She was so adorable I had
to laugh and give her a tummy rub. Then I got out of bed and stepped out
onto the balcony again. At least from here I could see the ocean.
I felt like that had been part of my dream. I’d been at sea and the waves
had pounded and had I fallen in? In my dreams? I thought I’d been fighting
off drowning. Well, I was wide awake now. Dawn was just beginning to
paint the edges of the sky. I felt an urge to go out there and be part of it.
Maybe a brisk walk and some fresh air was exactly what I needed.
I dressed in jeans and a wool sweater, tied my hair back, and after a quick
wash and brushing my teeth, I set off. Part of me longed for coffee and part
of me just wanted to get out and walk. Since brewing coffee might wake the
dragon, also known as Mrs. Biddle, I decided to forego that treat.
Busby seemed uninclined to follow me and instead curled up in the
middle of my bed and went back to sleep.
I headed out, finding my way to the coastal path. It was that strange
magical time between dark and dawn where I had to watch my footing in the
dim light. But gradually the day bloomed, and I could see my way more
clearly. This was exactly what I’d needed. The crisp breeze blew away the
mists of sleep. As it grew lighter and I was better able to see, I quickened my
pace and was soon out of breath and perspiring. It was a beautiful morning,
and I was suddenly very happy to be here in this moment. I breathed deep of
the salt-tinged air and watched the sun rise with the promise of a new day.
It was easy to forget my disturbed night when sea birds were playing and
diving and the ocean itself emerged from the dark into a sparkling blue.
Even though it held a bad association for me, I was still drawn to the cove
where I’d found Daniel’s body and where I’d learned there was a tunnel that
led to Gryffyn Penrose’s house.
I walked down the crooked steps of the trail that led to the cove. I
couldn’t help but look up at Gryffyn’s place and wonder if he was inside.
Had he returned from whatever he did all night? Or was he still out on the sea
somewhere? The house was completely dark, giving no hints.
I’d have really liked a coffee now. Instead, I found a log and sat down. I
could think here. The sound of the waves was meditative, and I thought if I
let myself just go, I might catch whatever it was my subconscious had kept
me up half the night trying to tell me.
I gazed at the water, and as I did, I noticed that I wasn’t the first one here.
A lone figure was doing a front crawl across the bay. There was something
about thinking I’d been the first person awake in the area that had filled me
with a certain smugness, and now that was wiped away by realizing that not
only was someone here ahead of me, but they were athletic, too. The
swimmer was setting a pretty good pace.
The thought no sooner crossed my mind that it might be Gryffyn than I
dismissed it. Even from a distance, I knew it wasn’t him.
I wondered if it was even safe to swim by yourself like that. The lone
bather must have started in the near dark. But they didn’t seem to be in any
kind of distress. And there was a soothing rhythm to their even stroke. They
reached one end of the bay and, without even pausing to hang out on the
rocks to take a break, simply turned and began to swim the other way. Only
now did I notice a towel, gray and plush and neatly folded, on a rock not too
far from me.
I sat there for maybe fifteen or twenty more minutes, but whatever my
subconscious had tried to tell me in the night was gone.
The swimmer turned and made their way to shore. Their crawl morphed
into a lazy breaststroke and then a man rose from sea and began to walk up
onto the rocky beach. As he did, two ravens who had been circling the sky
flew down and sat on his shoulders. It was the most extraordinary thing.
Were they pets? Or, a little voice in my head suggested, familiars?
It seemed like they were talking to him, and he was listening. It would
have made a great photograph, but something stopped me. There was a
privacy to this that I didn’t want to intrude on. Though I supposed me staring
at them wasn’t exactly giving them all the privacy they needed, but what was
I supposed to do?
There was a moment when I knew he’d seen me. As though one of the
ravens had alerted him to my presence. His gaze skimmed the beach and then
found me. He raised his hands, almost like the gesture one makes in yoga
doing namaste. Pressing his palms together and bringing them to his heart.
The ravens suddenly took off.
And the man picked up his towel, dried his hair, and then—wrapping the
towel around his waist—walked toward me. He was probably in his fifties
with thinning blond hair, very bright blue eyes, and a round, humorous face.
There was some kind of dark tattoo on his chest and as he grew closer, I
realized there were two crows tattooed on his chest, one on either side. No,
not crows, ravens. Like the ones who’d perched on his shoulders then flown
into the sky to continue their circling.
His tattoos portrayed ravens in mid-flight, with their beaks cocked toward
each other as if conversing. That must have taken a while and hurt, because
the tattoos took up most of his chest. It was a broad chest too, muscular,
presumably from all that swimming.
Since he was heading straight toward me, I felt stupid sitting on a log, so I
stood up.
“Good morning,” he said.
“Good morning,” I replied. “You don’t need a wetsuit out there?”
He glanced back at the ocean. “The sea temperature is the same all year
round, give or take a degree. The trick is to go in every day. Then your body
gets used to it.”
“Noted,” I said, though I was pretty sure I was never going to join the
year-round dawn swimming club. Still, I admired him for doing it. “You
seriously swim every day in the ocean?”
He seemed to think about it. “Unless there’s a storm so fierce, it would be
suicidal. Then, yes, pretty much every day. It’s the regularity that makes it
bearable. And it’s very refreshing to wake up with a cold plunge. Excellent
for the circulation.”
“I can imagine.”
I was wearing a wool sweater and jeans and felt the coolness of the early
morning. His skin was barely goosebumping.
I said, because I was staring right at it, “That’s quite the tattoo you have.”
“Huginn and Muninn,” he said.
There was something vaguely familiar about Huginn and Muninn, but I
couldn’t remember what. So I just nodded. “Did it hurt?” I know that was a
bizarre question to ask a stranger, but I’d said it before I remembered I didn’t
know this man. Something about him made me feel like we’d known each
other for a long time.
His eyes began to twinkle. “I used a numbing cream and plenty of it. And
about three hours at a time was all I could stand. So the answer to your
question is yes. I’m pleased with the result, though.”
“It’s certainly impressive.”
He laughed and held out his hand. “I’m Andrew Jackson.”
My eyes went wide. “Andrew Jackson like the president?”
His hand was cold, but I could tell from the way his cheeks were
reddened by the frigid water that he wasn’t undead. He’d just been in the
ocean for a while.
“Yes. Like the seventh President of the United States. Not that my parents
had that in mind when they named me. I was named after my grandfather, the
Andrew Jackson who was a dentist in Padstow.”
“Right,” I said. “I’m Jennifer Cunningham. I’m opening a knitting shop
in Tregrebi.”
He nodded. “I know.” He smiled and showed well-kept white teeth,
confirming that good dentistry ran in his family. “News travels in a small
town like ours. I’m a fellow shopkeeper, by the way. I own Bide-a-Spell
Books. It’s just off the high street. You’ll have to come and visit me.”
“Bide-a-Spell Books? I’ll look for it.”
I can’t say that witches immediately recognize each other in the way that
vampires do. But, it occurred to me that this man might be a witch between
the raven incident and a slight tingle I’d experienced when we shook hands,
and the shop name could be a double entendre.
Bide a spell meaning both stay a while, a good idea when browsing a
bookshop, and await a spell. That feeling was confirmed when he casually
unzipped a pocket of his swimming trunks and pulled out a gold chain with a
pentagram.
As he fastened it around his neck, he said, “I’m always afraid one day the
catch on the chain will go and it will sink to the bottom of the ocean. But I
always keep it with me. It’s my amulet of protection.”
I got that. Had he recognized I was a witch, too? He didn’t ask, and I
didn’t volunteer the information. I felt I wanted to know him better before
blurting that out. Not everyone who wears the trappings of magic has it,
though my instinct told me that Andrew Jackson was the real deal.
He said, “Well, I’d best be getting on. Come by my shop any time and
say hello. We serve coffee as well, and often have local authors if they’re on
tour. If you’re a reader.”
“I am. Thanks, I’ll definitely visit when I have time.”
“I look forward to seeing you.” And then he headed off toward the trail
up to the coastal path. He was still wearing nothing but the towel wrapped
over his wet swimming trunks and the equally wet water shoes on his feet.
I shivered just watching him go.
I sat back down, not wanting to follow the bookshop owner too closely,
but also thinking I should head off soon myself, when a voice said, “You
look like you could use this.”
I turned to find Gryffyn heading toward me with a thermos.
I’d seen vampires with thermoses before, and usually I avoided thinking
about what was inside. Was he toying with me in some way?
Then he sat beside me and said, “I wasn’t sure whether you like milk and
sugar. So I brought you some just in case.”
He unscrewed the thermos’ cup lid and handed it to me, and I
immediately smelled the joyous scent of coffee. He poured some into the cup
lid, and I took one small creamer from the assortment of cream and sugar that
he pulled from his pocket.
“Gryffyn, you’re my new favorite vampire.”
He chuckled at that. “It’s been a long while for me, but I haven’t
forgotten the powerful pleasure of a strong cup of coffee in the morning.”
“I’ll drink to that,” I said. And I did. “And you haven’t forgotten how to
make an excellent coffee, either.”
“It’s a pleasure to smell it brewing,” he said, watching me as though he
might experience the pleasure of drinking it secondhand. “I see you’ve met
Andrew Jackson,” he said.
“I did. Does he really swim out there every morning?” I gestured to the
ocean.
“I’ve rarely seen him miss a day. He’s a fellow witch, you know.”
“I got that feeling. Did you see him talking to those ravens?”
He began to chuckle. “Huginn and Muninn? Well, presumably not the
original Huginn and Muninn, but his own version of them.”
The original? What did that mean? I took another sip of coffee. I could
pull out my phone and do a Google search, or I could just ask Gryffyn.
I said, “Pretend I’m not as smart and well-read as you are. I’ve vaguely
heard of Huginn and Muninn, but can you refresh my memory?”
When he grinned, his teeth were I-could-eat-you-all-up white. “It refers
back to the Norse legend of Odin. He was said to have two ravens who flew
across the world each dawn, bringing him back information every evening. I
think Andrew’s ravens are his familiars and his gossip gatherers. Who would
even notice them hanging about? They might witness and overhear all sorts
of things.”
“That would be handy. I wonder if they were here when Daniel was
killed. Maybe Huginn and Muninn know something.”
“Maybe you should ask Andrew Jackson.”
“Maybe I will.”
He was dressed in his old-fashioned clothes again, and I had to ask, “How
did you spend your night?”
“The way I spend many of my nights. At sea.”
Somehow, I wasn’t surprised. “I heard the men singing. What do you do
out there?”
He shrugged. “Partly I go out to keep my men occupied and disciplined.
We need things to pass the time.”
“Fishing?”
“What would be the point? We can’t eat fish, and we don’t need to sell
them to make a living. And there are enough local fishermen here who do
need to make a living.”
“Pleasure sailing?” In the dead of night?
“Enough questions from you, missy. How’s that shop of yours coming
along?”
Now I was really curious about what he and his undead crew did on the
sea at night, but I could tell I wouldn’t get anywhere by pushing the issue, so
I wisely dropped it.
I told him we hoped to have a soft opening the following week and some
sort of grand opening later on when the shop was up and running. He
appeared less than thrilled. He wouldn’t be popping a bottle of champagne to
celebrate our opening.
“Your shop will only be open in the day. Agreed?”
“Yes. I don’t plan to have evening hours.” I paused. “There are undead
knitters to think of, though. In Oxford, they meet for late-night knitting
sessions in Lucy’s shop.” I raised my brows questioningly, but he shook his
head.
“No vampire knitting club on my premises.” Then he seemed to need to
explain himself. “I’m like a mole. I like to have lots of places I can pop up. It
makes me uncomfortable to feel like I don’t have many escape routes open to
me.”
“And do you?” I asked him. “Need escape routes, I mean?”
He seemed uncomfortable answering my question. “You never know. It’s
a foolish vampire who doesn’t have plenty of places to hide and ways to slip
away unseen.”
I asked if he knew anyone who could build shelves for my shop. As I’d
hoped, he said he knew the best shipbuilder in Cornwall.
“He works at night, if that’s all right with you.” Gryffyn suddenly sniffed
the air like a wolf scenting prey and then said, “Daywalkers.”
CHAPTER 12
I
stepped out of the shadow of the cliff, searching for a glimpse of
what Gryffyn had sensed—and sure enough, coming down the beach
was what looked like a team of police. Were they still scouring the beach for
clues? They must be getting really desperate because the tide had been in and
out since Daniel’s body had been discovered.
Then I noticed a curious sight. With them was someone who clearly
wasn’t a member of their team. It took me a second to recognize that the
bushy head and the thickset body belonged the Tre, the painter.
I said to Gryffyn, “I’ll see you later. I’m going to see what’s going on
with Tre.” I had a bad feeling about what I was seeing. Tre had struck me as
an unconventional but gentle soul who expressed himself through art. I also
recalled that when Hattie had looked so strangely past me, Tre had also been
on the street. However, all my instincts—human and witch—told me that Tre
would never deliberately harm anyone or anything.
So I acted on instinct. I raced forward, coming up to them before they
could climb the trail to the coastal path. I recognized the junior detective and,
since she’d given me permission to use her first name, I decided to take
advantage of that.
“Frances,” I said, trying to sound as friendly as I could. And that’s pretty
friendly.
She paused and said, “We’re on police business, I’m afraid.”
Then I looked past her. “Tre,” I said in that same loud, friendly tone.
“How are you?”
He stared at me with the most hopeless and defeated expression I’d ever
seen on a human being’s face. My heart went out to him.
“Not so good,” he admitted.
I said, “Tre is a friend of mine. What’s going on?”
The detective hesitated for a moment, and then she held up a plastic
evidence bag. Inside it was a phone. She asked, “Have you ever seen this
before?”
I shrugged. “It’s a phone.”
“But we have reason to believe this one belonged to the victim who died
here. Your friend Tre here had it in his possession.”
I was about to ask him where he got it, but then I realized what a stupid
idea that was. If he was in any way involved with the death, I didn’t want to
get him in any more trouble than he already was. And yet, my instinct was
that his was a gentle soul. Still, I knew that even gentle souls could lash out
sometimes. I was a witch, not God. I couldn’t see everything he’d done or
every impulse in his heart. But he looked at me as though I was his only
hope.
“Help me. I can’t be inside,” he said with an edge of panic.
And in that moment, I knew I had to help him. I said, “What can I do to
keep this man from being incarcerated?”
The detective looked at me with suspicion. “Why would you? What’s
your connection to him?”
Right, the way I was going, I was going to be the one incarcerated.
Now she turned on me. “You told me you’d only just arrived in Tregrebi.
How are you friends with a homeless man?”
I took umbrage at her tone. “Here in Tregrebi, Tre is a famous painter.
He’s homeless by choice. He may seem eccentric, yes, but some people need
to be outside. They need to be part of the natural world.” I could speak with
authority to this point because as a witch I understood the affinity with nature
deeply.
She looked extremely skeptical. “He’s a famous painter?” Her nose
quivered as though she’d caught a scent of him. Well, I had used the word
eccentric.
“Yes. In fact, in the shop I’m opening, part of it will be a gallery for Tre’s
paintings. He’s very talented.”
To my surprise, Gryffyn had come to stand beside me. I’d assumed that
after he’d caught the scent of daywalkers, he’d disappear back inside his
tunnel. I appreciated the silent support when I was certain he’d have rather
hightailed it back to his house.
