Dark Garden Part 14

There was a corner in the walled garden where Mason liked to sit and read, just as her mother once did, in front of the small summerhouse that had held her prized exotic plants. Azaria had placed a bench there beneath a trellised archway. Mason could remember her with a book on her lap, her face shaded by a tidy straw hat. Back then creamy roses and jasmine had trailed over the archway, adding their fragrance to air sweet with lilac and boronia. Honeybees few sluggishly from one blossom to the next, weighed down with nectar, and the ravens that nested in the south wing would congregate along the herbal border, awaiting the bread she scattered.

They still frequented the garden; in fact, Ulysses was a fledgling Mason had found six years ago with a broken leg. The summerhouse was overgrown now, smothered in ivy and clematis, the gla.s.s dropping from frames buckled by time and neglect. Lichen crawled up the stained walls and the few surviving plants within were pale and straggly for want of light. Mason couldn't get the door open to rescue them for fear of bringing down the whole fragile structure. She knew she should simply accept its demise; it hadn't been built to withstand the toll of time. But she didn't want to build a clean and tidy replacement while she could still feel her mother's presence in this secluded oasis. For the same reason her father had insisted the garden stay untouched exactly as she'd left it. Mason used to watch him from an upstairs window, wandering along the path toward the summerhouse, pausing over objects Azaria had positioned here and there. Statuettes. Planters. Gifts he'd contributed to her bower.

After her death, the parasites took over, imposing on her retreat the wilder nature she'd held at bay. Yet her stamp lingered in the patterns of the cobblestones along the herbal borders and the flowering shrubs she'd planted, now rangy and monstrous with neglect. A clement wind breathed their scent on Mason-dead leaves and decay. Summer had departed, and with her the last of the late blooms.

Mason planned to begin work on the garden when spring came. She and Lynden had sat here not long before the accident, talking about a future unbound by the edicts of their father. A new beginning. The walls could come down. The ruined south wing would be leveled and something useful built. An indoor swimming pool, perhaps. Lynden had pictured children playing here, a new generation of Cavenders who would never know the Laudes Absalom he and Mason grew up in. The curse would be lifted.

"Your visitor has arrived." Mrs. Danville's immaculately polished shoes halted just in front of Mason's boots. "I've served coffee in the yellow parlor."

Mason stubbed out her cigar and signaled Ulysses. He few down from his vantage point on the summerhouse roof and caught hold of the leather shoulder perch she wore when she took him out.

"That bird of yours stole a coconut macaroon," Mrs. Danville said.

"He has good taste," Mason said as they set off toward the house. "Your cookies are superb."

Mrs. Danville gave a small sniff and glared at the unrepentant raven. "I have some news concerning our neighbor."

She'd spoken with Bridget Hardy, Mason surmised. She wondered if Vienna had arrived at Penwraithe yet. She'd resisted phoning the house to find out. The move would show weakness. Mason suspected Vienna would try holding out, expecting Mason to come crawling to her apologizing for her uncouth proposal. Grinning at the memory of her shocked face, Mason held the back door for Mrs. Danville. If Vienna couldn't bring herself to come to Laudes Absalom and try for better terms, let her return to the bosom of her family empty-handed. She'd be back.

Mrs. Danville adjusted the keys on her chatelaine. "It's about the Cavender Diamonds."

"Yes, I know she has them," Mason said.

A tiny, smug smile subverted her housekeeper's poker face. "Not all of them."

Mason pa.s.sed a treat up to Ulysses, who bobbed restlessly, sensing the excitement in his G.o.ddess.

"The pear is a fake," Mrs. Danville confided with just enough dignity to mask a flash of glee. "Miss Blake has Mrs. Hardy tearing the house apart, looking for the real diamond."

"Le Fantome is lost? How do you lose a three-million-dollar diamond?"

"Indeed." Mrs. Danville picked a speck of lint from her cashmere sweater. "Yet that's not the question weighing upon our neighbor. It seems poor Miss Blake has no clue if she was ever in possession of the real stone in the first place."

Mason spent a few seconds absorbing this information. "When did all of this come to light?"

"She found out last night last night when a man from De Beers looked at it. From what I hear she was flabbergasted."

Mason thought back to her discussion with Vienna about the necklace. She hadn't said a word about wearing a replica but her unease was palpable. Mason had imagined the tension was about her, but this new information shed a different light on Vienna's behavior. Mason should have known better than to think she would rush out here on her account. The Blakes had always been more interested in material possessions than people or principles. After all that attention during the diamond compet.i.tion at the party, Vienna must have been mortified to learn that her multi-million-dollar bauble was just a piece of gla.s.s. She'd probably stayed in town to hunt for it in the family's apartment.

