Murder Actually (16 page)

“Well, Crispin was there, but we can probably rule him out as a suspect at this point. Professor Sabrina Elliott was there with her sister, Rose. Also, Coco and Alex Ware were there.”

“Anyone else?”

“Well, Julia and I were both there.”

“Yes, I know. Believe me; I haven't finished with you ladies yet.”

I felt like I had just been grounded and suppressed a sigh.

“Was Nora Ware at this party?” he demanded.

“No, she wasn't.”

Liddell glanced around the office and scowled. “How did you get in here? Was the back door unlocked?”

“Not exactly.”

“The front door?”

“No.”

There was a tense silence. “I'm not sure I want to know, but how did you get in here?”

I told him.

“Breaking and entering,” he pronounced grimly. “You're lucky I don't take the two of you down to the station right now.”

“But, Chief,” I protested. “We were worried about Mr. Wickford. And if we hadn't come down here you probably wouldn't have known he was dead until tomorrow morning! This way you can get right to work…”

I'd expected a bit of gratitude for getting Liddell on the case so quickly, but realized he was in no mood to acknowledge my skills. I was relieved when Doctor Lewis appeared with his medical bag.

“Evening, everyone. What's all the excitement here?” He glanced down at the body and shook his head. “This town is turning into a bloodbath. It never used to be this way.” He gave me a morose look; as if I'd single-handedly Quentin Tarantino-ed All Hallows.

He bent over Crispin's body and examined him for a few minutes, then stood up again. “I can't tell until I do the post-mortem, but right now it looks like the deceased was killed with a thin wire. Very thin. Probably home improvement wire or even craft wire.”

“Craft?”

“Flower arranging or picture hanging. It appears to be common household wire. It was wrapped around the neck at least five or six times and then tightened into a garrote.”

“Time of death?”

“Within the last hour. No later than that.”

Liddell jerked his head towards the door. “You two can go…for now. Don't go far!”

We got outside and stood for a moment on the boardwalk. There were more officers arriving every minute. The stillness of the evening was broken.

“Whew, that was something, huh Betts?”

I shook my head. “I'm becoming hardened; I only felt a little like puking this time around. Poor Crispin. I would've sworn he had no idea what I was talking about tonight when I mentioned that blackmail note; I think he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. There's one thing that's bothering me, though. There was no sign of any forced entry at the
Gazette
. That means Crispin must've opened the door for his murderer. So it had to be someone he knew… and trusted.” I sighed. “I'm going home. I've had enough intrigue and violence for one night and I'm sure Liddell is going to want a sworn statement sooner rather than later
.”

We said goodnight and I walked the short distance to my cottage on Point Savage. I was relieved I'd left a light burning and Blue was waiting for me in the window. I went inside and picked him up, ignoring his squirms of displeasure. I let him down and went to the answering machine.

Crispin's excited voice filled the room again, eerily alive in the cozy space.

“Elspeth, listen to me, it's Crispin. I have something to tell you. I remembered something from that night, something about my camera and those photographs. I'd totally forgotten about it at the time, but I'm pretty sure it was…it's crazy…there's no way she could have…never mind...it's just too incredible. Call me… I'm at the office.”

The machine beeped and the voice stopped.

I shivered and looked around, almost as if I had conjured up the spirit of Crispin Wickford.

I poured a glass of wine and scanned through the pictures of the photographs from Crispin's office.

What had Crispin seen?

Or who?

I glanced through the photos again and shook my head. From what I could tell they were just old photographs from the Bracebridge Festival. I couldn't find anything in them that would be of the slightest interest to a serial killer.

I finished my wine and picked up Blue. I wished for the thousandth time I wasn't alone. I was in such a sorry state I even wished Grant was with me. I locked the front and back door and checked the windows before I went to bed.