He surprised me again when he said, “Jennifer’s correct. I have several of
Tre’s pieces myself. I live just there if you’d like to see them.” He pointed up
to his impressive home on the cliff.
One doesn’t often warm to a vampire, but in that moment, I really
warmed to Gryffyn. I hadn’t been aware that he even knew Tre, but of course
he must have, seeing that he spent so much time on this beach and so did the
itinerant artist.
The detective looked from one to the other of us as though we were
pulling a stunt, which I suppose in a way we were.
Then Gryffyn asked, “Have you arrested him?”
She said, “No. He’ll be interviewed under caution. He’s been read his
rights. We’ll take him to the station for questioning. If we feel there’s enough
evidence, he’ll be formally charged.”
“Charged with what?” I wanted to be absolutely sure what we were
dealing with here.
She looked at me as though debating whether to order me to mind my
own business. Instead, she said, “The dead man you found was murdered.”
Even though I’d suspected as much, it was still a shock. “Are you sure?”
She didn’t look impressed that I was questioning the British police’s
detective abilities. But she did answer. “Yes. He didn’t fall. He was hit on the
back of the head with a blunt object. Probably a rock on the beach.”
I was very fuzzy on English law, having got most of it from shows like
Prime Suspect and Midsomer Murders, but I was pretty sure that having the
dead man’s phone wasn’t enough evidence to charge him with murder. They
might question him and let him go. But could they keep him locked up while
waiting to officially arrest him? And could I do anything to make sure that
didn’t happen?
I said, “I’ll vouch for his character.”
“That’s not very helpful, is it? When you’ve not been here long
yourself?”
“Then I’ll vouch for him,” Gryffyn spoke up, shocking me even more
than the first time he’d supported me.
The detective shook her head. “This man has no home address. He’s a
flight risk.”
“Then he’ll stay with me in my home. I’ll keep an eye on him. I’m
Gryffyn Penrose. And your superintendent is a friend of mine.”
Both the detective and I gaped at Gryffyn. I was shocked to hear he hung
out with cops, since I suspected his nocturnal activities were more than choir
practice. But then Lochlan had said that Gryffyn had contacts in the police.
He was a man of mystery, that was for sure.
The detective turned to look at Tre as though re-evaluating him. Then she
asked Gryffyn the same question she’d asked me. “Have you seen this phone
before?” She held up the bag.
Gryffyn sent her something of a look of distaste. “I rarely use them
myself. I’ve no time for modern technology. It seems to have made the world
a much worse place.” He sounded like someone who’d lived three hundred
years ago, but then, so did my dad.
The detective’s expression lightened for a moment, and I would have bet
quite a bit of money that her dad was the same. She wasn’t that much older
than me, after all.
She said, “He’ll be interviewed at the station. You can check there in a
couple of hours.” Then she handed me her business card once more.
It wasn’t much, but it was something.
Gryffyn said, “I’ll send a solicitor to represent him. Make sure you don’t
question him until the solicitor arrives.”
The detective looked resigned, but that had to be part of her job, dealing
with lawyers. “That’s his right, of course.”
Tre was still looking at me and Gryffyn like we were his last hope.
I gave him a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. It’s going to be okay.” And I
really hoped I was telling the truth.
I wanted to give him a stone or an amulet or something that would help
him stay calm. But I was pretty sure that me handing a man who was about to
be questioned in relation to a murder a stone, even if it was a semiprecious
one, would not go down well with the police.
I moved closer to him and no one stopped me. I put my hand on the
scallop shell hanging around his neck, and I said, “The scallop shell is a
reminder of the path of the pilgrim. It isn’t always easy. In fact, it’s not meant
to be. Walk with courage, my friend.” I could feel his heart beneath my
fingers slowing down. I whispered, “Blessed be.”
It was as close as I could get to giving him an amulet that would protect
him from harm, even if the harm was emotional. I stepped back, and he and
the police carried on.
Gryffyn said, “Do you want to follow them?”
I shook my head. “There’s no point. We know where he’ll be.” I gave
him a beaming smile. “And thank you for standing up for me and Tre back
there.”
He looked uncomfortable. “I did no more than tell the truth.”
I was surprised. “You have Tre’s artwork in your house?”
“I do. He’s an undiscovered genius. One day, you mark my words,
Jennifer. His paintings will be worth a great deal.” He chuckled. “And I’ll
make another fortune. This time, an honest one.”
I was charmed. I raised my eyebrows at him. “What did you pay him in,
doubloons?”
He chuckled low in his throat. “No, missy. I paid him in that foolish paper
money, that at least now is plastic and so less destructible.”
It was the first time I’d heard him say anything positive about the modern
age. And plastic bills weren’t much to get excited about.
“There’s nothing you can do for him for several hours.”
“I know. And I need to get to the shop.”
Claire was coming to get started on the painting today. She’d promised to
bring a friend from her course, and I’d agreed to pay the pair of them. I’d had
an email from Lucy telling me she’d be opening a bank account for the shop
and would give me a generous budget for the opening. I felt confident I could
complete the work on much less.
When I returned to Shadowbrook Manor, Mrs. Biddle made me an
excellent breakfast, as usual. This time, it was an omelet served with fresh
fruit and plenty of coffee. While I ate in the breakfast room, I flipped on the
TV, and there was Jodie Rymer on Cornwall Today! She was on location at
the waterfront, speaking to the lead actors in a new period drama that would
begin filming soon.
When Mrs. Biddle came in to bring more coffee, she said, “You’ll learn
everything you need to know about Cornwall watching Jodie Rymer.
Everyone watches her.” It was the first time I’d heard her sound approving.
I headed off to the shop. It was embarrassing that it still didn’t have a
name.
I walked into the cottage and was amazed to find a man already inside. I
glanced at the key in my hand as though it was mocking me. Then I asked the
obvious question. “Who are you?”
The man turned. He wore rough wool trousers, a gray T-shirt that had
seen better days, and a leather waistcoat. “Good morning, miss. I’m Samuel
Carpenter, I am. The captain sent me along to see you. I’ll build you some
fine shelves, miss. Have this place shipshape in no time.”
As much as I appreciated Gryffyn sending the shipbuilder so promptly,
I’d have preferred he meet me at the front door, not scuttle up from under the
flagstone floor like a woodworking mole.
“That’s great,” I said. I showed him the sample of wood that Claire had
left with me.
He took it in his hands and examined it. “I can do better than this, miss,”
he told me. “Got some lovely seasoned mahogany I’ve been saving. You
leave it to me.”
I showed him Claire’s sketches, and he pulled out a thankfully modernlooking tape measure and got to work. He scribbled in a small notebook with
a leather cover and nodded.
“How long will it take?” I asked.
He puffed out his lips and glanced around the walls.
I dreaded hearing it would take him weeks to finish the job and was
pleasantly surprised when he said, “Three nights. Four if I run into trouble.”
This was excellent news.
When I asked for his rate, he said, “Captain said to tell you he’ll cover the
cost as a gesture of goodwill.”
Since I’d had to take care of all the cleaning, I decided to accept Gryffyn
Penrose’s goodwill. “Give him my thanks,” I said. I didn’t insult either of our
intelligence by suggesting I leave him a key to the front door. I could only
make certain he didn’t come or go when Claire was around.
He soon left by lifting the flagstone and disappearing beneath the floor.
A half an hour later, Claire drove up in a small blue Fiat that had seen
better days. She opened the tiny trunk and pulled out tins of paint. I went to
help her and found her full of enthusiasm.
“I can’t wait to get started,” she said, passing me heavy canvas drop
cloths. “We’ll have this place transformed in no time.”
We unloaded the equipment, and then a van that had The Cornish Teapot
on the side arrived, and a middle-aged man got out and hauled a stepladder
from the back of the van.
Claire opened the shop door for him to bring it through. “Thanks, Dad,”
she said. Then she turned to me and said, “Jennifer, this is my dad, Ivan
Trevellen.”
He set the ladder in a corner. Then we shook hands, and he said how
pleased everyone was that this cottage would finally be occupied. “Should
bring some knitters to the village, as there isn’t a knitting shop for miles. And
let’s hope they get thirsty after buying wools and fancy a cup of tea or
coffee.”
I grinned at him. “And I’ll know where to send them.”
“That’s the ticket,” he said. “Everybody helping everybody else. That’s
how a village like this works.”
He gave a wave and left us to it.
I told Claire the good news, that I’d found someone to build the shelves
for us, and that he had his own supply of well-seasoned mahogany. “And best
of all,” I said, “He’ll have them done in three or four days.”
She jumped up and down. “It’s like a miracle,” she said.
I spread the drop cloths on the floor, making sure to butt two cloths
together at the spot where the flagstone lifted. Claire got the primer coat
stirred, and we both set to work. Even I couldn’t mess this up. Rolling on the
primer was a mindless task, but easy. I doubted she’d assign me anything
difficult, but I could manage this.
About half an hour later, the door opened and a fresh-faced redhead
walked in, saying, “Oh, this is going to be gorgeous.”
“Nate, you’re here,” Claire said and introduced us.
Nate was Natalie, and she soon took over my roller. I thought this was
excellent news, as it left me free to fetch coffee for us all. I had a list of things
to do for the shop, including getting internet and bringing in an electrician
and plumber to verify everything worked. There were bills to set up, knitting
supplies to order and, of course, a shop name to choose.
I couldn’t wait to see Lucy, who’d said she’d be here today. I hoped she
liked the location we’d chosen as much as I did.
I got to The Cornish Teapot and collected the coffees. On the community
message corkboard was a flyer for Carenna House. On top of all the work
involved setting up a shop, I wanted to visit there, too. It was going to be a
busy week.
When I got back and the two younger women put down their rollers to
enjoy their coffee, Claire pulled out the vision board she’d refined. She’d
drawn the shop design in great detail, adding the colors we’d chosen, the
accessories she’d suggested, the dark shelves and even the wools. Suddenly,
the previously filthy—but now scrubbed and primed to the point of being
plain-looking—cottage came to life through Claire’s vision.
“This looks great!” I said.
It did, too. She was definitely pursuing the right profession. She had a
great eye for color. Her vision board looked fresh and clean, but I could see
that the colors wouldn’t clash with a variety of colorful wools that I intended
to bring in.
She gave me a wide smile. She had a daub of white primer on her cheek.
“I’m so glad you like it. I think it’s perfect. And, if you’ve a mind to tuck in,
you could cut in from the bottom.”
I had no idea what that meant. Some kind of painting term, no doubt. But
I’d seen Hattie out the window walking by. This was my chance to speak to
her, and I felt that sleuthing was more important than cutting in.
“I’d love to,” I said, which wasn’t a hundred percent true, “But would
you mind if I take a raincheck? Tre is in trouble and needs my help.”
She looked immediately concerned. “Of course. Is there anything I can
do?”
“You’re doing it,” I said, my tone full of gratitude. “I should be back
soon.
I left the students happily working and expected they’d have more fun
without me, anyway. They could talk about school and boys without me
overhearing them.
CHAPTER 13
H
attie was walking along the high street with her head down, those
headphones on her head again. I caught up with her, and she did
not look happy to see me.
I tried a little tough love on her. “You didn’t go to the police, did you?”
“I don’t think there’s any reason for me to go to the police,” she said. “I
didn’t do anything. I didn’t see anything.”
“But you knew the victim. You could help them with his background.” I
didn’t know if that was true, but it made sense, right?
She got sullen then. “Who are you? Miss Marple?”
Oh funny, just because I was opening a knitting shop. I was ten or eleven
years older than Hattie. I wasn’t ninety like Agatha Christie's famous amateur
detective.
I said, “They’re about to arrest an innocent man. How about that?”
I had her attention now. Her eyes went wide. “Who? Who are they about
to arrest?”
I leveled my gaze at her. “Who do you think they should arrest?”
Her expression started to crumple. “I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t
know.”
“But you suspect someone, don’t you?”
“No,” she said, but I was pretty sure inside her head she was saying yes.
At least she was capable of some sympathy. So I said, “Do you know the
homeless man who paints?”
She looked simultaneously relieved and horrified, if that was possible.
“Tre?” She sounded so astonished that it confirmed what I’d already
suspected. He wasn’t the one she thought might have murdered Daniel.
“He has a problem being inside, and the police have taken him in for
questioning. Can you imagine how stressful that is for him?”
She looked genuinely confused. “But why?”
Could I tell her? Frances had already showed me the bag and hadn’t said
not to say anything, so I said, “Because he found Daniel’s phone, and so they
think he might have killed him.”
“They found his phone?” Now she looked like she might throw up.
“Yeah. Why? What are they going to find on it? Something to implicate
you?”
“No!” She wailed the word. “Honestly, I don’t know what happened.”
“Why don’t you tell me what’s going on? What were you three up to?”
“I can’t.”
I tried another tack. “When was the last time you saw Daniel?”
“At the well.”
Not what I’d expected. Lochlan had footage of them hanging around the
tin mine and the cove. But what was all this about a well? “What well?” I
asked.
She said, “I can’t talk. I have to go.”
I put my hand on her arm. Not hard, but enough to stop her pushing past
me. “Why don’t you take me to this well and tell me what happened?”
“Because, I told you, I have to go.”
“I’m going to the police station to get Tre released. If I tell them about
you, they might happily exchange him for you. And then you could sit in a
windowless interview room while they accuse you of murder. Would that be
better?”
She glared at me. “You don’t play fair.”
“One man was killed, and another is in danger of losing his freedom. So
no, I’m not too worried about your feelings right now.”
I thought she’d march off, and if she had, I couldn’t have stopped her.
Okay, I could use magic to stop her, but what would be the point? I couldn’t
force her to come with me to the police station or take me to the well she’d
mentioned—wherever it was.
However, she obviously didn’t realize that I’d run out of ideas because
she suddenly seemed to crumble and said, “Fine. But we’ll need a car to get
to the well. And I’m not borrowing my dad’s, so don’t ask me.”
Well, that was inconvenient since I didn’t have a car in Cornwall. But I
knew who did. There was a little blue Fiat parked in front of my shop.
I said, “Just a minute. I’ll be right back.” Then I leveled her with my
toughest look. “Don’t move.”
I ran back into the shop and asked Claire if I could borrow her car. “I
need it to help Tre,” I said.
She looked surprised but replied, “Of course.” She did a visual check to
make sure that she and Nate had enough supplies to keep them going while I
was gone and then handed me a keychain in the shape of a C studded with
rhinestones.
I thanked her, hoping against hope that I could manage to drive a foreign
car on the wrong side of the road while being navigated toward a mysterious
well by a sullen university student who might have been involved in a
murder. Piece of cake.
Hattie was where I’d left her, but she walked forward when I beckoned
her toward the Fiat. “We’re taking Claire’s car? She’s here?”
“Yes. She’s helping me decorate my shop.”
“Good for her.” But she didn’t go inside, or even look through the
window.
I went to the car door and opened it. Hattie looked quite surprised but
kept coming toward me. Only then did I realize I had opened the passenger
side door, not the driver’s. She must have thought I was being super polite,
opening the door for her. I let her think it and then added to the picture by
reminding her to fasten her seatbelt when she got in. I shut the door behind
her and ran around to the driver’s side and got in.
My discomfort increased when I discovered Claire’s car wasn’t an
automatic drive. I could drive a standard. I’d learned on one. But it had been
a while, and I’d always changed gears with my right hand, not my left.
You’ve got this, I silently said to myself, and hoped it was true.
I started the car, took off the emergency brake, and pulled out slowly. So
far, so good. When we reached a stop sign, I went to gear down and
accidentally opened the driver’s door.
