“Thank you, sir,” Betsy said. “Glad to have been of help.”
“Well, what do you think?” Hughes looked up at Evan.
“About what?” Evan asked.
“Did she do it?”
Chapter 16
“It wouldn’t be the first time that a murderer has claimed to have dreamed where the body could be found—and she admits bringing him the cup of coffee, which could easily have contained the sleeping draught.” The chief inspector was looking rather pleased with himself, Evan thought.
“With all respect, sir. That’s bloody stupid,” Evan said. “I’ve known Betsy for a couple of years now. Not the brightest girl in the world, a bit naive, easily impressed, but …”
“She could have been working with someone else then. ‘Easily impressed,’ you say. Maybe someone else put her up to it.”
“I can’t think who,” Evan said. “She only met these people a few days ago. And I said she wasn’t the brightest girl in the world, but she’s not stupid either. She’s got enough common sense not to go poisoning someone or claiming she’d had a dream. I saw her that night—she was shaking with fright. It wasn’t put on.”
“I don’t believe in powers myself, Constable. If you say Randy Wunderlich didn’t kill himself, then someone had a good reason for wanting him dead. Let’s see which of them, shall we?” He glanced at his list. “I think we should start with Lady Annabel. Always look nearest to home when it comes to murder—that’s my number-one rule. Ten to one the spouse or next of kin did it! Tell Lady Annabel I’m ready to see her now.” He raised his hand in an imperious gesture that somehow looked right as it came from Lady Annabel’s chair.
Evan was tempted to bow. “I’ll tell her, sir,” he said.
Lady Annabel had dressed for the occasion. No warm-up suits today. She was wearing an expensive navy dress with a Hermes scarf at her throat and a large diamond on her finger. Her hair was lacquered into a perfect twist and her face was a serene mask of makeup. Even Hughes was a little taken aback as she swept in. He got to his feet. “Of course, you must have this chair, Lady Annabel.”
“Thank you.” She took it without protest. Hughes perched himself on the wooden upright.
“Now just a few questions about your husband’s death, if you don’t mind.”
“Must we? This has been very painful for me, as I’m sure you understand, Inspector. All I want is his body returned to me for burial, and to be left alone in my grief.”
“We’ll do all we can to return the remains to you, Lady Annabel, but I’m afraid your husband’s death can no longer be ruled accidental.”
A little gasp came from Lady Annabel and she put her hand to her throat in a dramatic gesture. “Are you saying that somebody killed him?”
“Or that he killed himself.”
“Oh, no. Not Randy. Randy loved life. He had so much to live for. He’d never, ever kill himself.”
“Then the sooner we get to the bottom of this, the better,” Hughes said. “With your cooperation, Lady Annabel?”
“But of course. What would you like to know?”
“Your name is Lady Annabel Bland-Tyghe? Is that correct?”
“Actually my name is Mrs. Randal Wunderlich,” she said. “People around here have known me as Lady Annabel all my life, so I decided to keep it. Randy thought it created the right image for the place.”
“And how long had you been married?”
Her face creased in pain. “Not even a year. We were married last summer, in Las Vegas.”
“If you don’t mind my saying so—” Hughes cleared his throat “—you seem a very unlikely couple. How did you meet?”
“Randy saved my life,” she said simply.
“He did? How?”
“I went through a stage of intense depression. My father had died and I didn’t know how I was going to be able to pay the death taxes to keep the property that I loved so much. I was just drifting. I didn’t know what I was going to do next. I was visiting friends on the East Coast and my friend Dodie had become a real disciple of the New Age. She told me about this marvelous psychic hot line. So I called and Randy was wonderful. He told me so many things about myself and when he heard all my troubles—about trying to hang onto the property—he was so positive and supportive. I called him again and again and one thing led to another. He flew across from California to meet me and it was incredible. He told me his vision for a center he wanted to build—a place that would encompass healing and spirituality and psychic gifts. And when he described it—you won’t believe this—it was my property he was talking about!”
Her face had become alight with joy. “When I showed him pictures, he was as flabbergasted as I was. It seemed as if we were meant to be together, didn’t it? So we flew to Las Vegas, got married, and came here to put Randy’s vision into action.”
“When did you say that was? Last summer?” Hughes asked.
Lady Annabel nodded. “Our timing was poor, unfortunately. We had wanted to have the place up and running for the summer holidays, but by the time everything was in place, it was already mid-September—too late to attract many guests. We’ve had a pretty grim winter, actually. It’s not inexpensive to operate a place of this scale. But we were so hopeful for this summer season. Bookings were coming in. We were starting to get some publicity. Everything would have been wonderful.” She pressed her lips together and composed herself. “Now I don’t know anymore.”
“I’m sorry,” Hughes said. “Do you think you’ll have to close the place?”
“Not if I can help it,” Annabel said. “It was Randy’s dream. I can’t let his dream die, can I? I’m going to soldier on, I suppose. I come from a long line of fighters.”
She gave him a brave smile.
“If I could just ask you a couple of questions about Mr. Wunderlich’s death, Lady Annabel.”
She nodded.
“You say that things weren’t going well. You were experiencing financial difficulties. And yet you don’t for a moment consider that your husband’s death might have been suicide?”
Annabel shook her head violently. “I’m sure of it, Chief Inspector. Randy was the eternal optimist. He was actually very excited this past week. He told me that good things were just about to happen. He saw the Sacred Grove as the center of lots of publicity and the bookings rolling in. He was a well-known psychic, you know.”
Evan thought of the man he had seen coming up from the beach. He had certainly looked like someone who was relaxed and confident—rather full of himself, in fact.
The chief inspector cleared his throat. “Which brings us to the next question, Lady Annabel. Can you think of anyone who wanted your husband out of the way?”
“Nobody—everyone adored him. He was a likable man.”
“So you’ve no idea of who might have slipped him a powerful drug and left him to drown?”
Annabel looked horrified. “Is that what they did? Monstrous, absolutely monstrous. You have to catch him, Inspector.”
“You sound sure that your husband’s killer was a man.”
“Well, yes. It never occurred to me that it could be a woman, but …”
Evan was watching her closely. Something had crossed Lady Annabel’s mind, “But surely a woman couldn’t have got Randy into that cave? Over all those boulders?”
There was a tap on the door and the middle-aged man Evan only knew as Ben came in. “I don’t think it’s right that Annabel should be questioned alone, in her delicate mental state,” he said. “She’s not herself at the moment, Inspector.”
“It’s chief inspector, sir,” Hughes said, “and who might you be?”