“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?”
“I’m Benedict Cresswell, Annabel’s good friend and financial adviser.”
“Do you live here too, sir?”
“No, I was just down for a few days to discuss financial matters, then this happened, so I stayed on because Annabel needed me.”
“So you were here when the—tragedy—happened?”
