Sculpt a Murder Read online

  Christian huffed and ran a hand over his glossy hair. “Anything’s possible.”

  Alice stood up and retrieved her shoes. “Look, there’s no food here, so why don’t you come and have lunch with me at The Coffee Pot?”

  “Thanks, but I think I’ll get an Indian takeaway and watch the end of Devi’s film.” Christian brushed by Alice and ran up the companionway.

  Alice was still staring after him with an outstretched hand, when Roddy Rafferty appeared in the open doorway.

  “Dear girl, bless you! It’s been years since I had that effect on a woman.” Roddy grinned. “And that’s before I’ve shown you my surprise. Come on up.”

  Alice stepped onto the deck to find her round metal table laid with a whole fish, a dish of salad and a stick of French bread. Beside it, a bottle of wine cooled in a bucket of icy water.

  “I thought I’d treat you to lunch for a change.” Roddy pulled out a chair and placed a faded linen napkin on Alice’s lap. “I caught the fish this morning up at Little Cornbury.”

  “What a lovely surprise, thank you, Roddy. What fish is this?”

  “A brown fish.” Roddy served Alice a portion.

  “It tastes amazing.”

  “Barbequed it as soon as I got it home, the best way to cook fish.” Roddy filled their glasses. “So how is life chez Buchanan? Going well I hope.”

  “Yeah, it’s good.”

  Roddy stroked his cheek. “Though the tone of your voice suggests otherwise.”

  “No really. It’s fine.”

  “Forgive me for persisting, but your jutting chin confirms that there is something bothering you.”

  Rats! How did the man know? Alice put down her fork and leant back.

  “Nothing’s wrong. It’s just that I’ve lived on my own for a while and I’m struggling to adapt to living with someone else.”

  “A sharing problem. Is it the space or the bathroom products?”

  “Joe is as light as me on the products. And it’s not the space either; I have Daisy if I need some space. It’s more … the fact of it.”

  “Living with someone, anyone, can be difficult. But you just need to persevere. It will get easier.”

  “I’m sure you’re right. And Joe is so laid back.”

  “So commitment phobia slain?”

  “I hope so. But it’s early days and I don’t want to jinx our relationship.”

  “Joe is unjinxable. And if he’s not, I’ll get my voodoo doll out and stick pins in it.” Roddy broke off a piece of bread. “I see Christian’s settling in okay.”

  “He may have settled in better than I anticipated. He came with me to Renton Hall this morning, took one look at Devi Dutta and he was gone.”

  “Well she is a Bollywood star. You can hardly blame him, she’s quite something.”

  “She is. But her boyfriend’s just been shot and she’ll be going back home to Mumbai soon.”

  “Things will run their course on that front. However, this murder business: What do you make of it?”

  “I’m glad you asked.” Alice told him about her conversation with Eleanor Carberry and her visit to Simon Newgate. “The killer had to be one of the guests at the party. Eleanor’s convinced it was Nick’s business partner, but now that I’ve met him, I’m not so sure. I mean, he was a bit shifty, but he works in advertising!”

  “With Nick gone, Newgate might end up owning the whole company, wouldn’t he? And if he’s someone who doesn’t like being told what to do, that has the makings of a motive for murder.”

  “But Nick Carberry brought in lots of business and the company was doing great. Why kill the golden goose?”

  “That is the other side of the coin. Fascinating …”

  “Isn’t it? But I don’t even know where to start.” She saw Roddy arch an eyebrow beneath his straw hat. “Okay, I do know where to start. Get as much information on the victim as possible. I know next to nothing about Nick. What do you know about the Carberrys, Roddy?”

  “Not a great deal, other than that they are a wealthy family who live in a big house. But I have a reliable pipeline to the local gossip if you would like me to tap into it.”

  “Yes please, that might be helpful. But don’t let it interfere with your own work. You’ve got your exhibition soon.”

  “Dear girl, if I’ve learnt one thing in life, it’s to let everything interfere with your work. It will get done of its own accord.”

