As this was exactly what he’d been mulling over on the climb, he narrowed his eyes, although he was aware the other man couldn’t see this.
‘You will keep him talking about the old days, and we will search.’
Tim suddenly stopped, and as he was in the lead, Squeezy backed into him. They all came to a halt.
‘Why don’t we just tell him we found his brother’s remains—we don’t have to be too specific howmuchwe found of him—and maybe he would tell us what he knows. It’ll be more than we do—which is nothing—so can’t really hurt him to share with us.’
Once more, Aleksey was deeply troubled by how boring his companions could be. They trudged on in silence, each presumably picturing holding the map, which he was doing. As with the appearance of some of the items which had washed up on Revival Sands, it might even be made of human skin.
At the top of the cliff, they found themselves beside a small summer house, placed there, presumably, for the views across the ocean during the day, or possibly for people to sit and catch their breath from the climb, which they all did. It also provided an excellent hide from which to observe the old house, which was impressive, despite being in very poor repair. This last fact Aleksey clocked with great relief. He had feared turning up to find the house renovated and prospering, as it had occurred to him that the older brother might have shared knowledge of the location of the treasure with the younger, and thatthiswas the reason they had found nothing at the wreck of theNicholas—it had already been stolen by the last remaining Frobisher. It would be just his luck if this thief left nothing for them but his own brother’s severed feet. But none of his forebodings were justified. The house was almost ruinous, but apparently still deserving of its Grade II status, if only for antiquity. Maybe Grade I, if Orlando Frobisher was lucky.
He wasn’t.
He was dead.
And this demise was particularly unfortunate for the landowner, because it appeared he’d fallen from his own medieval roof—if the state of his body, crushed and bloodied upon the flagstones of the patio, was anything to go by.
* * *
Chapter FOURTEEN
‘I think we should call the police.’
‘Do not touch anything, professor. Cover your hands.’
Tim snatched his fingers away from the book he’d been about to pick up.
It wasn’t the first time Timothy Watson had made this rather plaintive request, and it wasn’t the first time he’d been completely ignored by the other three who were busy searching the library.
It had surprised Aleksey that the house appeared to be empty, although that probably explained why the death of the owner had yet to be discovered. It did not look as though the man had lain there long. They’d gradually worked their way around the various windows on the ground floor until they’d come to the large and very ancient front door. This, however, had been unlocked. Just as with Guillemot House, the nameChi Lugern Enyswas carved in stone above the lintel. It had been the work of a minute to ensure the house was deserted, and they’d been able to start their search. However, as none of them knew what they were looking for, other than something that might resemble a treasure map, it wasn’t a very productive endeavour.
They hadn’t come expecting to find the location of the treasure, but to be able to interrogate the owner.
‘Do you think he jumped because of financial worries or the court case?’
At Ben’s question, Aleksey swung around from his inspection of some books on the desk. They’d started in the library because it had seemed the ideal place to hide things like maps. He hadn’t realised Ben was standing right behind him. As the useless ones appeared to have moved off into an adjoining study, he took the opportunity to fling his arm around Ben’s neck and pull him in for a kiss.
‘If he did, he was not in his right mind—he has a superb house on the cliffs of Cornwall.’
Ben frowned. ‘You really are seriously weird sometimes. I don’t know, I’ve been thinking about his body. Did it look like a fall? Or a jump? An accident? Or suicide? Would you land head first like that if you jumped?’
Aleksey went to the full-length windows and gazed out at the dark form he could still see implanted in the paving slabs. Dawn light had made the scene melancholy where it had seemed macabre when they’d discovered it. Frobisher had indeed landed on his head. ‘Come.’ He grabbed Ben’s arm as he passed and dragged him into the hallway. Heading back past the front door, they came to the main living room. The fire was still lit, although it was now reduced to embers choked with ash. Two extremely shabby armchairs were pulled up to the fireplace, each with a small table alongside it. There were more piles of books alongside each chair. Aleksey squatted to flick through them, searching for loose paper. Ben bent to a tumbler on one of the tables and sniffed it. ‘Port or Madeira? Sweet. Could be sherry.’ The other little table was empty, but he dabbed his fingers into a spill and smelt that as well. ‘Same.’
‘This is interesting.’ Aleksey held up one of the books. ‘It’s the same as the one we gave Harry for Christmas—the history of Dartmouth.’
‘Well, I guess Frobisher, being descended from the guy who founded the place, would want a book about it?’
‘Hmm.’ He glanced to the fireplace and back to the book. ‘There are lots of pages torn out.’
‘Most of the library books were in shit condition as well.’
Aleksey had to agree this was so, but still. He fingered the edges of the torn pages.
‘Someone was here with him, weren’t they? He didn’t jump. Or fall.’
Aleksey rose, trying to ignore the distinct creak of his knees. ‘No. He was pushed. He knew something and was killed for it. Fuck. We’re too late.Again.’
Dispirited, they went in search of their companions. They could hear squabbling from the library. Squeezy was explaining to his boyfriend how every time he got involved—such as with microbiologists and house-warming parties—things went awry, and that death and destruction were the result. No one had died until a certain professor had come up with the bright idea to visit Chez Moi—had they? Whose fault was it, therefore, that the curse had struck again and the Frobishers were no more? Aleksey nudged Ben, and they smiled and stood close for a moment, just enjoying each other’s presence. Ben’s arms slid around his waist, and they pressed their groins together as they kissed in the darkness of the hallway, both knowing what the other was thinking, wanting, needing.