That night I dreamt of Crispin Wickford. We were at the
Gazette
office going through the piles of photographs on his desk. The stacks were nightmarishly high; towering over us like skyscrapers. Blue was under the desk, batting around a pearl earring, and as I watched his fur change to pure snowy white. Crispin's red bowtie was askew and his tongue swollen as he turned to talk to me.

The picture, Elspeth.

You have to find the picture.

 

 

 

News of Crispin's death spread quickly, and soon I was inundated with phone calls and unsolicited advice. Mr. Bickleton the butcher advised me to just stay inside: “It seems like wherever you and Julia go there's a dead body,” and Angus Clark at Lovejoy's Pub told me I'd never get a man if I was involved in a police investigation. Marshall Spright told me he'd never met a person with worse luck, and Charlotte Whipple told me Edgar Archer didn't like girls who smoked (I wasn't sure about the last one; I guess someone told her the stress of finding bodies made me take up cigarettes).

I was actually looking forward to church that Sunday so I could meditate in peace.

There were four churches in All Hallows: Catholic, Methodist, Lutheran and one of those New-Agey born again places in a shopping mall off Highway 9. I regarded the last place with a certain amount of interest and dread; it seemed so wrong to worship in a shopping mall, but it would certainly save time if you wanted to pick up a few things after church.

Julia and I belonged to St. Anne's Catholic church, and our services were quite a social event.

First of all, Father Foy wasn't your typical minister. He had a penchant for boleros and Old Spice, and his sermons were highly colorful events focusing on the book of Revelation and rambling references to harlots, beasts, and dragons. I enjoyed them immensely and thought the sweat that poured down his face added to the authenticity of these torments. It was good as it gets, in the ecumenical sense.

Our service started at nine, but I got there early to think about my sins and see what people were wearing. My heart skipped a beat when I noticed Edgar Archer sitting alone and looking somber.
He was Catholic!
I thought exultantly. Or he was church shopping, but either way we had something in common; I liked shopping as well. I resolved to corner him after the service and then let myself lapse into my favorite church daydream (cream-filled doughnuts coated in powdered sugar) just as Father Foy delivered his opening volley.

“The waters which you saw where the harlot sits, are peoples and multitudes and nations and tongues...”

I sat back and made myself comfortable. I believed in most of the tenets of the church, but my personal faith was largely my own creation, a comfortable amalgamation of creeds, prayers, Bible stories, and cautionary tales featuring a Buena Vista Technicolor God flanked by doves and cherubs. Over the years I'd added some progressive ideas regarding neighborly love and a healthy respect for Old Testament signs and portents. These various beliefs were tumbled together into a thick, religious salve that I found useful for dealing with most of life's cuts and bruises. For the deeper wounds, I combined the salve with wine. It was remarkably effective.

“For all nations have drunk of the wine of the wrath of her fornication, and the kings of the earth have committed fornication with her, and the merchants of the earth are waxed rich through the abundance of her delicacies…”

Father Foy seemed to take our sin very personally. I tried not to sin, really tried, and I tried to help my neighbor and be a good person. I prayed before meals and helped poor people by giving them money. Guilt was a predominant feature of my faith, but it was so quickly followed by the possibility of redemption that sometimes the latter subsumed the former.

“And cinnamon, and odours, and ointments, and frankincense, and wine, and oil, and fine flour, and wheat…”

My tummy grumbled angrily and Julia poked me in the ribs. Like I could help it. Father was on a roll today. Mmmm, jelly roll. I felt my stomach grumble again and thought if I skipped lunch I could have two doughnuts after the service, maybe even three if I'd been planning on having fast food, which I might've been.

The church was cozy, only about twelve pews deep, so everyone pretended not to notice when Nora Ware slipped in twenty minutes late. She caught my eye and motioned for me to follow her. I left as quietly as possible and noticed she was headed down into the church hall. The space was painted a particularly repellant blue-green, and carried that odor unique to church basements: a heady combination of old cherry tobacco, incense and toilet cleaner. I saw Nora go into the kitchen and followed her.

