“Not good enough.”
“But it’s the best you’re going to get.” She was glaring at him.
Jack was the first to look away. “I wish I could put us all on a plane for home,” he said softly so only Kate would hear.
&nb
sp; “Me too. When I asked if there was a mystery, I meant one where we’d research the history books. That man in there was real.”
“Poor guy. He was blamed for everything but did nothing wrong,” Jack said.
“Except whatever he did that got him killed. If he was playing around with the emotions of women, maybe he deserved—” At Jack’s look she took a drink of her tea. They had an unwritten rule not to blame the victim—until they found out that he or she deserved it. “Okay, it’s too early for that. But there was something going on that he alone knew about.”
“How do you figure that? No. Got it. Kill him and the secret dies. Think he was blackmailing someone?”
“Don’t—” Kate began.
Jack cut her off. “Right. Don’t blame the victim.”
“I wonder who put his body in the pit?”
“Not a clue,” Jack said. “I wonder exactly how he died?”
“We could call the police and get an autopsy done.”
Jack didn’t answer. He looked at Sara and Puck, their heads together. “If we dig deep enough, it’s all going to be exposed. Not just here but to the world.”
They were quiet for a moment as they thought about that. They’d had a lot of experience with the turmoil the press could create.
Kate spoke first. “I think it’s time your girlfriend told us what she knows.”
“She’s not—” Jack began, then stopped. “She’s the love of my life. We’ll be married here. Will you be my best man?”
“Only if I get to wear a Tom Ford tux.” Kate saw Sara signal them to come over and they went to sit at the table. Puck’s supplies for her wreaths had been moved to the top of an antique chest.
“So what have you two decided?” Sara asked. She nodded at the pictures on the screen of the computer. “By the way, good job both of you. The photos are excellent.”
“This is my finest hour,” Jack said solemnly. “Praise for picture takin’. This is an historical moment.” He was trying to lighten the mood but no one smiled. “Puck, you have any eggs I could scramble? I think this will take a while. We need sustenance while we make a plan.”
The trio was used to working together and Puck fit in well with them. She pulled things from the fridge and the larder while Jack cooked. There was a skillet of thick English bacon, another of eggs scrambled in butter that had been churned at a local farm. Berries came from the Oxley Manor kitchen garden. Puck put a bowl of bread rolls on the table.
They sat down and dug in.
Sara was the first to open the dreaded conversation. She turned to Puck. “I assume you know that you’re in danger from someone. Your shoes bother me. If the murderer didn’t see them, you’re fine. But if he—”
“Or she,” Kate said.
“If someone did see them and did nothing, that means you’re known to them. Knows you’re the type to keep your mouth shut. Are you known for keeping secrets?”
“Yes,” Puck said.
“But who saw the shoes?” Jack asked. “Or did they? I couldn’t see that anyone had been in there.”
“At least not this year,” Sara said. “For all we know, those vines were cut back last year. All we can be sure of is that there was no trampling there in the last six months.”
“We don’t know when he was killed,” Kate said. “Maybe he did run away, but came back years later. I don’t know how long it takes for a body to, uh, become a skeleton. Maybe...” She trailed off. None of them believed that.
“1994,” Sara said. “In May of that year Diana and the groomsman disappeared.” She turned to Puck. “How do you know it’s him in that hole?”