I tried to cover my mistake by saying, “I don’t think the door was shut
properly.” I was really going to have to focus.
In a monotone, Hattie gave directions and fortunately there was little
traffic. As we wended from one narrow country lane to another, I tried to
keep track of where the little lay-bys were in case we met another vehicle.
How did anyone drive in Cornwall? My worst fear was realized when a
tractor came toward us, taking up the lane. The sides of its fat tires brushed
the bushes on either side of the treacherously narrow roadway.
I had no choice. I slammed on the brake, threw Claire’s Fiat into reverse,
backed up until I came to one of the lay-bys, and then I jammed the little car
against the bushes. The tractor went by, and I got a thumbs up from the man
driving it. My confidence increased enormously after that, and we managed
to reach a narrow lane that had a wide gravel and dirt patch beside it.
Hattie said, “You can park here.”
We seemed to be in the middle of nowhere. There was a farm on one side
and a walking path leading away from this little parking area. If she was a
murderer, it was probably not the smartest thing I’d ever done to get in a car
with her and now follow her down a woodsy trail. On the other hand, if she
tried anything, I could probably block her with a spell. Still, I made sure she
stayed in front of me by several feet. It was a twisting, rocky path. I could
hear birdsong and then I became aware that there was a stream close by. And
as I grew close to the stream, I felt as though my blood began to beat in the
same rhythm. I breathed in and really looked around.
There was magic here.
As a witch, of course, I take magic with me, but there are places in the
world where it’s at its strongest—places that are famous because people
respond to the magic without often understanding that they do. I could feel
history and the footsteps of sisters who’d gone before me. I wondered if a
coven still met here and if the woman in front of me could feel the vibrations.
The path was overgrown but clearly it saw some traffic, though not a
great deal. It was beautiful, though. There was a stream running to one side,
and it sang to us on our way.
I’m pretty sensitive to atmosphere, like most witches, and I immediately
began to feel a sense of calm. No wonder this place drew people. We walked
on and the path twisted and any sense of civilization seemed to disappear.
“Tell me about this well,” I said.
“It’s called St. Jerome’s Well. A monk saw visions there and could tell
the future. Like a thousand years ago.”
Had I wasted my time? How could a religious site have caused Daniel to
die?
“Why did you come here?” I asked.
“It was Dan’s idea. It’s supposed to be magic.”
After about twenty minutes of walking, we came to a shady glade where
the stream widened so that it formed a pool with steppingstones and trees that
people had hung mementos from. Lots of ribbons, some photographs in
plastic bags, hair ties, a silk scarf, small toys. I could feel the spirit of the
water here. It had been pagan long before it had been Christian. I knelt,
touched the water, and put a bit on the back of my neck. It was cooling and
refreshing and just made me feel lighter.
Hattie paused, and I turned to her. “Did you hang things from here?”
She nodded. “Nick didn’t want to, he went on ahead, but me and Daniel
did.” She looked around and pointed to a green hair ribbon. “That one’s
mine. I think.”
I didn’t have much hope, but I asked her anyway. “What did Daniel
hang?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t notice.”
Whether that was true or not, I didn’t think she was going to tell me, but
there was another way I might find my answer. So I said, “Do you mind
walking ahead a little way? I wouldn’t mind a quiet minute here.”
Well, she’d hung a hair ribbon, so she must believe there was magic here
too. She nodded.
I made a production of taking the tie out of my hair, but as soon as she
rounded the bend, I stuck it back in my pocket. I quieted and centered myself
as best I could. I hoped to isolate whatever it was that Daniel had tied here
before he died. Perhaps I could find a clue or get some reading from his
energy. I was reaching, I knew, but I had to try.
I breathed in, letting my own magic blend with that of this beautiful spot.
I heard the water lap, felt the moving air lift my hair. I formed a mental
picture of the dead man and held it. Then I spoke in a low tone:
“Water sprites who here live,
I ask that you direction give.
His life is gone, but his spirit is
Lead me to the token that is his.
So I will, so mote it be.”
And then I lifted my hands, open, palms up, and waited.
A breeze kicked up enough to ruffle the water, and the tokens began to
sway. A bell tinkled, and the leaves sighed. I held my gaze soft and centered.
Ribbons twirled from tree branches, photos danced, a tiny teddy bear
knocked into a scribbled message in a plastic bag.
And then I noticed the token that was not moving.
It was a lanyard, like something you’d get at a trade show. I went straight
to it, and as I touched the cord, I knew it was Daniel’s. I lifted it from the
tree. I was right. It was a lanyard, but not for a trade show. It was a visitor’s
pass for Carenna House.
A shiver went through me. I glanced at all the bits and pieces and found
an empty plastic bag. Whatever had been inside was gone. I took it from the
tree and placed the lanyard inside, careful to touch only the cord. Then,
feeling it was the right thing to do, I took my hair ribbon back out and tied it
in the place where the lanyard had been. I leaned forward and wrapped my
palm around the slender trunk of the tree and silently thanked it for being
there and for giving me help.
As I turned to leave, the breeze shifted. I felt it waft past my cheek. It was
like being stroked by a silk scarf.
There was power here indeed. But I could tell it was benign.
I caught up with Hattie who was dawdling along the trail. She said,
“There’s nothing ahead but an old well that’s been here for donkey’s years.
It’s the one I told you about. Do you want to see it or do you want to go
back?”
What a silly question. Of course, I wanted to see it. We’d come this far.
So she led me forward. I wasn’t sure if she just didn’t like the exercise or if it
made her feel sad walking this path when she’d so recently been here with
Daniel, but she definitely dragged her feet.
I wished I’d continued alone. Her energy was not positive, and if I wasn’t
careful, it would start to get in the way of what I was feeling. I took a bit of
effort and blocked her out. And then I put more space between us and strode
on ahead.
The path narrowed and again I felt I was nearing another area of intense
magic. Ahead was a wooden, hand-painted sign that said: St. Jerome’s Well.
All are welcome. Please treat this sacred place with respect.
I passed the sign, the trail bent, and there it was.
St. Jerome’s Well was clearly ancient. There was a small stone altar with
an ancient door and a round seating area, almost like a tiny coliseum.
I stood for a moment just taking it all in before a voice said, “Good
morning.”
I glanced up to find a man standing a few feet in front of me. Where did
he come from? My first impression was that he looked like a picture of Jesus
in the children’s Bible my parents had at home. Beatific exactly described his
expression. He looked calm and peaceful and wise, and yet he couldn’t have
been much older than me. Thirty-five at the most. He had brown hair that
waved just past his shoulders, soft gray eyes, and a firm chin. I thought this
man might look kind and gentle, but he was nobody’s pushover.
I finally gathered my wits about me enough to say, “Good morning. You
must have passed us on the trail.”
He shook his head. “I was already here.” He gestured past the seating area
where the pathway continued.
Did he live there?
“This is a beautiful place,” I said, completely inane, but I felt like I had to
say something since he just stood there regarding me.
“It is. It’s also a sacred space.”
“Yes. I felt that too.”
Even as I was trying to formulate some kind of question around the ‘Do
you come here often’ kind without in any way letting him think I was
interested in him, he answered it.
“I keep an eye on this place. Just on a volunteer basis.”
I nodded. “I could imagine that if word gets out, this could be a great
party spot for kids.”
“I tend to pick up litter rather than break up noisy parties, to be honest.”
There was something about him that I recognized, and I had a feeling he
was feeling the same about me. As though he had made a decision, he took a
step forward and extended his hand.
“I’m Ewan.”
I took his hand. “Jennifer.”
We both started into each other’s eyes, and he said, “Ah,” and he let go of
my hand. “I thought so.”
I nodded. I hadn’t been certain he was a witch, but I’d kind of had a
feeling too. Hattie hadn’t caught up yet, so I said, “I’m actually new in the
area. Is there a local coven you could introduce me to?”
He made a wry face. “I’m more of a lone witch.”
Fair enough. I was here to pick up clues about Daniel’s death, so I asked
him if he’d seen three young people here three nights ago, which was when
Hattie said they’d been there.
I had the photo of them that Lochlan had forwarded to me on my phone,
and I showed it to him. I hoped Hattie was going to stay out of the way
because I wanted to hear what he had to say without her listening in. He
peered at the picture and nodded.
“Those three.” He sounded as though he was disappointed in them.
“What did they do?”
“They violated the sacred space.”
I had my doubts about Hattie, but I hadn’t thought of her as someone who
trashed ancient monuments.
As though he’d read my mind, again, he said, “Not in any physical way.
They broke the silence and peace. They brought strife and anger here.”
Now that was interesting. “Can you be more specific?”
“Does it matter? Anger recalled is anger recreated.”
Okay, I wasn’t going to embroider that on a pillow, but I knew what he
meant.
I said, “It’s important. One of those three is dead. Murdered.”
“Show me the picture again.”
I did. His hand hovered for a moment over the photo on my phone, and
then he pointed at Daniel. “That one.” He didn’t even put a question mark at
the end. It was like he knew. I didn’t think he was the killer, but this dude had
serious powers. I nodded, but I needn’t have bothered.
I could see how far those powers went. “Can you tell who did it?”
“No. I’m good, but not that good.”
“What can you tell me?”
“Are you with the police?”
I shook my head. “I was the one who found his body. The police are
blaming a homeless man, and I’m sure it wasn’t him. So I feel compelled to
figure out who did it.”
A frown momentarily creased Ewan’s peaceful countenance. “Not Tre?”
“Yes. You know him?”
“Everyone knows Tre. I can tell you he didn’t kill anybody. He’s a lost
soul, but he means well. And one day those paintings of his will be worth a
great deal of money. Not that money means anything to him.”
“Well, if you can help me figure out who did kill Daniel, I can help clear
Tre’s name. This has become important to me too.”
He lifted his head and then said, “The girl is on her way. You can get her
to confirm this, but the two men had an argument. It seemed they both
wanted her, and she was trying to decide which one she was interested in. It
was a very heated exchange. People come to St. Jerome’s Well for peace, for
guidance, for solace. Not to pick a mate.” His teeth snapped shut on the last
word.
I thought for a minute. “What did Hattie do when the two men argued?”
“At first she tried to calm them down, and when they threatened each
other, she just gave up and sat on a stone. She put her headphones on, and I
suppose she was listening to music.”
I nodded. It seemed to be what she did when she was troubled.
“How bad were the threats?”
“I put it down to drunken foolishness, but certainly there were threats of
violence, and then a little pushing and shoving. Which I’d have put a stop to
if I’d thought either of them were in danger of real harm, but it seemed to me
it might be better to let out some of their aggression.” He shook his head. “It
was a lot of work repurifying the place once they’d left, though.”
I had one more question. “Do you think the dark-haired one was capable
of murdering his rival?”
He said, “I think most people are capable of killing given the right
circumstances. Or the wrong ones.” Then he said, “If you don’t mind, I’d
prefer not to see the young woman again. But you can come any time. Your
energy suits this place. I’d be happy to see you again. And I’m usually
around.”
I thanked him and then he walked rapidly down the path in the opposite
direction that I’d come from. Within seconds after he’d disappeared, Hattie
arrived. I noticed she didn’t enter the inner circle but stood looking at the
well as though it held bad memories, which I guess it did. I paid my respects
and told her I was ready to go.
I was pleased to have found St. Jerome’s Well, but sorry that I’d come
here to help solve a murder. Even worse, I seemed to be closer to solving it.
And in order to get Tre cleared, I’d offer them a teenager who’d ended one
life and in doing so thrown away his own. Over jealousy.
What a terrible waste.
CHAPTER 14
H
attie and I walked back down the trail, and since I knew I wouldn’t
be able to ask her pointed questions while also focusing intensely
on driving back to town, I spoke up when we got closer to the car. I hadn’t
wanted to bring bad feelings onto the trail, not when we were near the sacred
well and not when we’d gone past the magical glade and pool. But now, I
could feel their magic lessening as we grew closer to the car.
“Both Daniel and Nick wanted you for themselves, didn’t they?”
“That wasn’t supposed to happen. We were all friends. But yeah, I guess.
But I don’t think it was serious.”
“Hattie, one of them is dead. That’s pretty serious.”
Her lips clamped shut and the sullen look I was beginning to recognize
too well descended over her features.
I said to her, “Tell me about Carenna House.”
Her shoulders jerked, but she tried to cover it with a shrug. “I don’t know
what that is.” She was lying.
“I think you do know. I think there’s a connection between Daniel and
Carenna House.”
“Well, if there is, I don’t know anything about it.”
I wanted to argue, but I could see she was shutting down on me. I tried a
different tack. “I’m sorry. I know this is hard for you. But don’t you want to
find out what happened to Daniel?”
She turned to me with a look of fury and panic on her face. “No. I don’t.
He’s dead. That’s all that matters. You can’t bring him back. No one can
bring him back. So why does it matter?”
I let her words float in the air and hoped she heard the echo of them and
how stupid they sounded. Then I answered her.
“Because the people who cared about him deserve to know how he died,
and he deserves justice.”
Her panicked look intensified. “Why can’t you believe he just fell?”
“Because you don’t believe it.”
“I do.”
“Then why didn’t you stay with his body when you found him dead the
other morning? When I passed you on the path and you were crying, you’d
just come up the trail from the cove and were leaving him there on the beach.
Why would you do that?”
“Why can’t you stay away from me?” She walked on ahead, fast, and I let
her go.
I knew one thing. She was frightened. The question was, of what? Or
whom?
I put my hand in my pocket and wrapped my fingers around the bag with
the lanyard in it. I was certain it felt warm, as though there was a current of
energy humming through it. I didn’t know what was going on or why Daniel
had hung a Carenna House lanyard in the magical glade, but I knew one
thing. I was going to Lord and Lady Gilpin’s home on one of their moneymaking visitor days to find out, and very soon.
Hattie was waiting for me at the car. “Why did you go to that obscure
well?” I asked her.
“We followed a map.”
Not the most illuminating answer. Perhaps she knew about it as a local
and wanted to show her friends, but it felt as though they’d come here for
more than tourism.
We didn’t have much conversation on the way back to town. I was too
busy trying to stay on the correct side of the road and change gears with the
proper hand. That was taking all my attention. I’d never been much for
broom riding but honestly, I’d rather have navigated a bit of wood and straw
through the air than navigate these narrow lanes in a car I didn’t know, on the
wrong side of what the Brits jokingly referred to as roads.
At length we arrived back at the shop, and I managed to park Claire’s car
with only the tiniest bump against the curb. I breathed a huge sigh of relief,
and the minute I turned off the engine, Hattie got out.
I got out too and before she could walk away I said, “If you don’t phone
the police, I’m going to tell them where to find you and why.” Okay, I didn’t
know where she lived or how to contact her, but I bet Claire did.
I thought she was going to argue, and then she just nodded. “I’ll call them
as soon as I get home.”
“Make sure you do.”
And then she strode away. She was still in sight when Nick—the third of
the three who’d been at the well, and the one who according to Ewan might
also be in love with Hattie—ran up behind her and took her arm. I witnessed
them have another intense conversation, and then she pulled away and kept
going. Part of me wanted to go to him and ask a few more nosy questions, but
I suddenly saw Claire beckoning to me from inside the shop.
I was only an amateur sleuth, but I was a professional shopkeeper. I had
to keep my priorities straight. I locked her car and then came back into the
shop to return her key.
“Everything okay?” she asked me.
