Whether Morton’s suspicions about the close proximity of Horace’s death to the sale of the America Ground were true or not, there was something not quite right there. What were the chances of his killing himself just two weeks after a valuable tract of land entered the hands of a private real estate management company, for which he possibly held some kind of legal entitlement?
Morton sighed, as he stuck Horace’s death certificate to the wall.
It was now almost eight p.m. and he had just hours until Kevin and his crew would turn up for the original indentures.
Now, what he needed more than anything, was a plan.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The alarm on his iPhone was called Slow Rise. It was anything but that. Morton woke instantly to the annoyingly repetitive beating of a glockenspiel.
‘What’s that set for?’ Juliette groaned from beside him. She leant to her bedside table and squinted at the brightness as she illuminated her own phone. ‘Jesus, it’s four a.m.’
Morton sat up and switched the alarm off. ‘Surprise!’ he mumbled. ‘We’re going away for a couple of nights.’ He turned his bedside lamp on and climbed out of bed.
‘What? What do you mean?’
‘Just that, we’re going to a nice beachfront hotel for a couple of nights. Come on, get up.’
Juliette sighed and lay back down. ‘I don’t understand. I’m working for the next two days.’
‘Not to worry,’ Morton answered, disappearing from the room. He padded upstairs to his study, grabbed the suitcase that he’d packed last night and headed back into the bedroom, switching on the main light as he entered.
Juliette flinched and tugged the duvet up over her face. ‘What’s happening?’ she complained. ‘I don’t want to go away. Where are we even going?’
‘I told you, a lovely hotel. I’ve even got us a balcony overlooking the sea. Come on, get up.’ Morton stripped off his boxer shorts and t-shirt and began to pull on yesterday’s clothes.
‘Where?’ Juliette demanded.
‘You’ll soon see,’ he replied, attempting to sound cheerier than his drained mind and body felt. ‘You can still get to work from there, don’t worry.’
Through the passenger window, Juliette watched as the thin orange crust of the dawning sun broke above the smooth sea. She had been asleep for much of the journey, leaving Morton on the deserted roads alone, deep in thought. His main preoccupation had been with his grand master plan. He’d spent a good deal of time yesterday trying to think of what to do, but all he could come up with was to leave Rye undetected, hopefully buying him a few more hours to solve the case. He had then determined that he would tell Juliette everything and let the police take over.
He was as satisfied as he could be that they hadn’t been followed and he just had to hope that Juliette’s car hadn’t also had a tracker fitted. Despite her protestations, he was glad that she was working today—after all, she couldn’t be in a safer place than in a police station.
They were driving along the A259, which ran the length of Hastings seafront, passing directly over what had once been the America Ground. It was strange for him to think of those thousand people who had once called this area home, going about their daily lives right here. He turned to tell Juliette all about it, but she had gone back to sleep.
He continued a short distance along the seafront then slowed down in front of the White Rock Hotel, at the foot of what had once been called Cuckoo Hill, indicating to pull into their car park.
Juliette flashed awake and shot a disbelieving look at him. ‘Here? Hastings? This is where you’ve brought me for two nights away?’
‘Nice, isn’t it?’ Morton said, drawing into a parking space at the rear of the hotel.
‘Are you actually joking?’ she asked.
Morton shook his head.
‘Why here?’
‘I just wanted to get away, plus I’ve got a ton of research to do in town so I just thought it would be nice to have a couple of nights in a hotel.’
He made more of a meal parking her car than was strictly necessary, so that he could avoid her penetrating gaze as she attempted to work him out. ‘Why didn’t we just stay at your dad’s house, then?’
He turned and gave her an I can’t believe you just said that look.
She sighed. ‘And why’s she coming with us,’ Juliette asked, turning behind her to face Eliza Lovekin’s portrait.
‘She fancied a break, too,’ he quipped.
Juliette rolled her eyes. ‘Come on, then, let’s check in. I might be able to get a bit more sleep before work.’
From the boot, Morton removed the suitcase and from the back seat Eliza’s portrait, then led them inside the hotel.
‘Good morning!’ a cheery young man greeted, leaping to his feet from behind reception. He’d obviously just worked the night shift and was glad to see other human beings. He eyed the painting with interest.
‘Morning,’ Juliette said, stretching and yawning.
‘Someone’s had a long journey,’ the receptionist chirped. ‘Where have you come from?’
‘Rye,’ she said matter-of-factly.
‘Oh, right,’ he replied with a frown. ‘Rye as in-’
‘Twenty minutes up the road, Rye?’ Juliette interjected. ‘Yes, that’s the one.’ She gave a ridiculing look and gestured her hands towards Morton.
The receptionist looked confused. ‘Okay,’ he said, dragging the word out. ‘Well, if I can take a name, please?’
‘Schmidt,’ Morton answered, his cheeks flushing as he spoke. Yesterday it had seemed like a good idea to book under a false name, but now it seemed a little silly and over the
