mere empty etiquette, but it would at least give him the sense that Sebastian’s death had not passed unmarked.
Cassie would have the address.
As Kincaid turned from locking his suite door behind him, he found Penny MacKenzie hovering uncertainly in the hall. She was dressed this morning in slacks, sweater and sensible lace-up walking shoes, and seemed in some way diminished, as if she had shed some dimension of her personality along with her eccentricities. A lady, past middle-age, a little frail perhaps, but ordinary. Her enthusiasm was missing, Kincaid realized, her bubbling manner replaced by hesitancy.
“Morning, Miss MacKenzie.”
“Oh, Mr. Kincaid. I was hoping… I mean, I thought if you were… I’d just wait…” The words ran down and she stood silent, looking at him helplessly.
“Did you want to talk to me about something?”
“I didn’t want to speak to that man, Inspector Nash, because if it weren’t important, I’d feel such a fool. And Emma said you were a policeman, too, so I thought you might be able… I didn’t want Emma to know, you see… I told Inspector Nash I’d been asleep, but it wasn’t quite true, really. Emma gets so upset when I forget things, so I waited until she’d gone to sleep…”
“Did you forget something, then?” Kincaid leaned against the wall, patient and relaxed, his professional manner slipping over him. He took care not to hurry her.
“My handbag. In the lounge. I had such a good time at the party. I had a sherry. I don’t usually, it must have made me forgetful…”
Penny’s voice trailed off again, and Kincaid dared to prompt her. “Did you go out to look for it, after Emma fell asleep?”
“I waited until she started snoring. She never wakes after that.” A faint trace of her impish grin appeared. “The house was so quiet. I felt a little… skittish. An unfamiliar place, and dark. I didn’t expect-” She broke off, the momentary ease vanishing as swiftly as it had come. “It probably didn’t mean anything. I couldn’t stand to cause anyone distress. To be fair, I think perhaps I ought to speak-”
“Penny, there you are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Emma MacKenzie’s head appeared at the top of the stairwell, followed by her body as she puffed her way up the last few steps. “What are you doing skulking up here?”
“I just wanted a word with Mr. Kincaid, Emma.” Penny was apologetic and flustered, and, Kincaid thought, a tiny bit relieved. He cursed under his breath. He’d get nothing more now, whatever she’d steeled herself to say would have to wait.
“Miss MacKenzie’s just been telling me what I should see-
“Well, for goodness sake, let Mr. Kincaid get on with it, then, and come along or we’ll miss the best birding of the day. It’s already late.” Emma turned, and muttered “A whole morning wasted…” as she stomped back down the stairs.
Kincaid winked at Penny behind Emma’s back as they followed obediently behind.
Cassie, as far as Kincaid could see, had not been one to suffer an uncomfortable night. He found her in her office, serene among the clutter, looking rested, sleek and so self-satisfied he almost expected her to purr. She smiled brightly at him, and gave him his rank-letting him know, thought Kincaid, that they weren’t going to get too chummy.
“What can I do for you, Superintendent?”
“Sleep well, Cassie?” She only smiled and waited, as if expecting greater things from him. “I thought you might be able to give me Sebastian’s address.”
“Playing the good Samaritan?” Cassie mocked him.
“I thought someone should. You said he lived with his mum. What about his dad?” Kincaid propped himself on the edge of her desk, riffling his fingers through the loose papers scattered on its top. He leaned toward her, encroaching on the deliberate distance she had placed between them.
“Died years ago, or at least that’s what he always said. Mummy raised her boy alone.” Cassie crossed her arms under her breasts and tilted her head to look up at him.
“Cassie, did you see Sebastian after the party that night? He seemed perfectly all right earlier.”
“I went over to my cottage about ten. He was tidying up in the lounge. He said he’d lock up-he usually did. Liked to play lord of the manor, padding around the house at night arranging everything just so. Then, last thing, he’d use the Jacuzzi. If I were awake I’d hear his motorbike start up when he left-he parked it right alongside the cottages.” Cassie seemed to be talking as much to herself as to Kincaid, her voice quiet and touched with what might almost have been a trace of regret. “I don’t remember hearing it that night, though I wasn’t conscious of missing anything at the time.”
“And did you see or hear anything else after you’d turned in that night?”
“Don’t cross-examine me, Superintendent,” Cassie said nastily. “Your Inspector Nash has already done enough for the two of you.” She flipped through a Rolodex on her desk and scribbled something on a scrap of paper. “Here’s your address. Now if you don’t mind, I’ve got work to do.”
He’d blown it. All Cassie’s armor had fallen back into place with a clang.
Eddie Lyle sat in the sitting room armchair, a newspaper spread open on his lap.
Kincaid, retreating from Cassie’s office, paused in the doorway. Could he escape with a nod and a greeting? His hesitation proved his undoing.
Lyle looked up and spoke. “Mr. Kincaid.” He rattled the paper. “We’ve made the local rag this morning. I do hope the nationals don’t pick it up. I don’t want my daughter distressed by reading some sensational account.”
Caught between going and staying and not wanting to commit himself to a prolonged conversation, Kincaid wandered over to the sofa opposite Lyle and leaned against its rolled, velvet back. The tufted buttons dug into his thigh. “Your daughter’s the same age as Angela Frazer?”
“Yes, she’s fifteen, but-”
“Most fifteen-year-olds don’t read the papers, Mr. Lyle. I wouldn’t worry.”
“Chloe’s not a bit like Angela Frazer, Mr. Kincaid. She’s a very good student, and I’ve always encouraged her to keep up with world affairs.”
“She’s away at school, then?”
“Yes, but close enough that we can have her home most weekends.” Lyle took off his spectacles and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “My daughter’s going to have all the advantages, Mr. Kincaid. She won’t need to scrape and struggle for things the way I did.”
Finding Lyle almost bearable now that he wasn’t spouting pompous grievances, Kincaid refrained from saying that few children seemed to appreciate being given advantages their parents lacked-they saw such benefits as their due.
Lyle must have done well enough for himself, though-a daughter away at school, clothes which looked expensive even if ill-fitting, and timeshare holidays didn’t come cheaply. “I understand you were in the army?”
“They educated me, but I got no free ride, if that’s what you’re thinking. I paid my dues, Mr. Kincaid, I paid my dues.” Lyle looked back at his paper, folding it and snapping the crease in sharply.
Having a conversation with Eddie Lyle was a bit like treading on eggshells, thought Kincaid, no matter how carefully you stepped, you made a mess of it.
The address was a narrow, terraced house in one of the winding alleys behind Thirsk’s market square. A brass knocker shone and a few defiant petunias still brightened the window boxes. Before he could ring, the door opened and he faced a middle-aged woman with faded, fair hair.
“Mrs. Wade?” The woman nodded. “May I come in? My name’s Kincaid.” He handed her his I.D. card and she examined it carefully, then stepped back in silent acquiescence. She wore what appeared to be her Sunday best, a navy, serge shirtwaist with white cuffs and collar. The pale hair was carefully combed, but her eyes were red and swollen with weeping and her face sagged as if gravity had become an unbearable burden. Even her lipstick seemed to be slipping from her lips, a slow, red avalanche of grief.
“I knew he was dead.” Her voice, when it came, was flat, uninflected, and directed somewhere beyond him.
“Mrs. Wade.” Kincaid’s gentle tone recalled her, and her eyes focused on his face for the first time. “I don’t