“Yes. Thanks for letting me borrow your car. I’m going to have to get
myself one.” It was true, though I dreaded driving here. Maybe I could get
some lessons. If I was rich like the vampires, the first thing I’d do would be
to hire a driver.
“It’s no problem,” Claire said.
I pulled ten pounds from my pocket. “I hope that’s enough to cover the
gas I’ve used.”
She grinned at me. “It’s a tiny car with a tiny engine. That’ll be more than
enough.”
While I’d been gone, Claire and Nate hadn’t been idle. The cottage
smelled like fresh paint and already looked a million times better with the
white base coat all over the walls and ceiling. Next, the same job had to be
done upstairs. And now I should really get my hands dirty again and do more
work. Claire sent me upstairs to put painter’s tape around the windows. It was
the perfect occupation because while my hands were busy, my mind was free
to roam. I thought about love triangles and local manor houses and
smugglers’ treasure and wondered if there were any connections between
them.
I had so little to go on. A phone number that had rung through to Carenna
House and a lanyard that I believed had been left at the place of magic by a
dead man, but what if I was wrong? I didn’t often doubt my powers, but
sometimes I did get things wrong. Still, I was convinced enough that there
must be some connection that I decided I’d pay a visit to Carenna House the
very next day.
I couldn’t wait to see Lucy and talk all this over with her. Meanwhile, I
worried about Tre. How was he coping? Should I make my way to the police
station and find out?
Gryffyn phoned as I was bringing Cornish pasties and coffees back to the
shop for lunch.
“You do have a phone,” I said.
“Of course, I have a phone. I may not like newfangled technology, but
that doesn’t mean I don’t use some of it. I’m not a fool.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“I’ve spoken to my solicitor, Joseph Milligan. He doesn’t think the police
will keep Tre in custody. They’ve interviewed him, and he’s acting nervous
and jumpy, but that’s because he can’t stand being indoors.”
My heart went out to that poor gentle man stuck inside a small, airless
room, presumably designed to upset those stuck within it.
“I thought we’d drive down and wait for him,” Gryffyn said. “He should
be released soon.”
I had a second shock. “You drive?”
“How do you think I get around places?” He sounded irritated at my lack
of faith in his abilities.
“I’d love to go with you. Thanks,” I said. I told him to pick me up at
Shadowbrook Manor in thirty minutes. That gave me time to drop off lunch
with my painting crew, tell them I once again was needed elsewhere, give
them the key to lock up when they were done, and hightail it back to
Shadowbrook to clean myself up. I ate my pasty and drank my coffee on the
way. Then I ran up to my room, brushed my teeth, changed from dirty work
clothes to a pair of navy linen trousers, a white shirt, and blue sandals. I
brushed my hair, fortunately free of paint, put on a little makeup, and picked
up my bag.
I was grateful that Gryffyn had offered me a ride. Otherwise, I’d have
been asking Alfred to take me in the Bentley, and I didn’t think that presented
quite the right image to hard-working police officers who couldn’t afford
Bentleys.
I hadn’t expected Gryffyn to pull up in a smuggler’s wagon, but when he
arrived in a dark-blue Volvo, I was pleasantly surprised. It was fully electric,
and I thought a pretty new model. He was even dressed in modern-day
clothing, jeans and leather boots. And if he still wore a white linen shirt, it
looked like it had come from a contemporary menswear shop. He still had
that slightly stubbly devil-may-care look about him. In other words, he still
looked like a pirate. Just a twenty-first-century one.
He drove with confidence and enough skill that I soon relaxed.
“My solicitor is confident the police have the wrong man. Tre found the
phone in a tide pool, painted it on a piece of driftwood he was carrying, and
then picked up the phone. He doesn’t leave garbage on the seashore.”
“So he got arrested for caring about the environment. Poor Tre. I’m glad
you got him a solicitor.” I’d have liked to offer to share the cost. Except I
didn’t have the money. “There’s no way they can arrest him on such flimsy
evidence. Especially if he can show them the painting. That was nice of you
to get your solicitor involved.”
“I’ve a fondness for Tre,” he admitted. “He drifts along like a bit of
flotsam and jetsam, but he records what he sees in a most remarkable fashion.
He’s a true artist, that one.”
We pulled into a parking lot in front of a low office building with a blue
and white sign that read Tregrebi Police Station. There were two squad cars
and three civilian vehicles in the parking lot.
After we’d parked in an empty space, Gryffyn said, “There’s my solicitor
now.”
I’d expected a vampire, but the man standing on the sidewalk in front of
the main entrance was clearly red-blooded—and pompous-looking. Joseph
Milligan had frothy white hair around a balding head like a cake that had
been half iced. He wore a summer-weight suit and carried an expensivelooking attaché case.
He didn’t look like the sort of man who usually stood in a parking lot. I
bet he made his clients twiddle their thumbs in a fancy reception area with
leather club chairs and an in-wall fish tank. If he was Gryffyn’s solicitor,
Gryffyn must be a valuable client indeed.
We got out of the Volvo, and I was introduced.
As Joseph Milligan shook my hand, he regarded me with sharp gray eyes
behind silver-framed lenses. “Your friend is being released. He should be out
shortly.”
“Oh, good. So he’s off the hook?” I asked.
When the solicitor fixed his prickly gaze on me again, I wished I’d used
more formal language. Except I didn’t know what that was here.
“He’s still a person of interest, but he’s not been charged with a crime.”
Joseph Milligan turned to face Gryffyn. “Are you quite certain you want to
be responsible for Treeve Balliss?”
Tre must be short for Treeve. And now I knew his last name. It made the
painter seem more substantial somehow.
“Why wouldn’t I?” Gryffyn asked.
“He swears he never saw what happened to the young man, and that he
found the phone,” Milligan replied. “But he’s hiding something. He was
extremely uncomfortable in the interview room. Kept grabbing onto a shell
hanging around his neck until I thought he’d strangle himself with it. We
could argue diminished capacity.” He might have said more, but he glanced
through the station’s glass doors and said, “Ah, he’s being released. Wait
here, I’ll send him out.”
When Tre emerged, he looked up at the sky and sucked in air as though
he hadn’t been able to breathe for the last several hours. This man would
never manage in jail. I knew that immediately.
We gave him a few minutes and then reluctantly he got in the car with us.
Gryffyn put down all the windows, and I didn’t think he did it because of
Tre’s smell. Well, not entirely because of Tre’s smell. The man needed to be
as close to the outdoors as he could.
“You all right?” Gryffyn asked him.
“Need to get back to Pilchard Cove. Need to paint.” He didn’t say more,
but kept sticking his head out of the window like a dog.
And we got him back as quickly as we could. Gryffyn parked the car in
front of his house and Tre leapt out. He mumbled thanks and then strode
away.
“If he’s charged, we’ll argue diminished capacity,” Gryffyn said,
watching him go.
“You don’t believe he killed that boy, do you?”
“I’ve been around long enough to know that everyone is capable of foul
deeds given the right circumstances.”
No doubt that was true, but in this particular instance, I didn’t think Tre
had done more than pick up litter. How was I going to prove it?
CHAPTER 15
W
hen I got back to Shadowbrook Manor, I did an internet search for
Carenna House and checked on the visitor days. The simplest thing
I could do was to join a tour. Of course, that’s where the lanyard had come
from. Daniel must have done a tour of Carenna House as well. Was it related
to his death? Or was it coincidence? I had no idea whether a public tour
would help me find out, but right now it was all I had.
The house was open from ten to five every day but Monday.
Today was Tuesday, and I still had a couple of hours until it closed.
Carenna House was a stop on the local bus route, so I enjoyed my first
Cornish bus ride which got me to the house by three-thirty. I wasn’t sure if it
was a good thing or a bad thing, but a tour bus pulled up almost at the same
time and about forty people streamed off. Maybe it was just as well if I hid
myself in a crowd. When I got to the entrance, the woman behind the
visitor’s desk charged me twelve pounds fifty and gave me a lanyard exactly
like the one Daniel had hung on the tree in the magical glade.
I slipped the lanyard around my head and refused the offer of an audio
set. I wanted to keep all my senses open, including my ears, while I wandered
around the house. I didn’t even know what I was looking for, but I hoped I’d
get some feel for why he might have been here. Had the other two come with
him? Hattie hadn’t been forthcoming, but she’d certainly heard the name of
the house. If they’d come for a day out to tour a fancy place, why not just say
so?
Maybe if she had, I wouldn’t be here now. But the very fact that she’d
pretended she didn’t know what Carenna House was made me think it was
significant in some way.
While I wasn’t with the tour group, I hung around at the back and
followed along. Their route took us down a paved path, and I have to say on
first sight, Carenna House was very impressive.
The gray stone castle rose from the ground and my eyes rose with it, up
over an ivy-covered façade, with mullioned windows, to the two round
towers on either side. The front entrance was grand enough to have tourists
stopping to snap photos before we’d even gone inside. I walked in and was
practically slapped in the face with the wealth that this family had once had,
before they’d had to open to the public to keep the lights on. A massive
crystal chandelier graced the entrance foyer, which was marble-floored and
featured huge oil paintings, furniture from several eras, and a grand staircase
curving up.
I suppose because the tour group was so large, they immediately got
assigned a tour guide, for a woman wearing a tartan skirt and a red sweater
came forward and introduced herself as Margaret, the docent.
She said, “It will be my pleasure to guide you around this beautiful home
today. Carenna House has been owned by the same family since the 1500s.
And if these walls could talk, they’d have quite a tale to tell.”
I imagined every prominent house owned by nobles could say the same
thing. Still, it was impressive that the same family had owned it for so long. I
wondered if Gryffyn had known the family when he was alive. It was strange
he hadn’t said anything.
I kept half an ear on the tour guide while keeping my eyes open and all
my senses alert for, again, I didn’t know what. She took us through the living
room, that was as crowded as an antique store with gorgeous furniture,
priceless ornaments, and paintings hung on soaring pale-green walls.
Margaret pointed out the pair of Gainsborough portraits of a former Lord and
Lady Gilpin and told anecdotes about how the family had come over with
William the Conqueror, and the family tree touched the branches of famous
families all over Europe, including royalty.
We toured the grand dining room, with a gleaming table set for thirty.
Everyone from royalty to celebrities to prime ministers had dined here.
Winston Churchill famously wrote a chapter of his A History of the EnglishSpeaking Peoples while staying at Carenna House, and he’d been a popular
dinner guest.
Eventually, we reached the library. Apart from the expected floor to very
high ceiling shelves of serious-looking leather-bound volumes I bet rarely left
these shelves, there was a pretty desk with family portraits of the current Lord
Gilpin and family. I recognized the couple I’d met in The Cornish Teapot in a
family portrait with three children. Two girls and a boy.
On what was basically a brag wall, there were ancient documents in
frames and a complicated family tree. I supposed any family that went back
for sixteen generations was going to have some tangles.
Margaret hit the highlights on the brag wall. The Nicholas Trelawney
who was given the land and title by a grateful Charles II for supporting the
Royalist cause through the Cromwell years. The building of the fine house
that had been added to and improved over the centuries. She paused and said,
“And we even have a smuggler in the family. The black sheep, if you will.”
I was barely listening, wondering if I’d be able to find some clue as to
why Daniel had come here. Unless he was planning to steal something
valuable, and I suspected some hefty security systems would stop him, what
was the point? Had he hung the lanyard near St. Jerome’s Well hoping for
guidance? I might need to go back and sit quietly at the well and ask for
assistance as well because I wasn’t finding anything at Carenna House but
boredom.
Then Margaret said, “Sir Montague Gryffyn Penrose Trelawney, was the
second son and went into the navy. He was a brave captain, and was knighted
for his service to the crown, but to everyone’s surprise, he left the navy and
took up smuggling. Oh, there was plenty of wealth to be gained in those days,
but the family never forgave him and struck his name from the family Bible.”
I wasn’t bored anymore. In fact, I was stunned. Could Sir Montague
Gryffyn Penrose Trelawney be the Gryffyn Penrose I’d come to know?
Undead, arrogant, and still sailing the high seas. I suspected he was. And yet
he hadn’t mentioned that he was related to the family who owned Carenna
House, even when he’d discovered that scribbled note in Daniel Rutherford’s
pocket. Why hadn’t he said anything? Mystery seemed to heap upon mystery.
Then Margaret skipped down the family tree to the Trelawney who’d
married a wealthy American socialite in 1900. She went on, “Sadly, the great
uncle of the present owner, Matthew Trelawney, lost his only child and heir
in World War II. On his death, Carenna House passed to his brother, the
current Lord Gilpin’s grandfather.” Then she talked about the restoration
efforts, which were enormous.
We then filed out of the library and were invited upstairs to view the
bedrooms open to the public, including the one Winston Churchill had stayed
in. One day, I might come back and see the upstairs, but for me, today, the
tour was over. I headed out and waited for the bus.
I’d seen what I needed to.
T HE NEXT DAY I woke to the sound of Busby gently snoring beside me. Lucy
was arriving today, and I couldn’t wait to see her and hear about her
honeymoon. Also, we were going to sit with a computer, now that Wi-Fi had
been installed in the shop, and get the supplies ordered. This thing was
becoming real. I thought we’d be having a grand opening within a week or
two.
My breakfast was more simple than usual—cereal, fruit, and croissant, as
well as my essential pot of coffee because, Mrs. Biddle explained, she had to
prepare for the master and mistress. That I was much lower in importance
was clearly implied.
I headed off early, hoping to get the shop looking as good as possible
before Lucy arrived. As I walked toward the cottage, I could see something
was different, but it took a second for my eyes to accept the reality.
The front of the shop had been transformed. The wooden slats had all
been painted in a magical scene that even carried up around the windows’
wooden frames. It was a scene of finely detailed, extremely genuine-looking
scallop shells combined with the scallop-shell knitting stitch. It was clearly
Tre’s work. For a knitting shop by the sea, it was perfect. I suddenly realized
that the reason we’d been having so much trouble finding a store name was
because we’d been focused on the knitting, but Tre had seen what I couldn’t,
and he’d combined a knitting stitch with a symbol not only of the ocean but
of pilgrims and wanderers. I suspected he and I were both in those categories.
The Scallop Shell. That’s what I was going to call the shop. There was a
tiny mermaid sitting on a scallop shell and seaweed and tiny fishes and much
of it looked as though it had been knitted. Tre had brought the real world and
the crafted world together in a magical way. I didn’t need the signature to
know whose work it was, but sure enough there in the bottom right corner
was written Tre.
I was standing there admiring it when Gryffyn seemed to appear at my
side. It wasn’t that he could disappear and reappear at will, it was more that
I’d been so transfixed by the painting that I hadn’t noticed him approach.
He said, “What do you think?”
I turned to him and the answer must have appeared in my face. “It’s
beautiful,” I said.
He nodded. “I thought you’d like it.” Of course, he’d already seen it.
He’d been up all night.
“Did you see him painting it?”
“He asked my permission first. Since I do own the place.”
“I’m so glad you gave it to him.”
“He’s got quite an eye. And what he’s done is perfect. Besides, it’s only
paint. If you ever want something different or you hadn’t liked this, Tre
would have just painted over it.”
I thought it would have been a crime to paint over Tre’s genius. While I
stood there admiring the details, Henrietta, the woman who owned the
clothing shop across the street, came to join us. She didn’t look as thrilled as I
was.
“I’m not sure the local council will be very pleased to see you’ve done a
mural without permission. We’ve very strict rules, you know.”