  “If only my freelance business would run itself.”

  “It will eventually, but it needs a bit of nurturing at the beginning.” Roddy walked across the deck and leant against the barge’s side. “If you’re not going to finish that bread, your swan friends are over here looking for lunch.”

  Four fluffy cygnets fought over the crumbs Alice threw in the river, watched over by their elegant mother.

  “I was thinking,” said Roddy. “Bumping off your business partner at a family party is the perfect cover. All those people coming and going, a darkening evening, a wood. It has all the ingredients for a perfect murder mystery.”

  “That’s true.” Alice wiped crumbs from her hands. “Actually, I’ve just remembered. There was a blond man who called Nick away while I was talking to him.”

  “Really? Who was he?”

  “No idea. He whispered something in Nick’s ear, then Nick excused himself and left. That was the last time I saw him alive.”

  Roddy twirled a strand of grey beard. “Very interesting. So we need to track down a blond-haired man and find out what he said to Carberry.”

  Alice looked at her friend. “Do you know, Roddy, I think you’re enjoying helping me solve these murders.”

  “Do you know, Alice, I think I am.”

  Chapter 6

  A morning mist crept over the fields and kissed the surface of the water as Alice walked beside the river to Daisy Dawn. She had got up with the birds, woken by Joe gathering his equipment together for a two-day photography assignment in Edinburgh.

  Taking advantage of the early start, she had answered emails, especially those asking for quotes on new projects. Chasing after work was a new experience for Alice. She had spent all her career in the comfort zone of regular contracted employment at art galleries. Now that her reputation in the field was growing, she hoped that the Renton Hall project would lead to more opportunities as a freelancer.

  A murdered client on her shift, however, was not going to enhance her resumé.

  Alice stopped at the market, where she sated her sweet tooth at Marilyn’s Candy Stall. She picked up a bag of the week’s special, chocolate and lime candies, testing a few before she reached Daisy.

  Christian emerged from the cabin, dressed in a tailored linen suit, crisp white shirt and red and yellow striped silk tie. Alice looked down at her shorts and navy t-shirt. She had still to master the art of freelance dressing.

  “You look ridiculously smart. Where are you going?”

  “With you of course, to Renton Hall.” Christian’s voice lifted. “As it’s such a big job, I thought you needed a full-time assistant. And I’ve already met Eleanor.”

  Alice moved empty Curry House takeaway boxes from the counter, reaching underneath for a black rubbish bag.

  “I don’t need an assistant, Christian. And aren’t you supposed to be sorting out your own life?”

  “I can do that while I give you a hand. Besides, it gives us the chance to spend more time together.”

  The truth was that Alice knew she would enjoy it too. “In that case, you can help me get organised. I need a couple of A4 pads, some sellotape and lots of different coloured felt tips; they’re in that pencil case on the coffee table. Also, I’m going to photograph the collection for the inventory and I’ve brought one of Joe’s cameras. Would you mind checking that the battery’s charged? If not there are some spares in one
of the drawers in the sideboard.”

  Christian flitted between the saloon and the cabin, gathering things up, while Alice unplugged her laptop and slotted it into a case. Roddy’s head appeared at the hatch door.

  “Is it safe to come in?”

  “Absolutely,” said Alice. “Come on down and tell us how your painting’s going.”

  Roddy helped himself to a flying saucer from the sweet jar on the coffee table and settled on the sofa.

  “Slowly. Painfully. Expensively. But mostly slowly.”

  “Oh. Sorry to hear that. But you’ve done solo exhibitions before, so you know what’s involved.”

  “Dear girl, it’s been years since my last one-man show. And I don’t remember there being this much work. The show is supposed to open in a few weeks and at this rate, I’ll hardly have anything to display.”

  Alice perched on the sofa’s arm. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “You can be your usual engaging self, Alice. The rest I’m going to have to do myself.” Roddy’s brown eyes twinkled.

