Allegra Fairweather_ Paranormal Investigator - Janni Nell [31]
“It’s been in the family for centuries,” he explained. “Would you like to hold it?”
Did he think I’d be impressed by that kind of thing? Well he could think again.
“I couldn’t possibly handle something so precious to your family.” Changing tack, I continued, “I expect you’ve heard that Angus McEwen’s body was found beside the loch yesterday.”
“And then it disappeared. Yes I heard.”
“I believe McEwen was doing some work for you.”
“He is—was—an excellent, if extremely unpunctual, carpenter.” Sir Alastair twisted his pinkie ring. “Fortunately I’m prepared to tolerate unpunctuality in a good tradesman.”
“When was the last time you saw McEwen?”
Sir Alastair didn’t answer immediately. He drew my card from his pocket, an elaborate and exaggerated gesture, and stared at it.
“It says here you’re a paranormal investigator. Not a police detective.”
“That’s right.”
“Are you suggesting McEwen was killed by something supernatural?” He was being difficult and he knew it.
“I’m not suggesting anything. I’m merely making enquiries.”
“Very well. Sorry, I’ve forgotten your question? What was it?” Before I had a chance to answer, Phillips appeared bearing a silver tray. “Ah, here’s our tea.”
There was a brief, deeply annoying interruption while Phillips poured the tea.
“Now where were we?” Sir Alastair picked up his cup and saucer. He wrapped long fingers around the delicate porcelain and took a sip. “Oh yes, I believe I was telling you the history of my signet ring.”
“No,” I said firmly. “You were telling me about the last time you saw McEwen.”
“So I was,” he replied smoothly. “I believe it was yesterday, or maybe the day before. Sometimes I lose track of the days.” He flashed a set of well-preserved, probably capped, teeth. “Memory loss is just one of the many trials of growing older.”
I didn’t buy that for a minute. Sir Alastair’s memory was as good as mine, probably better. And he couldn’t have seen McEwen yesterday because that’s when Hamish had found the body. But I’m sure Sir Alastair knew that.
After reminding him of those facts, I said, “You must have seen McEwen the day before. On Wednesday.”
“That’s quite likely, but, as I said, my memory’s not what it used to be.” Nonchalantly he took a sip of tea.
“Perhaps Phillips would remember,” I suggested.
“Why don’t we ask him?” replied Sir Alastair.
He rang for the butler. I’m not kidding. He used a little brass bell with its own eggcup-shaped holder.
When Phillips appeared, he confirmed that McEwen had been working at Maitland House on Wednesday.
“Was that the last time you saw McEwen?” I asked.
“Yes, madam.” Phillips made the courteous form of address sound like an insult. I wanted to punch him. Restraining myself, I listened to his next words. “McEwen didn’t turn up for work on Thursday.”
And we all knew why.
I asked Phillips, “Did McEwen do anything unusual on Wednesday?”
“No, madam. He arrived at work half an hour late but he cut his lunch hour short to make up for it. He left here around five in the evening. That was the last time I saw him.”
“What did you and McEwen talk about on Wednesday?”
“Talk about, madam?” I wished he’d stop calling me that. “We didn’t talk.” Phillips looked horrified at the prospect.
“Not even to say, good morning?”
“Good morning and good evening,” he conceded. “But nothing more.”
Sir Alastair turned to me. “Do you have any more questions? Phillips has work to do. I’m quite a slave driver with my staff.” He laughed.
“I’ve just got one more question,” I said, preparing to draw first blood. “When McEwen was here, did he spend much time with Lady Justina?”
Sir Alastair choked on his tea. He covered it well, but he definitely choked. Then he parried my thrust with a cool reply.
“McEwen tried to spend as much time with her as possible. He was in love with her, wasn’t he, Phillips?”
“I’m afraid he was, sir.