Was she kidding me? “But I didn’t commission it. The painting appeared.
Like magic.”
She pointed to the signature. “That’s no magician, that’s Tre.”
“Excuse me if I say he’s a magician with paint. He’s like the Banksy of
Cornwall.”
She snorted and walked across the street to open her shop.
“Will she make trouble?” I asked Gryffyn.
He shrugged. “She can try. I would imagine the council will see that this
adds value and is a positive thing. And if they don’t, we’ll have Tre repaint
this on the inside of the shop. No one can stop us from doing that.”
I said, “I’m going to commission him to paint my sign. Now I finally
have a name for my shop. The Scallop Shell.” The more I thought about it,
the more perfect it was.
“The Scallop Shell,” he turned the words over as though he were tasting
them. “Yes. I like it.”
“Do you want to come inside and see what we’ve done?” I asked him.
Then I realized what a foolish question that was. The man had a tunnel
that came in and out of the shop. No doubt he’d already had a thorough
inspection during the night. Still, he kindly pretended that he hadn’t, and I
took him inside. He complimented the color scheme and said Samuel
Carpenter was well on the way with the shelves.
I turned to him. “I went to Carenna House yesterday.”
His expression didn’t shift. “Did you now?”
“Yes. I did. It was a very interesting tour.”
“It’s a fine historic house.”
“It is. And has a fascinating history.”
He seemed to think about this. “Anything that’s old enough tends to have
a fascinating history.” His eyes began to twinkle. “I, myself, have a
fascinating history. It’s a function of existing for a few centuries.”
“Yes,” I said. “I know. Thanks to Carenna House and its history. It seems
the same family has owned the property for more than six hundred years.
And they have quite a thorough story about the family in the library.”
“How dull,” he said. “Don’t tell me you stood there reading it?”
“I listened to a tour guide. And it seems there was a certain Sir Montague
Gryffyn Penrose Trelawney, who was one of the colorful members of this
family. He was a decorated war hero in the British Navy.”
“Was he now? Of course, that was a common name back then.”
If Sir Montague Gryffyn Penrose Trelawney had ever been a common
name anywhere, I’d fall over from shock.
“The interesting thing is that while he returned a celebrated war hero, he
then caused embarrassment to the family when he turned to smuggling.”
“I believe I’ve told you, we prefer the term free trader.”
“Call it what you will, the family disowned him.”
“A bit harsh, don’t you think? When their cellars, like most around here,
likely contained their fair share of French brandies and wines, and they
hadn’t paid the full duty on them. Likewise, the women liked French
stockings, but they didn’t like to pay His Majesty the exorbitant tax.”
“Gryffyn, it was you, wasn’t it?”
“And what if it was?”
“I don’t know. It just seems cruel to be disowned by your own family.”
“They were different times. I hold them no ill will.” And then he
chuckled. “Besides, I had the last laugh when I used the wealth I made to buy
the property here right under their noses. I could have set up anywhere, but it
suited me to be here thumbing my nose at the stiff-rumped elder brother of
mine. For I was a second son and in those days, you see, everything went to
the eldest. He got Carenna and all the wealth. I had nothing but my name and
education to recommend me. And, while I’d been proud to fight for my
country, my country wasn’t as interested in me once the war was over. I had
energy, a certain skill upon the waves, and not two farthings to rub together. I
wasn’t the only one who took up free trading to make a living.”
I thought about his past. “But that must have made you a social outcast
from your own circle.”
He laughed showing white teeth. “Don’t feel sorry for me, my dear. I
found the life suited me down to the ground. The adventures I had.”
“It must have ended badly, though,” I said. “Were you hanged?”
“Hanged?” He looked truly offended at the notion. “You think I was
caught? Nothing doing. If you must know, I was mortally wounded in a
duel.”
Why did this not surprise me?
“Over a woman, I suppose?”
“Why else would you fight a duel? Oh, she was a lovely, young lass, too.
But, betrothed to another, a very respectable baronet. When he learned that
we planned to elope, he quite rightly challenged me to a duel.” He seemed to
be looking into the past and I remained as still and quiet as I could, not
wanting to disturb him. He said, “I was deadly with a rapier and would have
pinned him nicely, drawn a little blood, and retired from the field. He was in
the right of it, after all. But he chose pistols. I was never as good with a
pistol. He shot me through the heart. Ungentlemanly I always thought. So
there you have it. My life story. Though the life may have ended, the story
continued.”
“If he shot you through the heart, who turned you into a vampire?”
“Ah, that was—”
There was a knock on the shop door. I was irate that some fool had
interrupted such a great story, but then I saw my best friend standing on the
other side of the glass. I ran to open it.
“Lucy,” I cried.
We hugged as though we hadn’t seen each other for ages. She looked
well. A honeymoon vacation on the Isles of Scilly had definitely been good
for her.
She was as enthusiastic as I was. “Wow. The place looks great. And I
love that mural out front. It’s magical.”
“Come in,” I said.
She did and paused when she saw Gryffyn. I introduced them, and then
Gryffyn wished her well on her recent marriage and said he had errands to
take care of. And with a nod to the pair of us, he walked out the front door.
The minute he was gone, she turned to me with her eyebrows raised.
“And who was that?”
“I just introduced him to you,” I said, as though I didn’t know exactly
what she meant. “He’s Gryffyn Penrose.”
“Yes, my hearing is fine. What I meant is who is that? He’s gorgeous,
undead, and obviously has a crush on you.”
“He does not. Stop trying to set me up with every interesting man, dead
or undead, in Cornwall. Gryffyn owns the shop. He’s our landlord.”
“Yeah, sorry about that,” she said, side-stepping my accusation that she
was shamelessly matchmaking. “Rafe thought he could just buy this shop, but
it turns out all we can do is lease it.”
“It’s okay. I think Gryffyn’s going to be a good landlord.”
She gazed around. “You’ve been busy. I love the color scheme.”
I told her she could thank Claire Trevellen and explained about Claire,
her university course, and how she’d designed the shop interior. Lucy was
duly impressed.
I said, “We’ve been backing and forthing over names for the shop, but
when I arrived this morning and saw that mural, I thought The Scallop Shell
was the perfect name. What do you think?”
She thought about it and then nodded slowly. “Yes. I could see that.
Especially the way the mural combines actual scallop shells with the scallopshell stitch.”
She said, “Should it be called The Scallop Shell Knitting Shop do you
think?”
We both wrinkled our noses and decided we’d call it The Scallop Shell
and make the knitting shop part clear in all our advertising.
I was impressed that she knew there was a scallop-shell knitting stitch.
Her knitting knowledge was coming along. Slowly, but it was coming along.
Then she laughed. “Not that I could knit it, but at least I know what it is.”
I could knit it, and I could put together some kits that featured the scallopshell stitch. It made beautiful scarves and sweaters. I’d play with ideas. And
there were quite a few very bored vampires who’d be only too happy to knit
samples for me. I was excited about this new enterprise.
“What can I do?” Lucy asked.
We spent the rest of the day ordering stock and staying out of Claire’s
and Nate’s way when they came to finish the painting.
CHAPTER 16
T
he next morning, I had a shock when Mrs. Biddle greeted me like
an honored guest. She looked happier than usual, which made me
do a double take.
“I hope you’ve an appetite,” she said. “Sir Rafe and Lady Crosyer are in
the breakfast room waiting.”
Was their appearance why the housekeeper had just been nice to me?
Even as I was about to say that they shouldn’t have waited for me, I knew
that Rafe and Lucy were both too well-mannered to start breakfast before I
arrived.
“I’m starving,” I admitted. “Whatever you’re cooking smells delicious.”
“They’re in the breakfast room waiting,” Mrs. Biddle repeated.
“On my way.”
When I entered the breakfast room, Rafe was reading a paper, and Lucy
was on her computer. He was fully dressed, but she still wore her pajamas
and a robe. She drank coffee from a cup. He had a thermos mug. Even though
they weren’t communicating, I sensed the closeness between them. For a
second, I was tempted to tiptoe out of the room, but Lucy glanced my way.
She’d sensed me there.
Her big smile lit her face. “Jen. Have some coffee.”
“Three of my favorite words in the English language,” I said, walking
forward.
“Good morning, Jennifer,” Rafe said. “I trust you slept well?”
“Absolutely,” I lied. “How about you?” My sleep had been disturbed
again by strange dreams. Lanyards waving and a healthy young man being
attacked and killed.
“I slept amazingly well,” Lucy said.
I imagined her husband spent part of his night elsewhere, but she didn’t
seem to mind.
She looked happy and well-rested. “The sea air knocks me out.”
I was absolutely certain I didn’t mirror those qualities.
“Isn’t this an amazing house?” she said.
“It really is,” I agreed. “But when I first arrived, Mrs. Biddle said I have
the best room. I’ll move today so that you and Rafe can have it.”
“No, we have the owner’s suite, which is very nice and has its own
kitchen and separate living quarters. Honestly, it’s amazing. You’ll have to
come and see it.”
My mind relieved of that worry, I let her hand me a coffee. She knew
exactly how I liked it. Then Mrs. Biddle came in bearing a loaded tray.
“Eggs Benedict,” Lucy said. “I hope you don’t mind, but I ordered for
both of us. I know how you love Eggs Benny.”
So Mrs. Biddle let Lady Crosyer order what she wanted, including a dish
that wasn’t English but had originated in New York City. Maybe if I married
somebody with Lord in their title, I might get so lucky.
Lucy and Rafe were going to talk to an architect about ideas they had for
Shadowbrook Manor, so I walked to the shop on my own.
I sensed someone coming up behind me. I turned to find the guy I’d seen
having the intense chats with Hattie, and who Claire had told me was Nick.
He said, “Why don’t you stop bothering Hattie? Can’t you see she’s
under a lot of strain?”
I let him see how surprised I was that he’d approach me, a complete
stranger, and scold me. “I could say the same about you. I’ve seen you
badgering her, and she looks more upset when she leaves you than she does
when she leaves me. Who are you, anyway?” I knew who he was, but I
wanted him to introduce himself before giving me a hard time.
He scowled as though he wasn’t going to tell me, looking very young and
petulant. Finally, he said, “My name’s Nick Jones, and I’m Hattie’s friend.
She’s going through a hard time right now and doesn’t need you making
things worse.”
“I’m going through a hard time, too. It was me who found your friend’s
dead body.”
I felt a shudder go through him. He wasn’t as tough as he was trying to
pretend. I decided to push a bit more.
“Do you know anything about what happened to him? Because I
understand the three of you were pretty close.”
“What are you saying?”
“What do you think I’m saying? You and Daniel were great friends. And
even I could see that you were both in love with her.” I hadn’t seen that. I’d
found it out later, but he didn’t know that. “And then one of the rivals dies.
That’s a story as old as history.”
He looked as though I’d shoved him in the chest. “You think I killed
Daniel because I wanted Hattie all to myself?”
“The thought had crossed my mind. How many reasons are there to kill a
man?”
He scowled again. “More than you’d think. Just stay out of it. And stay
away from Hattie.”
Before he could go, I said, “I may not be a cop, but I am helping the
police with their enquiries.” This was true. They had used that very term with
me. Okay, they probably hadn’t meant that I should be acting like an amateur
sleuth, but I didn’t see why I shouldn’t ask questions. Maybe that intuitive
voice inside my head was saying, You could be poking at a murderer here.
Somebody who’s killed once is probably quite likely to kill again. Still, I
could feel that his anger was hiding a lot of fear. What was he afraid of?
Justice? Or somebody coming after him? I had no idea.
Finally, I said what I really thought. “I think Hattie’s worried you killed
your friend.”
He went red in the face. “Well, I didn’t. And I don’t care if you believe
me, but Hattie should.” He started to walk away.
I tried to stop him again. “Why are you still in Tregrebi?”
“Mind your own business.” He stomped off, and this time, I let him go.
I WAS SO CONFUSED . I wanted someone I could talk to. Someone who knew
Tregrebi and was a living, breathing citizen but who wasn’t narrow-minded
like Henrietta. That restricted my choices down considerably.
After thinking for a moment, I decided to pay a visit to the Bide-a-Spell
bookstore. I had a feeling that if anyone could tell me what was going on
around here, it would be Andrew Jackson. If nothing else, I might get some
background information or at the very least a good book.
Bide-a-Spell was easy enough to find. As Andrew had said, it was tucked
around the corner from the high street.
I was charmed by the shop before I even went inside. Two outdoor tables
with chairs perched on the sidewalk. An older woman was sitting reading
with a cup of coffee. I loved the idea that you could buy a book in Bide-aSpell and then sit outside and bide a spell in the sunshine, reading and
enjoying a drink and a snack.
I walked in to find it was exactly the kind of bookstore I liked. Front and
center was a big rack labeled Local Authors, and then there were floor-toceiling shelves with everything from the occult, of course, to architecture,
psychology, local history, and a second room was completely taken up with
fiction. Cozy nooks offered seating where you could sit and read, and a huge
blackboard announcing the authors giving readings. It was an impressive list.
I’d even heard of some of the authors, and I didn’t know British literature that
well.
Ian McEwan was coming and so was a Cornish author named Raynor
Winn, who’d written The Salt Path. I was drawn to the cover and when I read
the book’s blurb, I discovered The Salt Path referred to the coastal path that
I’d walked a little bit of. I’d buy this and read the story of a couple who’d hit
hard times and decided to walk the entire thing.
There were enough people browsing that I imagined Andrew Jackson did
pretty well for a bookstore owner. I found him behind a wooden cash desk,
unboxing books. Beside him was a man in his twenties with red hair and a
straggly beard who was ringing up a purchase at the register.
A woman about the same age was helping a youngster find a series they
might like. She was asking questions like, “Do you like adventure? Are you
more into magic and ghosts?”
“Well, I liked Harry Potter,” the youngster replied.
She laughed and said, “Who doesn’t? I have a series you might like.
Come with me.” Then they went off.
Andrew looked up before I’d even reached the desk. I didn’t know if he
had this attunement with every customer or whether it was that witch-bond
thing again. He didn’t look surprised to see me.
“Jennifer. How lovely to see you.”
I was pleased he’d remembered my name. “Hi, Andrew. What a gorgeous
shop you have. I wish I could spend all day in one of those comfy chairs, put
my feet up, and read.”
He glanced at the book in my hands and nodded. “You’ll enjoy Raynor’s
work. She’s written several more since The Salt Path, but that’s the one to
begin with.”
“I was hoping to chat for a few minutes with you about something,” I
said, as he rang up my purchase.
He glanced at me, and I felt his vibrant blue eyes could see right inside
me. “Come with me. We can have a sit down and a cup of tea while we talk.”
That sounded like heaven. After my miserable encounter with a possible
murderer, it was so nice to be welcomed into a friendly atmosphere and
offered tea. He led me to a door with a sign that said Staff Only. Inside were
boxes and boxes of books. But there was also a table surrounded by chairs. I
imagined this was also the staff breakroom.
He said, “Sit there. And I’ll bring you what you need.”
I snorted with laughter. “What? You mean a perfectly ready knitting shop
and a good night’s sleep?”
“The shop you’ll have to sort out yourself. But what you truly need, my
dear, is a clear mind and some calmness. I can hear your nerves jangling like
an out of tune piano.”
I made a face. “That bad?”
“Worse. I was being generous. So you settle yourself here, and I won’t be
a tick.”
He hadn’t even asked what tea I wanted, but somehow I didn’t think he’d
had to.