  “How many paintings do you need?”

  “I can’t bring myself to say the number out loud. But enough to fill both downstairs rooms at Gregory’s House.”

  “Gosh, I see the size of the problem. What’s the theme again?”

  “Regional landscapes, luckily, which gives me plenty of scope. There’ll be other local artists upstairs too.” Roddy slipped off his flip-flops. “I’ve got the painting I did of the river out here recently. And I’m doing some sketches of the fields opposite, but I’m stumped after that.”

  “Why don’t you come with us to Renton Hall?” shouted Christian from the cabin. “There’s loads of pretty scenery around the grounds.”

  “I wasn’t planning to put any dead bodies in my pictures. But now you mention it, it would create a talking point!”

  “Roddy, that’s terrible,” said Alice. “Even by your standards.”

  Roddy threw up both hands. “I stand admonished.”

  “He’s right, though, it’s lovely at Renton Hall. Why don’t you come with us and have a scout around for ideas?” Alice lowered her voice. “Christian’s hijacked my assistant’s spot, but really it’s so he can see Devi again. He’s got the hots for her.”

  Roddy shifted closer to Alice. “Tell me about it. I came over here last night to ask Christian to turn down that appalling music – I’m sorry Alice, but Indian music just doesn’t shake my tree. And I ended up staying half the night, while he wittered on about Devi’s movies and something about clothes.”

  “You could have just left him and gone home.”

  “I know, I know, but at first I didn’t want to abandon him. He appeared so bruised and vulnerable after being dumped by Jasmine. Yes, I got that story too. And then I discovered he’d found an instant cure …”

  Their laughter brought Christian out of the cabin. He searched their faces for signs of the joke.

  “Okay Christian. It’s time to carry my bag.”

  Built in the eighteenth century, Renton Hall had already experienced fire, neglect and lavish attention by the time that Wilfred Carberry bought the house in 1913. Over the years, the Carberrys had modernised the interior, introducing television, double-glazing and microwave ovens. But when Alice drove the Defender between two stone lions at the end of the driveway, she entered a landscape that had barely changed in two hundred years.

  Lush grass edged both sides of the drive, turning into fields filled with glowing, gilded wheat on her left hand side. On the right a wood, the outer edge marking the border with the neighbouring property, ran up to the house a hundred yards ahead and wrapped around the back.

  A pheasant shot out of the trees and across the road, gold speckles on its back shimmering in the sunshine. Alice braked when a second bird followed and she watched it amble across the driveway to join its mate. Outside the house, men in white overalls emerged from two vans. They took out ladders, buckets and tins of paint, setting them down at the front door of the house.

  Roddy sauntered around the side of the house while Alice and Christian picked their way over plastic sheets in the hallway. They were about to make their way to the attic when Eleanor called out. “Alice, can I have a quick word before you start, please?”

  Alice put her laptop on the stairs. “Christian, would you mind going over to Jeremy’s snug and checking that all the paintings he found have been brought down to the house? I have a feeling we may have left a box behind.”

  Christian slung the camera bag over his shoulder and made for the conservatory, running a soft hand over his quiff.

  “Gina Salvini, our interior decorator, is coming today and she wants to talk you through her design plans.” Eleanor twirled her hand around a knob at the foot of the bannister. “We’ve agreed that her team will start here in the reception area.”

  “Good, I’m looking forward to meeting Gina.”

  “And one more thing. I’m having lunch with Harry and Cheryl and I’d like you to join us. I’m hoping they’ll take a more active role in the project now. I don’t think I can manage the whole thing by myself.” Eleanor looked into the distance. “Without Nick.”

  In the attic, Alice folded her arms, leant back against an oak post and looked through the round gable window. Outside, a pair of ducks nestled into the grass on the edge of the stilled lake. It was still inside the stuffed attic too. Alice looked around, wondering where to start.