If only she knew that while she was gnas.h.i.+ng her teeth over a fake last night, Mason had fifty carats of fine stones in her pocket and was doing a deal with Sergei Ivanov. And the Russian had brought an unexpected dividend to the table. He'd driven to the Azaria factory first thing in the morning and when he phoned Mason to confirm his investment he mentioned a pet banker who owed him a favor. On his recommendation Mason had a meeting arranged for the coming week. If she could refinance Cavender's debt and add some extra working capital, she was sure she could avoid bankruptcy. Vienna's offer was looking less appealing by the minute.

Mason wondered where the diamond was. She still couldn't believe her father had willingly sold the necklace to his enemies. "Mrs. Danville, did you know the Blakes had the necklace?"

"No, I knew your father had sold it a long time ago. Your mother preferred simpler jewelry."

"I remember her wearing the necklace when her portrait was painted." Azaria had allowed Mason to try on the diamonds along with a fancy gown, confirming for both of them that she should stick to boy's clothes, her usual attire.

"She was so beautiful, G.o.d rest her soul." Mrs. Danville allowed herself a wistful sigh, then smoothed her skirt and adjusted the collar of her blouse. "I suppose we must be thankful."

"Yes, we have her in our memories."

"Quite so. And I was also thinking of the necklace. Now that it's around a Blake neck, perhaps the curse will go with it."

Mason stared at her. "Do you really believe that?"

"I know it. The necklace is cursed."

"Why, because Nancy Cavender was wearing it when the train hit her?"

"Heavens no. It was cursed long before then." Mrs. Danville cast a quick, apprehensive glance around the great hall, then hauled the front door back and pointed at the statue of Estelle and her Saluki. "She did it. She was a witch."

"A witch." Mason suppressed a chuckle. She had never taken Mrs. Danville for the superst.i.tious type, although the housekeeper was a walking repository of Cavender family legend. There had always been dark rumblings about Estelle and her cowardly decision to drown herself and leave her poor husband to raise their son alone, but Mason had never heard her described as a witch.

"The Unhappy Bride," Mrs. Danville a.s.serted with conviction, "that's her."

Mason was perfectly willing to accept that Laudes Absalom was haunted; she'd felt the strange presence herself too often to pretend otherwise. But she'd thought the Unhappy Bride was Mrs. Danville's invention, a scapegoat for vases inexplicably broken and windows banging in empty rooms. She stopped outside the yellow parlor and sent Ulysses up toward the vaulted ceiling.

Conscious of keeping Josh waiting, she said, "We should discuss this later, Mrs. Danville."

She had papers to sign. Sergei Ivanov was as good as his word and was so eager to invest that he'd insisted on signing a preliminary agreement to that effect, just in case she changed her mind or found an investor whose money smelled better. Josh had decided to drive to Laudes Absalom immediately so they could get the paperwork in order for their meeting with Sergei's pet banker. They would have two million in cash from Sergei next week, most of which would be spent on machinery made by Cavender. The arrangement was a huge win.

Mrs. Danville swept into the parlor ahead of her and imperiously announced, "Ms. Cavender will see you now."

Josh wasn't in the room.

A fresh-faced stranger in a suit jumped to his feet and stuck out his hand. "Detective Trent Sherman. I'm with the DA's office."

"You've reopened the case?" Mason hoped she didn't sound as stunned as she felt.

"Ms. Blake approached us a couple of weeks ago and I was hoping to re-interview your father and your brother. But your housekeeper explained that both are deceased." He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," Mason said. It hadn't crossed her mind that Vienna would go to the police after she'd grilled Mrs. Danville. To buy herself time to a.s.semble her thoughts, she picked up a cookie she didn't want to eat and casually bit into it.

"I thought perhaps you could fill in a few details." Detective Sherman flipped open his notepad.

Mason chewed mechanically, then said. "I'm not sure what I can tell you. It's a long time ago."

"Ms. Blake denies having a romantic relations.h.i.+p with your brother. In the statement you gave at the time, you claim to know nothing about such a relations.h.i.+p. Is that correct?"

"They weren't involved with each other."

"You sound very certain of that."

"My brother and I were close. He would have told me."

"Yet your father had the same opinion as Mr. and Mrs. Blake. That they had hidden their relations.h.i.+p to avoid disapproval."

"Detective Sherman, if my brother had been meeting Vienna Blake that night, she would not have been a.s.saulted. He would never have allowed her to walk over here unescorted."

"Where was your brother?"

"Isn't it in your file?" Mason steadied her breathing. "He was the one who disturbed the attack. He was knocked unconscious."

