A Share in Death

“There’s the tennis court.” Cassie pointed down to his left. “And the greenhouse. We have croquet and badminton and lawn bowling, as well as riding and walking trails. Oh, and indoor swimming, of course. The pool is one of our star attractions. I think we’ll keep you occupied.”

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“I’m overwhelmed.” Kincaid grinned. “I may have a nervous collapse trying to decide what to do.”

“In the meantime, I’ll let you get settled in. If you want to lay in some supplies, it’s only a few steps down the road to the village shop. There’s a cocktail party at six in the sitting room, so the guests have a chance to get acquainted.”

“I’m afraid I haven’t any experience with timesharing. Don’t the other guests already know each other, all of them owning the same week?”

“Not really. New people buy in all the time. Owners trade weeks, or use their time somewhere else, so you never really know who’s going to turn up. We have several first-timers this week, as a matter of fact.”

“Good. I won’t be the only novice, then. How many guests are there?”

Cassie leaned back against the balcony rail and folded her arms, patient with his tourist’s curiosity. “Well, there are eight suites in the main house, and three cottage-type accommodations in another building. You may have noticed it to your left as you drove up to the house. I’m using one of the cottages myself right now, the one at the far end.” Her spiel of facts and figures came effortlessly, her delivery as smooth as her voice.

She looked steadily and directly into his eyes, and attractive as she was, the calculated and somehow impersonal invitation made him feel uncomfortable. Moved by a perverse desire to ruffle her, to indicate that he was not one to be so easily manipulated, he asked, “Does your assistant live here on the premises as well? He seems a pleasant chap.”

Cassie straightened up abruptly. Her voice, as she delivered Sebastian Wade’s social condemnation, betrayed a hint of the venom he had heard earlier. “No. In the town with his old mum. She keeps the tobacconist’s shop.” She brushed her hands together, as if disposing of crumbs. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve things to do. Let me know if you need anything, otherwise I’ll see you later.” The smile was brief this time, and held no invitation. Cassie slipped past and left him alone on the balcony.

IP

1 wŠ

>a^

penelope mackenzie stole a furtive look into the suite’s sitting room, where her sister Emma seemed to be absorbed in checking her life-list against today’s notations in her birding notebook. Penny settled herself more comfortably in front of the bedroom window with a quick sigh of relief. She’d have a few more minutes with no demands, a small escape from her sister’s solicitous supervision.

Things were different before Father died. Penny hadn’t been forgetful then, really; just a little absentminded sometimes. But after those last, long months of Father’s illness some of the tenuous connections between thought and action just seemed to dissolve.

Only last week she’d put a saucepan of water on the cooker and gone into the sitting room for a book. When she remembered the pan, the water had all boiled away and the middle layer of the pan’s bottom had melted and run across the cooker’s top in a silvery flood. And then there was the leftover Sunday roast she popped into the oven instead of the fridge. Emma had been furious when she discovered it the next day and had to throw it away.

But those were the little things. Penny didn’t like to think about the day she went down to the shops in the village, did her errands, and found she couldn’t remember how to get home. Instead of the memory of the wellworn path through Dedham village and up the hill to Ivy Cottage, there was only an emptiness in her mind.

She stumbled, terrified, into the familiar warmth of her friend Mary’s tea shop. She sat there perspiring, chatting and drinking hot, sweet tea, trying to pretend a gaping hole hadn’t opened in her universe, until she saw a neighbor pass. She caught up to him, and asked breathlessly, “Are you going home? I’ll walk with you, shall I, George?” As

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she walked, familiarity with her surroundings returned, rilling the vacant space, but the fear settled itself comfortably inside her. She told no one, most particularly not Emma.

Perhaps a holiday was all she needed, a fortnight with no responsibilities. It had taken her long enough to convince Emma that they deserved something after their years with Father. After all, they had his money now and could do what they pleased. She’d seen the timeshare brochure herself, at the travel agent’s in the village. And Followdale was lovely, every bit as lovely as she’d imagined.