“I have news,” she said excitedly. “I was going through Jasper's car and I found this.”

‘This' was a list. A list of book titles:
Wednesday's Child
,
One for the Money
, and
Hotel Rwanda
.

I looked at Nora. “Where was it?”

“In the passenger seat cushion. It was wedged pretty deep. I remembered what you said about the book list that was next to Jasper so I thought it might be important.”

I put the list in my bag and regarded her closely. “I had a talk with Mrs. Jennings.”

Nora nodded. “Yes, she told me.”

“I also talked to Alex.”

She flushed crimson and looked away.

“Nora, are you having an affair with Alex Ware?”

She returned my gaze, her own expression shocked. “What a question! And in church, too!”

“Are you?”

She shook her head. “Absolutely not. Alex and I are just friends…family. Maybe if things were different,” she broke off and tried again. “But they're not. He has Coco and I have…I had…” She began to cry quietly.

“I heard you talking to Alex at Black Birches. Did you see him the night Jasper was murdered?”

She wiped at her eyes. “Yes, he called me and I met him down at the harbor. He told me what Jasper said about him and Violet getting married. He wanted me to hear it from someone I…knew.”

“Did he take you back home?”

She regarded me dolefully. “No, I went back alone. He had to get back before Coco realized he'd gone. That was it, Elspeth, that's all that happened.” She must've noticed by skepticism and grabbed my arm. “Please, you have to believe me! I'm not the kind of person to have an affair and Alex is…”

She broke off into a sob and hurried away.
The service was almost over when I slipped back into my pew. I had just enough time before the final procession to offer up a quick prayer for the poor, sick and afflicted (i.e., me and Julia), and a request for strong sales for
The Cheesecake Diaries
. Father Foy shook hands with me and gave me his disappointed St. Francis look. I guess he'd noticed my absence for most of his sermon.

Julia caught up with me outside. “I swear Father Foy was looking right at me when he was talking about the harlots. I wonder if he heard about my date with Sergeant Jack last week.”

“You better go to confession.”

“Not yet, I need more material. I saw you follow Nora. What's up?”

I showed her the list and she sucked in her breath. “One of those titles looks familiar, Betts. I saw Sabrina Elliott with
One for the Money
at the library last week!”

“It's time I talked to the Elliott sisters,” I said grimly.

 

 

 

I've always wanted a sister.

Growing up I read about the Marches and Bennets and the Ya-Yas and watched
The
Lemon Sisters
and
The Banger Sisters
and
The Parent Trap
. I looked with envy at my friends who had sisters, picturing endless nights of hair curling, giggling and talking about cute boys. Sisters had their own language, their own private code…

Sisters had your back.

I watched Sabrina Elliott pour me a cup of coffee. We were sitting in the kitchen at Dovecote, the handsome, two-story brick house Sabrina and Rose shared on Point Savage. It was a cozy space with a red potbelly stove and tobacco-colored walls covered in watercolors of the Hudson River Valley. Sabrina finished pouring and pushed the mug to me through a mass of mums, pinecones, orange and black ribbon and rolls of craft wire scattered across the kitchen table.

“Sorry about the mess. Rose and Coco Ware are making wreaths for the St. Anne's Fall Festival.”

She looked out of the window and sighed.

“Have you and Rose always lived together?” I asked.

“Not always. But when our parents died Rose was all alone and asked me to come back here and stay with her. I've sometimes wondered whether I made the right choice.”

“The two of you seem to get along well.”

She laughed. “It wasn't always smooth sailing. We had a long adjustment period before we established some boundaries. Some subjects are off-limits, even to a sister.”

“Like Jasper Ware?”

Sabrina colored and stirred her coffee. “I suppose you've heard all the old gossip about Jasper and me.”

“I heard you were engaged.”

She nodded. “Three years ago. He broke it off to marry Nora.”

“Why?”