  She made for the pieces that had previously hung in the house. Georgian landscapes in oil with spidery cracks; vibrant pots of flowers; spare contemporary abstracts; family portraits. The usual eclectic choices that formed most of the private collections Alice had seen.

  She opened a spreadsheet and typed in information about each piece. Title, artist, date and any other facts she thought Eleanor would want recorded. Alice unwrapped each work, took a photo on her phone, typed up the data and re-wrapped the picture. Whilst fascinating, it was repetitive work and with nobody to talk to, Alice found the local radio station on her laptop. She turned up the volume and sang along.

  Paintings logged, Alice moved on to a row of boxes on a shelf. She opened the first one, filled with items wrapped in newspaper. She had just released a copper sculpture of a tramp from its covering, when Eleanor appeared in the doorway.

  “I called you from the bottom of the stairs and it wasn’t until I was half way up and heard the music, that I realised why you couldn’t hear me.”

  Alice rushed to the laptop and paused the radio. “I’m so sorry, it was louder than I thought.”

  “It must be a bit lonely up here on your own – I would have done the same thing.” Eleanor picked up the tramp sculpture. “I thought this was the ugliest thing I’d ever seen when my father brought it home. It sat on a little table beside mother’s armchair in the drawing room. I used to hide it behind a big lamp. Ghastly little thing.”

  “I’m not mad on it either I must admit, though there’s a market for these. It will probably fetch a couple of hundred pounds at auction.”

  “Good. I’ll give it to Jeremy and he can take care of it, along with the furniture.” Eleanor put the sculpture back in the box. “I came to tell you that Gina Salvini has arrived and she’d like to meet you.”

  They found Gina in a corner of the library, a mobile phone held to one ear. A petite woman with a tight dark bun and dark-rimmed glasses, her free arm flew around her as she talked. She spotted Eleanor and signed off with a brusque, “Ciao.”

  “Tsk,” said Gina. “Suppliers, they are the same everywhere. They promise you they can move the earth and then they tell you that moving the earth is impossible.” She grasped Alice’s outstretched hand. “I am delighted to meet you, Alice. Eleanor has told me about your job here. We will work well together I think.” In her heavy Italian accent the word came out as ‘tink’.

  “I�
�m looking forward to seeing your plans for the hotel.”

  “There is no need for writing. It is all in here.” Gina tapped her head. “I will tell you my plans.”

  “I’ve already put aside a couple of good paintings,” said Alice. “I thought they could go in here.”

  “They will not be required. I have briefed my dealer in Paris, who will source the perfect artworks for you.”

  Gina’s message that her own art recommendations would not be required, caught Alice unawares.

  “But I thought we could use some pieces from our own collection,” said Eleanor, her cheeks reddening. “We have some fine artworks.”

  “We don’t want fine.” Gina threw both arms in the air. “We want magnificent, we want extraordinary. We want a hotel with artworks fit for a king.”

  A hotel for kings in Great Wheaton! Alice lowered her head to hide a smirk. But when she looked at Gina again, she could tell the designer wasn’t joking.

  Eleanor stepped within arm-waving distance of Gina. “But, I wanted—”

  “I promise you will get a hotel beyond your wildest dreams. Just leave everything to Gina Salvini.”

  Chapter 7

  Alice sat at Wilfred Carberry’s desk in the attic, staring at her computer screen and still smarting from Gina Salvini’s brush-off. Of course Gina was in charge of the decorating – she was the designer, after all. But Eleanor had specifically told Alice that she should propose artworks from the family’s collection. It was Eleanor and Nick’s wish for the new project to have a strong link with the original family home.

  And that was the part of the job that Alice had been most looking forward to. It was a big project in her new freelance career and Alice wanted to learn and experience as much as possible. She had hoped that she could persuade Eleanor to accept enough recommendations to cover the whole hotel. She needed case histories for her website and the Renton Hall project would be the perfect endorsement. She wanted to appeal to people who needed help arranging their own paintings, as Alice thought that much of her business would lie in that area.