Sure enough, he returned in five minutes with a green teapot and two
matching mugs. They had Bide-a-Spell on them above a logo of a woman
curled up in a big, comfy chair reading a book. They were delightful.
He said, “This tea is from one of my special recipes.” And then he poured
a fragrant stream of tea into my cup.
I lifted it to my nose and sniffed. “I can smell lavender, peppermint, and
something spicy I can’t identify. And is that vervain?”
He chuckled. “Not bad. But I’m not telling you my secret recipe. Relax
and drink it. Trust me, you’ll feel better.”
Just being here made me feel better. I sighed and sipped, and the tea was
delicious, medicinal, and magic, as I’d known it would be. I said, “I need
some help. Some advice really. And I was hoping you could help me.”
He didn’t look surprised. “I’ll do whatever I can. Are the locals giving
you a hard time? Have Lord and Lady Gilpin told you that you’re not posh
enough to open a shop in their town?”
I laughed at that. “No. But I did meet them. And I see you’re not a fan.”
“I try to live and let live, but they are people with no imagination.”
I didn’t know what that meant, and I didn’t feel like prying. I opened my
mouth to ask the question that was on my mind, but he held up his hand.
“Just drink your tea.” And then he handed me a plate of biscuits. “And have a
biscuit.”
“What is it?”
“Clotted cream shortbread. It’s a local specialty.”
I could really get used to this place. All the local specialties I’d
discovered so far were delicious. And so was Andrew’s tea. I added a little
effort of my own into calming myself, and then when I was about halfway
through my cup of tea, I’d eaten the shortbread, and he’d been a quiet, solid
presence grounding me. I said, “Okay. I’m ready. Thank you.”
He nodded. I wasn’t exactly sure where to begin. I said, “I’m sure you
know that I was the one who discovered the dead man the other day.”
“I had heard that, yes. It must have been a shock for you.”
“It was.”
He nodded again. “We witches feel these things more deeply than
others.”
I was glad we were dropping the pretense. “We do,” I agreed. “I’m so
new here. I don’t understand the dynamics. I don’t know who these people
are. Particularly, I wanted to ask you about three young people, one of whom
is the dead guy, Daniel Rutherford. He and his friend Nick Jones were
visiting Hattie Moyle, who is local. They’re all attending the same
university.”
He nodded. “I know who you mean. The three students were inseparable
while they were here. Hattie brought the boys into the shop. They were
looking for books about local history.”
“Really? Anything in particular?”
“They seemed interested in stories about smuggling and treasure. There
are lots of foolish legends.”
“So,” I said, “the three were inseparable. Sadly, now they are two.”
“Right. And now the two who are left seem like they’re fighting. I can’t
get anywhere with them, and I’m pretty sure the police haven’t either. But
there’s something going on with them.”
I couldn’t tell him about the vampires and the CCTV cameras, for
obvious reasons. So I went with, “The police recovered Daniel’s phone from
Tre, who’d found it. I’m trying to figure out what’s on that phone.”
He shrugged. “Could be all sorts of things. Messages, calls, emails. These
days, your phone is like your personal computer.”
“The thing is, the three students turned up at strange places. Hattie’s
local, but the other two weren’t. I found out they’d been to St. Jerome’s
Well.”
His eyebrows rose at that. He clearly knew about the well. “I imagine
Ewan wasn’t too pleased.”
Oh good, if he knew Ewan, then he understood a great deal that I now
didn’t have to explain. “No. Ewan wasn’t. He said they’d been arguing, and
he was pretty sure the two guys were both in love with that girl.”
“A tale beloved of everybody from Shakespeare to the modern soap
opera,” he commented.
I nodded. “But I think there’s more to it than that. Hattie told me she’d
never been there before. And she’s the local. How did the guys from
somewhere else even know St. Jerome’s Well existed?”
Andrew’s blue eyes sharpened on my face. “Ah.” That’s all he said. Just
that one ‘ah.’
I waited.
“I wonder if it could be the Arcana Map,” he said.
“What on earth is that?”
He said, “It’s an app. An underground resource where people post sites
that are far off the tourist trail and aren’t on regular maps. Things like stone
circles and minor historical monuments are benign enough. But, like all
unregulated information on the internet, it’s somewhat anarchic. People
sometimes post ways of getting into disused mines and quarries. Abandoned
and boarded-up houses. Their intrusions can cause quite a bit of trouble.”
I could imagine. “Do you have this app?”
“I do. But I rarely use it.”
I didn’t even have to ask for him to show it to me. He pulled out his
phone.
“Is St. Jerome’s Well on there?”
“Oh yes,” he said without even having to check. He clicked into the app
and soon showed me the listing.
It was simple enough. There was a picture of the site and a short
description of its history and the fact that people felt there was magic there
and left tokens at the spot where the stream was widest. By sitting at the well
and asking St. Jerome for guidance, people could find the answers to
questions, even see the future, according to legend. I bet Ewan didn’t know
his sacred well was featured in some app on the internet.
I was tempted to ask Andrew whether Pilchard Cove—where Daniel had
died—was featured on the map. Had someone figured out there was a way in
to Gryffyn’s bricked up tunnel? I didn’t want to alert Andrew to the fact that
there might be something there. Maybe he’d poke around himself, but I
wasn’t going to lead him to Gryffyn’s secret entrance. I trusted Andrew, but
these weren’t my secrets.
However, I had a feeling in my belly that I now knew why Daniel had
been there. And why Hattie had gone looking for him. In fact, she’d said the
three of them had been planning to meet later. It made perfect sense, now,
that they’d used the app to locate interesting sites. The old tin mine on Rafe’s
Shadowbrook property must be on it too.
I pictured Daniel in the middle of the night, trying to get into the tunnel
somehow. And then someone had killed him, and he’d lain on the beach until
I found him and called the police.
Then something hit me so blindingly obvious I couldn’t believe I hadn’t
seen it before. Andrew had told me he swam at the cove every morning.
“Were you swimming the day I found Daniel Rutherford’s body?” I asked.
CHAPTER 17
A
ndrew shot me a glance, and I could sense he was contemplating lying.
I kept my gaze level on his, and he must have realized I’d see through
a lie.
He dropped his gaze to his tea. “No. I didn’t swim in the cove that
morning.”
The follow up question was a no-brainer. “Why not?”
He shifted on his chair. The calming tea wasn’t working so well now for
either of us.
Finally, he said, “The birds warned me not to.”
Most people might think that sounded crazy. I am not most people.
“Huginn and Muninn?”
“My two familiars, yes.”
“What did they tell you?”
“That there was a dead man on the beach.”
“So, you didn’t go to the police? Or think about checking it out
yourself?”
Now he actually squirmed. “I contemplated both of those things. And did
one of them.” He leaned back in his chair and shifted his gaze so he was
looking past me. “I went down to the cove, but there was someone already
there bending over the dead man.”
My heart sped up. “Who was it?”
He returned his gaze to mine. “Matthew Trelawney. Lord Gilpin.”
I didn’t speak, frankly didn’t know what to say, and I could see there was
more.
He said, “I assumed he’d call the police, and as a practicing witch, I make
it my policy to steer clear of authority and bureaucracy as much as possible.”
I didn’t feel like debating social responsibility right now. “You’re
absolutely certain it was Matthew Trelawney?”
“Yes.”
“But he didn’t call the police. Why?”
He lifted his hands. “I was certain he would. I saw Matthew bend over the
body and take out a wallet. I thought he was looking for identification, so I
went back the way I came and left him to it. I had a swim in another cove and
was shocked when I discovered Matthew hadn’t alerted the police.”
“When the body was found by the police, it had no wallet,” I told him.
He looked uncomfortable. “Perhaps he returned it and someone else took
it.”
“But why would the local lord not tell the proper authorities he’d found a
dead man?” My voice rose a little, and I stopped to settle down.
We could both come up with guesses. The worst one was, maybe Lord
Gilpin had killed the man. But why?
I CALLED Lucy and asked her to meet me at Shadowbrook Manor. She was
there when I returned from Bide-a-Spell, looking eager to pitch in.
I said, “It’s not knitting work, but detective work I need you for.”
If anything, she looked happier about sleuthing than knitting related
activities. “Sure. What do you need?”
It’s so great when you’ve known someone as long as Lucy and I have
known each other. I told her about the app, and we downloaded it onto our
phones. I told her about the daywalkers who’d shown up at the tin mine and
at the cove. I didn’t tell her the tunnel was in use, but anyone could see there
had been something blocked up with brick.
We sat in the library and Mrs. Biddle was eager to bring us coffee and
biscuits.
“Isn’t she great?” Lucy said after the housekeeper gushed all over her.
“Just great,” I replied faintly.
“Here’s St. Jerome’s Well,” I said, having searched and found the listing.
“It says a learned monk lived alone near the well back in the tenth century.
St. Jerome would come to him, and they would discuss the Bible and other
sacred texts. The monk was known for foresight and healing and the well has
become a pilgrim site for those who seek clarity and healing.”
“Cool,” Lucy said. “And look, there’s a feature where you can search for
what else is in the area. Huh, there’s a circle of standing stones rarely visited
nearby. That might be worth going to. And the ruin of a site that made
gunpowder.” She looked up. “This is a very cool app.”
I didn’t think she’d continue to think that when she saw what I’d found.
“Tin mine at Shadowbrook Manor,” I read aloud.
“Oh, no.”
“A non-working tin mine. The site is said to be haunted. If you fancy a
good scare, see if you can find your way in.”
“That’s it? And people trespass onto private property to scare
themselves?”
“There are photographs, too.”
“Not of the vampires,” she said.
“No. But there’s one where you can see the old door and the keep out
signs.”
I kept searching, and it was no surprise when I came across a heading for
Pilchard Cove. “Named after the catch that was once abundant, Pilchard
Cove was used by smugglers. A blocked up tunnel is part of the vast network
of tunnels and caves once used by free traders. Some say there’s treasure to
be found there, if you can find your way in.”
Lucy said, “The heading about the tin mine also ended with…if you can
find your way in.”
I looked back, and she was right. “Well spotted. The entries are written
by the same person. Ovid76.” I scanned the rest of the entry, then saw photos
and groaned. A hand, presumably Ovid76’s, held an ancient coin.
“Do you know what that coin is?” I asked.
“No. Do you?”
I shook my head. We went in search of Rafe, who was in the library
working at the desk. He smiled when he saw Lucy, and the way he looked at
her warmed my heart. I showed him the photo on my phone, and he said,
“That’s a piece of eight. Where did it come from?”
I had a strong notion that Gryffyn Penrose had dropped it, and that’s why
his secret tunnel was now a stop on the Arcana Map.
We showed Rafe what we’d discovered, and he looked especially
unhappy at the listing for the tin mine. “I’ll get hold of Lochlan,” he said.
“What can he do?” Lucy asked.
“If I know Lochlan, those listings will be gone in an hour.” He snapped
his fingers. “Poof.”
I searched for Carenna House on the app, but there was nothing obscure
there. Arcana Map pretty much rehashed what I’d read on the property’s
official website, including public opening times. There were no hidden
treasure troves, no secret wells. Why had Daniel gone there?
Lucy said, “Some of those places look interesting. We should go there
sometime.”
I nodded, pleased that she’d come up with the idea. “We’re going to.
Right now. I want you to see Carenna House.”
And the great thing about Lucy is she just said, “I’ll grab my bag.”
“Can you drive us there?” I asked.
“Sure. Rafe keeps a car down here. He said you can use it anytime, by the
way. He wanted to get you your own car, but I thought you might not want
that.”
She knew me so well. “I would hate for Rafe to give me a car. If I decide
I need one, I’ll buy my own.”
She nodded. “That’s what I thought you’d say.”
Rafe’s Cornwall car was a fully electric small SUV. I knew he could
afford the fanciest sports cars, but he chose vehicles that were less
conspicuous and more environmentally friendly. I imagined that when you
were going to live for centuries ahead, you cared about the environment more
than most.
Lucy got behind the wheel and impressed me with her skill at driving on
the wrong side of the road. While we headed to Carenna House, she asked
what I was planning, and I told her about finding the lanyard that Daniel
Rutherford had left as an offering at the magical pool near St. Jerome’s Well.
“Why did he come to Carenna House? I can’t figure it out.”
“The other two weren’t with him?”
“I don’t think so,” I said.
“Are we going on a tour? It won’t be boring, will it?” Lucy asked.
“Not if we can figure out why he came here, and why he thought the
lanyard was important enough to leave as an offering.”
“Maybe it was the only thing he had in his pocket,” Lucy suggested.
“Maybe.” But I didn’t think so.
We pulled in to the visitors’ parking. I was going to take another tour of
the house and drag my friend along when I suggested we tour the outside
first. I hadn’t done that on my first visit.
Lucy was game. We toured an herb garden, a rose garden, and then—to
my delight—I saw Lord and Lady Gilpin on the other side of a hedge
walking their dog. Imagine having an estate big enough that you could walk
your dog for miles and never leave your own back yard.
I had a sudden idea. I said to Lucy, “Follow my lead.”
We’d known each other too long for her to do more than give me the
barest nod that no one but me could even have seen. I found a gap in the
hedge and strolled over to Lord and Lady Gilpin and with the utmost
friendliness greeted them.
“Lord and Lady Gilpin, how lovely to see you. Your house is so
amazing.”
I could see they couldn’t even place me. Her ladyship gave me a social
smile and took a step back, but as I’d expected, her more friendly husband
gave a jovial chuckle.
“We’re very proud of our home. It’s nice to share it with tourists. You’ve
come from America, have you?”
Honestly, he couldn’t remember me at all? Dusting down my ego, I said,
“We’ve met, your lordship. It’s Jennifer Cunningham. You volunteered your
wife to open my knitting shop. Remember?”
He chuckled again, slightly embarrassed but game. “Yes, my dear. Of
course, I remember you. You’ll have to forgive me. We get so many people
through here that I had trouble placing you, but I thought you looked
familiar.”
I gave him points for recovery. Then I pulled Lucy forward and said, “I’d
like you to meet Lucy Swift Crosyer. She’s kind of my boss, so I hope I can
make a good impression. She and her husband own Shadowbrook Manor.” I
figured dropping that Lucy owned one of the grandest homes in the area
wouldn’t hurt, and I was right.
He shook her hand heartily. “Having two such beauties at Carenna House
is a pleasure all its own.”
Before the home’s owners could make a getaway, I said again, “I’m
really hoping that you’ll come and cut the ribbon for the grand opening of our
shop, Lady Gilpin. It would mean so much to us.”
Once more, she tried to wiggle away, probably intending to tell me to call
her secretary, but I said, “It’s just that it’s coming up so soon. We’re having
the grand opening Saturday.”
I could see her lips open as if she was about to say that was far too soon,
and I grabbed the only draw I could think of to get here there. “I moved it to
Saturday because I was able to get Jodie Rymer from Cornwall Today! to
cover the opening. Lucy knows her, you see. They’re both so excited about
this venture. It would add so much more to the opening of our knitting shop if
you could be there. I hope you don’t mind being on television.”
Oh, I was playing to this woman’s vanity like crazy, but I could tell she
was lapping it up. For the first time since we’d met, her lips curved in a
genuine smile. Thanks to Mrs. Biddle telling me that everyone in Cornwall
watched Jodie Rymer on Cornwall Today! I’d found a way to get Lady
Gilpin exactly where I wanted her.
“For such an important community event, I’m sure I could open up my
calendar.” And she actually got out her phone, took my details, and then gave
me her assistant’s information.