“Her family had money; mine didn't.” Sabrina couldn't keep the bitterness from her tone and I regarded her intently.

“That must've been difficult for you.”

“You have no idea! For some reason people expect a professor of feminine theory to be immune from being feminine. A lot of people were happy to see me fall flat on my face. I didn't think I'd ever be able to go out in public again.”

“But you forgave him?”

She flushed. “Where did you get that idea?”

“I figured out your book list, Sabrina.”

Her face turned white and she nodded. “I was worried someone might put that together; it wasn't the most sophisticated system. The plan was never designed to withstand the scrutiny of a murder investigation.”

“When did you re-start your affair with Jasper?”

“Last year.” She noticed my expression and colored angrily. “You have no idea, Elspeth, what it's like to be so crazy in love with someone, and there was a side to Jasper you never saw. He could be gentle and vulnerable and kind. When we first met I was so in love I couldn't see straight. And then he left me to marry Nora, I figured it was all over. I even brought a lawsuit just to irritate him, though I knew I didn't stand a chance of winning. But then Jasper came to see me. He told me how unhappy he was with Nora, how he had made a terrible mistake. He told me that I was the only woman he ever…”

She stopped and looked at the wall above my head. Her mouth thinned into an angry line. “Anyway, I agreed to meet him. And when I did it was incredible… just like nothing had ever happened. I know it was wrong, but he told me that his divorce was only a matter of time; that in six months he'd be free.”

“So you kept meeting him?”

She nodded. “Jasper came up with a system for our meetings. He would pick a day and choose a book title with that day in it and send it to me. I would pick the time and then he would pick the place. We only had two locations;
Hotel du Lac
was code for Captain Swift's Inn. The other hotel was
Hotel Rwanda
, which was the Dew Drop Inn at Pelham. Anyone finding the notes would just see a book list. It worked up until a few weeks ago. That's when I heard Jasper and Nora were getting divorced. I was so excited! He'd been promising to leave her for so long I'd almost given up hope. I called him to talk about it but he told me we had to hide everything until the divorce was final. I was a fool to trust him, but I did, I was on cloud nine. I thought there was no obstacle to our being together.

“And then you found out about him and Violet?”

She nodded. “The night of your book reading I slipped him one of our lists. Then, Violet announced that
she
was going to marry Jasper! I knew it couldn't be true! He couldn't do that to me again! I saw Jasper go upstairs at Inkwell. I waited until no one was watching and then I followed him upstairs.”

She caught my expression and broke off suddenly. “I didn't kill him, Elspeth, I swear I didn't! When I got upstairs he was already dead. I felt for a pulse and got blood on my hands. I didn't know what to do so I ran back downstairs. Rose saw me go into the restroom and came to talk to me. She saw the blood. She told me not to worry, that she would take care of things. I was so upset I couldn't think straight…”

“And after the book reading?”

“We were here. We came home and didn't leave the house again until after Violet's body had been found.”

“Why didn't you just come forward?”

“I was afraid! I was one of the last people to see Jasper alive and everyone knew how much we supposedly hated each other! Anyway, I lied and said I had been with Rose when the lights went off.” Sabrina broke down and wept inconsolably. “You have no idea what it's like to love someone so much… and to hate him so much.”

She ran from the room and I heard the sound of her footsteps going up the stairs. I took our cups to the sink and got my bag. When I turned to go and saw Rose standing at the kitchen door, regarding me silently.

“Sabrina wasn't feeling well, she went up to her room.”

Rose didn't say anything and I grew uncomfortable in the tense silence. When she finally spoke her voice was harsh and bitter. “Jasper Ware got exactly what he deserved.”

“I don't think many people in All Hallows would disagree with you.”

Rose shook her head. “Poor Sabrina. She was so in love with Jasper.”

“You knew she was seeing him again?”

“Of course I knew! You don't live with someone for eight years without getting to know them fairly well.”

“And you knew Sabrina wasn't with you when the lights went out at Inkwell?”