"And where were you at the time?"

"At the barns. One of our horses was foaling. I was a.s.sisting our vet." That, at least, was the truth.

"Ah, yes." Sherman tapped his pen thoughtfully against the pad. "The vet left at ten p.m. and you then remained in the barns with a member of your staff."

"Yes, Mr. Pettibone."

"Is Mr. Pettibone still employed by your family?" At Mason's nod, he asked, "Where can I find him?"

"At this time of year, he'll be raking leaves if he's not in his apartment around the back of the house. I can give you his cell phone number."

"I'd appreciate that." Detective Sherman glanced out the wide bay window into the garden. "That's where she was found, isn't it?"

"Yes, over to left, near the cemetery."

"A note was found at the scene." He rummaged in his briefcase and produced a set of photographs. Handing one of these to Mason, he asked, "Have you ever seen this before?"

"Yes." The words danced in front of her.

It's time we talked. Would you do me the honor of joining me for dinner next Sat.u.r.day? Please reply below.

"Is that your brother's handwriting?"

"No."

"Your father stated that it was."

Perspiration damped Mason's hairline. "Detective, I wrote the note myself."

Sherman studied her closely. "Why didn't you say so before?"

"No one asked me."

Mason's hands were cold despite the fire she'd lit when she knew Josh was coming. She stared out into the garden and felt the past pressing down on her. If she hadn't sent that note, Vienna would not have been wandering through the grounds in the middle of the night. Mason had thought she was being wildly optimistic to hope for a reply; she'd never imagined Vienna would want to give her answer in person or she would have gone with Pettibone's grandson and waited outside. She'd drawn the obvious conclusion when the boy didn't return to the barn after an hour or so. It wasn't the first time she'd offered an olive branch, and her overtures were usually ignored. But this time Vienna had sent the Pettibone boy to the kitchen for a meal after telling him she would take the reply to Mason herself.

The change of heart had always plagued Mason. She didn't know if Vienna intended to express annoyance or accept the date. Either way, the consequences were the same. Whatever might have been was swept away.

"Why did you invite Ms. Blake to dinner?" Sherman asked.

"As you probably know, our families weren't on the best of terms," Mason said. "I thought things could be different for us. She hadn't been at Penwraithe for awhile, but I knew she would be at the ball, so I sent the note over with Mr. Pettibone's grandson."

"And Ms. Blake came over here in the dead of night to see you?" Sherman eyed her with sudden suspicion. "How well do you know each other, Ms. Cavender?"

"Are you asking if we were having a lesbian relations.h.i.+p?"

"Were you?"

Mason stretched her legs casually in front of her. "Unfortunately not."

The detective rifled through his notes, his cheeks slightly flushed, then handed her another photograph. "This necklace was also recovered. The Blakes confirmed their daughter was wearing it that night. There was speculation that the attack could have been a robbery attempt."

"It's a valuable necklace," Mason said.

"Ms. Blake telephoned this morning and informed me that this is the necklace known as the Cavender Diamonds." He finally seemed to be getting to the point. "Is it possible that your father saw Ms. Blake wearing this important heirloom and lost his temper? Could he have seized the opportunity to get the necklace back?"

"My father is the one who sold it to the Blakes," Mason said patiently. "Besides, he wasn't at Laudes Absalom when Vienna was attacked."

"But you and your brother were. How did you two feel about seeing your neighbor's daughter wearing that necklace? After all, it should have been yours."

"Detective Sherman, the first time I ever saw Vienna wearing that necklace was last night."

Undeterred, Sherman said, "Would you object to providing a DNA sample?"

"Are you suggesting that I had something to do with the attack?"

"DNA wasn't so widely used ten years ago," Sherman said. "But we now have the opportunity to re-examine the evidence. If we have a sample, we can rule you out."

"Then I have nothing to lose."

Sherman whipped out a kit and swabbed her mouth. "We appreciate your cooperation, Ms. Cavender."

"No problem." Mason stood.

As Detective Sherman walked with her to the door, he said, "I have one more question."

Mason had been waiting for the shoe to fall. "Yes?"

"Do you know who did it?"

"I'm not a detective," Mason said. "All I can tell you is that it won't matter what you find out. The Blakes have never wanted to know the truth."

Chapter sixteen.

I don't have the faintest idea what you're talking about," Marjorie said. Her tone was whiny. She had a fas.h.i.+on show to get to and Vienna's questions were holding her up. "Oh, d.a.m.n. I've just applied the wrong fragrance. Bal Versailles in the middle of the afternoon. No one will be expecting that."

"Think of it as a style statement," Vienna said unsympathetically.