Willis, Sr.’s frosty expression thawed.
“I beg your pardon, Lori,” he said contritely. “I was taken aback by your suggestion that an ancient quarrel might influence my choice of friends. I can assure you that such is not the case, nor would it ever be the case. I have seen petty vendettas tear families apart far too often. I refuse to participate in one.”
Before his retirement, Willis, Sr., had been an international attorney who’d specialized in estate planning for the fabulously wealthy. He had firsthand knowledge of the spite, bile, and malice that shaped many last wills and testaments.
“It was a long shot,” I acknowledged, “but I had to be sure. Everyone else in Finch seems to be caught up in the feud.”
“William isn’t everyone,” Amelia said proudly, putting her hand on his.
“No, he isn’t,” I agreed. I leaned back in my chair, feeling disappointed. “Are you certain you can’t tell me anything about Arthur Hargreaves, William?”
“Our paths have not crossed,” he replied. “I have seen bright lights in the sky above Hillfont Abbey from time to time and I have heard the occasional explosion, but apart from that—”
“Bright lights?” Amelia exclaimed.
“Explosions?” I said, sitting upright.
Deirdre Donovan’s reputation for good timing took a serious hit when she chose that precise moment to return to the morning room with Bess. I saw immediately that she hadn’t merely changed my daughter’s diaper. She’d exchanged Bess’s simple white jumpsuit for an unfamiliar gray onesie topped with an equally unfamiliar but adorable coral cardigan.
“Do you like them?” she asked me, plucking anxiously at the onesie’s collar and smoothing the cardigan before passing Bess to me. “They caught my eye the last time I was in Upper Deeping and I couldn’t resist buying them. I’ve been dying to try them on Bess.”
“They’re wonderful,” I said. “The color combination is very sophisticated. I wouldn’t have thought of pairing coral with gray, but they look great together. Thank you, Deirdre.”
Deirdre looked so relieved that I didn’t have the heart to tell her that all baby clothes, no matter how sophisticated, were doomed to a life that was damp, sticky, and short. She acknowledged my thanks with a beaming smile, filled the three tumblers with water, and took the empty pitcher with her as she left the room.
Bess should have been ready to chow down, but she was too excited to think about eating, so I put her back in the bouncy chair before turning my gimlet gaze on Willis, Sr.
“Bright lights in the sky?” I said. “Explosions? What the heck are you talking about, William?”
“Yes, William,” Amelia chimed in. “What in heaven’s name are you talking about?”
“I assume Mr. Hargreaves enjoys fireworks,” said Willis, Sr. “I have never had a reason to test my assumption. The pyrotechnics I have witnessed have had no deleterious effects on my property.”
Amelia and I exchanged looks of helpless disbelief.
“If I heard explosions coming from my neighbor’s house,” I said, “I’d mosey over to have a little chat with him.”
“So would I,” Amelia said feelingly. “Where is Hillfont Abbey?”
“The abbey itself lies slightly to the northeast of Fairworth House,” said Willis, Sr., “but the Hargreaves estate shares my estate’s northern border.”
“You could walk there,” Amelia said, staring at him.
“I have no desire to trespass on a stranger’s property,” said Willis, Sr. “It is true, however, that a five-minute stroll through the orchid wood would bring me to a side entrance in the wall that surrounds the abbey.” He peered at me inquisitively. “Where did you happen upon Mr. Hargreaves?”
“He happened upon us,” I said. “Bess and I were exploring a long-forgotten farm track Emma Harris had told me about, when—”
“Are you referring to the disused cart track that runs parallel to my property line?” Willis, Sr., interjected, looking alarmed.
“Yep,” I said. “And before you accuse me of risking Bess’s life, let me say in my own defense that I wouldn’t have taken her down the old track if I’d known it was prone to flash floods.”
“Good heavens,” Amelia breathed.
“When did you become aware of the danger?” Willis, Sr., asked.
“Yesterday,” I said. “Lilian Bunting alerted me to it.”
Willis, Sr., heaved a brief but heartfelt sigh of relief.
“I will express my profound gratitude to Mrs. Bunting when next we meet,” he said.
“Go on with your story,” Amelia urged me. “Tell us how Arthur Hargreaves happened upon you.”
I opened my mouth, but closed it again when Bess emitted a fussy squeak. I glanced down at her, expecting her gaze to be fixed firmly on my chest, but she’d turned her head toward the windows. As I looked to see what had caught her attention, Deirdre strode into the morning room.
“Battle stations,” she announced. “Our guests have arrived.”
Thirteen