I watched her put it on her calendar. We were almost there.
After we left Carenna House, Lucy said, “You did great, Jen. If you could
manage Lady Gilpin, you’re going to have no problem at all with difficult
customers at the shop.”
I was very pleased with the flattery. “Thanks.”
But then she looked at me with a slightly worried expression. “I can’t
believe you got her to agree to come to this grand opening.”
“I’m pretty pleased with myself, too.”
“There’s only one problem.”
I nodded. “I know.”
She said it anyway. “Neither of us knows Jodie Rymer.”
CHAPTER 18
“B
ut,” I said, “between Rafe and Gryffyn and everybody we can
think of, there must be some kind of six degrees of separation.”
“But,” Lucy said, frowning, “we only have till Saturday.”
I grinned at her. “Good thing there are two of us. And I guess we’ll have
to figure out how to move the opening up by a couple of weeks.” I laughed in
a slightly hysterical way, but Lucy waved my fears away.
“We’ll get enough stock from Cardinal Woolsey’s to make it look as
though the shop’s full. And for any painting or decorating that still needs
doing, you know we can find undead volunteers to work all night. Jen, it’s
going to work.”
I hoped she was right.
“Maybe Rafe knows this Jodie Rymer.” I hoped so.
Unfortunately, when we returned, Rafe informed us he had no idea who
she was, and he’d never seen Cornwall Today!
Lucy, Rafe, and I tried to figure out how to encourage Jodie Rymer to
come to our grand opening on Saturday. We threw out all kinds of ideas, but
nothing had seemed strong enough to get a very busy Cornish celebrity to
come to an obscure knitting shop opening with two days’ notice. We were
wondering if we could fool Lady Gilpin into thinking the journalist was
coming. It wasn’t a great plan, but at the moment, it was all we had.
Lochlan came in, looking very businesslike. He said, “I’ve spoken to my
contacts in the Cornwall police. They believe they can break into Daniel
Rutherford’s phone, but they estimate it will take a couple of weeks. I’ve
offered to do the job for them, knowing I can get them the results within
twenty-four hours.”
“That’s great,” I said. Though, in truth, I was pretty sure I already knew
what that phone would have to tell us.
Rafe said, “Lochlan, you don’t by any chance have any contacts within
Cornish broadcasting, do you? We’re trying to get Jodie Rymer, who’s a
local celebrity down here, to open Jennifer’s knitting shop.”
I really liked the way he called it my knitting shop rather than Lucy’s
franchise, which was mainly what it was.
Lochlan said, “No problem at all. I own the broadcasting company.”
We all stared at him.
He explained that he liked to support independent journalism, and when
he’d heard the network was struggling, he’d stepped in. “It shouldn’t be a
problem to get Jodie to appear at your opening,” he said with the cool
authority of a bazillionaire and business tycoon.
Lucy and I shared a glance. We’d both worked in businesses where we’d
resented somebody in a higher power position ordering us what to do. We
didn’t want Jodie to feel as we did.
I was trying to formulate how to say that nicely when Lochlan said, “I’ll
get her producer to offer her what will be a scoop on a hard news story.”
Then he turned to me with a glint in his eye. “I’m right, aren’t I, Jennifer?
You haven’t told us everything you’re planning, but I think more than the
grand opening of a new shop will be revealed on Saturday.”
Butterflies were doing the tango in my stomach. “I hope so too. I think I
know what happened to Daniel Rutherford. I just need to figure out how to
prove it.”
He nodded, unsurprised. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
“You’re already doing it. If you can get Jodie Rymer and her television
crew there, the stage will be set.”
Then we sat down and figured out the rest of the details.
I said, “Lochlan, I’m assuming if I wanted you to break into an
international database and get me some information, you could do that?”
He looked at me with his eyebrows slightly raised. “Is that a serious
question?”
Right.
Rafe said, “And if you need any help with ancient manuscripts,
interpreting hieroglyphics, I’m your man.”
I laughed as I was meant to. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
W E WORKED like crazy to get the shop ready for the grand opening on
Saturday. Luckily, Claire and Nate had finished the painting. Samuel
Carpenter got Gryffyn’s crew to help, so the shelves were all in place Friday.
Maybe the shop wasn’t perfect, but only Claire and I knew the bits that were
missing. And mostly those bits would get in the way. If we were having a
grand opening, we didn’t have a lot of room for tables and accessories.
However, we had a cash register, the internet was up, and the shelves
were stocked with wools thanks to Rafe’s butler, William, bringing supplies
from Cardinal Woolsey’s in Oxford. Sylvia, Agnes, Alfred, and several of the
local vampires had worked on ready-made knitwear, so we had a dozen
gorgeous fisherman knit sweaters, along with a selection of socks and even a
couple of sweaters for children. I was proud of how much our small team had
accomplished in a very short time.
Even the shop sign was up. Samuel had created a wooden scallop shell,
and Tre had painted it.
Lucy suddenly said, all in a panic, “What about the ribbon? Lady Gilpin
thinks she’s coming to cut a ribbon.”
“You’re right.” Since we weren’t actually having the official opening
today, but what I liked to call a pre-opening, I hadn’t organized a ribbon.
Besides, I didn’t want a throng of people coming today. I had invited select
people only and fortunately, all of them came. There were Claire and Nate,
Claire’s mother and father, Mr. and Mrs. Biddle, and Andrew Jackson.
I sent an SOS to Sylvia asking her to find a length of red ribbon and some
scissors and, within thirty minutes, Alfred pulled up outside in the Bentley.
Lucy ran out and returned with a gorgeous red ribbon and a large pair of
scissors.
I’d got Claire and her mother to convince Hattie to come, and Claire
managed to let Nick know that Hattie was coming, so he turned up too. Hattie
and Nick arrived separately, and she didn’t seem very happy to see him.
There was a nice flutter of excitement when Jodie Rymer arrived with her
camera crew. Frances and a male detective were there in plain clothes,
hopefully looking like a pair of shoppers. The small shop seemed crowded.
Since the vampire knitting club hadn’t wanted to be left out, Lochlan had
very cleverly set up a tiny camera that would record everything. For Agnes,
Rafe, Gryffyn, and the undead crew who’d been involved in the sleuthing
adventure, it was as close as we could get to them being here.
When Lord and Lady Gilpin arrived, I breathed a huge sigh of relief. Now
I had all the pieces in place. I had to execute this as carefully as though I were
playing a chess match. And chess had never been my game.
Lucy, obviously sensing my anxiety, reached out her hands to hold mine.
She said, “You’ve got this.” And then in a much lower voice she added,
“Blessed be.”
I glanced up and Busby was outside the window, staring inside—in the
exact position she’d held when I first toured the shop. Outside the door on the
sidewalk, another cat sat licking its paws. Nyx had come to lend her support,
too. There were a couple of ravens perched on a lamppost. I could barely tell
a raven from a crow, but I was fairly certain they were Huginn and Muninn,
watching out for Andrew Jackson.
He looked a bit uncomfortable, as though he might be a bit ashamed of
himself. However, I’d assured him that he wouldn’t get in trouble. All we had
to do was tell the truth. He admitted that he’d feel a lot better when he’d done
exactly that.
Tre stood outside, looking proud. His job was to stop people from coming
in. His message was that this was a private ceremony to introduce the shop,
but we’d have a public grand opening soon. Naturally, Lord and Lady Gilpin
didn’t know this. I doubt they’d have cared, so long as Jodie Rymer was
there.
Tre was enough of a local legend that he drew people, and I could see he
was accepting a lot of compliments on his artwork. I’d talked to Lucy about
offering some of his paintings for sale in the shop. Yes, it was not what I’d
originally planned, but sometimes you just have to go with the flow. Maybe
knitting and painting wasn’t the most conventional pairing, but I thought in a
town like Tregrebi, it might work.
Lord and Lady Gilpin had dressed to impress. She wore a pale-green
Chanel-style suit with pearls that had to be worth a small fortune. He looked
dapper in a sports jacket and flannels. Jodie Rymer was a pro. She organized
her crew to show off the shop’s interior, and we put the ribbon in front of a
wall of wool, with Claire and Nate holding the two sides. It would look better
on TV than a doorway with a ribbon across it. Besides, being inside worked
better for my purposes.
With the cameras rolling, I handed the scissors to Lady Gilpin, inhaled a
breath and centered myself. Then I stepped forward. I had wanted to wear
one of the fisherman knit sweaters but it was too warm. I settled for a blue
hand-knit sweater that was as soft as a cloud and my best jeans.
I turned to the small crowd who filled the small shop. “Thank you all for
coming,” I said. “I’m Jennifer Cunningham and I look forward to operating
The Scallop Shell. I wasn’t sure what I was getting into when I arrived here. I
quickly fell in love with Cornwall and Tregrebi, but I’d barely arrived when I
came across a dead man.”
Lady Gilpin had been watching me with a smile she must have perfected
through many a boring speech, but when I said dead man her body jerked. I
had her attention now. I had everyone’s attention. I could feel Busby behind
me at the window, and I drew power from her strength and magic.
“His name was Daniel Rutherford. I only found that out later, because
whoever killed him took his wallet and threw his phone into the sea.”
“My dear,” Lord Gilpin said disapprovingly, “I’m not sure this is the time
—”
I talked over his interruption. “I couldn’t imagine opening a knitting shop
while a killer remained at large in this beautiful community. Besides, Daniel
Rutherford deserves justice. ” I turned to Hattie and Nick. “He was only
twenty. A student. He came to Cornwall with his good friend Nick Jones to
visit their mutual friend Hattie Moyle.”
Lord and Lady Gilpin exchanged panicked glances, but the camera was
rolling, so they stood where they were, looking stiff and trapped. I hoped the
vampires were enjoying this impromptu reality TV show. I also hoped I
didn’t screw it up.
CHAPTER 19
“B
ut Daniel Rutherford had a special reason to visit this area,” I said.
“He wanted to tour Carenna House.”
This time Lord Gilpin was the one who flinched.
I smiled broadly at them both before continuing. “Carenna House is
absolutely stunning. It’s open to the public, and I toured it, enjoying the
history of the house as well as the beautiful treasures inside. It’s been in the
Trelawney family for sixteen generations. Matthew Trelawney wasn’t in the
direct line. He became Lord Gilpin because the Lord Gilpin who was his
great uncle lost his only son in World War II. Such a tragedy.”
“Yes, yes,” Lord Gilpin snapped. “This is hardly relevant to a knitting
shop.”
“But it’s amazing how knitting is a metaphor for families. The threads
that intertwine, the odd dropped stitch…” I let my pause lengthen.
Most of the people in this cottage had no idea what was going on, but the
tension among those who did was so high I felt the ceiling might rise.
“When Daniel Rutherford’s body was found, as I said, there was no
wallet or phone. The only thing found was a scrap of paper deep in his
pocket. Something that whoever threw away his wallet and phone
overlooked.” I swallowed. I’d have loved some water, but I couldn’t pause
now. I kept going.
“On it was the word Carenna and the phone number for that historic
house. I saw the paper and assumed it was torn from a school schedule. But it
wasn’t. The scrap of paper was from the results of a DNA test. In fact, I have
a copy of the complete page here.” I pulled out, with a bit of a flourish for the
TV cameras, a copy Lochlan had obtained of the DNA test that Daniel
Rutherford had taken, under his own name. “The blue stripe at the bottom,
part of the company’s logo, was on the top of the torn scrap of paper. And if
you look at the results, you’ll discover that the person with this DNA is, in
fact, the direct descendent of Matthew Trelawney’s great uncle, Lord Gilpin.
You see, the colonel who tragically died in the war had married a French
woman where he was stationed. And they had a daughter. He’d planned to
bring them home to Cornwall, but he was killed in the war before he had a
chance.”
“What is this nonsense?” Lady Gilpin asked the room.
No one answered.
“That daughter grew up on stories of her illustrious relations, and she
passed those stories onto her own son. Even though she had to raise him on a
council estate near London.”
I glanced over at Nick, who stood transfixed. I asked him, “Did you know
that Daniel took a swab of your mouth to send off your DNA?”
He shook his head. He couldn’t speak. “No doubt he swabbed your mouth
when you were drunk or sound asleep. Best friends see each other at their
worst,” I said, glancing at Lucy.
Lord Gilpin stared at Nick. “But…” he said, then shut his mouth.
“I believe what you were going to say, Lord Gilpin, was ‘But Daniel
Rutherford was the true heir to Carenna House.’ But he wasn’t. He stole his
friend’s DNA and came to you pretending it was his. His claim wouldn’t
have held up under scrutiny, but he must have scared you. What did he do?
Promise to go away forever if you paid him a great deal of money?”
Lord Gilpin was sweating. “No, it’s not true,” he said hoarsely, in a voice
that suggested it was all too true.
I stared at his lordship. “That’s why you took his wallet. To hide his
identity.”
“What are you suggesting?” He pulled himself up to his full height.
“You removed the wallet from his dead, broken body. You were seen
doing it.”
Lord Gilpin was red in the face and shaking. “You and I hadn’t even met
when that boy died. You’re making this up.”
“It wasn’t Jennifer who saw you, Matthew,” Andrew Jackson said,
stepping forward. “It was me.” He turned to Frances, who he knew was a
police detective in plain clothing because I’d told him so. “I’m sorry I didn’t
report this to the police. I genuinely believed Matthew had discovered the
body and removed the wallet so he could report the deceased’s identity to the
police. I should have stayed and made certain. I apologize for that.”
Lord Gilpin was staring at the bookshop owner in horror. “You’re not
suggesting.” He turned to Frances, who had remained silent, watching the
drama unfold. “You don’t think that I—”
I took the floor back. “It was convenient for you, wasn’t it? To get rid of
that DNA test and hope no one ever knew Daniel Rutherford had turned up
with it.”
“I did not kill that boy. He was dead when I got there.” Lord Gilpin wiped
his brow. “But, yes, you’re correct. He came to the house. Said if I gave him
fifty thousand pounds, he’d go away and never come back. I said I needed to
think about it. He told me he’d be in Pilchard Cove before dawn. I wasn’t
going to go, but then I thought I’d see if I could reason with him. Get him
down to a more manageable amount.” He looked at me with appeal. “I don’t
keep that kind of money lying around. All our wealth is tied up.” He wiped
his brow again. “Yes. I took the wallet and the test. I have them in my study.
But I didn’t kill him.”
Frances looked ready to arrest Lord Gilpin, but I had one more scene to
play out.
“Daniel Rutherford came to Tregrebi hunting for treasure. He and his
friends used an app called Arcana Map that suggested there was hidden
treasure at various places. He didn’t care where his fortune came from, but he
was very eager to get hold of money. He’d been hearing your mother’s tales
most of his life, hadn’t he, Nick?”
“Yes, but I never believed her. No one did.”
“I bet Daniel took that DNA test on a lark. He liked to tease you, didn’t
he?”
Nick nodded. “He bought me one of those tests for a joke. Said we’d find
out I was the real King of England. I threw it away. He must have dug it out
and taken my DNA, like you said, when I was drunk.”
“This is what your DNA shows.” I walked over and handed Nick the
printout. “Your grandfather should have been the next Lord Gilpin. And
through your mother, so should you.”
“This is outrageous,” Lady Gilpin said, her voice sharp and angry.
I ignored the outburst. “There was another treasure you and Daniel both
wanted and that was Hattie,” I said.
