“Oh, indeed, yes. Poor dear Annabel. I’ve never seen anyone so stricken with grief before.”
Hughes got to his feet. “That will be all for now, Lady Annabel. Thank you. If you could notify your entire staff that I’d like to speak to them all later this morning. Can you have them assembled, say, at eleven-thirty?”
“If you wish,” Annabel said, “although I really can’t think that any of my staff …” She left the sentence unfinished and went out. Ben Cresswell went to follow, but Hughes held up his hand.
“A few questions first, sir, if you don’t mind. Seeing that you were here on the night of the tragedy.” He motioned to the upright chair as he walked around to resume sitting at Lady Annabel’s desk. “Now, sir. You say that you are Lady Annabel’s friend.”
“Old and dear friend, yes. We used to play together as children. Our mothers were friends from finishing school days.”
Evan had a chance to study the man for the first time. His was a formerly handsome face that, like Lady Annabel’s, had gone to seed. There were bags under his eyes and too many chins, while the red nose indicated either a life of fox hunting or too many whiskies. He was wearing an Aran sweater one size too small for him. The sort of man who would call people like Evan “my dear chap”—or even “chappie.” Probably ex-army.
“And you are now her financial adviser?”
“That’s right. Went into the City right after my army days. I took over the affairs of this estate when the old man started going— how shall I put it—rather peculiar. Of course, he was always eccentric, but what old family doesn’t have an eccentric now and then? What a boring old world it would be if everyone was sane and sensible, what?”
Hughes, who had never been anything other than sane and sensible, coughed in reply.
“And then the old Lord Bland-Tyghe died?” he asked.
“Actually he was Sir Ambrose. Knight. Not lord. Slight difference.”
Evan noticed Hughes bristle at the condescension.
“Sir Ambrose then. Lady Annabel inherited on his death?”
“Yes. She was the only surviving Bland-Tyghe. That was two years ago now. The property is so huge that the death taxes were horrendous, as you can imagine. Annabel begged me to come up with a way to keep her property. But I had no idea she’d get this crazy notion of turning it into a New Age center.”
He leaned forward in his seat. “Between you and me, Chief Inspector, Annabel has always been very gullible. One day she was going to be an actress, the next she was going to fly out to Calcutta and help Mother Teresa. They were all passing whims. This would have passed too if that dreadful man hadn’t latched onto her.”
“Mr. Wunderlich, you mean?”
“Of course. When Annabel poured out all her troubles on that wretched psychic hot line, he realized he was on to a good thing.”
“You think he only married her for the property?”
“Of course. Why else? Young, fit men don’t often go for chubby middle-aged women, do they? The other way around, I admit, but …”
“I take it you didn’t approve.”
“It was a disaster. The man had big ideas but no capital to back them up. I warned them to get the enterprise up and running first and then put in amenities with the profits, but he wouldn’t wait. He wanted the spa and the meditation center and the gourmet kitchen all at once. It has drained the very last of Annabel’s inheritance, I can tell you that, Chief Inspector.”
“Didn’t Lady Annabel try to stop him?”
“She wouldn’t listen to me. She was still at the infatuation stage. Everything Randy did was wonderful. It would only have lasted another month or two and then she would have tired of him anyway.”
“So all in all, you’d say that Randy Wunderlich’s death is a blessing?”
“As her financial adviser, I’d say it has come too late. She may well have to auction off the property. But as a friend I say better late then never.”
“Do you take sleeping pills, Mr. Cresswell?” Hughes asked.
“Sleeping pills? Good lord no. I was in the Guards, man. I don’t mamby pamby myself.”
Hughes got to his feet. “Thank you, Mr. Cresswell. You’ve been most helpful. Can I ask you to stay around a few more days until we’ve got this matter sorted out?”
“Sorted out? What is there to sort out? The fool went into a cave and got himself drowned.”
“Not exactly, sir,” Hughes said. “Someone made sure he was asleep when the tide came in.”
Ben Cresswell took a moment to register this. “Someone made sure—Good God! So that’s why you asked me about sleeping pills … . Well, that changes everything, doesn’t it?” His red face flushed even redder. “Listen, old chap. All that I said about not liking him and Annabel being better off without him—I don’t want you to think …”
Ben Cresswell blundered out of the room.
“Interesting.” Chief Inspector Hughes looked up at Evan. “We’ve already come up with one person who didn’t adore Randy Wunderlich.”
“I don’t think he’ll be the only one, sir, from what I’ve observed,” Evan said.
“Really? Well, let’s bring in the next contestant, shall we?” He chuckled at his little joke.
Mrs. Roberts sat stiff and erect on the straight-backed chair and eyed the chief inspector coldly.