“My sister isn't a murderer,” she said firmly. “But if anyone deserved to be murdered it was Jasper Ware.”

“So you said.” I stopped as another thought came to me. “Did you turn off the lights at Inkwell?”

“Yes. I saw Sabrina come downstairs. I knew from the expression on her face something was wrong so I followed her to the bathroom. She told me what she'd seen and she showed me the blood on her hands. I told her to wait for my cue and then go back up front. I tripped the fuse box and cut myself with the letter opener. When the lights came back on everyone assumed the blood on Sabrina was from my cut.”

“You're a good sister.”

She sighed. “Did you know Jasper left Sabrina a week before their wedding? A week! She already had the last fitting for her gown. It cost over five-thousand dollars.”

My mind was racing. “Did Jasper offer to pay for it?”

Rose gave a harsh bark of laughter. “He told Sabrina it was her own fault for spending so much on something she would only wear a few hours.”

“But she forgave him?”

Rose shook her head. “Like I said, Sabrina was in love with Jasper. She was always willing to forgive him.”

“Until Violet?” She didn't answer and I continued. “That night at Inkwell, you were the one who realized the scene was set up like
Deadly Harbor
.”

“I never forget a book, Elspeth.”

I looked at her with dawning comprehension. “And you had realized something about Jasper's writing.”

She nodded. “Yes, his voice was slowly evolving. His main character, Inspector Grimaldi, started as one-dimensional and static. He was getting more interesting, more complex…more feminine.”

“You figured it out, you knew!”

Rose nodded. “It was justice, Elspeth. I only wanted to get back what Jasper owed Sabrina.”

“So you decided to get your revenge. You sent Jasper a blackmail note telling him to leave five thousand at St. Anne's.”

She smiled. “I thought that was rather clever. I was going to donate the money to St. Anne's, anyway.”

“But Jasper found out?”

“Yes, he confronted me at the book reading. I asked him what he intended to do, and he told me he was going to hold onto the note in case he needed it later. After he died, I was afraid the police might trace it back to me so I went down to the studio to find it…”

“It was you!” I exclaimed. “You broke into the studio that night!”

“Yes, I wanted to get the note back, but I couldn't find it.”

I sat back and observed her warily. “Rose, do you have any proof that Sabrina didn't commit these murders? She had the perfect motive and opportunity.”

“But no means, Elspeth!” she exclaimed triumphantly. “She never had a dagger and she wasn't even carrying a handbag the night of the book reading. And she didn't have the scarf that was used to kill Violet.”

“But she could've gotten both rather easily. Your collections for St. Anne's gave you access to every house in All Hallows.”

“I suppose you're right, but I can provide her with an alibi for both Violet and Crispin. We came home after the book reading and were together the rest of the night, and the night of Crispin's death we went to the Essex Fall Festival and then came straight home. Father Foy came over and showed us pictures of his last vacation to Branson. Neither of us left the house again.”

I regarded her skeptically, and not just because of the assertion someone would choose to vacation in Branson. “You've lied for Sabrina before,” I pointed out. “Why should I believe you now?”

“There's no reason to lie. Jasper's dead. The affair is over. Hopefully, Sabrina will be able to get on with her life. Hopefully, both of us will be able to get on with our lives.”

Rose hurried from the room, leaving me alone in their big, empty kitchen. I picked up my bag and made the short walk back to my house.

Sabrina's explanation made sense, but the story also meant she had the motive and opportunity to kill both Jasper and Violet. The only thing missing was the means. Had Sabrina asked Violet to buy the dagger for her? Why? Then there was the scarf. Nora thought she had given the scarf away. To who? To Sabrina Elliott? To Rose?

My head was swimming as I sat down at my laptop. I couldn't decide who was giving me more grief: Tessa Oglesby, Paula, Nora or Sabrina Elliott.

Or maybe the sixth candidate: the shadowy murderer of All Hallows.