She was standing there beautiful and winsome and silent. Nick gazed at
her and nodded.
“But she preferred Daniel, didn’t she?”
“Yes,” Nick said.
“Are you saying he killed Daniel?” Hattie finally spoke. “Over me?”
I let her words hang in the air, and I shook my head.
“No, Hattie. You and I both know Nick didn’t kill Daniel. You did.”
“What?” This was Claire’s mother, Agatha, Hattie’s aunt.
I held my gaze on Hattie. “You and Daniel had worked out the plot
together. You’d blackmail Lord Gilpin, but you had to make sure Nick never
knew what you were up to. Keeping him in love with you was part of it. You
needed him close so you could control him.”
“No. That’s not true,” Hattie said, her pale cheeks suddenly flamed.
“It is. When you went to St. Jerome’s Well, Nick walked on and didn’t
leave an offering at the magical pool. But you and Daniel both did. He hung
the visitor’s lanyard from Carenna House on the tree. He made sure you saw
it, didn’t he, so you’d know he’d been there without you? He even went
treasure hunting without you late at night. He was always going to cut you
out, and you finally figured that out.”
“That’s not true.”
“It’s all on the phone, Hattie. Daniel’s phone that you threw into the
ocean, hoping it would be destroyed. But it wasn’t. The police got into the
phone. It’s all there, the messages, the photos, the—”
“But I wiped the phone clean. It’s empty,” she cried.
There was a terrible silence, and then she realized what she’d done. In
front of all of us in the shop, and recorded by a TV camera, she’d admitted to
murder.
She moved so fast, I didn’t have time to stop her. She snatched the
scissors from Lady Gilpin’s hands, causing the woman to squeak and jump
back.
Brandishing the shears, Hattie said, “Get out of my way.” She backed
toward the entrance to the shop, only to bump into the broad frame of Tre,
who was a lot stronger than she was. He grabbed her arms and twisted the
scissors out of her hands so efficiently that I suspected some kind of military
training.
She screamed and tried to run, but uniformed officers, who’d been
waiting out of sight on the high street until they were needed, caught her and
cuffed her. It was Frances who read Hattie her rights while the young woman
stood sullen and angry.
A FTER THEY LEFT , I went back into the shop. Nick was staring at Lord Gilpin
and it was clear he was suffering shock.
Lord Gilpin wouldn’t meet anyone’s gaze. He said, “Come, my dear.
We’ll go now.”
For a moment I thought Lady Gilpin would refuse to leave with her
husband, but then she nodded briefly and, eyes downcast, followed him.
He glanced at Jodie Rymer and said, “Don’t air one minute of this
footage. You’ll be hearing from my lawyer.” He didn’t say anything to the
young man who was holding the results of a DNA test that would change a
lot of lives.
Claire went to Nick and spoke softly. I thought he couldn’t be in better
hands. Her mother joined them, and the two women seemed as though they
were giving him comfort and good advice.
Lucy folded up the uncut ribbon, and when I came up to her, she beamed
at me with her full-wattage smile. “You were incredible, Jen! You had us all
in the palm of your hand. I can’t wait to watch the recording.”
I shuddered. I didn’t think I’d ever want to relive those moments.
Jodie Rymer walked over and said, “You promised me a great news story.
I have to say, you delivered. If you want me to cover your real grand
opening, just let me know.”
“I will. I’ll need to find someone else to cut the ribbon, though.”
She turned to where Tre was standing outside. “You have a famous
Cornish artist, and he’s already holding the scissors.” Then Jodie said she had
to run. She had a story to start researching.
Everyone left the shop.
Lucy and I locked up, and she said, “Let’s go home. We have to have a
vampire knitting club meeting to debrief.”
I thought that sounded like a good idea. Knitting was about all the
excitement I could handle right now.
Thanks for reading Vampire Knitting Club: Cornwall. I hope you’ll consider
leaving a review, it really helps.
While you're waiting for the next book in this series, here's a peek from
Highway to Hellebore, book 3 in my Village Flower Shop series.
Highway to Hellebore
I HEARD the low buzz of an expensive car engine, which I could already
identify as the same Lamborghini that had passed earlier. To my surprise (and
horror, if I’m being truthful) it screeched to a halt in front of my store and
then did a sharp turn, pulling in neatly beside my delivery van in the one and
only customer parking spot belonging to the store. I felt flustered. I had to be
vigilant about who used that parking spot because, as I explained to you
earlier, parking in Willow Waters, as in most Cotswolds villages, was
notoriously hard to come by. Oh, the tight-lipped showdowns I’d witnessed
over the years about who had the right to park where, and when, and for how
long. The Lamborghini driver wouldn’t be the first person who thought they
could get away with parking in my visitor spot while slipping off for some
sightseeing or shopping.
But that was not going to happen today.
I was getting ready to tell Speedy Gonzalez to move on, when, to my
surprise, the shiny red door opened, and a man quickly slipped out and
walked straight toward me.
I don’t know if I’ve told you this already, but a witch’s intuition is her
best weapon and my intuition in this moment was telling me that this guy was
ninety per cent pure cockiness. And not the kind which could be fun.
Arrogance: it oozed off him. I suppose a man who drives a bright red
Lamborghini worth more than some people earn in their lifetimes, is making
a statement.
I quickly took him in. He was probably late-forties, prematurely bald with
the kind of ruddy complexion that suggested he spent a lot of time in the sun
but his skin had never quite caught the art of tanning. He wore a red polo
shirt and, I am not kidding you, it had the Lamborghini logo on it.
I swallowed down a groan. This man was a walking cliché.
I’d stake my Rover against his sports car that his keychain had the
Lamborghini logo on it, too. His jeans looked more comfortable than stylish
and there was no doubt in my mind that the oversized watch on his wrist was
a Rolex. The kind with the most diamonds possible.
In a broad Australian accent he said, “G’day. This where I buy flowers?”
“Good morning,” I replied, eking out a smile. “It is indeed.” At least the
man was actually here to buy flowers.
His eyes widened slightly. “Ah, so you’re not from around these parts
either.”
I shook my head. “I’m not.”
“I’m from Oz,” he said, as though I might not have noticed that fact from
the g’day.
“How can I help you?” I did not want to get into a conversation about
where we were from and how we liked England. It was a conversation I had
too many times a day already. Something about this man made me
uncomfortable and like I said, I’d learned a long time ago to trust my
instincts. If he wanted flowers I would happily sell them to him. And then
send him on his way.
I opened the door to the store and gestured for the man to walk through. I
followed him, putting my watering can down behind the counter where I
wrapped up flowers and took payments.
He looked around. “Nice place you’ve got here.”
He didn’t mention the parrot. People usually mentioned the parrot when
they walked into my store. Then I realized Norman had flown out the open
window. I didn’t dare look towards the Lamborghini, but I had a bad feeling,
a gut feeling of the most unsettling kind… I knew exactly what Norman was
doing. He had good instincts about people too, and also a knack of picking up
my impressions as well as Char’s.
I thanked the man, flashing him another smile, this time hoping he’d give
me an instruction and then our time together could be over. “I’d like some
flowers,” he said. His third extremely obvious statement in two minutes.
“Well, you’ve come to the right place.” I could do obvious too.
He laughed at that as though I were hilarious. “Just bought a little place
here,” he said. “Old cottage. Thought I’d brighten it up with flowers.”
This was news. Unwelcome news. “You bought a place in Willow
Waters?” I kind of hoped he’d say, ‘Oh, no. Is this Willow Waters? Pardon
me thinking I was in Chipping Camden. Sorry about that, I’ll be on my way.’
But he didn’t.
He said, “Yeah. Sight unseen. Bought it on the internet.”
I couldn’t help it, I said, “You bought a house on the internet?”
“Yeah. Diversifying my interests. I’ve got a couple of homes in Sydney, a
ranch up near Queensland, and a little place in San Francisco. Thought I’d
round things out a bit. I made a few bucks. Looking for a nice place to retire.”
“I thought people retired to Australia. I think you’ll find the weather’s a
lot better there.”
Another of his big guffaws as though I was doing stand-up. “You’re right,
can’t argue with that, but there are times in life when a man needs a change.”
I looked the man over and received the impression that he was running
from something. Honestly, I wished he’d just keep on running. We’re a
beautiful, quiet, little village, but there had been some upset lately. We didn’t
need more trouble. I did my best to put him off. “It’s really quiet here,” I told
him, leaning forward as though sharing confidences. From the corner of my
eye, I could see all the way into the parking area and a flash of blue and
orange which looked suspiciously parrot-like hovering over the Lamborghini.
Naturally I didn’t turn my head. That would have given the game away.
I was pretty sure there was something drifting down past my vision, sort
of like a moth diving towards the car. Go Norman. If parrot poop on his fancy
car was enough to put this annoying man off living here I’d be forever
grateful.
“There’s absolutely nothing to do.,” I said. “I hope you like peace and
quiet.” Something about him, like maybe his flashy car, told me he liked
nothing less.
“Peace and quiet, huh? Well, it’s not what I’m used to, but a little
relaxation would set me right up.”
“I don’t mean to say we don’t have any excitement here. We have a pub
quiz on Thursdays. And of course several church services a week. We’ve
recently been blessed with a new Vicar. She’s quite progressive.”
He scratched his chin and I could see that he’d recently had a manicure.
“Don’t go in much for preaching.” And then it was his turn to look me up and
down. “Where would I go if I was going to take a nice lady out for dinner?”
Order your copy today! Highway to Hellebore is book 3 in the Village
Flower Shop series.
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A Note from Nancy
Dear Reader,
Thank you for reading The Vampire Knitting Club: Cornwall. I am so
grateful for all the enthusiasm this series has received.
I hope you’ll consider leaving a review and please tell your friends who like
cozy mysteries.
Review on Amazon, Goodreads or BookBub.
Your support is the wool that helps me knit up these yarns.
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Tangles and Treasons, the exciting tale of how the gorgeous Rafe Crosyer
was turned into a vampire.
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Nancy
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Vampire Knitting Club: Cornwall: Paranormal Cozy Mystery
Boston-bred witch Jennifer Cunningham agrees to run a knitting and yarn shop in a fishing village in
Cornwall, England—with characters from the Oxford-set Vampire Knitting Club series.
The Vampire Knitting Club: Cornwall - Book 1
Vampire Knitting Club: Paranormal Cozy Mystery
Lucy Swift inherits an Oxford knitting shop and the late-night knitting club vampires who live
downstairs.
Tangles and Treasons - a free prequel for Nancy’s newsletter subscribers
The Vampire Knitting Club - Book 1
Stitches and Witches - Book 2
Crochet and Cauldrons - Book 3
Stockings and Spells - Book 4
Purls and Potions - Book 5
Fair Isle and Fortunes - Book 6
Lace and Lies - Book 7
Bobbles and Broomsticks - Book 8
Popcorn and Poltergeists - Book 9
Garters and Gargoyles - Book 10
Diamonds and Daggers - Book 11
Herringbones and Hexes - Book 12
Ribbing and Runes - Book 13
Mosaics and Magic - Book 14
Cat’s Paws and Curses - A Holiday Whodunnit
Vampire Knitting Club Boxed Set: Books 1-3
Vampire Knitting Club Boxed Set: Books 4-6
Vampire Knitting Club Boxed Set: Books 7-9
Vampire Knitting Club Boxed Set: Books 10-12
Village Flower Shop: Paranormal Cozy Mystery
In a picture-perfect Cotswold village, flowers, witches, and murder make quite the bouquet for flower
shop owner Peony Bellefleur.
Peony Dreadful - Book 1
Karma Camellia - Book 2
Highway to Hellebore - Book 3
Vampire Book Club: Paranormal Women’s Fiction Cozy Mystery
Seattle witch Quinn Callahan’s midlife crisis is interrupted when she gets sent to Ballydehag, Ireland,
to run an unusual bookshop.
Crossing the Lines - Prequel
The Vampire Book Club - Book 1
Chapter and Curse - Book 2
A Spelling Mistake - Book 3
A Poisonous Review - Book 4
Great Witches Baking Show: Paranormal Culinary Cozy Mystery
Poppy Wilkinson, an American with English roots, joins a reality show to win the crown of Britain’s
Best Baker—and to get inside Broomewode Hall to uncover the secrets of her past.
The Great Witches Baking Show - Book 1
Baker’s Coven - Book 2
A Rolling Scone - Book 3
A Bundt Instrument - Book 4
Blood, Sweat and Tiers - Book 5
Crumbs and Misdemeanors - Book 6
A Cream of Passion - Book 7
Cakes and Pains - Book 8
Whisk and Reward - Book 9
Gingerdead House - A Holiday Whodunnit
The Great Witches Baking Show Boxed Set: Books 1-3
The Great Witches Baking Show Boxed Set: Books 4-6 (includes bonus novella)
The Great Witches Baking Show Boxed Set: Books 7-9
Toni Diamond Mysteries
Toni Diamond is a successful saleswoman for Lady Bianca Cosmetics in this series of humorous cozy
mysteries.
Frosted Shadow - Book 1
Ultimate Concealer - Book 2
Midnight Shimmer - Book 3
A Diamond Choker For Christmas - A Holiday Whodunnit
Toni Diamond Mysteries Boxed Set: Books 1-4
The Almost Wives Club: Contemporary Romantic Comedy
An enchanted wedding dress is a matchmaker in this series of romantic comedies where five runaway
brides find out who the best men really are.
The Almost Wives Club: Kate - Book 1
Secondhand Bride - Book 2
Bridesmaid for Hire - Book 3
The Wedding Flight - Book 4
If the Dress Fits - Book 5
The Almost Wives Club Boxed Set: Books 1-5
Take a Chance: Contemporary Romance
Meet the Chance family, a cobbled together family of eleven kids who are all grown up and finding
their ways in life and love.
Chance Encounter - Prequel
Kiss a Girl in the Rain - Book 1
Iris in Bloom - Book 2
Blueprint for a Kiss - Book 3
Every Rose - Book 4
Love to Go - Book 5
The Sheriff's Sweet Surrender - Book 6
The Daisy Game - Book 7
Take a Chance Boxed Set: Prequel and Books 1-3
Abigail Dixon Mysteries: 1920s Cozy Historical Mystery
In 1920s Paris everything is très chic, except murder.
Death of a Flapper - Book 1
For a complete list of books, check out Nancy’s website at NancyWarrenAuthor.com
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Nancy Warren is the USA Today Bestselling author of more than 100 novels. She’s originally from
Vancouver, Canada, though she tends to wander and has lived in England, Italy and California at
various times. While living in Oxford she dreamed up The Vampire Knitting Club. Favorite moments
include being the answer to a crossword puzzle clue in Canada’s National Post newspaper, being
featured on the front page of the New York Times when her book Speed Dating launched Harlequin’s
NASCAR series, and being nominated three times for Romance Writers of America’s RITA award. She
has an MA in Creative Writing from Bath Spa University. She’s an avid hiker, loves chocolate and
most of all, loves to hear from readers!
The best way to stay in touch is to sign up for Nancy’s newsletter at NancyWarrenAuthor.com or
www.facebook.com/groups/NancyWarrenKnitwits
To learn more about Nancy and her books
NancyWarrenAuthor.com
The Vampire Knitting Club: Cornwall, Book 1, Copyright © 2022 by Nancy Warren
Cover Design by Christian Bentulan
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means,
including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except
for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
ISBN: ebook 978-1-990210-72-3
ISBN: print 978-1-990210-73-0
Ambleside Publishing